#where they knew him and loved him and lost him

[prettyboykatsuki]

MY LOVE, MY ALIBI | CALEB | XIA YIZHOU (LNDS)

♡ tags ; psuedocest / adoptive incest, afab + fem!reader, minor age-gap (3 years), mentions / non graphic depictions of child abuse (from readers days in the orphanage), childhood crushing, mutual pining, developing relationship, size difference, some religious imagery, loss of virginity, petnames (baby, princess, pipsquak), use of meimei once and gege a few times but very sparing, oral (f!recieving), nipple play, marking, light masochism from reader, mouth-spitting, fingering, bare-backing, 18+

♡ wc ; 23.3k (kill me)

♡ a/n ; hey. this is an incest fic for adoptive siblings. if that makes you uncomfortable, don't read it. block me if you need to. please spare me lecture.

also - i have reader be carried by caleb a couple of times but dude has a bionic arm so he's strong as shit to me. the size difference tag is mostly about his dick. aside from the carrying there is no phyiscal indicators for reader

important to the fic but i play in simplified cn. please go listen to the simplified cn voice actor before you read this. for my sanity. most of my characterization is based on various cn translations from the kind cn fanbase. special thank you to mao @/yinyuedijun and this yt channel.

♡ synopsis ; for as long as you can remember, the sight of caleb's back is whats made you feel safest. it's no surprise that every man that comes after him never quite measures up.

extended authors note. | caleb playlist | ao3 | tipjar

PART ONE: ANYTHING YOU SAY CAN AND WILL BE HELD AGAINST YOU.

At seven, you knock out one of your teeth roughhousing with one of the orphanage boys. 

The good news? You’re winning. You’re at the age where size matters more than gender but the boy you’re fighting is both bigger and older than you. 

Even so, you manage to pull off shoving him back.

You don’t know his name, only his face— buzzed head and red gums, the pristine picture of anger. You roll around with him in the small stretch of yard behind the orphanage - white tanktop stained with grass, all knobby knees and short limbs as you fight and fight and fight with every ounce of your strength. 

You are seven with something to prove and a lot already lost. Your pride refuses to let you lose further. You recieve a hit of adrenaline when you launch the top of your head into the older boys chin and hear his teeth clack from how hard it lands. He collapses in a pile, spits curses he learned from the grown-ups that come in and out as he lays there.

He nearly jumps you when you’re both down. Your head is throbbing where his chin connected and you can tell if he decides to fight you again, your chances of winning have slimmed significantly.

You see it in his eyes. In his face. He’s so angry. Always is. You knew it was a bad idea to provoke him to begin with. 

He nearly, nearly jumps you and almost knocks you out completely. 

So you decide it might be better to prepare for it. You fold up. Put your arms up high and brace for impact when a shadow - long, endless, casts over your head. Eyes half open, a familiar pair of beat-up sneakers stand in front of you in the grass. You hear a familiar voice. It’s colder than you’re used to.

“Bullying a little kid is lame,” Caleb says, sharp. It makes you shrink further even though it’s not directed at you. “Quit fighting or I’ll get one of the grown-ups.” 

You can’t see what's in front of you. You only hear a shock of gasps around you—another confrontation that quickly settles into silence before Caleb turns around. 

His face is soft as he bends down to be eye level. Kind, boyish, gentle - he opens up his arms. He’s not happy about something. You can tell because his smile is a little dimmer than normal. You desperately hope it isn’t because of you. 

Even knowing Caleb is going to scold you a bit, you find yourself welling up in tears from relief even over fear. You wail as you wrap your arms around his neck and Caleb hoists you up and carries you on his hip like you’re still a baby.

He’s silent as he carries you into the house. 

“You shouldn’t get into fights,” He says, soothing. You sniffle as he walks you inside. His shirt smells like summer, hands fisted in it. Holding on for dear life.  Call for me next time.” 

Caleb sits you on the mattress, in the room all the older kids share. Your feet don’t touch the ground as he kneels in front of you and rifles around under his bed. He has bandages and alcohol, cotton swabs and gauze. 

His eyes are kind as he assesses your wounds. Pours alcohol onto a cotton pad and frowns each time you sniffle and sob from the pain of getting them cleaned. “A crybaby like you shouldn’t fight anyone, seriously.” 

“Shut up,” You say first. You hang your head low, instant regret. Your hands close again, blunt nails digging into your palms. Your lower lip trembles. Caleb quickly puts a hand on the top of your head when he notices your distress. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay. Just depend on me, alright?” He grins with the same front tooth missing. Like a mirror image of you, you think. “I’ll always help you.” 

__

At ten, you give up celebrating your birthday. 

You’re the age Caleb was when you met and now you’ve both left the orphanage and lived away from it for a few years. You’ve spent nearly three years with a woman you call Grandma and the world feels a lot kinder with her in your life. She takes good care of you. Gives you a warm bed to sleep in, and good food to eat. Doesn’t get angry when you break cups or get up in the middle of the night to go pee.

You live in a house with only three people and you even get to have your own room—one you don’t have to share, not even with Caleb. It’s nice to sleep where there’s no one else, even if most nights you crawl into Caleb’s bed anyway and sleep next to him because it's more comfortable.

Grandma is nice to you. Sometimes, she looks like she’s somewhere far away but it never lasts for long. You’re thankful to her for taking you in. 

You have a warm bed to sleep in, good food to eat, and Caleb is right next to you. He’s your brother now, so you can be together forever. And none of the adults from the orphanage are here to punish him anymore when he tries to protect you. 

You’re ten and the world seems to be trying its best not to hurt you any further. Somehow, this only makes you feel more uneasy. 

You’re happy. It scares you. You often wonder when someone will punish you for it. If someone will be blamed for allowing it. It makes you feel helpless when you think about it too long. 

But you have Caleb. He makes it easier. You can cling onto his shirt when it gets too hard. And he’s older now, enough to really feel grown up. 

A night, when you clutch the fabric until it stretches wide, trembling after you’re plagued by bad dreams - having nightmares of rusted rain, Caleb is there. 

No matter how deeply asleep, he always wakes up to hold you. 

( You wait for him to tell you that you’re too big to be getting scared over nightmares, but the day still hasn’t come. You hope it never does. You think you’d be so sad you would never stop crying. )

You’re ten, and the world seems kinder - but you know better by now. You try to take precautionary measures against letting it take everything from you again. 

And you start small. With yourself, and your birthday. 

You’ve only ever celebrated a few birthdays. In the orphanage they’d celebrate a lot at once, so it never felt very  special. You can’t really remember the ones you had before then, don’t remember much from then at all.  Since you’ve been adopted, Grandma has celebrated your birthday and made it special. She and Caleb cook your favorite meal together and you sit around and cut-cake afterwards. 

They even decorate the house with balloons and streamers.

Your birthdays now don’t compare to the ones you had then. 

Nothing bad is happening but still. You like celebrating your birthday. But, can you feel okay about getting to celebrate a birthday at all? When you thought for sure your life might end before then?

Before your eleventh birthday, you announce to your family that you don’t want to do anything special this year. When they probe you with questions about why not, you refuse to give up any answers.

Caleb is thirteen and heartbroken when he hears you say this. Asks questions even as you turn your nose up and refuse to answer. You get into a fight about it, one of the very first of your entire relationship. 

It’s that same night you begin to sleep in your own room. 

In the weeks leading up to your birthday, you find your house to be more quiet than usual. Caleb is busy with something but you blame yourself for the distance between you. He always comes back seeming tired. Even though he still pats your head and smiles at you the same way, you notice when he seems a little less there at the dinner time. 

When your birthday finally comes, your grandma still decides to celebrate it in a small way. She makes your favorite food and gets you a cake and candles. Hugs you when you cry about it, too. The only thing they skip is the decoration. 

(You’re brave though, when next year rolls around and tell them you miss it. It makes Caleb happy enough to hug you tight.)  

The warmth that fills your heart seeing your name in iced letters is too big for your body. You wonder if this is what having a family was like. 

At night time, after dinner and before you cut the cake - you open your presents. There’s two for your eleventh birthday. One from grandma and one from Caleb. Usually, they sign their gift to you together but this year they’re separate. 

At first, your heart sinks, but you try not to think about it. Grandma gets you a bike that matches Caleb’s so the two of you can ride together. You’re happy to have it but Caleb insists you can just keep riding on the back of his if you don’t want to learn. 

You open Caleb’s gift second. It’s wrapped in pretty paper with a bow on it so you undo it carefully. Inside of it is a plain looking box.  

“Open it,” 

There’s a pair of earrings and a necklace when you do. It’s not cheap plastic like all the other jewelry you’ve ever had in your life. Little apples covered in gemstones, and a little gold necklace with a pendant and a locket. Your eyes go wide, fingers trembling a little as you touch it. 

You look for Caleb’s face unthinkingly. Kind and warm, eyes crinkled and shoulders slack in relief when he sees your happy reaction. His hand is warm as it rests on your head, rubbing gently. 

“It took a while but I’ve been helping our neighbors for money so I could buy it for you,” Caleb says, looking down at you with an easy grin. “The day you were born is important for me, so don’t say that you won’t celebrate it from now on. Okay?” 

When tears well up in your eyes, you barely have to say a word before Caleb brings you into his waist. You cry to him the same way you always do - with a hand fisted in the back of his shirt like you’re terrified of where you’d end up if you let go.

Even when you ruin his shirt with salty tears, Caleb never voices a word of complaint. His steady heartbeat and warm hands that make you feel like he’s already done it all before, stay exactly where you expect them. 

Your dependable, kind older brother. 

__ 

At thirteen, you take your first field trip overnight. 

It takes a tremendous amount of effort to make it happen. 

Grandma was easy to convince, but it took you fourteen whole days to convince your brother that you could handle going on a school field trip without having your hand held the entire time. 

(You can still hear the amused, taunting lilt in his voice from when you first mentioned it. Sure you’ll be okay pipsqueak? My bed won’t be there for you to take over if you get scared, you know?)

Ugh. He can be so strict. An you swear he was even more stubborn about it than usual. 

You had to use every tactic in the book to get him to say yes. Kissing up to him, acting extra wistful, doing your chores and being super well-behaved. After strategically buttering him up for two weeks prior to you just asking, you also made sure to ask when he had one of his friends over. He’s strict regardless of who's around, but having another person in your corner is good for morale. 

(This method is effective for the record. Just as Caleb goes to turn you down, his friend throws an eraser at him and clicks his teeth. 

“There’s a limit to your siscon behavior. Just let her go.”

You sneak said friend a candy the next time he comes over as thanks.) 

After a lot of persistent begging, Caleb relents and allows Grandma to sign your permission slip. It’s an overnight trip sure—but it’s heavily supervised and rooms are separated by gender anyhow. You really don’t know what he was so worried about.

So far, the trip has been really fun. You went to a butterfly garden conservatory as a part of your science project and one landed on your nose. Your friend even managed to get a good picture. In the afternoon, you did a bit of sightseeing and got to buy some street food. 

When evening rolled around, you and all your friends holed up in the same hotel room sleeping together on one big floor. You stayed up a few hours later than you should’ve—gossiping and discussing the newest chapter of a very popular romance webnovel.  Most of them are out by the time the clock hits midnight. 

And now, you’re the last one awake at 1am. 

Unfortunately, no matter how long you try to sleep—it is hard to sleep away from home, knowing Caleb isn’t right down the hall. No matter how much the thought makes you frown. 

You’ve outgrown the habit of crawling into his bed every night. Still, you think you rest easier knowing that he’s there. You’d never admit it but subconsciously, it comforts you just knowing he is. The few times you get nightmares of the Chronorift these days, your nightmares are especially persistent. You don’t crawl into his bed like you did when you were a little kid as often as you used to. Even when you want it, it’s just a little embarrassing. 

Regardless though, he’ll stay up with you until it passes, and until you go back to to sleep. It’s the only thing that helps it go down easier some nights. That he’d be there no matter what happened. 

By the time the clock strikes one-thirty, you get the feeling you just won’t be able to sleep unless you at least call him. 

So, after carefully sneaking your phone out of your bag - you leave your hotel room to wander the halls and end up in the lobby in your PJs. 

You realize your incidental act of rebellion when you catch some stares from late-night guests. You hesitate on whether or not you should go back before deciding that’d be pointless. Fingers hovering over the call button, it takes a beat before you hit and hear the number dial. He’ll probably scold you but you know he’ll answer. 

He picks up in one ring. His voice is thick with sleep when he speaks. “It’s late. You should be asleep.” 

“Yeah, I know. Sorry, Gege,” You say, crossing slippered feet against the tile of the hotel lobby floor. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

His voice softens instantly. “Somethin’ happen?” 

You shake your head before realizing he can’t see you. “No, I just couldn’t sleep.” A beat. “I thought I would sleep better if…I talked to…someone.” 

It’s too embarrassing to tell him you wanted to talk to him, specifically. Caleb is quiet on the other side of the line before he laughs, just a little. “You were so adamant on wanting to go with your friends, huh? I thought you’d be just fine. Were you being brave for show?.” 

You frown a little, groaning. “I did have fun. A lot of fun. We talked a lot before bed too, and now everyone else is asleep. It’s not like I regret going. And I wasn’t being brave, I was just—” 

“Sure, sure. Still can’t sleep unless you know I’m there, huh?” 

Silence stretches over the line. You feel your face grow hot with embarrassment as you stretch your legs out, chin tucked against your chest.  

“Maybe I should just hang up on you,” 

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing,” Caleb says more gently. “You can call me as much as you want.” 

“You’re being nice like when we were kids.” You observe. 

Caleb scoffs a little. “I’m always nice.” 

You roll your eyes and Caleb laughs like he knows you did it. It’s quiet again before he speaks. In the voice that makes him feel older than he is. “I’m worried about you so I’m being even nicer than usual. Is that okay?”

His tone is light, teasing, but there’s more to it than he lets on. You trace a pattern into the worn, fabric arm of the chair you sit in. “Why?” 

“I get worried when you go somewhere I can’t see you.” He says agreeably.

Your face tugs into a frown, strangely mortified by the sincerity of it. “It’s not like I’m a kid anymore. I’ll be fourteen in a few months.”

Caleb laughs. “As far as I’m concerned, you’ll always be a kid.” 

You huff. “That’s not fair. Does that mean I’ll have to beg you like this to do anything for the rest of my life? You’re too much.” 

“At least until you turn eighteen.” Caleb replies, voice airy and content. “And if you’re still a little weakling then, probably a few more years after that too.” 

You groan. “How terrible. What kind of brother are you? So cruel.” You pause  “You’re more like my dad sometimes.” 

“Since you’re my responsibility, I usually have to act as all three.” Caleb says with ease. “You should get used to it.” 

Despite your grievances, your body relaxes exactly the way you expect as you listen to him talk. You yawn out loud,  sleep making your eyes and limbs heavy. 

“Finally tired?” He asks, voice softened. Doting. It’s so instant, you don’t have the will to fight it. “Go sleep. Make sure you eat tomorrow morning and don’t just wait until noon.” 

“Okay, Gege.” You yawn again. “Goodnight. Love you,” 

A long silence stretches between you. You wonder why he hesitates. “Love you too. Now go to bed. And don’t sneak out without telling your teachers again,” 

“Wait, how did you—” 

“I know everything.” He says dismissively. “Goodnight, okay?” 

You pull back and stare at your phone. He’s a little scary sometimes.

 “Yeah. Okay. Night,” 

__ 

At sixteen, you go experience the first real heartbreak of your life. 

It’s less over the actual relationship and more about the events leading to your break-up. 

Your secret boyfriend of five months kissed one of your closest friends. And you caught them both red-handed. 

It was in the gymnasium after school a few weeks ago. You nearly fist fought them both before getting overwhelmed and simply  running away in tears to a nearby playground. Your two other best friends had to pry you out of a bed of mulch and take you home after wiping your tears. 

You have a list of grievances about the situation. You like (?) the guy but you loved your friend - but now you have neither. And all of it happened for a reason you cannot wrap your mind around at all. 

You’re thankful for your other friends who have taken your side in the matter while still trying to get to the bottom of it. And it’s good having them, but in your time of teenage angst - the one person you’d like to tell absolutely can’t know. 

Not telling your older brother is hard. Keeping the secret makes you feel guilty enough, but it’s made harder when he’s home. And he will be for the next two weeks until he has to go back to the dorms. They’re on some kind of spring break. 

Until then, you make it your mission to keep up appearances. Since the one person you don’t want to find out about your relationship is the person who’d find out the fastest. 

Caleb is strict. Has been for as long as you can remember. Though you’ve never explicitly spoken on dating - he has, more than once, “subtly” warned you about having an interest in the opposite sex. You remember how you made stupid heart-eyes to one of his school friends years back and he still brings it up whenever you ask about him and how he’s doing. As if even wanting to know is some kind of betrayal. 

(And well, maybe you do ask just to see him react like that. It’s…funny. It’s not like Caleb needs to know that.) 

You don’t like keeping secrets from your brother. You’re close. Way closer than most people ever are with their siblings. 

Maybe because Caleb has always taken care of you—he feels less like a sibling you can pointlessly squabble with and more like your guardian at times. 

It’s hard for you to lie to him explicitly so the fact you’ve kept the relationship under wraps for five months is kind of impressive. 

You always told yourself, you’d tell Caleb if it ever got serious. Truthfully though, you didn’t think it was going to last. Didn’t even want to accept until your friends pressured you. 

Your now ex-boyfriend is the one who asked you out, which is what pisses you off the most. He’s one of the popular guys in your grade and he’s…nice. Was nice. You don’t think you’d be sad if he simply broke up with you and went out with your friend. You’d think less of him maybe, but it’s not like you’re in love with him. 

It’s all the other stuff that’s weighing you down. It’s getting into a fight with your friend. It’s getting two-timed by the jackass who asked you out first. One you didn’t even like that much. 

(Maybe not at all.) 

It’s wanting to whine and complain about all of this to your older brother who would take your side but not being able to - because you can’t tell him half truths. You don’t have it in you. You barely have it in you to lie to him.

(Truthfully, you think the only reason you’ve been able to all this time is because you’ve kept said boyfriend at arms length somewhat knowingly. You haven’t had a proper kiss.)

Telling Caleb everything is a long time compulsion you don’t know if you’ll ever unlearn.You don’t know if it’s loyalty or gratitude—only that it makes you feel like a dog whose been leashed to a post for most of your life before it gets unchained. 

Even when you’re no longer shackled to it, you find you can’t go anywhere. Being without it doesn’t free you, not really. You find it goes against what you know to try to escape without hearing the click of metal. 

You stay by the post. You tell Caleb everything. It feels outright wrong to lie about something important. 

(And it’s still hard lying about something unimportant.) 

You’re sure it speaks to the depth of your attachment but you always end up spilling your guts to him. Like a child always wanting to please their parents and behave. You know Caleb will accept you, even if he gets angry. But you don’t actually know how he’ll react and that scares you into not wanting to tell him at all. 

The thought of disappointing him is what makes you most uneasy. 

So, you decide that you’ll take it to the grave. It’s your one half-ass rebellion and these are the natural consequences. As long as you process your friendship grief and wear out your anger - it’ll be smoothed over before you know. 

Meticulously, you time your sessions of grieving and angry debriefing phone calls in the hours Caleb is out of the house. You work hard at keeping up as if nothing is happening in your life at all. You feel an unshakeable feeling of guilt the entire time, one that has you waking up in cold sweat but you ignore it because… well, you don’t really know how to fix it. 

(Truthfully - you’re irrationally worried that he’d leave over something so trivial, and you’d be seven and all alone in the world again. As nonsensical as it is, and as much as you want to pretend otherwise, your attachment to Caleb really matters that much to you.) 

You very nearly make it to the finish line of this plan too. Almost. . 

In the middle of your crying session - you answer a knock on the door and assume it’s Granny (who does, at least partially, know what’s going on). You open it without thinking. 

It’s the last person you want to see in the moment. 

You quickly try to shut the door but Caleb is quicker. Slides his unnecessarily huge body through the small gap and shuts it behind him - trapping you both. You stumble back a little, but he catches you by the wrist to make sure you don’t actually fall. 

You feel like a deer in headlights. Red, water rimmed eyes, runny nose, and face puffy - you try to pull your sleeves over your hands and wipe your face. Even though he’s already seen it. You’re too old to be crying like this in front of him. It’s humiliating. 

Caleb grabs your wrists easily before you can wipe them away. You blink away a few unshed tears to get a better look at his face. You inhale, your chest tight - feet like lead as you look at your older brother. His pinched expression, almost pained but still tender. Still gentle. Just seeing it again makes you want to cry. 

“I knew it,” He says. He drops your hands and instead cups your face with his palm, thumb wiping away tears as he cups your cheek. His expression is firm. “What’s wrong, hm?”

It’s like something in you collapses. 

You give into it without any effort. 

Caleb makes it so easy, after all, to be the weakest version of yourself.

With him, there’s no desire to fight what feels inevitable. So you let yourself fall to nothing in Caleb’s arms and cry. You’re torn up over your first real friendship fight so you let yourself lean on him. Just like you do at seven, and ten, and all the years before. Fist your hand tight in the fabric of his shirt like you’re worried he’ll shake you off, even though he never does.) 

(Later, you’ll remember this conversation and realize that there was never any room for anyone else. It was a kind of teenage naivety to think otherwise. 

You’ll hear the sentiment from everyone you know—friends, colleagues, family: the person you can be weakest with is who you should marry. If only you had known that then, too. Maybe accepting it would’ve been easier. Maybe you would’ve known sooner what feeling you’d spend the rest of your adult life chasing) 

Caleb rests his hand on the back of your head as he tucks your face against his chest. It’s warm and soft. The comforting scent of detergent and cologne, undercut by oil and jetfuel. You wish you could bury yourself in.

You stand and cry like that in silence for a long while. Caleb holds you tight without asking any questions, his chin resting on top of your head, patting your back. 

When you pull away from him, ready to explain - he walks himself over to your bed and sits on it. His expression is unreadable. Concerned but trying not to worry too son. 

With his legs wide, he opens his arms out to you to invite you into his lap the way you did when you were kids. You wonder if he’s joking—trying to make you laugh and cheer you up. 

But in the moment you’re so fragile, you tuck your chin and sit anyway. He stiffens briefly, as if surprised but soon enough, strong arms lay drape your waist as he lets you lean into him.

“Ready to talk about it?” 

You fidget. “Aren’t you busy?” 

He shakes his. “I’m all yours.” 

Your chest feels warm and fluttery when he says it. It soothes you. . 

You sniffle, adjusting in his lap. “I’m sorry.” 

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” He asks. “You don’t have to,” 

“No, I—” You shift in his lap. “It feels wrong. Not telling you.”

Caleb hums. “You’re at that age. I already know that much. But no matter what I’m on your side, so don’t hide when you’re feeling sad or upset. Okay?” 

“Nn,” You nod. “Yeah. I’m sorry.” 

“It’s really fine. It’s not like I can really be mad at you, right?” 

You make a small, thoughtful noise. “You say that but you’re unexpectedly good at holding grudges.” 

Caleb laughs. “Hm, that’s true. But not with you.” 

You repeat the words to yourself, half-dizzy with a smile. “Not with me.” 

Caleb smiles at you. He holds you a little tighter. You grab hold of his jacket, white knuckling the fabric until your heartbeat settles. 

“So. Do you want to tell me what happened?” 

__ 

( In the end, you tell Caleb everything from start to finish. 

It’s just as you predicted. Once you start, it’s hard to give him anything but the full truth. Caleb listens to you intently without interjecting. Rests his chin on your shoulders, leaving you with nothing but his body language to pick up on his moods. 

He stiffens when you tell him you had a boyfriend. Calms down when you tell him you didn’t like him very much, that all you did was hold hands and cuddle and you still think it was a waste. 

Caleb listens to it all. Hangs onto your every word until you’ve tuckered yourself out. You think of what they say about how a burden shared is a burden halved and hope that it’s fine to depend on him this much all these years later. 

Caleb is silent and steady for the duration of your talk. Towards the end he tells you: “No boy should ever make you cry. Should I get revenge for you?” 

“Gege,” You say exasperated “And what about boys making me cry? That’s all they do from what I can tell.”

He doesn’t refute that. “ That’s true. It’s better to avoid them, really. If I ever make you cry you though, you can hit me,” He replies. You laugh a little.

“I don’t think you would make me cry without good reason.” 

“If I do, I’ll make sure to repent for my whole life after.” He says, joking. Maybe joking. 

Your cheeks warm  “Your whole life feels like a long time.” 

“Is it? You can’t really get rid of me easily, so I think it makes sense.” 

“I guess that’s true. You can’t get rid of me either, you know.” 

Caleb grins at you. “How lucky.”) 

__

At nineteen, you go to a club in the Linkon entertainment district for the very first time. 

Your friends dragged you here. It’s your first year of the Hunter Academy and your first time living away from home. You’ve spent most of the school year completely focused on training and working towards your goals - trying to  be strong enough to work alongside a certain someone and hold your own. 

You’re not here of your own volition, but honestly? It’s not so bad. Drinking and dancing with your friends proves fun for the first couple of hours at least. 

After that gets old though, really more stressful than anything. 

You aren’t supposed to be here in the first place. That’s the main cause of your current unease. The club is 21+ and it was already an ordeal getting in. The longer you stay, the more restless you feel—the more you want to leave before anyone gets caught up in anything. 

You’ve been knocking back drinks all evening, courtesy of some of your friends - and the night is starting to come to a halt for you internally. All the discomfort and overstimulation go from engaging to overwhelming, and your head is starting to spin.

You’re in the section where you and your friends got invited. Apparently there’s someone tonight who's popular in the nightlife scene - son of some rich business man you think. Your friend has been doing you all the solid of keeping him happy. Your eyes flit over to where they dance on the floor and you feel yourself wince just looking at them. 

Shit, your head is throbbing. 

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you sink back in your seat and think about what the best strategy is to get out of here. 

All of you should go home honestly. There won’t be major consequences for simply being intoxicated, but sneaking into an establishment like this really might affect your ability to graduate. Your academy is not known for its leniency. 

Aside from that, you’re tired. You should have more energy than this. You would normally, you think. But it’s a Friday and you had taken up some extra training since you had no plans to be out. The addition of alcohol dehydrating you and the sharp and particular pain from stiletto heels makes you lethargic. Dead on your feet. 

It’s later in the night but not so late people are leaving. A second wave of attendees are shuffling in now. You have half a mind to mix with the crowd and leave by yourself. It feels like a good idea at least. 

But then, more people are brought to your section. You’re only half-paying attention as the guy from earlier, the one paying for you all, happily introduces the new group to people already sitting. 

“...And Caleb, it’s good to see you. You’re usually too busy to come to things like this,” 

A pair of eyes bore into you. You freeze completely, eyes glued to your phone screen as you catch a glimpse of the one person you absolutely do not want to be meeting here. 

“Yeah,” A familiar voice says. His voice is light like he’s not noticed anything.”I’m glad I came. I’ve already seen some interesting things.” 

The dull throb in your head turns the corner to a sharp pain. A feeling of complete misery washes over you. Truly, the worst possible outcome. You wonder what Caleb is doing here in the first place. From what you know, this isn’t usually his kind of establishment either. Maybe someone from his dorms dragged him here too? You think it’d be something like that. 

You make the mistake of looking up as Caleb slides in opposite to you with a few other friends. His expression is completely unreadable as your eyes meet across the table. He flashes you a smile that makes your nerves stand on end. All you can do is look away, eyes flitting back down your phone. 

A text appears at the top of your screen. 

from cpt big bro (1:03am): nice to see you. 

A feeling of unease immediately feels you, but when you look back up at Caleb - he’s pretending like you don’t even exist.

You don’t know why you feel so guilty in the first place. Sure, you snuck in here but it’s not like you did something unheard of. And you’re past the legal drinking age in the first place. And the clothes weren’t your idea. You’ll tell him that when he inevitably asks. 

You’re not doing anything so wrong but you’re worried he’ll get the wrong idea. 

(A voice in your head asks: what idea? You tell yourself it’d be embarrassing if your brother thought you were looking for a hook-up. It’s reasonable enough.

 You decide not to interrogate the reasoning any further, even when the feeling doesn’t go away.)

You find your gaze falling in your lap as you try to dissolve the overwhelming feeling of shame and upset just knowing Caleb’s seen you like this. 

It’s worse though to have him ignoring you. You know he’s probably doing it for your sake. Even knowing he’s not malicious doesn’t make it much better. Your eyes stay glued to your phone screen. 

You don’t know how much time passes before someone else joins you at the table. 

A woman this time. 

“Caleb! You actually came,” She says over the music. You watch her from your peripherals as she slides in next to him without hesitation. “I thought Kenji was lying to get more girls to show up.” 

You hear him laugh a little. You think he sounds a little uncomfortable, but maybe you’re reading too much into it. “I didn’t have much of a choice.”

