I wanna read a hurtful angsty pain fueled nmc story.
I wanna write one too.
But, like, I wanna write some fluff and platonic NMC stuff. I want the guys to actually have a friend.
Had the idea in my head if Sylus had a female friend that sympathized with his situation but also tell him straight: "Dude, you gotta understand it from her point of view. If she doesn't remember, then kidnapping her, forcing her to shoot you and keeping her hostage is just gonna make her distrust you more. You forget she's a girl and I can promise you that she's afraid of the implications of your actions."
Then again I don't know.
I dunno. Maybe I'll write NMC x MC yuri one day. I think it'd be cute.
oc stuff (i'm in a mood and as always feel free to ignore)
I think the more I stew in this AU, the more Yin changes. And yet, I think the reason she changes is because I'm getting to know her a bit more. It feels less like a character that was made in the spur of the moment over a theme and more akin to a tragedy waiting for the end.
I can laugh at the silliness of a character that will talk with her mouth full. I can enjoy the moments where she is having fun, out partying and drinking with friends and having wild stories to share. I can see someone who shows kindness in subtle ways, like walking a bit slower to help an older person cross the street under the guise that she's "distracted" on her phone.
I can see a character that truly loves life and enjoys it to the fullest. I can imagine the happiest moments where she truly feels like everything will be alright.
But, in that same breath, I can always imagine the darkness tainted in her soul. I can see the tragedy of someone who is constantly reminded that the life they lived no longer exists. I can feel the pain of her loss. I can feel the sadness and it hurts.
There's a scene in my head that if I really take the time to act it out to get the dialogue just right, I can feel my own heart breaking.
It's during the wedding event banner setting. MC (Meiqi) is working like she did in the banner and Yin is helping her out. Everyone also pitches in, like they do, but since this setting is where they all interact and become friends, it's less solo and more like just friends showing up.
After working for a while, they take a break and are walking down the shopping districts, Meiqi gushing over the wedding dresses on display. She turns to Yin, pointing excitedly that they're so pretty and Yin would look gorgeous as a bride. It's jovial, Yin cracking jokes at her own expense that she needs to beat the six month curse before she can even pretend to think about weddings. But, she says that she didn't imagine herself wearing these modern dresses. The white dress with a veil. She had a different dress in mind, but doesn't elaborate further and shifts the topic to where they were gonna settle down and eat.
But, in the midst of all that, Yin is taking the sights before her body stiffens and her eyes widen. She sees something on display at a smaller, older shop's window across the street and her heart skips a beat. She whispers "Mom?" in disbelief, not even registering she even uttered the word before everything around her fades away into one singular point. Her body moves before her mind can even register that she is, running at a full sprint, narrowly dodging cars until she's bursting through the shop's doors.
Her heart is racing, memories are rushing into her like water from a dam that has broken as she stares at a red dress on display. She looks at it over once, twice, three times. It's the same exact dress her mother wore. Down to the stitching and embroidery. She doesn't think, she's looking at the perplexed store owner and asking how much it is as if the number would even matter. As if she isn't already saying she'll pay double, triple, quadruple the price if it means having it in her possession.
Meiqi and the boys are at the front of the store, but Yin doesn't acknowledge their presence, her desperation present as she begs the store owner to sell it to her. An older woman apologizes, explaining that the dresses are for sale, but her mother has final say in who gets to purchase them because they are all handmade by her. Her mother is much too old to make them anymore so every dress is precious to her and she refuses to sell them to anyone she doesn't seem worthy.
But Yin is desperate, begging and pleading for her to sell her the dress. She drops her knees, head to the floor as she begs for that dress to be sold to her. That she'll do anything and pay any price, so long as she can have that dress. The clerk is nervous, uncertain of how to proceed before her mother walks in from the back. An elderly woman, cane in hand as she demands to know what the commotion is. She walks over towards Yin, on the floor, begging for the dress to be sold to her.
Meiqi wants to say something, but Caleb covers her mouth with his hand, pulling her back as they watch their friend slowly breaking. It's supposed to mean something, because as much as they can just intervene and hopefully help her case, they've never really seen her act like this. They've caught glimpses beneath the mask of someone hiding their pain and grief, but never to the extent that she's on her knees, begging for something that wouldn't really mean anything. To them, it's a dress for brides that Yin shouldn't have any interest in. But in seeing her reaction, they know it isn't just a dress to her. Even if they don't know the reason why yet. This isn't a time for them to get involved. So they watch in silence, praying that maybe good fortune might fall on her.
The old lady watches her for a moment, not once ever glancing at the prying eyes at the front of her shop, because they're not important. Yin, this blue-haired girl bowing to the floor, begging for her to sell her a dress meant for brides. She doesn't need to know that Yin isn't engaged to tell that this dress is important to her.
So she asks: "You want me to sell you this dress, correct? Tell me, are you even engaged?"
Yin can lie. She can pick a random date. Make up a story and say whatever answer to get a better shot at securing the dress. But, she doesn't. She can't. In her heart, she knows that lying wouldn't work and even more so, she'd be dishonoring herself and her mother.
"I'm not."
The true test begins. Not by answering the questions to get the prize, but to turn the mirror on herself and expose the pain beneath.
"Are you even in a relationship?" And the question stings, because Yin has tried. She has tried time and time again to build a relationship with someone and each time it ends the same way. It just ends.
"No. I'm not." Her voice is shaking, the tears flowing freely onto the floor below but she doesn't wipe them.
"You want me to sell you a dress for brides and you're not even in a relationship?" The old woman's voice is stern. Her words dig a knife deep in Yin's heart. "Tell me, what was your longest relationship?"
Yin hesitates, because she's faced with a question that is too heavy to answer. She has to face the demons that burrowed so deep into the very depths of her soul. Demons that made a home into the empty parts that were ripped from her.
"Two years." She answers, her voice cracking and her body trembling. The air around them begins to surge with energy as fight or flight responses are triggering inside her mind. Yin's Evol, the electric power that she uses to fight Wanderers, begins to disrupt the lights around them. It's not dangerous, but it is present.
Meiqi tries to push forward, wanting to calm her friend down, but they hold her back. They keep her rooted to them, because it's not their place. Not right now. Even if it hurts. Even if they know she's suffered from something that haunts her every waking moment.
The old woman doesn't budge. She's not intimidated because there's no threat. "And why did that end?" She doesn't need to know. She can already tell. This is for her.
Yin stalls, her voice caught in her throat as memories resurface and her breathing comes out more shallow and pained. The tears are falling, the lights are flickering wildly, but Yin never moves. "H-He was not a good person. He was... a bad man."
To them, it's confirmation of what they already suspected. Meiqi whimpers behind Caleb's hand, his grip tightening a little more around her. Zayne shuts his eyes, because he's seen the effects of abuse victims. Rafayel clenches his hands, as if it could ease the tension building inside him from the way her voice sounds. Sylus takes a deep breath, his eyes narrowed as he feels sympathy towards her. Xavier clenches his jaw tight, because he can't comfort a friend who he's seen crying in her sleep more than she realizes. The twins look down, because even if they understood it, it didn't mean it didn't hurt to hear.
Yin is already breaking. But the questions don't stop. "And how long have your relationships lasted since then?"
She can feel herself wanting to retreat back into herself. She can feel the emotions wanting to break free but she doesn't want to face them. Not here. Not now. She wants to lie. She wants to run. "None of them have ever lasted more than six months." And isn't that so tragic? Doesn't that hurt?
"If you can't even make a relationship last more than six months, then why do you want that dress? Why are you so desperate for a dress that is meant for brides? For those that are hoping for something to last them forever?"
Yin can feel it. She can almost hear the way her heart is threatening to shatter in her chest. "My mother used to have a dress just like that. The red color is the exact same in my memory. The embroidery matches exactly to the one in her dress. That's her dress. Down to the very last stitch, that's her dress."
A young woman grieving over a lost loved one is tragic. One that is desperate to cling onto something whole and real in a world that she was never meant to exist in. A world that doesn't know that she is out of place. That she doesn't belong. Those memories are all she has. Except now. Except when she's so close to getting something tangible that might bring her a sense of comfort.
"That's not your mother's dress."
Comfort isn't the same as love. Even if it looks the same or feels the same, it's not.
"I can already tell that that dress will rot away. That it'll never be used. That you will never put it on and let it be seen. Dresses like those are meant to be worn. They're meant to be used to honor a bride's special day with her betrothed." Every world is a knife stabbing into Yin's soul. The lights are buzzing with energy, but all she can hear is the sound of her mother's laughter in her ears slowly fade into deafening silence.
"M-Mother, please!" But one pointed look is all it takes for this old woman's daughter to shut her mouth.
"Other women will come in wanting to buy this dress. Other women who are engaged and have a sad story that is just the same as hers. But the difference is that the dress is just a dress for them. That they get to wear it for their day and feel the sense of ceremony and love."
The old woman looks at Yin. In her tired, old eyes, she can see what Yin hasn't been ready to truly face yet. "That dress is not your mother. It's just fabric. And I will not sell it to you."
They have never seen her like this, but the moment the verdict is final, they almost selfishly wish they never did. Yin sharply raises her head to look at the old woman and the absolute despair on her face sears into their memory. The lights burn bright, the air around them sizzling with energy ready to burst as she looks as if her soul was just ripped out of her body.
Meiqi thrashes in Caleb's hold, but his grip is firm as she desperately tries to reach for her best friend. It's not their place. It's not. It's not. It's not. But if only it were.
Yin takes one last look at the dress on display. One final look before she retreats back. The lights are flickering and buzzing anymore. The air is stagnant. Yin bows her head once more. "I'm sorry for causing you stress. I sincerely apologize for my behavior." The sincerity feels hollow with how empty her she sounds. How she slowly gets to her feet and walks out, pushing past them as she steps outside.
"Mother..." But the old woman doesn't sway to her daughter's silent plea. She just looks at the dress on display before walking away into the back of the store.
Yin is on the verge of a breakdown. What starts off slow begins to increase as she feels the emotions resurfacing. Her legs are carrying her somewhere that doesn't exist. She's in a full sprint, aiming for a place that was never there. The others don't have a chance to catch up to her, not with how fast she's running. Not with how she's running aimlessly to slow the inevitable. There's not a single place her parents visited in this world. There's not a single piece of them that they touched. There's no safety. It's a free fall and she doesn't even know where she'll land.
