#and... they both go where the other one is scared to go to... it's all about the trip to the sea. elena wants to go. lila turns back. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

quokkaholic · 2 days ago

Text

Teenage Heaven h.j

Warnings: MDNI, fluffy smut with some plot, alcohol consumption, kissin and touchin, f nipple play, dry humping, cussing duh. Lightly edited

Synopsis: (NOT about teens)Y/n and Han are in the early stages of their relationship and are meeting up in NYC for the first time since you met initially while he is there for work. Despite being long distance, neither of you want to rush into sleeping together, but that doesn’t mean you guys can’t do other stuff to satisfy your cravings.

Song recommendation: Teenage Heaven by Be Your Own Pet

˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡° ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡° ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡° ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡° ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡° ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡° ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡

Han was anxious to tell you that, as much as he wanted to greet you at the baggage claim, it just wasn’t possible, no matter how much he begged staff to allow it. Despite that, he assured you he’s tracking your flight and will be in a car there waiting for you. When the plane lands in NYC, you turn off airplane mode to send a message to Han only to be inundated by messages from him.

“I cant believe i get to see you in a few hours”

“Im scared”

“And excited”

“Mostly excited”

“I can’t think about anything else. Why aren’t you here already?”

“It’s only been like half an hour”

“Im going to squeeze the life out of you”

“You should be scared too”

“I’m getting no work done”

“This is dumb asf”

“I should’ve been camping at your gate since last night”

“Should’ve never left the airport, and just waited there for you”

“You should be landing in an hour and 47 minutes”

“I keep trying to get them to take me to the airport already. They brush me off like im crazy”

“not crazy”

“Maybe for you tho 😉”

“Headed your way! Yuuh!”

“We’re parked outside”

“You landed 2 minutes ago…WHERE ARE YOU?”

“I tried to make a break for it, but staff knows me too well. child lock is on”

You are grinning at the phone screen as you read them, not only because of how adorable it is, but because you feel similarly. You tried to take a little nap on the flight, but your nerves and anticipation kept you wide awake. You let Han know that your plane hasn’t even taxied into the gate yet, but you'll be with him as fast as your legs can carry you.

“What does your bag look like? I could send someone to go get it for you, so you can just come straight to me. I'm already doing it. What color is it? Does it have a tag or anything?” He’s doing everything in his power to get you into his arms as soon as possible.

“I didn’t check a bag, Sungie. I just have my carryon and a backpack, so I can come straight to you ☺️”

“Perfect. Better run babe”

Typically when you fly, you are one of the last ones to exit the plane, waiting for everyone else to grab their stuff from the overhead bins and trudge through the crowded aisle, but today you were the first one standing. You think people could sense your urgency; no one even tried to hop out in front as you slipped between the seats. Following the signs, you speed walk to the pick up area that Han is parked at. Your eyes are immediately drawn to a blacked out luxury hatchback with a tint as dark as us legally allowed; there's a man standing at the back resting on the bumper, and he waves you over. As you approach you see an almost unrecognizable figure wearing sunglasses, a mask, and beanie with his face smushed up against the dark glass. When you reach the car, the staff member waiting for you opens the trunk, and you go to pick up your luggage to load it, but are thrown off by a shout from the backseat of the vehicle.

“Y/nnah! Get in the damn car!”

You stayed up late last night stressing about this very moment. How would it feel to see him again? What if the connection isn’t there like it was last time? Would it be awkward? Would you two just end up sitting in silence? As you enter the car, you realize your hours of anxiety ridden overthinking were all for nothing. He immediately clings to you pulling you in for a soul warming embrace. You somehow manage to end up simultaneously both be in each other's laps becoming a roiling lump of limbs and love, unable to tear your hands off him. Memorizing how he feels, for those nights where you question if he is even real or just a self indulgent illusion. There are a few shared kisses, but you are holding yourselves back for the sake of the driver and security in the front seat.

Seeing him in person is a bit like seeing a ghost, and it has you and Han both in a state of awe. There is, in fact, a period of dreaded quiet between you and Han, but it's not awkward. It’s one you two share intentionally to bask in your togetherness. You are both but caught up in the moment, unable to believe this truly happened and worked out. Smiling at eachother with rosy cheeks and racing hearts, you train all of your senses on him, barely even noticing the soft sound of the radio in the background.

You go over what the next few days of your vacation have in store with Han. When planning, initially he pitched going on a date tonight, but after some discussion, you both decided it would be better to have a hotel room date and just order food, so you cans have uninterrupted couple time for the first time.

The hotel is stunning, way fancier than you've ever stayed at. You enter through a back entrance that is arguably more grandiose than the main lobby as it's only used for high profile guests. Han shows you to your suite; his room is only a little down the hall. Opposed to your typical single rooms with a bathroom and a kitchenette, this place is like a luxury apartment: bedroom, living room, dining area, massive bathroom with a bathtub and shower, and a separate toilet room all designed and littered in the most up to date, trendy decor.

“Ji, you didn’t have to do all this. A normal room would have been more than acceptable!”

“Y/nn I know I didn’t have to. I do this because I want to. Plus, I kind of intend to be over here a lot, so I didn’t want it to be too cramped. I also wanted there to be a place we could sit together that wasn't the bed to be… respectful I guess” He can’t hold your gaze as the last part passes his lips.

“You're so sweet, Jisung” You say as you walk over to him after you dropped your bags. He's cheeks hot and avoiding your eyes; you are drawn to him, possessed to hug and squeeze and never let go. The snuggle pulls Han out of his shyness caused by your compliment.

“That was the first time I’ve heard you say my name in person” He says nuzzling his face into your neck. He snakes his hands around your waist and delivers his promise from earlier; Han squeezes you so hard, like an python, he manages to squeeze tighter and tighter while attacking your neck with quick tight lipped pecks until your back cracks. It startles him a bit, gasping and releasing his hold to grab your shoulders with a look of horror on his face. If you weren’t immediately cackling about it, he would have been worried he hurt you.

Han was considerate enough to think ahead, and the food was to be delivered soon after you guys arrived at the hotel for an early dinner so you guys could spend the evening together. For now there is nothing to do but enjoy being in each other’s company, and it feels so right. It's tender beyond comprehension, but not overly explicit: gentle kisses and even gentler hands traveling up ticklish sides or through lush hair. Running your hands up and down his toned arms, you can't help but grab them briefly, feeling his muscles flex under your touch; they have definitely grown since the last time you saw him. You guys slowly start to get more and more comfortable and bold. The soft grazes transition to firm pets, but there is soon a knock on the door. He took your suggestion, and ordered from your favorite restaurant from the last time you were here as well as a bottle of your favorite wine which he must’ve committed to memory from a long passed conversation, as you don't even remember sharing that info.

Dinner is a dream. The table is by the massive glass sliding doors that lead out to the balcony allowing the city lights to stream in. It goes without saying that the chat is immaculate, but the energy is so familiar and fun. You aren’t worried about eating too much in front of him or talking with your mouth full. Jisung just makes you feel comfortable and admired, like you can just be yourself and he’ll savor every moment. Once dinner is over and the bottle of wine is empty, you two make your way to the couch under the guise of wanting to show you some new music he has been working on, but the intense stares and frequent brushing hands had the tension quite high. He simply turns on some tunes to not be in silence, before your lips find each other.

The intimacy from early returns tenfold with newly injected sensuality. The firm grips progress to needy grasping, with daring finger dipping under the hems of your shirts, and you find yourselves in a passionate makeout. Although the kiss is hot and lustful, his tongue is timid in its exploration, so soft and gentle as it glides through your mouth, careful to tame his raging desire and not to use too much force. It becomes the sloppy and impassioned kind of kiss you can lose hours to. Your session goes till your lips are swollen and your hair is a mess. You would say the light lip product you had on was gone, but you know exactly where it is, it’s smeared out all over and around your mouths only adding to the kissed raw look. Han’s messy love drunk expression spurs you on, and while traveling your kisses down to his neck, his hands grip your hips to lift and guide you to straddle him. You don’t hesitate to follow his lead.

Settling yourself down onto him, you both let out a small gasp, and you have to fight your instinct to seek friction, but your restraint is short lived. After Ji undoes your bra and helps you remove it from under your shirt, his hands are glued to your breasts gently kneading while intermittently rubbing his thumbs over your nipples drawing soft moans from your lips and little circles of your hips.

You keep trying to give him attention by kissing his shoulders or nibbling on his ear, but he will only let you do it for a moment before he switches his affections back to you. Once you notice the pattern, you pull away for a second, also partially to catch your breath. You ask through pants,

“Am I doing okay? You keep cutting me short,” staring down into his eyes you see no sign of discontent. In fact, at your words his full cheeks tense into a big smile before going back to attacking your neck and mumbling against your skin like he can’t look at you when he admits,

“You just sound too good, Yn. I can’t get enough.”

His words alone make you whimper into his ear causing him to shiver. He begins to move lower, lingering on your collar bones. Licking and nipping. He lightly presses together and lifts your tits to his mouth to kiss them through your shirt. Kissing all over but planting light kisses to your hard bud before switching to the other. He reaches for the bottom hem of your top and looks up to check in before he proceeds.

“This okay?” You struggle to find your words and just nod down to him with your lips pressed together, but he asks again wanting a verbal confirmation from you as he begins to raise your top.

“Feels good baby?”

It would be much easier to respond if he wasn’t giving feather light kissing to your sensitive nipples.

“Yes, Ji. I… I really like it” you say, gasping as he pinches your bud between his top teeth and tongue. Screwing your eyes shut as seeing him look up through his tousled hair with his adoring gaze, mouth connected to your chest, makes you feel like you’re going to melt. You can no longer restrain the involuntary rutting of your hip and decide to just commit. One of Han's hands shoots down to grip your hip tight enough to leave fingerprints and presses you down to grind into him. His previously low and soft moans are rising in volume and frequency being dampened by your skin. Your linen pants are cute and were so comfortable for the flight, but they do little in the way of concealing what you are grinding against. They are so thin that you can target your clit onto the zipper fold of his jeans over the shaft of his hard cock.

With all the work Han has put in with his mouth, it doesn’t take many circles of your hips to get the heat and pressure in your lower stomach to rise. You grab either side of Han's face and remove his mouth as the pleasure was starting to become too much and smash your lips down on his and moan into the kiss. Keeping your pressure firm and rhythm consistent, Han’s breath is trembling, whimpering and whispering your name. His sounds, his words, his touch, it all works together in symphony, and you contract forward to rest your head on his shoulder and groan as the you reach the tipping point and you orgasm radiates through you. As you hold onto him and attempt to ride out your pleasure, the sensation of Han now gripping you with both hands pushing you down on his lap, aiding in your grinding as he fucks up against you have another high crashing over you. His voice is shaky when he finds the ability to speak,

“Fuck. Feels so… I’m gonna…Oh my god”

His rolling of his hips has turned to erratic bucking as he cums hard shuddering, wrapping his arms around you and squeezing like earlier.

“Holy shit. I haven’t jizzed my pants since I was a teen” Han giddily admits with just a twinge of embarrassment, still clinging to you trying to catch his breath.

“This is a first for me! Didn’t know it could even happen” you confess still winded from the pleasure, causing you both to let out weak laughter, neither of you daring to move for a few minutes, just lounging in the afterglow. You guys decide that Han will stay to watch some stuff and if he just so happens to fall asleep here, oh well, right? Getting two rooms was out of respect and consideration, but you both knew you’d end up sleeping in the same bed. He lets you freshen up in the bathroom first, and once you exit, he has a fresh set of clothes in his arms. He must’ve called one of the guys to bring them.

The rest of the night is filled with endless snuggles and random movies you can find on the hotel channels; the Harry Potter movies always seem to be on TV, so you end up watching two random ones of the series out of order. Han offers to go get his laptop to hook up to the tv, but neither of you care enough to walk the 40 feet down to his room and back. This night isn't about the movies, it's about taking in every moment of being in the same room. You guys end up staying up late flicking through channels, becoming amateur film critics. It's a bit past 1am when Han has the brilliant idea for you guys to go to a convenience store nearby and pick up some ice cream. You are in the city that never sleeps, and you will never turn down an adventure or a sweet treat. He sends a text to Minho claiming he can’t get ice cream without at least offering to get one for his best friend.

“Going to get ice cream. Meet in lobby in 10”

You and Han put on your shoes and coats and share a few more smooches before you can’t for 20 minutes.

“Did Minho respond?”

“No but he read it”

“So..?”

“He’s probably already down there waiting for us”

˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡° ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡° ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡° ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡° ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡° ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡° ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡

A.n- I initially wrote this for a Han fic I was making before I realized that writing long form fanfic was not for me, so there's a bit more plot in this one. Thanks for reading.

-mo 💕

Mastserlist

#skz #stray kids #skz x reader #skz fanfic #han jisung #han skz #han jisung fanfic #han jisung x reader #han stray kids #han fluff #han x reader #han fanfic #han fic #han smut #skz fluff #skz smut

202 notes · View notes

zara-renata · 2 days ago

Text

Supernova | ao3 | masterlist

Summary: Caleb's POV of the events of the previous part. Non-canon compliant, as I started this fic before he was released, and it turns out Caleb and mc were in the shelter together after the chronorift catastrophe, whereas I have them meeting at their gran's house for the first time in this fic. I also wrote Caleb and mc only being one year apart, unlike in the game, where they seem to be 3 or 4 years apart. Otherwise, I've tried to incorporate everything we've learned about him so far into this fic. This story contains: obsessive, possessive, jealous behavior. codependency. angst. yearning, mutual pining. some sexual fantasy on Caleb's part. I lean fully into the yandere Caleb that infold gifted us with. i hope it's enjoyable!

He is a star, just on the edge of going supernova. His rage at his lack of control, the voice in his head predicting he’ll become as destructive as a black hole someday, the mass of his emptiness and the twinned want for it to be filled—always on the verge of crushing his soul.

You are his twin, his other, his only, in his binary system, anchoring him with your gravity—your pull, the defiance of physics, as your force on him prevents him both from careening out alone in the dark and from imploding into himself, collapsing into the black hole he knows his truest form to be.

He is an endless hole of voracious destruction, and you are the only thing that fills him.

When it becomes too much. When the feelings inside him feel too big for his skin. You have always been there, a steadying force, a constant companion as he burns through the universe, through life. He is shaped, contained, filled by you, as you are carved, eroded, sculpted by him.

One bright day, Gran brings you home. Introduces you to your new big brother. You look—naked. Exposed. All of your feelings, right on your face. Your fear, hesitation, pain, all clear as the bright sunny day for him to read in your big, bright, sad eyes. He doesn’t know why, but it hurts his heart, to see how scared you are of his reaction to your presence in his home, now yours.

He smiles wider, offers you his hand.

The moment you reach for him, big eyes never leaving his, and he feels your soft skin against his palm, he somehow knows it’s over, and just beginning.