“Isn’t that always how that goes?” She hums. Your eyes widen slightly seeing the way she presses herself up against his arm. “But I’m glad you're here. Maybe I can convince you to dance.” 

“You can try,” He says. You know he’s just being amiable. Or at least, you think he’s just trying to be amiable. 

You’ve never really seen Caleb flirt with a girl, so you don’t have a real reference for what does and does not count. 

It’s the first time in all of your life you’ve ever seen Caleb get hit on so closely. You’re used to his popularity of course - but back then, Caleb usually made a point to run away. No one ever got near enough. He’s always been nice about it of course, tries to let people down easy. 

You don’t know the girl who's flirting with him now, but you can tell that they know each other. They’re sitting close, but not enough to be obvious. You can hear them too, though. Hear how she talks to him. It’s not hard to tell that she’s hitting on him. And your brother isn’t reciprocating but he’s not quite turning her down. It doesn’t seem to bother him, enough that when he makes jokes playfully rejecting her - the conversation still doesn’t sour.

They get along, is what you mean. Better than you thought they would. 

Your stomach churns. 

You try not to think about whats making you sick.  But it washes over you all at once. More dizzy  than nauseous. You feel like someone is tying your insides into a coil. The more you try to divert your gaze - the harder it is to ignore it. Caleb glances at you from time to time, but it seems accidental at best. 

Your heart is hammering. You think about how long it’s been since you’ve last seen each other. All the things that have happened while you’re apart. 

When you find you can’t sit and handle anymore, your body makes the decision to leave for you. 

It happens quickly. You stand to your feet, nearly stumbling in your heels as you talk to a friend on the dance floor and make-up a nonsense excuse about needing to leave. She offers to call you a taxi, but by then you’re already making a bee-line to the door and out of the club. 

It’s late when you leave. Your whole body feels like it’s trapped in ice as the unforgiving night air whips your skin and leaves you cold. You stumble down the steps in your heels until you finally make it onto the curb with all the other drunk club-goers trying to get home or sober up.

You’ll flag down a taxi, go home, and pretend nothing happened. You repeat the routine to yourself over and over. 

It feels like the only way you can handle it. Your mind can't process it otherwise. Can’t think too hard on what you might’ve been privy too. 

“Where are you runnin’ off to?” 

You freeze when you hear Caleb’s voice. You have half a mind to break into a sprint but you aren’t sure you can without breaking your ankles with your heels. Another part of you is preening over the fact he came immediately to find you. You turn around and try to walk away briskly - only to feel a warm hand on your wrist, pulling you towards him and making you come to a halt. 

“Let me go,” You mumble. 

He holds you a little tighter. 

“Don’t be like that. No matter how much training you have, I know you can’t run in heels so quit it,” Caleb says, with a sigh. “Why’d you run off?” 

“What do you mean why?” You say, words slurring. “Who’d wanna see—hicc—” 

Caleb frowns at you. “Why’re you trying to be tough if you can barely keep yourself standing up straight?” 

He sighs, bending down. You let out a noise as he undoes the strap of your heel. 

“Take them off,” 

You pout. “How am I supposed to walk home like that?” 

“I’ll carry you on my back,” He replies. “Your ankles with have a hard time if you keep wobbling like that,” 

“My feet will get dirty from the pavement.” 

You’re being difficult on purpose. Drunk and upset, arguing with anything he says. Caleb knows this you’re sure but he doesn’t seem to have a reaction to it besides mild exasperation. Despite that though, he still tends to you. 

He makes a face at you before sighing. You watch as he slides his jacket off of his shoulders and drapes it over you. It’s oversized on him, even more so on you.  It fits more like a dress and covers more than your outfit does. 

When you’ve slipped your arms through it, he drops down onto his knees and undoes the other strap of your heel. He turns around after that, signalling for you to get on his back. You want to refuse him but you find you don’t have the words to do so. You comply with his request, putting your arms around his neck as he lifts you with frightening ease. 

He bends down with you on his back to pick your heels up and carry them.

“Aren’t you gonna ask me anything?” You mumble. Caleb sighs. It makes you bite your lip. 

“It can wait a bit.”  

“Hmph.”

You find you have nothing left to argue with him. You give up on trying to refuse and let him carry you, both hands lifting you up as you keep your arms around his neck. Your cheek pressed against his shoulder, worried your makeup will smear on it. 

You don’t know how long you walk. Your eyes are closed for the duration of it and you only open them again when you sense a change of lighting. The noise of an automatic door and a tired greeting alarms you. You feel embarrassed, suddenly, at the idea that someone else has seen you like this. 

Caleb just greets them as normal.

“Aren’t you gonna let me down already?” 

“Are you feeling uncomfortable?” 

“No, but—”

He doesn’t respond to you further. You get the impression there’s not much meaning to continue arguing so you keep quiet. 

You watch from over his shoulder as he roams the aisles until he comes across cheap pairs of slippers and socks - next to other random household items. He picks the correct size without asking you. Seeing it only adds to the strange feeling you’ve had since leaving the club. 

He goes to self check-out, pays for the sandals, then carries you to one of the few seats and table near the window of the 7/11. Carefully, he sets you down on one, your heels on another, then silently opens the packaging. He drops to his knees and looks up at you in silent question. 

“You don’t need to—” 

He doesn’t say anything when you attempt to refuse him. Keeps quiet  and just waits for you, not unkindly. You frown and hold your foot out to him. He rolls each sock carefully onto your feet, pulling them all the way up over your ankle before the slippers follow. 

“Do they fit okay?”

“Mm,” 

You nod. Caleb hums. Holds his hand out. 

“C’mon. Pick out something to eat or drink so you sober up a bit,” 

“While we talk?” You ask, voice suddenly small. He pauses, smiles just barely, and pats your head with the same firm hand he always does. It makes you want to cry. 

“Yeah. While we talk.” 

You nod as Caleb helps you off the seat. “I’ll go get some water.” 

“Okay,” 

You think of what you want to eat. Childhood memories whisper answers to you. Chips and candy - sweet and salty so you have balance. You remember the way Caleb would cut into his own snack budget for you to get what you wanted. He’d pretend to complain, but he’d smile at you while you ate. 

You pick the same things you used to. You wonder if he’ll notice. 

He returns with two bottles of water. “Did you finish choosing?” 

You nod. His eyes drift to your hands. He cracks another smile that makes you happier then it should.

“I see. Let’s check out then, hm?” 

Your heart flutters. You follow him quietly. He goes to the cashier the second time around - amiable, friendly and easing some unspoken tension. Apologizes for the inconvenience and, with familiar diligence, asks if there’s a recycling bin for him to toss trash nearby. The cashier offers to do it for him. 

Afterwards, he holds his hand out to you like it’s only natural for you to want to hold it. You take it. 

Of course, you do. 

He guides you outside, and the two of you sit on the curb. An expectant look appears on his face when he dusts off place beside him where he’s hoping you’ll sit. You do, knees touching -  folding your hands into your lap. He opens the bottle of water and hands it to you. 

“We could’ve just shared one,” You offer.

“I’m not so stingy,” Caleb says.. You purse your lips. You want to tell him that’s not what you mean, but you don’t want to ask yourself what you do mean. 

You take it from him and drink. 

Silence stretches over the seemingly endless night. The streets of Linkon prove to be busy and limitless. Given the district you’re in, you’d expect it to be more packed - but the streets are desolate. Proof of life resides in the lights of buildings and clubs but now, here—it feels like you’re the only two people left in the world. 

It’s quiet for a long while. You sit like that until you break the ice. 

“You still haven’t asked me anything.” 

“Well,” Caleb looks at you from the corner of his eyes and shrugs, taking a drink. “I can kind of guess why you were there in the first place. Don’t have much of a clubbing spirit, you know. Your friends probably told you to go right?” 

You nod.“You’re not upset?” 

“Mm,” Caleb sighs. “Not at you for just going. It’s hard to be mad at you especially when you…” He trails off, an almost imperceptible smile on his. He shakes his head before continuing and you miss the window to ask about what that was all about. He glances at you again. “Your dress is too short, though.” 

You feel heat crawl up your skin. “It’s not that bad. And I’m nineteen,” 

“So? You’re still my baby sister. Naturally I won’t approve, right? You know that much.”

You bend over your knees, pouting. You feel weirdly happy but try not to think about it. “You’re so unreasonable sometimes.” 

He clicks his tongue. “I’m being very reasonable right now,” 

“...Mm.” 

Tension lingers in the air. You open the chips Caleb got you and tilt it his way. A peace offering. He takes one. 

“Why’d you run off?” 

You make a face. Will yourself to not cry as you tuck your chin. 

“...I dunno.” 

He glances at you. You miss the knowing expression on his face. “Even if you were doing a good job of lying, you know that wouldn’t work on me right? Did something happen? Something you can’t tell me?” 

“Nothing happened but you—”

Caleb interjects. “Me? So it’s because of me then.” 

You bite your tongue. Caleb is lost in thought. 

“I didn’t mean to ruin your night showing up. Didn’t know you’d even be there. It’s not like I’m mad or anything.” Caleb starts. 

“It’s not that,” You say quickly. The frustration just thinking about it makes your throat well up. You can feel it. You drink water trying to wash it down. 

“Then?” 

It slips out of you, exasperated as you sit up and turn to look up at him. 

“You were ignoring me,” You say, voice wet and shaky - hands fisted at your knees, shoulders tight. You still haven’t sobered up much. Your lips curl into a frown. Caleb is stunned into silence. “You didn’t even… I thought you were mad at me. And then that girl sitting next to you was—”

You stop yourself. Caleb looks at you wide-eyed. Opens his mouth to say something but closes it again soon after. He processes what you’ve said slowly, though he doesn’t seem surprised by all of it. 

“I wasn’t mad at you. Surprised, but not so mad. Even if I were mad, I wouldn’t ignore you. It’d make more sense for me to drag you out myself, don’t you think?” 

You huff. “It felt like you were mad at me. And—”

You want to ask. Who was she? Why was she so close to you? Why didn’t you push her away? Do you like her? 

Nothing comes out right. You bite your lip. “That girl… was she your friend?” 

Caleb stops. He looks awkward all of a sudden. “Huh? No, no. She’s my senior. She has someone else she likes,” 

“She was hitting on you,” You say bluntly, sticking your feet out. “And you didn’t stop her.” 

For a brief moment, you swear he looks amused. His expression settles again quickly. “I know she’s not being serious so I didn’t feel like there was any point causing a rift.” 

“She’ll get the wrong idea. If you don’t turn her down properly and just let her—” Be all over you. Touch you so close. Get in your space. “...flirt with you.” 

A beat. “You think I should turn her down properly then?” 

It hangs in the air. You want me to turn her down?

You bite the inside of your lip. “Yeah.” 

“Will it make you feel better?” 

Your eyes meet. For a brief second you feel like someone has stolen all the air from your lungs in one go. You look down. 

“Yeah,” 

Caleb’s breath hitches just a touch before he speaks. “Okay.” 

He opens his arm up to invite you closer and slot into his side the way you used to. Blinking wetly, you scoot across the concrete and tuck yourself under the safety of his arm. Your face is close to his chest. He smells like cologne and iit makes your heart beat feel erratic. His hand comes up to stroke your head and you let him soothe you like you have so many times before. 

“No matter what happens, there’s nothing you could do or say that’d make me angry enough to ignore you. I’d never ignore you if I didn’t think you wanted me to,” 

“I never want you to ignore me, ever.” You say immediately. “Never ever.” 

He chuckles. The way it reverbs in your body makes you dizzy. “Okay, princess. Noted. Do you wanna sit a little longer or should I call a car for you?” 

You tuck into his side. It’d be nice if you never had to leave him ever again. Pressing into him, your words muffle in the fabric of his shirt. You tug at the hem. 

“Wanna stay here. Just for a bit.” 

He hesitates above you. But a while later, you feel his lips at the crown of your head - right at your hairline. His voice is gentle. “Sure. As long as you want,” 

__

At twenty-two, you often dream of your older brother. 

At first, it’s grief. Caleb dies not long after your birthday and in the months that pass - the warm memories of your childhood seem to follow you into sleep. Some nights, it feels kind to see him. In your dream, you run into his arms and he holds you tight when you tell him you missed him.

Grief holds the rest of you hostage. You want for nothing and think of nothing except your brother. You miss Grandma too, of course you do. 

But there’s nothing in the entire world like a brother. Like your brother—who you could ask anything of. It’s hard to unpack the loneliness you feel. Hard to explain it to other people. 

In the months you correct yourself from saying have to had—and watch peoples eyes change into one of sorrow and pity. At the worst of it, you can’t even pretend to think of that as a kindness. Can’t even thank them for being nice. At the worst of your grief, you find yourself especially angry at being pitied. You look at people and want to say they don’t understand. They don’t know what you lost. There are no words that make it digestible. You bite your tongue, give a tight-lipped smile. 

What you wanted to say was this: How dare you act like you understand what I lost? How dare you feel sorry when you don’t know the half of it? My brother is dead. A piece of me is missing.

You never say any of it. You bury the words in the black vast of your grief and throw yourself at finding answers. 

Your feelings about the incident change the more you find out. About Grandma and the abomination in your heart—and you cycle from anger to sorrow to unease.

They never change about Caleb though. The apparition of him, warm and broad, cycles through your dreams every now and again. Some nights, you wake up expecting to be seven years old again—clinging to your older brother, the only thing you know in the world that’s made you lose everything. 

Most nights, you wake up from dreamless sleep and feel yourself wanting to cry. 

(You don’t cry often when he’s gone, even when you should. 

Who would be there to hold you now when you do?) 

When you finally see Caleb again, see him alive—your emotions become just as complicated as your mind has been in the months of his absence. 

You’re ecstatic, you’re angry, you’re terrified, you’re so so sad. You are all of these things at the same time. 

And then, you realize that the death of Caleb did not only change you. Your older brother comes back to you. He’s warm, kind, and gentle sometimes. But it’s not the same. There’s something about him, inexplicable, that is changed forever. 

Caleb dies and comes back wrong—but this only strengthens your resolve. To do what, exactly? You aren’t sure. You don’t know what you want and you still know nothing about the Aether Cores. Or about what Caleb does. 

All you do  know is that your older brother has come back to you, and you are empty without him. You’d rather have him wrong than not have him at all. You’ll fix him or become wrong with him before you ever let go of him again.

(Even the way he is now, sometimes, he seems worried about ruining you. You want to say sometimes—then ruin me. You know what he’d say if you did. He knows he’d tell you to watch your tongue and not to say what you don’t mean.

You’ve thought about it, though. You’d rather that then he disappear again. You’d rather you know what's going on then not. ) 

Things have changed. Caleb has changed.

You have changed, most of all. 

When you hear from Caleb for the first time he no longer wants to be your brother - that he’s tired from playing house with you, your first reaction is devastation. The memory of that dread is so strong, you still feel it when you replay it all in your mind. Caleb above you, caging you in, unreadable—no longer what you know. 

You don’t think about anything. You can’t. It destroys you completely to hear him say it. Makes you want to cling to him and beg. Cry loudly enough to wake the version of him that did want to be your brother. That loved you unconditionally. 

When you have to go the next morning and find a memory of your childhood tucked away - you realize not all of him is lost to you. That the parts of him you loved so dearly have not entirely disappeared. 

So you stay, and try to mend the broken pieces of your relationship back together.

At twenty-two, you often dream of your brother. 

When he comes back to you, you think you’ll be given one more dream before he disappears. You figure the real thing is back in your hands. It’ll go back to the way it was before, where your sleep is long and dreamless but that’s fine. As long as you can wake-up and see the sun, without feeling like yours was stolen from you—anything is fine. 

At twenty-two, even after you learn he’s alive, you often dream of your brother. 

The first time you ever have a wet dream of Caleb is just after he comes back to Linkon. 

After you sit in the garden with Caleb and blow the hydrangea petals away from his face, and his hand comes up to touch you. After he promises to take good care of the flower he takes back to SkyHaven. After he tells you there was no way he’d be able to stay away from you. 

When you sleep the night after he returns home, you dream of Caleb again. 

This time you’re in your bedroom—the one from your childhood home, that Caleb spent so many years taking up space in. You dream of your brother on top of you and you both look a little younger. His face contorted with pleasure, and your hand being the one to give it to him. The image missing from the waist down, all you can see is the clear view of him over you. Making it so obvious what you’re doing. Doing together.  

You wake up from your dream with a feeling like something’s crushing your chest. A wheezing breath as you struggle to calm down. A distinct feeling of wetness between your legs that cling to your PJs when you stumble into your bathroom - trying to relieve yourself and being confronted with the reality of what just happened. 

The first time you have a wet dream about Caleb—you only feel shame. You tell yourself that it’s a fluke, and that dreams are meaningless anyway. It makes you violated to think of him like that. You can’t control what you do in your sleep. You decide not to dwell. 

Weeks pass and you see Caleb again. You share fruit and more conversation, and the following night - you have another wet dream. This one, more vivid than the last. Different. You dream of Caleb with a baton to your neck and the tension in the room when he caged you in his arms. In your dreams he’s cruel as he drags the metal end down your body, pushes it against your—

You wake up the next morning almost inconsolable. 

The cycle repeats for as long as you see him. Every time Caleb appears in your life, you dream of him the next night. You wake up in shock, wet down your legs and spend all morning trying to suppress it down as far as you can. 

You tell yourself all sorts of things when it happens. You reason with yourself. Dreams are nonsense. You can’t control them. It’s your brother. You don’t think of him like that.

(You think of all the times you’ve seen him since he’s returned. All the ways his eyes soften for you, all the ways his hands linger—how ever since he’s denied being your brother at all, you think of what that might make you now. 

It breaks your heart to not have him as your brother. Your precious family. An unbreakable bond. The one you love most. He touches you the way brothers aren’t supposed to, and you remind yourself of what you can’t have. You remind yourself of what loss you would feel first.

He always looks pained when he touches you like that, though. And, for some strange reason, sometimes you want to tell him: Did you know I dreamt of you touching me? So you don’t need to make that face. Like you’re wrong. My dreams couldn’t make you this gentle.)

The harder you try to force it down, the harder it is to pretend it’s nothing. You push and push and push—but each time you see him, the cycle repeats.

Eventually, it’s too hard to pretend. You refuse to name it, or think about it—but when you let your mind stop forcing it so deep into your subconscious, it’s easier to reconcile. 

It doesn’t go away. But your skin prickles with embarrassment, and you sigh, and you move on from it. Even if the dreams don’t stop, you can go on about your day when you leave it all alone.

You think maybe, if you and Caleb never saw each other again, it might even work to rid you of the dreams completely.

But he’s your brother—your precious family, the one you love most. You see him all the time. Whenever your schedule allows it, he’s the first person you check with to see if you can come spend time with him. Even if he can’t be with you, you stay over at his place to eat his food and watch TV on his expensive flatscreen. 

It makes you feel like you live together again. 

(You try not to reel at the thought. It’s normal for siblings to stay together from time to time. It’s like a sleep over. That’s all.) 

So it’s not unusual for you anymore to drop by his place. You even have a key. 

(Your key, you think. Caleb put a stupid green apple cover on the top part of it. It’s for you, and only you.) 

Even when you do come over, sometimes you only see him at night. You have little conversations before you need to go to sleep (or rather, when he makes you go to sleep.) But it still feels better than only seeing him sometimes. 

So it’s not unusual for you to be here in your PJs and watching something stupid while draped on Caleb’s couch. 

It is unusual, however, to have him come home so soon.

PART TWO: SO ONLY SAY MY NAME, IT WILL BE HELD AGAINST YOU.

You pick your head up as soon as you hear the security system for Caleb’s apartment announce someone at the door. The time reads 6:56pm.

Heavy footfall makes you pick yourself up, crawling to the edge of the couch and standing on your knees to catch sight of him. You lean forward. 

“You’re home early.”

It takes him a second to register who's talking, but he smiles slightly when he does. Turnt towards the doors, he’s leaned against a wall as he undoes the laces of his steel-toed boots. 

“So are you,”

You give him a melodic hum. “I got off since we have a holiday. I have Monday off too.” 

“Yeah? That’s good. You should try to rest up some,” 

“I will. Gotta catch up on my shows first though,” You reply thoughtfully. “I’m like half-way through ‘em.” 

“Workin’ hard I see. Try not to over-exert yourself.” He adds, playfully sarcastic. You nod. 

You answer him in silly earnest. “Of course. I’m more relaxed here so don’t worry.” 

He pauses as he finally stands back up. You see him at the other side of the room with a smile. 

“Yeah?” 

You feel something in your stomach that you choose to ignore. “Yeah. Plus I don’t have to eat my own groceries.” 

“It’s better you eat mine than me wasting them,” He says with a shrug. 

“How generous of you.” 

“Right?” 

You lean forward, resting more of your weight on the couch. “Did they just send you home early too? Or is it some special Colonel privilege?” 

You see him shake his head as he slides off his coat and walks over to the fridge, grabbing a plastic bottle of water out of it before taking a few long drinks. 

“Mm, kinda the first.” He says thoughtfully. “I got injured in the field today, had to go to the infirmary. It’s a minor injury but I checked in with my commanding officer and he told me I might as well go home.” 

You frown. “What kind of injury?” 

“It’s really fine,”

“Caleb.” 

He sighs, turning towards you. The open fridge door illuminates him. “Just got a bruise along my thigh from how I fell. Nothing broken.” He says. You’re still frowning at him. “Don’t worry about it.” 

“How can you be fine if they sent you home?” 

“It’s not like that,” 

“I don’t believe you,” You say petulantly. Caleb shuts the fridge door with his hip as he laughs. 

“What, you want me to show it to you?” 

“Yeah.” 

“It’s on my thigh. I’d have to take off my pants,” He says, laughing. He joins you on the couch - sitting where you were laying—eyeing you while he waits for you to come join him. You narrow your eyes suspiciously but crawl over to him anyway, sitting beside him with your legs up. “Unless you’re really just wanting me to strip, promise it’s fine. I’ve had it worse,”

“That’s not a good thing. If it were me you’d be freaking out already and fussing over me.” 

“It’s different,” 

“Is not,” 

“Is too. My little sisters still a bit of weakling, see—if I don’t take good care of her she’ll end up hurting herself even worse,” Caleb says, voice high. 

“I’m not even weak. Maybe not as strong as you but not weak.” 

“When you get stronger than me, we can talk about who gets to worry about who,”  He says, flicking your forehead lightly. You pretend to flinch at the injury. 

“You let me do whatever I want except worry about you.” 

“You got it. Glad you’re getting up to speed.” 

You elbow him. Caleb laughs. 

You sit back with your knees to your chest, frowning. Caleb leans back, arm stretched on the back of the couch. Inching closer to him subconsciously, your brow furrows as you think about his injury. 

It’s like he reads your mind.

“You’re really worried about it.” He murmurs.

You purse your lips. “No shit.” 

“Don’t cuss,” 

“I’m twenty-two!” 

“So?” He raises his eyebrow. 

“You make me want to strangle you sometimes.” 

“If you succeed I’ll be impressed.”

You glare at him. “I’ll make sure to wait until you’re fully recovered so it counts,” 

He relaxes into the couch, eyes filled with mirth. “Smart move.” 

“You’re still in your outside clothes. Don’t you want to wash up first?” 

“Do I smell bad?” 

“No, that’s not it. But if you get too comfortable, you might not want to get up to do it, you know?” 

“I’m not like a certain someone, so I’m not worried about that.” Caleb says. You huff as he continues on. “I just wanted to sit with you for a bit first. Is that not okay?” 

“I didn’t say all of that. Don’t put words in my mouth, jeez.” 

He hums. “Just checking,” 

Comfortable quiet  settles between you as Caleb sits and watches your drama with you intently.

You relax further into the couch as you settle back in, once again engrossed in your show. It’s a period and fantasy drama about a once noble woman getting married against her will to a supposedly cruel emperor. Crude description aside, it has high political stakes, violence, and good writing. 

The romance aspect of the show was what drew you in more-or-less, but it’s a slowburn between the main couple. You’ve mostly been watching for the high-tension plot. It captures both your attention and seemingly Caleb’s too. 

“Wait,” Caleb interrupts half-way through an episode. “I want to watch the rest with you but I need to shower,” 

You smile at him. “It’s good right? It’s not a lot of romance but there’s other stuff. We can watch it together after you wash-up and maybe…we can have a drink together.” 

“You’re so interested in that,” 

“I want to know what kind of drunk you are. It’s not fair you’ve seen me drunk and I haven’t,” 

“Pfft,” He rubs your head with hand, amused. “What kind of reason is that? But you know what? Sure. Order whatever you want with my card while I go shower.” 

“Yay!” 

You pause the TV as Caleb stands up and stretches, fishing for his wallet and passing you his card. Snatching it from between his fingers, you give him a mischievous look that makes him laugh. 

“Go shower,” 

“I am, I am,” He holds his hands up. “I’ll be quick,” 

__

You watch your drama late into the evening. 

You drink casually with Caleb as you binge watch the final few episodes of the season you started on. You take a break later in the night to have dinner delivered to you, but afterwards - you decide to keep watching. 

Caleb wasn’t lying when he told you he holds his drink well. You’ve both been knocking them back since eight pm. Even with the time to sober up in between, he seems like he hasn’t had a single thing to drink the entire time. 

You feel far from wasted, a warm meal in your stomach settling some of inebriation - but you still feel somewhat tipsy. At least enough to have that pleasant, warm, loose-limbed buzzed. You’re sober enough that Caleb doesn’t get on your case about drinking enough water - though you sure it’ll be a different story in another hour or two if it keeps going. 

Half-past midnight - you’re two episodes deep into the third season of your drama. 

Relaxed, you’re half-way draped on Caleb - legs in hips lap and nursing another cheap can of beer. After several episodes of action and violence - the story is starting to get back to the romance aspect for the main couple. 

Maybe it’s your fault for not thinking it through, but you’re really not expecting a graphic sex scene to play so soon after so much high plot. 

In the first place, it doesn’t start out like a sex scene. The main character went to go visit her injured husband after he returned from battle. Sweet, you thought. Maybe you’d get to see them have some intense, longing eye-contact like they’ve been having for a while now. 

You aren’t sure when exactly it takes a left turn. You’re tipsy and comfortable and warm. On your phone looking things up on social media. 

They kiss once, then twice before a breathy moan cuts through the comfortable.  

Before you can scramble to find the remote and scrub through it, the scene changes instantly in temperature. A few tepid kisses rapidly go from chaste to deep, all tongue and teeth. 

Near full blown nudity flashes across your T.V. screen as a strange heat creeps up your neck. You feel like you’ve had enough mental torment when you see the male lead kiss his way down the female leads neck. It’s more uncensored then you thought. 

Your voice is trembling a little. “We should uhm,” You swallow thickly. “Where’s the remote..?” 

Caleb feels a little… different. He seems startled hearing you speak, looking at you with lidded eyes. “Not sure. Think you had it last,”

“Oh, right. I don’t,” Another moan rips through the tension between you. It takes your full body effort not to jump. “....really remember where I put it,” 

“You want me to help you look?” 

You blink at him. “I mean… we should, probably look for it. Since, uhm… you know.” 

“Are you uncomfortable?” Caleb interrogates. You stare at him. 

“You aren’t?” 

Caleb is quiet for a long time, like he’s thinking hard about the answer. 

“I feel fine,” Is what he says after what feels like forever. 

“You feel… fine.” 

He nods without looking at you. “We can skip it if you want. Probably have to get up to find the remote, though.”

You sink back in the couch, your face feeling warm. “It’s fine, then.” 

You’re a little startled as the couple on T.V starts to really have sex - at least more than foreplay. It’s not full frontal, but the sounds and angles are enough to get the point across. Caleb just… watches. Relaxed.

“You sure?” He offers, glancing at you again. “It’s fine if it’s too much for you,” 

Frowning, you sit up slightly. “What do you mean too much for me?” 

“Hm?” 

“You’re saying it like you’re used to it,” 

Caleb gives you another glance. Assess you once or twice before looking back at the T.V. 

“Does it matter if I am or I’m not?” 

You find yourself at a loss for words. Is he used to this? That can’t be the case, right? 

“You never dated anyone when we were growing up.” 

Caleb nods. “You don’t really need to date someone for something like that, though it’s better that way.” 

You find yourself shocked by his answer. He’s changed a lot, you know that but—

But it feels wrong. You can’t imagine him just hooking up with someone and having a one-night stand. He’d only ever do it with a girlfriend. So if he has any experience, it’d have to be with someone like that. 

He smiles at you. “You’re making a scary face.” 

You look up at him, unsure of what face you should be making. The question slips out before you can stop to think about whether or not you should even ask it. 

“So are you… used to it?” 

He pauses before leaning in. “This is the second time you’ve asked,” 

“That’s…” 

“I don’t think it’s the kind of thing someone’s little sister should ask their older brother right?” 

You snap your mouth shut. Caleb leans a little closer. “Right?” 

“You’re not answering,” You whisper. Your foreheads touch.