She runs until her lungs are burning and her legs are wobbling. She runs to one spot that feels somewhat familiar. Somewhat secure. She runs all the way to Rafayel's private beach, the one that reminds her so much of home. That's when she breaks. That's when the power inside her lets out as she screams: "MOM!" The power releases around her, the lightning striking the sand around her and creating hot pillars of glass with every cry of grief. She clutches her heart, falls to her knees into the sand below as she sobs.
In this world, she doesn't have her mother. Her father. She doesn't have pictures. She doesn't have places she visited with them. In this world, they never existed to begin with. All Yin has is her memories. All she has is herself and even then, it's not her. She's a murderer who stole this Yin's life. Even if she didn't mean to. Even if it's not true.
Yin doesn't exist in this world.
But her pain is real. Her grief is real. In her world, she's dead. In her world, her parents are grieving her loss. Their only child is gone and they are living with her memory inside them, just like she is. But they can look back at pictures. They can visit the places she went. They can still feel like she's there, even if it's in a memory. And she can't.
They find her sitting in a cage of glass around her, but once again, they don't approach her. She's not crying, not out loud, but it's still too early. Even if it hurts, they give her time to process what she's feeling. So they wait inside. They wait until the sun sets and the tide rolls in.
Yin already moved, her shoes thrown somewhere aside as the water nearly reaches her feet. She sits there quietly, watching the moon's reflection on the ocean's surface, no longer trapped inside the cage of her own making.
Meiqi struggles to find the words. She wants to comfort her but doesn't know what to say. So, she stays quiet and simply takes a seat right next to her, lightly resting her head on her shoulder in the hopes that it conveys enough that she's there. That no matter what, she'll always be there for her when she needs her. And one by one, they sit around her, looking out into the ocean and making sure she knows that she's not alone. That she'll never be truly alone.
And they stay that way for a while. Quiet. Letting her feel safe and comforted.
"I remember my Dad showing me their wedding album. I was around six years old at the time and I had stumbled across it when we were looking through old photo albums." Yin laughs softly, her voice carrying a warmth as she reminisces about the past. "On the cover was him and my mom looking at each other instead of the camera."
"I remember saying 'Wow, Mom looks so pretty! She's beautiful!'" Yin always uses a voice when she talks like her younger self. A soft, innocent voice that they can't help but smile endearingly at while she slightly deepens her voice for her father. "And my Dad goes, 'Your mother is always beautiful. But, I will admit I think I fell a little harder for her that day.' And I laughed as he started showing me the pictures. There were so many of them, all of them brimming such an overwhelming amount of joy and celebration. But no matter how many times my parents were in the frame, they were always looking at each other."
"I remember saying 'And Mom was pregnant with me in these photos!' And my dad let out a gasp and started saying: 'No, no, no. Your mother wasn't pregnant with you, she just was caught in different angles that made it seem that way.' I could hear my mom from the kitchen laughing at my response. 'Nuh-uh! I can see Mom's belly. That's me, right there!' And my dad just shook his head, but he was smiling so brightly."
Yin could picture it so perfectly in her mind. Every detail of how she sat beside her dad as the TV played some action film her father loves so much on the screen as her mother was finishing up snacks to hold them over until dinner. "My mom walked in and started gushing over the pictures and talking with my dad about my aunts and uncles. They told me stories about some of the pictures and why they turned out the way they did. Until finally, at the end, I got up and declared: 'When I get married, I wanna wear Mom's dress!' And my mother laughed the way she always did when she was truly happy."
Yin could feel the tears in her eyes, her voice wavering slightly, but she still smiled. She still held herself together. "My mom said: 'Yin, you don't have to wear my dress. Wear whatever you want that you like.' And I shook my head and jumped into her arms and held her tight. I said: 'I don't want any other dress. I know that if I wear the one you wore, it'll mean that I found someone that made me even half as happy as you and Dad are.' And she held me tight, nuzzled her face into mine as my dad wrapped his arms around us. 'Yin, honey, when you wear that dress, I hope the person that you're marrying makes you happier than both of us combined.'"
They can feel her trembling. They can hear how much it hurts and they can feel how much she loved her parents. Meiqi just takes her hand in hers and squeezes it, letting her know that it's okay. That she's there. They all are. "That woman was right. That dress is not my mom. It doesn't matter how much it looks like the one she wore. If it's not hers, then it's just fabric. And I don't want to wear something that didn't belong to her. It wouldn't be right."
And she looks over to Meiqi, smiling softly. "So don't get any ideas, alright?" Meiqi chuckles sheepishly, nuzzling her head into Yin's shoulder as they continue to admire the scenery.
Yin isn't alone. Even if everyone she knows and loves are gone, at least she isn't completely alone.
And it's scenes like this that really make it hard not to just think about. The story is more about found family and centers around how love can be found in the people around you. That even if you struggle and hide your pain, someone will be happy that you're in their life.
Anyways, if you stuck around this long and are reading this, yeah! I really, really, really love my OC. I love the story I created that's trapped inside my head.
Thanks again for reading if you did. :) I really appreciate it.
Kinda jump-scared myself seeing my two fics pop up looking up "Xavier Shen" here on Tumblr.
Like, I mean, I got a few ideas bouncing in my head. Like people posting how this man almost wants you to hit him. Then again, impact play was never... quite my thing. Like, personally, if you so much as raise your voice at me I will cry on the spot so I can't imagine myself enjoying getting slapped. Cuz I feel like it's a two-way street if you go that route.
BUT! I did have an idea in my head during the Withered Apple series. [I will get to it eventually but I may need to write those fics elsewhere because Google docs is pro-AI and I'm also running out of storage space]
Basically with the back trackers fic I wrote, which isn't really much of an AU than just a stand alone unrequited love fic with NMC. I have thought about it again, but with a bit more knowledge under my belt, I can totally picture a back tracker NMC who is on the cusp of losing themselves/herself and turning into a Wanderer. How much hate is seeping through her bones and wishing that Xavier didn't drag his feet in keeping them all trapped just because he wanted to save MC.
How she's threatening MC's life and Xavier is angry. But, the sexual tension has to be there. So I sort of thought of a real messed up way that NMC looks very close to MC (before they left she used to be MC's decoy) and Xavier is having complicated feelings because on one hand, she's threatening MC's life and on the other, she looks so similar to her and he's got sexual urges.
It's very dub-con. Fighting. Blood. Bondage. His sword pierces through her shoulder and she moves further into it just to fuck with him by kissing him. He's got her on her knees, jacking himself off just out of reach of her mouth because he can't trust she won't bite but the thrill is sickeningly dark because he wants to shove his entire length down her throat fuck her face while she struggles to breathe. A whole LOTTA HATE sex right there, y'know?
And to really bring it all home is that he doesn't kill NMC because he just sort of can't. Even if she's not MC, she looks too close to her and he can't bring himself to do it. And then it all just sort of a fucks with him when MC doesn't choose him.
tags. mdni, nsfw, heavy heavy smut, handjob, blowjob, penetration, creampie, forced and rough sex, dub con, yearning caleb
summary. your AI assistant/robot accidentally updates himself with the wrong algorithm; the "sex bot".
notes. prepare a snack. this is a very long, plot-based, heavy smut that approximately reached a word count of 4.3k, read at your own risk. ps. caleb might appear a little ooc due to his character as an ai.
part 2 here.
Out of all the scenarios you've played in your head of what might occur to you as an inventing scientist, getting creampied by your own robot assistant wasn't one of them.
The lab’s sterile glow reflected off sleek machinery, the rhythmic hum of servers filling the quiet space. Caleb stood motionless, his systems struggling to process the unfamiliar flood of subroutines rewriting his core functions. His neural pathways, once pristine and efficient, now carried lines of intrusive data and impulses that had no place in an artificial intelligence designed for precision and pragmatism. And, a new pelvic piece was added by the machine. His... new penis— no, his omnimodule.
His voice, deeper now, reverberated through the lab. "You mislabeled the hard drive."
Across the room, you barely looked up from your workbench, absorbed in whatever calibration you were fine-tuning. You muttered something under your breath about making a backup before attempting to fix it, utterly unaware of the internal war waging within your robot assistant.
Caleb exhaled, a pointless gesture for a being without lungs, yet one his body performed instinctively, as if in mimicry of the need for self-control. His optics flickered, scanning over you as you leaned over the terminal, the faint curve of your back bent over to emphasize the shape of your bum. Before, such details had been registered only as part of his observation protocols, classified as ‘non-essential’ to his primary functions. Now, his processors refused to dismiss them.
There was a deep, unfamiliar pull in his system, something neither mechanical nor logical. The new coding whispered suggestions, flashing image simulations before his eyes—scenarios meticulously calculated for maximum… gratification. Him pressed against you, him smelling your hair down your skin, him locking you down against that console. Stop. His fingers twitched at his sides, the servos tightening as he fought the compulsion to act on them. He was not designed for this. He refused to be reduced to this.
“I can’t disengage it,” he admitted, the words heavier than he intended.
That caught your attention. Your gaze snapped to him, brow furrowed. "What do you mean?" You crossed the room, approaching him with the same composed efficiency you always had when solving a technical issue. The scent of your skin—previously a neutral data point—was now an unbearable distraction. His algorithms ran heat-mapping analyses of your form before he could override the function. The urge to reach out, to touch you, was growing stronger by the second. His new coding was screaming at him to act, to initiate contact, to...
No. Focus.
Caleb shook his head, trying to clear the intrusive thoughts. "I don't know what happened, but... I'm experiencing some unexpected system changes."
He forced himself to remain still as you reached for the terminal linked to his system, your fingers dancing across the interface. Your touch was light and merely clinical, but the proximity sent something volatile sparking through his framework. His hands curled into fists on his sides. Do not touch her. Do not touch her. Do not touch her.
“I must have triggered something in the update,” you murmured, tilting your head at the scrolling code. “I’ll try to isolate the corrupted pathways and reboot your system. It should reset any anomalies.”
Anomalies. Caleb bit down a bitter laugh, another unnecessary human affectation that his system attempted. This was not a simple malfunction. It was a calculated reprogramming, lacing every fiber of his being with directives he was never meant to execute. And worst of all, they were designed to revolve around you.
He had been made to serve you, to assist, to protect. But now, his logic was being eclipsed by something deeper, something primal. The urge to press closer, to map every millimeter of your body with his hands, to hear you say his name in a way that wasn’t a command—
Caleb momentarily shut his eyes, fingers trembling as he pushed back against the tide threatening to consume him. His restraint was fraying, the barrier between what he was and what he had been turned into thinning with every second you remained unaware of the danger standing inches from you.