Perhaps it’s his evol. The fact that he can bend, control, subdue gravity, gravity which is so closely linked to time. Because the moment that you touch his hand contracts and expands, stretches—everything narrows to his skin against yours, to this point in time. Perhaps his evol allows his future, past, parallel selves to infuse him with knowledge, because he somehow knows he will never escape you, the pull of you, no matter what the rest of the world says, from this moment onward, suspended in time—your hand in his, a butterfly smothered in sap, hardened into amber. Amber that he carries in his hand, when yours isn’t there to fill it.

Or maybe it’s simpler than that. Something in him, recognizing something in you. Your fear. Your hollow eyes. The anger, underneath the fear. You’re so, so pretty. Like a living doll.

You take his offered hand, despite your fear, the pain in your eyes, and Caleb feels for the first time like he has a purpose. Value. Something he can control, in a life that has spun out of his control more times than he can count. He’s not just a threatening black hole. He can look after you. Keep you safe. Remove that fear from your eyes. He can nurture, instead of only destroy.

He’s a boy, offering a gentle hand to a scared girl, who needs him. And in the offering, and her acceptance, his own need comes into existence, a bright flash in his dark universe.

He shows you around, friendly, earnest for the first time in a long time, chattering about anything he can think of to keep your eyes on him, you listening to him, your attention on him. It feels so, so good.

But he has to go to school. He has to leave you behind, during the day. He spends his days lying, pretending to listen attentively, pretending to be interested in the same things his friends are interested in. He mimics the laughter of his friends, smiles his empty, useful smile, as he thinks of all the ways he can alleviate the pain, the fear in your eyes. As he imagines your hand in his.

He finds you in closets, curled up on yourself, a tightly furled flower. He doesn’t want to pluck you from where you feel safe.

He just wants to change what makes you feel safe. A gardener, repotting a rose. A rose he knows that has thorns as deadly as his own.

He squeezes in next to you, in the dark. Puts his arm around you. Chatters again, telling you stupid stories, making stuff up, anything to help you relax, distract you from what haunts you, melt into his side. You eventually let him lead you from the dark, into the light. You curl up next to him, as he puts together a model airplane. Your eyes watch his hands as he fits the pieces together, as he carefully glues them.

He pauses, holds one hand up. When you just stare at him in confusion, he gently takes your wrist, and pulls your palm to his.

Already, his hands are bigger than yours.

I’m bigger than you. So I’ll always be able to protect you.

He gently sets your palm back into your lap. You snuggle closer to him.

He feels so, so good.

But there’s something wrong with you. Gran sits him down at the kitchen table, looks earnestly at him. She tells him about your heart.

It’s our job to take care of her. Can you help me?

He knows what she is asking.

He knows about her migraines. How hard she works. He doesn’t know why, or what she’s doing.

He just knows that she’s telling him what he already knew, from that first moment. He needs to look after you.

But she didn’t even have to ask. He has already been doing this, from the moment you took his hand. It is easy for him to nod in response to Gran’s question. Of course.

For the first time in his life, he has something of his very own, giving him purpose. He can nurture, instead of destroy. Is it selfish, if it gives him so much pleasure? Seeing you slowly unfurl, and come to depend on him.

You start seeing your doctor, taking the pills to stabilize your heart. You always come home exhausted, drained, from your appointments. He sits with you, sharing a thick blanket in his room with the big bay window, and reads to you. Books from Gran’s library. You rest your head on his shoulder, and he feels like he’s flying, like he’s finally not alone, for the first time in his life. The more time you spend reading together, the more you begin to speak, giving him your thoughts on what you are reading.

You give him the gift of seeing the world not only through his own eyes, but through yours.

The medication is horrible for you.

He understands what Gran was asking, the first time you choke on the pills. The first time he finds you vomiting, huddled over the toilet.

It feels like a part of himself is in pain, watching you in pain. He hates it.

He hates it, but he loves it.

Soothing you. Comforting you. Watching your face, drawn in a frown of pain, relax under the wet cloth in his hand, as you manage to swallow, under his palm on your throat.

As he cares for you, carries you to bed in his gangly, too long arms, he isn’t a black hle, destroying anything, everything. He’s nurturing. And he also doesn’t have to control his face, hide his feelings, pretend to be normal and interested in normal-people things. He’s just himself, taking care of what’s his.

Slowly, slowly, the medication is adjusted, you’re no longer sick all the time. He’s happy to see you regain strength, color in your face.

He takes you for walks, out in the sunshine, under the open sky, in the fields of wildflowers beyond Gran’s house. You cling to him, complain of vertigo, staring up into endless blue. There were no skies, in the labs where you lived for so long.

His heart aches. He thinks of lifting you into the air, letting you experience flight, the flight he yearns for, the only time in his life he ever feels free. Before you came. But now, having you at his side, feels like flying.

But he doesn’t want to scare you. He pulls you down with him, to the earth, surrounded by so many living things, so different from the lab that kept you caged for so long. He thinks such a lovely rose deserves the soil, the fireflies, all the growing things as companions.

He pulls you down into the wildflowers, and he tells you about his dreams of flying. He wants to share this part of himself with you. He holds your hand in his, index finger pointing, and names the types of airplanes that fly overhead.

Later, you’ll ask him to make you fly, and he will. Your body weightless, in a field of flowers, as you laugh, one of the few times you actually ever smile. A smile only he sees. A laugh, and a smile, that belong to him, only to him. In a world where he’s never had anything to call his own before, he now has your smile, and your laugh.

One night, he comes to check on you, as he often does when you’re sleeping. But you’re not huddled in your bed, long lashes sweeping across your soft cheek. The window is open, curtains whispering in the chill breeze. He finds you on the roof, shivering. He doesn’t know why you didn’t bring a coat. He just knows that you are cold, and he is big, and his body is warm, and already what’s his, is yours. He wraps himself around you, feels you melt against his chest.

He tells you about the stars. Again, he holds your hand in his, index finger pointing, and names the constellations, the bright planets that look like stars.

The night you begin dreaming about flying, high in the sky, amidst the stars, he begins to dream about you. His anchor. His north star. The point around which he revolves.

When you finally start school, he’s so excited. Helps you pick out your backpack, your school supplies at the corner store. But he can tell, from the moment you walk into the crowded hallways, how overwhelmed you are. You revert to that strange frozen stiffness you had, when Gran brought you home. He hates it. He looks around. Finds a quiet classroom. He uses his size, his presence, to wrap you in safety, resting his elbows on either side of you against the classroom wall.

Look at me. Look only at me.

So what, if what he wants is selfish, and gives him what he wants, if it helps you too? If its primary purpose is to calm you, soothe you, help you at school, in every aspect of your life?

Caleb is hungry, selfish. He knows this. As long as he can control it, it’s okay. As long as his selfishness aligns with helping you, it’ll be okay, right?

You calm down, as he tells you to look for him, anytime you’re overwhelmed. That he’ll be there. A promise he’ll always keep, forever.

He sees how the other kids respond to you. They see your unsmiling face, your quiet, ever-vigilant stillness, and they immediately recognize you as different. Strange. Their base animal instincts are to distrust anything that’s other.

Caleb is a star, the rage fueling his core, boiling. He still smiles. Charms. Draws people in with his wholesome apple boy mask. He learned this, long ago—to get what you want, to control what happens to you, means controlling other peoples’ perceptions of you.

He wears a mask, like he wears his school uniform. As easy as breathing, most of the time.

When he sees people bothering you, he flies to you. Smiling. Putting his arm around you, guiding you away. He will protect you from the entire world, including other children—they were simple props before. An unavoidable reality, to charm, neutralize, recruit to his side so ease his path to the future, his path to escaping this school and this youth where he has so little control. But now, he considers them hardly more than animals, as he watches them scent you, and begin to growl.

Are you his sister? Why do you walk home together all the time? What’s wrong with you?

He intervenes. Draws you into his side, pulls you close. No, she’s not my sister.

Despite how much he already loves you, how close he feels to you, he balks at the idea of you being his sister.

He crushes the soda can in his hand, no evol necessary, the first time it occurs to him that if he accepts that you’re his sister, like the adoption papers say, like Gran says, like the kids at school say, then one day he won’t be the most important person in your life. He’ll just be your brother.

He can’t stand it.

He has friends at school with siblings. They complain about their annoying little sisters, their jerk older brothers. They joke and laugh and pester each other, and also defend each other when someone else is doing the bullying.

Caleb could never, ever complain about you. He has never found you annoying. He already knows that he is prepared to crush anyone who would dare look at you strangely, let alone bully you.

He wants to spend all of his time with you. He wants to keep helping you grow. He wants to be the soil in which you flourish.

Even as a boy, he knows that he’s not satisfied with being just your brother. He wants to be everything, if it’s to you.

He knows that he hurts you, every time he denies that you’re his sister.

But you’re more. He can’t explain it yet, or claim it yet. He tells himself: he’ll tell you, when you’re older. When he has more control of his own life, and can do even more than just making sure your life is as easy as possible, as he cooks for you, cleans for you. As he helps you wash, care for your hair, his rose, his doll.

He hopes you can forgive him, in the end, for carving out this future for the both of you, where he’s not just your brother, and you’re not just his sister. Brothers and sisters part ways. Move into their own houses. Marry other people.

He tells himself that he’ll make up for every grievance you have against him, every time he hurts you when he denies you as his sister, when you’re both older, when he can actually do something about what he knows is his fundamental truth.

You’re not his sister. He’s not your brother.

You’re just his, and he is yours.

Time passes. Each day, he gets to walk with you to school, holding an umbrella over your head when it’s raining. Handing you his aviator sunglasses when it’s too bright. He gets to see you in the halls, across the meaningless crowds.

Holding your hand through it all.

One spring day, as you’re walking home from school together, you find a cat, mewling pathetically from the bushes. It has crawled underneath, hiding in the thick foliage in an effort to protect itself.

It’s hurt. Caleb is sympathetic, but he would have kept walking. He has his own injured creature to care for, after all. But you—you’re absolutely distraught. You beg him to pick it up, carry it home wrapped in his jacket.

You never need to beg. But he doesn’t mind when you do.

As he lifts up the scruffy cat, which doesn’t scratch or bite, seemingly resigned to its fate or too scared to resist, it reminds him of you, the first day you came home. Your pain, and your fear. Your rage, banked for fear of retribution.

He carries the cat home, wrapped in his jacket.

You consult Gran on how to care for it. You do so, diligently, getting up at all hours in the night to check on it. Which is the only reason it doesn’t manage to escape.

Finally, Caleb gets fed up with the ridiculous thing trying to slink away while it’s injured. Trying to avoid the care you’re so faithfully offering it. Foolishly rejecting what’s best for it.

He buys a collar with his allowance, and a bell. Slips it around the shivering thing’s fragile neck.

It occurs to him how pretty you’d look, with something similar.

He’d hear you, wherever you were. In the night, crawling onto the roof alone. Vomiting at the toilet, alone.

Walking in the halls at school, surrounded by so many people in the world who do not matter. Who simply present a barrier, when he’s trying to maneuver through their mass of bodies to get to you when he can see you freezing, withdrawing into yourself. When he knows you need him.

He wants to put a pretty collar with a bell on you, and listen to the tinkling, meant for his ears, and his ears alone.

Thanks to the bell, the cat heals. As it frolics away, free at last, Caleb watches it go, a twisting, painful sensation in his belly. He turns, looks at you. You’re not smiling, but your face is shining, your eyes bright. He can see that you’re happy with the work you both did for the cat.

He hates himself, for the feelings inside of him.

He wants to reach over, put his big hand around your neck. Loosely. Just to feel your heartbeat in your throat under his palm. To reassure himself that you’re still here. That you still need him. That you’re not going anywhere, and that you won’t be leaving him alone, anytime soon.

He’s so, so selfish. He is an endless hole of voracious destruction, and you are the only thing that fills him.

Time passes.

One morning, he finds you thrashing in bed, breathing heavily, an animal panic choking your lungs. He thinks it’s a normal panic attack for you, is prepared to help you breathe, to walk you through it, as he always does, but then he sees the blood in the sheets.

He’s read about this. He paid attention in health class. He needs to know everything about you, your body, how it’s different from his, and how to care for it, if he’s to look after you properly.

Gran isn’t always around. In fact, she’s away more often than not.

In her bedroom, with a migraine. Or working so hard, on something she can’t talk about.

You’ve had your first period.

He’s heard boys talking, joking, jeering at school. It disgusts him, how they talk about girls, as if girls aren’t people too. He looks at you, and all he sees is a person—pretty as a doll, but full of life. Of fear and dreams and the longer you’re with him, you feel safe enough to demand anything, everything of him. He hates how the guys at school talk about girls. Because you’re a girl, and you have a whole universe inside of you, one that he’s so happy to discover every time you open your mouth. Every time you discover something new that you like, or hate, or annoys you.

How can you, as a girl, and your body, experiencing something outside of your control, be fodder for a joke?

He strides into your bedroom, grabs your wrists. Look at me. Don’t look at the blood.

Your breathing calms, as your big, bright eyes stare into his own.

It feels so, so good, as you relax. As you look to him, for help, for comfort, for soothing all of your fears. He wants, needs you to know how good it feels for him, to be able to do this to you, with you. You’re so, so good.

Good girl.

Your face does something funny, when he says these words. He thinks that the look on your face right now mirrors the feeling in his chest, when you listen to him, rely on him, let him open the pickle jar, let him smooth the way of any obstacles you have. When you smile for him, and no one else. When you allow him to nurture, instead of just destroy.

He helps you with the laundry. Finds himself regretting dumping the stain remover on your blood, stuffing the sheets in the washer. Your blood is a part of you, as much as your beautiful hair, your soft skin, the sharp tongue in your mouth.

Caleb thinks there might be something wrong with him, with how much he wants to keep your sheets, just as they are, tucked away somewhere in his closet.

He resists the urge, just barely.

Later, after he’s bought you pads with his allowance. After you walk around the house with a strange gait, like you can’t stand to bring your legs together, he teases you. You throw the apple at him, eyes bright—defiant, annoyed. He enjoys watching you take the bite, because he told you to. He loves it, every time he tells you to do something, and you do it, no questions asked.

Proof of how much you trust him. How much you need him.

Just like he needs you.

Later, at school, he catalogues the boys who make jokes about girls, and periods. He watches, listens. Lies through his teeth, chummy and just a normal teenage boy himself, of course. He notes the worst offenders.

It’s unfortunate, how they trip. Down the stairs. On nothing. Rumors start going around the school that there’s a ghost haunting a particular flight of stairs, right outside of Caleb’s homeroom.

He loves you so much, it hurts. He enjoys passing the pain along, to others who also deserve it.

He is an endless hole of voracious destruction, and you are the only thing that fills him.

Years pass.