“Is there a specific answer you’re looking for?” Caleb says. 

Your eyes widen, teeth pressing against your lip as you tear your gaze away from his face. . “No,” 

“Is that what my answer should be or are you answering what I just asked?” 

You don’t give him a reply. 

Caleb lets out a soft breath of laughter before he finally seems to decide he’s teased you enough. He gets like this more and more lately. Most times you cool off from it quickly but… 

You aren’t sure what drives you to make a move. What makes you tug him back to you by the front of his shirt when he tries to pull away. If it’s the alcohol, or the jealousy that makes you do it. It’s hard to say what the source of your heart pumping so hard is—only that it’s all Caleb’s doing. 

Your hands fist in the front of his shirt as you drag him forward and kiss him as hard as you possibly can, only barely avoiding biting down with your teeth. Chaste but harsh, you press your lips together with nothing but pure desperation, air pushing hard through your lungs as you do. For a minute or two, longer than a kiss should last. 

And then, you pull away. Out of breath like you just ran a marathon, cheeks hot and flushed. Your first kiss that you initiated.  It’s almost mundane. 

Embarrassed, your first instinct is to jump off the couch and lock yourself in the bathroom. But Caleb knows you. Even better than you know yourself. 

He catches your wrist as he leans towards you. His expression is unreadable. 

“You kissed me,”  He says, completely entranced. “You did right? I didn’t just dream that?” 

“It’s your imagination. You must be drunk,” 

He laughs good naturedly. “Maybe I am.” 

Your frown deepens. How do you refuse him when he acts like that? 

Your heart feels like a jackhammer against your ribcage. You can’t. You really can’t. You shouldn’t have—

“I didn’t mean to k-kiss you,” 

Blatant heartache fills his eyes. It feels like something is crushing your chest. “Is that so?” 

You squeeze your eyes, relenting only a little. Your voice is barely above a whisper. “We can’t.”

Caleb scoffs “Why? Because you see me as your brother?” 

“You are my brother.  You are and you always will be, and I don’t want to lose that. I can’t, I can’t. You’re—” 

“Why can’t you?” His voice is raw, almost desperate. Trying so hard to understand you. It makes you hurt seeing him like that. “What can I do to become more to you?” 

“You’re already`—” Everything to me. “You’ll always be the most important person to me.” 

His hands grip tighter, devastation darkening the familiar aura of warmth you’ve come to love. Like he’s at the precipice of something considering what he should do. It takes him a while to come upon answers. Staring at you so desperately before closing his eyes, loosening his grip like he’s ready to let you go.

He looks like he makes a choice then. Really makes one. You can already predict what’ll do. What smile he’ll give you but it feels different from other times.

You hold onto him before he can, hand fisted in his shirt. He startles again, softens, not agitated despite how wishy-washy you’re being.

“It’s not that I don’t want you,” You say, so quietly it almost evades you both. “But I don’t want to lose you as my brother if we become more than that.” 

Silence falls between you. 

“You won’t lose me,” He replies, gently and easily. Your eyes meet. It’s nice. “I want to be everything to you, remember? All of it. I want you to only think of me for the rest of our life. For us to only need each other. You don’t need to give anything up. When have I ever said no to you?” 

You turn away from him, shaking your head. “You said that you never saw me as family, that you wouldn’t be—” 

Caleb stops you. “I want to be everything to you. Everything. I want us to only need each other. I had to make you understand. From the start, I never intended to give anything up for anyone else.”

“But that’s…” 

“I don’t care if it’s wrong,” He says, reading your mind. “I’m asking what you want. Tell me who you want me to be. I’ll do all of it for you. 

You glance down, away from him - guilt, remorse, fear. You’re resolve is wavering, but you’re too afraid to say it out loud. 

His voice softens. A hand, big and warm and kind, cups your cheek. You know. Know every scar, every touch. 

“Tell your big brother what you want and he’ll give it to you.” 

Something in you shatters. The weak resistance you’ve been trying to hold onto so desperately, denying yourself of what you’ve wanted deep down all this time. Having it offered to you, handed to you—proves to be too much. It all comes tumbling down. 

Your voice comes out like a whine. Your dependency more than shows. 

“Touch me,” You gasp, voice wet with tears. Caleb cracks a slight smile. “Touch me, please—want you so bad. Don’t want anyone else to have you.” 

Caleb looks elated. Adoring. Madly and terribly in love. 

“What a crybaby, hm?” He pulls away from you, standing up before scooping you in his arms “Here. Hold onto me. I’ll carry you,” 

“Caleb, I’m too—” 

He stops you. “I have a bionic arm. Don’t say you’re too heavy. It could carry ten of you.” 

He keeps good on his promise. You wrap your arms around Caleb’s neck as he picks you up. Wrapping your legs around his waist, a gasp leaves your mouth as his hands rest under your thighs - lifting you as he walks you to his room. It reminds you of when you were little though a lot has changed since then. 

The realization makes you nervous. 

“The TV is still playing.” You mumble..

“You won’t be able to hear it from my room,” 

“This is embarrassing,” 

“You’ll live.”  Caleb hums. 

“I hate you,” 

Caleb opens his bedroom door with his hip and closes it the same way, walking you to the end of his bed and dropping you on to his mattress. He leans over you, hands on either side of your thighs to keep himself up - inches away from your face. 

“Don’t say things you don’t mean. It’ll make me sad.” He says sweetly.

You pout. “Sorry,” 

He laughs a little. “It’s okay,” 

This close to you, you feel a strange warmth glow your whole body. You crane your neck up to kiss him chastely, pulling away and feeling shy again. 

“You taste like beer,” 

Caleb stares at you for a long time, smiling slightly. Dazed. “Should I go brush my teeth?” 

You look down, away from his face, your hands fiddling with the ends of his shirt. “No…” 

He presses his forehead to yours, noses brushing. “How can you be so cute, hm?” 

“Quit that,” You whine.

“If you get this embarrassed just hearing you’re cute, you’ll have a hard time later on.” 

You blink up at him owlishly. He laughs, pressing a kiss to your cheek. 

“I’m barely holding it together, you know?” 

You look up at him. 

“What do you wanna do to me?” 

His eyes seem to dilate.  “Don’t ask me that,” 

“Tell me. I want to know,” 

He laughs breathlessly. “That’s unfair,” 

“I don’t have to be fair with you,” You say petulantly. “Tell me,” 

“I’ve spoiled you too much.” Caleb says, faux regret. “Even if you get scared, you can’t run away.” 

“I won’t get scared,” 

“Really?” Caleb hums. He moves to the side, his mouth next to your ear - voice barely audible. He puts his hands over yours as he towers over you. “You sound confident, but you know—I’ve wanted to touch you for so long. So badly that it scares me just thinking about it. Can you handle that?” 

It’s a confession you think, as much as it’s dirty talk. He pulls back and you’re face to face again. 

“I’m not scared of you. Even if you can’t control yourself I won’t be scared.” You tell him, headstrong as always.

His smile falters. “I don’t want to hurt you,” 

“I know you like to call me a weakling but you know I’m not really made of my glass,” You stare at him, eyes tracing over his features. “It’ll be hard for you to break me in one go. Might’ve be fun,” 

He tsks. “Don’t talk like that. I’d prefer to treasure you.” 

You look at him for a long time quietly. 

“I dreamt of you.” 

“Hm?” 

You feel your face flush, but for some strange reason - you have an urge to tell him. The words come easy. Maybe you’ve just been waiting for a reason to confess. 

“Of you touching me,” Caleb’s eyes go wide. You smile a little. “Used to dream of you when you were, you know… but it wasn’t the way I dream of you now.” 

“How do you dream of me now?” His voice is strained. 

“They’re dirty dreams,” You say, fidgeting. “Sometimes I’m touching you and making you feel good. But most of the time, it’s you doing whatever you want to me.” 

His voice is hoarse. “Yeah?” 

“Mm,” You lock eyes. You can see it in him. It almost feels cruel, but you’re not saying it to tease him. “I had a wet dream about when you were interrogating me. You were being mean in that one. Really mean,” 

“I already said sorry about that,” 

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it,” 

He swallows. “Oh,” 

“Yeah, oh.” You slide your hand up his arms, squeezing the back of his biceps as he leans over you. Look up at him with mutual love. “I’ll only say it once so please listen carefully: I’m fine with anything if it’s you.” 

It’s unexpected when Caleb tackles you to the bed. Not to kiss you, rather—but to hug you. You squeal as you both drop onto the mattress with your legs hanging off the edge. Caleb’s full weight crushes you, trapping you in his arms. You find yourself laughing a little, giggly as you feel him squeeze you tight enough to crush you.

“You’re squishing me, Caleb.” 

He laughs breathlessly, rolling you both to the side. Pulling away with your face inches apart, he beams. 

“Do you know that I’m crazy about you? Or do you say things like that not even knowing?” 

“I don’t know,” You say, burying your face against his chest. “I just know you take good care of me. I want to take good care of you too,” 

A spectrum of emotions pass through Caleb’s features at once at the admission. It’s the most vulnerability he’s ever shown you.

His body stiffens. He takes a deep breath before pulling away from you. You watch him innocently as he pushes himself up closer to the headboard. Rolling onto your stomach, you stare at him as he rolls onto his side. 

“More comfortable this way, right?” 

Consider without trying, your face warms. Caleb’s voice is whisper soft. “C’mere.” 

You push yourself up until you’re closer to him, legs no longer hanging off the edge.

Within his reach, Caleb’s hand find your waist. He’s strong, you forget it all too easily—until he’s manhandling you to be in his grasp. Careful but demanding. Rolling on his back, he pulls you onto his lap until you’re straddling him. 

The view proves too much for you both. His face is pink. A sheepish smile on his face. 

“Regretting it?” 

You shake your head quickly, careful not to rest your weight on his lap. He rests one of his hands on your thigh, closer to your knee and steals a glance at you. 

Like this, you become aware of him for the first time. Consciously, as if he’s become a completely different person. All the things you’d never allow yourself to consider, slowly draw into focus. Like seeing him with a new set of eyes.

You notice every detail. Sparking arousal and curiosity, you put your hand on his chest and just stare. Unconsciously, your fingers reach for the dog-tag necklace you gifted him - straightening it. Metal warmed underneath your fingertips, you center it on his shirt. At the dip of his muscles where his chest is. 

Fitted tank-top shows off enough to give you an idea of what’s underneath. Smooth, alabaster skin. Muscles bulking underneath the ribbed cotton - soft and supple from lack of tension, rising and falling with each breath. Your thumb smooths over the silly apple-shaped pendant, the raised letter of the dogtags. The brief skin to skin makes the air feel electric. 

You do it unthinkingly, really. Following your instinct, you rest your hand on his chest before sliding them up closer to his neck. Defined clavicles, the long  column of his throat and how it leads to the angled curve of his jaw. Eventually, your hand finds his face. His boyish features—handsome but youthful. Caleb leans into the touch. His usual, playful teasing nowhere to be found. It makes you jolt in surprise. His expression is painted by desire, a rosy flush to what's an otherwise perfect face. 

His voice grows thick. An octave deeper than you’re used to. “Having fun?” 

“Nn,” You shift under the weight of his gaze. “Sorry,” 

“S’fine,” He says, pressing his cheek to your palm. “You can touch me however you want.” 

Hearing it embarasses you. But your reply comes quickly. “You too,” 

Caleb smiles shakily. His hand slides up your thigh. It’s slight, barely there. His hands are trembling. 

“Can I kiss you?” 

“We’ve kissed before,” 

He shakes his head. “It won't be like before.” 

“I don’t have any experience,”

Caleb laughs breathlessly. “I don’t care.” 

You frown, but let yourself fall forward. Suddenly inches apart, your eyes widen. Caleb is staring at you this time. His eyes soaking in your expression, gaze falling onto your lips and staying there. They flicker back to yours for silent permission. 

You meet his eyes completely assured. He swallows and cranes his neck, his hand coming up to your face to cradle it. His thumb traces your lips, inching himself closer and closer. You can hear his breath. Feel it on your face from how close you are. 

Cupping your nape, he presses his lips to yours with unfathomable tenderness—undercut with the hottest flames of desires you’ve ever felt. It’s hard to describe it. All of the kisses you’ve ever had in your life have been Caleb’s, but this one really is different.

An unfamiliar desperation fills it despite being a gentle press of lips. He pulls away and you miss him. Try to chase it as he speaks against your mouth. 

“Open your mouth, baby. Breathe through your nose,” 

You listen to your older brother obediently, mouth parting as he leans in to kiss you again. Soft at first before pulling you down deeper into him by your. A moan escapes you subconsciously and you feel Caleb shiver. Eyes closed, you let him guide you through it. He controls the depth, the pace. You kiss deeply like that, holding each other before he pulls away again. 

Every time you part, you feel a strange pang of sadness. Caleb never leaves you like that for too long 

Your mind is hazy with desire as you fall into a pace with him. He breathes hard each time he pulls away from you, seems overwhelmed each time he kisses you again. Switching between deep kisses to chaste one, your lips throb from the overwhelming intensity of it. His mouth perfectly warm, lips soft and full. Wet as the kiss deepens but not unpleasantly. A tingly sensation that makes your skin prick. 

You make a noise of surprise when Caleb slips his tongue against your mouth. But you don’t dislike it. Rather, out of curiosity, you copy him. 

(A habit of your childhood—to copy your older brother and keep what you like from him as your own. )

Caleb inhales when you mirror him. Your eyes flicker open briefly to see his face, pleased by the draw of his eyebrows, before letting them close again. 

There’s nothing intimidating about kissing Caleb. Every fear you harbor about how you should do it is washed away by the sheer force of your lust for one another. Like a gap of communication has finally been bridged—with your soft tongues sliding against each other, brushing against his palate, open mouth panting, subconsciously rocking your hips. Each second of doubt is brushed away by the overwhelming feeling of mutual, lovesick desire. It flows through your veins with more naturality than even your blood. Nothing more righteous, more sure. 

You kiss like you’re telling him every secret you’ve ever kept—lips incapable of anything but honest confession. Holding onto each other in desperate, desperate necessity. A lifeline. A lifetime of holding it in, unraveling like the seconds couldn’t pass quickly enough to answer for it. 

It feels like the beginning of devouring. You’ve never felt so hungry for something in your life. It gnaws at your conscious thoughts. 

Desire simmers as you subconsciously settle your weight on Caleb’s lap, rocking your hips against the pleasant hardness meeting it. Not entirely sure of what it is your even touching. Caleb moans softly each time you do. 

“Fuck,” Caleb pulls away finally. You whine and he laughs at you. Kisses you again, just once. “Shh, baby.” 

“Nn, you don’t wanna kiss?” Your words come out slurred, even to your own ears. 

“Not that I don’t want to, but you’re—” His laugh comes out higher, breathier. “Doing a little more than kissing,” 

“Mm?”

He looks up at you. Amusement mixed with arousal. “You don’t even know what you’re doing, do you?” 

“Feels good,” 

“You’re this weak to a little pleasure,” Caleb says. His hands are hot as they squeeze your hips. “Can’t you feel what you’re sitting on?” 

The question sobers you. Caleb hold you steady to stop you before changing the pace. Uses his strength to hold your hips down as he grinds you over the full length of his…

“Oh,” You’re startled. You’re grinding against—

“You’ve been grinding against my dick like that without thinking about it at all. Isn’t that dangerous?” 

A shiver wracks through you. Caleb’s voice is husky, low when he says. It’s crass and to the point—something you could never imagine hearing him say. But now that you have heard it, it makes it feel like your whole body is melting. Sticky arousal climbs through your limbs, leaves your mind muddled as you moan. Shivering, you fall forward in his arms. He closes them around your back, grinding his hard-on against your clothed cunt. The way it catches on your clit so indirectly feels so good you could cum from it. 

His lips find your face, your jaw. His kisses affectionate. “Feels good, huh?” 

“Mmm,” You press your face to his neck. “Caleb,” 

“Do you want to cum like this? Or do you want me to make you feel even better?”

“Better?” 

“Yeah,” Caleb says, a promise. “Better. Promise. Do you want that?” 

You nod. “I want it,” 

“Gonna lay you on your back, okay?” 

You make an affirmative noise as Caleb flips you on your spine with ease. Surprised by his strength again, you gasp a little as he turns you over until he’s over you. He kisses you sweetly. 

Your head feels full. Too heavy on your shoulders. You want to put your tongue in his mouth again and you don’t feel all the way there. Caleb looms over you. 

“You’re beautiful,” Caleb says, breathless. Your eyes go wide. “Really fucking beautiful,”’

“That’s…” 

“I think it all the time. Want to say it to you all the time, but I never wanna scare you.” Caleb hums, a hand on your thigh. 

“Why would that scare me?” 

Caleb chuckles like it’s obvious. “You get skittish easily, you know? When I act less like your brother and more like…” 

You finish the sentence for him with a pout. “My boyfriend?” 

He hums like just hearing it feels good, eyes lidded. “Yeah. Like your boyfriend.” 

“Well that’s….” 

“Do I make you nervous?” 

His expression is playful. Makes your stomach flip. Your hand finds the hem of his shirt. 

“So what if you do?”

“It’d make me happy,” 

“You want me to be nervous? How mean,” 

He leans into your space. You kiss again and feel disappointed when it’s over. Were you always so desperate? 

“Don’t put words in my mouth. It just feels good to know you think of me that way, yeah?”

Something about it, about him like this makes your stomach tie in knots. You make a face, head tilted trying to tempt him into doing what you want. Caleb knows without you speaking a word, always does. Dips his head down to appease, lips firm and steady. Soft and full enough to make you melt. Your arms around his neck, a little breathless, mewling at the way it makes it feel like there’s electricity in your skin. 

“You really like kissing, huh,”  Caleb says. He pulls away again. Casts a brief glance your way before he peppers kisses all across your face. Draws his lips down your jawline, hot and wet as he noses against your skin. He finds your pulse and darts his tongue across the sensitive skin of your neck. 

You keen. It’s a sudden sound, sensitive. Your body shivers. Caleb makes an affirmative noise and does it again. Scrapes the same spot gently with teeth.

Another pitchy moan escapes your lips. Caleb breathes from his nose like laughter. Places more experimental bites and licks all along your neck. Your voice slips before you can catch it. 

“Harder,” 

He appeases you. Just like always. Feeling his teeth in your neck makes your mouth fall open and you moan his name like a small prayer.

His teeth leaves marks along your neck at your request, hands at your waist to hold you in place as you learn more about your body. You can feel your shorts dampen as he does it. It overwhelms you, makes you tremble with every light breath and every sordid bite. You don’t have any experience, have nothing tangible to compare it to except the things you did alone in your bedroom. 

It doesn’t compare at all, though. No amount of relieving your sexual urges as a desperate teenager or fumbling against a stranger in a club even kind of helps your mind make sense of it. Caleb kissing and biting down your neck, his hands touching your skin—it’s the first time in your life you’ve ever felt it. First time you’ve known touch like this. 

First time your mind has been rendered so useless to think. 

He rests his mouth as his hands slide up your sides. You gasp slightly as they go underneath your shirt  but you don’t make any move to stop it. Further and further they go until the reach for your back. Searching for something.

“You’re not wearing a bra,” He whispers.. 

“I don’t at home,” 

He lets out a breath like the winds have been knocked out of him. “Right,”

“Are you into that?” You ask before you can stop yourself, surprised by the sound of your own voice. Caleb just laughs like he’s in disbelief. 

“Take a guess,” 

“I just don’t get it,” 

Caleb doesn’t say anything to that. But his hands maneuver. Stopped just underneath the swell of your tits, his eyes look up at yours and ask for silent permission. His shoulders sag with relief when he receives it. 

The way your chest fits in Caleb’s hands makes your breath hitch. Squeezing the fat of them, relishing how they feel between his palms. He’s quick after that, pulling your shirt up until it’s gathered underneath your neck. There’s an impatience to it that surprises you, something uncharacteristically lacking composure as he halfway undresses you. 

His eyes linger like that for a long time. So long it makes your face burn. 

“Stop staring,” 

“...I don’t know if I can.” 

There’s something like awe in his gaze. Your spine tingles, goosebumps appearing on his skin. The way his hands hold onto your waist. He presses his cheek just below your sternum with an loving sigh, kissing it as he picks his head back up. It’s sweet to the point it almost nauseates you. It might if it were anyone other than Caleb. 

His thumbs draw over your nipples, hardened from arousal. Your chest rises and falls in anticipation, in ache. Thighs squeezing together in a silent admittance. His touch is experimental, careful in observing what elicits the most reaction out of you. 

Chest tender, takes one of your nipples into his mouth without warning. You gasp, hand covering your mouth as you feel him smile against your chest. 

The air shifts again. Hotter, heavier—there’s a sudden carnality to the way he’s touching you. Mouth latched onto your nipples tenderly, grazing them lightly with the blunt end of his incisors like he can guess everything you like. His mouth on your chest is overwhelming. It baffles you that something can feel that good. Each time you think you can’t be surprised any more, Caleb makes good on making you feel better and you’re forced to eat your words. 

Between your legs is throbbing hard. Whatever Caleb can’t fit in his mouth, he teases with the rough pads of his fingers - brushing and squeezing and twisting. Alternating as to make sure nothing goes neglected. Your hips cant against air, frustrated by lack of friction. Caleb is relentless, but does not make any move to sate your growing desires. 

“Caleb,” 

His eyes are washed over as he looks up. A look on his face you don’t know, have never seen until now. His voice is low in the back of his throat, strong hands cupping your chest and squeezing. 

“‘Mm?” 

A sibling bond like this, you think, is to blame for understanding so quickly what Caleb wants. Something you know innately, deep in your subconscious that makes your cheeks grow hot. A hot, prickly feeling goes down your back and all your clothes suddenly feel restrictive. He sits and remains steadfast, but you can sense it too. 

It feels good but something is missing. Something is off. 

Despite his restless desire, he’s taunting you. Goading you. You groan and Caleb laughs.

“Don’t—Caleb. Please,” 

“Did you want something?” 

Another groan leaves your lips as his smile remains unfaltering. 

“You promised you were gonna make it feel better,” You say, so petulant and childish to your own ears you wince. 

Somewhat predictably, this works on Caleb right away. Overwhelming lust tucked carefully behind a thoughtful smile. “I did, huh?” 

“Don’t be a jerk,” You reply. He laughs but not for long.

He has something flash on his face at your reply. You just kind of know. “Sorry, sorry,” 

“Stop holding back.”

He looks surprised. “I’m not—” 

You nudge him with your knee. “You are. You think I don’t know you? Didn’t you say you wanted me to see you differently? Stop acting like a cool older brother. It’s annoying,” 

His expression is one of awe and amusement. It’s not quite that he’s irritated, but you can sense that you just barely get under his skin with the implication. 

 “Weren’t you the one who was crying about not wanting anything to change? Now you’re chiding me? You were acting so spoiled just a minute ago to get your way and now you’re saying you don’t want me acting like your big brother, hm?” 

Your eyes widen at the change in character. It still feels like Caleb, but it’s so intense. Too sincere to be completely playful. A strange mix of lust, nerves and fear wash over you. “Just—” 

He pushes himself back up to hover over you, swift as a hand cups your jaw, forcing your gaze up. Pure arousal shoots through your veins, almost unwittingly, as you catch sight of Caleb’s gaze. An vengeful quality to it. 

“Meimei,” He says, and your breath hitches. Your head is clouded with the immoral lust of hearing it this way. “Your older brother didn’t teach you how to lie, right? If you want something, say it with your mouth. Say it clearly,” 

A flush crawls onto your face, eyes darting away. Caleb allows you this much mercy. To let you look away feels kind. 

It’s an uncomfortable sort of feeling. To acknowledge what desire, what reaction you’re seeking. It’s unfair, and childish - since Caleb has done nothing but love you from the very moment you met him. Kind, gentle, considerate—you love him so deeply that it hurts to breathe just thinking about all you’ve experienced. 

Something about what you’re asking of him is ugly. Born of selfishness, the desire to have all of him, too. 

“Ugh, just—stop saying you want me and show me,” You say, full of distress. 

You see it in his eyes when something clicks. 

And then, with a sudden force, he kisses you. It’s rougher than the ones previous, deeper, greedier. What you want. You moan into his mouth as Caleb licks at your lips, pulling away to kiss your cheek. Sweet as always. 

“Don’t regret it,” 

The change is immediate. In a way, he’s still just answering to your desires - but you don’t dislike this part of him. Your heart rate kicks up as Caleb strips you of your shirt completely before settling himself back down to where he started.

From just beneath your breasts, all the way down the place of your belly and navel - Caleb places hot, wet kisses to your skin. No longer languid but hurried, long fingers curling into the very edge of your waistband as he drops down further and further before settling between your thighs. He glances up at you when he begins to pull down your shorts but doesn’t ask you for permission and it makes you feel a strange thrill when he doesn’t. 

Caleb tugs your shorts off and helps you wriggle out of them in one go - an audible groan escaping his mouth. Plain, tattered cotton panties hug your hips as you lay with your legs up. He nudges your thighs open as you place your feet flat on the bed. With your legs spread, your clothed cunt is readily visible.

He lets out a soft breath. When you look down, your eyes meeting—there’s something almost animalistic to him. A completely and utterly ruined expression, blush dusting across his nose and cheekbones. 

“I want to make you feel as good as you can, okay?” Caleb says breathlessly. 

He brings his mouth to your inner thigh, closer to your knee and places a sweet kiss on the skin. Both of his hands are gripping hard onto your hips, as he breathes in the scent over and over. It sets your body alight to see it in glimpses. His brow is furrowed as he sucks and bites sloppy hickies into the soft fat of your thighs - working his way up slowly. When he finds you properly marked on one leg, he repeats it on the other. 

You can feel the ache of fresh bruises. A sensation that coaxes a completely new wave of arousal straight from the deepest depths of your body. An impossible wetness soaking the paper-thin cotton, sliding down the curve of your ass from how keyed up the touch makes you. 

It’s less that he’s satisfied in his markings with you, more that his desire for you grows too heavy. Caleb stares at your pussy with eyes of pure, unmistakable reverence.

You have never been able to picture another human being looking at you the way he does. 

So much ardor. So much bone-deep, blood-red voracity in a single gaze. The shakiness of his breathing, the harsh grip of his hands, that unsteady look in his eyes as his nose and mouth hover over the soaked panties over your pussy. As if you can see the words repeating in his mind: want, want, want. Nothing more certain. 

Your whole body wracks with a shiver. You whimper with your hands fisted at your sides in anticipation. 

A startled gasp escapes you as Caleb doesn’t do anything but press his nose firm to your pussy and breathe. Deep and unrepentant like he’s trying to memorize the scent of you, use it to track you like a bloodhound. Embarrassed warmth floods your system and you squirm in protest of his actions. 

But you’re trapped there. Completely and utterly, rendered helpless by his gri. His eyes flicker up unfocused but quickly go back to being closed. It’s all the communication you need to know he intends to do exactly as you’ve begged him to do. To expose the extent of his unsavory appetite. Inhaling the scent of sweat and skin, of a day of lounging and leaving your pussy completely confined.

He looks so madly-in-love in the moment you find it hard to breathe even a word of protest. Your clit throbs unhelpfully in response. 

Your mouth falls open in a silent scream when Caleb finally, finally drags his tongue over the seam of your panties. He doesn’t pull them off—instead sucking the wetness from the material. Puffy clit helplessly pulled into the force of it while trapped under your panties, you buck your hip up against his tongue. Caleb obliges you. He points the tip of his tongue and slides it over the small bud through the cotton - completely stiffened from arousal. You shake at the touch, the wet promise of pleasure. How the drenched fabric of your panties gives the most gratifying, mind-numbing friction. You moan loud. You can’t help the sound that leaves you when he licks your pussy. 

You’ve never felt anything like it before. It’s the first time you’ve ever felt this way, but you’re under the impression that most people will never know a pleasure like this in their life. 

When your underwear is completely saturated with spit - only then does Caleb let off from you. Without a single word of warning, he tugs away the material. Exposing your pussy, bare and throbbing - he blows warm air onto your clit and watches as you squirm. 

Another beat of admiring before his mouth latches onto your pussy again. Panties tugged away haphazardly, his tongue sliding from wet hole all through the seam, the soft folds of your pussy - settling at your clit. He licks experimentally, wading through your moans. When his tongue tastes your clit just the right way, you practically scream. 

With newfound dedication, he commits to worshipping your pussy with his mouth. 

It’s humiliating. Purely euphoric and undeniably stimulating, boneless as Caleb’s tongue laps desperately at your clit. His eyes shut, completely blissful - brows furrowed and moaning into you. He eats you out like it’s what he’s wanted to do his entire life and this is the last opportunity he’ll have to make good on his dreams. 

The corrupted thought lights fire under your body anew. To think of Caleb lusting for you when he shouldn’t be. Like a forbidden fruit, ripe and sweet and nearly his—nearly within his grasp but always just barely slipping between his fingers. Your kind, sweet, considerate older brother thinking of ruining your mind and body. The idea he’d been torturing himself over it makes you sad but more than that it incites impossible longing. You want him to want you even more than he does now. 

