#how am i supposed to just sleep after this

[jiexclusive1]

𐙚🧸ྀི cockwarming- l. haechan

boyfriend!haechan x reader, cock warming, somnophilia, dubcon, creampie, unprotected sex (no no), sex under the influence of alcohol, haechan is a bit selfish and begs.

MDNI!

W/c- 1.4k

a/n- I had to… happy vday y’all, mwah!

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You and Haechan had decided to stay in on a Friday night, both too exhausted from the week to do anything else. A movie and a few drinks seemed like the perfect way to unwind—except for one small problem.

Alcohol affected the two of you in completely different ways.

You were curled up against his shoulder, his arm draped lazily around you, fingers tracing slow patterns on your thigh. With every passing second his touch inched higher, his intentions clear. You tried to reciprocate, tried to match his energy, but your eyelids grew heavier, fluttering shut despite your efforts.

"Baby—" You mumbled, shifting slightly to look at him. "I'm sorry, but I'm going to sleep."

Haechan's lips parted in protest, his words slightly slurred. "But... but what about—you're just gonna leave me high and dry like this?"

You rolled your eyes, pushing yourself off the couch with an unsteady sway. "Don't say it like that. I'm not leaving you anything—I'm just going to bed."

Without another word you stumbled toward your bedroom, leaving him pouting.

"But baby, I'm so horny." He whined, stumbling after you into the bedroom.

"Then fuck me Haechan." You shot back, suddenly turning to face him.

"How am I supposed to do that if you're just going to go to sleep on me?" He questioned, his lips curling into a slight pout as he looked at you.

You shot him a sly smirk before turning around, slipping your shorts down your legs and letting them pool at your feet. Without another word, you crawled into bed, the cool sheets brushing against your bare skin as you settled in, completely unfazed by his lingering stare.

"This isn't fair." Haechan huffed. "You can't just tell me to fuck you, take your clothes off, and then decide to go to sleep." He let out an exasperated sigh as he climbed into bed beside you, his body pressing close to yours

"I can, and I will." You murmured, tugging the covers up over your shoulders, settling in comfortably without a second thought.

"Fine, at least let me sleep with you." He sighed.

You nodded, allowing him to settle in behind you. His body pressed flush against yours, his bulge hard against your backside as his hand slipped over your waist, pulling you in closer.

The room fell into silence for a while, the only sound being your steady breathing as your eyes fluttered shut, but then Haechan shifted behind you, his body pressing more firmly against yours. He began grinding lightly against your ass, soft whiny moans escaping from his lips as he couldn't help but move, the feeling driving him crazy.

"Haechan." You said firmly, your voice low. "Stop."

"Can we at least cockwarm?" He asked, his voice full of frustration.

"Haechan—"

"Please." He pleaded, dragging out the word. "I'll leave you alone after that, I swear."

You sighed, rolling your eyes before nodding. "Fine, but that's it." Your voice held an edge of irritation, but it was hard to stay mad at him for long. He hummed softly in response, his hands gently pulling your underwear down, along with his own.

"Deal." He smiled.

He gently parted your legs, a shiver running through you as the cool air met your skin. 

Fuck, you're so wet baby." He groaned. He wrapped a hand around his length, teasing you as he slowly circled your clit. Your breath hitched as he finally aligned his tip with your aching entrance.

"Just put it—" Your words were cut off by a sharp gasp as he pushed himself into you, stretching you open in one slow thrust. A deep groan rumbled from his chest as your walls clenched around him, pulling him deeper.

"Oh my god." You breathed, your voice barely above a whisper as a shiver of pleasure ran through you. 

"See? Doesn't that feel good?" He murmured. "I can make you feel even better." His lips brushed against your neck as he spoke, his warm breath sending a shiver down your spine. He nuzzled into you, his nose grazing your skin.

"No. We had a deal, zip it." You shot back, your tone firm as you closed your eyes, shutting him out.

But—" He began, his voice hesitant.

"Go to sleep." You interrupted, your tone leaving no room for argument.

"Fine." He sighed as he wrapped an arm around your waist before finally closing his eyes.

But how could he possibly sleep when he was buried so deeply inside you? Your tight walls pulsed around him, keeping him snug in your heat while the slick evidence of your arousal pooled at the base of his shaft.

How could he go to sleep when your breathing was heavy? He tried so hard— tried to go to sleep, but how could he when you would moan ever so slightly every time you moved a bit? 

He knew you were in a deep sleep at that point, and he didn't want to bother you. He really tried to ignore his urges, really, but he was so turned on it hurt. Plus, you did tell him to fuck you, so he's just doing what you asked.

He began to move his hips slowly at first, just testing the waters. Your body responded instantly, tightening around him in a way that almost had him unraveling right then and there, the sensation so overwhelming that he could feel himself on the brink.

"Fuck." He grunted lowly, the sound of it barely audible as he tried not to startle you. His movements quickened, becoming more urgent, the desperation in each thrust growing with every second.

A soft moan escaped you as your body shifted, the movement causing Haechan to react instantly.

He bit down on his lip, the pressure almost painful as he fought to stifle the moans threatening to escape. The way you shifted, grinding against him just enough sent a surge of heat through his body. He could only imagine you thought this was all just a vivid dream, but in that moment, he didn't care. He was lost in the feel of you, consumed by the need that took over him.

His hand flew to his mouth, desperately trying to stifle the whimpers that escaped him. His hips moved aimlessly against yours, each subtle shift sending waves of pleasure through him. His eyelids fluttered shut, lost in the sensation, trying to hold on as his body betrayed him.

"Oh my god." He breathed out in a soft whimper, his voice strained with desire. His hand moved to your hips, gripping you firmly as he guided you back down onto him.

You didn’t know if it was him getting a little too rough and reckless with his movements, or if he thought he was being quiet as he moaned softly directly into your ear, but whatever it was the sensation snapped your eyes open, your breath hitching as you tried to focus on what was happening.

At first, you were confused, the overwhelming sensations leaving you unsure, but as he continued to move deeper inside you, a wave of pleasure followed, washing away any hesitation as your body responded to him.

"Haechan?" You moaned, your voice a mix of pleasure and confusion, the sensation making it hard to focus.

He didn't answer, instead using the moment to thrust harder, his movements growing quicker and more desperate. His whimpers became louder, the sound of them muffled as he nuzzled his head into your neck, losing himself in the moment.

"Didn't— didn't I say..." You started, but the words trailed off as he repeatedly hit your sweet spot, each thrust sending waves of pleasure through you. He stretched you just right, it was intoxicating, making it hard to focus on anything else.

“G-Gonna cum." He stuttered, his voice breaking as his whimpers grew louder with each movement. His thrusts became messier as the pressure built inside him.

Your mind was a haze, barely able to process anything as the pleasure clouded your thoughts. You were still half asleep, your body reacting on instinct as you gripped the pillow beneath you, trying to steady yourself.

Fuck." He gasped, a choked whimper escaping him as you felt him twitch inside you. A warmth spread through you as he came, his release filling you as he rode out his orgasm, his movements messy and unsteady with each stroke.

He sat in silence, not pulling away, his hand sliding back up to your waist. You didn't speak either, your body still tingling, the heat pulsing around him. Slowly, your eyes fluttered shut once more.

[boyneptunee]

7k, tomarry, so much fluff it'll rot your teeth

(or) Tom gets a new neighbour in the form of one Harry Potter and his dog. (Chaos ensues).

There was a bag on his front door.

Actually, there was a pink bag with white paw prints hanging from his front door handle.

Tom considered the offending object for a long moment, eyes searching up and down the hallway of his apartment building for anything that might be out of place. The same dark blue carpet that definitely needed cleaning, the same cream walls, the same fake plant by the corner that the keeper kept watering despite it clearly being plastic.

He found nothing out of the ordinary.

He sighed, long and tired. He took the offending bag by the handles and opened his door.

His head hurt behind his eyes, low and pulsing. The beginnings of a migraine had been threatening to topple over back and again for at least two hours, and the meeting he'd had to precede over had not made matters any better. There was nothing quite like having to listen to fools argue against each other over the most insignificant things for an entire day.

He was craving for the specific red painkiller that would hopefully make it go away, no matter how many times his doctors had told him the pill was bad for his health. How was he supposed to go about his life with a migraine pulsing behind his eyes and around his brain each day? They hadn't exactly given him any alternatives.

Back at the problem at hand, Tom laid the bag on top of his wooden table. The grain looked possibly offended at the colour that had been placed on top of it.

Inside, he found a handwritten letter and a single picture.

The latter had a delicate penmanship that looped and tilted just this way off center, not enough to look untidy but certainly enough for him to notice. It had not been written in a rush, but rather —and possibly— on a slanted surface.

Hi Neighbour!

My name is Aquila, and I've just arrived at my fur–ever home! I am five years old and still learning I should not bark at every stranger that walks past the door and how to ask to go potty. I am sorry if you hear me crying while my owner is away, know that I'm still getting the hang of being alone at home.

I've left some treats for you in the bag and I hope me being here is not much of an inconvenience.

If you see me on the halls please come say hi! I love meeting new friends.

A pawprint had been stamped on ink at the bottom of the letter, clearly handmade and just before the owner had sat down to write the little note, as the letters stopped just about the tip of one claw mark on the paper.

The picture featured a man with gold wired glasses, hair tied back on top of his head and holding a white haired dog. On the back of the picture, two names had been scribbled in a rushed hand.

Aquila & Harry

Harry, then.

He knew someone had moved to the apartment next door, the only one left in a single corridor that was previously occupied by a couple who'd grated on Tom's nerves more times than he could count. They had a tendency to play loud music just about the time where he got ready to sleep knowing he would have to wake early for work, and the distressing amount of wine bottles by the trash bins every morning made him weary of the means they had to afford to live in the building. If they were drinking themselves to an early grave surely they had no time to work?

But they had gone early that very same year, and so far no one else had signed the lease for the place.

Tom had toyed with the idea of moving, as the apartment next door was slightly bigger, and had better views as it sat on the corner of two streets. Then he thought about having to move his furniture around a second time after almost murdering the moving company he had hired and stopped the train of thought.

(Better let them live another day than having to deal with that again).

Inside the bag he found two bottles of licor, one chocolate and one vanilla flavoured (strangely, his favourite flavours of alcohol) and a single chocolate bar (the dark kind, strong and bitter).

Tom considered the contents for a long moment, before bringing a glass from the cupboard and pouring out the contents to mix himself a drink. The thought of taking the red pill for his headache and being forced to stay awake against his will as the painkillers worked against whatever was wrong on his brain made him want to curl into a ball and weep.

He could not loose another night of sleep. That would make it the third one in a row.

He ate a good bit of the chocolate and set to prepare himself dinner.

A knock stopped him just as he was putting water to boil.

He stood against the stove for a moment, closing his eyes and begging for a moment of solitude had been too much to ask, hadn't it?

The knock came again, three gentle rasps against the door.

The face that greeted him on the other side was non other than Harry, his new neighbour. A white puppy lay at his feet, big eyes gazing up at Tom like he was a new toy come Christmas.

The man held a red casserole at his hands and a pink blush at his cheeks, clearly flustered as he moved from foot to foot.

"Hi."

"Hello." Tom raised a single eyebrow, looking from the man's face to the casserole to his dog. "I got your bag." He settled on, as the man seemed too embarrassed to continue.

"Oh! Um—" Harry moved a bit, almost tripping on Aquila as he tried to shift his weight. "That's good."

"You needed something?"

"Not–not really." Tom took a metaphorical step back, looking at the man from head to toe. He looked just as he had in the picture, the same mess of curls tied loosely on top of his head, the same maroon sweater with golden stars on it. The same grin. "I made too much food?"

"Is that a question?" A slow smirk crawled up his face, unbidden.

Harry continued on babbling.

"I was wondering if you would like to have some? It's just–I heard you come in, and my fridge hasn't arrived yet so I can't really save any of it for later, and I didn't want to throw it out–not that it's bad! It's good I swear I cook for a living and–"

"Okay."

"–and I had already, huh?" Harry looked startled at him, clearly not expecting the answer. "Okay?"

"Yes. Come in, I'll put it on a plate and you can take your pot back." He waved a hand towards the inside of his dark apartment, he had only turned on a few lamps here and there, their orange glow gentle and dim, as his migraines more often than not made him sensitive to bright lights.

"Oh! Yes, thank you–" He moved to step inside and then stopped on his tracks, eyes settling somewhere near his feet. He looked back up at Tom, a question on the tip of his tongue.

"She can come in too, don't worry." The smile sent his way in response was possibly blinding.

The white dog –against all his judgment– entered his apartment slowly, almost sedately and looked and sniffed around from her place stuck to Harry's side. It was atypical behavior, to say the least. She was tall, and she reached Harry's hip easily at the shoulder. Her pointy ears were pinned back.

Harry must have sensed his hesitation as he guided them to the kitchen. He spoke unprompted as he guided them into the kitchen.