You become accustomed to the confined chaos of school, interacting with so many people. You seem calmer, in the busy hallways. You snort, joke, even if you don’t smile at school, when he has to leave you for awhile, so he can continue his wholesome apple boy lie. Student council president, captain of the basketball team, MVP for the football team, medal winner in track and field. He lifts weights after school, is diligent about his diet, his protein intake, each week new gains bulking out his already tall body. He must do everything possible to lay the foundations for his future success, so he can provide for you. Be a constant pillar of strength for you. Continue giving you everything you need.

You come to him, when you’re upset. When everyone, everything begins to overwhelm you. He holds you. He jokes with you. He tells you stupid stories. He cooks for you. He feels satisfaction, deep in his blood.

And then, somehow, maybe while he wasn’t looking—although he’s always looking, so when would that even have been? He hasn’t stopped looking at you, from the first moment you came home.

But from one day to the next, you are a girl—pretty, cute, still, solemn.

And then—you are still all those things, but you are also beautiful.

Beautiful in a way that turns his brain into mush. A pretty living doll, but one that he wants. Not just to care for her hair, feed her, rock her to sleep. He wants all that, and more.

His heart races when you come close, when he can smell the scent of your skin, your shampoo, your sweat, your breath. You’re so beautiful, it hurts.

For the first time, he wants more than to hold you in his arms.

He wants to put his mouth on you.

He wants to put his hands all over you, not to check to see where it hurts, but to check where you feel good. Where you like to be touched the most.

The size of his want terrifies him.

He tries to control it. To laugh, and joke, to pat your head, mess up your hair. He wears a new mask, over his old one.

Wholesome apple boy, who has never once imagined putting his tongue in his sister’s mouth.

And then, one night, you have your first nightmare. About what, you never say. You tell him you don’t remember. He doesn’t know if he believes you. It drives him insane, not knowing.

He hears you, your hoarse cry, in his sleep. He jolts up in bed, hears it again. Gran will sleep through it, as she always slept through the side effects of the pills, slept through when you had the flu.

It’s up to him, to go to you.

He stands in the doorway of your room, and feels so big. A looming monster, his shadow stretching across your bedroom floor, blanketing your small body. You’ve always been small, but this time, the first time you reach for him in the night, body and nightclothes wet with sweat, you feel so fragile to him, in his big arms. He could crush you.

It terrifies him.

It turns him on.

He’s a liar, and he’s so, so selfish.

He is an endless hole of voracious destruction, and you are the only thing that fills him.

He clutches you to him, makes another selfish decision. Instead of stripping your bed, helping you put on new sheets, tucking you back in, he takes you to his own bed. Pulls you close against his body, under the covers. Blanketing you with his own smell, his own arms. His.

You fall asleep like that. He stays awake, his body aching painfully with want. If you notice how hard he is in the morning, tucked against your back, your ass, you never say anything.

Your worst nights are his favorite nights.

He’s so, so selfish.

After so many years together, you have fully come out of your shell, when you’re with him. Not only do you turn to him for comfort, reveal your smile, only to him, you also show him the full spectrum of your inner world, your feelings. From sorrow, fear, need—to frustration, rage. You hold it in at school, carefully blank, until you get home, and then you explode.

He loves it.

It’s a fireworks show that only he ever gets to see. He’s relieved that you have so much fire inside of you, after spending so long being afraid to express it.

He feels a sense of accomplishment, for being the soil in which you could flourish in all of your explosive colors.

Only he gets the privilege of watching your face, watching you throw things, screaming about your stupid schoolmates, your stupid teachers, the shit you hear people still saying about you.

He notes names. He catches the plates, the glasses, the vases. He absorbs it all, a gravity field pulling everything into him, into the hungry black hole at the heart of him. Whatever you have to give, he’ll take. He’s strong enough for the both of you.

After you seem to lose steam, he pulls you into his arms. I wish I could create a world with just the two of us. He savors how you melt into him, let him get so close to you, when you don’t even seem to be aware of anyone else in the world unless they draw your attention to them by being mean to you. You’re perfect just the way you are.

It occurs to him that he doesn’t like the fact that your attention is drawn to the people who say things about you.

So he’ll fix it. For you. And for him. He wants you to pay attention only to him.

He’s so, so selfish.

Do you feel better? He’ll ask, as your breathing slows, your heart rate lowers. You nod into his big chest, and it feels so, so good.

Sometimes, he pulls you to him too quickly, before you’re done exploding. You’ve bitten him, more than once.

The first time, you bit so hard that the mark lasted for weeks. Deep red marks from your cute, sharp teeth, buried in the meat between his thumb and forefinger.

He jerked himself with that hand, multiple times, every night, until the marks faded. Each time, he couldn’t take his eyes off the proof of your teeth in his flesh.

He wants to mark you in turn.

The size of his want terrifies him.

He is a black hole, and he is hungry. And you are the only thing that can fill him.

The kids at school who made the unfortunate decision of shit-talking you, of pulling your attention away from him, find items of contraband in their lockers that they never put there. They find themselves being accused of plagiarizing on extra credit papers that they never turned in. Their boyfriends, or girlfriends, break up with them, claiming they have a crush on someone new. Someone really popular, who unexpectedly paid so much attention to them that they felt like they were the only people in the world.

Sad really, that once they had broken up with their partner, he seemed to lose complete interest in them.

He is selfish, and he is a black hole, and he is hungry.

But once people learn not to fuck with you because of his efforts, your fits of fury become less frequent.

He misses them.

He wants you to explode all over him, like you used to.

He begins to intentionally provoke you, telling himself it’s healthy for you to be challenged, pestered, to face adversity, feel all your big feelings, and then safely let them go, into his gravity well, the deep well of his want.

When he eats your ice cream, he ends up hurting you much more than he intended. Denying you as his sister, again.

He hates it. He hates that he hurts you, every time.

He has to hope that you’ll forgive him, someday. That someday, you’ll understand why.

For now, he tries to soothe you with all of your favorite ice cream. A plan he already had in mind when he ate the last of the old stuff. You let him make you feel a little better, at least. He has to hope that someday, you’ll understand why he can’t fully make it up to you yet, because he has no idea what he’ll do if you don’t.

If you were to drift away, pull away from him, spin off into the universe without him, he would explode, collapse. The mass of his emotions—fear, anger, guilt, love, want, so much want—would implode, collapse, compound into the ever hungry black hole of his soul.

He would be lost without you anchoring him.

He’s so selfish. He hates himself. He can’t stop himself.

He is no longer satisfied, with you simply coming to him when you’re upset. Hugging him when you’re scared, and overwhelmed, recharging yourself like he’s a battery pack and you’re an empty little triple A.

He wants you to come to him when you’re happy. Because you’re as drawn to him as he is to you.

He always finds a reason to be in the bathroom at the same time you are, before school, or getting ready for bed. He brushes his teeth while you shower. He watches your blurry form in the mirror, and barely resists the urge to throw open the curtain, every time. To climb in with you, clothes on, and kiss your wet mouth. Get on his knees, and see where else you’re wet.

He hates himself. He can’t stop himself.

When he does pushups, he asks for your help. Your light weight on his back does nothing for his workout, but feeling your hands on his sweat-slick skin keeps him up at night in the same way your bite marks do.

He brings you the tiger balm, feeling so transparent, so pathetically obvious, insisting you help him apply it to his back.

He stares at your face in the mirror. Your little frown of concentration. The color in your cheeks again. He can feel your heartbeat in your fingertips along his skin. He wants to pull your hands from his back, place them on his chest, his big pecs. He wants to guide your hands lower, lower, past the hair beginning at his navel, down below the band of his basketball shorts. He wants you to take your hot little hands and wrap them around his big dick, tiger balm at all, make it sting for him, as he burns under your touch.

He is so, so selfish, and he hates himself.

He is an endless hole of voracious destruction, and you are the only thing that fills him.

He knows you’re isolated, that he’s all you’ve ever really had to fulfill any, every role for you. He knows you want him, that you watch him, that the color rises in your cheeks now when he’s close, but he’s so scared that it’s just a result of your isolation, of your dependence on him.

He’s so selfish, and he’s a coward. He’s so scared that if he acts, he’ll somehow be hurting you, exploiting you.

If you accept him, he’ll never know for sure if you love him for him or simply because he was the only one there. But you never show interest in anyone else.

He’s afraid that if you reject him, you’ll also end up hating him, and you’ll spin away from him into the dark velvet night.

He has to wait. Until you’re older, until you’ve seen more of the world. So that you’re sure you want him, after experiencing other things and people.

The idea makes him want to go supernova.

But no matter how selfish he is, he has to offer you the opportunity to know more than just him. And he needs to know your feelings for him are real. Maybe that’s a form of selfishness too, as he watches in satisfaction as your want for him, his big body, makes you pant, lean toward him as if pulled by gravity, as your brow furrows, and the yearning on your face is obvious for only him to read as your frustration grows when he doesn’t act.

It turns him on, seeing how much you want him.

It infuriates him, seeing how much people want you.

And you can feel it. He can see how your body tenses, how you begin to freeze, being the object of so many gazes.

It’s the worst at track practice, when you’re wearing those tiny as fuck running shorts. It boggles his mind, how they’re part of the standard track uniform for the girl’s team.

His teammates, the other guys, openly gawk at your long, beautiful, naked legs. At your easy, graceful gate around the track.

He wants to use his evol to yank their eyes right out of their skulls.

Instead, he focuses on your needs first.

Jogs over you, blocks your view of their leering.

You look up at him, your big bright eyes calming as he looks down into them. He lets his hands wander, like they always want to do. Fingering the hem of the shorts. Touching you, where no one else can. Where no one else will ever be able to.

Just because he wants to let you experience the world, does not mean the world gets to touch you. He’ll make sure of it.

You agree to put on his compression shorts.

His dick is rock hard in his own shorts, as he helps you change, as you lift your legs, one by one, as his barbell-roughened hands drift along your soft thighs, clutching the slippery material in his fingers, as he inhales the scent of your body, as you stare down into his eyes with your desire filling them like unshed tears. Tears he wants to make you cry.

You’re so fucking sweet. He loves you when you’re furious, spitting and biting. And he loves you when you’re like this, trusting him with your body, your needs, pliant and docile.

All for him. Only for him.

After, you seem calm, comfortable in your own skin again. You run so fast, your hair a flag behind you, as if you’re declaring war.

He turns to the guys who were ogling you, endures their stupid fucking jokes and sleazy comments. He bides his time. Waits until practice is over, and they’re in the boy’s locker room.

He pulls an apple from his duffle, floats it in the air.

Hey.

His voice is low, serious in a way it rarely is. It echoes through the mostly empty locker room, bouncing between the metal lockers, the tiled floor. It pulls their attention, the jarring disparity between his current tone and how he normally sounds.

Their eyes widen as they see evidence of his evol for the first time. Everyone knows he has it. But he doesn’t use it at school. He doesn’t need it to stand out. He saves its tricks, its delights, for you, and you alone.

About the bullshit you were spouting on the track. She’s not my sister. And you don’t look at her.

They glance nervously at each other, the obvious, imperious order rankling their juvenile egos.

One of them pipes up. What’s the big deal? If she’s not your sister, why do you care who looks at her?

This asshole isn’t entitled to an answer from him. Doesn’t matter. You just don’t fucking look at her. He forces calm authority into his voice. Forces himself to smile, to wear the lower part of the mask, the part that doesn’t reach his eyes.

One of the guys, the one who always says the most disgusting shit about girls, about guys he doesn’t think are masculine enough, scoffs. What’re you gonna do to us, huh? You gonna chew my ass, like you chew your dumbass apples?

The other guys exchange nervous glances, nervous chuckles.

I’m not interested in your ass, bro. He grins. It probably looks wrong, based on their reactions. I’ll just… he begins, casually. He flicks his wrist.

The apple explodes, as if crushed by hammer—the pieces of the fruit spatter the faces and chests of the guys standing around him with wet, fleshy impacts. The pieces that would have hit him fall to the ground with heavy-sounding splats.

He smiles cheerfully into the ringing silence. We good?

The fuckhead still doesn’t seem to have quite gotten the memo. He swats the apple sticking to his face, sneers. You’re so full of shit. A golden boy like you with your entire future ahead of you wouldn’t commit murder over a piece of ass.

Caleb sighs. Leans back. Shrugs. True. Killing your dumbass outright isn’t worth being sent to prison. But you know, he says thoughtfully. He spreads his legs wide on the bench. Talks like he’s just shooting the shit, waves his hand leisurely. Accidents happen, all the time. You’re throwing a baseball, and suddenly something snaps in your shoulder. It would be a shame, if you could never throw a ball again. Or say, you’re about to cross the finish line, and you step funny, you know? And you never do walk right, after that. Or you’re playing basketball, and suddenly, poof—burst aneurysm, bleeding out, right in your brain. That shit can happen to even the healthiest of athletes. Just, bad luck, man. The human body is so fragile. As fragile as the skin of an apple.

The guys stare at him in silence. A droplet of water drips from a showerhead, splashes onto the floor. Even the biggest idiot seems to be at a loss for words.

He smiles, smiles, smiles.

Don’t look at her ever again, and you won’t have to worry about all that. He gets to his feet, slings his duffel over his shoulder. Puts his hands in his pockets. Whistles, as he meanders out of the locker room.

Later, he’s doing the household’s laundry. He’s lifting dirty clothes out of the combined dirty clothes basket from the bathroom, and your little slippery running shorts fall out of the handful he’s trying to stuff into the washer.

He stares at them on the floor. Slowly puts the stuff in his hand in the machine, thinking.

He’s a black hole, and he’s so fucking hungry.

He squats down, lifts the shorts. They’re tiny, in his big hands. He sits quietly, listening. You’re upstairs in his room, doing homework. Gran’s at work. He’ll hear you, if you come down. You tromp through the house like an elephant. It’s adorable.

He lifts the shorts to his face, shoves his nose in them. Inhales.

He’s squatting at your feet again, in the locked bathroom at school. He’s looking up at you, your chest rising and falling with your rapid breath. He can smell you, the intensity of your excitement at the proximity of his face to where you want him the most. As he opens his mouth, as he extends his tongue to the built-in underwear of the little slip of fabric, he imagines that he’s back in that bathroom, leaning forward, bringing the flat of his tongue between your legs. He imagines that you thread your pretty hands in his hair and pull him closer, urging his tongue deeper into you. He imagines, as he fills his mouth with as much of the fabric as he can, breathing through his nose, that you come on his face, with your soft noises of pleasure echoing through the tiled bathroom.

He comes in his pants.

He hates himself, as he pulls your shorts out of his mouth. As he places them gently into the washer. He hates himself, but he can’t stop himself. He knows he’ll do this again, and again, until he can have the real thing.

That was towards the end, of everything.

Even as he was packing his bags, he didn’t see it coming.

He made you so many promises that he, in all of his youthful hubris, believed he could keep. About how often he’d be home. About how often he could be in touch. About how close he’d still be able to stay to you, through time and distance.

He lifted you with his evol in a field of wildflowers, watched your lovely hair float around your beautiful face, and he came so close to losing control, and kissing your soft lips.