You can feel your body ache for it for the first time. Like a reply to his feelings, you think of how good it will feel when Caleb finally fucks you. Takes you, plucks you from vine  and claims you all for himself. 

But the act of him tasting you like this is more than good. The tender bundle of nerves is throbbing hard against the wet flick of his tongue - hips rutting to meet the perfect motion of his mouth. Something in your belly warms. Sweetens your senses and melts you from the inside like crystalized honey coming to liquid sugar over a flame. Your mind has melted away so utterly you can’t do anything but reach your fingers through his hair and chant his name. 

“Caleb,” Your voice is unfamiliar to you. Worked up beyond any rational understanding.. “Caleb, Caleb, Caleb.” 

Closer and closer, Caleb remains completely persistent in his efforts. Licks your clit and laps up all the arousal that spills - silky fluid like ambrosia to the unending heat of his mouth.

The knot tangled inside of your body unravels with an alarming speed. Makes your eyes go wide before you shut them again hard, your spine arching off the bed - every muscle in your body going unbearably tense as Caleb’s tongue toys with your clit. The filthy sound of licking making your ears ring. 

Your body goes taut. It feels like a calamity. A pure rapture, like God himself is bringing pleasure. The kind that can only be derived from being your maker. Caleb has that in common with him, you think. 

Your voice rings loud, hands fisted in his hair. You’re cumming hard, and fast, and there’s white behind your eye-lids. Smatterings of bright stars as you press them shut. 

You cum so hard you can’t breathe. For a brief moment you’re weightless before it all comes crashing down in one swift go. Caleb eats you out through it relentlessly and your voice breaks on the syllables of his name - asking for mercy and receiving none. It feels so good it terrifies you. Your body is trembling, cunt spasming around his tongue as Caleb continues his assault. 

You feel something wet rush out of you but Caleb is undeterred. He drinks it all down, every last drop until he’s satiated at least some of his endless, terrifying thirst. 

When he pulls away from your pussy, his mouth is soaked in saliva and your cum. He looked the most satisfied you’ve ever seen him in your life. You’ve never been so scared of someone while being so unbearably aroused in the same breath. 

“You taste so fucking good. Better than I dreamed in my entire life. Need to taste it again. I almost don’t want to do anything else.” He laughs breathlessly. “Almost.”

“Caleb,” You whimper. completely helpless as you try to catch your breath. “Fuck, ‘m still cumming,” 

“Gonna make you cum over and over and over.” Caleb says cheery. “Promise,” 

After cumming the first time, your body's sensitivity increases tenfold. Where you think it’ll cool off the glaring heat, melting you down to your core - all it does is turn it higher, make the feeling more tangible. Caleb’s offer to make you cum again excites you more than it scares you. You stare at him when he comes up for air.

“Kiss?” 

“Even after all that?” 

You nod sheepishly. 

“Jeez. How cute can someone be?” 

He comes up for a kiss, surprised when you lick into his mouth. You like tasting yourself on him, tongue dipping in for more. Caleb smiles at your enthusiasm, eyes lidded when he pulls away. 

“Open your mouth,” 

You give him a blank stare but do as he says. He puts a hand on your throat, tipping your head back before you feel something warm hit your tongue. Your eyes meet Caleb’s in surprise, instinctively swallowing the spit as it slides down your throat. Caleb meets you with an eager kiss, a gentle affection in his voice. “Good girl.” 

Something washes over you hearing the praise. A soft moan into his mouth that leaves Caleb with raised brows. “You like hearin’ you’re my good girl, huh?” 

Your face feels hot. “...Maybe,” 

“Still so bad at lying, pipsqueak. Some things never change,” 

The affection in his voice makes you forgive him. You know the tone, the sound—the lilting coo of your older brother's voice when he’s teasing you. It’s a way of speaking you could recognize in a heartbeat, the kind of voice that you’re anxious without. It shouldn’t soothe you in this context, shouldn’t make your pussy feel so achy when you know exactly how he’s addressing you. 

Caleb kisses down the length of your body again. Neck to navel until he settles down between your thighs. You can’t mask your surprise. Caleb looks up at you from between your legs. 

“What? You thought one time would be enough for me?” 

Truthfully, yes. You’re a little startled at the thought he’s going to do it again. Make you feel all of that again. An anticipatory shiver makes you squirm but Caleb holds you in place. He presses another kiss to your clit. “One time doesn’t even come close to being enough.” 

True to his word, Caleb starts the process all over again. 

The second time around, he doesn’t let himself up to breathe. You’re locked in place as his increased familiarity with your body has him driving you over the edge even faster. Firm grip on your thighs, face buried between your legs - he laps at your clit for what feels like an endless amount of time. The pleasant warmth of his mouth paired with the focused, precise licks on your sweet spot make your body wrack with an impossible pleasure. It’s gentle enough to not be completely overstimluating - but his endurance, his persistence in doing it makes your experience a new high. A trembling mess of limbs and quiet, desperate pleas. Too much, too fast - toes curled as he hoists your legs over his shoulders to give him full access. Clit pulsating, stiff under his tongue with his nose bumping occasionally. 

It feels so good you’re almost content to let him stay there. Let your mind wash away and succumb to the gluttony tying you to the bed. You cum twice again from the pressure - your body experiencing each one longer. Unable to withstand it, your hands clenched tight trying to level yourself with the feeling. A pleasure you’ve never experienced, the kind you doubt you’d be able to feel with someone else. 

Caleb has always been like this in that respect. Your older brother who set the standard for every other man you ever came across. You were always using him as the gold standard, comparing every man you’ve ever met to him. Especially ones who claimed to like you. What would your brother do, how would he act, how would he treat you. He’d never tell you if you were too much. Never call you spoiled even when you act it, embody it so why settle for less? Why want for something else? For someone else?

It’s not surprising that Caleb touches you with the same level of care he’s always given you. Even less surprising that your body longs for it so desperately. 

Caleb is your big brother after all. He takes care of you like this. No one else gets to have it. It makes you entitled, moody, and emotional just to think of him acting this way with someone who isn’t you. 

Yearning and deep affection well up inside of you as these things cross your mind. Whisper to your longing as a deep, endless need overwhelms your mind. Your third orgasm steals the breath out of your lungs. A shockwave of emotions washes over you, as you tug at his hair. You let out a throaty whine. 

“Caleb,” You whimper, pulling him off. “Caleb,” 

Attuned to your emotions, Caleb is quick to pull away when he hears the audible distress. He pulls away from you, worried. “Shhh, hey. It’s okay, I’m here. Did you want to stop?”

You shake your head rapidly. Caleb gives you a small smile. “Just being a crybaby, then?” 

The truth is, yes, just a little. You can’t voice this to Caleb so you instead give him some unknowable, unreadable look. He reads it almost instantly, shifting himself to hug you tight. Without any words at all, like he knows every single thought that passes through your mind. You wrap your arms around him and nudge your nose against his neck. He smells familiar. 

“This what you wanted?” 

You nod against him. Caleb’s heartbeat is steady in a way that brings you bone deep comfort. 

“Be more pampered with me. More selfish, more demanding, more spoiled. Gege will do anything for you, so don’t hesitate.” 

Hearing him refer to himself that  way makes your stomach flip. You nuzzle yourself deeper into him, aroused by the sound of his laughter - playful but smug. You speak against his chest, words muffled. 

“Want it inside right now,” 

His breath hitches immediately. “Yeah?” 

Another nod. You pull away to look him in the eyes when you ask. You know how to beg Caleb for something. You’ve been doing it your whole life, and right now is the most sincere you’ve ever been. Doe-eyed and full lips, all covetous and coy the word falls from your mouth with ease. 

“Please,” 

It has the exact impact on him you want it to have. Groaning, the outline of his cock twitching with a shameful lust, almost blanking out at the thought. He scrubs a hand over his face. 

“You’re gonna kill me,” 

“Please,” You repeat. Caleb kisses you as if to stop you from saying it again. 

“I have to stretch you out on my fingers. It’ll hurt otherwise,” You open your mouth but Caleb cuts you off. “Don’t say it’s fine.” 

“Caleb,” You whine and he laughs sympathetically. 

“Be a good girl,” He placates, and it works on you just as maddeningly as your begging does on him. “Hm? For me?” 

You melt. How embarrassing.”...Fine,” 

He coos at you lovingly and you make no effort to deflect. You can’t. Your usual fire and wit, your banter is dissipated. Brain thoroughly undone from so many orgasms and the deep, aching want in your cunt - so apparent it makes you want to sob. A desperation to be full that you didn’t fathom existing in such a bodily way, something you thought only existed in porn. 

Sensing how strung out you are, Caleb changes positions again. Instead of laying between your legs, he curls up besides you. He turns on his side, sliding an arm underneath and hugs your body close to him. Like he’s cradling you. Your legs slot together, one of yours between both of his - your other leg on the outside. Caleb hikes your thigh up - high enough to have your legs spread. The arm not supporting your back is supporting you, his forearm underneath your thigh.

At this angle, you’re face to face. Caleb can see you clearly as he cradles you in his arms. A large hand squeezes your ass before reaching around - teasing your clit with long fingers.

You feel…small like this. It’s the way you’re being held. The feeling of Caleb’s arm under your back, sliding up to hold your neck. 

His fingers are exceptionally long. Slender and thin, with thick veins from wrist to pinky, more appearing less visibly to the rest. His palms are big- making up the bulk of their size. You feel yourself fixating on them in their movements. 

On the calluses on them from handling guns, to the few thin scars from your childhood that have remained on his body into adulthood - now scarred. The way his fingers caress you, stroke your clit slowly. He kisses you again with a silent question like: you like this, right?

The eagerness of your tongue into his mouth answers it for him, a puppy keen on greeting it’s owner. Caleb laughs sweet into your mouth, encouraging you with all the kindness he has in him. His fingers slides through your slick folds impressed until he reaches low enough to be at your hole. 

You’ve put your own fingers in there before. You think you can handle someone elses. 

You find out fast that you can’t. 

Caleb’s fingers are long. They’re thicker than yours, and longer than yours - and just the first one gives you a stretch you're not expecting. You shudder, a noisy breath. It’s an intrusion, a noticeable one. Caleb is careful, though. It’s easy for him to push the digit it when you’re so wet inside. A soft squelching noise makes your skin burn hot but Caleb goes on undisturbed. 

His finger reaches deep. He fucks it in so slowly and so carefully but it feels like it never ends. All the down to the knuckle with just the one, you find yourself shuddering. Caleb is quiet, but you can hear the labor in his breaths. Feel his cock pressed against your inner thigh and twitch. 

You moan his name instinctually - not for any particular reason and he says nothing. Just thrusts his finger in and out. How can something feel so different on the basis it’s someone else? You can’t hold still, rocking your hips against the sensation. Caleb groans unabashed. 

“You want it so bad, huh?” He says, half-delirious and so pleasantly smug. You nod  immediately. 

“A little more. Hang in there, okay?” 

Okay, you think. You’d do whatever it takes in the moment for Caleb to fuck you more quickly so you bite in the side of your cheek and try not beg stupidly each time he repeats the process. Another finger, longer than the last - stretching out, reaching deeper than anything has ever gone in your life, thrusting until your pussy takes it. It surprises you to know just how much you can take when you take three and you really feel  it. How soft it is inside.

“Enough,” You whisper hoarsely. 

Caleb doesn’t heed your request. Another finger goes in. It takes four for him to finally feel like it’s enough. Four fingers stroking from the inside out, an almost brutal precision curling against your g-spot. Not enough to cum, just enough to get so wet he can’t pull his fingers out without the filthiest noise you’ve ever had to follow it.

Completely out of your mind, you grab onto him weakly. Every ounce of shame and sense gone. 

“Caleb,” Your voice is a pant. “Fuck me. Please, please—just do it,” 

His own voice is no better than yours. “Gotta grab a condom from my—” 

Your voice is vicious. Like you’re lashing out at him. “No. Fuck me.” 

Caleb is quieted by it. Unsure of how to react. “Don’t be like that, baby.” 

A reprimand. Soft as ever. Tears well up in your eyes immediately. “Please hurry,” 

“We have to use a condom next time, okay?” 

You hear nothing that comes out of his mouth except the words next time, and nod. 

He gives in. You’re thankful he always does. You’re at your wits end and you don’t know if your body can handle any more waiting. Not getting what you want with Caleb unsettles and upsets you. Especially this strung out. 

Caleb rolls onto your back again after he pulls his fingers out. You whine at the loss, unwittingly falling onto your back with both legs open. Presenting yourself in some impossibly obedient way that you can’t catch quick enough to stop, knees bent and up in the air. Waiting impatiently for Caleb to follow. 

He follows suit moments later. His hand resting on your knees to spread your legs for him, taking in an eyeful of you as he stands on his own. 

At the angle you’re laying and with nothing to distract your senses - you can see Caleb in full shape. Your body responds in kind for you, throbbing between your legs as you cut his figure. Tall and strong and broad, visible muscles and deltas. There are veins above the lowcut of his waistband, thick and tempting. A little lower than that - a patch of dark hair that leads to…

Your throat feels dry seeing Caleb’s cock standing to attention, just underneath his sweatpants. Eyes blinking rapidly trying to make sense of it. How it strains, a wet patch where it ends. Your breathing slows significantly. Your mouth watering, mind fizzling like a bottle of champagne. The ache in you urges deeper, hand going between your legs to soothe it. Or maybe welcome what's coming. 

Caleb is breathless. Amusement undercut by lasciviousness. “Enjoying the view?” 

You nod stupidly. Caleb grins a little. Makes a show of hooking his thumb into the top of his sweats and tugging all the way down. A thick trail of hair and the smooth, uncut outline of his cock has you gasping. When he tugs his pants all the way pas his thigh, you feel completely speechless. 

He’s huge. Utterly. Too heavy to stand on its own, uncut, veiny. You blink in disbelief, like everything in the room has paused. It’s burly. Ridiculous. Thick enough to look like someone’s forearm. Pearls of pre-cum dribble of out of the tip, pulled back to be revealed. A ruddy reddish brown and angry. It’s darker then the rest, throbbing in a way that looks almost painful. It’s not the first time you’ve seen it but that was on accident in a bath before it was—

You stop your train of thought and just stare for an unknown amount of time.

He looks sheepish. The tips of his ears crimson red, all the way down to his chest. You make an unintelligible noise at the sudden change in attitude and also at everything else. 

A sensible person would feel fear. Not your strong suit. You don’t know if it’s bravery or lust that inspires the reaction in your body. You just know you want him to fuck you so bad you might jump  on him to get it. 

“We don’t have to get in today, princess. We’ve got time to—” 

“If you try to deter me one more time I’m going to run away from home,” 

Caleb closes his mouth. He just mumbles something, but obliges you right after. 

In what can only be considered a miracle, Caleb finally settles between your legs. His hands are on top of your thighs as he taps his tip against your clit, rubbing the pre-cum into the mess, The feeling of skin on skin elicits a gasp out of you both. His voice is shaky. 

“Might not last,” He says hoarsely

“S’fine.” You put a hand between your legs and spread your pussy open for him a little wider. A move from porn that works on him instantly. He swears hard under his breath, not giving himself a chance to indulge in the feeling long. 

Tip nudging through slick folds—Caleb finally, finally slides in. 

Another synchronised moan, sweat breaks out onto your skin as you feel the thick tip of Caleb’s cock finally come through. You feel full. It’s completely different from four fingers, more invasive on your body than ever. . 

It elicits a chain reaction. You watch Caleb above you, death grip on your hips trying to keep his composure and not fuck a hole through you. A horrible part of you almost wants him too, even knowing you absolutely wouldn’t be able to take it. 

You’re trembling. It feels ridiculous but you’re so worked up that - 

“Gonna c-cum,” 

Caleb’s eyes blow wide. “From—fuck. That ain’t fair, you can’t,” 

You buck your hips up and groan. He’s stretching you out so fucking good. One more time and it’ll hit that spot and it’ll feel so perfect, so right. You need it. Caleb shakes over you. 

“Mercy,” He says, not sober enough to laugh. You’re going to lose your mind soon. Maybe you already have. 

“I-s it all in?” 

“Half,” Caleb grunts. You moan at the thought. 

“Fuck me. Shit, please,” Your voice breaks high on the last syllable. Caleb looks like he wants to protest, wants to tell you to take it slow. But you can see it in his face that he’s reached his limits. Or maybe he reached them a long time ago and he’s already far gone. 

But he listens. Your jaw goes slack and he pushes in. Inch by tortuous inch until you feel him bottom out. Feel his hips on the back of your thighs. His cock is throbbing inside of you, silken walls clinging onto the shape like you’re being pried open. It doesn’t take anything. He shifts as he bottoms out and your voice comes out in garbled, unintelligible noise. 

“O-oh, ‘m cumming, cumming, ngh,”  Your back arches up that leaves your mind blank. Completely white out, nothing but static as you cum again. Cum around the hard, intrusive length of your older brothers cock - bullying into your cervix until it’s wet and pliable and fuckable for him. Stretching out like it’s his to shape and mould. You can feel it in your body, each vein and each curve. Caleb lets out a whistle. Sharp and so fucking dark, it exicites you helplessly. 

“She’s clingy just like you,” He says, fond but sneering. 

Your head spins when it dawns on you on what he’s saying. 

“Caleb—” 

“I feel conflicted. Are you naturally this gifted?” He laughs, folding over you. Overtaken by something. Bending you under his weight. “Or is it because it’s mine that you’re making it so easy?” 

“I was worried, you know,” He pulls out. The disappointment and gaping emptiness are brief. You hear the way your body refuses him pulling out. “Worried about how such a tight hole would fit something so big. Worried about your body, but you’re taking me in so fucking well. So perfect,” 

You’re panting. It feels so good. Your tongue feels heavy in your mouth, limp under the weight of it as Caleb gives you a slow few thrusts to get you used to the size. But you’re so stretched and sensitive it just feels fucking incredible from the jump. 

“Be a good girl and let me in.” You clench down on him. He grins to himself. “That’s it,” 

He bottoms out again. Slams hips and fucks you in one swift, unforgiving motion. Groaning, he puts his hands up under your knees, driving his dick into you with animalistic need. 

“Your pussy feels so fucking good. Too good. I’m never gonna be able to think about anything else. It’s not like I was before but you’re-” Out, back in. You haven’t made a single coherent sound. “You’re just too good. It’s warm and wet and still so tight, how are you still so tight, huh? It’s like you don’t want me to leave.” 

For a brief moment, the two of you make eye contact. The vivid color of his eyes burns bright, pins you underneath the weight of his gaze. It goes straight to your stomach, making it flip in one smooth go. 

“Tell me it’s okay,”  Caleb says, barely restraining himself. 

You look up at him confused. He suddenly looks like he’s at his wits end. 

“Tell me it’s okay to fuck you hard,” 

Like a woman possessed, you reach your arms around to squeeze his back and biceps. You put your mouth close to his ear as you bring him down towards you. 

“Gege,” He twitches inside of you. “Fuck me as hard as you can,” 

You underestimate just what effect it’ll have on you. On him. As quick as he possibly can, he pushes his hands under your knees and folds you into a mating press so deep it makes you scream. He’s pistoning you instantly, pounding into your pussy like he owns. Your nails dig into the muscles of his shoulders without realizing. 

“I love you,” are the only words that come out of his mouth. It has you clenching down even harder. “Gege loves you more than anyone else in the world, okay? More than anyone.” 

Just like that, Caleb fucks you. Given up on being gentle but still trying to make you feel good, trying to touch somewhere no one ever will again - he folds you up under the weight of his body and fucks you with relentless stamina. Your mind is gone. His cock is fat and heavy inside of you, splits your pussy open as the tip knocks against your g-spot with each thrust. His balls smack against your ass on each go. 

It’s too much. For your brain, for your body, for your insides - getting permanently rearranged like he’s crushing your womb. A feeling like it should be painful, but it isn’t because he’s got you so good and open. This a reward for you both. For his patience. Every thought wrung from your head, impressed by your body’s own avarice for cock. Addicted to the feeling of getting strethed, gaped completely open. It feels like you’re cumming without a clear end. 

Wanting Caleb to cum inside of you is a distant thought. Pleasant like a lullaby as your body yearns for it. Another sharp orgasm builds. It builds and builds and builds - and you know’re going to be fucked through it again. 

But this time Caleb is close. Right alongside you. Sweating and panting in your ear as he pounds into your frenzied. 

His voice comes out like a whine and it turns you on even more. You say it before he can think of pulling out, tightening your legs around his waist. 

“Cum in me,” 

Caleb grinds himself deeper. “Gonna cum in you, baby. I love you, I love you—fuck!” 

Pure euphoria floods your entire nervous system as Caleb bottoms out one last time. His cum fills your pussy in thick, long spurts. It feels hot as it takes, makes you shiver with how it feels. Disappointed at the idea it’ll flood back out. 

Caleb, still balls deep - continues suddenly. Where you think he’s gonna pull out, he doesn’t. Instead he fucks you again, this time more clear-headed as he rubs your clit - a hand between your bodies. His voice is shot. 

“Sorry. Don’t wanna be selfish. One more nice and easy, then we’ll clean up?” 

You have no room to protest. After all, Caleb is nothing but relentless when  it comes to spoiling you. You let him fuck another orgasm out of you until you’ve got nothing left to give. 

He collapses on top of you after your pussy milks what's left of him

You kiss when he does, sweaty and tired. You look at his blissed out face and kiss his nose with affection. 

“I love you too, Gege.” 

He pauses then laughs. Brightly. Hopelessly. 

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” 

__ 

You aren’t sure when exactly you pass out. 

You remember lingering with Caleb in his bed before limping into the bathroom. And a bath too, if your memory serves you right. You must’ve fallen asleep in the tub with Caleb, the broad warmth of his chest lulling you right to sleep. You’ve got good endurance from being a hunter, but you’re tuckered out just thinking about earlier. 

Also a little embarrassed. 

You wake on the couch of the living room. Cleaned, changed, and tucked into with a blanket over you. There’s a scent and the quiet sizzle of a pan. Your limbs feel heavy as you pick your head up. It’s still dark out but it seems like morning. 

You rub your eyes as you swing your legs over and place them on the floor.

Standing to your feet, you find slippers at the end of the couch and feel your heart swell ten sizes. You put them on before padding into the kitchen. 

Caleb is at the stove like you thought he’d be. You flush seeing his back covered in scratches and a bite or two - none you remember leaving. You know your body is in the same state if not worse.

You walk up to him and wrap your arms around his middle, pressing your face against his broad back. Your voice is small, embarrassed. Everything feels brand-new. 

“G’morning,” 

Caleb turns the heat down and puts the spatula on the counter top, turning to face you. He looks down at you with a boyish grin. Unfairly handsome, making you pout. 

“Morning, sleepyhead. Feel okay?” 

You tuck your face into his chest and nod. “Just a little tired. I don’t hurt or anything.” 

“That’s good, then,” 

You make a little mm sound and stay there for a while. Caleb is content to hug you until you pull away. 

“Caleb?” 

“Hm?” 

Your face feels warm. “...Kiss?” 

He stops, then beams. Dips his head down to catch your lips in a kiss that feels romantic and practiced, but doesn’t make you feel strange in a bad way. You’ve never had a boyfriend, not a real one. Does everyone feel butterflies like this? 

Maybe there’s something wrong with you. He pulls away and presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth. 

“You’re less moody than you usually are when you wake up,” Caleb teases. “Good to know. An effective way to deal with your attitude is always welcome.” 

You frown at him, feeling furious for more reason than embarrassment. It’s really unfair how flirtatious he is. “Shut up,” 

Subconsciously, your hands are fisted as you cling to Caleb’s chest. With no shirt to hold onto you, your muscle memory finds it the most steady. They’re clenched hard from embarrassment and a flood of other feelings you need soothed. 

Caleb grabs your hand and unfurls them for you. Strong, warm, big hands grasp yours in their palm and open them both softly - fingers interlocking until you’re no longer so tense. Just melted away. 

“I’m right here,” He says. A wave of emotions passes over you. 

You hold his hand and squeeze it. Once, twice - it has a steadiness the grip of fabric doesn’t. 

You smile to yourself. Helplessly happy. Overwhelmed with pure, unrelenting love. 

“Yeah,” You say, more to yourself than anyone else. “You are,” 

[astonmartinii]

doing business with family | max verstappen social media au

pairing: max verstappen x fem hadjar reader

brother and boyfriend in the same sport? nothing has ever gone wrong when doing business with family... right?

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

yourusername

liked by alexalbon, pepemarti and 307,377 others

tagged: maxverstappen1 & isackhadjar

yourusername: max will officially become my second favourite f1 driver this weekend

view all comments

user1: watched isack’s f2 radio highlights in preparation for this weekend … yeah they’re defo siblings

user2: i know they’re parents had a HANDFULL with them growing up

user3: lmao just ask george in abu dhabi or lando in austria, y/n knows how to make her point KNOWN

isackhadjar: omg i beat max in something!

yourusername: come on bro have some faith in yourself - you can defo beat max in singapore at least

maxverstappen1: rude?

yourusername: you know i hate singapore in solidarity babe?

isackhadjar: and that’s crazy because she loves the glitter helmets

yourusername: i really do

user4: get you a couple that measures their love by glitter helmets?

user5: y/n is so real for that though, i’d fuck seb’s glitter helmets

yourusername: right well i don’t love them quite THAT much

charles_leclerc: slides £5 across the table isack please take max out, he won’t hate you

isackhadjar: no?

landonorris: WHY NOT

isackhadjar: i want to keep my job and actually score some points

yourusername: you people done harassing my brother?

maxverstappen1: do we have a problem?

isackhadjar: they’re being mean, they’re trying to PEER PRESSURE ME

charles_leclerc: i don’t think i was peer pressuring you

charles_leclerc: it’s bribery, god get it right

maxverstappen1: i think you should watch it

yourusername: say something like that to him again frenchie and your ass is grass

user6: omg romance ❤️‍🔥

redbullracing

liked by yourusername, danielricciardo and 823,081 others

tagged: maxverstappen1, yukitsunoda0511 & liamlawson30

redbullracing: red bull vs rb on pop culture trivia… max and isack were unstoppable - we might have to split them up next time

view all comments

user7: now i wonder where max and isack got their real housewives knowledge from …

user8: this has y/n hadjar written all over it

user9: if i remember rightly y/n was asked by some interviewer in the paddock who she’d like to see as a paddock guest and she said LISA RINNA?

user10: i knew i stanned the right queen

isackhadjar: not our fault that liam and yuki aren’t caught up with all the fresh news

maxverstappen1: we’re bonded cats i don’t think they have the power to separate us

redbullracing: it’s a trivia game…

maxverstappen1: THAT’S MY BABY BROTHER

redbullracing: YOU GUYS AREN’T EVEN MARRIED YET?

yourusername: looks like admin just lost their invite to the wedding…

redbullracing: yOU AREN’T ENGAGED?

yourusername: i guess you’ll never know

user11: no way they just teased their engagement in an argument over media duties?

user12: you’re shocked? this is quintessential them

user13: and they’re adding in their little rabid mini-them? i fear f1 is actually not ready

liamlawson30: so when do we get to do cars trivia? or is it all set up for them to win?

yourusername: just say you’re uncultured…

maxverstappen1: get a new personality trait bro

liamlawson30: omg why are you guys on my neck so hard?

maxverstappen1: funny

liamlawson30: this is so not fair why didn’t you guys defend me like this last season?

yourusername: that’s my flesh and blood dude

isackhadjar: duh!

maxverstappen1: i am so in love with y/n i just do what she says, do let it be known that if isack was not related to y/n he would be just another stray cat to me

isackhadjar: sure i’ll take it!

maxverstappen1

liked by yourusername, isackhadjar and 839,023 others

maxverstappen1: we had the chance to extend our championship lead but with two optimists behind you anything can happen…

view all comments

user21: LMAO THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN THIS AND THE LAST POST

user22: isack probably teared up in the stewards room and max crumbled

user23: i mean on his radio as soon as GP said it was isack max was immediately like ‘is he okay?’

isackhadjar: sorry max!

maxverstappen1: no worries buddy, you can pay me back with room service

isackhadjar: so our move marathon is still on?

maxverstappen1: don’t be dumb - obviously!

maxverstappen1: i need my second in command to help defend my snacks from y/n

yourusername: you guys aren’t supposed to have those snacks i’m doing you a favour !!!

isackhadjar: sureeeee

yourusername: i can call your trainers up if you want?

maxverstappen1: NO WE’RE OKAY

user24: esteban ocon is not okay seeing this tomfoolery

user25: yeah yeah yeah it’s all fun and games but that’s legit his baby brother of course he wasn’t going to cuss him out

user26: exactly! he’s been with y/n for like four years? of course he was concerned about isack’s safety than his race

landonorris: i’m not surprised, just disappointed

maxverstappen1: why?

landonorris: I’M YOUR BEST FRIEND AND YOU STILL AIRED ME OUT ONLINE?

maxverstappen1: first of all y/n is my best friend

maxverstappen1: second of all isack is my baby brother

maxverstappen1: third of all you’re annoying

yourusername: heavy on number three

landonorris: i GIVE UP WITH YOU PEOPLE

user27: i love watching max and y/n making people crash out in instagram comments

user28: couples that terrorise together, stay together

georgerussell63: interesting ….

yourusername: you wanna say something

georgerussell63: suddenly not anymore

maxverstappen1: LMAO

yourusername

liked by landonorris, charles_leclerc and 459,034 others

tagged: maxverstappen1, isackhadjar & pepemarti

yourusername: bond a little bit stronger than a lil crash in a formula one race

view all comments

user29: if they don’t get married and live happily ever after i might just sue them

user30: so real

user31: they’re my parents and i can’t go up to four christmasses

redbullracing: that was millions in damage

yourusername: you gonna invoice me for it?

redbullracing: no?

yourusername: then get the fuck out of my comments this is a wholesome post

user32: why is pepe here?

pepemarti: i am just as much part of the hadjar family as max

maxverstappen1: well that’s just factually incorrect

pepemarti: nuh uh

maxverstappen1: ??? i’m marrying in? what are you doing?

pepemarti: i’m mama hadjar and y/n’s favourite so divine intervention

maxverstappen1: @yourusername please dispell this nonsense

yourusername: look at his lil face …

pepemarti: :p

isackhadjar: i’ll be clear i am not marrying pepe

pepemarti: that’s not what you told me the other day :(

user33: can someone make a chart this is all a bit confusing now

user34: i don’t think anything is helping with this chaos

maxverstappen1: i love you forever and ever, even if your brother puts me in the wall <3

yourusername: awww i love you too bubs

maxverstappen1: but i am your favourite though?

yourusername: don’t tell them but yes!

isackhadjar: these are public comments?

pepemarti: i’m legally blind now

fin.

note: a quicky i wrote during the super bowl lol - hope you enjoy xx

[sematarygirls]

Okay but he’d fuck you so hard when they lose the Super Bowl after you spends an hour gloating about the eagles handing their asses to them!

i saw this request and started giggling and kicking my feet omg. anon, i owe you my first born child. you are a GENIUS! (although, fair warning, i'm not great at writing smut. i hope this is okay <3) not proofread

cw: unprotected p in v, rough sex, mean rafe, slapping, degradation

Football tended to be a touchy subject between you and Rafe. Where you were a diehard Eagles fan, he wouldn't be caught dead rooting for them. After the Chiefs narrowly beat out the Eagles in the 2023 Super Bowl, Rafe wouldn't shut up for weeks about how "trash" the Eagles were. It drove you absolutely insane.