"She was rescued a month ago, from a breeding kennel." He sat the casserole on the counter and opened the lid to reveal a thick red sauce sitting on top of pasta, vegetables and meat alike scattered in between. It smelled heavenly, and it made his mouth water. When was the last time he'd had time to cook himself a proper meal? "She doesn't know how to behave like a dog, really. For the first few weeks she didn't know how to walk property either." A sad smile stretched on his face and his hand unconsciously reached for the dog's head. She leaned heavily on his leg and allowed herself to be pet, loving eyes looking up at Harry. "She's having a hard time with separation anxiety." Big green eyes locked on him, begging him to understand.

Tom suspected the food was a bribe, rather than a mishap, to grease him up.

"It's okay." He found himself saying, against his better judgement. The dog looked up as he spoke, assessing him with two different colored irises for a long moment. He stood close together to Harry, and as such she had no trouble leaning over and resting her weight against his own leg.

Harry startled back from where he stood, eyes wide.

Tom looked up at him, a little apprehensive at being used as a resting pole by a rather worryingly big dog.

"Oh." A laugh tore itself from his lungs and he leaned on the counter for support. "Your face! I should have taken a picture." Harry bit his lip as he leaned over to scratch Aquila behind her ear. "You are so good, sweetie." His gaze rose and met Tom's, almost conspiratorially. "She hates men." He declared, a hand on his hip.

"She clearly does not hate you." He pointed out.

"I know! But it took me days to earn her trust, I had to sit with her for hours and hours on end and I even read the entirely of the Hobbit—and you just–stood there." An amused smile settled on his face as he regained his composure.

"I am more of a cat person." He said, just to be contrite.

"Ah. That just about explains it. She has gone and fallen in love with what she cannot have. Typical." Tom rolled his eyes. Harry looked back at the food and gave Tom a suspicious look over. The facade of good Samaritan with clear intentions fell a little flat. "I hope you are not a vegetarian. I put way too much effort into this."

"Your bribe will not go unnoticed, I assure you. Now move over, I have plates right over your head." Tom moved his leg, prompting Aquila to let go and reached from around Harry to pull two plates and two glasses onto the counter, before reaching for the utensils he rarely had the energy to put to use and scooped out a good amount of the still hot pasta into the plates. "Sit on the table would you? I fear the two of you breathing down my neck will not bring dinner faster to your mouths." Harry stood still for a long moment by his side, and when Tom looked over he spied his jaw slack and mouth open.

"How did you know?"

"How did I know you had in fact meant this as an inducement or the fact you haven't eaten?"

A stretch of silence caught between them, as Harry processed the words.

"Huh, both."

"You were too nervous for someone who was just dropping off leftovers, for one. You stomach is making odd sounds, for another." At that, Harry turned impossibly pink. He hurried down the hallway towards the living room. Aquila stood by his feet for a long second before huffing and turning tail to follow her owner.

What strange new neighbours he had somehow acquired.

Harry was a lovely creature of habit, he had come to find.

Too trusting, too kind, too nervous around new people.

He seemed unused to luxuries and complained about the high prices of produce around their neighbourhood more often than not as they sat down to eat each night. (Because dinners where now mandatory, between Aquila wanting to spend time with Tom, escaping at every opportunity a door was open, and Harry still yet to have his fridge delivered, they had come to an agreement to sit down and cook each night just after Tom got home for work).

Harry, who worked at a restaurant where he was definitely overworked to the bone and didn't pay him nearly enough for him to be able to afford to live in their complex.

Harry, who wore baggy clothes three sizes too big in a style that was so clearly not his own and who flinched at loud noises, even Aquila's barks.

Harry, who smiled so softly and blushed so prettily.

Four months of their company and Tom had grown accustomed to the three rasps at his door after he arrived home.

He had grown to know the timber of Harry's sweet voice, the citrus smell of his perfume and the weight of his body as he leaned against Tom for support, whether it be after a long day of suffering through work or to hide his face in the crook of his neck during a scary film.

He had grown accustomed to Harry in ways he hadn't thought possible.

~

The migraine already pulsing behind his eyes at the early hours of the morning set the tone for the rest of the day.

He was not above murder as he stepped foot at work.

He wore a rage path all day through the building, and his underlyings made sure to steer clear of him all day, giving his office a wide berth.

Coming home should have been a blessing.

Except.

Except he had already taken his pills for the pain, sat down on his couch and waited.

And waited.

And waited some more.

But Harry did not come.

He tried to recall the conversation from the night before, to see if there was any indicator Harry would be late, or that he would not show up at all.

He made his way to the door with long strides, decided to check if Harry was home at all.

The light coming from beneath the door was not a good indicator, as he knew Harry left multiple lamps on through the living room for Aquila (even if she didn't need it) along with several toys scattered throughout and the door to her cage door wide open.

She would come to the door if Tom knocked, he knew.

So he did.

The tippy taps of her nails against the wood alerted him of her presence. She sniffed long and hard in the space between the door and the floor, before yipping delightedly (and wasn't that wonderful? she had stopped barking first and sniffing second, and it had only taken her some four months).

But there was not a second set of steps approaching the door behind her, and Aquila remained sniffing and yipping on her own.

Tom knocked again, harder this time. He could hear the dog turning and thumping against the wood.

She did not sound distressed, or angry.

Harry was not home.

Tom sighed. He supposed he could get started on dinner on his own.

He had set the plates on the table, food still hot and covered over the oven and a glass of wine dangling from his hand.

Two hours.

He had waited two hours.

He cursed himself back to Sunday for not asking Harry for his number in all the months they had known each other and where Harry and Aquila had all but moved in.

In fact, now that he thought about it, he knew little to nothing about Harry at all.

Sure, he knew he worked in a kitchen where he was regularly verbally assaulted, from the few times he had been able to pry said information out of Harry, and that he was paid an average wage and nothing more.

He loved Aquila more than anything in the world, and Tom had come to find he did too.

But he never mentioned partners, or friends, and much less family.

His world seemed to revolve around Aquila, Tom and the restaurant.

He went out often with Aquila on long walks everyday at least twice and even took hikes around the surrounding mountains every weekend. He pampered her with toys and soft blankies and heating pads for her bed. He felt bad about leaving her in her cage everytime he left come, and as such had decorated the cage with cloths and toys and filled it to the brim with love. The rest of his apartment was suspiciously and pointedly empty.

He spent his nights more often than not in Tom's apartment, cooking or watchig Tom cook. Four months they had known each other, and not once had they missed a meal.

And at last, he worked the day shift at a restaurant downtown, far from their apartment building but not so far he had to take the public transport. He walked there everyday as soon as the sun rose and got home just after lunch rush was over. From what Tom knew and from what little he had seen of his almost empty apartment, he was taking a few classes at the local college but could not afford to take the full blunt of a year's course due to work.

So, he was a student, he worked during the day and he came to Tom at night with his little angelic companion. Nothing about his daily routine explained why he lived in the apartment next to Tom, or why he was missing right at that moment.

Another hour crawled by before he finally (fucking finally) heard the lock on the door to his left turn and open. He could hear Aquila's excited yips and turns as she greeted her owner.

Tom was by his own door and out of the apartment before he could blink. He caught up to Harry just as he was about to close his door.

When he caught a look at his face, he foced his way between the door and Harry, crowding into his space. He had the beggings of a large bruise on his cheek, and his lip had been split open and oozed blood in between breaths, dripping down his chin and neck where it had been carelessly and roughly cleaned.

He didn't look Tom in the eye as he took a step back. Aquila seemed to sense something as off, and stood between their bodies with her hackles raised.

"Harry?" He received no response, and the man only looked towards the floor and away, arms clutching at his side. Actually, he was standing a bit funny, leaning more on one side to the other. Tom narrowed his eyes. "Come on darling, I have dinner ready for you."

"I'm not hungry." Harry muttered back, turning away from him.

Something hot and angry licked at his insides, begging to be let out and to swallow whoever had decided hurting Harry had been a good idea.

He took a deep breath and let it go.

"Dinner, Harry." He insisted, his tone booking no argument. "And possibly painkillers, after. Lord knows you have no medicine in that decrepit bathroom you call your own." He approached him, mindful of Aquila who, as much as she seemed to love Tom, was loyal to Harry to a fault.

He leaned into his space, breathing the same air. If Harry minded Tom so insistent in his space he didn't protest. He leaned his forehead against the side of Harry's curls and took him in his arms gently and steered him out the door.

Aquila followed silently.

Dinner was awkward.

Harry barely touched his food and Tom was too concentrated on his face to finish his.

He did not ask questions he knew he would not receive an answer to. Instead, he let Harry stew in his silence, absentmindedly petting Aquila beneath the table.

Finally, when it was clear neither of them would eat a single bite more, he rose from his chair and set about finding his first aid kit.

When he got back, Harry was still sat by the table, long fingered hand moving the silver fork from one side of the plate to the other, green eyes looking at a point somewhere beyond the living room.

The anger simmered inside of him like a dragon.

He set the kit on the wooden surface a little too harshly, making Harry slam back to himself and startle where he sat. Aquila raised her head, curious at the noise.

Tom took their plates away to be washed later, and when he came back he found Harry sitting sideways on his chair and looking from the aid kit to the front door.

Hah. As if.

"Up." Tom instructed with a wave of his hand. Harry looked up at him, startled. "Get up Harry Potter, or so help me I will drag you up."

Harry's bottom lip stuck out, a knee jerk reaction each time Tom added his last name in conversation, like a reprimand.

He stood up on wobbly legs and tilted his head at Tom, waiting.

He was terribly obedient when he was upset.

He sighed.

He grabbed Harry carefully by one thin wrist and moved him around to the head of the table. He crowded into his space once more and lifted Harry onto the surface by his hips, prompting him to sit by the red kit he had left at the corner.

He tilted Harry's head back by his chin to get a better look at the shiner on his face. Harry stiffened beneath his hands but did not complain or pull away.

He set about cleaning the wound on his lip and looking for an ice pack for what was sure to be a big bruise on the side of his face.

After, he set a single pain killer cut into two by his side and a tall glass of water, knowing from experience Harry could not take his pills dry.

He settled himself in the space between his legs and leaned his hands on the wooden surface by his hips, a stubborn tilt to his eyebrows on place.

Harry would not escape without giving out some answers.

"Who did this to you?" He would not walk around useless questions. Straight to the point and after, straight to bed.

"No one." Harry mulled for a long second. "I fell on the restaurant st–"

"Don't bullshit me. You know better than to lie to my face." Harry snapped his mouth shut with a click. The green of his eyes seemed terribly dull. "Harry," he started, after taking a deep breath and letting it go to calm the rage begging to spill over "no one will harm you here. No one will touch a single hair on your head while you are with me, do you hear? Not a single person. Let my grave be spat on and my body turn to ash before I let anyone treat you with anything less than respect." He touched Harry's cheek, mindful of his sensitive skin as he settled a hand on the back of his curly head. "You need not lie to me, darling. Whatever it is you are hoping to hide, whoever it is that has hurt you has no power here."

Harry's lip wobbled and trembled.

Aquila whined at their feet.

Harry gasped a breath in too fast, hands reaching for the edge of the table as he leaned forward. Tom rubbed his neck with careful fingers. When he lifted his head again, tears where making their way down his face.

"It's a long story." He tried, at first. Tom leaned on his space and hummed, encouraging. "My uh, my uncle. He showed up at the restaurant today. I guess he wanted to see if his nephew was as much as a failure as he had expected." A bitter smile grazed his lips, and one of his hands lifted to hold onto Tom's wrist. He leaned a bit into his touch. "I thought him asking to meet the chef would just a brief talk down on how awful my cooking was–and that would be it. But it wasn't." He paused, closing his eyes and hiding his face against Tom's arm. "He was waiting for me by the back door when I finished my shift. He—" A hiccup left his lips, and it was enough for Tom.

He embraced Harry, holding him close and letting him sob on his shoulder. Aquila bumped her cold nose against his leg and when he looked down he found two judgmental eyes looking up at him.

A shudder went through Harry and the hiccups increased. Tom leaned a head on top of his curls and dragged a heavy hand up and down his back.

He sighed, taking a moment to give Harry a candy that had been shoved somewhere deep in his emergency kit.

"Eat." He mumbled in the space between them, having leaned back to look at him. Harry took the sweet into his mouth with no complains, tears still streaming down his face. "That's it, good boy."

He let Harry borrow himself again onto his neck, and set himself to wait out the storm.

Long minutes passed.

His weight grew more and more as Harry leaned most of his body on Tom.

He let Harry slump completely against him, tired and sleepy and hurt all in one, before he took the executive decision to move him to a more comfortable location.

He grabbed Harry by the back of his thighs, shushing him as he protested between weak sobs, and walked them to his bedroom.

He put Harry down carefully, and he was asleep as soon as his head touched the pillow. A few stubborn tears made their way down his face, but his breathing evened out and his body slumped in exhaustion.

He let Aquila settle at the foot of the bed, curling in tight circles and keeping watch towards the door.

The candy laced with sedatives certainly worked magic.

Then he was out the door with his hand on his phone.

Finding out exactly who Vernon Dursley was and how he was related to one Harry Potter was easy.

All he had to do was wake Abraxas and prompt him to look into Harry's files. He had been listed in the past as his next of kin–he was the husband of his only known living relative, Petunia Dursley nee Evans. His mother's sister.

Then Abraxas found his private records, and it went downhill from there.

