A little bit of a new thing: I liked this scene in A Court of Mist and Fury and it was so fun to try to portray Feyre's dark thoughts in opposition of a idilic spring garden...Hope you like! ❤️🌹
Content- A Slimecicle fanfic idea I’ve had in the works. I just wanted to put the prologue out there for fun. I hope you enjoy :) l
- The flight home was boring, painfully boring. The kind where every minute stretched too long. I spent most of it staring out the tiny oval window beside me, watching clouds blur together while my headphones played songs I wasn’t really listening to.
I didn’t have anything to look forward to.
Well… that wasn’t entirely true.
I’d get to see Charlie for the first time in almost three months.
The thought made my stomach twist in a way I couldn’t tell was excitement or guilt. Probably both. Mostly guilt.
Because the truth was, I wasn’t even sure he’d want to see me.
I ghosted him.
Not on purpose, it started small, as it always did. missed calls, shorter replies, excuses about activities and counselors taking our phones(even though that wasn’t something they did). Then eventually I just… stopped answering altogether. Weeks of unread messages piled up while I convinced myself I’d text him tomorrow. Tomorrow turned into another week, then another.
It wasn’t like I stopped thinking about him. It’s all I did do.
Everything was always included him, despite not being there. Tanning at the pool instead of swimming, fancy breakfast with ice coffees, silk bedsheets. Everything I did during vacation was something we would’ve made fun of.
My parents found the link directly on Shelby Mortin’s Mom’s Facebook Page. “A Girls Dream Summer Vaca.”
An all-girls summer camp three states away, dropped into my lap a month before school ended. I didn’t think it was real. Charlie and I joked about what the three months could do to me. It was supposed to be a gag, not relatily
Now here I am, on my flight home with new clothes, hair, and a personality that Charlie might grow to hate.
My parents desperate for something—anything—that could make me “presentable….likable” Less me, though they would never say it out loud.
And maybe it worked.
Or maybe it just made me forget who I was. I spent so long pretending to be someone I wasn’t. Now I didn’t know how to take off the mask.
The overhead light above me flickered twice before the seatbelt sign dinged on. A flight attendant’s voice crackled through the speakers, calm and rehearsed, telling us we’d begun our descent.
I hated this part.
The pressure in my ears. The way my stomach dropped when the plane tilted downward.
Outside the window, the clouds finally broke apart, revealing tiny clusters of lights below us. Cars crawled along highways like glowing ants. Houses looked miniature from up here, tiny ones from the toys I used to play with.
Home.
I swallowed hard and tightened the seatbelt across my lap.
People around me started waking up, stretching, collecting bags from under seats. A little kid across the aisle pressed his face dramatically against the window while his mom tried pulling him back.
My thumb hovered over my phone screen the second we got service again.
Three months.
Three months and his contact was still pinned at the top of my messages.
The last texts he sent sat there unanswered.
you alive?
did i do something?
okay. cool.
That last one hurt. He knew what I was doing. Pulling away.
I stared at the screen until the words blurred together. My chest felt tight, hot with shame.
I should’ve texted weeks ago.
Months ago.
I should’ve explained that camp was miserable. That I felt like I was being watched all the time. That I was performing all summer instead of relaxing. That I missed him so badly, I’d cry in the bathroom of the cabins.
But instead, I disappeared.
And somehow, despite all of that, he was still the first person I thought about texting now.
My fingers hesitated over the keyboard before I finally typed:
just landed.
I stared at it for a second too long before deleting the message.
~
The suitcase made a heavy thump when I threw it onto my bed. The sound echoed softly through my room, familiar and comforting in a way the camp cabins never were. They weren’t even cabins, I thought. Just something rich people advertised it to be—when they were actually one story buildings with AC, twin full size beds, and silk sheets.
God, I missed being home. I missed the dark colors, posters, trinkets I’ve collected.
My queen-sized bed was shoved against the wall opposite my door, still covered in the faded gray blankets I left behind at the start of summer. The corner of the room held my dresser and old TV, wires tangled beneath it exactly how I remembered. Above the dresser hung the mirror with photos of Charlie and me tucked into the seam between the wood and glass.
Little snapshots of us frozen in time.