That's why, when the Eagles absolutely kicked ass this Super Bowl in a rematch against the Chiefs, beating them out at a whopping 40-22, you thought it was your well-deserved right to rub it in Rafe's face, much to his dismay.

One thing about Rafe is that gloating is only okay when he does it—much like a lot of other things (he's a very hypocritical guy), hence his growing anger when you wouldn't stop talking about how the Chiefs absolutely threw the game with all their fumbles, making jokes the whole time about how it seemed like they weren't even playing.

Another thing about Rafe? He tended to get violent when he was angry. With other people, this meant he'd kick their asses, but with you, it meant you were in for a long night of rough fucking to make him feel better and put you in your place for your "bratty attitude."

Though, if you tried to point out the hypocrisy with him finding your actions annoying when he had done the exact same two years prior, he would only get more annoyed and very, very defensive.

You'd learned at a very early stage in your relationship that some battles were not worth fighting with Rafe, and besides, you kind of liked it when he was all rough with you, manhandling and degrading you deliciously.

"Not so mouthy now, huh?" He taunted, pounding into you from behind. Each thrust pushed you forward a little bit, your face burying further into the pillows as you moaned. A sharp slap to your ass had you gasping, the pain sending a jolt of pleasure to your core that had you practically gushing around Rafe's thick length. You didn't know how long you'd been going at this with him, but he hadn't let you cum, nor had he let up the brutal pace.

"Look at you," he sneered. "Can't even think of anything to say back to me, huh? Thought you were gonna gloat all night about how the Eagles won." His words were cruel and biting, revealing the depth of his anger, which wasn't about the football game. It was more so about being challenged, his ego hurt after talking such a big game about how the Chiefs were going to dominate.

You couldn't form a coherent sentence. Your brain turned to mush as the only thing you could focus on were his rough hands on you and his length stretching your velvety walls. You could practically feel each ridge and vein of his cock as it slid back and forth, his tip nudging your cervix roughly with each pass.

"What happened to that smart mouth, huh?" He mocked. "Your dumb little brain's too desperate for cock, huh, bunny," he cooed, his tone patronizing as he continued to pound into you with rough strokes, making your back arch and eyes roll back.

He was so mean, but you loved it.

He was right. You couldn't respond to him anymore. You had lost your ability to form a single word, dumbed down to a mess of please sounds as he hit that sweet spot inside of you so perfectly. He took that as a victory, seeing it as proof that you knew your place. He loved it when you whimpered underneath him, completely at his mercy. "Look who's behaving now. You're lucky you're so pretty, honey," he continued, enjoying this little game of his. "Otherwise, I wouldn't put up with such a bratty mouth."

"Fuuuuuck," he groaned, giving your ass another sharp smack before his hands found your hips again, his grip bordering on painful. "And this fuckin' love this pussy. Fuckin' perfect, baby."

He was getting close. You could tell by the way his pace started to falter, and his words switched from degrading to praising. One hand slipped down to your clit, rubbing firm circles. Even when he was pissed, he still tried to make you cum first.

It didn't take much more effort on his part. Your thighs were already trembling, desperate for release from the moment he'd thrown you onto the bed and ripped your clothes off.

"You're gonna be a good girl now, huh? You're gonna stop being such a pain in the ass, aren't you?" He questioned, punctuating each question with a thrust. "No more running your mouth and riling me up, right?"

"Uh huh," you whined pathetically, needy and desperate to cum.

He knew he had you right where he wanted you, all pliant and begging. "Yeah, you gonna stop talking back, huh? You can be a good little bunny for me, can't you?" He cooed, his words sounding a little bit less harsh. He was enjoying having you like this, completely at his mercy.

All you could muster was a weak nod, your fingers gripping the sheets and mouth parted in ecstacy as you reached your peak, blinding pleasure overtaking your body as your walls clamped down around his cock.

"That's it, baby, just like that," he groaned, pumping a few more times before pushing deep inside you and releasing spurts of hot, sticky cum into your eager cunt.

[shyamanuensis]

Showers & Scourers - M.R

a little angsty - a little sweet - a little riddle. enjoy xo

“Has anyone tried talking to him?” “What - and enter the dorm room of that volatile little shit? No fucking way!”

This is where you came in. The friend turned lover turned ex. Your presence hadn’t exactly been a common request when it came to Mattheo Riddle since the rather explosive and episodic breakup you’d had; rumour around the castle being you broke his heart first before the poor boy even stood a chance. However, his mates were well aware of the influence that you once had on him - that you now still, had over him. As such you had been summoned by requests, pleas, and near-begging to try and talk some sense into someone you had once loved who was so far removed from reality and lost in his own thoughts that you could only describe him as emotionally erratic.

Tomes, scrolls, notepads, furniture, curtains, clothing, shoes, a trunk, bedsheets,  quills - all tossed around the dorm as if a ventus charm had been cast and let loose to cause havoc within the confines of the room. Mattheo wasn’t usually violent - or well towards you at least. In the years that you’d known him; an intimidating threat or smartass comment were his more popular choices of menacing actions than a raised wand or fist; but this - the state of everything; discarded like trash made you thankful you nor anyone else was in his firing line.

The sound of running water from the ensuite he shared with the other 7th-years had you curious. Before you knew it; you found yourself still clothed beneath a heavy cascade of warm running water; steam challenging your breath as you pried the steel scourer out of Mattheo’s hand he had swiped from the kitchens and was using vexatiously upon his skin to try and rid himself of a mark he knew all too well was permanent. 

“Stop.” “No.” “Please?” “No.”

Any attempt to turn the shower off was blocked. His eyes were as red as his skin. His cheeks flushed, lips swollen from how harshly his teeth had taken to them. There was no use trying to argue with him. Trying to talk sense into him. Trying to reason with him. Trying to use logic. The boy was blighted, busted, broken. A rare sight; one that your memory wouldn’t miss. Deprived of all sense and sensibility - too messed up, too tortured, too destroyed; your arms snaked a little too comfortably around him; Mattheo closed his eyes immediately, his body betraying him as he sunk into the comfort of your embrace. The tender ministrations of your fingertips gliding through his hair calmed the turmoil within him suddenly. When you told him that everything was okay - that everything would be alright; it was like your words were a balm to his wounds, his soul.  Mattheo’s arms around your waist tightened. His grip was firm yet so, so far from bruising. It almost felt like he feared that if he let you go, you would disappear from him like the end of a dream. 

“I know you said you never wanted this - but it’s just a mark. It doesn’t change you.”

Oh, how he so desperately wanted those words to be true. Burying his face into the crook of your neck, you felt his breath hotter than the shower’s steam burning across your sensitive skin. You began to hum his favourite song; something you’d learned a long time ago would calm his nerves and that along with the feeling of your fingers still running through his hair managed to lull him into a sense of composure, of peace, that Mattheo had almost forgotten he was capable of feeling. His hands still resting at your waist moved unconsciously; almost habitually having his fingers curl into the dampened fabric of your shirt, acting almost like an anchor on you - like a sailor would to find refuse amidst a storm.

How long the two of you stood there for? You weren’t sure. The seconds turned to minutes turned to hours and his ragged breaths and half-choked, incoherent words indicated not so subtly that in and at this moment, Mattheo needed you. His once light, once angel, once love - and little did you know with everything going in the world outside of this shower, that you, undoubtedly would need him to.

[zealouswitchwerewolf]

Dick was so tired. Exhausted, really. He had been for years. It had been that way since he had decided to make it his mission to compensate for the shortcomings of an emotionally stunted man with an adoption problem and no intention to change. Dick didn't regret it, not exactly. He loved his siblings and wanted to give them the world. He also knew he couldn't fully raise them while Bruce was there in the middle. He had tried. He always ran himself ragged and ended up on the other side of Bruce's rage for trying to "push his sons away from him". It took a lot out of him but he still tried for the sake of his younger siblings.

It didn't help that Bruce hadn't ever been great at showing affection and tended to push people away from him whenever they got hurt or too close to him for fear of losing them. It had lost some of its effect on Dick after the second time Bruce had kicked him out, after Jason's death, but he could still see the hurt on his siblings' eyes when they were on the other side of Bruce's cold shoulder. It had certainly made him feel unwelcome at the manor and unable to stay more than a few days at once. It also made him irritable at Bruce, although that might be more about the man's actions than the coldness he associated with the manor. He tried to mask it for his siblings. Compensate with easy smiles and warm hugs. He knew it wasn't enough. He had always had to choose between mitigating the biggest mess Bruce had left behind and truly being there for his loved ones. He could not do everything. He couldn't be everywhere at once. No matter how hard he tried. It was exhausting. And he always failed.

Dick had seen Damian pack. He had just gotten back from the cave after his latest attempt at reasoning with Bruce. He had gone to find Damian and had seen the boy organizing his bags and looking around the room to make sure he didn't miss anything. He had seen him take the family picture on his bedside table. Damian hadn't noticed him. Dick had made a split-second decision and left. He went back to the cave and prepared for patrol, telling Bruce about a case he needed help with in the Narrows and leaving with Batman in tow, just in time to see Superboy flying towards Damian's window. He had distracted Bruce and made sure he didn't see.

He had considered taking Damian to live with him before. Many times. The only thing that had stopped him was Bruce's reaction after Tim had rescued him from the timeline but before he started trying to mend bridges with the family. He had seen the closeness between Damian and Dick and had decided to take it away. He had thrown a fit and forbidden Dick from coming to Gotham, when that hadn't worked, he had told him not to come to the manor, when that also didn't work, he started sulking and gave Damian the silent treatment until Dick backed off and distanced himself from the kid enough. That was when he approached Dick and apologized with words that Dick now knew weren't his own and started trying to bring the family back together. Maybe Dick had always known and was just in denial about it. The point was, if Damian ever left, Bruce would immediately suspect Dick and bring the kid back while enforcing more restrictions. It wouldn't help his brother in the long term. So Dick let him leave and pretended not to notice anything amiss.

The realization came hours later. There were no kids living in the manor anymore. All his siblings had left and were starting to figure out how to live independently from Bruce. Dick didn't need to shield them anymore. He didn't have to keep pushing himself to the limit, trying to be everything they needed, trying to overcompensate for everything Bruce fell short on. He didn't have to go back to a place where he wasn't wanted, no matter how many times he was reassured otherwise (not many. Not even once). He could finally leave.

He ended patrol early and got there just in time to see Clark trying to maneuver the rest of Damian's animals in his arms without having to take multiple trips. "Take care of them?" He couldn't help but ask, even knowing he should be doing more and had no right to ask that of anyone else, let alone Superman.

Clark's eyes turned soft and sad. He nodded solemnly, finally having managed to carry all the pets, and left without another word to Dick. They both knew Dick wasn't referring to the animals when he had said 'them'.

Dick went back to his apartment feeling so much relief he felt guilty to ever feel like that towards his siblings absence. It didn't stop him from going to bed and having a full night sleep for the first time in years. It was more rest that he had gotten since Bruce had introduced him to a tiny Jason and told him he was his new brother. Maybe someday Dick would have enough energy to go back and try to fix things between them again. Maybe he'd reach out to his siblings and try to have a real relationship with them. One that wasn't so dependent on Bruce's moods. Maybe one day he'd be ready to talk to Tim, Damian, and Jay and listen to their experiences at the manor without immediately trying to smooth things out or getting defensive. Maybe the anxiety attacks would go away with time. For now he'd just enjoy not having to worry about anyone's emotional well-being but his own. Maybe he'd call Wally and the other Titans. It had been a while since the last time they talked. His siblings were safe. Dick was free. Everything else could wait.

Bruce comes back from the dead and wants to make things better. Bruce comes back from the dead and Tim was the one who brought him back, so it's obviously Tim who'll know best how to help him reconnect with everyone.

It's Tim who should give him advice on how to bond with Dick. Dick has always been his idol, after all. Tim would know best how to bring him back, and he does. He gives good advice and the two of them begin to get closer.

So Bruce asks about Jason, too. Asks about how to bring his son back into the fold and Tim wished for a brief and brutal moment that it weren't so obvious who the favorite was.

Tim told Bruce to give Jason his space, to loosen his rules, and make it clear that no matter what the Red Hood did, no matter what the Batman believed in, Jason was always welcome. Bruce would always want him.

It worked. Bruce wasn't surprised. Tim was a special sort of bitter.

Bruce asked again for Damian and Tim had to push down his anger. "That boy tried to kill me," Tim wanted to say. "I hate him and I want you to hate him too so that I can remember a time when we had something in common," Tim didn't say, but he got close.

He instead told Bruce how Damian liked art and animals and loved hearing stories of the wonders of Batman.

He told Bruce just how much Damian loved being Robin. Told Bruce to tell Damian what a good Robin he was.

God bless or maybe damn him, but he did and it worked and Tim wanted to start screaming and clawing at something because that would have never worked if Tim tried it and it wouldn't have stopped Damian from cutting his line--something Bruce did not and would never know about.

Bruce asked about Babs. How should he make sure she knew that she was a part of the family? They they loved her and not just for the work she did?

He asked about Steph. How should he make sure she knew that she was more important than his rules and that, if something else should go wrong, she didn't need to run away?

He asked about Duke. He never got the chance to get to know him before leaving--not as well as he wanted to, at least. How should he let him know that he was just as much a son as everyone else? That, whether or not his parents woke up, he'd always be welcome?

He asked about Cass. How should he show her that he loves her even though he has nothing to teach her? How can he convey how much he cares about her, his first daughter?

Bruce gets brought back from time and he makes things better. He brings his family back together by following Tim's advice.

And Tim?

Tim brings his dad back from the dead and Bruce changes, becomes a better father.

Bruce changes, but not everything can.

That, Tim thinks, is why Bruce never calls Tim his son.

[messenger-of-babel]

Jason Todd Who...

Summary: Thoughts about your relationship with Jason Todd.

Word Count: 1.6K

Notes: So this was supposed to come out a few days ago to maintain a 'one post a week' baseline, but my hometown kinda flooded, everyone got evacuated, I came back to work and my office building managed to flood and catch fire in the span of 24 hours. I'm still fine though! Currently splitting time with writing, work, and drying things out. Stay safe out there!

Love RiRi <3

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Thinking about a Jason Todd Who…

Has no idea how exactly he got into a relationship with you. Well, technically he’d like to call it a situationship, since neither of you have decided to put a label on it yet. He’d helped you out post patrol one evening, Bruce doing his head in as usual. He didn’t plan on drinking that night, but he still pushed open the door to the bar, hoping he could at least chat to James, the bartender, if he was on that night. It turns out that James was, in fact, on shift and currently occupied in the back corner near the pool table. His ears switched into overdrive hearing the ruckus, the years of vigilante training making his senses kick in keenly to try and respond. That’s when he saw you, being restrained by James and pool cue in hand.

Thinking about a Jason Todd who…

Laughs to himself as his first response to seeing a bar fight, your opponent curled on the ground from where you had jabbed him with the cue. When his eyes met yours, your form wriggling in James grip, he was oddly delighted to see the challenging glare you sent to him. After about twenty minutes of exchanged words and threats of security, James lets you go and you sit at the bar, fingers tapping the wood in irritation.

“You shouldn’t drink if you get angry, you know.” He grins, following your shadow to the bar and leaning on the nearby stool.

“I’m not drunk.” You defend, eyeing him up and down. “I made that decision completely sober.”

Jason’s eyebrows raise. “Oh, really? Do tell me what he did to deserve being attacked then.”

“He was being an asshole.”

Yeah, Jason was going to like you.

Thinking about a Jason Todd who…

Calls it a relationship to himself silently after a while but is still too nervous to say it in front of you. What if you didn’t think about it the same way? What if you were platonically getting coffee together every Thursday? That you only held onto him that tight when you rode with him because you were worried about falling off? That you were just friends that crashed in the same bed after a night out? He couldn’t help the flutter in his chest and the grin he wore so easily when you were around. He didn’t realise how much baggage he wore on his shoulders until you showed up and he felt like he could lift his neck for once. He knew he was fucked up, dying and coming back would do that to you. Yet he didn’t notice how the heaviness of it kept his eyes trained on the pavement, neck craning under the weight.

Yeah, Jason really liked you.

Thinking about a Jason Todd who…

Dreads you coming over to meet the family, protesting the entire time. Not only because it was pouring outside meaning he had to take the car (meaning he couldn’t feel your arms around him), but because he still doesn’t know what you are. He’s been meaning to clear it up with you, wanting to ask so desperately, but every time that he’s tried the words catch in his throat. Like he’s back to being Robin, the young boy now trapped in a body way too big for him. So instead he just tightens his hands on the steering wheel, lost so deep in his own thoughts that he doesn’t notice the lovestruck glances you steal from the corner of your eye, or the nervous playing of your hands in your lap.

Thinking about a Jason Todd who…

Is completely taken aback when you announce yourself as his partner at the door when Alfred asks who you are. His brain blanks out, just staring down at you with a wider than usual glance. His hands are frozen to his side, unsure of what he could do. What to even say. The old man just smiles when Jason flicks his gaze to meet his grandfather figure, the old man’s eyes crinkling in mirth.

“Then welcome in. Master Dick and Tim will be delighted to hear it.”

You smile so easily, so effortlessly as you take his hand and lead him into his own home (or ex-home as he liked to call it).

God, he liked you.

Thinking about a Jason Todd who…

Scowls when he sees Tim pay Dick a $20 under the table as you introduce yourself again, his older sibling figure sending him a shit eating grin as he pockets the cash in his front jacket pocket. He doesn’t miss the way that Bruce’s eyebrow twitches up curiously as you say you’re his partner, before that critical gaze flicks to Jason, silently asking if the information is true. He gives a short tense nod, and the billionaire grips his chin in thought before running a hand over his face.

That makes a flare of anger peak in Jason, but he squashes it down for the sake of Alfred and the dinner he worked so hard to wrangle everyone in for. You’re too distracted introducing yourself to Steph and Duke to see the critical glances Bruce sends you, the duo more than eager to engage you in conversation. He hates the way that Jason can feel the gaze of Bruce bore into his cheek, like he was trying to carve a his own bat-shaped scar next to the white ‘J’. He hated that gaze. The gaze that he could feel before he was told to ‘take it from the top’ or to ‘do another set’. The gaze he used to try and thrive under when he was younger, pushing himself to the limits in the hope that it would soften up if he excelled. The gaze that felt like it was doing nothing but waiting for him to mess up, so it could devour him with sharp teeth and harsher words. He knew Bruce didn’t approve. Jason knew he didn’t care.

Jason liked you too much to let Bruce scare away his chance of happiness.

Thinking about a Jason Todd who…

Has his breath stolen the moment you kiss him in the car. He feels like he’s drowning, but it’s the most blissful torture he’s ever experienced as you lean across the car console to cover his lips with yours.

“You were distracted at dinner.” You murmur softly when you pull away. Jason has to blink the stars from his eyes, his scarred hands twitching to rest at the back of your neck and pull you to him again.

“I was just lost in thought, that’s all.” He says back, fighting the tremor in his voice. Once again he feels like a young boy piloting a hulking, clumsy body, his mind and muscle out of sync. You hum in response, not fully taking his answer.

“I’m sorry if I overstepped, calling myself your partner.” Your murmur after a slight tense silence. “I should have asked first.”

Jason swallows thickly. “I don’t mind.” He says quickly, a little too quickly if he was honest with himself. “I’m happy to try, I mean, if you want that.”

You smile, the sight that makes his chest flap. Like he had said the funniest thing imaginable, your sparkling gaze focused all on him.

You liked him.

Thinking about a Jason Todd who…

Holds nothing back as soon as you two become an actual couple. He’s doing what he can (albeit it clumsily) to keep you around. He’s mostly mimicking other relationships he’s seen, readings articles on how to be a good partner late at night. He knows to be himself, he’s not an idiot. He knows that you would scold him if you saw the things that he was doing, but he couldn’t stop. He had had relationships before you, of course. Yet the difference this time was that this was you, and he wasn’t going to risk it going sideways the same way the others had.

The biggest thing he had found was trying to keep you away from the other side of him. The side that donned a mask when the sun went down and staked out rooftops with a blue and black spandex clad chatterbox, and a caped brat. It had been easily enough when you were apart, but now that you were living together in his little apartment, it was getting harder and harder to sneak out of your arms at night and crawl back into them in the morning. He cursed the fact that you were a light sleeper, leading him to nearly being caught one too many times. He knew that you were getting suspicious, but keeping your reservations to yourself in the morning.

Bruce still didn’t like you, even more so now that you were closer to Jason’s true side than ever. But maybe Bruce did like you. That was a thought that plagued him, preventing him from falling into the sleep he so desperately needed after a long patrol. You were curled into his side, chest rising and falling softly.

Maybe Bruce did like you, and he was trying to protect you. Trying to keep you away from the potential heartbreak of losing him, which was a constant threat in this line of work. Maybe he was trying to keep you from being harmed, something that Jason feared constantly about having you close. Maybe Bruce was trying to save you because he did like you, and Jason was condemning you by being with you.

You move slightly when he shifts, eyes flicking opening groggily. Your normally bright eyes are cloudy with sleep, and you meet his gaze.

“Jay?” you mumble.

He grins softly, calloused fingers brushing a piece of hair from your forehead.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

Maybe Bruce did like you.

But Jason loved you.

[matchpointfaist]

won't you save me? ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

sheltered art x flirty reader pt ii

the second time art saw you, you were clean from your usual messy makeup, your hair pulled into a bun and a pink hoodie covering the frame he'd become uncomfortably familiar with. you had a coffee in one hand and a vape in the other, looking irritated and frazzled and not at all how he'd seen you the week prior.

he must have been too lost in thought to watch where he was going, or maybe you had him under some sort of trance, but next thing he knew his shirt was covered in iced coffee, and you were looking up at him with wide eyes, apologies spilling from your lips in record time.

"oh! oh, gosh, no, it's alright," he rambled, the cold liquid slicking his shirt to his chest. "it's my fault, i wasn't paying attention-" his breath caught as you pulled the hoodie over your head, leaving you in a lace trimmed tank top, much tighter than the pink fabric had been. just as he started to gain some composure, your hands were on him, blotting his shirt with your jacket like it was the most obvious solution in the world.

"i'm such a clutz," you laughed regretfully, wiping his shirt down, "i am so sorry," "it's okay!" his voice was suddenly hoarse, his face hot and hands shaking, "i can clean it up, don't ruin your hoodie," "i don't mind," and there it was- that smile that weakened his knees, the one he'd seen you giving all the boys at that stupid frat party, this time directed at him. and oh god, he was fucked.

"you're art, right?" you asked, pulling the hoodie away to survey the condition of his t shirt, "donaldson?" "yeah!" it came out quicker than he would've liked, "uh, yes, that's me. i didn't know we knew each other,"

"oh, i try to make a habit of knowing all the tennis boys," he could've sworn you were teasing him, "especially the blonde ones," "w-why's that?" he borderline squeaked, "do you like tennis, i mean?"

"sure, somethin like that," you grinned, and dear god, you winked at him, "cute necklace,"

and then, when art thought it couldn't get any worse, your black fingernails were on his silver crucifix, your eyes inspecting it curiously, "you christian?"

"catholic," he nearly choked out, "i- it's a crucifix, when they nailed him to the cross-" "i know what a crucifix is, donaldson," you rolled your eyes, but your smile was back; oh god, your smile.

"well i have to get to class," his heart was pounding, the tent in his sweats threatening to give him away, to expose him and all his impure thoughts and fantasies- your hand was on his arm. and he was so fucking gone.

"you should call me sometime," you said softly, your eyes all wide and sweet and your lashes were so long and oh god, there he was, thinking about your on your knees again. "i don't have your number," was all he managed, his breath stuck in his tightening throat.

"give me your phone," it was like a command, like you were controlling his actions, because before he could even think, you were typing your number into his cell and passing it back to him with another wink.

"see you, artie," you grinned, patting his shoulder, "oh, and you might wanna do some extra praying to make up for all that," you giggled as your eyes fell to his thighs, to the obvious tent, to the very thing he'd been so desperate to hide.

before he could protest, or make some last ditch excuse, you were gone, the smell of your perfume lingering enough to nearly make his mouth water.

he watched you go, each sway of your hips adding to the tension, adding to the twisted longing he felt for you.

that night, he hovered over your contact, debating what he'd even say to you. 'hey, it's art. i think i'm in love with you.' 'hi! it's art. i jerked off to you last week.' 'hey, it's art donaldson. you make me question my faith.' finally, 'hey, it's art, from earlier.'

your reply came minutes later, the vibration off his phone interrupting his nightly prayer, and he tried to ignore the guilt as he paused his talk with god to begin his arguably more important talk with you.

'hi, art from earlier.' you'd sent, 'whatcha doin?'

'fantasizing about you.' 'just getting ready for bed. you?'

'same.' and then there it was, and he felt sick, he felt restless and needy and depraved and you were on his screen, a selfie of you in your silk pajamas, your hair down just barely covering your chest and his own chest was growing so very tight, his breathing restricted, his eyes taking in every single detail.

'oh.' was all he could manage to reply, shifting uncomfortably in his boxers, his skin flushed, 'goodnight then.'

'night, artie :) hope you handled your little problem from earlier.'

oh, he'd handle it. god, he wished you could handle it for him.

[heliosunny]

Yandere!Reader x Mydei

You were always there. Always watching. Always loving. And yet-

He never saw you.

From the moment you first laid eyes on Mydei, your world had revolved around him. You watched his struggles, his quiet victories, the loneliness he carried behind that sharp gaze. The world ignored him, but you didn’t. You knew his worth, his brilliance, the fire that burned inside him.

So you helped. From the shadows, where your love belonged.

A whisper in the right ear to push his name forward. A lost item appearing just when he needed it. An obstacle erased before it ever reached his path. You removed his enemies, lifted him up, smoothed the rough edges of his world—all without him ever knowing.

And that was fine.

It was enough to see him flourish, to watch from afar as he stepped closer to greatness, closer to the life he deserved.

Until he looked at her.

She was nothing special. A noble’s daughter, with soft words and kinder eyes than most. She had spoken to him once, twice, perhaps with genuine warmth, nothing more.