Harry Potter, by all accounts and purposes seemed to be a troubled teen. Skipping classes, trouble concentrating, showing up with bruises and scrapes all over his body. A delinquent if anyone cared to ask.

He seemed to live in the background of everyone's mind's for eighteen years.

Then a god father seemingly popped out of the woods, rich beyond measure. And this man. This man Tom knew by name, if not by face.

Sirius Black. He had been wrongfully convicted of murder and promptly let loose once the court had been aware of his case. He was deemed unstable and too erratic to care for a child, and thus Harry had been left at the mercy of his aunt and uncle until he turned eighteen.

That's where his records all but stopped.

There was, however, a single property on his name: it listed the apartment right next to Tom's as his.

The camaras they found pointing at the alley at the back of a decrepit looking restaurant were more than enough to put a bounty on the man.

Tom made sure all traces of it were gone.

Tom would have to get the real story out of Harry sometime.

Someother time, that is.

For now, he had what he needed.

He gave Abraxas the green light.

Come morning, Vernon Dursley would be nothing but a bad memory on a child's nightmares.

He went back to Harry and settled himself on the uncomfortable armchair he had been meaning to throw out but kept forgetting to. Laying next to Harry as he was felt wrong, even by his standards, and leaving him alone (even if Aquila snoozed by his feet) felt even worse.

So he laid his feet in the bed by Aquila's tail and rested back against the armchair.

He fell asleep with the sound of two synchronized breaths.

Harry, strangely enough, woke first.

He was groggy and disoriented, and only Aquila's familiar weight by his feet let him relax enough to curl into his side. His legs bumped into something as he tried to bring them closer to his chest, and his breathing hitched on his throat.

He lowered the heavy blanket covering his eyes and took a peak at the morning scene in front of him.

Tom Riddle sat in a position that could not be comfortable to sleep on, in a green antique armchair right by Harry. His long legs were stretched out and his feet rested up on the bed, and Aquila had taken the opportunity to lay her own head against the man's shins.

His curls fell over his eyes in a display Harry had never seen in the time he had known him. He always seemed so poised. So put together.

His breathing was deep and even, and both of his big pale hands rested on his stomach.

Harry considered him from his place on the bed.

So long in fact, that when he stopped counting the curls on the man's head and lowered his gaze to his face, he found himself trapped by two intense blue eyes.

From the first moment Harry had settled eyes on his neighbour, he knew he would be trouble. After all, there was no way this handsome, rich man spent all his evenings alone entertaining a broke college student and his emotional support dog.

And yet.

And yet, there he was.

He was more patient than his demeanor would betray, and he always treated Harry and Aquila gently, with care. He let his space be invaded again and again each night, he let Harry make a home in his kitchen and a mess of his furniture, between his clumsiness and Aquila's white hairs just about on every surface of the place.

He was such an intense person, dry and a little abrasive at times, but he always smiled at Harry like there was a secret in the space between them, just theirs.

There was a reason Aquila had taken an instant like to him.

(Harry had too, even if his intentions at first had been to bribe the man into compliance, to not tell on Harry for having a troublesome dog).

(Harry shouldn't have worried in the first place. About Tom. Or Aquila).

"How are you feeling, darling?" His voice was raspy, and he winced as he moved his neck from side to side. Clearly he had slept on an uncomfortable position. "Harry?"

"Hmm? Better?"

"Is that a question?" Tom leaned forward into Harry's space, caressing a warm hand through his loose curls.

"Better." Harry mumbled back, eyes closing and snuggling deeper into the mattress.

Tom hummed back, pleased.

"I'll make breakfast, yeah?" The hand settled at the back of his curls and helf firm. "Sleep some more, Harry."

Harry could do nothing but agree.

He liked Tom's apartment.

He liked it more than his own, at least.

Sirius had given him a whole place for him and him alone (and no furniture).

Harry had been too embarrassed to point it out.

So he had started small.

A mattress, a chair and a table. Utensils.

Then Aquila had come along, and he had not been able to help himself.

He had bought countless things: her cage, blankets, dog beds and cushions alike, toys and treats and clothes and so many collars to stack on one another that made her look like an old lady holding her pearls–

And then, Tom Riddle had come along. And Harry had little need to be in his empty apartment, other than spend the few hours between the time he got back from work, and when Tom arrived back at his place.

So. He liked Tom's apartment.

This, however, had been the first time he had stepped foot into his bedroom.

He knew, logically, that their apartment plans were the same. Two bedrooms, one bathroom, huge living room. A separate kitchen and a big balcony. All of it overseeing the city at their feet. And yet.

And yet, sleeping in Tom's bed, in Tom's room felt alien. New.

He looked at the apartment with new eyes now.

It somehow looked cozier.

He found traces of himself and Aquila all over. From dog toys to blankets thrown over the living room couch, to the dog bed in the corner, to colourful cushions Harry had brought from his own apartment that did not match Tom's own monochrome greys and blacks. Even the carpet on the living room had been his choice, after he had complained one too many times about the cold wood beneath his feet as they sat brushing Aquila and making a mountain of white fur by her side. Tom had snapped back that he would get a cushioned carpet just so Harry would shut up.

And he did.

In the kitchen there were even more traces of himself, things he had forgotten be had brought over from his apartment so long ago. From utensils and pans he had picked out from a magazine one day as they sat around, to silly mugs on Tom's cupboards that would not be mistaken for his.

Had they... had they been living together like this for so long? Harry had not even noticed when Tom's home became his own.

He wondered how long it could last.

Tom was standing by the stove, and by the ever growing pile right by his hip he was making pancakes.

There was an easy lean to his body, shoulders relaxed forward and he was leaning most of his weight on one leg. His hands moved in sure circles, mixing the batter and dropping it on the hot pan. His curls remained untidy, brushed back by a careless hand and in disarray.

Aquila bumped into his side and whined long and low.

Tom turned at the sound, looking over one shoulder, flat spatula on one hand. His blue eyes scanned Harry from the tip of his hair to his littlest toes. Only when he appeared sure that he was not further injured in the minutes that he was not within his sight does he turned back to the stove, turning off the heat and leaving the utensils by the plate filled with food.

He turned to Harry.

"How are you feeling, darling?"

There was a knot of worry ever growing down his throat. A worry that had not gone away since he was little and could not comprehend why no one would love him as he loved them.

"Better." Was all he could utter, leaning his body on the archway to the kitchen. Tom made a humming sound, approaching with long strides.

He took Harry's chin in his hands and tilted his head up against the light. By the wince on his face, he could tell without having the need to feel around his skin that the bruise had gotten darker.

"We should ice this." His fingers moved around the shape of the bruise, careful not to press too hard onto the skin. "How did you sleep?"

"Like the dead." Tom hummed.

"I figured. Why don't you sit down, darling? Let me finish here and we'll eat."

Tom glanced at the timer on the oven and set about finishing their meal.

Harry had a brief moment of panic where he realized he should be at work. His throat closed and he must have made some type of noise, as Tom returned to his side.

"What? What is it?" His hands settled on his body, gentle and searching for any hurt he couldn't see.

"I—work."

"Fuck work, Harry. You're hurt and you should rest."

"I can't miss a day, they'll cut my check and I can't—"

"Don't worry about it." His voice was firm an self assured.

"Tom! I can't afford—" Hands settled on his shoulders and brought his head back up. Two intense blue eyes looked down at him.

"Don't. Worry. About it." It was all but a promise, as he willed Harry to walk down the short hallway towards the living room. His hands guided Harry to a chair and he sat down heavily. "Whatever you need I can more than make up for, Harry."

"And if they fire me?"

"Then you'll be better for it." His hand grabbed his cheeks with one hand and squished. "I mean it, darling. Whatever you need I can get you." He held Harry still as he let him process the words. Finally, Harry nodded.

Had he promised to take care of him and Aquila?

Surely Tom didn't mean he would—be Harry's sugar, did he?

The thought alone made his cheeks warm.

Aquila bumped her cold nose against his side and he squeaked.

Alright then.

After breakfast, Tom insisted of driving him to a private clinic to get checked out, and no matter how much Harry protested and grumbled and actually held onto his front door with both hands for dear life, he would not take 'no' for an answer.

As it was, he found he had two cracked ribs and the split lip had possibly, definitely, certainly needed sutures. (Oh, well. Too late for that).

Tom sat by his side like a particularly dark cloud of anger and resentment, looking down at the poor doctor that addressed him with way too many honorifics to be normal. He also cradled Harry gently and helped him up the examination table.

By the time they got back home, Harry was about ready to starfish on Tom's bed and hope for the best next time he woke. Hopefully in a week's time.

The doctor had given him a list of things he couldn't do, such as: no sudden movements, no heavy height lifting, and definitely no carrying Aquila up.

Tom sat him down on the couch of his living room and went about collecting his medication. As such, he probably didn't notice the fact that the news channel had been left on the TV.

Harry watched with a growing pit in his stomach as the news played out.

Vernon Dursley had been found late that night (early in the morning) by a dried up river bed in the woods. His body had been mauled by a wild creature, the reporter sad. A tragedy, for his family and friends.

No one, it seemed, dared to point out why the ageing man had been alone at night in such a place.

The news reporter only spoke of a kind man who left behind a frail wife and a single son. No mention of Harry.

He was not breathing.

Tom Riddle came back in the room at that moment, tall glass of water on one hand a handful of small boxes on the other.

His steps halted as he took one look at the TV, eyes dispassionate and cold, the kind of look that made children run the other way and people cross the street, before they settled on Harry, and his eyes were warm and kind again.

Harry gulped in a handful of air and struggled to regain his composure.

There was a battle of emotions inside of him.

No one had ever stood up for him, ever. No one had ever looked at Harry with anything more than contempt on their eyes (except maybe Sirius, and he only ever looked sad when he wasn't wasted).

No one would ever kill for Harry, surely.

And yet he knew, deep down, Tom Riddle had everything to do with the mauling of an old man who was getting on his years right after assaulting his nephew.

There was guilt, and mortification. There was also a curl of satisfaction so strong it made Harry question his sanity.

Tom scanned his face, possibly gauging his reaction. A tiny satisfied smirk stole away at his lips, and it was about all the confirmation Harry needed.

Aquila pawed at her dish by their side, and the moment was broken.

Tom let out a long breath, like he'd been holding it in the whole time he looked at Harry, before settling the meds by the small coffee table and urging Harry to take them.

He pet Aquila softly on her head and tugged lightly and playfully on one of her ears. He promised dinner for her and dissapeared again towards the kitchen.

Aquila looked back at Harry, a goofy look to her as her tongue lolled out and she yipped. She looked content, full and a little mischievous.

He was being silly, he decided.

Tom Riddle knew the exact moment Harry caught on. He was terribly quick, the little snake.

He had watched from the corner of the hallway as Harry was stuck dumb by the news on the TV. How the thought process went about and around his head before settling in the cold facts. Tom had leaned his head on the wall, a smile he couldn't fight off right on his face.

Harry was his. Aquila too. And nothing would ever hurt them again.

Days turned into weeks, and Harry never really left.

His apartment was left empty and unused, and one fine friday afternoon while they watched movies snuggled on the couch Tom asked Harry why he hadn't rented it out in the first place, since the monthly payment would have been more than enough to get him a small apartment somewhere in the heart of the city and even leave some money to spare for him to spend on the daily.

Harry—well. He had never thought about it, and he was a little too embarrassed to admit it.

It had all happened terribly fast, after all. Sirius suddenly in his life, the new apartment, Aquila, and Tom.

Then Tom asked him if he would like to rent it out now. The matters of where Harry would stay rather obvious.

"Are you asking me to move in with you?" He couldn't help but ask, the need for confirmation strong in his gut.

"Aren't you already?" Tom answered back, a smirk playing at his lips as he tilted his head in Harry's direction.

"I wouldn't be able to pay my half of the rent and—"

"Harry." He interrupted. The look on his face was terribly indulgent, amused. "You don't need to go back to work. I make more than enough."

"Are you serious?"

"More than. You can be my trophy wife." He said, teasing just a bit if the raised eyebrows and amused eyes had anything to do with it. A slow smile crept up his face, and he leaned his body on Harry where they sat side ny side on the couch. Harry squeaked as he tried to fight him off. "You can prepare dinner for me every day and we can take Aquila on her night walks together—"

"We already do that, Tom!" He laughed as nimble fingers tickled his sides.

"—And we can go grocery shopping together like one of those disgusting couples that don't move past the produce section—" He continued on, like he didn't have Harry down at the mercy of his hands.

"We do that too!" He laughed uncontrollably, his ribs protesting the movement.

"—you already sleep in my bed, you eat my food in my living room in my apartment, you even water my plants—"

"Okay! Okay, point taken." Harry laid on his back, face caged in by two strong arms. Tom gazed down at him gently.

"Good."

The kiss planted on his forehead preceded the one left on his lips.

Tom was warm and heavy, a grounding weight that melted his anxiety away and left him gasping for air as teeth grazed the wound on his bottom lip and bit down. Pain surely shouldn't feel that good.

Tom leaned more of his weight down and one of his hands sneaked around his hips, making him arch up and away from the touch and into Tom's body.

Tom took small bites of his cheek, his jaw before descending like a vengeful god onto his neck. He bit down with intent, and no matter how much Harry protested and tried to pry him away from his skin he didn't let up until he was satisfied.