One at the county fair with powdered sugar all over his hoodie because I laughed mid-bite. Another blurry one from sophomore year where he looked annoyed I was taking pictures in the first place. There was even an old photo booth strip where his arm rested lazily around my shoulders while I smiled too hard at the camera. The night he kissed me in the last photo. He always complained about that one, that he looked awkward. I’d reassure him again and again that it was my favorite.
My chest tightened looking at them.
I wondered if Charlie was home.
My phone sat quietly on the bedspread.
No text. No missed call. Nothing.
He knew I landed today. He practically was counting down the days when I left.
I shoved the thought to the back of my mind immediately, forcing myself to focus on unpacking instead. That was more productive. Less pathetic.
I unzipped the suitcase and started throwing clothes into the hamper without folding any of them. The scent of camp—luxurious detergent, high end Korean sunscreen, chlorine water rose from the fabric and made me wrinkle my nose.
I pulled the empty suitcase off the mattress and let it collapse against the wall.
I’d deal with the rest later.
Right now, I just wanted to feel clean.
I grabbed shower stuff from under the sink along with an oversized shirt and pajama shorts from my dresser. My movements felt restless, rushed. Like if I stopped moving for too long, every thought I’d been avoiding would catch up to me.
No matter what I did he lingered in the back of my thoughts.
The bathroom light buzzed faintly overhead as steam slowly filled the room.
I hoped the hot water would wash away the anxious feeling crawling beneath my skin. It felt like bugs almost—itchy and impossible to ignore.
Why hasn’t he texted me?
Maybe he was mad.
He should be.
I squeezed shampoo into my palm harder than necessary.
Maybe I should just go over there.
He lived next door anyways.
The thought lodged itself into my brain instantly. I could picture it too easily—walking across the grass separating our houses, knocking on his window instead of the front door like I always used to.
I remember how excited he was when he convinced his Mom to move his bedroom downstairs. ‘Now I can sneak you end. No curfew.’+
But what if he didn’t answer?
What if he did?
I groaned quietly and tipped my head back under the water.
For the next ten minutes I went back and forth with myself nonstop.
Just go.
No, that’s weird.
He probably hates you.
He wouldn’t hate you.
You ignored him for months.
Yeah, because you freaked out and handled it badly.
Eventually, somewhere between rinsing conditioner out of my hair and nearly slipping while shaving the bottom of my left leg, I made up my mind.
After my shower, I’d go over.
Even if it was awkward.
Even if he looked at me differently now.
I steadied myself against the shower wall with a shaky breath, razor still in my hand. Water dripped from my fingertips while my thoughts spiraled again.
Maybe I could wait until tomorrow.
Maybe showing up unannounced was stupid.
Maybe…
A sudden buzz from my phone echoed faintly from my bedroom.
My entire body froze. Who else could it be?
Hey I’m outside.
I didn’t bother to close my phone. I slipped my slippers on and ran downstairs, nearly eating shit on the last step when Marcee(Our well loved cat) darted between my legs.
Her tail became a victim of my urgency.
She screeched.
“I’m sorry!” I yelled back instinctively, already halfway down the stairs.
I stood in front of the back door, chest tight. Charlie always met me there. He said the front door was too formal and the backyard entrance was closer anyway.
Through the glass, I saw him standing there awkwardly proud of himself, flowers tucked under one arm and a little gift basket dangling from his hand.
My chest warmed instantly. Right alongside the guilt that had followed me home from the plane.
His expression shifted the second I opened the door.
“Your hair?” he said flatly. “You changed it.”
I touched it subconsciously. “Oh. Yeah. It was kinda my birthday gift from my parents.” I shifted on my feet. “Do you like it?”
“Uh, yeah. I do. It’s just…different.”
I knew he was lying.
Or maybe not lying exactly. Just trying not to admit it reminded him too much of Shelby’s hair. Someone we both hated equally. Someone I swore I’d never become.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said quickly, like he wanted to move past it. “My mom made me help with her book club thing and it ran forever. Then I realized I still needed to get you a gift.”
He pushed the basket toward me.
“Here. Welcome home.”
I smiled so hard my cheeks hurt. “I missed you,” I admitted sheepishly.
The words surprised both of us.
Charlie’s face softened for a second before he looked away. “Didn’t really feel like it, to be honest.”