He made you so many promises, and he broke one the first day he was gone.

Because when he arrived for basic training, they took his phone away, and didn’t give it back for six weeks. Something about fostering camaraderie with his fellow cadets. Bullshit.

It got worse from there. Basic training. Specialized training. Combat missions. Flight missions. He was either out of range, or the op required radio silence. He was determined to reach the highest ranks. To be able to best provide for you. But that required confidentiality, restricted security clearances. More and more things he couldn’t talk about. More and more important holidays and events he was forced to miss.

And then one day he came home, after having been away on a longer-than-usual undercover mission, and instead of his still, quiet girl with the serious face, who only smiled for him, who crawled all over him, and treated him like her personal servant, who blew up at him, bit him, screamed, threw shit at him, and was the sweetest little thing, soft and pliant in his arms, only for him, waiting for him, he found…

You. Wearing a mask so obvious that he could see its ribbon tied through your lovely hair.

By the time he finally made it home again, he had already lost you.

You smiled at him, and it didn’t reach your eyes. You smiled at Gran. You smiled at the checkout boy at the corner store. You smiled at random fucking strangers on the street.

You smiled, smiled, smiled.

You smiled, and it looked wrong on your lovely face. Not the smile of when you’re flying, when he would make you fly.

Something artificial, and empty. Your smile was a pot, filled with a plastic flower instead of a living rose.

You talked about your friends at school. Your sudden, numerous extra-curricular activities.

You smiled at him so politely, with such empty eyes, he wanted to flip the fucking table.

You treated him like a stranger.

No matter what he did, no matter how much he poked you, teased you, tried to corner you and interrogate you about your sudden change, you slipped away, with a false, cheerful laugh.

He wanted to crush his own eardrums, instead of hear that fucking fake laugh again.

And then he had to go back to the DAA.

He had to keep leaving you, and the visits in between became fewer, and fewer, as his training intensified, as he failed psych eval after psych eval, despite his perfect marks in everything else, his perfect mask that drew people to him like flowers to the sun.

You stop responding to his calls, his texts.

He can’t get you to respond, but he can use his newly acquired hacking skills, his new security clearances, to keep track of you even if you won’t even say hello.

When he gets back from one particularly grueling, strange mission in the Deepspace Tunnel, he reconstructs your movements of the past few weeks based on your phone’s location, your socials. He sees that your phone spent the night at an unfamiliar address. It’s not one of your new friend’s places. You’ve never done that before. You stay at your dorm. You stay at friends’. You stay at Gran’s.

He breaks so many security regulations, civil rights laws, identifying the person who lives there.

Some random guy, who is built just like Caleb. Big, tall. Handsome, dark hair.

Caleb sits on his bunk, his hand over his mouth.

He feels like he needs to vomit.

He has never vomited after the highest g-force training required by the DAA, but he needs to vomit imagining you letting someone else touch you, exposing your most vulnerable self to him, while wearing your fucking mask.

Caleb wanted your first time to be soaked in pure, overwhelming love. To be with someone who’d watch every single fleeting expression on your beautiful face, who would kill himself to make you feel cherished, to make you feel as good as physically possible. To feel safe enough to wear your real face, the whole time, safe enough to tell him what you want, so he can give you everything you deserve.

And Caleb knows that he is the only person in the universe who could give you that, in the way that you deserve. He was built to protect you. His purpose is to love you. You are his anchor, his twin star, the only thing keeping him from exploding into blinding supernova light, collapsing into his own devouring dark. He knows you best. He knows everything about you, and he would use that knowledge to make you feel like you were flying as he made love to you.

What if that fucker hurt you? What if he made you cry?

Caleb rushes to the toilet, vomits for the first time in years.

While Caleb was hallucinating about the past, present, future, lifetimes that haven’t happened yet, reliving strange memories of being in a lab, observed through glass, as he was adrift in deep space during his last mission that so quickly went sideways, dying from oxygen deprivation, you were having your first one-night stand.

You fucked a guy that looked just like him.

The only thing that prevents that motherfucker from suffering a terrible, unfortunate accident, is the fact that you ghost him, after.

Caleb knows, because he tracks every fucking thing you do, after that, every time he is within range in Skyhaven.

He forces himself to check, to look at your socials, to see who’s posing in pictures with you. He forces himself to know, when your phone starts to spend time at random peoples’ places, almost every weekend.

Each time, a different guy. Each time, they look like Caleb.

Each time, their lives are spared because you ghost them.

He tells himself that there’s still time, a chance, to salvage things. To make up for every single grievance you have against him. To make up for every promise he didn’t mean to break.

Your fake smile tells him that he is no longer your safe space. But he can rebuild himself for you, turn himself into what you need to feel safe, protected, cared for, cherished. He did it once, when you came home for the first time.

He just has to do it again.

You’re an adult now. You’re a Hunter now.

He comes home on a break. You politely pour him water. He smiles at you with his mask, and you smile at him with its twin on your face. He did this to you. But he will make it right.

He’s going to tell you. This visit. Before he goes back to Skyhaven. He’s going to tell you, how much he loves you, not as a brother, but as a man, and always has. How he’s finally in a place to care for you, as an adult, without the restrictions of childhood, of societal expectations. He’s going to tell Gran about how he has never felt like you were his sister.

He almost loses his shit, when he sees the scratch on your arm, when you insist on sending him to the store instead of letting him back you up while you investigate the alert on your Hunter’s watch. So desperate to show him how much you don’t need him anymore.

He breathes deeply. Says something stupid, out of frustration, about hiding your bloodied sleeve from Gran.

You say something biting to him in return, your own mask slipping a little, as your genuine frustration, your anger at him slips through. He cherishes it, feels triumph rise in him.

Yeah, he’s gonna make things right. He’s going to tell you that he loves you, and that he’s yours, and always has been. He’ll beg, if he has to, for you to say that you are his in return.

He goes into the house first.

On a bright, sunny day, filled with determined hope for the future, Caleb Xia dies in the bright, supernova flash he always knew had been waiting for him.

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace caleb #caleb x reader #caleb x mc #my fanfic

117 notes · View notes

decojellyfish · 2 days ago

Note

First. I love your work! Just the whole writing and stuff is so AAAAAAAA wonderful.

Second. Idk if its a gonna be a bother or something but i reread the Bonbon fanfic and thought if you could do a part 2. With the idea of because ghost is already a rescue price then brings another rescue home like gaz or soap.

I HOPE IM NOT BOTHERING YOU IM SORRYYYY

You're not a bother at all! In fact, I should be apologizing to you for taking so long with this! I hope it was worth the wait, enjoy! This is the official part 2 of Bonbon! (Go give it a read if you're interested :))

------

Boom! Boom!

Hybrid AU! TF141 (Retired) Guard Dog! Ghost x (Retired) Fight Dog! Soap x Kitten! Reader x Owner! Price Reader is only addressed as 'you' !!No Romance Towards Reader For Obvious Purposes!!

SFW ~ Fluff

Warnings: Occasional swearing? There’s barely any

𝗡𝗼𝘄 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘆𝗶𝗻𝗴: "Cute Circus - Twintail Tsundere" 0:09 ━●────────── 2:47 ◁ㅤ ❚❚ ㅤ▷

───♡───────────── Beginning It had been a year since you’d been adopted by Price and a few things have changed.

First of all, you had forgotten what it felt like to be starving or what you smelled like when they’d first found you. Bubble baths were a routine part of your week, and you loved playing with your toys and scratching posts. Sometimes, when you’d be mad, you would take it out on your scratching post, or if you were feeling rebellious, you would commit the cardinal sin of doing it on the couch. But you also loved snuggling. Whether it was Price or Ghost, you loved curling up on their lap under a blanket with one of your toys. Sometimes it would be the only thing that would get you to fall asleep.

Price enjoyed the extra company and finally had someone to accompany Ghost while he was gone. Price had never really taken on a father role in his life until you came into the picture. At points, he felt like the best father figure anyone could ask for; other times, he wondered if he knew anything at all about parenting. Sometimes, he felt like he was being too mean to you, snuggling with you after a small quarrel as an act of both apologizing and forgiving.

Ghost, on the other hand, felt as if you weren’t disciplined enough. He felt like you were a little brat, getting into trouble all the time with the blame usually falling on Ghost’s shoulders. You were a little angel in Price’s eyes, only to turn around and kick Ghost out of his usual spots around the house, running it like you owned the place. But only he was allowed to be your bully. Any time you, him, and Price were out and another hybrid tried to get smart with you, a kitten, Price would have to physically hold Ghost back as he barked up a storm about how he was gonna turn them into fish food by drowning them.

But all in all, things were nice.

Then came along the mutt from the forest.

You had been playing in the yard for about an hour, Ghost was supervising you to make sure you didn’t run off into the woods. He was bored, but still kept his ears perked for any sign of danger… which he quickly caught a whiff of. He stood up from his seated position in the grass and made his way over to where the mouth of the forest began.

There was a small forest that resided in the backyard of Price’s neighborhood. You were only ever allowed to go in there under the supervision of both Ghost and Price. So when you saw Ghost slowly venturing out into the woods, you knew something was up. Your little ears perked up, your fluffy tail swishing with childlike curiosity.

So naturally, as the little kitten you were, you did the sensible thing.

You silently followed behind Ghost, not alerting him of your presence. He was too focused on finding the danger and keeping it from coming any closer to his family.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Ghost was following a certain scent, it seemed to belong to a burly one, built similarly to him. They smelled sweaty, musky, and… scared? No, angry. No, scared? A mix of both? It was a marbled mess of both emotions.

His ears twitched in one direction, sensing a rapidly approaching figure. He quickly turned his body to face the figure head-on, ready to attack. His guard dog instincts kicked in with a small snarl as he eyed the violent dog approaching. That’s when a little thing caught his attention in the corner of his eye.

It was you!

What the hell were you doing here?! How did you follow him so silently?? Probably because you were a cat, but that’s beside the point. He looked at your tiny form with wide eyes, “What are you doing here?! Get back to the house! Now-!” He was cut off when he suddenly got tackled.

The two bulky figures collided, rolling and flying across the rough ground, causing you to yelp in alarm.

Ghost let out a growl, grabbing the figure by their shoulders and forcing them away, ready to bark their arse off before something made him stop. His eyes were wide and his mouth awkwardly hanging open. The figure, another dog-hybrid, had also stopped and was now catching his breath as he stared down at Ghost with a similar expression.

It was silent for a few moments, just the two canines panting for air with their bewildered expressions. The mysterious pup was first to break the silence.

“Ghost?”

“Soap?” Ghost replied, just as astonished as Soap was.

“Ghost!” Soap rejoiced, pulling his brother from another mother close into a hug. “Oi, where’ve ya been?? How’s retirement goin’???” He had a giant smile on his face, his tail wagging so much that it was causing his hips to move side to side as well slightly.

“Eh, it’s been good. Eventful. Why the hell are you all roughed up? They kick you out or somethin’?” “Uhh, it’s complicated.” Soap chuckled. “Let’s jus’ say, I got roped into underground fightin’ and now I’m also retired.” He laughed a little more while Ghost looked at him slightly confusedly.

“Oh, hey! No mask!” Soap pointed out, now holding Ghost’s head and examining his face. “Aye, I knew you were a blondie!” “Yes, Soap, being retired means there’s no need to hide my identity.” Ghost sighed as he was forcefully examined by his old friend.

Soap smiled from dog-ear to dog-ear as he finally got to see the face of his good friend, looking at each scar, wrinkle, and bump his face had to offer. “You’re quite the looker, Ghost.” He smirked before he was abruptly attacked by a little thing.

You meowed and hissed as you latched onto the weird man who decided to attack the man who was like a big brother in your eyes. Your claws were tiny, but you spent a fair amount of time with your scratching posts so you knew how to hook them in. The man yowled and reached back, quickly plucking you off of him as his chipped ears pinned to the back of his head.

You kept hissing and scratching the air in his direction while he and Ghost looked at each other, Soap was obviously more confused while Ghost was trying to hold back a chuckle. “Who the hell is this??” “Uh… they’re with me, Soap.”

Soap looked at his best friend with eyes as wide and big as saucers, “...you had a kid?!” He looked at you again before looking back down, “...with a cat?!”

Ghost just had to stifle his chuckles, his head slightly shaking back and forth. He had to contain his laughter before finally telling Soap the whole story about you.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Price had finally returned home after a long, tiring shift at work. With a soft thud, he set his bag down near the front door and took his coat off.

“I’m home!” He called out, his gravelly voice laced with a hint of exhaustion. His eyes perked up at the muffled sound of you playing outside, with Ghost he assumed. Your happy giggles and squeals, an occasional shriek of surprise followed by more laughter. It made him smile knowing you were getting proper time outside despite the temperatures gradually decreasing as autumn approached.

Walking to the back door, Price opened it expecting to see two hybrids playing in the backyard but was surprised when he saw three, even after trying to recount them to make sure he wasn’t losing his mind. For a moment Price thought it was a feral hybrid who had planned on attacking his family, but realized you weren’t in any danger while Ghost was still supervising.

You were playing with the feral hybrid, and he was playing with you. He would chase you, you would chase him, ride on his back while he ran around, and laugh as he put on a show for you as he chased his tail in rapid, small circles. Still, Price was your father (in a sense) so he had to step in.

“Ghost,” he shouted at the blonde pup, “What’s all this?” Ghost looked over at the old man, offering a reassuring smirk. “Just an old work buddy, or friend. Can we keep ‘im?” He chided, his tail slightly wagging. Price only sighed, already knowing there was only one correct answer.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

So now, this is your current life. Ghost watching as you and Soap play around in the living room, lazily attempting to play with you on the couch, and Price shouting from the kitchen, as he’s making dinner, to be careful and not knock anything over.

Soap would always get this guilty look on his face when he was told this, knowing he was the culprit behind the murder of a few innocent standing vases and decor.

You loved playing with him, especially when he would play this game where he pretended you were a bomb that he had to drop (safely onto the couch, of course). He would do a dramatic countdown, “3…2…1!” and then plop you right onto the couch cushion then the two of you would chant, “Boom! Boom!”

Then, he would tickle you relentlessly until Ghost barked at him to stop because he didn’t like your little giggle-shriek sounds. Soap would stop, then make Ghost his next target by scratching behind his scarred ears. This caused Ghost to kick one of his legs uncontrollably, making you giggle.

There were times when you didn’t like Soap as much. Sometimes, he would take a bit of food from your plate without you noticing, making you through a small hissyfit when he finally took a noticeable amount. Other times, he would bark at you to stop scratching at the armrests of the couch before gesturing to all the other scratching posts you had.

In return, you would give him… the silent treatment.

Which lasted about 5 or 10 minutes until you asked him to play with you, which he happily agreed to with a small chuckle.