He feared he may have woken a monster.

The lips that returned to his mouth turned more gentle, languid and warm. Tom slid his tongue against Harry's and he could do nothing but hum at the feeling of the both of them, together and moving as one.

Harry had never felt so free.

~

There was a bag in the door to his new apartment.

The bag was pink, and it had pawprints on it.

Inside, there was a letter and a single picture of a couple and their white haired dog.

(OR) pruning shears on AO3, 7K, one shot

[icefox8155]

Ch 1: Of All Places...

Masterlist

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

You had a plan, one carefully mapped out since high school. Go to college in the U.S., work hard, get a good degree, and land a solid job that would set you up for a comfortable life. Maybe even move into a decent apartment, start saving for the future, and build something meaningful for yourself. That was how it was supposed to go.

And for a while, it did.

You got into college, slogged through the classes, pulled all-nighters, and somehow made it out with a degree in hand. You were supposed to be set after that. Finding a good job shouldn’t have been hard, not with your qualifications. And yet… here you were. Months had passed, and rejection after rejection had piled up in your inbox. Excuses varied—“not enough experience,” “we've decided to go with another candidate,” or worse, complete silence.

At some point, you stopped opening the emails. Whatever. You told yourself it wasn’t the end of the world. Maybe the job market was just bad. Maybe luck wasn’t on your side yet. Maybe you’d figure something else out later. But that gnawing feeling in the back of your mind, that unease you tried to suppress whispered that you were stuck, adrift in uncertainty with no clear direction forward.

Frustrated, you let out a heavy sigh and flopped onto your bed, phone in hand. If nothing else, there was one thing that never failed to take your mind off reality. Tapping on the screen, you opened up Solo Leveling once again. It wasn’t the first time you'd reread it, far from it. There was something almost comforting about Jinwoo’s story, his struggle, his rise to power. Maybe it was the way he started as the weakest, the way no one believed in him, and yet, he shattered every expectation. You envied that. The ability to change everything with enough determination, with enough effort.

As you scrolled, your eyes flickered across the familiar panels, tracing each detail you’d already memorized. The hum of your phone screen was the only light in the dim room, the only thing anchoring you as exhaustion weighed on your limbs. Your blinks grew slower, your body heavier. You fought to stay awake—just one more chapter, just one more moment lost in this world where everything made sense.

But sleep crept in, wrapping around you like a warm, suffocating blanket. Your phone slipped slightly in your grasp. Your breathing evened out. You didn’t notice the odd shadow that flickered across the screen. 

Didn’t notice how, just for a second, the edges of your vision seemed to warp. Didn’t see the way the world itself seemed to shift around you, a quiet, unseen force pulling you under. By the time your consciousness faded completely, it was already too late.

｡⋆｡˚ ʚɞ ˚｡⋆｡

Waking up in a different place is disorienting at best, terrifying at worst. It sends shockwaves through your entire being. When your eyes flutter open, you don’t find the familiar comfort of your own bed or the muted, worn-out walls of your tiny apartment. Instead, you are greeted by a chaotic symphony of strange sounds and bewildering sights, an overwhelming, unfamiliar place that instantly reminds you that you are not home, not even close.

The first thing that assaults your senses is the relentless clamor of the city, the ceaseless hum of a crowded street and the murmur of endless conversations swirling around you. You bolt upright, your heart hammering against your ribs, as a surge of anxiety floods your chest. Looking around frantically, you notice towering skyscrapers that pierce the sky, their vast shadows creeping over the bustling streets below. People stream past you like a tidal wave, each one lost in their own world, leaving you, a lone, and bewildered figure sitting on a cold, unforgiving bench, feeling invisible and abandoned.

‘Where am I?’ you demand internally. Did someone kidnap you and drop you off in this unknown nightmare? The thought gnaws at your mind relentlessly, fueling a rising panic that makes it hard to breathe. “What the hell is happening?” you mutter, your voice a mix of terror and disbelief.

Desperation twists your thoughts as you try to recall the last fragments of your memory. You remember the comforting ritual of reading a manhwa, specifically Solo Leveling and then succumbing to sleep, yet nothing hints at this surreal journey. The idea of kidnapping seems absurd, who would abandon you in an unknown location after going through the trouble of bringing you here in the first place? Despite the anxiety inside of you, you force yourself to stand, your legs trembling as you dust off your jeans. Jeans? Whatever happened to you pajamas? You shake your head and block out some dark thoughts, wanting to be able to focus on somehow finding a way back home.

A spark of hope flickers when you fumble for your phone, only to be met with a dead, lifeless screen staring back at you. Frustration surges through your veins, but a glimmer of relief comes when you notice a plain gray backpack that is on top of the same bench you woke up on. With trembling hands, you unzip it and discover a collection of items a stack of important-looking papers, a small key, and a weathered wallet. Opening the wallet reveals an ID with your own face, some cash bills, a few credit cards, and a slip of paper bearing an address. In that moment, you allow yourself a brief sigh of gratitude, you aren’t completely abandoned after all. 

As you sift through the documents, you can tell they’re significant, perhaps containing clues to why you’re here. You decide to keep them safe for a more private moment later, your mind already churning with questions and a desperate need for answers. But it's strange the words are not in your common language but you’re able to read them just fine?

Clenching your jaw, you step into the relentless crowd that dominates the street. The energy around you is palpable, vendors call out their wares, people hustle past in either hurrying or just walking past. You force yourself to navigate through the throng, trying to steady your racing thoughts and suppress the inner turmoil that threatens to erupt into panic.

After several long minutes, something catches your eye, a large, neon-lit billboard flickering with advertisements for some kind of news. But what popped up shouldn’t have been possible.Yet there it is, unmistakable images of Choi Jong-in and his guild of Hunters, people who should be fictional you know exist only in the pages of the web novel Solo Leveling, are now glaring back at you from the billboard. Your mind reels as you grapple with the realization these characters are meant to be fictional, yet here they are, a part of your new, terrifying reality.

“No, no, no…” you whisper, the words barely audible over the cacophony of the city. Panic surges once again, but beneath the fear, a steely resolve begins to form. Yet here I was, standing in the middle of Seoul, Korea, in a world where dungeons and hunters were real. A world where Sung Jinwoo existed. Your thoughts spiral. ‘How could this happen? How could I be in a place like this? I’m literally going to die!! Why did it have to be here and not some other modern but monsterless story!’

‘… Better than Attack on Titan.’ you thought

And more importantly, what did this mean for you? You continued walking for a bit before stopping at a nearby news stand and cautiously grabbed a local newspaper.The headline at the top sears itself into your mind, “Third Raid for Jeju Island Failed.” As you stare at those stark words, a chilling realization sets in you, a year, a year before the events of Solo Leveling begin. When everything you once believed was mere fiction or a distant, surreal dream is about to become horrifyingly real.

You feel your pulse quicken as you scan the rest of the page. Other columns spill out more news, hunters on edge, occasional reports of dungeon outbreaks, and ominous warnings of raid groups not all coming out alive but the gate still closed. The air around you seems to thicken, each word a heavier weight pressing down on you. A heavy lump swells in your throat, a reminder of the dread that courses through your veins.

This isn’t just a story you read for amusement, nor is it a nightmare you can simply wake up from, pinching yourself proved ineffective. The thought sends a shiver down your spine, if everything in that story does end up happening, then every danger, the relentless onslaught of dungeons, the brutal battles with formidable hunters and higher beings, is destined to happen all over again, with you right in the midst of it.

You want to hold your face and scream but being determined to not embarrass yourself and regain control, you decide to take a few deep breaths and make a list for you to follow, the first order of business is to avoid the unfolding chaos at all costs. You resolve to steer clear of any encounters with Sung Jinwoo, hunters, or the terrifying dungeons that punctuate this nightmare. After all, you are neither a powerful person nor a part of this story by design. If you can simply keep a low profile, perhaps you can survive until you somehow find a way back to your own world.

Yet, as you move through the busy streets, your mind is a storm of conflicting thoughts. You wonder, with a heavy heart, if ignoring the impending events is truly an option. Could you really let some people die knowing it could be avoided. But at the same time, everything will be restarted anyways with the Cup of Reincarnation, so is there really a point? The weight of this realization presses down on you, intensifying the dread that you are not just an unwilling observer but an active participant in a dangerous game.

Exhausted and overwhelmed, you eventually find refuge in a quiet park. Slumping onto a weathered bench beneath the swaying trees, you let your gaze drift aimlessly across the serene yet alien landscape. The surreal quality of your surroundings so vivid and real collides with the gnawing fatigue in your limbs. Tears sting your eyes, a silent testament to the overwhelming uncertainty of your situation. Clutching the slip of paper with the address, you can’t help but wonder if it holds the key to unraveling this mystery as to why you were brought here, why your name appears on documents you don’t recall creating or as to why you can understand Korean as if it's your first language.

After a moment of soul-searching, you summon the courage to interact with a local. Following a series of nervous exchanges and carefully chosen words, you obtain directions to the address printed on that mysterious slip of paper to an apartment building that seems to promise a temporary refuge from the chaos outside.

With the directions etched in your mind, you retrace your steps and arrive at the building. Digging deeper into the contents of your backpack, you discover a lease form for an apartment along with a small key bearing a room number. After a brief, rushed meeting with the landlord, you are ushered up a narrow flight of stairs and stand before a door marked with the matching number. Pushing it open, you step into a bare, sparse space that strangely mirrors the early days of your old apartment, a single bedroom, a modest bathroom, a little kitchenette devoid of any real comforts. There are a few cardboard boxes but that's it.

The landlord’s final words echo in your ears as he departs “The movers finished just this afternoon, and everything is ready for ya. Your down payment has already been covered for the first two months but after that you’ll need to start paying again. Have a good night!” You watch him leave, feeling a bittersweet mix of relief and isolation as you begin to claim this new space as your temporary sanctuary.

Alone now, you wander through the apartment with tentative hope. You explore every room the cramped bedroom, the simple bathroom, the kitchen with its sparse cupboards gathering the few essentials left in cardboard boxes, clothes, toiletries, bedding, and a few meager kitchen supplies. Putting everything away felt like chore that sucked more energy out of you than 

You gather your thoughts and head to the bathroom for a warm, comforting shower. The water cascades over you, washing away some of the immediate shock, yet the water on your skin feels like reminders of the harsh reality you face. You let the water drown out the cacophony of your racing heart, even as the heavy question looms in your mind. What will happen to you?

｡⋆｡˚ ʚɞ ˚｡⋆｡

[wovenst4rs]

Diary

Xia Yi Zhou/Caleb × reader

Wordcount: 1k

Caleb had never hidden much from you. Whatever you wanted to know, he would happily share with you, no matter how secretive he was supposed to be about it. All it always took was you looking up at him with that pleading expression that always made his blood rush and the words would come out of his mouth before he even remembered to keep it shut. Most of the time, you didn’t even need to ask; Caleb simply chose to just tell you by himself. Finding that getting to think of his words and calming down his racing heart before telling you on his own terms was easier than making a mess of himself in front of you. 

Which is probably why the first time you walked in his room -well  his new room since you stole his- and noticed him slamming a small notebook in his jacket’s pocket, smiling as he stood up from his chair desk, you couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow. It didn’t help that when you asked him what was in that book? He simply shrugged the question off. Opting to cage you next to the door with his arms instead.

-”It’s just some personal project,” Caleb had explained, gently guiding you out of his room with a hand on the small on your back.

You pursed your lips; his answer leaving an uncomfortable taste in your mouth, even as he walked you down to the kitchen. Technically, you had no reason to believe he was lying. After all, he was still your Caleb. He may have changed slightly, but he wouldn’t lie to you. Not your honest Caleb…

It took you less than thirty minutes to decide to sneak into his room that night. You reasoned that if he could fake his death and make you grieve him for a year, then he technically asked for you to snoop into his thing. If he didn’t want you to, then he should’ve locked his door at night like every reasonable person- or not fake his death- but that was just unreasonable thinking it seemed.

So as you pushed the door of his room open, the knob cold against your hand, you left behind any lingering hesitation; the curiosity pulling you closer into the empty room. You let out a shaky breath, thankful that Caleb fell asleep on the couch as soon as the movie you convinced him to watch started. 

Things may have changed, but even after years, you two still couldn’t do movie night without him passing out halfway through the movie. You would often tease him about it as teens. Especially the way he would cling to you in his sleep; his body looking for yours even when unconscious. 

You let out a satisfied hum as you turned on the lights; the jacket he wore earlier sitting on the back of his chair, inviting you in. Taking a few quiet steps, you reached for the pockets of the jacket and bit your cheeks as you felt the leathery outside of the notebook under your fingers. The corners of the pages, yellowed from time, were practically asking you to open them and read through every line tattooed on them by Caleb’s favorite pen.

You leaned back against his bed, the wood cracking softly under your weight as you opened the book. The first page was mostly empty, only a few lines written at the top.

September 3rd 2040

-”Y/N hasn’t stopped coughing since this morning. Am worried about her. Gran keeps repeating that it’s normal and that antibiotics should start helping soon but don’t know what to think anymore. I bought her her favorite snacks and she immediately threw them up. I’ll update later.”