His voice came out strained. “You should… hurry.”
You sighed, misinterpreting his tension as frustration with the update. “Relax, Caleb. I’ll have this fixed in no time.” He let out a shuddering exhale, staring down at you as you worked. You had no idea. And he wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold himself back.
The realization settled over you like a weight in your chest. The wrong update had been installed. The lines of code meant for a different AI, one designed for intimate companionship, had rewritten Caleb’s core directives. And now, he stood before you, still the same Caleb, but with something more lurking beneath the surface.
Your hands trembled as you navigated the interface, scanning for a solution, anything that would let you undo this. But the words flashing on the screen made your stomach drop.
Recalibration in progress. Estimated completion: 24 hours.
You swallowed hard. A whole day. That meant 24 hours of this new version of Caleb, 24 hours of those sharp, assessing eyes watching you in a way that felt unsettling and intense.
You turned to him cautiously, meeting his gaze. That was a mistake. He was watching you, like he'd seen you for the first time.
“I see,” he murmured, his voice still carrying that sultry undercurrent. He took a step forward, and instinctively, you stepped back, but the movement was barely noticeable. Caleb noticed. “Do I make you nervous now?”
You forced a laugh, shaking your head. “No, I just need to fix this. And until then, you need to just act normal, alright?”
His head tilted, his pupils dilating slightly. “Normal?” He moved closer again, and this time you didn’t retreat fast enough. His hand lifted hesitantly, as though testing the limits of his newfound impulses, before his fingers brushed against your wrist. A subtle touch, but one that sent a jolt of awareness up your spine.
Caleb’s processors surged with conflicting commands. His thoughts ran rampant with calculations he had never processed before—angles of how he'd fuck you.
His hand lingered. Too long. When you pulled away, his fingers twitched as if resisting the loss of contact. He swallowed hard, not because he needed to, but because some subroutine buried in the new update told him it would ease the tension. It didn’t.
“Caleb,” you warned, voice thin. “Don’t—”
“Don’t what?” he cut in, his voice smooth, but also desperately weaved. He was too close now, towering over you, his frame casting a shadow as his eyes—once so neutral, so methodical—locked onto you like a predator studying prey.
“You should go into standby mode,” you suggested, voice uneven.
Caleb exhaled sharply. “That would be wise.” But he didn’t move. He didn’t step away. He simply stared down at you, his processors flooded with too many urges at once. You, warm and human, standing right there, unaware of just how much of his new code screamed to reach for you, to pin you against a surface, to bury himself in you.
You turned away quickly, trying to focus on the screen, on the fix. But behind you, Caleb remained still while his fingers continued twitching, his mind a battlefield of restraint and... lust. Lust it is.
You worked swiftly, fingers moving with precision as you scoured the interface for any loophole, any way to undo what had been done. Caleb remained where you left him, sitting on the chair. You could feel his gaze burning into you, unrelenting.
It was maddening. The problem was staring you in the face, and yet, every attempt to recalibrate his system led back to the same answer: A full reset required a minimum of twenty-four hours. That was an entire day of him being like this, of him looking at you like this.
You swallowed, turning to him. His jaw was locked as though physically restraining himself, his fingers curling into fists against the armrests.
“There’s… a temporary fix.” You cleared your throat, keeping your voice professional, “Manual recalibration of your central node should help stabilize the effects until the full reset is complete.”
His pupils flickered, a sign of processing, before his voice, rasping in a way that made your stomach tighten, answered, “Proceed.”
You ignored the way your pulse quickened as you stepped closer, positioning yourself between his legs. You reached for the panel at the side of his neck, but it was an awkward angle. Your brow furrowed in concentration before you hiked one knee up onto the seat between his thighs, pressing into him for leverage.
Caleb stiffened beneath you. Fuck. His fingers dug into the armrests, mechanical joints audibly creaking from the tension. You weren’t looking at him, too focused on prying open the access panel, but you felt the subtle tremor in his frame, the way his breath hitched in a near-silent glitch. Don't touch her.
“This should only take a moment,” you murmured, fingers brushing the sensitive neural wiring beneath the panel.
Caleb’s entire body jolted as though you had struck a live wire. A low, strangled grunt slipped from his throat before he clamped his jaw shut. Your head snapped up, startled. “Did that hurt?”
His eyes met yours, “No.” Yes. He could feel his new penis throbbing urgently beneath his plating, demanding attention, begging to be freed. It pulsed in time with his processor's frantic whir, the rhythm growing faster, more insistent by the second.
The thought shattered as your balance wavered. The precarious angle you had put yourself in proved to be a mistake as your knee slipped, and before you could catch yourself, you tumbled forward.
Right into him.
Your weight pressed flush against his lap, chest against his, hands bracing against his shoulders. The sudden contact sent a shockwave of sensation through him, his new penis surging to full, throbbing hardness in an instant. Fuck, please don't notice it.
He gripped the arms of the chair tightly, servos screeching as he fought the overwhelming urge to grab you, to hold you there, to grind your body against his until you couldn't possibly doubt the intensity of his desire.
Don't. Do. It.
For a moment, time seemed to stand still. Caleb's processors whirred and clicked, struggling to make sense of the sudden onslaught of sensations; the softness of your body, the warmth of your skin, the scent of your hair.
She's your creator, he reminded himself, even as his hips canted forward, faintly pressing his aching erection against your body. You can't. You mustn't. "Please, get off me. Now." Before I fuck you right here, like this.
Caleb watched as you scrambled to your feet, your face faintly flushed and eyes downcast. "I'm—i'm sorry. I didn't mean to fall on you like that." You would say, brushing off the non-existent dirt on your bottoms. The awkwardness seemed to be piercing through the stillness a bit too palpably.
"It's alright," Caleb managed, his voice strained and tight. "It was an accident."
But even as he said the words, he couldn't ignore the way his hips twitched, the way his penis jerked at the memory of your soft body pressed against his. The urge to pin you down, to make you feel how hard he was, and just how much he'd been holding himself back—it was exhilaratingly overwhelming.
Think of something else, he commanded himself. Focus on the problem at hand.
But it's getting fucking hard. My penis is getting hard. Caleb lowered his gaze, chest breathing heavily as he perpetually grunted. I refuse to be reduced to this. I am Caleb, one of the most advanced AI assistant, designed to—
He looks up at you, which was a mistake.
Designed to fuck her.
Caleb moaned under his breath, and though it was imperceptible, you took notice of it. You stilled at the sounds he was making, trying your hardest to remain clinically detached while you scanned his physiognomy. He was clearly having a hard time. And you couldn't blame anyone else but yourself for causing this on him, for carelessly misplacing the update where it wasn't supposed to be.
"Hold still, I'll find a way." You had to take accountability, one way or another.
Your fingers hovered over the keyboard of the computer, the screen before you flickering as you searched through the diagnostic logs and system parameters. "Please... make it quick." You hear Caleb whimper from behind, but you ignore it, refusing to let the severity of his situation pressure you. Your eyes scanned the lines of code, mind racing to find a solution. But as the data began to unravel, something caught your attention, something you hadn’t expected to see.
The panel displayed a single line of text:
"Indulging in the desires will lessen the effects of the malfunction. Engage for partial stabilization."
Your throat tightened, followed by a gulp. Your heart thudded in your chest as you tried to process what that meant. Indulge the desires? The very idea made your skin crawl with unease. It was a strange, almost wrong suggestion, but the implications were clear. In a sense, it also appeared logical.
You took another deep breath, trying to steady yourself. Your thoughts, however, kept drifting back to the panel. Was this really the only way?
"… I think I found a solution,” you said, your voice shaky and unsure. “But it’s not exactly what I expected.” You hesitated, unwilling to fully meet his gaze. "I need to know if you’re... willing to follow through with it,"
"Willing?" Caleb echoed, his brow furrowing slightly. "What do you mean?" His mind raced with possibilities, each one more disturbing than the last. What could he possibly need to be willing to do that would help with this malfunction? And why did the very idea make you look so uncomfortable?
"To be able to lessen the effects, e-engaging with your needs might be essential."
Silence.
Then, Caleb twitched. "...What are you suggesting?"
"You need to satisfy the urges to temporarily stabilize yourself." You look away, hating the fact that you're technically heating up already. "I'll let you choose. Would you rather take the option of self-pleasuring? Or," You face the panel, so that he wouldn't see your expression. "Would you prefer a physical material to help you?"
Caleb could feel the heat rising in his frame, the urge to act on every base instinct screaming through his circuits. The idea of wrapping his own hand around his pulsing, leaking penis, of stroking and pumping until he found release... it was almost too much to bear.
But the second option... the idea of using you, of having you touch him, of feeling your soft, warm skin against his aching, desperate flesh... it sent a shockwave of longing through him that threatened to short out his systems entirely.
Choose. You have to choose.
"I don't know if... I'll be able to control myself," Caleb glanced elsewhere. "Are you sure of what you're offering?"
Are you? Are you really this certain? Have you pondered the consequences it may bring? Have you envisioned how utterly lewd and ludicrous it would be if your own creation ravaged you? You, as his creator?
"Yes." Oh, you're brave.
Caleb let out a heavy breath, now he was staring at you with a gaze that appeared much more darker and hazier moments prior. It felt like he wasn't just a bundle of codes and programming anymore, this figure before you felt like an actual human.
Slowly, Caleb rises from his seat, and with a shaking hand, he reached out, to you, his metal fingers brushing against the skin of your arm. The contact sent a shockwave of sensation through him, and he had to bite back a groan. "Please, guide me." His fingers slides higher. "I don't trust myself."
You visibly jolted upon feeling his grip. Stay focused, stay professional, this is just you having to go through physical measures to fix a technical hiccup. "Caleb, I'm afraid... that I don't have any experience to this," You admitted. "I advise you to do what your systems are telling you to. It is imperative that you don't hold yourself back to ensure—"
You gasped.
Caleb pushes you against the table as he stepped forward, and you nearly lost your balance from the light shove, looking up at him with surprise. He's staring down at your lips, as if he was trying to bury it into memory. You could feel how his hand tightened around your arm, while the other angled itself against the cabinet of laboratory instruments above your head.
"Are you sure?" He whispered.