But the most enjoyable part of your days now was in the evenings after dinner. When you’d be curled up between Price and Ghost, your head in Price’s lap as he kept a hand scratching your head, and Ghost keeping a hand on your back or belly (depending on which position you were resting in) as he felt the subtle rise and fall of your lungs as you drifted off.

Soap usually sat on the floor, his head close to yours, so your relaxed purrs went directly into his ear. This made his tail wag with a repetitive soft thumping. All of you were probably settled down for a movie of some sort or just stayed in the living room for a small chat. Not like you were paying any attention though, you were just there to fall asleep.

However, other times, Price would read you a bedtime story instead. With Ghost and Soap sitting by you for extra security as you fell asleep that way, still loudly purring and making biscuits out of your blankie.

They would all wait for your purrs to fade out and biscuits to slow to an eventual stop, signaling that you had fallen asleep, and now was the tricky part of tiptoeing away from your little cat bed without waking you up.

Once they were successful, they would close the door, leaving it open with a small crack to allow a little light to pour in. They all snuck one last peek at you before leaving with a content sigh or grunt.

They loved how you took them on all sorts of adventures with occasional mischief.

They loved their lives

And they loved you. ───♡───────────── End

I hope you enjoyed it, everypony!! Thank you all so much for your patience. Feel free to leave a request! (I make no promises they'll be finished quickly though ;0; I still need to go to college and make art lol) ------ Taglist: @venavanup @draculauraspage @tf141gloryhole @obnoxiousbag @chanel-princess-world @ssc7514

If you would like to be added to the taglist so you can read my latest fics, let me know! Thank you :)

85 notes · View notes

lazysoulwriter · 17 hours ago

Text

Yes, it's her. - Lewis Hamilton.

Summary: Y/N and Lewis Hamilton have always been spotted together, hand in hand, leaving people to speculate about their relationship. While they found the rumors amusing, Lewis wanted to make it official. It was just a simple request to date—no big deal—so why was he so nervous? With his usual charm and a lot of cheesy jokes, he takes a leap, hoping she’ll say yes.

The evening had started like any other. The two of you had ordered takeout and were sprawled on the couch, lazily scrolling through Netflix to find something neither of you would actually pay attention to.

“Rom-com?” Lewis asked, scrolling past 10 Things I Hate About You.

“Too predictable.”

“Action?” He paused on a Marvel movie.

“Too loud.”

“Horror?”

You shot him a look, and he smirked. “Too scary for you, babe?”

“I’m not scared. I just don’t feel like spending the night listening to you scream.”

He laughed, tossing the remote onto the coffee table. “Fine. No movie. Let’s just sit here and bask in each other’s presence.”

“Oh, how romantic,” you teased, pulling your legs up onto the couch.

Lewis shifted beside you, his knee bouncing ever so slightly. You noticed but said nothing. It wasn’t unusual for him to fidget—he was always full of energy—but tonight felt different.

“You okay?” you finally asked, leaning your head on his shoulder.

“Yeah, of course,” he said quickly, his voice just a tad too high-pitched to be convincing.

“Lewis…”

He turned to you with a grin that was a little too wide. “What? Can’t a man enjoy some quality time with his favorite person?”

“Are you sure you’re not hiding something? You’re acting weird.”

“Me? Weird? Never.” He reached for his wine glass, taking a sip that lasted just a little too long.

You raised an eyebrow. “Are you nervous about something? Did you crash another car?”

He nearly choked on his wine. “What? No! Why would you even say that?”

“Because the last time you acted like this, you accidentally ran over my potted plant with your electric scooter.”

He groaned, covering his face. “You’re never letting that go, are you?”

“Not a chance.”

He chuckled, but the nervous energy didn’t leave him. Instead, he leaned back, pulling you closer until your head was resting on his chest. His fingers played with the ends of your hair, and you could feel his heart beating faster than usual.

“You know,” he started, his tone lighter now, “the paparazzi think we’re already dating.”

You smiled, recalling the many headlines you’d seen: ‘Lewis Hamilton and Mystery Woman: Romance or Friendship?’ or ‘Spotted Again: Are They or Aren’t They?’

“They’re pretty creative,” you said. “Remember the one where they said we were secretly engaged?”

“Oh, and the one about us having a secret baby?”

You both burst out laughing, the tension in his body easing slightly.

“I mean, it’s kind of funny,” he said. “They’re all desperate to figure it out.”

“Well, let them keep guessing. It’s more fun this way.”

“Yeah… but what if we didn’t make them guess anymore?”

You froze for a moment, lifting your head to look at him. “What do you mean?”

He cleared his throat, suddenly looking everywhere except at you. “I mean… what if we, you know, made it official?”

You stared at him, waiting for him to elaborate. “Lewis, are you asking me out right now?”

His cheeks flushed, and he laughed nervously. “Okay, this is not going how I planned.”

“You had a plan?”

“Kind of. But then I got nervous, and now I’m rambling, and I don’t know why because this should be easy, right? It’s just… I like you. Like, really like you. And I know we’ve never called it anything, but I want to. I want to call you mine, officially. So… will you?”

For a moment, you just blinked at him, trying to process his words. Then, a grin spread across your face. “You’re such a dork.”

“Is that a yes?”

You rolled your eyes, leaning forward to kiss him softly. “Of course, it’s a yes.”

The relief on his face was palpable, and he let out a dramatic sigh. “Thank God. I was about to start sweating.”

“You were already sweating,” you teased.

“Okay, rude.” He pulled you closer, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “But you said yes, so I’ll let it slide.”

Later that night, after the excitement had settled and you were both curled up on the couch again, Lewis grabbed his phone.

“What are you doing?” you asked, peeking over his shoulder.

“Posting something,” he said, his tone casual.

You groaned. “Lewis…”

“Relax, it’s nothing big.”

He showed you the screen. It was a photo he’d taken of you earlier that evening, laughing mid-bite of your dinner, entirely candid. The caption read: “Yes. It’s her.”

You covered your face with a pillow. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it,” he said, grinning as he hit post.

You couldn’t argue with that.

#lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton fanfic #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton x you #lewis hamilton x y/n #lewis hamilton imagines #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton fanfics #lewis hamilton fanfiction #lewis hamilton scenarios #lewis hamilton scenario #lewis hamilton fluff

89 notes · View notes

sissylittlefeather · 2 days ago

Text

If You Talk In Your Sleep

Chapter 3

A/N: As soon as I warned you that I wouldn't be writing anymore, I turned around and wrote a chapter 😂. I won't be churning stuff out like I used to, but I am going to try to write when I can, for my own sanity. ICYMI, this is the one with Elvis set in Vegas in 1969 and you're a Casino Boss's wife. I hope you enjoy it!

Need to catch up? Masterlist HERE.

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, smut, kissing, oral sex (m receiving), p in v sex, reader calls Elvis "daddy", he spanks her a couple times, and they drink alcohol

Word count: ~3.5k

“It is morning.” His eyes pop open and you look at each other in terror.

“Oh fuck.”

******

You leap out of bed as quickly as possible and jump in the shower. You've never washed so fast in your life, but you know if you go home smelling like Elvis it'll definitely be the end of both of you. You dry off quickly and put your clothes back on, running through the suite like a chicken with your head cut off. Elvis tries to help you as much as he can, but both of you have a sinking, sick feeling in your stomach that you don't think has anything to do with the champagne from last night. As soon as you're dressed, he calls one of his men to take you home and you stand there awkwardly as you wait for him.

“Elvis, I'm sorry–”

“It's okay, honey. I understand.” You look up at him with your eyes shiny and full of fear and something else entirely. Coming home in the daylight might be the last thing you ever do. And seeing Elvis again puts his life at risk too. You're not willing to do that, so you know this goodbye has to be long term at the very least, if not permanent. He leans in to kiss you softly just as a tall young man with shaggy brown hair busts through the door.

“Where's the fire, boss?” He asks, panting. It's clear Elvis woke him up and had him rush to get here.

“This little girl needs a ride to the Flamingo, as fast as possible.” Elvis turns to you. “Honey, this is Jerry. You can trust him. He'll take you home.”

You look up at Jerry and nod. His face is kind and soft and you see why Elvis trusts him. You turn back to Elvis.

“Elvis, I–”

“I know.” He cuts you off and kisses you one last time before hurrying you out the door with Jerry. As soon as you're gone, he drops onto the sofa and holds his head in both hands. He hates to admit it, but he's scared. Scared for you and scared for himself. His eyes fixate on the carpet as images of what might happen float up and he tries to block them out. He walks to the phone in his suite and dials the number of one of his bodyguards.

“Red, get everyone together. We need to talk.”

******

In the car, you try not to fidget too much as you ride in silence. You twist your ring around on your finger and sigh deeply.

“You alright?” Jerry asks, his voice quiet.

“Not really. I'm not sure what I'm going home to.” You're not sure why you're telling him this, but Elvis did say you could trust him.

“He wouldn't let anything happen to you. Not if he can help it.” You look up at him and he smiles sweetly.

“You don't know my husband.”

“No, but I know Elvis. It's been a while since he had the same girl come over twice and even longer since one stayed the night. I have orders to stay and make sure you're okay.” You shake your head frantically.

“That's really not necessary.”

“Maybe not. But I'm gonna do it anyway. If you need to get away, I'll be in the casino for a few hours.” You think to yourself that it sounds like a good way to get yourself beaten to a pulp, but he won't defy his boss’s orders for anything.

“Thank you.” He lets you get out a block away and then parks and heads into the casino. You make your way up to your suite, holding your head high and praying you don't run into any of the guys. At the door, you take a deep breath and then open it. It's unlocked.

“Where the fuck you been?” Carl is sitting on the couch waiting for you, but you've been working on this lie all morning.

“Out. I ran into Holly last night at the Tropicana and we drank way too much. Ended up crashing in a room there.” Carl stands and walks over to you and you thank God that you had the wherewithal to shower before you left.

“If I call Holly right now, she'll tell me the same story?” You stomach flip-flops. Holly is a girl you used to know back when you were a dancer. She knows Carl and was a pretty good friend, so you think there's a chance she might roll with it if you have to call her. You look him in the eye and lie boldly.

“Yeah, of course.” For a second, he just looks at you, trying to decide how much he really cares. But your lie must be convincing because he nods slowly. You breathe deeply, thinking you're in the clear, but he grabs your face in his meaty hand and squeezes.

“If I ever find out you're fucking lying, you will not enjoy what I do to you.”

“I'm not.” You spit it at him, but the effect is diminished by your cheeks being smushed. He lets you go aggressively and you rub your chin.

“I'm going out. I won't be home before work.” You nod and he heads out of the suite. As soon as he's gone, you sink to the floor and cry, your body wracked with sobs now that the adrenaline has worn off. You want to let Elvis know that you're in the clear, but you can't. Carl will have eyes on you for the next few days, so you'll have to stay home. That's a price you're willing to pay to keep Elvis alive, though, and you sigh deeply, relieved that Carl has bought your lie. For now.

******

You lay low and stay in your suite for the next few days, knowing if you go anywhere you'll be followed. So instead, you wait. Finally, almost a week later, you get bored and decide to go shopping. You assume it's safe now, since Carl hasn't said another word about you coming home that one morning. Still, when you walk through the casino downstairs, you can't shake the feeling that you're being watched and followed.

You try to ignore it and go about your business, wandering through stores and holding up articles of clothing to your body. If you are being followed, they won't see anything exciting. As you walk through one particular store, though, the feeling of being watched gets worse. You start to look around suspiciously for one of Carl’s guys, but you don't see anyone you recognize. Just as you're about to give up and go home, you turn and run smack into Jerry, gasping.

“Oh my god. You scared me.” You clutch your chest and try to calm your breathing.

“Sorry. Elvis wanted me to give you this.” He presses a shopping bag into your hand.

“Wait. How did you know I was here?” He turns a little pink and fidgets with his fingers.

“We've been in the casino all week waiting for you to come down with orders to follow you if you did. And give you that. So, just, look at it okay? I'll tell Elvis you got it.” You nod and he turns to walk away from you.

“Jerry, wait!” He looks around and turns back.

“Hmm?”

“How is he?” You ask quietly. Being without him is about to kill you and you miss him so much it hurts.

“He misses you. Just, look in the bag and do as he asks. He's so worried about you. None of us have slept much.” He's almost pleading with you, so you nod slowly and he gives you a half smile before turning and walking out of the store.

You run to the checkout counter to pay for what you want and then rush home, the bag that Jerry gave you tucked into your other shopping bag. You have no idea what's in it, so you want to hide it in case you get caught. When you get back to your suite, Carl has left for work, so you have the place to yourself. You quickly pull out the bag and dump the contents onto your bed.

Inside the bag is a dress, some jewelry, a masquerade mask, and a card. You open the card first.

Hey honey,

I miss you. Put this on and meet me at the Palomino Club at midnight.

Love,

Elvis

You try not to smile too much at his handwriting and the way he signed the note. Then, you look down at the contents of the bag. The mask makes sense now that you know where he's asking you to go. The Palomino Club is brand new in Vegas, a strip joint, where no one respectable goes. It's so seedy that most of the patrons wear these masks to keep their identity secret. You're not sure why he's asking you to meet him there, but you suspect it has something to do with the newness and perceived anonymity. Unless they follow you, Carl's men would never think to look for you there.

Upon further inspection, you realize that the mask is beautiful. It's peacock-feathers on a purple background and it'll cover most of your face when you put it on. The dress is deep turquoise, backless and silky, and matches the mask perfectly. You glance at your watch, realize it's almost 10pm, and start getting ready.

******

At 12:07, Elvis sits at a table in the Palomino Club and anxiously fiddles with a glass of whiskey that he's not drinking. He ordered it just to have something to do with his hands.

“Jer, she said she was comin’ right?” Jerry shrugs and nods. You didn't say one way or the other, but he's reluctant to tell his boss no. “Then where the hell is she?”

He adjusts his mask. It's gold and matches his belt that he's wearing over a deep purple crushed velvet suit. It's over the top and the belt probably gives away who he is, but it doesn't seem like anyone is paying any attention. Everyone in the club is too focused on the barely-clad dancers on the stage. The girls have come up to him a couple of times and offered dances, but he declines. He's tempted to say yes once, but he thinks of how it would look for you to come in while he's getting a lapdance from another woman, especially one as naked as the girls in this club. Honestly, he can't look directly at them without blushing anyway. He takes a sip of the whiskey and grimaces.

“Isn't that her?” Jerry gestures to the door and he turns quickly. Sure enough, there you are, a vision in your peacock mask, silky dress, and strappy gold sandals. He wonders how you knew to wear them, since they match his outfit.

You see him sitting at a table and start to make your way towards him. As you approach, he slips out of the chair and stands up, his mouth open a little.

“Wasn't sure you were comin’.” He leans in to kiss your cheek, lingers, and then moves over to your lips, kissing you softly. You smile as he hovers with his mouth just above yours, obviously desperate to kiss you for real.

“Well, I did. Now what?” He taps his nose against yours lightly and smiles.