You paused as your eyes lingered on the date, realization flooding in. This was Caleb’s diary. You froze, questioning if you should even be reading this. It was Caleb’s diary, you couldn’t just read his most inner thoughts without him knowing.

But… The temptation to read about the last year was strong. Unbelievably so. To learn about what happened while you were missing from his life. Anything to explain his sudden demeanor change.

So you turned the pages. Skipping a chunk of them until you neared the end. Your stomach deeping as your eyes ran over the words you longed to discover. Page after page, warmth coiled around your spine. Your name appearing once, twice, then thrice, blood rushing down your body. 

That big sentimental idiot hadn’t let a single page remain empty without your name staining the page. It was almost sweet.

Almost,

because the rest of his words were anything but sweet. The thoughts he had always tried to hide about you laid bare on the paper. Each sheet describing a new way he wanted you undone in front of him. How he had fought his feelings for years, fearing you only saw him as a brother figure. How he had tried convincing himself that it was enough. That as long as you were near him and safe, that he could smother the flames spreading through his heart at the thought of you with anyone else.

But he couldn’t. And God knows he tried. But you had never made it easy for him. You always seemed to know which button to push to get his body to overheat. Your smiles made him ache for more. Your tears left his mind blank, except for the thought of kissing them off your cheek. The world forgotten as he swallowed your pain.

He wanted you so much that sometimes he wished he could resent you for it. Resent you for the way his body reacted every time your shirt rid up ever so slightly as you reached for a book in his bookshelf. His body and mind fighting each other at every echo of her voice; wanting nothing more than to hear you cry and choke his name.

Guilt had become an afterthought for him, even as he faked his sleep simply to have an excuse to pull you closer to his body during movie nights; your smell sticking to his clothes in a way that made his head spin. 

Your eyes widened as you read the last page again. If he faked being asleep then-

You gasp as you hear a sound at the door, wiping your head back to see Caleb silently observing you. His eyes bore into yours; the small sigh escaping his lips made you shiver unconsciously.

-”Took you long enough”.

This was supposed to be a drabble but this ended up being longer than expected 🫠

Tbh idk if I should continue this. Writer block has really been hitting hard but Thank God after months I think am finally getting motivation 🙌

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*English is not my first language so this work may contain a few mistakes*

[i-am-a-bad-influence-writes]

Be mine

Masterlist Word count: Zayne 1.3k, Xavier 1.1k, Rafayel 750 words, Sylus 1.3k, Caleb 360 words (I'm sorry, I'm still getting used to Caleb and don't really know how to write for him yet.)

Established relationship, domestic bliss.

Summary: It's Valentines day! (Yes, I know I'm late :"( I had work on the 14th and 15th. I am a bartender and it's been insane those days. Almost broke my back carrying kegs and boxes of wine.)

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Zayne

It's early in the morning when you feel Zayne stir. The sun hasn't even risen yet, but even on this Valentines day he has work. He presses a kiss to your forehead and a groan escapes you when the heater next to you leaves the bed to go take a shower.

'Zayne,' you call out, your voice cracking slightly from the sleep that's still impacting you. The matress sinks on his side of the bed. Without opening your eyes, you turn towards him. 'I don't get a proper kiss on Valentines day?'

You can feel him smile as he presses his lips against yours. Drowsily, you put one hand in his hair in a desperate attempt to keep him here with you. 'I love you, darling. I'll see you after work.'

'Love you too. Let me know if you get tied up in work.' It's a silent agreement between the two of you. His job is important, his work is important, and you know that. You also know he feels incredibly responsible for his patients.

At the start of your relationship, it took a little getting used to but by now you're more than accustomed to celebrating holidays before of after their actual date. You don't mind anymore as long as you get to spend time with your snowman, but he always seems to feel a little guilty about it.

You wish you could wipe that guilt from his mind, but that's a part that he keeps locked up. Even for you. You'll get there someday, but not today, not tomorrow, and maybe not even next year. That doesn't matter to you. After all, you've got the remainder of your lifetimes to find out every detail about him.

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Hours later, just as you expected, you get a call from Zayne explaining that they've got an influx of patients. He has to stay. Just like every other holiday. People do such insane things on holidays. It used to bother you, but you're just glad they've got such a talented doctor to take care of them.

You promised him to bring him dinner and sit down with him. Now, at the time that your reservation was supposed to be, you're strolling into the hospital with a homemade dinner and some desserts. The lady at the check in desk gives you a pitiful smile but you pay it little mind.

'Is Zayne in his office?'

'He might be. He just finished up with a patient so it might take him a few minutes,' she answers.

'Alright, can you let him know that I've got his dinner for him?' She nods and you take a seat in the waiting area next to a mother with a little boy that seems in a lot of pain. He looks over at you, looking strangely proud.

'I made my momma dinner,' he proudly exclaims. His mother almost bursts out laughing through her worry.

'You did? Then why are you here,' you question with excited curiosity to keep the kid engaged. He shows you his bright red hands. One of his fingers is bandaged up tightly with a kitchen towel.

'I cut my finger and grabbed a pot without gloves,' he tells you.

'Ovenmits,' his mother corrects.

'Ovenmits,' he repeats enthusiastically. You chuckle and put the bag with food on your lap. Rummaging through it to find the container with cookies you originally brought to give to Zayne to share.

'Well, if you don't get to have your Valentines dinner, I think you deserve a treat, right?'

'Oh, no thank you, we couldn't,' his mother quickly says with a gentle smile.

'Nonsense,' you answer with a big smile, 'I know it's not the most ideal to spend Valentines day in the hospital. Believe me, my husband is the head cardiac surgeon here.' You hand the container of cookies over to the woman who opens it for her son and lets him pick a cookie.

'You're bringing him food?'

'Yes, we're having dinner together on his break.'

'That's nice,' the woman smiles. Just then, a figure appears in front of you. You look up to see your wonderful boyfriend standing in front of you with a smile. 'Is this him?'

'Yes, this is Doctor Zayne,' you introduce him to the mother and the little kid munching on his cookie. 'Zayne, love, could you check him out quickly? He's got a cut.'

'Of course,' he replies with a kind smile and he kneels down in front of the kid, 'what seems to be the problem?'

'I cooked dinner for my mom,' he exclaims proudly. His mother shakes her head with a smile, her arm around the kid.

'He wanted to surprise me because I don't have a partner,' she explains quickly.

'That's real thoughtful of you,' Zayne says to the kid, 'next time maybe ask mom for help. Can you show me your hands?'

The kid opens his palms for Zayne, but there's a frown on his face. 'But then it won't be a surprise.'

'How about you make her a card next time? And then you can write in the card that you want to cook together. After all, Valentines day is about spending time with people you love.' You don't miss how Zayne looks up at you for a second. 'The burn isn't too bad. Some ointment should do the trick. It'll lessen in a week. Now how about that cut?'

'It's quite deep,' the mother warns. Zayne nods.

'Then how about we go to my office and I'll go see if you need stitches,' Zayne offers. The boy nods. 'Are you alright waiting a little longer, darling?'

'She can come with us,' the boy chimes in, 'I like her. She gave me cookies.' Zayne chuckles.

'Are you alright with that too,' he asks the mother. She shrugs.

'I don't mind.'

They're in and out within a few minutes. The cut wasn't too deep so Zayne glued it with instructions to keep it dry. He gave the kid some surgical gloves to use in the shower and showed him how to wash his hands without getting it wet. You quite liked watching him work like that.

Together, you waved the two goodbye at the reception and walked back to his office hand in hand.

'So when were you going to tell me we got married,' Zayne asks with a cheeky look on his face as he shuts the door behind you.

'Hm? What?'

'You called me your husband.'

'Oh,' you feel your cheeks burn, 'I guess it just slipped out.' He smiles and sits down with you at his desk while you dish out the food. There's a strangely happy look in his eyes that you can't quite place.

'You know,' he says as he reaches into the top drawer of his desk, 'I was going to do this at dinner, but this is as good a time as any.'

'What?' He puts a little velvet box in front of you.

'You've been with me through so much. More than you deserve to endure. You allow me to do my job without judging me for missing out on so many special moments. Instead, you create those moments for me. I could not ask for a better person to share this life with.' He takes the box and opens it, showing you a stunning ring. Then, he takes your hand, walks around his desk to you, and takes a knee in front of you. 'Will you do me the honor of being my wife?'

A huge grin spreads on your lips while tears start collecting in your eyes. With your free hand, you reach out to touch his face. 'You know, I always did prefer our private holiday celebrations.'

'Is that a yes?'

'It is.'

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Xavier

'Xavier? Are you ready?' He hears your voice loud and clear through the bedroom door. You had come over to his on impulse so you two could walk to the restaurant together. Only problem is, he was planning on picking you up and giving himself some more time to stop his nerves from racing.

Now, he's in the bedroom with a bad excuse. He told you he had forgotten something or didn't do something. He can't even remember clearly. What Xavier does know is that he looks a mess. His reflection looks the worst he has ever seen it, though he knows it's probably all in his head he can't shake it.

Can't shake that you deserve better, that you deserve someone else, someone that is not him. You deserve the absolute world, the universe, someone who could give you everything. That's just not him.

He's introverted, prefers to stay home with you but completely willing to go out if you ask. His days are spend taking it easy when he doesn't have work and he likes it that way, but sometimes he doubts if you don't want something more exciting.

Today out of all days, he should know that it's just his insecurities talking. He had already asked you to be his Valentine while walking home together last night and you said yes so enthusiastically. In fact, you had jumped him and the two of you fell into a fresh layer of snow in front of your apartment building.

'Xavier?' Your voice is almost like a blur to him now. He's so damn stuck in his own mind, in his own thoughts, in his own feelings. The little velvet box in his pocket feels like it holds the weight of the world.

One thing he does know for sure is that he wants this, wants you. Forever. He could just sit on the couch with you for the rest of his life and he would die a happy man.

Now he just has to ask if you want the same, but it's the asking part he gets stuck on. Last Valentines day was the same. He's had this ring for over a year. Originally, he had wanted to ask you on new years which turned into Valentines day, which turned into Easter, which turned into all the other holidays there are and now he's back at Valentines day. It isn't funny, but it kind of is.

'Xavier, are you alright?' The bedroom door opens ever so slightly as you peak your head around the corner. 'We've got a reservation.'

'I know, I'm just-' He can't find the words, his hands are clammy, he feels so damn nervous. Maybe you can't tell, maybe he can hold out until dinner, but then what happens if he backs out again?

You step into the room, towards him, and reach out for his hand. 'Xavier, love, we don't have to go if you're not feeling well. There's enough other days to go out for dinner together.'

'No, I feel fine. I want to take you out,' he tells you, a little more secure now. You take his hand and reach your other hand out to turn his head towards you. When he looks down at you, all he sees is the love you hold for him.

'It's fine. Really,' you assure him, 'I'm just as happy ordering in. As long as I get to spend the day with you.'

He takes a second to take you in. You look absolutely stunning. Yesterday you had teased him that you got a new dress and it was pink. Nothing could've prepared him for the dress you walked in with. It knocked the wind right out of him. You matched your nails to your dress and had your makeup done lightly.

'I love you.' The little words slip out so easily and they make you smile. That's enough for him. Maybe he doesn't need a fancy dinner, he doesn't need a holiday, he doesn't need a reason to ask. It's just you and it's just him. That's enough.

'I love you too,' you respond and get up on your tiptoes to ask for a kiss. He leans down and presses his lips against yours. A short, but loving peck. Your lip-gloss on his lips always makes you giggle a little. Not because it looks weird, but it's strangely intimate. Same with your lipstick.

'You know,' Xavier says as he puts his hand in his pocket, 'I've been wanting to ask you this for over a year now.' You watch as he gets on one knee, one hand still holding yours, the other holding a little box. A small gasp escapes you.

'Xavier-'

'Please, let me ask first.' You nod as tears fill your eyes. 'For the last few years you have made my life brighter, made me brighter. I literally glow around you. No one has ever made me feel that way. Two years ago, after Christmas with our friends, we went to bed together and you reminded me to drink some water before I went to sleep. Don't ask me why, but that's when I knew I wanted to ask you this. I've been trying to gather the courage and today I wanted to ask you at the restaurant but I just realized we don't need all that. Because I love you most because you love me for who I am. You don't ask me to put on a mask, don't force me out of my comfort zone while you do tease me every once in a while, you don't expect me to be something I'm not. You make me want to be the best version of myself for you and I love you so much for that. Will you marry me?'

He doesn't get an answer. Instead, you start laughing as you take a knee with him, reach inside the pocket of your dress and pull out a similar velvet box.

'You're kidding.'

'I'm not,' you laugh, 'I've also had it for over a year.' The shock slowly wears off and he starts laughing with you. You jump towards him, arms around his neck and you end up laughing on the floor together. Kisses and giggles are exchanged until the laughter finally dies down.

'Maybe we should just go to the courthouse tomorrow. Make sure we've got that covered too,' you suggest with a grin.

'I wouldn't be opposed to that. I'd finally get to call you my wife.'

'Should we cancel our reservation and order in?' His hands grab your face and he starts playfully leaving kisses all over your face. 'Xavier, stop that,' you laugh.