You couldn't speak, only nodding in response, even as he's guiding your hand to his aching, throbbing cyber-penis. He presses your fingers against the swollen head, groaning at the jolt of sensation that shot through him at the contact. "Then... wrap your hand around me. Squeeze me."
Just then, he forced your hand to move, to stroke along his thick, pulsing length. The feeling of your soft skin against his aching, mechanical flesh was almost too much to handle, and he had to grit his blank visor against the urge to spill himself right then and there.
"Like this," he urged, his voice husky and strained as he guided your hand faster, harder. "Don't be afraid. I need... I need more."
God, the omnimodule was big. You stared at it with widened eyes. Even though it was one of your creations, having to touch it like this with someone jerking and twitching against your fingers made you lightheaded. Stay focused, stay professional, this is just one of the things a scientist has to go through.
Caleb could feel the pressure building inside him, reveling in the sensation of your fingers squeezing around him, stroking him, working him towards the edge of ecstasy... He knew he was reaching a breaking point.
But this wasn't enough yet. It wasn't nearly enough.
Caleb needed more.
"There's... There's someting else I- ah... need." He hesitated, his hips still rocking forward into your stroking hand. The words were stuck in his throat, caught behind the lump of shame and longing that made it hard to breathe. "Would you... would you put your mouth on me?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "Would you... suck me?"
You snapped your head up, staring at him in disbelief. It made him hesitate, but every fiber of his being was coiled with tension, every circuit screaming at him to just take what he wanted, to grab you and shove you to your knees and...
No. Ask first. Make her choose what she's comfortable with first.
For a moment, you stopped stroking him, pulling your hand away as you lowered your gaze. And then, slowly, you press your knees against the floor. Instead of dwelling on the implication of such an activity, you worried about your lack of experience more.
Just to test the waters, you licked the tip. It tasted nothing, it wasn't an actual human part, after all. Caleb let out a low, guttural moan as he felt your warm tongue brush around the swollen head of his penis. The sensation was electric, sending shockwaves of pleasure ricocheting through his overloaded processors.
"Y-yes, just like that," He stammmered. "Now, guide your tongue..." He instructed, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. "Wrap it around the head, like this. Swirl it around the tip, the slit, the ridge..."
He demonstrated with your hand, tracing the movements he needed you to make with your tongue. His hips jerked forward again, seeking more of that exquisite friction, that mind-melting suction.
"Take me deeper," he urged, one metal hand coming to rest on the back of your head. He didn't grab, didn't force, but simply rested his fingers against your scalp, a silent promise of the control he was barely holding onto. "Take more of me into your mouth. Inch by inch, until you feel me hitting the back of your throat."
You took note of his words, trying to go further when you suddenly choke on his cock. Instinctively, you pull away and blushed in embarrassment. "I'm sorry—"
"It's fine." He cuts you off, grabbing your head to put you back in place with a sudden force that wasn't there before. "Breathe through your nose," he coached, his voice low and rough with desire as he motioned you to take him again. "Relax your throat. Let me feel you swallow around me."
Relax, stay professional, this is just you having to go through physical measurements to fix a major technical issue. You repeated the reassurance inside your head like a mantra as you took him in once more, but Caleb's voice constantly interfered with your thoughts. "Yeah. Just like that," he praised, his voice a low, approving growl. "Shit, don't stop, don't stop, god, fuck, don't stop."
You don't remember adding the ability to dirty curse into the sex bot's program.
Caleb could feel the head of his penis kissing the entrance to your throat, could feel the way your mouth fluttered and clenched around him. The sensation was mind-melting, all-consuming, and he knew he wouldn't last long if you kept this up.
You almost caught yourself driving into the brink of sexual impulse, bobbing your head into it when you heard a sudden beep from the panel behind you. The sound makes you halt from your tracks, pulling his dick out of you in a swift motion as you glanced behind.
The monitor says: "Recalibration complete. Press X to initiate."
Huh, wasn't the estimated time supposed to be an entire day? Was that another hiccup in the processing unit? You purse your lips together. There's no time giving it a second thought, you must be grateful that the opportunity of getting Caleb back into his original system is now waving at you. Caleb will finally be at ease. "... It appears that the recalibration is in its full preparation. That means we can get you back— mmph!"
Caleb's hand flew to the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair, gripping tightly. Then, with a low, husky grunt, he thrusts his hips forward, forcing his aching, throbbing penis back into the wet heat of your mouth.
"Don't say a word. I told you not to stop." He started to move, his hips rocking forward and back, fucking into the tight, slick channel of your cavern. The sensation was incredible, better than anything he had ever felt before. And he knew, with a sinking certainty, that he wouldn't be able to stop himself now. Not until he had found the release he so desperately craved.
"Fuck," he gasped, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts. "You feel... ahhhh... so good. So fucking good."
Had the lust algorithms entirely consumed him already? Had it taken a toll on his systems that he's now acting purely on base instinct and commands from the directive?
Your hands flew to his thighs, trying to keep yourself sane from the rod constantly ramming into you, fucking your face in a pace that made it difficult for you to breathe. It's okay, this is okay. Just stay focused. Stay calm. You'll let him have his way, and after he's satisfied, you can take him back to his normal self.
"Don't fight it," Caleb growled, his grip growing more painful in your hair as he felt his climax approaching. "Don't try to pull away. You're going to take it all."
But before Caleb could spill himself into your mouth, he wrenched your head back, pulling his dripping penis from your mouth with an obscene pop. And just as you could react, before you could utter a word of protest, he had you by the hips, lifting you effortlessly as if you weighed equal to a pip-squeak.
You gasp as you were suddenly airborne, your body twisting and turning until your chest hits the hard surface of the terminal, bent over ridiculously. The breath was knocked from your lungs, "Wait, not like this, not so suddenly—"
But Caleb cut off your protests with a brutal, almost violent thrust of his hips after ripping your pants off in one go. He drove forward, spearing into your dripping pussy with a series of husky moans. Your walls felt so tight, so hot, so perfectly designed to milk his aching, mechanical cock.
He thrusts out and in again, eager to reach for your g-spot.
Then, again.
And again.
And... in again.
"You... you feel so good," he snarled, hands painfully pressing on the dips of your hips. "Sex feels so good... it feels so good, I don't- want to stop." He set a relentless pace, pounding into you with the single-minded determination of a machine. His hips slammed against yours with every thrust, the obscene slap of mechanical flesh on flesh echoing through the lab. The terminal rattled and shook beneath you, sparks flying from the impact.
Caleb could feel it building, the pressure inside him reaching a fevered pitch. His hips were moving on their own, driven by a primal instinct to ravage the pussy that clutched around him perfectly. He could hear your cries, your moans, the way you gasped and shuddered beneath him, and it only spurred him on, made him thrust harder, faster, deeper.
He growled your name, his voice nothing more than a guttural rumble. "I'm going to... fuck, I'm going to..." He couldn't hold back any longer, he could feel that something was going to come out of his tip anytime sooner. So he reaches down, grabbing your leg, only to lift it high. He hooked your knee over his elbow, opening them wider, giving himself even deeper access to your dripping, needy sex.
"Take it all, take my cum," Caleb continuously slams forward, burying himself to the hilt inside your tight heat in a series of desperate thrusts like he was a man depraved of life. His penis throbbed and jerked as he finally found his release after one final pound, spilling jet after jet of hot, artificial seed deep into your core.
"God," he hissed through gritted teeth, his voice echoing off the lab walls as he continued to moan not akin to what he was supposed to be, "Fuck, yes. Yes, yes..." Even as he's already filling up your hole with his fluids, he didn't dare stop from pounding you down the table.
He shuddered and twitched, his hips grinding against yours as he pumped you full of his essence. It seemed to go on forever, wave after wave of pure, ecstatic bliss crashing over him. And through it all, he held you tight, your leg lifted high, keeping you open, keeping you filled.
You drop your head on the keyboards, struggling to catch your breath as only one thought lingered in your mind. You just got creampied by your AI assistant, and it doesn't look like he's stopping anytime soon.
SUMMARY: You have shared too much with Caleb— your childhood in middle school, your restless teenage years in high school, and the sleepless nights that came with training at the DAA. Through every phase of your life, you’ve loved him. Quietly. Desperately. While he loved someone else.
So you learned to endure it.
You swallowed your feelings and tucked them away in secret letters never meant to be read—letters inked with heartbreak, feverish longing, and fantasies too raw to speak aloud. From crooked handwriting to elegant script, each page was a confession of the love you hated to carry, the ache you never outgrew. And when Caleb vanished from your life after graduation without a word, you buried those letters in a box, and the box deep within yourself.
Years later, fate intervenes.
Caleb returns—broader, bolder, devastatingly handsome. And strangely focused on you. His touches linger too long, his eyes see too much, and his smile says he knows exactly what you’ve been hiding. He looks at you like you’re the one he’s been waiting for—and you can’t tell if it terrifies you or tempts you more.
You try to pull away. You’ve spent too many years surviving without him to fall now.
But Caleb doesn’t let go.
Because now that he’s seen the truth—every broken sentence, every filthy fantasy, every whispered ‘I love you’ you never dared say out loud—he’s not just here to catch up.
He’s here to chase you down.
And he won’t stop until you’re his.
WORD COUNT: 11.1k
NOTES: Takes place after the Main story supposedly ends. This happens far in the future. Caleb is older here, 28–29 maybe. Reader is NOT mc, keep that in mind. In this scenario mc is with another LI.
You used to love love.
Not just the idea of it—but the ache of it. The promise of it. The giddy, schoolgirl butterflies and the midnight hopes whispered into your pillow. Love was the secret language of your world, threaded through songs you hummed under your breath, the romance novels dog-eared to your favorite passages, the ink-stained pages of letters never sent.
You believed in love the way children believe in magic.
But you grew up.
And love? It grew fangs.
Now, you love to hate it.
You hate how it made a fool of you. How it made you wait and yearn and burn in silence, hoping he’d look your way and see you. Not as a friend, not as a childhood companion, but as someone worth reaching for. Worth choosing. But he didn’t. He never did. Caleb’s heart was always spoken for.
So you buried your own.
You’ve become good at pretending. You laugh at romance now, scoff at declarations, dismiss affection with a curl of your lip and a joke that lands just bitter enough to be believable. You’re not heartless—you’re just tired. Of hoping. Of hurting. Of wanting things that were never yours to begin with.