Yet, when Mydei began to notice the strange fortune surrounding him, when he started piecing together the way unseen hands had shaped his success, he made a mistake.

He thought it was her.

You watched in silence as he approached her, as he thanked her for things she had never done, as he lingered in her presence with quiet admiration.

Your fingers curled into your palms, nails pressing into skin.

That wasn’t right. That wasn’t fair.

She hadn’t been the one who whispered words of encouragement when no one else believed in him. She hadn’t erased the threats in his path. She hadn’t bled for him.

She didn’t deserve his love.

You were the one who had always been there. You were the one who had watched him struggle, who had lifted him up without ever asking for thanks.

You were the one who loved him most.

And yet, he still hadn’t seen you.

Not yet.

One day, he would turn around and realize who had been there all along. One day, he would understand that no one else could love him like you do. One day, he would look at you the way he looked at her now.

And until that day came…

You would keep watching. Keep waiting.

Because Mydei was yours.

He just didn’t know it yet.

The ballroom was warm, suffocating with conversation. You stood among your noble acquaintances, their laughter and idle chatter blending into meaningless noise. You barely listened. Your mind was elsewhere—on him.

Mydei was here tonight. Somewhere in the crowd.

You had no right to approach him, no excuse to step into his world. Not yet. Not when he still didn’t see you.

Instead, you watched from afar, as you always did. You let your eyes trace the way he held himself, shoulders squared, gaze sharp, his presence an undeniable force despite the way others overlooked him. He was always so composed, so carefully guarded.

But then—he smiled.

At her.

Your stomach twisted, sharp and aching.

She was speaking to him again. And Mydei leaned in, his golden eyes holding something dangerously close to admiration.

A bitter taste filled your mouth.

You turned away, forcing yourself to engage in conversation, to pretend the sight of him didn’t make your chest ache with unspoken longing. Your noble friends prattled on—politics, alliances, meaningless pleasantries, but it all blurred into the background.

Then, in a moment of cruel irony, fate intervened.

Someone moved too close, their dress sweeping against your leg, and before you could steady yourself, your balance faltered—just for a second, just enough for you to stumble back. Straight into someone’s chest.

Firm hands caught your arms, steadying you before you could fall. You barely had time to breathe before a voice spoke just above your ear.

“Careful.”

Slowly, you turned your head, his golden eyes met yours, and for the first time, they were really looking at you. Your heart was pounding so violently you thought he might hear it.

“I…” You struggled for words, something, anything, but your mind had gone blank.

His touch lingered for a moment too long before he stepped back, giving you space.

“I don’t believe we’ve spoken before.” Mydei said.

No, you hadn’t. But you had watched him for years.

Your fingers clenched at your sides, the ache in your chest unbearable. Finally, after all this time, he was looking at you. Finally, you had his attention.

But not in the way you wanted.

You swallowed down the storm inside you and forced a smile, dipping your head slightly. “Perhaps not directly. But I know of you, Lord Mydei.”

His lips curved, faintly amused. “Do you?”

You met his gaze, heart thundering. “Yes.” More than you could ever admit.

For the first time, he was standing before you. Speaking to you.

And for the first time, you weren’t just a shadow in the background.

Mydei did not forget you after that night.

You had expected him to, as he had so many others. He was a man with greater ambitions, a mind too sharp to waste on idle courtly chatter. He was destined for more, for greatness, for a world beyond the fleeting amusement of a single ballroom conversation.

And yet, in the days that followed, you felt his gaze linger.

The next time you attended a gathering, you caught him watching. Not for long, just a glance, just a flicker of curiosity before his attention returned to business, but it was there. Mydei, the man who had never spared you a thought, was now aware of you.

It made your heart pound with something dangerously close to hope.

The problem was, he was getting too close.

Not in the way you had dreamed, no, this was not the sweet surrender of affection, not yet. This was intrigue. Suspicion. Interest.

He sought you out at gatherings now, brief exchanges turning into longer conversations. A casual comment became a measured observation. A passing glance became a moment of study. He was watching you, as if trying to place where he had seen you before, as if something about you didn’t quite make sense.

And that… that was dangerous.

Because the truth was, you had been with him far longer than he realized.

The letters that never reached his enemies. The alliances that crumbled before they could form against him. The quiet disappearances of those who whispered doubts about his rise.

You had done so much for him, unseen, unheard. You had shaped his world, softened his path, ensured his success in ways he would never fully understand.

And if he did understand—if he ever truly uncovered the depth of your devotion, the lengths you had gone to...

Would he be grateful?

Or would he recoil?

The thought haunted you as much as it thrilled you.

You should have stepped back. You should have let his curiosity fade, allowed him to forget your existence like all the others.

But now that his gaze was on you, now that he had finally noticed you, how could you let him look away?

At first, you played your role carefully, engaging but never too eager, distant but never cold. You let him chase, let his intrigue grow. You gave him just enough to keep him wondering.

But Mydei was clever.

He started testing you in small ways. Asking about things he shouldn’t have thought you’d know. Mentioning old enemies, waiting to see if your reaction faltered. Speaking of past betrayals, watching for the flicker of recognition in your eyes.

He was searching for something.

And for the first time, you felt the trap you had so carefully avoided for years begin to close in around you.

The obsession you had kept hidden, the devotion that had lived in the dark corners of your heart, was now exposed to the light.

And Mydei was staring straight into it.

Mydei wasn’t a man prone to paranoia, but he was a man who noticed patterns—subtle shifts, inconsistencies in the grand game of power and influence. And something about you didn’t quite fit.

At first, he brushed it off. You were interesting, yes, but not an immediate concern. A noble with sharp wit and a presence that lingered longer than expected. Nothing more.

But then there were the coincidences.

You always seemed to know the right things to say, even when the topic was something only those entrenched in his struggles should understand. A political maneuver that had been arranged in secrecy, a name that should have been unfamiliar to you, yet you reacted, just for a fraction of a second.

He tested you again.

A casual mention of an old rival, one who had suddenly lost favor and vanished from court. Most nobles would have responded with idle curiosity or feigned ignorance.

But you had blinked.

A slow, measured movement. Just barely there.

It wasn’t proof. Not yet. But it was enough to make him look closer.

And once he started looking, he couldn’t stop.

The disappearances. The unexpected fortunes. The unseen hands that had smoothed his rise to power, eliminating threats before he had even lifted a finger.

It had never made sense before. But now, there was you.

And the question he couldn’t shake: Had you always been there?

He began to watch you, the way you had watched him for years.

And he saw it, the way your gaze followed him when you thought he wasn’t looking. The way your fingers curled when he spoke with others, an almost imperceptible tension in your posture. The way your presence, once unnoticed, had always been.

Memories resurfaced. Faint whispers of things he had long overlooked. The gifts that appeared without a sender. The enemies that fell before they could strike. The sense of being watched, always watched, even in his loneliest moments.

The realization settled like a slow-moving storm, creeping through his veins, twisting through his thoughts.

It had been you.

All this time, it had been you.

And yet, you continued to pretend.

You smiled when he approached, feigned innocence when he asked careful questions, danced so gracefully around the truth.

But now, Mydei wasn’t just intrigued.

He was certain.

For all its danger, for all its quiet madness—

Wasn’t it beautiful?

No one else had ever loved him like this.

And Mydei had never been one to turn away an advantage.

So, instead of pulling away, he stepped closer.

And as he studied you, as he traced the shape of your obsession with newfound understanding, he wondered—

How far would you go for him?

The party was suffocating. You had no interest in any of it, least of all in watching her drape herself over Mydei with soft smiles and fluttering lashes.

You had seen enough.

So you slipped away, weaving through the crowd like a ghost, unseen, unheard. The night air was a welcome relief as you stepped onto the balcony, the cool breeze biting at your skin. The world outside stretched before you—vast, dark, endless. You hummed your favorite song.

You had always belonged in the shadows.

Alone, you let out a slow breath, leaning against the marble railing.

But the moment of peace didn’t last.

A presence followed you,

You knew who it was before he even spoke.

“You leave so suddenly” Mydei mused, his voice smooth, measured. “Tired of the party?”

You forced a small smile before turning to face him. He stood just inside the doorway.

“I wasn’t in the mood for… theatrics” you admitted, glancing briefly at the glowing ballroom behind him. The sight of her laughing, of him standing so close to her, it made something in you ache.

He stepped onto the balcony, the door clicking shut behind him. “Is that all?”

You tilted your head slightly. “What else would it be?”

A moment of silence lingered for too long. The night wind stirred, carrying the faint hum of music from inside. Mydei’s gaze never wavered, studying you with that same unsettling intensity he had carried for weeks.

“I know what you’ve done.”

What?

For a heartbeat, you considered feigning ignorance. Pretending you didn’t understand. But the way he was looking at you like pinning you in place, waiting for a reaction—made it clear.

He knew.

Your fingers curled against the cold marble. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You’re good at hiding” he admitted, stepping closer. “I almost didn’t notice.”

You swallowed, forcing yourself to remain still as he closed the space between you.

“The disappearances. The convenient misfortunes of those who opposed me. The way my path has always been… smooth.” He let the words linger before tilting his head slightly. “That wasn’t luck, was it?”

You said nothing.

Because what could you say? Lie? He wouldn’t believe it. Confess? You weren’t ready for that.

His golden eyes searched yours, waiting, expecting. He was giving you a chance—to explain, to unravel, to break beneath his gaze.

But you couldn’t.

So you smiled. “And if it wasn’t luck?”

His eyes narrowed ever so slightly, as if testing the weight of your words. Then, Mydei did something unexpected. He laughed.

He shook his head, exhaling as if he should have known.

“Of course” he murmured, looking at you not with fear, not with anger—but with understanding.

He wasn’t pushing you away. He wasn’t disgusted.

He was accepting it.

He stepped closer, close enough that you could see the sharp gleam in his gaze. “Tell me,” he murmured, voice almost gentle. “How long have you been watching me?”

The truth sat on your tongue, too heavy to speak.

Instead, you let your eyes meet his.

For once, it was he who waited.

For once, it was he who longed for an answer.

And in that moment, standing beneath the moonlight, you knew—

He would never look away again.

Because now, he saw you.

And he wasn’t afraid.

The night air felt heavier now. Mydei stood before you, golden eyes sharp, unblinking, waiting- waiting for you to give yourself away.

You had been careful for years. You had hidden your devotion behind polite smiles and distant glances, behind carefully orchestrated events that led him to where he was now.

But now he knew. And you had a choice.

Deny it. Pretend. Hide.

You took a slow step closer, your voice quiet but unwavering. “Tell me, Mydei.” you murmured, “if I told you I intended to kill her tonight—what would you do?”

The amusement in his expression didn’t falter, but something shifted.

You reached out, brushing a gloved hand against the marble railing. “If I see you dance with her,” you continued, voice softer, “I will slip a blade between her ribs before the night ends. If you laugh at her words, I will have her poisoned before dawn.”

You tilted your head, watching him closely. “I will remove anything that stands in your way. I always have.” A pause, deliberate, lingering. “And I always will.”

The night’s cold wind whispered against your skin, but it wasn’t nearly as chilling as the way Mydei looked at you now.

Not with horror.

Not with revulsion.

But with understanding.

A slow exhale left his lips. He tilted his head, studying you like an unsolved puzzle. “Is that so?” he mused.

You had tested him. And he had not stepped away.

You let out a soft, breathy laugh. “Yes.”

For the first time, you wanted him to see. You wanted him to know the depth of your devotion, the lengths you would go for him. If he truly cared, if he truly loved you, he would not turn away.

And he didn’t.

Instead, he did something far more dangerous.

He smiled.

It was faint, barely there, but you saw it.

“Then tell me...” he murmured, stepping closer, his voice almost tender. “What else have you done for me?”

He wasn’t rejecting you.

He was inviting you deeper.

And as his golden eyes bore into yours, you realized

You weren’t the only one testing love tonight.

Mydei’s gaze didn’t waver, nor did yours. You had laid yourself bare before him, stripped of pretense, shrouded only in the devotion that had long festered in the shadows.

And he had not turned away.

But something inside you still trembled.

This is love? This twisted, uncertain thing?

You had loved him for so long, but now, as he knew you, as he smiled at your confessions—doubt whispered in your mind like a curse.

Could you bear it?

Could you bear this kind of love?

Your fingers curled against the cold marble of the balcony railing, and as you shifted your weight ever so slightly, you felt it—

A creak. A subtle groan of aged, rusted metal.

Ah.

Wouldn’t this be fitting?

You leaned back.

For a fleeting moment, you felt nothing but air beneath you, the weight of the world slipping away.

If mortal love is this twisted, if he does not truly love me as I love him—then I do not want to see his face when he turns away. I would rather fall. I would rather disappear.

Wind rushed past your skin as you plunged downward.

Then-

A force crashed into you from above, warmth enveloping you, and the next thing you knew, you were held.

The impact was harsh, jarring, but not fatal. Pain shot through your body as you landed against something firm, something solid—someone.

Mydei.

He had jumped after you.

You lay sprawled against him on the ground, his body cushioning your fall, his breath coming in short, controlled bursts beneath you.

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of wind rustling through the trees, the distant hum of music from the ballroom above.

Then, his voice- edged with something dangerously close to anger.

“What the hell was that?”

Your fingers trembled against his chest. His heartbeat was rapid beneath your palm, a steady, alive thing. He was here. He had followed you.

You blinked, lips parting, but no words came.

Mydei’s grip on you tightened, fingers digging into your arms as he sat up, keeping you close. His golden eyes burned as they met yours, and in them, you saw something furious.

“You knew it was unstable,” he said, voice sharp, accusing. “You leaned on it anyway.”

You stared at him, dazed, heart pounding against your ribs. “You—”

“I jumped.” His voice was lower now, quieter, but no less intense. “Because I was not going to let you die.”

The weight of his words pressed into you, heavier than the fall, heavier than the years you had spent watching him from the shadows.

He had not hesitated. He had followed, without question, without pause.

He had chosen to fall with you.

“You—” your voice was barely above a whisper. “You caught me.”

Mydei exhaled sharply, his gaze softening for just a fraction of a second. Then, with a wry, bitter chuckle, he muttered

“Of course I did.”

And just like that, your world shattered again.

Your breath was still uneven, heart hammering wildly in your chest. Mydei’s grip on you hadn’t loosened. This wasn’t how tonight was supposed to go.

You had tested him—you had leaned into the fall, expecting something, anything, to prove to you that this love was as hopeless as you had always feared.

And yet, instead of letting you break, he had caught you.

The two of you were still lying in a tangled heap beneath the balcony, and if anyone saw.. You couldn’t let this moment be ruined.

With a sudden, desperate urgency, you grabbed his wrist and pulled him up with you, ignoring the dull ache in your limbs as you stumbled toward the darker edges of the garden. Somewhere hidden. Somewhere only the two of you existed.

“Mydei—”

His name was a whisper on your lips, but he followed without resistance.

You didn’t stop until you were shrouded in shadows, the only light filtering through the treetops in silver fragments. Only then did you turn to face him, your chest rising and falling as you gathered the last of your resolve.

He was watching you again.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

And then—

“I love you.”

The words fell from your lips like a confession, like a final act of madness, as if speaking them into existence would either set you free or doom you forever.

It was the truth, the one thing you had never dared to say outright. Not like this.

You had spent years proving it in ways he was never meant to see. Through blood. Through silent devotion. Through the careful, careful work of shaping the world around him, removing obstacles before he even noticed they were there.

But now, under the moonlight, stripped of everything but the raw, aching truth, you wanted to see—needed to see what he would do when faced with it.

Mydei exhaled, a slow, measured breath, his expression unreadable. He took a single step forward, closing the space between you.

“And if I hadn’t caught you?” His voice was quiet, yet heavy. “Would you have let yourself die tonight?”

Your throat tightened. “Does it matter?”

His fingers caught your chin, tilting your face up toward him. “It does to me.”

He was too close now. Too close.

He could laugh. He could mock you. He could turn away and leave you in the cold, dragging your love into the grave where it belonged.

But instead—

He kissed you.

It was slow at first, deliberate, as if he were testing the weight of your devotion on his lips. But then his fingers curled into the fabric of your clothes, pulling you closer, and all hesitation burned away.

The world tilted, your mind spiraling, caught in the space between the years you had spent longing for him and the sheer, terrifying reality of having him now.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your skin.

Your heart pounded.

His fingers traced your jaw, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Tell me,” he murmured, “how far would you go for me?”

You smiled. He already knew the answer.

----

Requester: @yanderebluelockfan

P/s: I even looked up the subtitles of the song in my own language to see if there are any hints to it. I love the vibe tho, listen quite a few time before your request. Still, I'm not sure if it's related at all to your video hahaha, pardon me if it's not to your liking.

At first, I thought of a setting where reader is a creature like vampire or even powerful beings like some sort of god, but that would be easy to guess. So I picked someone normal but capable of doing something extra/abnormal for their love.

I strived for the yearning/longing type of love where reader didn't receive his attention and even doubt his love later on. So.. yeah, we have this.

Sorry for making you wait!

[miniwheat77]

Secret Weapon. (Ghost x Reader.)

!nsfw, smut, unprotected p in v sex, violence, war, blood, NO MINORS! This was a request that’s been sitting in my inbox a while :)

This is not edited.

“Captain.. what the fuck do we do?” Gaz pants out. His back is pressed firmly against the wall.

John thinks for a moment. What does he do?

Nikolai is unavailable. But he’s got an idea.

He lifts up his radio, turning it to a channel he hasn’t been on in years.

“Viper 1-1 page back.” He calls into the radio.

“Viper 1-1, copy.”

“We’re trapped on a rooftop.” Captain Price recites your coordinates. He had heard in passing that the pilot was nearby on another mission.

“Thirty-five out, we’re on the way.”

He sighs.

“Thank god.” He mumbles. The four are stuck on the rooftop. No where to go and hardly any ammo.

“We’re?” Gaz asks. They remember who the pilot is.

They fight all they can, all hope is about to be lost when the loud rumble of the helicopter comes.

The buzzing sound makes them perk up, seeing the flashback from the gun inside. They can’t see the person holding it.

Captain Price watches with a smile. The helicopter stays airborne until there is no one moving on the ground. They watch it land a couple hundred feet away, seeing two people get out of it. Clearing buildings as they make their way to the four.

The door finally opens, the four standing up. They’d been using the brick walls as cover.

You’re the first to step into their view, but you’ve got a ski mask on.

You grasp the hem of it, pulling it over your head.

You smile.

“Long time no see, Captain.” You nod.

“Shit. I could tell by how good the shots were that it was you.” He laughs. Pulling you in for a hug, hugging the pilot next.

The others watch, stunned.

“Oh uh… boys. This is Y/N.” He nods.

“My secret weapon.”

They take the time to shake your hand, introducing themselves to you.

But Ghost is completely taken off guard by you.

The way your hair falls after you take the mask, the fact that he didn’t expect to see a girl, let alone one was pretty as you.

What the hell?

You’d just saved his life. He was all out of ammo holed up in one building, if you hadn’t come? He wouldn’t even be alive to tell the tale.

It was the start of something Ghost never saw coming. Not in a million years.

———

It took a lot of convincing for you to join the task force.

Since you had made friends with the men, they bothered you to no limit to join. They liked you. You were skilled. They wanted you around all of the time.

When you eventually joined, Ghost spiraled completely out of control.

He avoided you like the plague because he knew what was coming and he was scared. He started drinking more, hiding in his room more. Socializing less and everyone noticed.

But only Johnny had caught on as to why.

He was falling in love with you, and he knew it.

He was falling and he was falling hard and he knew the only end to that free fall is the hard concrete when he lands. Ghost didn’t love. He didn’t because there was only heartbreak and hurt.

The first time it happened, he didn’t mean to.

You were doing your laundry, passing by his room with a basket when they fell out. He waited a while for you to come back for them but you never did so he swiped them.

A pair of panties.

Ghost was in too deep and he knew it.

Fisting his cock to the thought of you, face buried in your panties. He hated himself for what he’d become and he hated you for what you’d done to him. You’d made him a fool and he’d only spoken to you in passing.

He didn’t know what to do, so he did the only thing he could think of.

Kill.

On missions he was ruthless.

He didn’t know anything other than violence and pain. So he pushed himself to no limit. Working hard, staying up late. Taking extra watch and beating himself up mentally day and night about how weak he’d become all because of a woman.

He spent hours and hours training and working out. He’d lost count the days he’d spent in the shooting range and his death toll jumped by hundreds and grew more and more with each mission he went out on. Ghost was smart and skilled. He understood everything but the only thing he couldn’t figure out was you.

Finally, Johnny cornered him.

Ghost was walking to his room, Johnny was hot on his tail, asking how he was doing.

“Fine Johnny. Leave it be.” He mumbles, he goes to close his door but Soap doesn’t let him have it. Catching it with his boot and walking in, closing the door behind himself. “There’s something wrong with you, you’ve got the entire bloody task force worried sick about ya so you better start talkin.” He growls.

Ghost raises his eyebrows. Johnny had never spoken to him like that before.

“‘Scuse me?”

“You heard what I said, Ghost.”

He crosses his arms and Soap doesn’t let feel intimidated by him, of course he does. But Ghost is his friend. He cares about him.

“Full offense Johnny, piss off. We’re not teenage girls and I don’t intend on sharing my feelings with you so I think you should leave.”

He shakes his head. “I’ll set up camp until you’re ready to talk about it.” He stands his ground. Ghost sighs. “I don’t know how to talk about it Johnny. I don’t even know what’s wrong myself.”

“That’s a start, LT. The hell has gotten into you? You’re like a machine. Wake up, eat, kill, sleep.”

Ghost sighs.

“That girl.”

Realization hits Soap like a ton of bricks.

“I just..” he sighs. Sitting down on his bed. “I don’t know.”

“You have feelings for her?” Soap asks.

“I’d say I have more than just feelings for her, Johnny.” Ghost wipes his face through his mask. “Shit LT.”

“No kidding.”

“Well you won’t get the girl by being so reclusive sir.”

“My plan isn’t to get the girl Johnny, life is painful enough as is!” He groans.

“Yeah, well life is too short to worry about what hurts and let what you’ll enjoy pass you. So get out there and try. Christ in heaven you’re a brick wall.” He groans.

Ghost sighs. Johnny is right.

“Whatever Johnny, I have a lot to think about so.. kindly. Go to bed.”

“Fine. But we’re not done about this and you know it.” Soap rolls his eyes, leaving through the door. He can’t believe it. Ghost was in love with you.

———

“Ghost page back.” Captain mumbles into the radio.

“Copy.”

“Soap is feeling ill. You mind taking over his 0100 patrol?”

“Not at all sir.”

Ghost finishes up what he’s doing and prepares for the patrol.

Since they’re out of the states and in enemy territory they have patrol often.

“Great, you’ll be with Y/N.”

Ghost freezes in his spot.

“Johnny page back.”

“Copy.”

“I see you in person, you’re a dead man MacTavish.”

“Already in for the night sir, door’s locked. See you tomorrow.”

Ghost can’t see it but the scot snickers to himself inside his room. Feeling very well actually.

Ghost meets up with you just before your patrol together and wants to crawl into a hole and die. You were so beautiful and there was nothing he could do about it.

It’s quiet for a while. The two of you walking alongside each other. It’s pitch dark out. The only lights come from the base. “So. How long you know Price for?” He’s trying to make small talk. Something that takes you off guard. He never seemed to be this open.

“Since I started in the military actually. He was at the convention I enlisted at.” You smile. “Really? I forget how old the man is.” He laughs. “I totally did not think you were this outgoing, Ghost.” You laugh. “What do you mean?”

“You just do not seem the type for small talk.” You smile.

He chuckles. “Nah, the mask makes me unapproachable but that not intentional.”

“Than why do you wear it?”

“To hide my identity. I’ve killed a lot of people and don’t want retaliation.”

“Don’t they just know to go after the guy in the skull mask though?” You side eye him. “Yeah, but when I wear it I want to be found.”

“Good point.” You smile.

“Stop.” He throws a hand up in front of you suddenly. “Woah-“ you mumble. He looks around, every alarm in his body is going off.

“What is it?” You ask. “Something doesn’t feel right.” He mumbles. He draws out his flashlight, shining at the ground. He doesn’t see anything, not for the first few feet at least. After that is when he notices indents in the sand. Footprints.

He follows them straight up to the barbed wire fence around the base.

“Price page back.”

He waits a minute.

“Captain Price page back.”

“Copy, what is it?”

“Footprints leading up to the Southwest fence. We’ll follow them and make sure it’s not a threat but we haven’t covered the north yet.” He says it into his radio and waits.

“Garrick and I will cover it, just be safe. Page back every ten until you know it’s clear.”

“Yes sir.”

Ghost tilts his head, letting you know to follow him.

You do just that.

It takes a couple miles of walking before you spot a building in the distance, thank god for night vision.

Ghost posts up and watches for a while, not seeing any movement. The two of you approach, you go slow. You never do see any movement, the building is severely run down, the roof is in bad shape and it’s dirty. “Do you think they’re human footprints?” You ask.

He shrugs. “Hard to say with the sand. Could be an animal of some kind. Could explain the staggering of them.” He explains.

You nod your head. “Looks like everything is clear Captain, we’re going to look around a bit and than head back.”

“Got it, we’re heading for bed. Page if you need anything else Simon.”

You step inside the run down building, it was once someone’s house. Out in the middle of nowhere.

Odd.

The rooms inside seem intact, aside from being dusty, frozen in time. Plants have taken over and some of the dishes that remain are broken but the bedrooms are still completely normal. The beds are made.

You walk inside and sit down on a bed, groaning. “I don’t wanna walk back yet.” You whine. “Take a break.” He laughs. “Okay.”

He chuckles. That didn’t take much convincing.

“Can I show you something?” He asks. “Sure, what is it?”

He moves to sit next to you, grasping his mask. Your eyes widen when he pulls it straight off. “You’re showing me this why? Explain yourself?” You laugh,

“No that’s not what I wanted to show you, this is.”

He grasps your chin and goes for it.

All the money in the pot. A gamble of a lifetime.

He plants his lips straight on yours and his blood rushes through him, his heart pounding so loud it’s all he hears. He expects you to pull back. To be disgusted with him.

But you don’t. You meet him in the middle and kiss him back even harder.

He pushes you back on the dusty bed raising himself up over you, one leg resting between yours. His thigh is flush with your clothed opening. He doesn’t stop kissing you, he takes even further.

When you feel his tongue on yours, you finally pull away with a gasp.

“Ghost-“ you pant.

“Simon. Call me Simon.” He breathes. “W-why are you doing this?” You hiss as he pushes his thigh further into you. “Because I’ve waited long enough to get my fucking hands on you. I can’t take it anymore.” He groans. You hadn’t expected him to be so forward, you also didn’t expect how handsome he’d be without a mask on. How overly willing he was to expose himself to you shows you that he trust you, and obviously had more feelings for you than he let on. Ghost didn’t just act out of lust, Johnny told you that.

Now you realize why you’d had that conversation earlier in the day. Fucking scot.

He gets your vest unzipped and grasps hold of your shirt, ripping it straight down the middle. He hears you gasp. “Simon!”

“Quiet, I’ll replace it with twenty more.” He breathes.

The click of his pocket knife makes you freeze. But he’s skilled with it, moving quickly, slicing the small slit of fabric holding your bra together. He shoves the fabric off of you and cups your breasts with his hands, leaning down to take one of your nipples into his mouth while he toys with the other. Pinching it between his fingers and tugging on it. You whine out, raising your hips and rutting yourself into his thigh. Ghost is the person you talked to the very least, yet here you are. On display for him.

“God you’re a fucking minx.” He hisses. He sits up and watches you roll your hips into his thigh. Desperate for him to touch you. You realize something.

“You’re the one who’s been stealing my panties, aren’t you?” You smirk.

He visibly blushes.

“You’re a cheeky thing! I can’t believe it’s been you!” You gasp. “Shut up.” He hisses. He doesn’t like to be embarrassed, you’re lucky it’s you or he would’ve told you to get fucked by now. “Fuck, how many have you gotten away with?”

He shrugs. “Lot more than you’d expect.”

“You’re such a fucking pervert.” You laugh.

“Yeah, you’d think even worse of me if you knew what I did with them.” He growls. He shoves his face into the crook of your neck, attacking your skin with his teeth and lips. Pushing his hand down the front of your waistband. He glides his fingers over your pussy, hearing you whine.

“Now I want to know. What you did with them.”

He chuckles, it’s dark.

“The smell of you is intoxicating, darling.”

You moan out. “Fuck I shouldn’t think that’s hot but I do.” You mewl. Lips parted as he sucks at your throat. Your jugular vein is pulsing and he can’t feel it with his tongue. He rests his hand over your head. “Been waiting weeks for a taste of you, doll. Now we’re here.” He groans, kissing roughly down your center. He’s rough as he tugs your pants down your legs, barely taking the time to unbutton them. You thought maybe he’d cut those off too, not that you’d mind anyways.