My stomach dropped slightly. “What?”
“I thought they changed you up there.”
“Charlie.” I laughed nervously. “No. I’m still me. Camp was just…a lot.”
“Oh yeah?” he asked, following me inside. “Tell me all about the rich popular girls from New York.”
And so I did.
He followed me upstairs while I unpacked what remained, sitting cross legged on the carpet, while I told story after story. At first it felt easy again. Laughing at the camping was just rich people having vacation somewhere where nature was heavily surrounded.
But as the night dragged on, I noticed Charlie’s demeanor changing.
Every conversation somehow finding a sour end, before we moved to a new topic.
The girls I talked about were “snobby.”
The camp sounded “fake.”
The people I met sounded “annoying.”
And every time I defended any part of it, he retaliated. Confusion at first but eventually frustration.
Like we were both realizing there was suddenly time I spent at game drew us apart.
At one point, when I was laughing about something stupid that happened at the lake, Charlie interrupted me.
“You really liked it there, huh?”
“Yeah,” I answered carefully. “I did.”
He nodded slowly, eyes dropping to the floor.
Before camp, silence with Charlie used to feel comfortable. That night it felt heavy, like trying to swim while holding dumbbells.
At some point while I was talking, he leaned closer without thinking. Muscle memory. Like all those times we spent ‘figuring it out.’ Our first kiss at the fair didn’t change anything between us. No label, feelings, nothing had changed but now?
I froze.
Because before camp, I would’ve let him kiss me. Maybe I even wanted him to.
But now all I could think about was how different he suddenly looked sitting in my bedroom. How badly I wanted to fit into the version of myself I created over the summer.
And Charlie belonged too much to the old version of me.
So I shifted away before he could close the distance. Pretending I didn’t notice.
His expression changed instantly. Small enough that someone else might’ve missed it.
But I didn’t.
After that, everything felt off.
He left earlier than I expected.
And his gift sat untouched on my dresser long after he was gone.
You come home after getting broken up with. Caleb notices. He always notices…
Tags- caleb xia, caleb drabble, use of ‘mei mei’, fluff, your first breakup, caleb x reader, caleb x you, love and deep space, etc.
Unedited- sorry for typos
Your first boyfriend of two years finally broke the news. For a while, you thought maybe it was the stress; final exams, graduation, entrance exams. Thoughts swirled through your head everytime you hung out with him. Anytime you asked it was the same answer. ‘I’m okay. You don’t need to worry.’
The summer heat that laid on your skin like a blanket. Most days the warmth was comforting but day. The heat was like fire burning and pricking at your skin.
Jestindly waiting indront of the door of Gran’s house, your thoughts about how you would tell everyone.
You wanted to avoid it but the dried mascra that pathetically ran down while he broke your heart was enought to show something was wrong. Knowing Caleb he wouldn’t let it go until you told him.
You thought about crawling into his arms like you always did. Something Nathan(your boyfriend, no ex) hated.
Caleb was always going to be there. But the humiliation of this was something new, raw, and personal.
You gently turn the doorknob, hoping no one would hear you. Despite your endovors Caleb was slouched on the couch. His phone in hand had his full attention afore you walked in.
You heat shot down before he could meet your eyes.
Gran yelled out a hello.
You took in a breath before greeting her from afar.
Thankfully Calebs gaze dropped back to his celllhone. You retreated down the hallway to your room.
~
The bed was freezing as you slipped beneath the dueve. The second you curled yourself in the tears started. Initially it was the anxiety you felt trying to hide from Caleb.
After a few minutes of deep breathing you decided itd be best to turn on a distraction.
You grabbed the tv remote. Tapping the home button to take your display out of rest mode.
You scrolled aimlessly through the shows, then to another platform to repeat the same ritual.
Gran had announced dinner was ready. You stayed in bed. The tv humming softly, while you scanned old messages between you and Nathan.
Caught so deeply in the transe of self loathing you didnt notice Caleb walk in. Maybe that was just him…he was slick like that. Always sneaking up behind you and Gran. He swore it wasn’t on purpose though.
“Hey Pip,” you stayed still.
“Pip, you okay? I brought you a plate.” His footsteps closes. The bed dips in with his weight. He asks again. “Pips, you can talk to me y’know.” His hand rested on the curve of your stomach. You were still facing the wall.