'You can't just say stuff like that. I can't marry you faster!'

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Rafayel

Rafayel has been wanting to propose to you for months and you've known that for months, but you don't want to rush him. However, getting extra dolled up for all special things he invites you to just in case he proposes and someone films it is getting tiresome.

And so, for this Valentines Day, you asked him to just stay home together. Spend some time on the couch, playing some games, ordering in some food. Just have a day of just the two of you and he happily obliged.

Now, as the sun is setting and you sit on the patio looking out on the beach together, you feel truly at ease. This day is the last day Rafayel would propose to you. He likes the grandeur of having something unique. He won't want to share his engagement day with some holiday you figure.

'Let's do one typical thing today,' you suggest with a satisfied smile. He looks over at you curiously. 'A walk on the beach?'

He hesitates to speak, no words able to form in his mouth. You don't know if you've just said something wrong or if he was so lost in this moment that he forgets to respond. That happens from time to time when he's painting, could be the same thing now.

'What? Are you waiting for the tide to change or something,' you question with a giggle and a playful nudge to his shoulder. That seems to wake him up. He rolls his eyes, a soft smirk playing on his lips.

'Maybe I'm just enjoying the sunset from here.' You raise and eyebrow and cross your arms.

'Oh really? Who are you and what have you done to my boyfriend?'

'What do you mean,' he laughs, 'I can't enjoy the sea from afar?'

'You've never said no to a beach walk with me before.' He breathes out a laugh and gets up, reaching out to you to take his hand. when you do, he starts running down to the shoreline. You're being dragged along in his long strides and you doubt you've ever ran this fast.

Just as he looks over his shoulder to look at your infectious smile, he trips and the both of you tumble into the sand. It covers you, slipping into places it really shouldn't be, but you keep laughing nonetheless. He reaches out for you again and shakes some sand out of your hair. You return the favour happily.

When he gets up, he holds out his hand for you again to pull you up. Just as you're halfway up, you notice his eyes are on something in the sand. You look down to see a little velvet box. When he realizes what it is, he lets go and you fall on your butt in the sand again.

Before he can grab it, you've already put your hand over it. His eyes meet yours again, the sparkle of mischief reflected in both of your eyes while a grin pulls onto his lips. His hand slips underneath yours, taking the box before you can wrap your hand around it. Then, he pounced on you, leaning down on his elbows to hold up his weight while keeping his face impossibly close to yours.

'Such an impatient little fishy,' he teases as he leans down to press a kiss on your lips, 'now that you know my plan, will you run away?'

You reach out to touch his face. Despite his confident words, his eyes are full of fear. Fear that he might've read this all wrong, fear that you aren't ready, fear that you do not want this. 'I've been waiting for you to ask. So get to asking.'

The biggest smile spreads on his lips as he pulls you back up. When he's got you standing, he kneels down in front of you with the sand covered velvet box in his hands. 'Will you marry me?'

'Yes. A million times yes,' you almost squeal. Now it is your turn to pounce on him, pushing him into the sand whilst peppering his face with kisses.

'If I knew this would be my future, I would've asked earlier,' he laughs.

'Good thing we've got the rest of our lives to catch up.'

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Sylus

You: "Why did you send me a ring size thingy?"

Sylus: "Do you want to spoil your birthday surprise?"

You: "Yes?"

Sylus: "I saw a jewelry set I think would look good on you. I need your ring size to make sure you'll be able to wear it."

But your birthday came and went. Sylus did give you a jewelry set but there was no ring. That's when you became suspicious of his intentions. At first you considered a weapon that needed your ring size, but that sounded too strange. You then went through every single little thing that you could think off until only one thought stuck in your mind.

Did he want your ring size to get you an engagement ring?

When that thought embedded itself in your mind, you got an idea. What if you could get the jump on him? Propose before him. Get him surprised and flustered. It's not every day you get to see your man like that.

So, one night when he came over, you took out the ring sizer he got you, put it on the coffee table before he arrived, and, when he started asking about it, joking about it. Teasing him that he never did get you that ring and teasingly putting it on him to see what would fit.

Eventually, you told him that you were throwing it out as you had no real use for it. He grumbled in agreement, seemingly not too happy about you throwing such a useful tool to him away. When you teased him for his tone, he simply told you he doesn't like you throwing his gifts away. Fair enough, so you kept it.

A few weeks later, you bought him a simple silver band with an engraving on the inside. Just for his eyes.

"Your little crow, always."

Very cheesy, but you knew it'd make him smile. To make it even more cheesy, you decided that you'd propose on Valentines Day. He had asked you out to dinner a few nights before and dropped of a beautifully tailored dress this morning. Red. His color.

As the sun begins to set, you get ready for the night, hoping that you can call Sylus your husband, or at least your fiancé in the morning. The dress makes you feel a little cheeky. It is draped so nicely and shows off just enough skin to make it classy. There's no tag, so somewhere in your mind, you imagine him designing it for you.

And as always, Sylus is exactly on time. Not a minute too early, not a minute too late. You know he stands in front of your door waiting for the agreed-upon time because he doesn't want to rush you. That's one of those little things about him that make your heart swell with love.

'Evening sweetie, you look breathtaking,' Sylus compliments you with a kind smile, handing over a beautiful bouquet of flowers, vase included so that you don't have to rush finding one. You notice the vase is one he has given you before. One that disappeared recently after you told him that your vase collection was getting too big for your apartment and to please stop giving you vases. Such a sweet man.

'Thank you, Sylus,' you give him your clutch in exchange for the flowers, smile brightly and turn to put the vase on your dinner table, 'they're stunning.' You notice how they blend with your interior and style perfectly. Sylus is nothing if not detail-oriented.

'Are you ready?' You nod and turn on your heel when you see his hand clasp around your clutch. Your velvet clutch that doesn't have any structuring material. While you try to keep your face neutral, there is a proud grin on his face. One that could be because he's taking you out, or because he felt the little ring box in your clutch.

'I am,' you smile and reach out to take your clutch and replace it with your hand. He doesn't object, but does offer his arm instead of his hand. However, that doesn't fly with you. Not on Valentines Day.

Of course, the restaurant Sylus takes you to is in the Michelin Guide. It's one of those places that has no prices next to the cheaper wines, but the most expensive bottles are shown with their prices. However, Sylus picks his wine like old money does. Not the most expensive but based on good wine years, regions, soil, the grape itself, the winery, the blend. He knows his wine like he knows his music, and his picks are never wrong.

Today that means a 2016 Barolo Riserva from Piedmont, Italy. Not a particularly expensive wine (yet) but it is considered a wine that could get even better with time.

After the wine is poured and the courses slowly come and go, Sylus reaches out over the table to hold your hand before the dessert course. 'Happy Valentine's Day, Sweetie.'

You can't help but notice the playful glint in his eye. He knows something or is planning something. Either are suspicious to you, but you're not letting it ruin your night. In fact, those things might turn out very well for you.

'You too, Sylus. Thank you for this beautiful night. It's perfect,' you reply, leaning closer to the table, your heart racing with excitement. 'But I think we can make it even better.'

Sylus raises an eyebrow, his expression teasing yet curious. 'What did you have in mind, Kitten?'

Under the table your reach into your clutch and take the ring box in your free hand. 'You know, I really do hate that you call me your girlfriend,' you say, trying to sound serious but Sylus looks right through that, still grinning, 'I'd much rather be your wife.'

A flicker of surprise appears in his eyes when you put the box on the table and open it. A soft chuckle leaves his lips as he slips his hand into his pocket and puts another ring box on the table. When he opens it, you see a beautiful golden ring with rubies encrusted in the band. 'I know I've been stalling, but couldn't you have waited until dessert,' he teases.

Then, out comes the server with a huge display of desserts and at your side of the shared dessert, it says "Marry me?" in chocolate sauce letters. A huge smile spreads on your face. Sylus, the ever stoic boss of a criminal organisation, is a softy for you. Putty in your hands.

Your right hand is still intertwined with his left on the table. He brings it over to him and gently pushes the ring on your finger. It fits perfectly, as expected. He then offers his hand to you, but you shake your head. 'I want you to read the engraving first.'

He takes the ring from its box and squints to read the engraving. 'Your little crow, always,' he reads aloud, his voice slightly wavering. He quickly clears his throat with a cough to regain his composure. He knows he doesn't need to do that around you, but habits are habits for a reason. 'That's beautiful, sweetheart. Thank you for this,' all the teasing and joking in his voice has fallen away. You're left with sincerity that makes his words embed itself into your mind, engrave themselves into your memories, and you don't ever want this memory to fade away.

'I love you, Sylus.'

'I love you too... my little crow.'

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Caleb

(I'm gonna admit this right here right now, I stole this from a Kdrama called Reset Couple. I just felt like it was very Caleb coded.)

It's early. Too early for you to leave the bed but early enough for you to be awake. Caleb left the bed a bit ago to get ready for his run before work. As soon as he left the bed, you turned to his side to bask in his body heat.

After a few minutes, Caleb climbs over top of you on the bed and leans down to press a kiss on your temple. You reach out your right hand to caress his cheek. 'You're going for your run?'

'Yes, and I've got work right after, but I'll be home for lunch.'

'Alright, take care of yourself,' you tell him and cuddle back into the sheets with your eyes long closed again. With a smile, he gets back up and strides out of the room looking a little too happy for a regular morning.

As you hear the bedroom door shut, you clench your hands to pull the covers closer and you feel something between your fingers. Your eyes flutter open again as you look down at your hand.

There's a ring on your ring finger. One that you don't recognize. It's a simple band with a little paper plane engraved in it. You rub against the metal with your thumb for a few seconds as you mind is slowly waking up.

Ring? On your ring finger?!

'Caleb?' You turn towards the door that is already closed. 'Caleb!' After a short fight with the covers you run after him. He's just about to leave as you pull him away from the door and shut it. There's a smug smile on his face as you turn around to face him and shove your hand in his face. 'What is this?'

'A ring?'

'What kind of ring is this?' He leans in a little, still towering over you but your noses nearly touching.

'You know exactly what kind of ring this is,' he tells you. Tears sting in your eyes as you throw your arms around his neck, pulling him close. He happily receives the hug, wrapping his arms around your waist. 'Happy Valentines Day, pip-squeak.'

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[sillydizzybxtches]

Breathe For Me

WARNINGS: disassociation, mental breakdown, comfort <3 — A/N? - 1.5k words + gn!reader !! ⯌ summary: after reneé's partner has a breakdown due to academic pressures, she's always willing to take care of them.

Ten fingers tore at your hair, your digits buried in your strands as you tried to soothe yourself—to bring yourself some sort of comfort while the world spaced out around you. Your knees were cradled to your chest and your back was to the wall as your breaths ran shallow. You felt just as distressed as you looked; while your hands trembled in your hair and a sheen of sweat began to form at your brow, you felt your breath trying to slip away from you as the pit of your stomach churned like some sort of unholy concoction. You just wanted it all to stop—the war going on in your head and your life. You just wanted quiet for one second.

College fucking sucked—you hated how much it required; you had to socialize and communicate 24/7, keep your grades up, and still had to find some time to yourself. You hated it. It was a part of what was going to forge your future and who you'd become—it was supposed to be everything, but all it felt like was a fuckton of pressure that left you mentally and physically exhausted almost every day. And guess what? As much as you were sick of it, you were trying your hardest to push through, even if you felt the control over your life and mental stability slipping through your fingers like sand—even if you were noticeably working yourself only to feel like your effort wasn't nearly enough. Even if your grades lowered and your motivation diminished, you pushed, and pushed, and fucking pushed, until you physically gave out—until you were on the bedroom floor, sobbing and gasping for air like there was none left in the world.

When it hit you, it hit you hard—as much as you tried to avoid it; it felt like a storm of emotions you'd forced yourself to forget how to feel hit you in the chest and knocked the wind out of you. Before you could even comprehend what was happening, you broke down. Not only were you were mentally frustrated, but you were physically, as well—it felt overwhelming to even try to breathe. You just wanted it all to stop. And for a while, it did.

You shut down. It felt like you blacked out—maybe you did ... you don't remember. The only thing that you remembered aside from the inability to breathe was waking up, your eyes slowly fluttering open as the soft glow of the TV came into view. And the clock. It was 12AM.

You let out a soft yawn and turned on your side, still completely confused as to what was happening—how was it 12AM already? Was it really 12AM? What day was it? Was this a dream? What if you transformed into a goldfish in your sleep without knowing it? Wait, were you a goldfish? What the fuck?

You almost startled awake when you felt something on your face and heard a soft giggle. For a second, you were confused as fuck, until you heard the hum of a familiar voice.

"Sorry, love. I didn't realize you turned," Reneé purred softly, moving her hand that had previously shoved against your nose accidentally to your hair, burying her slender fingers in the strands and massaging your scalp. You hummed in satisfaction and melted against her hand as your eyes fluttered shut again, letting her continue her ministrations—damn, that felt good.

"Am I a goldfish?" You slurred groggily, to which you felt your girlfriend's hand stop as she chuckled. You whined and pushed back up against her hand like a cat that craved attention, to which she hummed and continued to let the pads of her fingers scratch at your scalp. "Baby, what?" She giggled. "I just thought—wait, huh?" You mumbled in confusion. What were you talking about? Wait, you were awake. Oh. Oh, you were awake. That made no sense. And it was midnight. This was weird.