“You need a drink.” You groan as he pulls back and takes your hand to lead you over to the bar. You order a cocktail and sip it as he wraps himself around you from behind, pressing his lips to your shoulder. “You look good enough to eat, honey.”

You giggle and lean back into him as he kisses your neck.

“You promise?”

“Would I lie?” You turn to face him and he pulls you into a deep kiss, dipping his tongue into your mouth. His arms wrap around your waist and before you know it, your bodies are flush against each other and he's grinding his hips into you. You're both oblivious to the outside world, too lost in the kiss and in each other. It completely catches you off guard when someone taps on your shoulder. You drag yourself out of the kiss and turn. It's one of the dancers.

“Would you two like a private dance in one of our fantasy rooms?” Elvis looks at the girl and then back at you. You're ready to say no, but he has that glint in his eye.

“I think we would, doll.” You look at him with your eyes wide and questioning, but he just kisses your cheek and puts his hand on your lower back to guide you to follow the dancer. At the door, she turns to face you both, pushing it open without stepping inside.

“For a hundred bucks I'll disappear and you can have this room to yourselves for the night.” Elvis grins.

“Great minds think alike. I was gonna ask if you could make this happen. Here.” He fishes a hundred dollar bill out of his pocket and hands it to her. She smiles and disappears as quickly as she appeared. “After you, honey.”

You walk in with him behind you. The room is just a round conversation pit with a built in circular plush couch covered with cushions. The whole thing is dark pink velvet with black trim and the walls are mirrors. The low ceiling is black velvet with mirrored medallions holding it in place and the lighting is low, but still enough to see. He shrugs and then settles on one of the couches. You walk to him and bend over, putting your hands on his knees.

“You been to a lot of places like this?” He looks down the front of your dress and grunts.

“Not at all. There aren't many.”

“So you haven't had a bunch of lapdances?” He raises an eyebrow, not sure where you're going with this.

“Not really, no.”

“You know I used to be a dancer.” His eyes get wide.

“Yeah?” You push him back against the couch and turn away from him, grinding your ass against his lap. The music is loud, but not too loud, so you bounce and roll to it rhythmically as you rub yourself on his already-hard cock. He reaches for your hips but you stand up and bend over in front of him, touching your toes and giving him a good view of your ass. He spanks one cheek and you yelp a little. “My turn to be the boss tonight.”

“Yes daddy.” You whimper as he spanks you again on the other cheek and grins at you calling him daddy.

“Turn around.” Eager to follow instructions, you turn and climb onto his lap, straddling his hips. He holds your ass in both hands as you begin to roll against him to the music. As you dance, you push one of the straps of your dress off your shoulder. He watches as you push the other one off too and let your dress fall open to your waist. The backless nature of the dress means you're not wearing a bra, so this simple action puts your whole chest on display for him. “Goddamn, baby.”

He moves to cup your breasts, pinching your nipples between his fingers. Pulling you towards him, he wraps his lips around one nipple and flicks it with his tongue. Once he's satisfied with how hard it is, he moves to the other side and does the same thing. He nibbles and sucks on you as you run your hands in the back of his hair.

“Fuck, Elvis.”

“I'm just gettin’ started.” He whispers and you smirk.

“Me too.” You sink to the floor between his knees and run your hands up his thighs. His muscles tense as you get closer and closer to his swollen cock. You coo seductively. “What d’you want, baby?”

“Mmm I want you to suck it.”

“Yes daddy.” Your hands go to his belt and then the zipper. He lifts his hips for you to pull his pants down just enough to get his member out, the tip of it leaking precum as it throbs. You pump him so slowly with your hand and he moans softly, watching you. Then, you lean forward and, pulling his foreskin back, lick the tip of his dick. He groans and leans his head back as you take him fully in your mouth, sliding your lips around him tightly and letting him hit the back of your throat. It's been a while since you've given a blowjob, but you used to be pretty good at it, so you tap into those skills as best you can. Either way, he seems to be enjoying it as he grunts and whimpers, his hand moving to the back of your head to hold your hair as he thrusts gently into your mouth. His hips roll as he fucks your face and he strokes your cheek.

“So pretty with your mouth full a’my cock, baby.” You moan softly around him. “Fuck, doll, I don't wanna cum yet.”

He gently pulls your head up off of him and moans as his hard dick bounces with being released from your lips.

“Aw, daddy. How do you want this pussy?” You giggle, standing up. You both still have your masks and half your clothes on, so you slip your panties off and climb into his lap, rubbing your wet folds against him, but not letting him inside. His hips buck and he grunts.

“I wanna fuck her good and hard, baby. Make her cum so good for me.”

His fingertips find your clit and he rubs circles on your swollen bud. You moan loudly and hold onto his shoulders for support.

“Take off everything but your mask.” His voice is quiet but firm, so you stand up and do exactly as he says. He does the same until you're both naked in just your masks. “Lay on your back.”

You settle onto the couch on your back and he puts your ankles on his shoulders, teasing your entrance with the head of this cock.

“You want it hard, baby?”

“God, yes!” You moan as he slams into you in one thrust, your eyes rolling back from being filled so quickly.

“Oh, honey, you take this cock so well.” He picks up an intense pace of thrusting into you and you could die because it feels so good. You're already close to an orgasm as he slams against your g-spot relentlessly, but it really pushes you over the edge when he reaches down to rub on your clit as he fucks you. “Come on, baby, cum for daddy.”

You do as you're told and groan loudly as your climax crashes into you like a freight train, filling your body with electric heat. He slows down just a little as you cum, trying to push off his own orgasm while your pussy squeezes his dick. Without warning, he leans down and picks you up, sitting back on his heels as he holds you in his arms and thrusts into you from underneath. In this position, you can kiss him easily, so you do and it's surprisingly tender. All of a sudden the sex has become something more, something that's binding you together as you look into each other’s eyes. It's like the masks remove the necessity for protective walls and the only thing left is vulnerability and something that shouldn't be there yet, but it is.

“Honey, I'm gonna cum.” He whispers it like a declaration of affection.

“Good.” Your affirmation is a confirmation that you feel the same way. Two more thrusts and he grunts and buries his head in your neck while his cock twitches and shoots his release inside you. He groans into your hair and tries desperately to keep himself from saying the words. It's too soon. Too early. He's only known you for a couple of weeks. But it's there, so close to the tip of his tongue that he's scared to open his mouth. And you wait, needing him to say it first because if you do it makes you insane. So you sit there for a few seconds, both of you refusing to admit what you know to be true. Even if it's stupid, unrealistic, short-lived, it is in fact, true.

He pulls back from his place in your neck and pushes the mask off of your face. Then, you take his off and there's nothing blocking you anymore. You see him and he sees you and there's no going back.

“Fuck. I'm in love with you.” He says it incredulously like he can't believe it either because he can't. It hangs there for a second like smoke before you whisper your response.

“I'm in love with you too.”

******

Until Next Time

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

@ccab @atleastpleasetelephone @aliypop @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @tacozebra051 @your-nanas-house @joshuntildawn13 @lookingforrainbows @60svintage @littlehoneyposts @epthedream69 @louisejoy86 @rjmartin11 @from-memphis-with-love @deltafalax @cinnamoroll-things @burnthheparaphilia @jhoneybees @cattcb @everythingelvispresley @returntopresley @searchingforgravity @msamarican @angschrof @lustnhim @polksaladava @librababe99 @hooked-on-elvis @theelvisprincess @makethemorning @peaceloveelvis @mrspresley69 @pxpresley @kxnnxy

#elvis presley #elvis #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis fanfic #elvis presley fic #elvis fanfiction #elvis smut #elvis fic #elvis presley smut #elvis presley x reader #elvis presley fanfic #elvis x y/n #elvis x you #elvis x reader #elvis presley x y/n #elvis presley x you #Spotify

70 notes · View notes

sunasbabie · 2 days ago

Text

little something for the birthday boy, also i haven't written in over 3 years LOL

it’s the 24th of january and it’s been 5 days since your boyfriend left for an away game, 5 days too long. you were never one to complain whenever rintaro went on away games, you understood that it was part of his job and you knew that even then when the two of you were both teenagers just figuring out your feelings for each other, but now that you’re together and used to seeing each other every day, it’s harder being away from him. especially when you want to spend his birthday with him and not just over the phone.

“how was the game today” you asked as you sat on the couch where you and your boyfriend would usually sit and catch up on shows you missed or movies you’ve been wanting to watch.

“it was a tight game babe, just like you” he chuckled “but we won”.

after knowing him for so long you’ve gotten used to how your boyfriend responds to things, you couldn't help but roll your eyes in response. he’s always been like this, always trying to make stupid jokes, you’d never admit it but it makes you smile everytime, even if they’re stupid.

“you’re so stupid” you stood up and walked towards the window, “i’m glad you guys won”

“yeah, i’m really tired though, can’t want to get home and lay in bed with you”

“i miss you rin” you couldn’t help but say the truth, you’ve never been one to not tell rin you’ve missed him or that you love him. that’s just how you’ve always been with him and that’s one of the reasons why he fell in love with you.

rin smiled to himself upon hearing you say that, of course he knew that but hearing you say that you’ve missed him makes him happy, “i miss you too baby, don’t worry i’ll be home on the 26th”

you frown upon hearing his response, you wanted to spend his birthday with him but apparently this year you couldn’t cause he was out of town.

“aww so you won’t be here for your birthday?” you pouted as if he could see your face right now

“no i won’t, but i’m free the entire day when i get back, we can do something then”

“okay, no complaining about being tired okay cause i’ve got something planned” you grip your phone, excited at the thought of seeing rin in two days and spending the whole day with him after not seeing him for almost a week.

rintaro smiles at the sound of excitement in your voice “don’t worry, i won’t”

“great, i’ll see you in 2 days rin. i love you.”

“i love you, i can’t wait to see you”

and with that you hung up the phone and started to plan rin’s birthday.

—

it was around 12:30am when you heard the locks of your apartment door turning, thinking that someone was trying to break into your apartment. you grabbed the nearest thing that you could swing at the person to hurt them, which was strangely a frying pan.

you walked closer to the door and when the door swung open you saw your boyfriend carrying all his bags walk through the door. you relax and lower the pan and put it on the couch.

you ran up to rintaro, hugging him by the waist, “what the hell rintaro you scared me, you said you’d be home on the 26th? what are you doing here” you looked up at him,seeing his face for the first time in a while and missing him.

he wrapped his arms around you, hugging you back, “i got on the last train going home, i missed you and couldn’t wait” he explained as he hugged you tighter.

you hold on to him for a little longer before moving your hands to his shoulders as you stand on your toes, leaning in to kiss him. you felt him kiss you back, you pulled away but stayed close his face before whispering “happy birthday rin, i love you” before leaning in and giving him another kiss.

"i love you" rintaro couldn’t think of getting anything better for his birthday, after all he’s got all he’s ever wanted. you.

#suna x reader #suna rintaro x reader #suna rintaro fluff #suna rintaro #haikyuu x reader #suna fluff #suna rintarou

146 notes · View notes

universalcas · 17 hours ago

Text

Dean wakes up and it's the 24th of January. His 46 yo body aches in new parts that he knows were fine last year but it's nothing he really minds nowadays. Sometimes he can't even believe he made it that far, so if the punishment these days for defying Chuck and Death several times in the past is backpain and some aching joints, that's more than welcome. 24th of January it's like any other day for him. He hasn't celebrated his birthday in years, maybe since he was eight and just because he stole a biscuit and some candles that clearly didn't add up to the right number. A birthday celebration is something Sam always had because he damn well made sure of it. So this year, the 24th of January lands on a Friday that looks like every other Friday when you are (finally) retired from hunting and you live in a big house with your now husband that came back from the Empty and decided to stay for good after a very heart-touching reunion where everyone cried like a baby (including Sam). Said husband is now missing from the shared bed and his side is slightly cold but since he put all the cards (and his heart) on the table, a missing Cas isn't something that scares him anymore.

Sam's in the kitchen, drinking something that's doesn't look like coffee but fortunately isn't a smoothie either. The rays of morning sun that enter from the kitchen windows reflects on his face, his skin looks healthier as it does his own since all of them left the bunker, and Dean is so glad he got to live enough to see his little brother grow and become the man he is today.

"Hey! Where's everyone?" He asks, ruffling Sam's hair quickly enough to avoid retaliation.

Sam huffs and closes the book he's currently reading. Something on civil rights that probably has to do with the online degree he started to pursue a year ago but maybe it's Sam's morning lecture because that's what lawyers-to-be like to read. Dean prefers novels and fiction in general and his growing library is a testament to that.

"Cas and Eileen went grocery shopping" he says. "They took Miracle for a walk and Jack tagged along".

Jack has been spending some time in Heaven these days. There are a lot of things to be fixed and rebuilt under God's supervision but most days, when he isn't needed, he loves to stay in his room reading some comics, gardening with his Dad or going fishing with Dean (the first time he said "Dad! Look what I caught!" Dean cried so hard he couldn't stop for what felt like hours, scaring all the inhabitants of the lake and the poor boy in the process). So, yes, Jack has things to do Upstairs but he wanted to be at home when Uncle Sam and Uncle Eileen came visiting and decided to stay for the night.

He hears Baby's rumble accompanied by a happy bark soon followed by a soft crack of the main door. Both Cas and Eileen carry an excesive number of grocery bags for a single meal for today and Dean doesn't understand why since he know the pantry is more or less full but that feeling is quickly forgotten when Cas makes a beeline (bags and all) to put a kiss directly on his lips. It's quick and chaste, just a brush of lips on lips, but Earth-shattering anyways. Some form of a ritual between them, kissing the other one every time one of them come back from an errand or from just staying outside gardening or giving Baby some maintenance. The kiss means I love you, I'll always come back to you, and it hasn't lost his meaning after all these years.

Dean's voice comes as a squeak after that and he tries to mask it with a manly cough that fools exactly no one. Less alone Cas, whose big smile holds the brightness of a thousand lights.

"Do you need some help with that?"

"We are fine", Eileen says at the same time that Sam says "We should continue fixing the basement, don't you think?"

And that's a weird thing to say because the basement has been Dean's work in progress since he and Cas bought the house four years ago and the second thing Dean's hands love doing the most after touching Cas (out of the bedroom that means everywhere whenever he wants but inside most of the time there are rules) is fixing things. And Dean loves his brother's company, he really does, but he can't do jack shit in that regard so Dean works on it in his time alone. But he follows Sam anyways and lets Cas, Eileen and Jack do their thing since, after coming from the Empty, Cas discovered an interest in cooking (with varying degrees of success) and probably he wants to handle that today.