His soft reassurance was breaking you. ‘You can tell me anything. I’m always going to protect you.’ His hand still on the curve of your stomach.
He sat the plate down on the side table. “Im not leaving til ya talk to me.” Instead of laying next to me he got up and sat on the floor against the bed.
~
I guess he was serious when he said ‘im not going anywhere’. Its not that you didnt want him around. You did. Its just talking about a breakip with Caleb. He wouldnt understand.
Since we were kids it was always…
‘omge, does he have a girlfriend.’
‘Your sooo lucky you live with him.’
‘Are you guys even related.’
‘You aren’t technically related.’
The commenets at fiest made you uncomfortable. You could understand Caleb was handsome. Exactly why you don’t want to talk to him about a breakup. But you grew up together, despite not being biological related he would always see me as his baby sister.
~
The only light that lit the room was the sun going down, tv, and Calebs giant ass phone he swore he needed.
“Meimei,” he whispered. “When are you going to open up to me?” The floor creaked under his weight.
His words were exactly like his hands tracing over your skin, both leaving goosebumps.
You adjust yourself to face him. He still on the floor his arm resting on the twin size bed.
“There you are. You ready to talk?”
You nodded, the invitation alone had him swooping you into his arms.
“Nath-nathan broke up with me.” The confession fell from your lips.
“Well he was a-“
“Caleb!” You cried, “just because you didn’t like him doesn’t mean that changes how I feel.”
“Im sorry Pip. You deserve the world. You deserve everything.” His finger swiped away a tear. “He was never worthy of you.”
“Oh Caleb,” you sniffed, “you’re being dramatic.”
“Im not. I mean it. I’m sure Grams would agree.”
He pulled you into his arms, you snuggled closer how you always did.
୨୧ — Caleb's palm cups your cheek, thumb brushing a tear from your cheek, smearing salt and sweat. "Pipsqueak, I…" he murmurs, guilt flickering across his features as he takes in your wrecked state- cum smeared thighs, your puffy, fucked out hole still weeping his seed onto the already wrecked sheets... body absolutely limp. "Shit. I went too far."
You try to reassure him, to push a weak 's'okay', but all that comes out is a garbled, wet mumble, your throat still raw from screaming and stuffed full of his cock earlier.
His knuckles brush a damp strand of hair from your temple, the touch startlingly soft after the bruising grip he'd used hours earlier. "Don't move a muscle," he orders before pressing a feather light kiss to your sweaty forehead, "not one."
He vanishes into the bathroom- click of the light, hiss of running water before returning with a warm washcloth.
The first swipe across your collarbone is heaven as he works with focused gentleness that steals your breath- wiping the mascara that threatens to stain your cheeks, the pearly streaks from your belly the, and the slick mess from your inner thighs. His thumb grazes your swollen folds, making you jolt. "Shhh. Hold still," he says softly, dabbing with infinite care at your tender, reddened flesh, "i've got you."
As he tends to you, his gaze fall on something in the corner of the bed. A small smile tugs at his lips as he reaches for the worn plush frog piloting a plane- a silly gift he gave you months ago that has somehow become a fixture in your shared space.
"Look who's here," he says, voice warm and playful as he makes the stuffed frog bob and weaves in front of your nose. "Mr. Frog was worried about you."
Despite your exhaustion, a smile breaks across your face. Caleb presses the little green pilot against your cheek in a playful "kiss", the childish gesture so at odds with the man who just fucked you senseless that you can't help but giggle. "Caaaleb," you finally manage, swatting at him weakly, "I'm okay." You nuzzle at Mr. Frog affectionately before looking up at Caleb, "We're both okay." and you feel how his arms lock tighter around you- not restraining, just anchoring.
His shoulders seem to release tension he didn't even know he was carrying as he gives you a gentle smile… his palm spreading protectively over where his daughter grows within you. "Both," he repeats softly, wonder and relief painting his voice as his thumb continues its gentle circles on your belly.
He stretches out beside you, gathering your tired body against his chest, his lips brushing your forehead as he pulls the blankets over you both. "My girls." he whispers with quiet happiness, and you feel his chin rest gently atop your head as he tucks the covers around your shoulders.
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