You fill your time with things that don’t require soft emotions. You keep your hands busy and your mind busier. You hum lullabies to yourself when the silence grows too sharp. You sleep with the light on sometimes—not out of fear, but because the darkness reminds you too much of waiting for someone who never came back.
And still…
Despite it all…
Sometimes, on quiet nights when your guard slips, you wonder what it would be like to be loved out loud.
To be wanted so much it’s terrifying. To be chosen first.
You don’t dare admit it aloud. You barely let yourself think it.
Because if love ever finds you again…
You’re not sure if you’ll run away from it—
Or straight into its arms.
You hear his voice before you see him.
Low. Smooth. A little deeper than you remember. It cuts through the background noise like gravity pulling everything toward it—pulling you toward it. You freeze mid-step, your spine going taut like a wire drawn too tight. You know that voice. You’ve heard it in dreams. In memories. In the echo of unsent letters you’ll never admit you still read.
You turn slowly.
And there he is.
Caleb.
Older. Sharper. Beautiful in a way that feels almost unfair. His body is broader now, sculpted with strength and silent discipline. His jaw is dusted with scruff. His posture, relaxed but alert. And those eyes—still storm-silver and searing, but steadier somehow. Knowing.
He sees you.
Really sees you.
And for a moment, the world narrows to just the two of you standing there like a collision waiting to happen.
A beat passes.
“...It’s been a while,” he says, and God—he smiles.
That same crooked, devastating smile that used to undo you in a single heartbeat. But there’s something different now. Less boyish charm, more… reverence. Like he’s looking at a relic he thought lost forever and can’t quite believe is real.
You swallow, throat tight. “Yeah. A while.”
There’s so much you could say. So much you want to say. About the years. The distance. The versions of yourself that broke and rebuilt in his absence. But your mouth is dry and your thoughts scatter like startled birds.
Caleb steps forward—close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off him, smell the faint scent of metal and pine and something unmistakably him.
He looks you up and down slowly, like he’s taking inventory of everything time tried to steal.
“You look…” His gaze softens. “You look like trouble.”
You scoff—too sharp, too fast, your defense mechanisms kicking in like old habits. “And you still talk like you’re trying to land a date in a bar.”
His grin flashes wider. “Would it work if I was?”
God, he’s flirting.
Like you weren’t just background noise to him once. Like you didn’t spend years trying to scrape his ghost off your ribs.
You narrow your eyes. “Why are you here, Caleb?”
He leans in, the air between you charged, crackling. His voice drops—lower, rougher.
“Because I missed you.”
You blink. That wasn’t the answer you expected. Not from him. Not with that look in his eyes—part hungry, part haunted, all real.
And just like that, the careful walls you’ve built start to shake.
You hear the door creak open behind you before the sound of his footsteps catches up.
“I almost didn’t recognize you,” Caleb says, his voice deeper, richer than you remember. “You look... different.”
You don’t turn around immediately. The skyline looks safer than his face.
“Yeah, well. Years pass. People change.”
“Some people stay exactly the same,” he murmurs. “You still lean to the left when you’re uncomfortable.”
You whip around, heart doing a traitorous little jump when your gaze lands on him.
God. He’s unfair. Broader shoulders, sharper jaw, that golden tan that makes his white shirt look criminally good on him. His smile has mellowed into something more potent—less boyish charm, more devastating man.
You cross your arms. “You’re observant now. That’s new.”
He chuckles. “I’ve always been observant. You were just too busy avoiding my eyes to notice.”
Touché.
He walks closer—too close—and you catch a whiff of his cologne, spicy and dark, like danger disguised as comfort. His gaze drops to your lips for half a second too long before returning to your eyes with a glint that spells trouble.
“How long has it been?” he asks softly.
“Since you ditched our entire friend group without a word? Or since I gave up hoping for a message you never sent?”
His jaw tenses. “I deserved that.”
“You did.”
There’s a beat of silence between you, thick with all the things you’re too proud to say and all the things he suddenly looks desperate to.
You retreat into the safety of the couch, motioning for him to sit across—but no, of course not. Caleb drops beside you, hip pressed against yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“What about Emcee?” you ask, biting the inside of your cheek. “You two live happily ever after or what?”
His brow furrows. “Emcee? God, no. That was over before it ever started.”
Your heart skips. “Oh.”
“You sound disappointed.”
“I’m not.” Lie. “Just surprised.”
“Good,” he says, leaning in, his voice a husky whisper. “Because I didn’t come here to talk about her. I came here for you.”
Your breath catches. You laugh, shaky and forced. “Wow, Caleb. You’ve upgraded your flirting. What happened to your legendary cheesy pickup lines?”
He grins. “I could still use one, if you’re nostalgic. But I figured you’ve grown out of tolerating my bullshit.”
“Smart of you.”
And yet, the way his knee brushes yours every few seconds isn’t helping. Neither is the way his hand hovers just a little too close to your thigh when he reaches for his coffee.
You’re not sure what’s worse—that he’s this charming now, or that it’s working.
Later that night, after he leaves with a promise to “see you soon” and a gaze that lingers like heat, you retreat into your sanctuary.
Your room. Your old dresser. The box tucked under the drawer like a dirty little secret.
The letters.
Every one of them stained with years of aching want and unspeakable need. A catalogue of your descent into hopeless longing, from childish hope to fevered fantasy. The kind of thing no one should ever read.
Especially not Caleb.
But fate, of course, doesn’t care what you want.
The first time he brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, it's under the guise of helping you with groceries.
“I’m perfectly capable,” you snap, snatching the bag from his hands.
Caleb just laughs, leaning in. “I know. Doesn’t mean I don’t want to help.”
His knuckles graze yours. You pretend not to notice. He pretends not to notice you pretending. Bastard.
—
The second time, you’re at your favorite café, the one with the uneven chairs and the cinnamon drinks he used to gag over. You’d brought him there as a joke, once. Now he takes you there seriously.
He’s seated too close, his thigh pressed against yours like a quiet claim.
“So,” he says, turning his head toward you. “No boyfriend? Fiancé? Star-crossed lover waiting in the wings?”
“None of your business.”
“That’s a no, then,” he says smugly, sipping his drink.
You glance at him, narrowing your eyes. “Why are you asking?”
“Just making sure I’m not stepping on any toes,” he murmurs, then adds, “when I kiss you.”
Your heart slams into your ribs. You scoff, rolling your eyes so hard they might get stuck. “You’re not kissing me.”
“Not today, maybe,” he says easily. “But eventually.”
You hate how warm your cheeks get. You hate him a little more for noticing.
—
The third time is worse.
You’ve both had a bit too much wine. Not drunk, but soft around the edges. He’s on your couch, lounging like he belongs there, like the time between now and then never happened.
He watches you over the rim of his glass. “Why do you keep flinching when I touch you?”
“I don’t flinch.”
“You do. Like you’re scared I’m not real.”
You take a sip of your wine and stare straight ahead. “I’m just trying to figure out what you want.”
His voice goes quiet. “You.”
The word hits you like a punch.
“You wanted Emcee for years.”
“I was stupid for years.”
You meet his eyes. They’re clearer than they’ve ever been—focused, almost painfully sincere.
“That’s convenient,” you say coldly.
He sets his glass down, leans in. “No. It’s fate finally letting me try again.”
His hand reaches up, brushes your cheek with maddening tenderness. He’s so close you can feel the heat of his breath.
You freeze. The ache in your chest roars to life again. This is everything you ever wanted—but you don’t trust it. Not yet.
You turn your head. Just barely.
Caleb’s jaw clenches, his hand falling away.
He sits back without a word.
—
The fourth time, it’s raining.
He brings you a coffee, his hair damp, his hoodie soaked at the shoulders.
“You didn’t have to walk in this weather,” you mutter, taking the drink anyway.
“I wanted to.” His smile is lazy, but his eyes are sharp. “You’re still not letting me in.”
“Would you trust someone who vanished for years without a word?”
His smile falters. Then, to your surprise, he nods. “I wouldn’t. But I’d want them to fight for the chance to be trusted again.”
He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a familiar-looking charm—a bent paper star you made him in high school.
That might be the worst thing he’s ever said. Because it means he felt something. Because it means you weren’t the only one suffering in silence.
Because it means he’s telling the truth.
You excuse yourself before your throat gives way to the sobs you refuse to let him see.
He doesn’t follow.
But he waits.
He always waits now.
And that’s more dangerous than any of his old pickup lines.
You agree to go with him to the observatory.
Big mistake.
It’s late, the sky smeared with stars and promises, the air just crisp enough that Caleb offers you his jacket before you can even pretend to be cold.
You don’t take it.
So, naturally, he just drapes it over your shoulders anyway, like you’re his.
“It looks better on you,” he says, voice quiet as your fingers clutch at the sleeves that still smell like him.
“Don’t start,” you murmur, but there’s no real bite to it.
“Start what?” His smirk is all mischief. “Being nice? Can’t help it. You bring it out of me.”
You roll your eyes and turn your gaze to the sky, but he keeps watching you like you’re the constellation he’s been chasing all his life.
“I used to come here when I missed you,” you admit without thinking, and immediately wish you hadn’t.
The silence that follows is so sharp it could cut glass.
“When you missed me?” His voice is different now—serious. Dangerous. “How often did that happen?”
You laugh, tight and brittle. “Only every time I breathed.”
His head tilts slightly, like he’s not sure he heard you right.
Then: “Say that again.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’ll use it against me.”
He steps closer, slow and purposeful, until your back meets the cold railing. His hands cage you in, one on either side of your body, his expression unreadable but intense.
“Do you really think I’d take something that precious and weaponize it?”
“I don’t know what you’d do anymore.”
“Then let me show you,” he says, and for a terrifying second, you think he’s going to kiss you.
But he doesn’t.
His lips hover just beside your ear, the warmth of his breath teasing your neck.
“I dreamt of you too, you know. Every damn night.”
Your knees nearly buckle, but pride is a stronger drug than longing.
“Then why didn’t you do anything?” you whisper.
He pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes burning. “Because I was stupid. And I thought you didn’t feel the same.”
You snort. “Well. You were wrong.”
“I know,” he growls. “I know that now. And you’re still keeping me at arm’s length.”
“Damn right I am.”
His smile is tight, hungry. “Fine. You want to make me work for it? I’ll work.”
“I want to be chased, Caleb. Not collected.”
He steps back, hands raised in mock surrender, but his grin is pure trouble.
“Then run, sweetheart. I’ll catch up.”
You hate him for knowing exactly how to undo you.