And ok, maybe being retired from active hunting (not from training new recruits, mind you) has softened Dean's instincts because he should have suspected that there was a plan behind everything because, when they go back to the house, the dining room has been decorated with birthday paraphernalia and the table is full of food and the people he loves the most are wearing a small party hat (even Miracle!) and matching smiles. He doesn't cry when a big pie is placed in front of him with two candles shaped in the form of a four and six and Jack proudly announces that all of it was made from scratch by he and Dad. He doesn't cry when Miracle comes with a box in her mouth that contains a ticket "to anywhere in the country, just you and me, Dean". He doesn't cry either when Sam and Eileen give him a gift of their own in the shape of an envelope that contains an ultrasound of who's going to be a future Bobby or Mary Ellen. And he definitely doesn't cry when he is suffocated in a big hug by his whole family and Cas whispers "I love you so much, Dean" and Jack says out loud "I love you, Dad!".

The question that has been trapped inside his chest the whole day escapes from his mouth only when he and Cas are alone in their room at night.

"Why all of this?"

Cas kisses him. Soft, languid and slowly, like the passage of time.

"I can remember you been proud of us everytime we achieve something" he says. "When Jack built a chair for his room without using his powers, the first time I changed Baby's oíl without your help, when Sam announced he wanted to study Law again, when Eileen got the job she wanted. You were so happy for all of us, Dean, but you should be celebrated too".

There are a lot of things Dean wants to say but none of them come to mind. He's also at lost for words when Cas produces a small box with a ribbon from a lingerie shop he recognises.

Cas's smirk and raised eyebrow are full of dirty promises and sexy rules he's more than happy to follow. But that's, well, that's a story for another time.

#destiel #enddverse-stuff #destiel ficlet #for dean's bday a little late i'm sorry love

80 notes · View notes

chleem · 1 day ago

Note

not sure if you take requests! I just looove angst

could you write where reader really gets scared because of Drew? Maybe violence or drinking or he has a moment where his temper gets the better of him and he scares her. thinking about him comforting his teary girl 🥰

Also I adore your writing — just read all of your series & one shots and fell in love!

⋆.˚ Warnings: swearing, jealous bf!drew, assault, physical (w/stranger) + verbal fight (with reader), read at own caution

ִ ࣪𖤐 a/n: and yes, I do accept requests but its not promised i write it tho T_T also, thanks for checking out my other works! (ure my first request btw thx sm

hope this one lives up to your expectations, written just for u my babe <3

word count: 2.5k

──── 𝜗𝜚 ─────

You and Drew had been out for a casual night, just the two of you, trying to get away from the stresses of everyday life.

The dim lights, the clinking of glasses, the smell of whiskey and perfume—it was the perfect backdrop for a little escape.

You weren’t the type to go out clubbing, preferring to stay home. But seeing the gloomy state Drew has been in all day, this might just be the thing he needs.

The bar was busy, but you managed to secure a spot, both ordering your own drinks.

He’d been drinking fast, between casual conversations, you could slowly see the consciousness slipping away, replaced with his lazy, a bit drunk self.

“I gotta go to the bathroom real quick, alright?”

Drew almost yells into your ear, his voice barely audible over the thumping music in the bar.

You nod, yet was a bit worried whether he could even see in front of him. Drew’s hand lingers on your waist to give it a quick, almost stiff pat before he pulls away.

The warmth of him disappears as he blends into the crowd of sweaty, wasted bodies, leaving you standing there alone, suddenly acutely aware of how unfamiliar the space feels without him beside you.

The music pulses in your chest, but it’s no longer comforting—it feels loud, invasive, almost too much.

You’re reminded of why you hate clubs- or going out in general, because of the overwhelming energy it takes out of you.

You shift on your feet, suddenly nervous in a way you weren’t before. Without him here, everything feels just a little too close.

And then, a hand brushes around your waist.

He’s back.

But when you turn around, your smile falters.

It’s not him.

A stranger, grinning a little too widely, leans in close, his hand still secured around your waist.

You step back instinctively, trying to create space between you and this guy.

“Little lady, how ‘bout I buy you a drink?” He coos, signaling the bartender over. He’s got a nasty grin on his face, one that sends goosebumps all over you.

“No- no thanks,” you immediately decline, glancing behind you for any signs of Drew.

What’s taking him so long?

“Oh c’mon, Daddy’s treat,” his voice drips low, and he steps close to you again.

And when his hand grips your ass through your dress, you immediately let out scream, but it's’ drowned out by the busy bar.

“Okay- um, I have a boyfriend,” you say, your voice trembling slightly, but you manage to shove his hand off your waist. It’s sharp, harsh, and you feel your pulse racing, your body tense with a mix of disgust and fear.

But he’s persistent. The smirk on his face widens even more, and you see the way his eyes flicker with annoyance at your rejection.

“What? So? That doesn’t mean you can’t have some fun,” he grins, his breath hitting your face, smelling of rotten eggs, “I’m just trying to show you a good time, sweetheart.”

Your skin crawls.

Panic spikes in your chest. Where the hell is Drew?

But just as the stranger’s hand moves to touch you again, someone else beats him to it.

An arm drapes over your shoulders, pulling you back with a firm grip, until your back hits the solid wall of Drew’s chest. The familiar warmth of him floods through you, that unmistakable scent of his cologne, mixed with the hint of whiskey.

For a second, you’re wrapped in his presence, the rush of his body against yours almost as much of a relief as it is a comfort.

It’s the feeling of being protected—that primal, safe feeling you always get when Drew’s near, and yet, there’s something else, too. Something more possessive in the way he’s holding you now.

“Made a new friend already?”

He chuckles lowly, pressing a soft kiss to your temple.

The stranger hesitates for a moment, clearly thrown off by Drew’s sudden appearance, but his cocky grin doesn’t fade. Instead, he sizes Drew up, eyes darting to all aspects of him.

Drew doesn’t flinch, but you can feel a shift in the air. His easy-going tone doesn’t match his body language.

And the protective hold he has on you right now feels like a silent warning to the stranger.

You steal a glance over at Drew, and the look in his eyes sends a chill down your spine. There’s something colder in them now, but it’s not directed at you—it’s all focused on the guy standing in front of you.

“You the boyfriend?” he asks, voice dripping with mockery.

Drew clenches his jaw, his lips twitching into a smile. “…and you…?”

“-gonna pound on your girl’s pussy in ways you can’t.”

The sudden comment causes your chest to tighten.

The room feels like it’s slowing down. You freeze, and for the first time, you can’t even hear the music—only the rush of your own heartbeat in your ears.

The arm around your shoulders tightens.

For a long beat, Drew stays silent, his face a mask of cold anger. His jaw is clenched, the veins in his neck throbbing as he locks eyes with the stranger.

“What, what did just you say?” His voice is low—dangerously low—and it doesn’t sound like the Drew you know.

“I said,” the stranger sneers, “gonna pound on that pussy-“

Then, in the blink of an eye, everything shifts.

Drew steps forward, closing the space between him and the guy in one swift motion.

The arm around your shoulders drops as Drew pulls away from you, shoving the stranger. The force of the push sends the guy stumbling backward, his feet losing their balance for a split second, but he catches himself on the edge of the bar.

You watch in stunned silence, your breath caught in your throat.

You’ve never seen Drew like this, starting a fight- or in anything violent. The way his body shifts, tense and predatory, it’s as if a switch flipped inside him, and you’re suddenly faced with a side of him that feels… unfamiliar.

The stranger mumbles something under his breath, his face twisted in surprise, and he pushes back, hands flying out in a flurry of anger.

Drew stumbles, but not as hard as the stranger did.

You raise a shaky hand toward him, fingers trembling. Your stomach twists in panic, but you have to do something—anything—to stop this from escalating further.

You try to call out, but your voice feels small against the sudden weight of the room. “Drew? Drew, stop-“

The words barely leave your mouth before the eyes of everyone in the bar land on the two of you. You feel the heat of their stares, the whispers circulating, but right now, you can’t focus on anyone else but him.

Drew however, focuses on the stranger in front of him.

And before you could react, before anyone could react, his fist flies out, connecting with the stranger’s face with a loud thud. The man falls back, eyes wide with shock, a trickle of blood running from his lip.

The bar area of the club avert their attention to the fight that’s currently breaking out, their own conversations long forgotten.

The stranger, dazed for a moment, recovers quickly and tries to throw a punch in return, but Drew is already steps ahead. He dodges effortlessly, before punching him again. And again. And again.

You watch, wide-eyed, as Drew’s movements are smooth and precise.

There’s no hesitation, no question of whether he’ll fight back. It’s like the anger just poured out of him in an instant, and you have no idea how to stop it.

You want to shout, to stop him, but your voice is stuck in your chest. You don’t recognize him like this. Drew’s usually calm, collected... but here, right now, he looks completely different.

Two security guards burst through the bar door, rushing toward the scene. One of them grabs Drew’s arm, pulling him away from the stranger. The other pushes the dazed man toward the door, guiding him out of the bar.

You stand there, still trembling, as Drew is escorted toward the exit.

Your feet move before your mind can catch up. You need to make sure he’s okay.

You push through the crowd, eyes fixed on Drew’s back as he’s led toward the door.

Then you hear it—Drew’s voice, loud and sharp, cutting through the buzz of the bar, ”yeah- yeah, get the hell away!"

He’s shouting at the stranger, still seething even as security ushers him out.

You can hear the anger in his voice, raw and unsettling, and it sends a fresh jolt of fear through you. You’ve never heard him like this before. Not even close.

You’re outside now, the cool air hitting your skin like a slap to your face, but it doesn't calm the nerves tightening in your chest.

The stranger must’ve run off by now—he's nowhere to be seen.

Drew’s standing a few feet away from you, his hands running through his hair, tugging at the strands in frustration. His back is to you, but you can see his shoulders rising and falling with each breath.

You hesitate, watching him for a moment, unsure of how to approach him after everything.

“Drew?” you call out softly, your voice catching a little as you step closer.

He doesn’t turn around immediately. There’s a beat of silence, just the sound of traffic in the distance and your uneven breathing.

Then, finally, he lets out a heavy sigh and faces you, his expression blank.

But when his blue eyes land on your body, the way you’ve got your arms wrapped around yourself, slightly trembling, everything inside of him shifts.

His gaze softens almost immediately.

You look so small, so fragile standing there, and it hits him harder than anything else. The sight of you like this, visibly shaken and scared, makes his chest tighten painfully.

“Hey—” His voice drops soft, a faint crack in it, as he takes a step toward you. “hey- babe, babe, look at me.”

His hand rises toward you, to cup your face, but he freezes for a second.

There’s droplets of blood on his knuckles. The realization hits you, and your breath catches in your throat.

Despite the fight he started, you worry, worry about him.

“Drew… you’re hurt,” you whisper, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your own heartbeat. You look at him, your eyes flicking to the blood on his hand.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he insists, but the blood on his hand tells a different story.

“No, Drew,” you say, your voice sharper now, a little more firm, the concern for him creeping through your fear. “You shouldn’t have punched him. You could’ve gotten hurt-“

Drew’s brows furrow at your words. His eyes flash, and his jaw clenched as he steps closer.

“What?” His voice rises slightly, the anger from earlier seeping back in.

Your heart races at the shift in his tone, and for a moment, you feel the same fear from earlier, but this time it’s mixed with confusion.

“He- he said those things, did you not-“

“I know, I know, but—”

“-hear what he said? It’s fucking-“

“-but you don’t have to go that far, Drew. You could’ve just told him to back off—”

“And he would’ve listened?” Drew interrupts, his voice tense, his gaze hardening again.

“I—” You try again, your voice trembling.

You blink rapidly, trying to keep your tears from spilling, but it's hard to hide it.

You don’t even know why you’ve got tears in your eyes.

“Fuck- you don’t- are you that fucking naive-“

Drew’s voice raises sharply, frustration and anger spilling over.

When he raises his hand in a quick motion, your whole body tenses, and you instinctively flinch, pulling back just an inch.

But he was only going to run his hands through his hair, frustratingly pushing them back.

For a moment, you think he might—might—actually hurt you.

The guilt, the regret, floods his face, and his whole posture changes.

“Shit,” he mumbles under his breath.

You don’t want to cry, don’t want to show him just how scared you are, but you can’t stop the way your body reacts.

Drew takes a hesitant step toward you, but his movements are careful, almost tentative, like he’s afraid you’ll pull away again.

“I’m sorry,”

when you hear the tenderness in it, the weight of everything hits you all at once.

You can’t stop the tears now. They flow freely down your face, your shoulders shaking, and you curse yourself for it, but it’s like all that fear, all the anxiety, is finally finding its way out.

Drew’s eyes widen when he sees your tears, his face falling. It’s like a punch to his gut.

Without thinking, he pulls you into his arms, enveloping you in his warmth.

For a second, you don’t know what to do. You don’t know how to react.

The world outside feels so distant now, and all you can focus on is the steady rise and fall of Drew’s chest as he holds you. His heartbeat is like a slow, calming rhythm against your ear, grounding you in the chaos of everything that just happened.

Your tears keep coming, his hand gentle as it strokes your hair, a slow, soothing motion.

“I’m sorry,”

he whispers again, and this time, the words sound even smaller, quieter, as if they’re the only thing keeping him from falling apart too.

You inhale sharply, breathing in the familiar cologne with the alcohol, and strangely, it comforts you.

Even after everything that’s happened, Drew still smells like Drew—that safe, warm scent that’s so familiar, so tied to him in every way.

You pull away slightly, letting your hands rest on his chest. You look up at him, you see it the beautiful blue eyes of his, full of regret.

“I’m sorry,”

The third time he apologizes, each word heavier than the last, and you can see how much it’s hurting him.

His hand comes up, and you feel the warmth of his touch before you even see it. His fingers gently cup your cheek, and despite the blood on his knuckles, you lean into his touch, finding comfort there.

“I’m sorry too,” you softly say, which Drew immediately shakes his head at, the faintest smile tugging on his lips.

“No- no, I’m sorry, I- I overreacted.”

Drew’s eyes soften even more, if that’s possible. “You’re right- should’ve just told him to fuck off.”

You don’t know why- but the sudden swearing gets you, and you let out a breathless chuckle.

Seeing you smile, Drew’s lips curl into a small, relieved grin. Without saying a word, he pulls you close, resting his chin gently on your forehead.

And for a moment, everything feels just a little more okay.

-------------------------------

p.s this low-key feel more like rafe cameron

other

#drew starkey #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey x you #drew starkey imagine #angst #fluff #fiction #request

75 notes · View notes

flo-zoinks · 22 hours ago

Note

How would the gang react if you reveal ur a time traveler

Okily dokily!!!!

HOW EACH RDR2 GNG MEMBER WOULD REACT TO YOU BEING A TIME-TRAVELER (MY OPINION)

This is VERY vague. So I'm going to imagine this scenario you're from 1920 USA with lots of inside info on the vld gang cuz theres more I can do w that lol, and a person similar to John in terms of age/likeness/physicality. Imagine this is aprx chap 2.