You heard Reneé giggle again. "I can't tell if you're sleep-talking or if you're just sleep-drunk," She cooed, pulling her hand out of your hair and moving to rub soft circles on your back. "I'm awake," You mumbled. You decided that you needed to get up and figure out what was happening—which started with you rubbing your eyes and opening them all the way, only to be met with the brightness of a TV screen. You whined, re-squeezed your eyes shut, and lazily pushed yourself to sit up, grumbling under your breath about the bright-ass light that blinded you. It may as well have been a flashbang at that point.

You forced yourself to open your eyes again, letting out a soft yawn as you turned to your right and saw Reneé's face come into view; the glow of the television screen illuminated against her hair and made her glow, and her smile was probably just as bright as that damn screen. You smiled softly at her goofy smile, blinking in confusion as she looked you up and down. "What?" You hissed in confusion.

"Nothin', baby—you're just adorable," She teased. You rolled your eyes and lifted your arms to stretch, trying to remember how you even got here. The last thing you remember doing was forcing yourself to take a break from studying. "How'd you sleep?"

"Good, I think?" You sighed. "I don't even remember falling asleep."

"Oh," Reneé blinked—you couldn't tell if she was confused or disappointed. "Do you ... wanna know how, then?" You nodded in curiosity. She reached for the remote to pause the TV, turning to you and sighing.

"I don't really know what happened before, but I got home from work and you weren't responding—you didn't run downstairs to hug me or anything. I ran upstairs to check on you, and you were just ... sobbing like you couldn't breathe. I did my best to help you come down, but it was like you were barely there," Reneé whimpered, as though she were reliving it. "You didn't respond to me and I was scared that you'd accidentally hurt yourself or something. Everything got better once I got you to breathe and slow down—you didn't talk to me, but you were exhausted. I didn't want to make you stay awake, so I just cuddled with you until you fell asleep."

Then it all came flooding back—the way your heart thudded in your chest as you slid down the wall, your consciousness slowly fading into the background as your emotions washed over and dragged you beneath the waters. It literally felt like you were drowning—that was what you remembered. Drowning in all of the pressure.

"Oh, shit," You mumbled, your eyes beginning to brim with tears. Not only did it hurt to think about it, but you felt like you were bothering Reneé—like you were burdening her with your struggles. You also didn't want it all to have to continue; you didn't want to have to repeat the cycle of working yourself to the point of mental and physical exhaustion. It felt fucking suffocating. "I'm so sorry. I'm sorry," You choked.

The moment she realized what was happening, Reneé shook her head and cupped your cheek, gently forcing you to look at her as she held you. "Hey, Y/N," She hummed. "It's okay, baby—it's not your fault, okay? It will never be your fault. You're doing your best, love—and I'm so, so fucking proud of you. Okay?"

As much as you tried not to, that was when you lost it—you burst into tears and your girlfriend was quick to pull you in close, wrapping her arms around you in a hug; not a suffocating one, but one that was welcoming and filled you with comfort. You buried your face into the crook of her neck and sobbed, hugging her like you were scared to let you go. Maybe you were—maybe she was all you needed.

She didn't interfere, and she just let you cry—she helped keep your breathing in check just to ensure that you didn't completely disassociate again, but she whispered sweet words of reassurance to you until you came down. When you did, you just stayed where you were and breathed in her sweet, familiar scent until you were ready to talk again.

You pulled your head out of her neck and wiped your tears away, sniffling a bit as you did so. "Thanks, Nae," You mumbled. "I needed that—I really did. And I'm still sorry."

Her hand tenderly reached out to cup your cheek again, her emerald eyes soft. "Please, baby—you don't have to apologize for having feelings. I get how you feel, and I'm always here if you need me for anything at all. I know life can seem really fucking suffocating sometimes, but I promise that you don't have to do it alone. I love you, and I need you to know that I meant it at all times—on the days when you're happy and the ones when you just need to break down. Okay?"

You felt like you could cry again, but you had a headache from crying already—still, a few tears rolled down your cheeks. "Okay, angel. I love you so damn much," You hummed, an uncontrollable smile curving your pretty lips.

"I love you, too. Wanna get a midnight snack and go back to sleep?" Reneé offered.

"Yeah—that sounds perfect."

She really was all you needed.

[graceful-not]

No actually all of you need to sit your asses down bc I just watched the legacy shorts and. HOW HAVE I NEVER HEARD ANYONE SAY ANYTHING ABT THEM OTHER THAN GOLDEN HOUR AND SWEATING TO THE GOLDIES???? HOW HAS NO INE SAID A SINGLE THING ABOUT THE GOLDEN LEGEND SHORT?? OR THE ANIMATION STYLE OF GOLD RUSH???? I could have gone my whole life without watching those do you understand that. Why are we, as a fandom, not taking about these more, or like, AT ALL. we should be insane about this. We should be insane about this, right??? RIGHT??????

[parasocialqueen]

THE PARALLELS WHEN NEIL IS IN THE NEST WITH TSC ARE SICKENING. Wdymmmmm “jean was forbidden to use French but he’s whispered it to Neil when Riko wasn’t close enough to hear.”

I AM GOING TO LOSE MY FUCING MIND ISTG

[somegrumpynerd]

Quick doodle just for fun

[yourgamemasterthewhiterabbit]

Both my parents actually suffer from HORRID emotional dysregulation and are prone to snapping and going into rages. My sister is the same way tbh. I am now realizing this is why they are constantly baffled by the question of whether or not I am mad at them.

I don't have external meltdowns.

I could. I don't let it happen.

I keep my rage on the inside and stay pretty quiet about it. It's just as strong as theirs [physically shaking nose bleed from high blood pressure kind of bad], but like as a kid I saw how terrifying it was to be around [dad breaking dishes, mom putting our lawn chairs into walls] and I just internalized that I wasn't going to wear that anger on the outside.

So my mother genuinely cannot tell if I am just being quiet or if I am silently hearing the dial-up noises of pure rage. This has lead her to both making strong and confident statements like "You are a pacifist who would never hurt a fly U.U" but also acting like I am secretly dangerous maybe... It's because she has never seen me snap.

She knows what her temper is like [throwing chairs through walls], she knows what my father's temper is like [pick up child and toss out door], and she can tell I am being tested, but she doesn't know what happens when I snap or where that breaking point is.

Her -perhaps unhinged- solution to this, my whole life, has been to do things that should obviously enrage me or shut me down completely, like ignoring important boundaries, repeatedly, punishing me for expressing emotions or needs at all, etc... And then to constantly ask me if I am angry with her when I get too quiet [right after near directly telling me to shut up].

It has occurred to me now, they have never once seen me lose my temper, so they literally just can't tell if I am angry at them. My sister is easy, my mother fights and screams with my sister constantly, my mother understands this. My mother doesn't have any grasp of feelings or boundaries that are not screamed at her [apparently, and I fear my sister is the same way]. Her and my sister are close despite constant fucking fighting because they understand each other.

They are trying to get me to engage the same way and it is not working. I realize now that this has been hard for them.

I was so successfully taught to suppress my emotions, by being punished for any outburst, that rage quiet looks the same as any other kind of quiet from the outside. To them anyway.

I did tell her. For the record. I used my words. I did tell her very calmly that my response to rage, in order to avoid doing the things that terrified me as a child, was to simply leave [the autistic urge to GTFO]. When a situation or person causes too much of the dial-up rage noise, I simply extract myself from that situation, up to and including never speaking to a person again. I explained this calmly. I explained it calmly 100 times and I explained that I explain myself calmly as my rage response 1-5 [also pretty much every other negative emotion tbh], and I told her that what came next was me simply opting out and fucking off. I told her this. I couldn't understand why she never took me seriously, or why she never fucking understood.

I couldn't understand what made her like this.

But it's the same problem I have with everyone else multiplied by a factor of 10.

If I am explaining myself calmly, they can't understand that it's actually serious or that I am actually upset. ESPECIALLY because they read me as "female" and women "aren't that rational" so if I am not screaming and crying about something, which I never do, people assume I can't be upset and it isn't serious.

And then after having my boundaries ignored too many times despite having calmly explained how and why it's a problem [shaking inside or not]... I leave. I leave and everyone gets upset like this is unexpected behaviour, even though I told them 50 times that is how I would respond if they kept doing *the thing.*

And for neurotypical people especially, they are expecting there to be a disconnect between what someone says they need or feel and what their actually boundaries and feelings are, and they expect the latter to be demonstrated with emotions. Telling them bluntly you do not function that way somehow never helps?

My mother isn't just looking for normal yelling or a few tears to know I am serious, whether or not I do those either [I don't], she's looking for an explosion to know there's a problem at all.

Fucked if I know how she proceeds through life this way in general or if this is just her expectation of her own kids???

And I couldn't get why my mother couldn't read my emotions and didn't seem to think I have any. It's because she's testing for the rage limit to see where my 'actual' limit is instead of taking my word for it. Never the fuck mind that she could simply *not* test at my boundaries instead of letting me have them. Separate issue.

I couldn't figure out what made her *like this*

She's expecting me to throw a giant meltdown violent tantrum at people when I have 'actually' had enough. Maybe she got away with those being like 5'4" in another time, but I am the size of the average man, I do not get to have giant screaming rages, whether or not people perceive me consciously as a woman, and least of all because a lot of people -at least unconsciously- read me as 'masculine' or at least always "they guy" of the situation compared to all other women and some men [bigger stronger and more rational, more able to just absorb the damage and let it go so the less rational screaming/crying one doesn't have to be dealt with]. Even if it was in me to be willing to terrify people [usually never], there are such limited instances where it wouldn't just blow back on me. Potentially very dangerously.

I am going to be the quiet calm one. You are going to have to let me use my words, bitch.

So she kept ignoring my boundaries until I had to cut her out of my life, and she probably doesn't understand and probably thinks it feels sudden -after 36 long years of bullshit- abrupt and unfair.

But I told her hundreds of times.

I probably should have just screamed at her.

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

I am exhausted, good heavens.

[the-witchhunter]

DP x DC 50's High School AU... Or is it?

Just imagine if you will, a very aesthetic 1950's high school setting. The Waynes live in the idyllic little town of Amity Park, going to Casper High, and living their lives.

Dick is the oldest son, off to college but still stopping by to visit, all letterman jacket and smiles. Jason, the bad boy greaser is trying to finish up his senior year of high school, a little late, but spending time in Juvie put his life on hold. He's trying his best, spending time working on his motorcycle and hanging with his study buddy, Jazz Fenton. Tim enjoying high school life with his family, studying hard and enjoying photography club. Gee, Tim's life sure is perfect

or is it?

Tim can't shake the feeling that something is wrong. Sometimes, he remembers something else. He has memories of his life here, and they must be real, his family is here, Jason, Bruce, Alfred, and even Dick when he's back from the Teen Titans college. Wait... Dick wasn't in college, was he? Wasn't he a cop in Blood Haven? Was he the local cop? That's right, Dick is the local cop, all sunshine and feeding his eternal sweet tooth with donuts. How could he forget that? He loved his family! Sure, there had been some rough spots, like when Jason died went to juvie, but they were together now, a real family.

But sometimes Tim has dreams, of another time, of another place. But they can't be true, can they? YES! No, That made no sense. Thinking about it made his head hurt.

Then there was the matter of the boy in his class, Danny Fenton. He kept catching him staring. Danny would just look at him funny. Sometimes he would say weird things. Tim would write him off as just an oddball, but sometimes what he said reminded him of his dreams.

Tim wasn't sure what it was, but something was up. He was going to find out what it was, and maybe, just maybe, Danny Fenton was the first step to solving this mystery

or

Tim wished for a more idyllic life and to get along with his brothers while on a mission in Amity Park. One reality warping genie ghost later and now they're stuck in something like a 1950's sitcom with altered memories.

[umbreonix]

I forgot I never posted this outside of discord XD but this was a lil secret santa exchange I did for @ponie-cornious <3

[coridallasmultipass]

brocal for the ship bingo?

The OTP to end all other OTPs... (Man. This wound up being basically Cori's Masterpost of BroCal. AKA... this got long and has some images, since I realized I can post my own art directly instead of just a text link to it lol.)

Wasn't actually expecting this to wind up with a bingo? But I got basically 2?? (Will explain the lighter heart later.) This is A LONG post, and definitely gonna get SUGGESTIVE, bc man, am I obSESSED with BroCal. I'm just gonna go thru each checked box, since I don't know how else to structure this post lol.

Read More to save ppl's dashboards:

I want them to make out with blood: OKAY. I HAVE A WHOLE THING PLANNED FOR THIS CONCEPT. I AM NOT GOING TO GO INTO DETAIL ABOUT IT JUST YET BC I ACTUALLY WANNA WRITE IT. I'm obsessed with this one fanart of Bro licking Lil Cal, and it spurred on an idea I outlined and really wanna write: https://coridallasmultipass.tumblr.com/post/739969858334294016/hiiii-mutual-i-am-secrecy-asking-if-u-have-anymore

((Sorry for the plain text links, Tumblr app is NOT cooperating with me right now to add hyperlinks. I'd post the image directly if that one was mine.))