He kisses further down, hearing your breathing pick up even more as he presses lower. He doesn’t start slow like you thought he would. Starting by sucking directly on your clit, making you flinch.

You hiss, jumping away from him. You hear him chuckles as he starts his assault on it.

“Poor thing, so sensitive.” He smirks.

“Shut up before I ride your face, Riley.” You hiss, pushing a hand in his hair.

“Oh no?” He smirks. You roll your eyes.

He lowers his head back down, gliding his tongue up your slip.

Like a predator toying with its prey.

Just before he devours you whole.

He doesn’t relent, no matter how much you cry or squirm. He holds you down by your thighs. He presses his tongue into your opening, rubbing your clit with his nose like a dog. He’s filthy.

You didn’t think Ghost was the type to be so dirty. When he’s got you right on the edge, crying out in pure bless. You’re about to beg him not to stop but he draws back anyways. His lips are wet in your arousal. His cheeks are flushed pink, pupils blown wide with lust.

He sits up, grasping his shirt and forcing it over his head, going for his cargo pants next.

You’re watching him in a daze. Drunk off his lips and how he’s made you feel.

“I was normal until you came along, hm. Didn’t think I could feel what I feel until you saved our asses on that rooftop. I thought I’d be okay until you pulled that damned ski mask off and showed your fuckin’ face and now I don’t think I’ll be okay again. You’ll pay for it darling.”

He moves himself over the top of you, thrusting himself straight inside you to the hilt, you’re crying out.

“You’ll pay for it by letting me have this pussy whenever I want it.” He growls.

He’s relentless. Doesn’t matter how much you fall apart or how much you cry. He doesn’t let up. He’s rough, his pace is bruising. You can’t get out a single word as he works his hips into yours, using his thumb to rub circles on your swollen clit.

You’re impossibly wet around him, clutching at the old sheets so hard your knuckles go white. He laughs. He snaps his hips into yours, feeling how wet you are around him. Moaning and whining, writhing from the pleasure he’s giving you. You’ve never felt something so intense before. Not in your life.

He forces you to roll over, gasping out at the loss of him but he doesn’t give you long. Once you’re on your stomach, he’s raising you your hips and thrusting back into you. Pushing your face roughly into the mattress and holding your hands behind your back.

“Fuckin hell Simon!” You cry.

You feel good of course, but you need him to relent. Just for a minute at least.

“So much-“ you cry. “You’re mine. Say it.” He growls. “Maybe I’ll let up.”

“I’m yours!” You sob.

“Say it again!” He growls. He grips your hands hard.

“I’m yours Simon- fuck! I’m yours!” He buries himself inside of you to the hilt, slowing his speed but not his force. He pulls you up by your arms, still holding them behind you. Your eyes widen when you realize there’s a mirror above the bed. It’s broken and dusty but that doesn’t mean you can’t see yourselves in it.

He wraps his hands around your waist, still fucking into you but he’s being gentler now. Slow.

“Say it again.” His voice is a low growl. You almost miss it.

“I’m yours.” You whine. Raising your hand to touch his cheek.

“Again.” He growls even louder. Pushing into your belly. “I- I’m yours Simon. All fucking yours.” You’re nearly chanting it.

You sob, tears spilling over your eyelids.

“Now fucking scream it.” He grits his teeth, thrusting straight up into that spongy spot deep inside of you, sending you straight into your orgasm and you nearly do just that. You’re loud when you cum, barely getting out the words “I’m yours!” As you cry and sob, lurching forward and shaking through your orgasm. He fucks you through it, clutching onto you for dear life as he moans out, reaching his own high. He thrusts as deep as he’ll go before he cums. It’s a decision he may regret but right now, he doesn’t care.

You’re whimpering as he slides out of you. Taking in oxygen like it’s limited.

He helps you until you’re lying on your back again. Soothing you. He massages your skin, bringing you back down to earth.

Simon knew better than to be so rough but he lost himself.

“Shhh.. s’okay baby. I’ve got you.” He breathes. You close your eyes, steadying your breaths.

Simon was a lot of man, he knew he was.

He draws his fingertips over your chest and arms, your eyes follow them as he lets you relax.

“You alright?” He asks.

“Yeah.” You mumble. “I wasn’t too much was I?” He smiles.

“No- not at all. Though you came on VERY strong.” You smirk.

He laughs. “That’s the only way, baby.”

He sits up. “Now come on, we’ve got to head back before they realize we’re missing.”

“Yes sir.”

[hotchnersangel]

MATILDA

Aaron Hotchner

-----

cw; childhood trauma, panic attacks, illusions to drinking, abuse, self-worth issues, mentions of the bau's traumas, hurt, blood, violence, bit of a persistent and overbearing hotch at the end. PLEASE DO NOT READ IF ANY MENTION OF THESE THINGS TRIGGER YOU. This is a very deep and raw piece.

this has not been edited because it feels a bit too personal to reread lol

you have been warned.

You were always conditioned to brush off your feelings. It became a coping mechanism to get through the torment of your past. Physically you were fine but emotionally you were bruised and tainted with the colour indigo, that led to the bottled up pain.

No one knew your history or the treatment you went throuh as a child, in fact you often believed you history inferior due to your friends' upbringings. With Morgan being manipulated and molested, Emiy being dragged city to city to escape bible bashings, JJ losing a most beoved sister, Penelope losing her parents, Spencer's father leaving and him becoming a prodigy of the education system, Rossi watching his friends die right in front of him and Hotch. Well, Hotch's past had been a blurred line to the team, similar to yours. Though they knew something had happened to destroy you mentally for you to be where you were today- it was practically alien to have a member of the bau come from a happy home.

Your team had lost people around them, family, friends- life's true tragedy. But, you didn't. You lost no one but yourself.

You could argue that you lost you parents but it would be insensitive, they were still alive but they simply were never parents to you. They were strangers who barely even knew of your existence when you were present and a burden now that you were no longer around for them. No longer there to be their punching bag, no longer there to be their outlet of anger and cutthroat insults.

When the topic comes up, you deny, deny, deny.

"It's no big deal really," you would tell them with a large smile, diverting their attention and you had given them no reason to doubt you until one case.

A case that focused on parents abusing their children. You had almost gone quiet but it was not noticed, you played it off as exhaustion considering you had all been working back to back for weeks straight.

The jet felt colder that Tuesday morning, the seats glassed with a coat of ice as you sat down, letting out a shiver, Hotch takes his usual seat besides you and raises an eyebrow at you. "You okay?"

You nod with a smile, "Yeah it's no big deal, just a bit cold." You shrug, looking out the window, ready to set off for New Orleans. Midway through the flight, you feel a material rest over your legs, seeing Hotch reading the case file and hardly even looking at you. `like he could sense your need for some sort of comfort, whether it be from the sudden breeze or the pain inside your heart.

You arrive swiftly at the precinct, everyone getting up and getting to work. The team rarely struggled on a case but as you were all slumped around a board finishing your takeout. You look over the case files again and look up, causing eyes to dart over to you.

"Oh she's on-to something." Morgan exclaims.

"Let it download, almost there." Emily smirks slightly, watching the cogs turn in their head.

"A child can form a negative sense of love from super young, right?"

"Yeah, it's called our 'love map', it's the ideology of our internal software being developed from around the ages 5 to 6 based on our surroundings and the environment we grew up in." Spencer adds and agrees, seeing where you are going with this.

"And am i right in saying that it is effects our ability to process, receive and distribute love?" You inquire and Spencer nods along.

"Yeah, the result of a healthy development of self-cohesion, self-constancy, and self-agency is self-esteem. Positive affect becomes integrated with self-representation. A negative love map, essentially a distorted internal representation of what a healthy relationship looks like based on negative past experiences, can lead to significant issues in romantic relationships, including difficulty forming deep connections, distrust, emotional withdrawal, anxiety, and a tendency to repeat unhealthy patterns." Spencer nods along.

"So, this unsub had a broken home? Let's get Garcia to check records of social service calls to residents with multiple visits." Emily says to the team as they dial Garcia and are met with a sigh at the vast load she has to sieve through.

"I wouldn't rely on it there are so many left unreported." You added, shaking your head. "Look for school reports, teachers may have noticed suspicious behaviour and markings on a child- it's not much and hardly narrows it down but it is something."

The team nod impressed and you catch Hotch's eye as he narrows his eyes softly, like he was trying to read into your soul. You were, simply put, a book he could read one hundred times and still be unable to decode every last detail.

"Garcia, cross check school reports with silent 911 calls." You heart ached as you say the words, a rush of memories flooding back to you as you ran up the stairs of your house, hearing your father shouting up at you and your mother knocking on your door harshly. You'll never forget those knocks, like a constant reminder that you were always wrong. You had stolen the landline phone, really scared for your life in that moment. You were sat in you closet, knees tucked to your chest as silent tears glass your eyes.

"911, what's your emergency?"

Silence.

Bang.

Bang.

Bang.

"Hello?"

Bang.

Bang.

Bang.

"This is 911, are you in danger?"

Yes, help. Please. I'm scared.

Your shallow breaths cut through the silence before the call ended and your inevitable fate had drawn closer.

"I've cross checked teachers note with 911 calls and i think i have something." Garcia informs the team over the phone, "It may be a long shot but a man named Dane Kirighan called 911 twice but they were both silent, as our pretty girl said." She starts. "His mom Janet Kirighan recently passsed away... it says... oh- she was bludgened to death by a flat object four months ago.."

"That could be our stressor." Aaron nods at the team as Garcia continues.

"It gets worse, his father was sentenced to life for the murder of Janet Kirighan but he was deemed deceased only last month."

You stay silent. "He has abandonment issues, as much as he hated them both for the pain they inflicted, they left him again..."

"What's his address?"

The case was long, almost a week long and you were sure it was torturous. Memories came back in floods to the point that you could no longer focus on the situation at hand but rather the pain in Dane Kirighan's voice as he screamed in the line of crossfire.

One harsh scream then silence.

That silence you knew all too well, you left the scene quickly, getting into the back of one of the SUV's. You talk to no one, you look at no one, you react to nothing. Right now, you're as lifeless as Dane. The little boy who was manipulated and formed into a killer. You shouldn't but you empathise for him. You sympathise.

You knew that there were two sides to a coin and you and Dane Kirighan were one of the same. Heads vs Tales, you saw different lives but deep down you were made from the same foundations and ou were terrified.

You excused yourself from the car, heading into the bathroom to freshen up. No one joined you, which you were grateful for because currently, you hamd was stretched against the painted wall, clawing for something to hold you body up as your other dug into the skin of your chest as if it would help you breathe. Suddenly you were back in that closet, rocking back and fourth as you hear footsteps growing nearer to you.

You heart rate picked up at the memory, you breathing becoming shallow and uneven and suddenly the all too familiar burning sensation infiltrated your lungs. The need of oxygen grew stronger as you slid down the wall of the bathroom, feeling pathetic and completely naked on that tile flooring.

Bang.

Bang.

Bang.

Your mind became your biggest enemy as your heartbeat rung through you ears like a cry for help.

Footsteps.

The echo of your parent's footsteps grew louder in you mind as they neared the bathroom door.

Your heart was racing. Fuck. Breathing. You need to breathe. Come on. You gotta keep trying. In and Out. They're not here. You're safe.

Until silence, once again.

A laugh echoed from outside and you realised you were safe, you were home. Not all family was bad, but you didn't know how to be in the family. What was your role?

You walk back to the team after freshing up a bit, swearing an oath to yourself to avoid the topic of your panic attack.

You walk up to the team and they greet you with warm smiles.

"Nice call kid, you may not feel like it was positive but you helped." Rossi pulled you into a hug, a tight hug and you realised that the team knew. Fuck, they knew.

"How did you know?" Emiy inquires, breaking the ice to the topic. "How did you know to check for 911 calls?"

"I did it a few times," you shrug, being honest. This is what a family des right. "I knew nothing would come out of it but it felt like I was doing something."

Faces softened and you hated that.

You pull you hair into a ponytail and smile, though it is far from real. "it's no big deal."

"You were abused." Hotch's voice cuts the silence and zones his vision on you. "Do you hear me?"

"Hotch man-" Derek tries to intervene but Hotch cuts him off.

"You were abused." he repeats.

"Stop."

"You are a victim." he states so boldly with no judgement whatsoever.

"Stop," You repeat, urgently, feeling your emotions swell.

"It is a big deal. You. Were. Abused." He repeats and you are getting angry now, you hardly notice that Hotch had gestured for the others to leave.

"Hotch- stop it."

"Why are you defending them?"

"I'm not."

"The people you should trust the most hurt you, in every way they could."

"Hotch-" you feel tears threaten your eyes.

"That's why you don't trust easy. It's why you don't talk about your experiences. It's why you never miss a deadline because you think you will be punished. You think that your a burden and you bottle up your feelings and belittle them until they are overwhelming for you. Its why you can tell who is nearing you because you have our footsteps memorised. Do you know what these are?"

"Stop profiling me." You burst, your voice echoing through the walls.

A tear.

He lifts his hand.

You flinch.

He moves gently.

You look down.

He tilts your head up.

"It's all trauma responses. You are a victim of abuse and you're too thoughtful to ask for help because you don't want to gain friendships where people will leave you."

Your eyes are full of silent tears as you look up at him.

His heart breaks.

"You can let it go." He whispers to you, resting his hand on your cheek. "Do you hear me?"

You nod, you eyes rimmed red and glossy with pain.

"You-" he points at your chest, more specifically your heart. "You don't have to invite your blood related family to the party of your soul."

"Your heart, honey, truly is a party. It is beautiful, it is flourished, it is fun and it reflects every ounce of who you are. Your parents never showed you love but I do, we all do. Never be sorry for growing up surrounded by pain, never belittle your past experiences until you are on the edge okay?"

"What are you asking of me?"

"I'm asking you to let me love you... let me take care of you. You talk of all this pain like it's alright, it isn't so stop. A part of you feels like a lost cause but baby, you shine like the brightest star. You showed me a power that is strong enough to bring sun to the darkest days."

"I'm asking you to let me into your heart, your mind."

In that moment, you realised that you were starting a family who will always show you love and though it will be a long process, it will be worth it in the end.

[insidekatmind]

Valentine’s Day -Levi Colwill

Valentine’s Day had finally arrived, along with the romantic weekend Levi had planned for the two of you. He hadn’t told you much—just that it would be special and that you needed to trust him. So, with your heart pounding in excitement, you let him drive you to your secret destination.

After a couple of hours on the road, filled with lighthearted conversation and laughter, your eyes widened in surprise when you saw the cabin where you’d be spending the weekend. It was nestled among snow-covered trees, with large windows that let in a warm, golden glow. It looked like something out of a fairytale.

Levi glanced at you with a satisfied smile. “Well? Do you like it,baby?”

“Do I like it? love, it’s beautiful,” you exclaimed, throwing yourself into his arms. He chuckled, holding you close before stealing a sweet, slow kiss, as if he wanted to engrave this moment in his memory.

As you stepped inside, the scent of wood and vanilla candles filled the air. A fireplace crackled in the corner, the couch was draped in soft blankets, and a bottle of red wine was already waiting on the table, ready to be opened.

“You really thought of everything, huh?” you said, turning to him with an affectionate smile.

“Only the best for you,” he replied, gently caressing your cheek. “Now, how about we start this weekend the right way?”

And so, between toasts and laughter, the evening slipped away with a warmth that filled your heart. You cooked together, danced in the kitchen to soft music playing in the background, and lost yourselves in endless kisses by the fire.

When night fell, you curled up together under a cozy blanket, the dim lights casting a soft glow around you as the wind howled gently outside the window. Levi pulled you closer, his breath warm against your neck.

“I don’t want this weekend to end,” he murmured, his voice full of sincerity that made your heart clench.

You intertwined your fingers with his, pressing a soft kiss to his hand. “Then let’s make every moment count.”

And in that precise instant, as he gazed at you with pure love in his eyes, you knew there was no other place in the world you’d rather be.

You smile softly and kiss him. He smiles softly, his heart swelling with affection as he returns the kiss. His hand gently finds its way to your cheek, his thumb tracing light circles over your skin. "I love you," he murmured, his voice soft and sincere. "More than words can express."

You cling to him. “I love you so much too,” you whisper softly. Levi pulled you closer, his hand gently exploring your back, tracing the curve of your spine.

"You look amazing tonight," he whispered, his gaze fixed on you with raw admiration. "Like a vision, straight from my wildest dreams." You shiver from his touch, feeling the intensity of his gaze on you. His words sent a pleasant heat through your body, a mix of emotions welling up within you.

"You don’t have to flatter me," you say, a soft smile playing on your lips. "I’m already yours." He chuckled softly at your response, the sound a mixture of affection and desire. "I know you are, and that’s precisely why I want to shower you in compliments."

Levi pulled you even closer, his body pressed against yours in a way that made your heart quicken. His hand slid up to your face, his thumb brushing lightly over your bottom lip, the touch sending electricity through your veins.

"You’re beautiful," he murmured, his gaze fixed on your face with an intensity that made your breath catch. "And you’re mine."

You feel your cheeks flush, his words sending a thrill down your spine. You can’t help but smile, feeling his possessive touch and the intensity of his gaze.

"I’m all yours," you whispered, wrapping your arms around his neck. "Completely and utterly yours."

[hellsquills]

I think he'd have the most impressive and unexpected list of languages ever

BIG rant ahead this got too out of hand lol

He knows how to speak fluent Spanish because of the time he spent in Latin America, and he has the weirdest combination of insults from every country that he uses interchangeably (he learns which accent and expressions belong to each country so he doesn't sound like such a gringo).

Italian is easy enough. Not only because it's very similar to Spanish, but also because New Jersey is the "Little Italy" of the US (LOADS of Italian descendants there). He knows a good bunch of words, and he can hold his own in a conversation.

French is tricky but it's great for business. Idiots will buy anything that sounds luxurious and pretentious, and nothing screams that louder than French words.

Brazilian is also similar to Spanish, and even though he never went to Brazil, he loves the culture. He meets some Brazilian people at underground dancing shows and learns some words, as well as a good few moves.

Back in the US, he works as a smuggler on the southeast coast, and he gets the chance to learn a few words from sailors all around Northern Europe. Norwegian, Icelandic, Finnish, Swedish... He barely knows any words, just the absolute basics, but he's able to tell them apart.

He learns the rest by living in the streets and sporadically meeting people.

He learns some Asian languages through the food first, since they have very good dishes with surprisingly cheap and easy-to-steal ingredients (rice becomes a big part of his diet since fast food is getting increasingly more expensive), and after that he learns some martial arts terms that he uses in pit fights

He learns some Slavic vocabulary from some girls he used to work with, even though none of them lasted too long (mostly Russian, Polish and Romanian)

He learns German from a mechanic he did some work for, who used to work at a car factory back in Düsseldorf

He learns Darija from a Moroccan restaurant in Georgia that would give him whatever scraps were left at the end of the day because he stole a nice pot for them once

He learns Farsi from some guys who had a car washing business and would let him sleep in their garage during bad winter nights (he worked as a car washer for free in return)

He learns some AAVE from a group of drag queens who regularly performed at the bar he worked as a bouncer for (and taught him how to do drag)

He learns some American English Sign Language from a guitar player in that same bar and their sister, who was a drummer

He also knows the military alphabet (from Shermie) and morse code (which he used with Ford while taking exams together and when their father demanded absolute silence)

Now let me make this clear: the last language book Stan picked up was back in high school. He barely knows how to write most of these languages, safe from Spanish and Italian(ish). He's learned by hearing and is able to differentiate accents, but he can't maintain a full conversation in most of them. He can, however, guess where someone is roughly from just by proximity to the languages he does know.

Additionally:

When Stan loses his memories, he has trouble remembering Spanish, and it fills him with dread, even if he doesn't know why. One day, after a bad nightmare, he wakes up only speaking in Spanish, and Ford doesn't know what to do. Luckily, he knows the young man that works with Stan speaks the language, and so they find a way to communicate until he comes back to his senses.

This happens a few times, each time with a different language. Ford misses the automatic universal translator he lost in Dimension 72TF-0. They learn how to use the text to speech on Google Translate for these situations.

Ford is really impressed with Stan's knowledge. He always knew his brother was good with languages, but he loves seeing him in action. He now has another reason to disprove Stanley when he says he's dumb; no, he isn't, because he's both street smart AND book smart.

Despite being good at languages, Ford is better at learning new slang lol. Stan gives up trying to understand the kids' weird words and just nods along.

What if Stanleh had spent more time in non-english speaking countries? Like he ends up knowing English but it's broken and unused? His main language is Spanish and he knows a bit of other Latin languages- then you get to his English and it's heavily New Jersey pre-school

[arcadia-smith]

Unrequited love. (I will always think that this is something that breaks hearts painfully slow)

Simon Riley x Reader.

You’ve always known that loving Simon Riley was a dangerous thing. Not because of the nightmares that clawed at his mind or the ghosts that followed him like a shadow. No, it was dangerous because he never saw you the way you saw him.

And maybe that was your fault. Maybe you should have walked away before the feelings sank in too deep, before your heart curled around him like ivy, clinging even when it hurt.

But you never did.

Not when he smiled at you, a rare thing that made your chest ache. Not when he held you close after missions, his breathing unsteady, as if he needed to remind himself that you were still there. And certainly not when he whispered your name like a prayer in the quiet hours of the night.

It was easy to believe you meant something to him.

Until her.

She was everything you weren’t. Soft laughter and bright eyes, warmth in the way she touched him, an ease in how she held his attention. And he looked at her the way you had spent years looking at him.

You remember the exact moment you knew.

It wasn’t when he first mentioned her name, or even when he started spending more time away. It was when he showed up at your door, eyes shining in a way you’d never seen before.

“She said yes,” he breathed, almost disbelieving.

And you smiled.

God, you smiled so wide it hurt, because that’s what friends do. They don’t break apart in front of the people they love. They don’t let the cracks show.

So you pulled him into a hug, let him crush you in his arms as he whispered about how happy he was. You buried your face into his shoulder, blinking back the sting in your eyes, swallowing the lump in your throat.

Because he never looked at you like that.

And he never would.

—

You don’t go to the wedding.

You have an invitation, of course. It sits untouched on your counter, the elegant lettering spelling out his name alongside hers, mocking you every time you pass it.

Soap calls. Gaz texts. They ask if you’re coming, if you’re okay, if you need anything. You lie through your teeth, tell them you’re sick, that you’re busy, that you don’t want to intrude.

Simon doesn’t call.

You don’t think he notices your absence until much later.

Maybe it’s when the party winds down, when he’s alone for the first time in hours, when the realization creeps in like a whisper.

Maybe it’s when he looks around the reception, searching for you without even realizing he’s doing it. When he catches Soap's somber expression, the way Gaz avoids his gaze.

Maybe it’s not until years later, when the honeymoon phase fades and real life settles in. When he finds himself thinking of you in quiet moments, wondering why you aren’t around as much anymore, why it feels like something is missing.

You relocate. A different base. A different team.

You relocate to spare yourself.

—

Years Later

The news reaches him too late.

Simon is sitting in the common hall, watching the rain streak down the window, when his phone buzzes. He answers out of habit, not expecting much.

Soap's voice is quiet. Too quiet.

He barely hears the words over the rushing in his ears.

A mission gone wrong. Too much blood lost before help arrived. You were alone, left behind by your new team.

Gone.

The funeral is small. Simple. He doesn’t speak. Just stands at the back, hands clenched into fists, watching as they lower the casket into the ground.

Soap stands beside him, but no one else does. Not her. Not his wife. She hadn’t asked where he was going, and he hadn’t told her.

Because how could he explain it? How could he explain the way his ribs felt like they were caving in, the way his lungs burned with every breath? How could he explain that this loss felt different than any other?

He doesn’t cry.

He doesn’t say goodbye.

He just stands there, watching as they cover you with dirt, as the last piece of you disappears from his sight.

And for the first time, he wonders if maybe—just maybe—he loved you all along.

But now, he’ll never get the chance to tell you.

And that is the worst part of all.

—

Months Later

It happens on a quiet night.

Simon is going through old boxes in the closet, looking for something long forgotten. His wife is asleep in the next room, unaware.

He’s sifting through old mission reports, books, scraps of things that don’t matter—until he finds it.

A letter.

His name is scrawled across the front in your handwriting, the ink slightly smudged, like you hesitated before writing it.

He shouldn’t open it. He knows that.

But he does anyway.

His hands shake as he unfolds the paper. The words blur in front of his eyes, but he forces himself to focus.

Sim,

I don’t know if I’ll ever send this. Maybe it’s just for me. But if you’re reading it, then I guess I wasn’t brave enough to say it out loud.

I loved you. I loved you in all the ways a person could love someone. And I never told you because I knew—God, I knew you didn’t feel the same. And that’s okay. I never expected you to.

I just wanted you to know.

I hope she makes you happy. I hope she gives you the kind of love I always wished I could.

And I hope, someday, I stop wishing things had been different.

—Y/N

The paper crumples in his grip.

His chest is too tight, his throat burning as he squeezes his eyes shut.

Because fuck.

He should have known.

Should have seen it.

But it’s too late.

It’s too late, and you’re gone, and all he has left is the ghost of what could have been.

And maybe that’s the cruelest part of all.

[everythingseasoning]

Curses and Lifts.

Rafayel x Reader. // angst, fluff. abandonment issues, relief.

Rafayel has just finished telling you the story about his “friend” who’d gotten himself stranded on the surface, 800 or so years ago. Surviving only because of a woman who noticed and cared, his friend went on to live, saved in the same way you rescued that fish a minute ago. But Rafayel called it a tragedy.

“Because he fell in love with the girl who saved him?” You ask him. The night surrounds the two of you, a smooth midnight blue. It’s like the two of you are underneath the deep ocean itself, the air cool against your skin.

“Love?” Rafayel asks, confusion flitting across his face as he stares at the ground. It’s as if he’s taken aback slightly by the word.

Rafayel’s gaze suddenly locks onto your face, his violet eyes glimmering like stars in the lamplight.

“…Yeah,” he says, the weight of his gaze pulling you in like the tide. He looks at you like you’re his world, like he needs you, like you’re the oyster and he’s the pearl seeking refuge. It’s tinged with hurt.

Rafayel turns back to focus on the fountain in front of him, a thoughtful expression creased onto his features. “Love,” he repeats, the word solid as it leaves his mouth.

“Now do you see how dangerous the world can be?”

It’s suddenly silent. Rafayel has entered his mind space again. He’s lost in thought as you study him in all his quiet, the urge to know what he’s thinking growing stronger by the second.

Love is the most twisted curse of all. Be careful who you save. You might end up cursing them with tragedy instead.

Your soft, “Hey,” brings Rafayel out from his thoughts. His eyes have always been so expressive.

“What’s wrong?” You ask gently, your smaller hand reaching out to touch Rafayel’s cold one. He jumps slightly before looking wide-eyed at where your skin touches his.

His hand moves on top of yours in a flash, his grip surprisingly firm as his face closes the distance between you two.

“You can’t leave me again, okay?” Desperation and insistence lace his words.

“Promise me— promise me you’ll never disappear again,” Rafayel breathes, his violet eyes boring into yours. You blink rapidly.

“Rafayel— You…” you start, before swallowing. “That wasn’t really your friend in the story, was it?” You ask, believing now that he had woven fiction into his personal anecdote, making it up that his friend was a merman, that it was centuries ago. He had probably been left by a woman he took great interest in, instead. Your heart aches for him. You always knew he hadn’t been loved properly in his life; The signs were there. His clinginess, his immaturity, his urge to be cared for— they had all made it clear.

Rafayel ignores your question, imploring you again.

“Promise me.”

Your other hand moves to clasp his, both of your hands cupping Rafayel’s now. You swear you saw tears glimmering for a quick, fleeting moment.

“I promise, Rafayel,” you say, your gaze firm and gentle all at once.

Something passes in Rafayel’s eyes. You can’t name it yet. You can’t study it either— Rafayel has engulfed you in a hug before you can blink, taut muscle and warmth pressing against you.

“Good. Thank you,” he whispers before his voice comes back strong, “Don’t ever leave me.” Rafayel’s breath is soft against your ear, the little tickle contrasting the hard desperation in his voice. His arms squeeze you tighter. Tears spring to your eyes. Rafayel… you must have been through so much.

“You’ll never be alone again, Rafayel.” You breathe the promise into the night air.

You feel a sudden pressure against your jawline—

The warmth pulls away slightly. Rafayel stares into your eyes, your faces inches away, his strong arms still wrapped around you. The proximity makes your heart race, and you’re sure he can feel it too. His breath is hot, the sounds of breathing drowning out the nearby bubbling of the water fountain. As Rafayel gazes into your eyes, you realize he had kissed your neck.

His chest rises and falls rapidly, and he’s looking at you like he needs more— needs to be closer— needs to have you, needs to know you’re his, not just by words.