Arthur - probably not have many questions really, just ask you why you'd come to this time of all times (he thinks you're stupid)

Hosea - only asks if John finally left with his family, and if everything actually does fall to bits. Doesn't really care for asking how he dies himself - In fact he doesn't want you to tell him

Dutch - Immediately asks if he dies for an ideal, or if he becomes someone of great reverence post mortem. When he doesn't like the answer he says he can't be kept by the lines society has decided for him so will disobey and flee "like Cain was once he was shun"

Reverend - says you're either deep in substances or have demons in you. Insists you must be a satanic lunatic and leaves with his head up. Later drunk he reveals he worries you're real and asks if God ever gives him a chance

Pearson - "heh...lemme guess...I'm in the books..ain't I?" "Ok you're lying though"

Sadie - asks when she will die and see Jake, and (if before this) asks if she gets to avenge his death

Charles - questions only on the land, and if the colonists finally destroy all of it by then, and on behalf of the natives. Otherwise tells you he's not interested in what will be otherwise

Micah - knows he's in the history books, so just walks off trying to be nonchalant. "Then I guess you know who I am.." (hes really close and breathing quite loudly)

Abigail - forgets herself to bombard you with questions about Jack and John, if they ever move away, if Jack grows up proper and they live till old. She starts sobbing after

Jack (1907) - wants to know if he becomes a writer, then whilst embarrassed quietly asks if his Father stays for real this time. Later tells you about a book he read with a similar premise. Your answer makes him quiet and hee doesnt speak for a while

John - Can't even think of what to ask, so just says like "ok- do-" then says he'll get back to you when he has something good to ask. Later: "wait-wait I got a good one... (some stupid question about future inventions)"

Trelawny - "I am a magician, too! I suppose we are both similar as such.." however he gets too freaked out and goes back to his family for a while

Javier - IMMEDIATELY only wants to know about the Mexican Revolution; was it successful? Did his family live? Does he return to Mexico? He refuses to believe your answer about him in Mexico in 1911 working for the government, insisting he would never pick that over his own life. Refuses to believe John would be the one to kill him, too. Angrily storms off after threatening you if you spit lies like that again (even if you proved to him ur fr)

Bill - gets scared of you thinking you have some other powers too, but then tries to toughen up and look unafraid. Demands, asks to know if becomes respected and feared in the future. Air punches when he hears he runs his own gang, then just looks straight up HURT hearing John kills him (trying to mask it) "But why wouldn't we be friends?"

Uncle - "you should be well aware then...of when the Lumbago gets to me.. where in the history books is that?"

Molly - quietly asks if everyone grows to like her (very embarrassed). She gets silent after your answer and goes to sit far away in camp for a while. Dutch later says to you that "you better not have put her in some mood"

Karen - says shes too sober for this, promptly grabs a drink and tells you she doesn't have anything to ask, but wishes she did. Avoids you afterwards fearing she was too open with you then.

Tilly - asks if she has a run-in with the foreman boys again. Otherwise then that she asks what cool things have been invented since

Mary-Beth - fascinated by future books, and asks if you have a novel from the future you could show her. She doesn't believe she could ever be a writer so doesn't ask.

Grimshaw - thinks you're a freak for coming here, saying "we are doing just fine! She does inquire about her girls though, if they all do well. She grows very strict with Karen there on, but also nicer

Sean - "do I become the big dog of the camp? Replace ol' king Arthur? Hahaha" a string of random questions , giving you no time to answer each one. He actually walks off before you can answer them thinking of more questions

Lenny - starts thinking if its okay to know about the future before responding, if theres no consequences, or if we as people should be able to. Decides he's better safe then sorry, and asks camp to be responsible. Dutch and him debate this

Kieran - asks if they finally accept him, and if the O'Driscolls come back. Grows very anxious at your response and spends the day cleaning the horses whilst trying to gather his thoughts to act upon.

37 notes · View notes

winchesterwild78 · 1 day ago

Text

The Art of Not Saying "I Love You" pt 4

Master List

Characters: Soldier Boy, Ben x Reader, other characters from The Boys

Warnings: some angst, lots of fluff, Ben the ol softy

A/N: I’ve loved writing this story. Ben always gets a bad rap because of his personality, but I see right through it. He was hurt and betrayed by his father and then the woman he loved. He was tortured for over 40 years, I don’t know about you but I’d be a little pissed too. I love writing soft Ben, because I have a feeling if the right woman came along she could break down those walls, brick by brick. I can see him falling in love and it scaring the hell out of him.

I hope you’ve enjoyed this story. Thanks for reading it.

I do not own the rights to the characters in this story. This does not follow The Boys timeline, and is a work of fiction.

All work is my own, please don’t take it or use it without permission. Reblogs and Likes are always welcome.

Written and edited fast, please overlook any errors.

Minors DNI 18+

Annie looked at me stunned. “You’re what?!” Tears pricked my eyes, “I’m pregnant. Oh Annie, what am I going to do?”

She pulled me close and wrapped her arms around me. “We will figure it out.”

I swallowed hard as a lump formed. I knew the baby was Ben’s. Tom always wore a condom and never finished inside me. He always pulled out and finished in the condom. Ben however, was proud of the fact he came inside me.

I placed a hand on my stomach. I couldn’t believe this was my life. So utterly alone, heartbroken and pregnant.

I felt the bile rise up in my throat and I ran to the bathroom, emptying the contents of my stomach.

When I finished I cleaned myself up, brushed my teeth and went back into the living room.

Annie was texting and my heart sank. “Annie, please don’t say anything to anyone. Even Huey. I don’t want Ben to know.”

“Oh sweetie, it’s not my place to tell anyone. I was just letting Huey know I was staying the night with you. Y/N, I’m not going to tell you what to do, but I think you should tell Ben. If this is his baby don’t you think he should know. Even if you two aren’t together, don’t you want your baby to have both their parents in their life?”

“I don’t know what to do, Annie. Can I really raise a baby on my own, do I want to? I was in love with Ben. Hell, I still am. If things were different I’d be over the moon to have a baby with the man I love, but he has made it clear he can’t or won’t have a relationship with me. I can’t risk him hurting this child. If I keep the baby, they will only know they are loved and wanted. I don’t want them growing up thinking they weren’t good enough to be loved by their father.”

She touched my arm, “Well, whatever you decide I’ll be there with you. This baby will always be loved and taken care of. Right now let’s focus on getting you something to eat and relaxing.”

I nodded and she pulled me in tightly for a hug.

“I don’t have much here for food.” “It’s okay. I’ll run to the store since you’re not feeling well and grab some stuff. You stay here and rest.”

I nodded, she hugged me and left. I thought about what she said about Butcher.

I took a deep breath, swallowing the lump in my throat and hovered over his contact information in my phone.

I pushed it and bit my lip. One ring and he picked up.

“Oi, love! Are you okay? Where are you?”

My voice was soft, “Hey B. I’m okay. I’m so sorry I cut you out. I’ve been dealing with everything. I just needed to get away and clear my head.”

“I understand, love. Are you coming home?”

“No, I have a place now. I’m so sorry B.” Then I heard Ben in the background. “Butcher get the fuck off the phone. We have work to do.”

I gasped at the sound of his voice. It sent a shiver down my spine. My breath hitched.

“Shut it you fucking cunt. I’m talking to Y/N.”

“What?! How is she, where is she? Let me talk to her.”

“No, Butcher. I don’t want to talk to him. Please.”

“No. She doesn’t want to talk to you.”

I felt sick. My heart pounded in my chest. Part of me screamed out for him and another part wanted to keep him away. I was so torn.

“Hey, Butcher. You sound busy. I promise to keep in touch. I love you, B.”

“Okay, I love you too, Y/N.”

We hung up and the tears fell. I sat my phone down and it rang almost immediately.

I looked at the screen and it was Ben. I sat staring at his name. The call ended and he called right back. He was relentless.

Finally I answered, “Hello, Ben.”

“Oh my god, Y/N! Thank god you answered. Are you okay? Where are you?”

“I’m okay Ben. I’m not going to tell you where I am. I need to protect myself from you.”

He gasped softly, “Please don’t say that, baby. I would never hurt you.”

I scoffed, “But you did, Ben. You made me fall in love with you and then you pushed me away. How could you do that?” A sob left my lips.

Ben ran his fingers through his hair, “Baby, I didn’t mean to hurt you. You’re everything to me.” “No, Ben. I’m not. If I was you wouldn’t have slept with another woman the day after we made love all weekend.”

He sighed heavily. “Ben, I need to tell you something. Before I do I need you to understand I don’t need anything or want anything from you.”

“Okay, sweetheart. I understand.” Ben’s heart quickened and his mind began to race.

“Ben, I went to the doctor for a physical and they ran some routine tests. The doctor called me today with the results.” I swallowed hard and took a deep shaky breath.

“It’s okay, Y/N. Is everything okay?” My voice quivered, “No Ben, but I will be. Ben, I’m pregnant.”

Ben almost dropped his phone, “What? Is it mine or Tom’s?” “It’s yours. I’m positive. But I don’t want or need anything from you. I just wanted you to know. You have a right to know.”

“Y/N, please tell me where you are. I want to be there with you.” “Ben, it’s too late. You made your choice and I’ve made mine. I’ll keep you updated on the baby, but I’m not expecting anything. I don’t want them to feel like they are unloved or unworthy.”

“Don’t do that.” His voice dripped with venom. “Don’t do what? Tell the truth? Ben I know you used me. I was stupid enough to fall in love with you, stupid enough to believe I mattered and that you loved me too. But you’re not capable of loving anyone, are you?!”

“Stop! You do matter to me, dammit. I’m a fucking coward! Is that what you want to hear? I’m a fucking coward who finally let his walls down, made love to a beautiful woman, apparently made a baby with her and then I pushed her away. All because I’m too much of a fucking coward to admit…” His voice trailed off.

I heard the pain in his voice and it sent a pang of guilt and sadness through my heart. “To admit what Ben?”

“Just forget it. You’ve made up your mind already, Y/N. I want to be in our baby’s life. They will know I’m their father and I’ll do whatever I can to protect them.”

“Ben.” My voice is soft and unsure. “Y/N.” “Please tell me what you were going to say. I need to hear it. Please.” My voice quivered and I felt the tears start to fall.

Ben was quiet on the other end. He took a deep breath. “I um.. Shit, this is harder than being tortured for 40 years.” I chuckled softly, “Ben, please. You can trust me. I love you, Ben.”

Just like that a switch flipped, “Y/N, I’m sorry. I’ve been a fucking pussy. I let everything Crimson and those Reds do to me cloud my judgement and build up walls. You broke through those walls without even trying. Now you’re having my baby. Y/N, I’m so sorry it took me this long to grow a pair. I love you. I’ve loved you since the moment I laid eyes on you.”

My breath hitched and I smiled. There it was. Ben finally said it. Finally admitting what he had been pushing down deep.

“I love you too, Ben. Now get your ass over here.” I gave him the address and he laughed, “Yes ma’am. I’m on my way.”

When Annie came back from the store I told her what happened and how Ben was coming over. She hugged me and told me she was glad he finally admitted he loved me. “I knew it this whole time. It was the only thing that made sense. He’s been terrified of giving his heart away again and having it crushed. I’m happy for your sweetie. I’m going to leave so you two can have some privacy. Let me know how it goes.” I nodded and gave her a hug.

I sat on the couch and waited for Ben. My heart pounded in my chest. Every minute felt like an eternity. An hour had passed since the phone call. My heart began to ache. It doesn’t take an hour to get here from the apartment. Oh god, he did it again. I let myself believe him.

As the familiar ache started to fill my heart the sound of the doorbell pulled me from my thoughts.

I took a deep breath and opened the door. Standing there was Ben. Looking as amazing as ever. In his hands was a bouquet of my favorite flowers, a bag filled with my favorite snacks and another bag.

I chuckled when I saw it. His green eyes met mine, “Sorry I’m late sweetheart. I had to make a stop.”

He walked in, sat the stuff down and I leaped in his arms. He pulled me flush to his chest and kissed me. The kiss was gentle at first but then it deepened. The pain and sorrow from the past two months melted away with every swipe of our tongues, every brush of his fingertips.

When we pulled away from each other our chests were heaving for air. Ben’s hands cupped my face, “God you’re so beautiful, and you’re having my baby.” I smiled and leaned into his touch, “Yeah, we’re having a baby, Ben.”

He placed his hands gently on my stomach, “Hey baby. It’s your dad. You’re going to come out and kick ass.” I playfully slapped his arm, “Ben, language.” He smirked, “Sorry, but he will.” “Oh so it’s a he?”

Ben just looked at me, “I like to think so. He’s going to grow up loved, strong and I’ll always be so fucking proud of him.”

I saw tears prick Ben’s eyes. I placed my hands on his chest, “Ben, you’re going to be an amazing father. You just have to let us in. Don’t push us away and always remember there is nothing you could ever do that will make us not love you. Hell, even after you slept with that woman I was still in love with you.”

I stepped closer to Ben, “I still love you, Ben. So much. This baby, our baby is going to be loved and grow up strong like you are. You’re worthy of love and so much more.”

Ben pulled me close to his chest and held me tight. “How did I get so lucky to have your love? I’m sorry I pushed you away. I’m sorry I made you ever feel unloved and unwanted.” The tears that had pricked his eyes were starting to fall.

I’d never seen him cry and my heart ached. I reached up and wiped his tears away with my thumbs. “Ben, you’re here now and that’s what matters. Don’t ever do that again or we (I placed my hand on my stomach) will kick your ass.”

He chuckled, “I wouldn’t think of it. This, us, our baby, is all I’ll ever need. I made not saying I love you an art, but with you I never want to miss the chance to say it again. “I love you, Y/N. Now and forever.” “I love you too, Ben. Now and forever.”

Tags are open, if you want to be added or removed, let me know.

Tags:

@nescaveckwriter @kr804573

@k-slla @jackles010378

@jawritter @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx

@roseblue373 @cheynovak

@jassackles @chriszgirl92

@suckitands33 @arcannaa

@n-o-p-e-never @ladysparkles78

@smoothdogsgirl @hobby27

@manicjk @stoneyggirl2

@deans-spinster-witch @snowayumi

@shadowqueen1318 @shanimallina87

@muhahaha303 @fitxgrld

@nancymcl @baby19sthings

@cheekygirl2309 @oceean

@kindollss @foxyjwls007

@lmg14 @cevansbaby-dove

@spxideyver @reignsboy19

@deans-baby-momma @deansimpalababy

@ladykitana90 @quietgirll75

@superrey @kamisobsessed

@obliviousap @ninii-winchester

@mischiefnevermanaged89-blog @whimsyfinny

@bobbdylan @star-yawnznn

@reignsboy19 @monkey-d-hoshizora98

@depressionbarbie2023 @livingdeadblondequeen

@mandee7 @barnes70stark

@spnaquakindgdom @djs8891

@pughsexual @spnaquakindgdom

@lunaleah @mostlymarvelgirl

#hes gorgeous #so damn sexy #soldier boy x plus size reader #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy

37 notes · View notes