Basically, I just really need to see Bro and Cal making out with blood in their mouths, and I started a whole convoluted, unrelated outline in order to make that hapen. It'll probably just be a really short thing that ends at the uh climax, since otherwise it's gonna end up sadstuck. And I don't like sadstuck lol.

Undeniably t4t: Bro and Dirk are always trans for me, and Lil Cal's got that uh... what percentage did I calculate it out to be? 13% of Dirk is in Lil Cal [ My shitpost calculations: https://coridallasmultipass.tumblr.com/post/746702663327072256/i-ran-out-of-tags-rambling-about-this-so-im-just ] so Lil Cal is at least 13% trans because of that much of Dirk being in him, plus however you feel about the other components being trans. LMAO this is ridiculous to type out. Moving on.

EDIT: FUTURE CORI INTERJECTING WITH A:

"Lil Cal Top Surgery Healing Progess: Day 1"

Terrible for each other affectionate/derogatory: I don't even know where the affectionate/derogatory split occurs. I multiship BroCal as both Bro/normal puppet Lil Cal and as Bro/evil juju puppet Lil Cal, and whatever combination in between or outside of that. Terrible in that Bro is so obsessed with Cal that he doesn't have normal relationship/social skills and uses Lil Cal as both a crutch and motivator alternately, in a terrible cycle, or maybe rather... spiral. And also terrible in that Bro is caught in the allure of playing the role of puppeteer while also being a puppet for the darker parts of Lil Cal, whether he actively knows it or not. (Honestly though, I feel like it's dismissive if you try to blame all of Bro's faults on Lil Cal like this tho, which is why I tend towards liking Lil Cal as just a regular puppet a lil bit more. Or at least, a regular mildly supernatural puppet since that can be a little more entertaining if Cal can get into mischief while no one's looking or give off the vibes of his mood more directly, rather than like entirely inanimate or 'just LE, trapped in a puppet body.' Again, I like all of these concepts.) ((I mean that can also be a whole post of its own, like, by the time Bro gets ahold of Lil Cal, are any of the other components still alive in there? Like, are ARquius and Gamzee still in there or did Caliborn kill and consume them entirely? Idk how it works, man. This is why I like Lil Cal as his own person, maybe just influenced by the feelings of the others. LaCroix: CalGamARquius essenced water. Lil Croix.))

They need to get weirder with it: YES YES. 1000% YES. I need entirely shameless Bro doing entirely shamless things to Lil Cal. I want them inseparable and doing unspeakable things to each other. I want Bro taking full advantage of Cal having a puppet body and all the intimacy that comes with making repairs and being elbow-deep in stuffing.

Playing with them like dolls cute/psychological torture: This is the same divide as with the 'terrible for each other' point, so I'm just gonna go with the cute one, since the torture one is self-explanatory. I want them fucking married. Like. Full mushy cute romance type of relationship that Bro has never felt for any of the people in his life (cough aromantic cough). I made this comic not too long ago, and I often fondly look back on it, because I adore the concept of Bro being lovey and romantic and everything out of character around Lil Cal because he feels safe and loved and comfortable around Cal:

[ https://coridallasmultipass.tumblr.com/post/750602227910131712/brocal-4-lyfe-so-i-had-this-idea-of-dave-being ]

I made a post a long, long time ago (not gonna link that one bc it was personal and I was being very obviously mentally ill ["C'mon, like you're not being obviously mentally ill while typing paragraph upon paragraph about BroCal still in 2024 like 10 years later??" Fair.]) But the gist of it was that, like, having objectophilia or objectum sexuality is like, from an outsider pov, it's a way to express love to yourself. You filter all your self-hate through the object you love, and you get back unconditional love in return.

Lil Cal is never gonna hate Bro, no matter what Bro does. As a regular puppet, Lil Cal doesn't have the capacity for hate. And so that only brings them closer, since Cal is never gonna reject Bro for any reason. (Back to being a crutch. RSD is real, and Dave is probably a big trigger for that since he's not on the same wavelength of weird as Bro [not blaming Dave, obviously, this is a post about BroCal].) Bro can experience receiving positive attention from Lil Cal, without feeling 'fake' or uncool by expressing that same attention or affection directly to his own self. (Things are always done through multiple layers with the Striders, aren't they?) ((And I'm not saying Lil Cal doesn't love Bro, or that their relationship is just pretend - it's real, I'm just like, 'What's going on behind the curtain in the mundane situation?/ How is the relationship appealing?' Lil Cal luvs Bro 5eva 4 lyfe and that's a hard fact. Could cut diamonds with that shit.)) Example: maybe Bro is dealing with a bout of body/gender dysphoria and is trying to take out his frustration with working out, and it's not helping, even if he's powered through a set better than normal. Then, he notices the way Lil Cal is watching him, and he can feel the excitement seeping off Cal. He can sense the echoes of a wolf-whistle ring out through his mind, and it's like. Okay, none of that shit from before matters, he's got all the validation he needs right there in Lil Cal. Maybe flex in Cal's direction, Bro?

Oh, so back to being cute: isn't it wonderful how the template maker phrased it as 'playing dolls'? But yeah, I want all the mush and everything. Bro has a whole wardrobe for Lil Cal for every minor event that occurs in the Strider household. I want them going on genuine dates. Maybe even... holding hands. Bro blushes for the first time since he was 16. He even gets to take Lil Cal with him when he goes out to DJ or put on a show. Not to mention the whole website business. (I've talked about Cal's role in that before, but I'll mention it in a moment...)

They will die in a heart shaped pool of blood: I mean, kinda did happen, even tho Lil Cal didn't perma die right there. I don't think this one needs any explanation, since it basically happens in canon.

'You should see the other guy...': Okay, so. About 11 years ago, I had a really great idea. About how smuppets enter this world. I expanded on it in the following more-recent post (adult only content lol): https://coridallasmultipass.tumblr.com/post/741683686717669376/back-in-the-day-my-friends-called-me-insane-when-i

To sum it up, whenever Bro makes a new smuppet design, he then gives it a video debut on his website, where uh, Lil Cal births the smuppet like it's a horror movie scene, fake blood and poly-fil gore all over the place as the smuppet crawls out from the viscera. Bro then gets to play aftercare by lovingly and gently cleaning up and restuffing Lil Cal as they get to admire their new creation and rake in the dough lol.

So it's technically not a 'you should see the other guy' kinda situation, but it does involve one of them being... idk what word would describe it. Injured by the other? Usually a character loses a fight and says this to act like they got out of it better than the other guy, but... We could have someone knock on the door during the filming of a scene like that, and Bro has to answer it with fake blood up to his elbows, and be like 'You should see the other guy.' (But obviously, that's a terrible idea and would cause more trouble than it's worth... Maybe worth it for a persistent door to door salesperson, though.)

Though, I guess I should also say, I'm not opposed to Bro beating on Lil Cal in or out of the bedroom. Or in the case of animate Lil Cal, Cal choking out Bro. In or out of the bedroom, lol. Depends on the situation, like I said I will ship this ship any which way. But my preference for animate Lil Cal is to be like a totally normal puppet around Bro (or mushy in-love with Bro) and then evil-murder-puppet towards anyone else in Bro's life, like a... toxic yaoi guard puppet. (New Phrase Achievement Unlocked!) Bro brings home another guy to have sex, who tries to stay the night due to the late hour, but the guy wakes up shortly after to see Lil Cal standing there with a knife in the dark, eyes glowing red. Panic ensues when the guest screams and freaks out, and by the time Bro's got a light on, grabbing his sword, ready for a ninja vs ninja fight (bc an intruder would've had to bypass all the traps), Lil Cal is just innocently splayed across the desk chair, no knife in sight. Relevant post (well, the caption on the post too, saying how Bro can't seem to hold onto any relationships besides Lil Cal):

[ https://coridallasmultipass.tumblr.com/post/741830516962164736/i-want-you-so-youre-mine-always-selfishly ]

Uh, lol, also Cal choking out Bro in the bedroom, adult only drawing: https://coridallasmultipass.tumblr.com/post/754328907438800896/i-wouldnt-wanna-be-my-ex-when-he-found-out-who

Thinking about them always and forever: Listen. My Tumblr as proof, I've had BroCal on the brain for at least 11 years at this point. Definitely longer, since I first started reading Homestuck. I fucking love puppets and dolls and plushies and I always have. Man, if I hadn't deleted Tweets (automated app I used to do, and I couldn't choose what to save) from when I was in high school, you could've seen me @ ing my fave band when they were taking lyric suggestions on a fan-inspired album, where I was telling them 'make a song where the theme is puppets' and, while I don't know if they saw that or took the suggestion (they had responded to me before bc they weren't huge yet), there is indeed a song titled "Puppets" on that album, and it was my favourite song on there. Point is, I was fated to ship BroCal before I even knew it existed.

Sicko 2 sicko communication: I mean, does this even need explaining? Bro and Cal aren't just on the same wavelength of freaky, they're the fucking source of the wavelength, and it's causing a feedback loop between them. And it does as feedback does, which is, it amplifies with time. (Going back to the spiral symbolism here, lol.) ((Actually, time can play a symbol here, too, I guess, but idk how to word it, I'm starting to run out of steam.))

Let them have a happy ending: God, I need this so badly. I know Bro's story ends in Homestuck, but like. Pls. Someone needs to officiate their wedding. Currently placing the dreambubble order, but I can't organize a wedding by myself. OH speaking of. In that lil comic I did above, where Bro is accepting Lil Cal's proposal, I had the Natural Born Killers wedding scene in mind. I was gonna draw that as a follow up, but I think I have too many WIPs going. Just two people on the run, saying "I do" in a scenic but completely ordinary roadside location. Idk why, I keep going back to that movie for things related to Bro (I mention it in a very important scene in a longer WIP I've been writing, as something Bro watched and internalized as a kid lol.) It's not the best movie lol. Anyway.

The devotion omg: I feel like I have already gotten my point across about this, but let me reiterate:

[ https://coridallasmultipass.tumblr.com/post/735842968450269184/in-the-name-of-iconic-magical-girl-anime-ill ]

Bro and Lil Cal absolutely beat the shit outta Jack Noir before he gets prototyped. And even then, they fight together till the death, like. C'mon. Nothing more romantic than fighting a losing battle side by side. Also, like, Lil Cal having his own protective chest for safekeeping as seen in the Strider living room? Like, you don't just have a protective case for any old thing, especially something meant to be handled, especially something that is regularly used to smack other things/humans. What I'm saying is, Lil Cal is durable and resilient, and yet, Bro still has a case for transporting Cal safely. Oh, wait, I just thought of something funny, what if Lil Cal goes feral like a cat, and basically the chest is like a cat carrier so Bro can drive without being constricted lmaoooo, I've been typing for hours can you tell?

Kind of homophobic: Listen. I HAD a Cal. Took him to college. Staked my claim on the top bunk bc I am royalty. Proceeded to not have anywhere to set my water cup and had to use a cardboard box as a table up there. Spilled water. Melted Cal's sharpie-drawn face. And then proceeded to cry. I have a WIP of Lil Cal 2, but that requires actually remembering to work on him. I wanna do better by the pattern, too, since I rushed to finish the first. I have all the material! I have the project started! So it's just a matter of reordering my WIP priorities, honestly.

Where is all the fucking content?!: For realzz. I was actually venting about this the other day (didn't end up posting it), but it's like, either there's no BroCal content, or there IS BroCal content, but I can't reblog it for reasons I don't want to get into on this post. I'm dying of thirst in the ocean, basically. Whatever. This just means I need to make more BroCal content myself, which I am more than happy to do. I've just had a rough past few months, so I'm glad I got to type all this post out, and hopefully I can get back to creating soon.

Last one! I hope this one makes up for the absurd length of the post, it's prob my new fave idea I just came up with on the spot.

[TW drink spiking by a stranger mentioned in this.]

Committing atrocities as their silly little activities: I think we all know what this means, but I am going to ignore that elephant with my special x-ray vision. Because this is a BroCal post. I'm digging deep to the meat and bones of this. Honestly, this could go multiple routes, it depends on how you take your Lil Cal.

One could place emphasis on the 'guard' part of the, ahem ahem, toxic yaoi guard puppet. Maybe someone is actually trying to harm Bro, and Bro legit can't do anything for reasons outside of his control - let's say his drink got spiked a while after he invited a stranger home that he thought was chill. As Bro gets shoved down on the futon, his memory of the night is only a few flickers. Familiar orange plush, roiling around above him like a dancing windsock. Flashes of Lil Cal's face all distorted and stretched wide like a funhouse. J-Lo and Ice Cube on the TV. But when Bro is finally able to fully wake up in the morning, everything is as if he just got home alone last night and passed out on the futon. Cal looks totally normal and content tucked under Bro's warm arm. Except when Bro gets up, there is a pair of shoes too big to belong to him at the door. Maybe Bro knows. Maybe instinct tells him to run. Maybe he does, but he's running towards Lil Cal, every time.

[fluentisonus]

someday i'll really internalize that forcing myself to stay up as long as it takes to do something even when it becomes very apparent its not getting done is not at all conducive to my health & happiness but until then. here we are again

[strohller27]

.