You respond in kind, cupping his face gently, pressing your thumb into his cheek, tenderly swiping his skin. He nuzzles into your touch, pressing another soft kiss onto your hand.

Your breath hitches in your throat. Rafayel looks at you, leaning forward more as his hands find your cheeks, holding your face in his hands. He stares down at you, murmuring into the small space between you two.

“You were the one who cursed me in the first place. It’s only fair that you lift it.”

…

To be continued?

…AN below:

my heart, I’m so sorry

You were just an unloved soul who didn’t know what love was until you were unexpectedly rescued, then abandoned.

No wonder you’re so fucking clingy and immature. No wonder you need constant communication. You never once tasted a stable love. Rafayel, you are so afraid of being left alone forever again. (I will never abandon him.)

[rik0shii]

Hihi! Can I request an angst fic for g dragon and kpop idol reader and they broke up after a while of being together (they were like the IT couple of yg and the Internet) and haven’t interacted since but just stolen glances in public but then meet again after his comeback era (maybe reader was in 2ne1 group 👀)

Sorry if this isn’t specific enough ^^”

I'm so grateful and happy that you and the other writers decided to write for bigbang. AND NOT YOU SPOILING US WITH FICS EVER NOW AND THEN you eat everytime istg

Lysm <3

Lost in the Echo

Years after their breakup, G-Dragon and the reader reunite at a YG concert, exchanging stolen glances and unspoken words. When they finally meet backstage, the past lingers—but before they can confront it, they part ways once more, leaving everything unfinished.

part 2

hii tysm for requesting! im glad you enjoy my writing<333 reposts and comments are appreciated!

The energy inside the Seoul Olympic Stadium was buzzing. The YG Family Reunion had been years in the making—nostalgia wrapped in flashing lights, explosive beats, and voices that once defined an era. It was a dream for the fans, a moment frozen in time for the artists who had built their legacies under the same roof.

But for you, it was something else entirely.

It was a battlefield.

The dressing rooms were loud with stylists running back and forth, fixing makeup and adjusting outfits, but you barely heard any of it. The weight of anticipation pressed down on your chest, and despite the years that had passed, you knew exactly why.

Kwon Jiyong.

You hadn’t spoken to him in years.

Once upon a time, you had been inseparable—the golden couple of YG, the muse and the mastermind, the chaos and the calm. There wasn’t a headline you didn’t dominate, fan edits that didn’t romanticize your love, songs that weren’t indirectly about each other. You were the epitome of what it meant to be untouchable in the industry.

Until you weren’t.

The breakup had been inevitable. Too much pressure, too many expectations, too much everything. It had ended without a dramatic scandal, without a public fallout. Just an understanding—a quiet, painful one—that loving each other wasn’t enough anymore.

And since then, silence.

No texts, no late-night calls, no accidental run-ins.

Just stolen glances when fate was feeling particularly cruel.

But tonight, that distance would be shattered.

“Unnie,” Minzy’s voice pulled you back to the present. “You okay?”

You blinked, exhaling sharply before forcing a small smile. “Yeah. Just nerves.”

Minzy gave you a knowing look but didn’t press. CL, on the other hand, wasn’t as subtle.

“He’s up next,” she murmured, handing you a mic. “You sure you’re good?”

You hesitated, fingers tightening around the cool metal.

No.

But that didn’t matter.

Because just as she said it, the stage lights dimmed, and the first beats of his new song Power boomed through the speakers.

And then, there he was.

G-Dragon.

The crowd erupted.

Dressed in all black, his platinum hair messy yet somehow intentional, Jiyong commanded the stage with an effortless arrogance that only he could pull off. He rapped with the kind of fire that made him untouchable, like he owned every inch of the stadium, every heartbeat in the crowd.

And then—he looked at you.

You weren’t sure if it was intentional, if he had known exactly where you stood at the edge of the stage, waiting for your cue. But the second his dark eyes met yours, the air shifted.

A flicker of something unreadable crossed his face. Not quite surprise, not quite pain, but something dangerous.

And then, just as quickly, it was gone.

“Missing you” started playing, your song, a song that between his powerful rap you can almost hear the laughs and “i love you’s” that you guys shared while producing it.

The song continued, the moment swallowed by the deafening cheers, but your pulse was racing. It felt like those stolen glances from across award show tables, those fleeting seconds in airport lounges where neither of you spoke but everything was too much.

Except now, there was no escaping it.

By the time his set ended, your heartbeat was still erratic. And before you could steady yourself, a staff member was already ushering you and the rest of 2NE1 towards the stage.

Your legs carried you forward out of habit, but your mind was somewhere else. On him.

On the way his voice had faltered for half a second when he saw you.

On the way he had smirked after, like the ghost of something familiar.

The music started. You went into autopilot, singing, performing, doing what you were meant to do. But you could feel his presence lingering just offstage, watching.

And the worst part?

You were watching too.

Backstage was suffocating.

After the final bow, after the encore, after the screams of thousands faded into the distance, you slipped away from the crowd. Your heartbeat hadn’t slowed down since the moment you’d seen him again, and it was infuriating.

You had moved on.

You were supposed to have moved on.

But the past had a cruel way of dragging you back, no matter how much distance you put between you and it.

“Still running away from me?”

The voice stopped you cold.

You turned, pulse jumping, only to find him standing there, leaning against the dimly lit corridor wall like he hadn’t just ripped open every old wound you had carefully stitched shut.

Kwon Jiyong was a lot of things, but subtle was never one of them.

Your fingers curled into fists at your sides as you met his gaze head-on. “I’m not running.”

He arched a brow, the corner of his lips tilting up in amusement. “You sure?”

You hated that he could still do this to you—make you feel like you were teetering on the edge of something dangerous, something intoxicating.

“You did well out there,” he said, after a beat of silence. His voice was softer now, lacking the teasing edge.

You swallowed, unsure of how to respond. Instead, you nodded. “You too.”

Another pause. Longer this time.

The silence stretched between you, thick with everything unsaid, everything unfinished.

“I didn’t think I’d see you again,” he admitted, and for a moment, you thought you heard something real in his voice.

You hesitated, the weight of years pressing down on your chest. “Yeah… me neither.”

And there it was again—that flicker of something in his expression, something like regret, like longing, like the echo of a love that had never fully faded.

But before either of you could say another word, before the past could demand to be rewritten, the sound of approaching voices cut through the air.

The moment shattered.

Jiyong sighed, running a hand through his hair before stepping back, retreating into the shadowed hallway. “Take care of yourself, yeah?”

And just like that, he was gone.

Leaving you standing there, heart still racing, drowning in the echoes of what could have been.

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

The Thousand Yard Stare Chapter 1

Summary: Bucky Barnes has served his country well, and at a great personal cost.  After being rescued as a prisoner of war, he is struggling as he gets back into civilian life.  His newfound PTSD is severe.  His friends and family try to help, but he needs a lot more than they can give.  His mother signs him up for a Veteran recovery home, where he meets people struggling just like him, and the home director who has her own dark past to deal with.  He might just find love along the way as he searches for peace.

Warnings: mentions of physical assault, violence, being taken prisoner; sexual assault/r@pe; PTSD/anxiety/depression/panic attacks, flashbacks, nightmares; suicide/minor character death; eventual smut

Next chapter

Bucky woke up screaming again, but his nightmare had morphed into reality.  He thrashed in the bindings holding him, fighting against the body that was pinning him down.

“It’s me!  Buck…it’s me!” a voice yelled in his ear.

Bucky froze, his mind trying to catch up.  It wasn’t bindings twisted around his sweaty body, they were sheets.  On the bed he was sleeping on.  At home.  Home.  He looked at the person holding him and blinked, his widened eyes adjusting to the darkness.  It was Steve, his best friend, who was staying at his parents house to help him…help him.

Bucky let out a shuddering breath and his head fell back on the pillow as his body slowly relaxed from fight or flight mode.  He could hear his mother, Winnie, behind Steve somewhere, crying quietly as her husband and Bucky’s father, George, held her, whispering reassuring words to her as they watched him struggle.  Bucky patted Steve’s shoulder as he adjusted the tightened sheets and blankets around him.  “Thanks, punk,” Bucky said, but it came out as more of a grunt from how hoarse his voice sounded from screaming in his sleep.  He’d been home for a little over a year now, but the nightmares never ceased.  Sometimes they weren’t as vivid, his mind giving him a chance to get at least some rest, but other nights like tonight they were relentless, spitting one bad memory at him after another, the pain feeling real, the people looking real like they were right in front of him again, the heat, the sun, the stuffy, tiny room, sand itching in every crevice, the screams…

Bucky shook his head, trying to shake away the nightmare.  His hands ran through his sweaty, matted hair as he tried to keep his eyes open, afraid of what he’d see when they closed.  “I’m sorry everybody,” he said louder.  “I’ll be fine.  Go back to sleep.”

George let go of Winnie and stepped up to Bucky’s bed as Steve helped right the blankets around him.  “Buck, we really think you should reconsider the recovery home.”  Bucky shook his head immediately but George reached out and gripped his face, making Bucky look at him.  Bucky was surprised to see real tears in his father’s eyes.  George rarely cried, and to see his face so torn and helpless broke a piece of Bucky’s heart.  “Bucky, please,” George said, his lips trembling.  “Whether you like it or not, you need help that we aren’t able to give.  And I desperately want to give you that help, but I don’t know how.  Your mother and I have enough to cover the cost.  Just please…” George’s tears spilled over and he sniffed hurriedly.  “We can’t lose you.  Please.”

Bucky’s own tears started to well up in his eyes.  He knew George was right.  He needed help.  He didn’t like admitting it, he didn’t want to look weak.  He wanted to be strong for those he’d lost along the way, who didn’t make it out of being a prisoner of war like he did.  But he was so tired.  He could feel his mind cracking like it did when he was captured, and it scared him.  He slowly nodded at George as he closed his eyes and his tears finally fell.  

***

“So what’s he currently taking?” Y/N asked as she took detailed notes.

“Venlafaxine, or Effexor,” Winnie stated, looking at her own notes.  “At night sometimes he’ll take an Ambien to help him sleep, but it mixes with the Effexor badly and makes him drowsy or dizzy the next day, or gives him pretty severe headaches, so he tries not to.  But he just…” Winnie trailed off, her voice wobbling with emotion.  “He barely sleeps.  He wakes up screaming almost every night.  We don’t know what to do–”

“And how could you?” Y/N said quietly, reaching her hand out and taking Winnie’s hand.  “No one could ever prepare for something like this.  But you’re doing the right thing in asking for help.  I’m glad he’s finally come around to the idea of coming here,” she smiled kindly.

“So am I,” Winnie smiled back, wiping away the fallen tears.  “When does he start?”

***

Bucky, his parents, Steve and their other close friend Sam all pulled up to the recovery home a week later.  Bucky looked at it in awe.  It didn’t look like a sterile facility or treatment center.  It was a literal house.  An old Victorian house that had been renovated, with a surround porch, a large front yard that was well manicured and flower bushes along the edges.  In the front drive area was an old 1950s, two-toned turquoise blue and white Chevy truck that was in immaculate condition.  Near the road at the corner of the lot was a sign that read “Mama’s House: Recovery and Rehabilitation.”  

“Nice place,” Sam commented as he took out Bucky’s bag from his parent’s trunk.  “Looks like it belongs on the front of a postcard.”

“I like the name,” Steve said as he took in the house.  “Very homey.”

Bucky nodded along with their comments.  They all headed up the porch and toward the front door.  George rang the doorbell and gave the door a few knocks.  There was a chorus of barks and raised voices as the doorbell rang and Bucky’s brow furrowed.  

The door opened to a man in a military green t-shirt and jeans, holding a large, silver-colored cane corso dog back by the collar.  “Teddy, you fucker.  Hi!” the man said, waving at everyone.  “Sorry!  He’s the home dog, didn’t quite graduate from service dog training.  Which one of you is the newbie?”  Bucky stepped forward, raising his hand slightly and giving the man a tight lipped smile.  “Good to meet you,” the man held his hand out and Bucky hesitantly shook it.  “I’m Scott Lang.  Staff Sergeant in the Air Force.  This is Teddy,” he gestured to the huge dog.  Bucky held out a hand to Teddy and let him sniff him, which only made Teddy more excited as he pulled Scott closer and started licking Bucky’s hand.  “Oh, you must be a good one, otherwise Teddy would have bitten you,” Scott laughed then turned and greeted everyone else.  “The boss is out back.  Come on!”

They all followed Scott through the house, looking around quickly at the old character of the home mixed with modern furnishings and amenities.  As they came through the large kitchen to the back door Bucky was greeted with more people outside in a huge backyard.  They were all doing different things.  Gardening in one corner of the lot, some others playing basketball in another corner, two people sunbathing in a pergola covered fire pit area in the middle of the yard, and near the back he could see a few more buildings that were built beyond the main property with some more people coming in and out of them.

“Y/N!” Scott called out.  He let go of Teddy who bounded out into the yard, quickly going up to every person and greeting them with a quick lick and tail wag before he ran up to a woman in the gardening area.  She had looked up when Scott called and smiled brightly at him and the newcomers.  She stood and dusted off her knees and gardening gloves, taking them off before petting Teddy and letting him lick her face.

“Thanks Scott!  Hey Winnie!” she called back and waved.

Bucky gave his mother an amused look.  “What?  Someone had to come and check this place out,” Winnie teased him as she smiled and waved back to Y/N.

As Y/N approached he looked her over.  She was pretty, short, and curvy, the overalls she was wearing snug around her hips and stomach and her sports bra leaving little to the imagination.  Her hair was tied up and as she removed her sunglasses Bucky’s eyes slightly widened.  Beautiful, he thought.  Her bright smile stayed as she greeted Winnie first with a hug.  “I’m sorry I’m not more presentable, I lost track of the time,” she laughed and patted off some more dirt.  “Good to see you again,” she said sincerely.  “And you,” she turned to Bucky, giving him a once over, “must be Bucky.”

“Yes ma’am,” Bucky nodded, giving her a polite, small smile.  She walked up to him with her hands clasped in front of her.

“Can I shake your hand?” she asked, looking up at him.  Bucky blinked before nodding and holding his hand out to her.  She carefully took it and shook his hand firmly.  “It’s nice to meet you, Bucky,” she said, her voice sounding gentle.  “Welcome to Mama’s House.”  She then released his hand and turned to the others.  “And who are these strapping young men?”

Sam preened at the attention, Steve laughing and George scoffing.  “Sam Wilson, friend of the family,” Sam said, walking forward with a flirtatious smile and shaking Y/N’s hand.  Y/N giggled and then turned to Steve.

“Steve Rogers, also a friend of the family,” Steve said, shaking her hand and smiling.

“George Barnes, father,” George said while shaking her hand.  “Though I don’t know how young or strapping I am.”

Y/N then fully laughed, and Bucky couldn’t seem to stop the full smile that spread on his face.  Her laugh was contagious, loud, and boisterous, ringing through the air like its own melody.  She covered her mouth to quiet herself as she turned to them all.  “Well, it’s wonderful to meet all of you.  Would you like a tour?”

“Yes!” Sam said, looking eagerly at the house and the yard.

Y/N smiled then walked ahead of them all to the house.  Bucky did a double take when he saw her back turned to them.  Beneath the overalls and the sports bra were multiple long, deep scars across her back, running from the tops of her shoulders to where he couldn’t see anymore.  The skin was stretched on the edges and pink in the middle of each scar.  He looked toward Steve and Sam next to him who were also staring.  They exchanged glances of concern before quickly falling instep.

Y/N showed them each room and had Bucky drop his bag in what would be his room.  He was grateful that he wouldn’t have to share with anyone.  The house was beautiful, well decorated and stocked with everything that anyone could need while staying there.  It was like her own little bed and breakfast that she took immense pride in, and it showed as they walked through the house.  It was well lived in, but clean and tidy.

She took them outside and showed them around the yard, then to the back buildings just off the main lot.  “These are our activity and rehab buildings,” she said, walking up to the first one.  “This is the rage room.”  Y/N opened the door and showed them a large room filled with broken old TVs, stereos, speakers, kitchen appliances, and overall junk.  In a smaller, glass walled off room were bats, hammers, and axes hung on the wall off to the side behind a thick pane of glass.  “We always have someone supervising when someone wants to use the rage room.  No one has access to the weapons without the supervisor key.  I would like to think the point of this room is pretty obvious,” she smirked as she closed the door.

“There’s a scream room inside the therapy building,” she said as they moved to the next building.  It looked more professional, with small walled off rooms as offices.  “This is where most of everyone’s therapy sessions will take place.  Of course that’s changeable if you so choose and your therapist is up for it.  We’ve had people just take walks around the property or stay in their rooms.  Whatever works for you.”

Y/N then went to the next building.  “This is the greenhouse.  We have the open garden in the yard and then this for more delicate things to grow.  We use this for therapy as well.”

“This next building is for physical therapy,” she said as they moved on.  Inside was what looked like a small gym, all kinds of equipment littered along the floor and a space off in the back that had lockers and another enclosed area that had bathrooms and showers.  “It’s also a gym, not just for those who need regular physical therapy.  Exercise can be great therapy.”

“And lastly, this is the comfy building,” Y/N said, her smile brightening again.  It was obvious this was her favorite space.  As they stepped in Bucky felt a sense of calm overcome him.  The space was cozy, with every surface covered in pillows and blankets and stuffed animals.  In one corner of the room was a caged off area.  “That’s where we have our monthly pet playdates,” Y/N pointed to that corner.  “The local animal shelter brings in some dogs or cats and we play with them.  We also help sponsor a yearly adoption drive.  And over there,” she pointed to a walled off area, “is the cuddle room.”  She led them over to it and opened the door.  Inside was a king sized bed and a couch off to the side, with a small table and a mushroom lamp.  “I’m a certified cuddler, which sounds ridiculous, I know,” she said as Sam snickered in the corner, Steve slapping his arm, “but it’s extremely important for those who are learning to get comfortable being touched again.  This kind of thing was very helpful for me during my rehabilitation, so I’ve made a space for it here.”  Bucky gave her a short glance.  She had gone through rehabilitation?  For what?  He quickly looked back at the bed and the couch.  “The room is soundproof, so if anyone ever just needs to have a good cry, it’s a great spot for it.  Anyways,” she led them all back out to the main area.  “Any questions so far?”

“You taking any new cuddling clients?”  Sam asked cheekily.  He dodged Steve’s arm.

“Not at this time, unfortunately,” Y/N laughed.  “Unless you’re a retired, struggling veteran?”  Sam’s smile slipped from his face and his lips pursed as Steve eyed him wryly.  Y/N huffed a laugh and then turned to Bucky and his parents.  “We also do group therapy if anyone feels more comfortable with that, as well as group outings in the community.  In a few weeks we’ll be going out for drinks and karaoke at the bar nearby.  So, if you’d like we can go back to the house and get you settled in, and then we’ll discuss the rules and all that not-so-fun stuff.”

Bucky nodded and they all went back to the house.  Y/N chatted with them as Bucky got moved in, getting his things set up slowly and methodically.  When he was done they all moved downstairs to her personal office.  Y/N sat at the chair at the desk while they all sat opposite her on chairs and a couch further back.  “Okay, so, the not-so-fun stuff,” Y/N said, pulling out a file that had Bucky’s name on it.  “Winnie already set up the payment and insurance information, and your prescription has been moved to a pharmacy here.  I’ve been in contact with the VA, but of course it’s the VA, so who knows when that will be helpful,” she rolled her eyes.  “Bucky,” she watched him carefully.  “The house rules are breakfast will be served at 8:30 a.m., lunch at 1:00 p.m., and dinner at 6:00 p.m.  If you don’t want to eat with us, you don’t have to. You’re an adult, so I’m not going to tell you when to go to bed, but I do lock up the house between 11 p.m. and midnight, so if you don’t have your key, the porch swing has a long pillow on it, but you're out of luck til the morning.  If you have plans and will be out overnight, please let me know.  Capiche?”  Bucky nodded.  “Everyone is assigned certain chores around the house and scheduled times for each of the buildings out back.  You are welcome to either use them during your time slots or not, the only one you’re not allowed to miss is your sessions with your therapist.  If you feel like you need more time in one versus another, we can figure out a time that won’t interfere with other people's times.”  Bucky nodded again.  “Each person living here right now is here because they need help.  Every single one of them is dealing with some form of anxiety, depression, PTSD, and some of them need physical therapy, too.  Common courtesy like not going into other people’s rooms, being aware of other’s space and things, and general kindness and civility are expected and enforced.  If we all can’t get along while we’re healing, then more serious measures will be taken.  And lastly,” she glanced at his parents and his friends, “you are free to leave whenever you want.”

“But–” Winnie started, looking worried.

“This is not a prison, and I am not your warden,” Y/N interrupted her.  “You need to be here because you want to be here and get better.  Not because your parents want it or expect it, or your friends, significant others, a job, the military, whatever else.  Only you,” she said it seriously, her previous softness leaving her face.  Bucky frowned but he nodded solemnly.  “However, if after a period of time it seems no progress or steps forward have been taken, then I can ask you to leave if I feel we are not the right fit for you here.  Sound good?”

“Yes ma’am,” Bucky said again.  

“And none of this ‘ma’am’ stuff,” Y/N waved off his words.  “Just Y/N is fine.”

Bucky smirked.  “Yes, Y/N.”

Y/N smiled widely at him.  “Well,” she looked at her phone.  “It’s time for me to start getting dinner ready.  You can say goodbye to your family and friends and then we’ll go from there.”  She stood from the desk and everyone followed her.  She led them back out to the front porch and Bucky turned to his family at the bottom of the steps.

Sam stepped forward and hugged him, giving him a hard pat on the back.  “You can do this, man,” Sam said, nodding at him with a confident smile.  “I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks,” Bucky said, looking away.

Steve stepped up next and gave Bucky a longer hug.  They had been friends since childhood, and if anyone knew how much Bucky was struggling, it was Steve.  Steve squeezed him harder before pulling away and holding his arms.  “I’m here for you, no matter what you need, k?”  Bucky nodded with a small smile.  “Till the end of the line,” Steve said, holding out a hand.

“Till the end of the line,” Bucky answered, clapping his hand into Steve’s as they hugged each other one more time.

Winnie was beside herself as she stepped up and held Bucky.  “I’m so proud of you for doing this, James.  We love you so much,” she cried.

“Love you, too, Ma,” Bucky said, hugging her tight before turning to his dad.

George was fighting back tears, but stepped up and held Bucky’s face like he did that night a few weeks before.  He stared at him for a moment before pulling him into a hug.  “My boy,” George sniffled.  “My beautiful boy.  I’m proud of you.  For all you’ve done, and all you will do.”  Bucky felt his eyes fill with tears.  He and his dad had always shared a special bond.  Being away from him was going to be hard.  “I love you.”

“I love you,” Bucky whispered.  They pulled apart and George held Bucky’s face one last time before turning away and walking with the others to the car.  They all waved goodbye before driving away, Bucky raising a hand before they disappeared.  He breathed deeply, quickly wiping away the wetness in his eyes before turning to face Y/N.  She was still at the top step, and gave him a warm smile.

“You alright?” Y/N asked.  

Bucky nodded as he walked back up the stairs.  “I’ll be fine.”

“Okay,” she said simply.  “Would you feel up to meeting everybody or would you like to rest?”

“I can meet everyone,” Bucky said.  He wasn’t feeling social, but he could at least get all the weird greetings out of the way.

“Awesome,” she brightened again and turned back to the house.

Bucky met all the other veterans in the home.  Scott, who he’d met before, was the class clown, always trying to get everyone to smile.  Wanda was quiet, kept to herself, but kind.  Her brother Pietro was there as well, and the complete opposite of her.  He was loud, vivacious, and extremely flirty.  Bucky had to hold back a laugh when Y/N very quickly and subtly put him in his place.  Bruce was the oldest out of everyone, and even quieter than Wanda, but he and Y/N seemed to have a special bond between them, almost like he was a father figure to her.  And lastly there was Clint.  He was jittery, animated, and couldn’t seem to stop moving.  He wore hearing aids, and at times would just give up speaking and start signing to Y/N, who was able to sign back to him.  

“We’re all a little mad here,” Clint had said, giving Bucky an exaggerated wink.  “That’s an Alice in Wonderland reference.  Have you seen it?  The newer one?  I thought it was good.  Some people didn’t think so but I liked it.  So what are you here for?”

“Clint!” Y/N whisper-yelled at him, her wide eyes staring at him incredulously.

“What?  We’re all fucked up. I’m just wondering why he’s fucked up,” Clint said like it was the most simple thing in the world.  

Bucky huffed a laugh.  “It’s okay.  I’m, uh, dealing with PTSD and nightmares and uh…a few other things,” he answered, trying to be open with these new people he was going to be living with.

“Huh, yeah me too,” Clint said, wide-eyed as his head nodded frantically.  “PTSD, depression, suicidal ideation, manic episodes, memory loss, lost my hearing,” he pointed to his ears, “but I gotta get better for my kids, ya know?  I’ve got 3.  Do you have kids?  A wife?  Or maybe a husband?  Sorry I don’t mean to assume.  I’m straight, but there’s nothing wrong if you’re not.  Whatever floats your boat, ya know?”

Bucky smiled wider, enjoying Clint’s run-on thoughts.  “No kids.  No wife.  No husband.  Not really looking for anything like that right now,” he said.  

Clint talked his ear off until Y/N called everyone in for dinner.  As they all sat and ate, Bucky got used to the noise, the voices talking over each other, the different conversations going on, passing plates and dishes over and over.  It was nice compared to how quiet his parents were, like they were walking on eggshells around him.  After dinner they all started to disperse and Bucky went back up to his room.  He finished unpacking the last few small things he had left and then sat on his bed, looking around the room.  He had a view of the backyard and could see Teddy playing fetch with Y/N outside.  He watched them for a minute, smiling at Teddy standing on his hind legs and being at eye level with Y/N, if not a smidge taller than her, as he licked her face.  He could faintly hear her protesting as she shoved him off and threw the ball again, making him streak across the yard again.  

Soon after she headed inside with Teddy and Bucky decided he was ready for bed.  It had been a long day of driving, unpacking, and being friendly, and he felt exhausted.  Just after he was dressed in his pajamas and brushed his teeth he heard a knock on his door.  He opened it to see Y/N standing there in her pajamas and Teddy sitting next to her but wagging his tail excitedly at seeing Bucky.

“Hey Bucky, mind if I come in for a minute?” Y/N asked.  

“Yeah, sure,” Bucky agreed and stepped aside.  She walked in and headed for the chair in the corner while Teddy sniffed and licked Bucky’s hands and followed him to his bed.  Bucky scratched his ears as he sat on the bed again, smiling as Teddy settled his head on Bucky’s knee.

“I’m sorry to interrupt as you're getting ready for bed.  But I figured we should go over your schedule,” she said.

“Right, sounds good,” Bucky agreed.  As she pulled out a paper and unfolded it she read over his schedule, making notes on her phone of things that needed changing.  “And lastly your comfy room times will be on Friday nights from 8 p.m. to 9 p.m.  I know it’s kinda late, and at the beginning of the weekend, so if we need to move it we can figure something out if you have plans.”

“I don’t think I’ll need that,” Bucky said, his voice coming out harsh.

Y/N blinked at him.  “Why not?”

“I just don’t,” Bucky said firmly, not looking at her.

Teddy’s head picked up at Bucky’s change in demeanor and bumped Bucky’s chin with his nose, a short whine coming from his throat.  Y/N leaned forward in the chair, setting the paper aside.  “Your mom alluded to the fact that you may have had something happen that you aren’t willing to talk about.  I understand–”

“No, you don’t,” Bucky said, glaring at her.  

Y/N didn’t seem angry or taken aback by his outburst.  She merely sighed as she watched him.  “I do, Buck.  More than you could imagine.”

Bucky’s frown deepened, his eyes narrowing at her as they stared at each other.  He had given the full report of what had happened to him to the doctor and commanding officer when he was rescued, because that’s what he was supposed to do, but no one else.  He had a suspicion that his parents had some idea of what may have happened, but he wasn’t willing to talk about it with anyone, at least not now.  But the look in Y/N’s eyes made him pause.

“Just meet with me once, and then if you don’t like it, you don’t have to do it again,” Y/N said imploringly.  

She had a knowing look in her eye that made him curious, so after a moment he nodded.  “Fine.  Just once.”

“Just once,” Y/N agreed, a small smile on her face.  She grabbed his schedule, stood and walked over to him, leaning down to scratch Teddy’s head before turning to the door.  “I’m just down the hall, so if you need anything let me know.  If those nightmares come back, me and Teddy will come running.”

Bucky patted Teddy one more time before Teddy scurried off with Y/N.  She gave Bucky one last smile before closing his door.  Bucky wondered at what she had said.  How could she know what he’d been through?  He’d been trained for torture, and yet nothing in the world could have prepared him for what he’d gone through.  He shook his head and laid down, trying to calm himself before sleep took him.  He really hoped it wouldn’t be too bad tonight.