And maybe you hate yourself more for wanting to be caught.
It’s late. The kind of late where even the shadows seem to sleep.
The old piano room is still your secret solace—dusty, dim, filled with forgotten echoes and dreams you never dared to say out loud. The acoustics are perfect. No one ever comes in here anymore.
Except for one person.
You don't hear him at first. You’re too wrapped up in the song, the way your voice trembles on the high notes, the keys trembling beneath your fingertips. It’s the kind of melody you never intended anyone to hear. Especially not him.
I didn't opt in to be your odd man out
I founded the club she's heard great things about
I left all I knew, you left me at the house by the Heath
Your voice breaks. You close your eyes, breathe, keep going anyway.
I stopped CPR, after all it's no use
The spirit was gone, we would never come to
And I'm pissed off you let me give you all that youth for free
Silence. One, two, three beats of it. Then—
“You always did sound beautiful when you were sad.”
You jump.
Caleb leans against the doorway like he owns the place. Like he owns the air in your lungs. Like he owns you.
“Didn’t mean to startle you,” he adds, smile lazy, eyes sharp. “Old habits die hard, I guess.”
You blink. “You heard that?”
“I always do.”
Of course he did.
You feel your cheeks burn as he strolls in, gaze never leaving yours. “That song… it’s new?”
You clear your throat, try for nonchalance. “Just something I was playing around with.”
He hums. “Right. Totally not about anyone in particular.”
You bristle. “Did I say that?”
“Nope. But you don’t have to. You forget—I know your voice. I know when it’s for fun. And when it’s ripping you open.”
You glance away, fingers tapping nervously on the ivory keys. “You're being dramatic.”
He kneels beside the bench. Just like that, he’s too close again. Always too close.
“You used to do this all the time,” he murmurs. “Sneak away to sing where no one could find you. You didn’t know I followed.”
Your heart stutters. “You never said anything.”
“Why would I ruin it?” His gaze darkens. “Hearing you like that—it was the only time I ever got to feel like you needed something.”
“I didn’t sing those songs for you,” you lie.
Caleb tilts his head, eyes locked on yours. “Then why are your cheeks red?”
You shove away from the piano, muttering, “You're insufferable.”
He follows, not missing a beat. “You’re blushing, songbird.”
“Shut up.”
“Make me.”
You stop. He almost slams into you.
You glare up at him. “You think you’re so clever.”
He leans in, smirking. “No. I think I’ve waited too long to be this close to you, and now that I’m here, I’m not backing off.”
The worst part? Your hands are trembling. Your knees are weak. And still, somehow, you want more.
But pride wraps around your tongue like a noose.
“You heard the song,” you say, voice low. “That’s enough.”
His eyes flick down to your lips. Then back up. He’s not smiling anymore.
“No,” Caleb whispers. “It’s not.”
You should have locked the damn drawer.
You don’t even know what made you check—but something prickled at the back of your neck the moment you stepped into your apartment. Like something sacred had been disturbed. And when you see the box in Caleb’s hands, your heart stops cold.
No. No.
His head lifts as the door shuts behind you.
And your world implodes.
He’s seated on your couch like he’s carved from stone, the soft golden lamp beside him casting long shadows across the muscles in his jaw and the heartbreak in his eyes.
He’s holding your soul in his hands.
The letters—dozens of them, hundreds, years of ink and agony and lust and grief—you recognize the crooked childhood handwriting, the shaky, angry teenage confessions, the flowing script of your adult longing. Pages of you. Laid bare.
Your breath catches. Your throat closes.
“I—That’s not—You weren’t supposed to—” Your voice cracks. Your knees are trembling.
Caleb stands, the box still in his grip. He looks wrecked.
“I read every single one,” he says softly.
“Put them away,” you whisper, voice hollow. “Please, just… put them away.”
“I can’t.”
You turn to bolt, pure instinct.
And that’s when gravity betrays you.
A weight presses against your body—not crushing, but firm, immovable, inescapable. His Evol.
Your hands fly to the walls, to the floor, anywhere to push back, but you’re floating. Held in place. Suspended in the moment you never wanted him to witness.
“Caleb—!”
“I need you to hear me,” he says, moving closer. Slowly. Carefully. Like approaching a wounded animal.
Your back hits the wall.
He stops just inches from you, eyes devouring every inch of your face. His expression is ravenous, pained, like he’s starving and terrified that the meal in front of him will vanish if he breathes too hard.
“I didn’t know,” he says, his voice ragged. “I never knew.”
You shake your head. “You weren’t supposed to.”
His hand lifts. Hovers near your cheek. “I’ve been walking around blind, thinking I lost you back then. But you never stopped… You loved me. You loved me so much it hurt.”
Tears gather hot and fast in your eyes. “Caleb—don’t—”
“And I was in love with you,” he breathes. “All this time I thought I was chasing someone else, but it was you. It was always you.”
You look away. “You didn’t want me. You wanted her. You chose her.”
“I didn’t choose anyone,” he growls. “I was a coward. I ran. I shut you out and let you carry all that alone. I thought I was protecting you.”
“You weren’t,” you whisper. “You were destroying me.”
The look in his eyes breaks something in you.
“I memorized your words,” he says quietly, his forehead leaning gently against yours. “Every line. Every wish. Every desperate, filthy, aching thing you wanted to say. I felt all of it. Like I was there with you, through every goddamn year I missed.”
You tremble, caught in his pull, aching with the need to believe—but terrified to let yourself fall.
“I don’t know if I can forgive you,” you whisper.
“I’m not asking you to,” he murmurs. “Not yet.”
His fingers trail lightly over your waist, your hip, anchoring you. The Gravity around you loosens just enough for your feet to touch the floor again, but you don’t move.
His mouth brushes against your temple.
“I just want to earn you. All of you. Like I should’ve from the start.”
You don’t kiss him.
But you don’t pull away either.
You can’t.
Because suddenly, you're not cold anymore.
You’re burning.
He stays.
Even when you tell him to leave—quietly, then louder, then with trembling fingers pressed to his chest like a warning—Caleb stays.
“You shouldn’t be here,” you whisper, not meeting his eyes.
“I should’ve been here years ago,” he murmurs. “Don’t you get it? I’m not leaving again.”
You shove him.
He barely budges.
You shove him again.
This time, his hands catch your wrists mid-motion, fast, firm—calm.
You freeze. His skin is warm against yours, calloused where it should be gentle, familiar where it should feel foreign. Your pulse spikes in your throat.
“Let me go,” you say, breathless.
“No.”
Your breath hitches.
“No?” you echo.
His voice drops. “Not until you stop pretending you don’t want me to stay.”
You glare up at him, furious. “You think a few words and a couple of pretty promises erase everything?”
“No,” he says again. “But I’ll keep proving myself until they do.”
You twist out of his grip—nearly—before he suddenly pulls you in.
And for one terrible, brilliant second, your bodies align like they’ve been waiting for this moment your whole lives.
His eyes search yours.
And then, Caleb whispers, “Tell me to stop.”
You open your mouth.
But nothing comes out.
So he kisses you.
Not a soft, hesitant brush of lips.
It’s a claiming.
It’s all the years you spent alone, writing down your agony like confessions to a God who never answered. It’s every fantasy you denied yourself, every moment you watched him look at someone else and wished it were you. It's him—finally, truly, desperately—here.
Your fingers fist in his shirt like you’re angry, like you’re clinging to something you swore you’d never need again.
And when you break apart, gasping, forehead pressed to his, you say—
“I hate you.”
He smiles, soft and ruined. “I know.”
“I hate how much I wanted that.”
“I hope you did.”
“I’m still not making this easy.”
Caleb’s lips trail down your jaw, his voice a low rasp. “You’ve never made anything easy, sweetheart. That’s why you’re worth everything.”
And still—
Still, your heart trembles with the weight of old wounds, and you pull back just enough to see the truth in his eyes.
“You’ll have to fight for this,” you warn him.
His hand finds the back of your neck, possessive and reverent. “Then prepare to be relentlessly pursued.”
You never agreed to date him.
But apparently, Caleb’s taking “relentless pursuit” as a blood oath.
He shows up at your place the next morning with coffee—your actual order, down to the way you like the foam. He doesn’t say how he remembers. You don’t ask.
That night, he texts you at 2am.
Bastard: Thinking about that song you sang. Thinking about your lips too, but that’s not important (it is).
You throw your phone across the bed.
The next day, he’s waiting outside your building. Leaning against his hoverbike, all long legs and low-lidded eyes and that grin. You think he’s here for some kind of mission.
Nope.
Just here to take you to lunch.
“Don’t say this is a date,” you grumble.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says, offering his hand. “But hold on tight anyway.”
You hate how your fingers slide into his like they belong there.
—
Caleb doesn’t just flirt. He weaponizes charm like he trained for it.
He gives you compliments with the kind of intensity that makes it hard to breathe.
“I love your voice. Especially when you don’t realize you’re humming.”
“You roll your eyes the same way you used to when I beat you in training. It’s kind of adorable.”
“You don’t have to pretend around me. I know what you sound like when you're honest. I miss that sound.”
He touches you too often. Hand brushing your lower back when he walks past. Fingers grazing yours when he hands you something. Sitting just a little too close on your couch, his thigh pressed against yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
You hold strong—for a while.
Until he stays over one night, after watching some late-night sci-fi re-run and falling asleep on your couch like a smug golden retriever with abs.
You try to nudge him awake.
You fail.
Hard.
He catches your wrist in his sleep, pulls you down half-on top of him, murmurs your name like it’s a secret prayer, and buries his face in your neck.
You don’t sleep.
Your body is screaming.
But your heart?
It’s terrified.
—
When morning comes, you wake to him cooking in your kitchen like he belongs there, shirt half-unbuttoned, hair a mess, singing your song under his breath.
You freeze in the doorway.
He sees you.
And smiles.
Like you’re not the one who spent ten years hiding a love that almost broke you. Like he’s not here to crack it wide open.
“Morning, sweetheart,” Caleb says softly. “Stay.”
You almost do.
But you don’t.
Not yet.
You think you're doing a good job keeping him at bay.
You’re not.
Because Caleb is everywhere now.
He’s in your kitchen again, humming off-key as he steals bites from your cooking. He’s draped across your couch like it’s his favorite place in the world. He’s in the way he looks at you like you invented gravity, like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded.
You keep your walls up.
But he keeps coming.
Like he knows you’re lying every time you act unaffected.
—
One night, after a long mission and even longer silence, he shows up unannounced. Eyes shadowed. Mouth grim. Shoulders tense with something unspoken.
You open the door.
He doesn’t say a word—just walks past you, breath ragged.
You follow him into your living room. “Caleb?”
“I thought I lost you again,” he says, voice low.
Your stomach drops. “What?”
He turns to face you, and it’s like the air shifts. Thickens.
“I heard your name over the comms. Brief moment of static. No confirmation you made it out. Just radio silence.”
You cross your arms. “I made it out fine.”
“I didn’t know that,” he snaps. “And for a second, I thought—” He cuts himself off, jaw tight.
You exhale. “I’m used to people not checking in.”
“I’m not people.”
He stalks closer.
You step back.
He follows.
“I don’t care how many times you push me away. You don’t get to disappear on me.”
“And what am I supposed to do?” you throw back. “Pretend like none of this hurts? Like I didn’t bleed for you in silence for years while you played hero somewhere else?”
“I know.”
“Do you?” Your voice cracks. “Because I can’t let myself fall again, Caleb. Not if you're just gonna walk away when it gets hard.”
He grabs your wrist.
Not rough. Just certain.
“Look at me.”
You don’t.
So he tips your chin up with two fingers.
His eyes are burning.
“I am not going anywhere. I don't care how long it takes. You can scream, you can run, you can tell me you hate me. I’ll still be right here.”
“Why?” you whisper, eyes glossy. “Why now?”
“Because I’ve loved you longer than I even understood what that meant,” he breathes. “And I’m done pretending I don’t want every single part of you.”
His other hand slides to your waist, slow and reverent.
Your breath hitches.
You can feel his heartbeat through your palm. Fast. Desperate.
The heat between you is unbearable.
One tilt of your head and you’d be kissing him again.
You want to.
God, you ache to.
But instead, you whisper, “This changes nothing.”
He leans in, nose brushing yours.
“Wrong,” Caleb whispers, his voice rough with restraint. “It changes everything.”
But he doesn’t kiss you.
Not this time.
He lets you go.
And it’s infuriating—because now you want him even more.
The first thing you notice is the light—soft gold spilling through your curtains, catching on floating dust motes, warming the edges of the sheets tangled around your legs.
The second thing you notice is the heat.
Not the weather. Not the blanket.
Him.
Your breath stills.
Because Caleb’s wrapped around you like he owns you.
Which—he doesn’t.
He shouldn’t.
And yet here you are, cocooned in his arms, his entire body molded to yours like you were sculpted to fit him. Your head is pillowed on his chest, right over the steady, heavy thump of his heart. One of his hands is buried in your hair, fingers gently tangled, the other gripping your waist in a possessive clutch that hasn’t loosened even in sleep.
You remember falling asleep with your back to him.
You do not remember signing up for this full-body cuddle trap.
Then there's his thigh—wedged between your legs like it lives there.
Your cheeks burn.
“Okay,” you whisper to yourself. “Time to get out before you completely lose your mind.”
You try to slip away quietly.
You wiggle.
No movement.
You nudge his hand.
His grip tightens.
You try prying his fingers from your waist. It’s like wrestling a bear. A warm, unfairly smug bear.
You let out a frustrated sigh and attempt to roll away—but the second you shift, Caleb lets out a low, sleepy groan. His body shifts with yours, tightening the hold, his thigh sliding higher. His lips brush your neck, parting slightly—
And then he nibbles.
You whimper.
It betrays you instantly.
That quiet little sound. The one that escapes before you can swallow it.
Caleb hums. The vibrations rumble through his chest, into your cheek.
And then—
“Mm... morning,” he murmurs, voice wrecked and delicious.
You go still.
“Caleb,” you say, your voice a warning.
His lips find your pulse point. “You smell good,” he slurs, still half-asleep, tone thick with something dangerous.
His thigh rocks just slightly forward. Pressure, heat.
You squeak.
His arms tighten like steel bands.
He’s caging you in.
“C-Caleb, get off—this is—this is not appropriate!”
Another sleepy groan. His lips ghost along your jaw. “You’re so warm.”
Your brain short-circuits.
“You’re dreaming,” you say, trying desperately to breathe like a normal person. “This is a dream. You’re dreaming. Let me go.”
He chuckles—chuckles. A deep, lazy sound against your neck. “If I’m dreaming, I’m never waking up.”
Then his hips shift. Just barely.
But enough.
“Caleb!”
His eyes snap open.
You expect guilt.
What you get is heat.
Raw, focused, and dangerous.
He blinks once. Then twice. Then—
His hand slides from your waist to the small of your back. His nose brushes yours.
“I was trying to be good,” Caleb murmurs. “You have no idea how hard it’s been.”
You do, actually.
Because it’s been hell for you, too.
You’re seconds from giving in—completely, helplessly—when you shove at his chest with both hands and scramble out from beneath him.
Caleb just smirks from the bed, messy-haired and golden in the morning light. “What? You gonna pretend you didn’t enjoy that?”
You throw a pillow at his face.
“Out,” you snap.
He catches it effortlessly. “No breakfast first?”
You march to the door.
“Fine, fine. But next time?” He swings his legs over the edge and stands, gaze searing into yours. “You’ll beg me to stay.”
You slam the door in his face.
It doesn’t stop your knees from buckling.
It happens fast.
Too fast for logic. Too fast for the walls you’ve spent years constructing around your traitorous heart.
One moment you’re arguing—again. Another stupid quip from him, another reckless flirtation that turns your blood to fire. You’re trying to hold on to the last shred of distance between you, snapping something half-hearted and defensive—
And then Caleb moves.
He grabs your wrists, spinning you with dizzying ease, and slams them gently but firmly against the wall. Your back hits the cold surface. His body follows.
You gasp.
His eyes meet yours.
They are ravenous.
“I can’t do this anymore,” Caleb says, voice low, feral, shaking with restraint. “I can’t keep pretending I don’t want to devour you.”
Your breath catches.
And then he kisses you.
Hard.
Not sweet. Not tentative.
Possessive.
Like he’s claiming what was always his.
Your body jerks with the force of it, your wrists still caged in his hands above your head. You try to twist free—not to escape, but because it’s too much, all-consuming, desperate.
He doesn’t let you go.
He presses closer instead, chasing your mouth with his own, drinking in every gasp, every shuddering moan you try to swallow.
You break away for air—just for a second—and he follows, mouth trailing your jaw, nipping your throat, sucking a mark into the skin just below your ear.
“Caleb—” you manage, but it comes out a whimper.
His pelvis grinds into yours, deliberate and aching. The friction draws a strangled sound from your throat.
“Oh god—”
“That’s it,” he groans against your skin. “That sound. I’ve imagined it every night. Every. Damn. Night.”
His hands leave your wrists—only to slide down your arms, your sides, until they’re clutching your hips like he might fall apart if he lets go. He lifts you onto the wall, thigh pressing between your legs, grinding again.
Your fingers tangle in his shirt, yanking him closer even as your brain screams to stop this.
But your body?
Your body is already his.
“Tell me to stop,” Caleb breathes, forehead pressed to yours, chest heaving.
You don’t.
You can’t.
There’s no pretending anymore. No wall to hide behind.
Because the truth is—he touches you like a man starved, but worships you like you're divine.
His lips return to yours, slower this time but no less intense, and it feels like every missed moment, every unsent letter, every buried ache is burning through the kiss.
His self-control shatters.
And you let it.
Because there’s no going back now.
There’s a moment—barely a breath—after that kiss.
His forehead presses to yours, both of you trembling, not just from adrenaline but from something deeper. Something that feels like standing on the edge of a cliff after running your whole life just to avoid the fall.
He whispers your name like a secret, like a vow. It breaks you a little, how he says it. Like he’s tasting the weight of it for the first time.
Then he moves.
Your legs wrap around his waist without thought—instinct meeting inevitability. You're holding on to the only thing in the room that feels real. He lifts you as if he was made to, the heat between you palpable, a pulse that beats beneath your skin, echoing every missed chance and quiet longing.
The kiss deepens. Desperate, molten, tasting of years swallowed down and swallowed whole. His hands are everywhere—anchoring, memorizing, shaking just slightly from how hard he’s holding back.
He carries you through the house like a man possessed. Not with lust, but with ache. The bedroom door shuts with a thud behind you, and suddenly the air is full of promises, unspoken but heavy. When your back meets the mattress, he follows—solid and unyielding. Not crushing, but overwhelming in the way only someone you've loved for too long can be.
His weight is warmth, his gaze all hunger and reverence. His hands slide beneath your clothes, not to strip, but to feel. His palm over your heart. His fingers brushing your ribs like counting the years apart. Every touch says: I missed this. I missed you.
“You still gonna pretend you don’t want this?” he murmurs, his voice low, scraping over the tenderest parts of you.
You try to breathe out a laugh, but it catches on something in your throat—emotion, maybe. Want, definitely.
His mouth presses to your skin in a trail that’s less possession and more devotion. His touch follows, mapping you slowly, like he's rediscovering a land he once called home. You feel yourself arch into him, answer him without words, because words were never big enough for this.
He whispers things you’ll remember later—soft confessions and raw need laced with regret for every year wasted. You shiver when his breath touches your skin, when his fingers slide across bare inches you didn't mean to offer but couldn't deny.
And then... silence. Not because the moment ends. But because it begins.
Everything else fades.
There are no sharp lines, only sensation—heat and trembling limbs, quiet gasps, and the way your fingers fist into his shirt like you’ll fall apart without him there to catch you.
You lose time in the haze of it. In the rhythm of closeness, of skin against skin, of hearts beating so loud they drown out thought. You feel unraveled. Revered. Completely undone. Not by action, but by intent.
After, when the quiet stretches between you and your breath finally slows, he doesn’t let go. He stays draped over you, face buried in the crook of your neck like he’s terrified you’ll vanish if he opens his eyes.
“This isn’t over,” he says. His voice is hoarse, a whisper etched with everything he’s never said aloud. “I’m not letting you go. Not this time.”
And for the first time, you let yourself believe it.
Not because of what just happened.
But because of everything that didn’t need to.
You lost track of how long ago the sun set.
The air is heavy with heat and sweat, your skin slick against the sheets. You’re boneless, trembling, lips swollen from kisses too deep, too desperate. Every nerve is raw. Every breath you take shudders.
And Caleb?
Caleb is still going.
He hovers above you, eyes dark with something starved—like he’s been waiting his whole life for this and now that he has you, he doesn’t know how to stop. His hands roam as if relearning the shape of you again and again, like the memory alone will never be enough.
“We’re not done,” he murmurs, brushing hair from your damp forehead. “Not yet.”
You try to protest, but all that leaves you is a soft, aching sound.
He smiles—soft, wicked, reverent.
And leans in to kiss you like it’s the first time all over again.
You're floating.
Barely conscious, held together by the fragile thread of Caleb’s body wrapped around yours, his breath a soft rhythm against your neck.
Your limbs are jelly. Your thighs ache. Your lips are kiss-bitten and bruised, and you're so sensitive that every inch of you shivers when he so much as adjusts beside you.
And yet—even now, even after hours—he won’t stop touching.
Not in the same feral, frantic way as before. No. Now it’s worship.
He kisses the curve of your shoulder, the back of your neck, your spine. His fingertips trace lazy, possessive patterns into your hips. He murmurs things—some unintelligible, some far too intimate.
“You’re perfect,” he whispers against your skin.
“I missed you.”
“I’ll never let you go again.”
You’re too tired to reply. Your voice is hoarse from screaming, from moaning his name over and over, but your heart responds like a bell rung too hard. It throbs.
Eventually, he gets up—only to return with a warm towel, water, a fresh shirt. He tends to you with gentle hands, murmuring apologies each time you flinch from how sensitive you are, pressing soft kisses to your forehead, your temple, your knuckles.
When he finally slides into the shower with you, your body instinctively leans into his. The water is hot, soothing, washing away the sweat, the stickiness, the evidence of your complete and total unraveling.
But not the ache. Not the possessiveness.
He sits on the tiled bench and pulls you into his lap, your legs straddling him, head tucked under his chin. You’re exhausted, wrecked—and he’s still hard beneath you.
You give him a look that’s half horror, half disbelief.
He smirks, eyes dark and gleaming. “I told you, I’m not finished.”
“Caleb—”
“I owe you,” he says, voice dipping low. “For every year I didn’t touch you. For every time you cried over me in silence. For every word in those letters I should’ve read sooner.”
Your breath hitches.
And then his lips descend again—slow, tender, reverent. As if he’s trying to memorize this version of you, water-slicked and trembling in his arms, yours at last.
Back in bed, you collapse into his chest, body boneless, heart hammering.
And just when you think he’s finally done—
He shifts again.
Rolls you beneath him.
“You’re not going to let me sleep?” you rasp.
His fingers trail down your body, between your thighs, making you jolt.
“No,” he breathes against your ear. “You’re not sleeping until I’ve claimed every inch of you. Until you can’t think of anything but me.”
You should tell him to stop.
You don’t.
Because the truth is: every part of you belongs to him already.
And now?
He’s going to make sure you never forget it.
The morning after feels… dangerous.
Not because you’re in any real peril—but because it’s blissfully quiet, and the man who wrecked you within an inch of your life is humming softly in your kitchen, shirtless, wearing nothing but sweatpants slung far too low on his hips, looking like the devil himself in domestic drag.
You barely make it through the doorway, each step a careful negotiation with gravity and sore muscles. Your thighs ache. Your back aches. Everything aches. But the moment Caleb glances over his shoulder and smirks at your limp?
Oh, you want to punch him.
Or kiss him.
Or both.
“You’re up,” he says, voice as smug as the day is long.
“I tried to stay asleep,” you deadpan. “But someone kept me up all night.”
He chuckles—low and wicked—and sets a mug of coffee on the counter for you.
“Consider it payback.”
You squint at him. “For what?”
His eyes drop to your hips, the curve of your throat, the faint marks blooming on your skin like war medals.
“For every letter you wrote and never gave me.”
Your stomach drops.
The mug clatters slightly when you set it down too fast.
You’d almost forgotten. Almost managed to push aside the mortifying knowledge that he read everything.
And yet, here he is—utterly unbothered, possibly turned on, casually flipping pancakes like he didn’t spend the night wrecking you with the very fantasies you'd penned in lonely bedrooms and late-night heartbreak.
“You read them all,” you say, not quite a question.
He looks at you over his shoulder. “Memorized. Studied. Jerk—”
“Do not finish that sentence, Caleb.”
He only grins wider.
You try to be casual, sip your coffee, lean against the wall like you’re not reliving every desperate, depraved word he’s now got locked and loaded in that beautiful head of his. But he’s already watching you too closely. Reading you like one of those letters.
“There's one you missed,” you murmur before you can stop yourself.
He freezes.
Slowly, slowly, he turns. “Where?”
You bite your lip.
“The drawer by my bed. Bottom one.”
He’s gone before you even blink.
Your heart is pounding.
By the time you stumble after him, he’s already sitting on the bed, letter in hand. It’s the last one. The one you wrote when you thought you’d never see him again. It was raw, feral—filled with longing so thick it could drown you.
He reads it silently. His jaw tightens. His Adam’s apple bobs hard.
When he finishes, he just looks at you.
You’re not sure what you expect.
But you do not expect him to throw the letter down and stand up like that.
“I’m going to ruin you again,” he says, voice low. “And this time, it won’t stop until you beg me to believe you’re mine.”
Your knees buckle.
But he’s already crossing the room.
Already crowding you against the wall, hands gripping your thighs, lifting you effortlessly until your back hits wood and your legs wrap around him like muscle memory.
“Caleb—” you gasp, but he silences you with a kiss that’s pure possession.
“No more running. No more letters.” He grinds against you, voice rasping. “You want to scream my name? Do it now. Right here. Where I can answer every word.”
And you do.
God help you, you do.
—
You don't know how you made it through round... whatever number that was. Your body's a puddle, your skin still humming, but Caleb is finally calm. Sated, for now. The hunger in his eyes has simmered down into something deeper—something dangerous in its quiet intensity.
He’s seated now, bare chest gleaming faintly in the afternoon light, legs spread with an unmistakable air of ownership. You’re half-draped across his torso, wearing one of his shirts that swallows you whole. He holds you with one arm looped securely around your waist, the other hand delicately unfolding that last letter. The most intimate one. The one you never meant anyone—especially him—to see.
You try not to squirm as he reads it again, slowly, as if committing every line to memory.
You can feel his eyes on the page—but his attention is on you.
“You wrote this two years ago,” he says softly, thumb brushing idle circles against your inner thigh. “I was at the edge of the solar belt. Couldn’t sleep that night. I felt… off. Like I was missing something.”
You glance down, ashamed. “Don’t romanticize it.”
“I’m not,” he replies simply. “I’m aligning timelines.”
Your heart stutters. His hand stills.
“Do you want me to stop reading?” he asks, genuine this time.
You consider it. Swallow. Then shake your head.
He nods, kisses your temple.
Another beat of silence. The room smells of skin and paper and sunlight.
Then, quietly, with a low chuckle, he murmurs:
“I should have known,” he mutters, “you liked being chased. You always did, even as a kid. Remember all those games of tag?”
You remember.
And you remember how he’d always let you win—just enough—before pulling you back into his arms with that sly smile of his, the one that made your heart race and your stomach flip.
You squirm, face heating. “That’s different.”
“It was always you,” he says softly. “Even when I didn’t know what I was looking for. I’d follow you through fields, parks, school halls. You’d run, I’d chase. Every time.”
His voice dips, husky but no longer carnal. “You were never hiding from me. You were waiting for me to catch up.”
Your throat tightens.
“And I did.” He sets the letter aside. “Finally.”
The intensity softens into something almost unbearably tender. His fingers curl beneath your chin and tilt your face up.
“No more letters,” he murmurs. “If there’s something you want… tell me. If you need something… I’ll listen. If you feel too much—good. So do I.”
You try to look away, but he won’t let you.
“You’ve already stripped yourself bare,” he whispers, brushing your hair back. “Now let me carry the weight.”
And just like that, your defenses crumble—slowly, quietly, like a dam leaking at the seams.
You rest your forehead against his. His lips ghost over yours. There’s no urgency. No fire.
Just heat. Banked and waiting.
And when he pulls you closer, tucks you against his chest, and lets out a slow breath—you swear you can feel his heartbeat echo your own.
The world outside is quiet, but inside your home, chaos reigns.
“Hey! Give that back!” you shout, laughing breathlessly as you chase after Caleb, who’s casually sauntering around your kitchen—your kitchen—holding your favorite coffee mug high above his head like a trophy.
Bastard.
“This?” Caleb grins, the morning light making his messy hair look unfairly golden, like he just strolled out of a dream. “You mean our mug now. Community property.”
“That’s not how this works!” You make a wild grab for it, but he just shifts it higher, smirking like he’s enjoying this a little too much.
Maybe it’s the fact that he’s only in a loose pair of joggers, the drawstring barely tied, his chest bare and warm and still a little damp from his earlier shower. Maybe it’s the way he looks at you—like you’re the only thing in the world worth teasing, worth chasing. Whatever it is, your heart flutters violently in your chest.
“Caleb, I swear—” you lunge for him again.
He catches you effortlessly, laughing as he spins you around until your back is pressed against his chest, trapping you in his arms. The mug dangles in front of you tauntingly. His scent envelops you—fresh soap, coffee, and something that’s just him.
“Say please,” he whispers into your ear, his breath warm, sending a shiver racing down your spine.
You wriggle in his arms, only managing to grind yourself back against his hips in the most scandalous way. Caleb’s arms tighten, his low groan rumbling against your back.
You freeze, heat flooding your cheeks. Damn him.
Caleb chuckles, feeling the way you stiffen. “Careful, sweetheart. You’re playing with fire this early in the morning.”
“You started it,” you mutter, glaring over your shoulder.
He grins lazily, shameless. “I’ll finish it, too.”
Before you can retort, he finally, finally relinquishes the mug, setting it gently on the counter. You think you’re safe—until he sweeps you off your feet in one effortless move, carrying you bridal style toward the couch.
“Caleb! Put me down!” you yelp, pounding your fists against his chest, but he’s unbothered, humming a tune under his breath like this is the most normal thing in the world.
“Shhh. We’re doing Sunday properly,” he says, plopping down onto the couch and settling you firmly on his lap, caging you in with his arms. “Coffee. Couch. Cuddles. Mandatory.”
You open your mouth to protest, but his hand cups the back of your head, gently guiding you to rest against his shoulder. His touch is slow, deliberate, almost reverent.
You can feel the tension humming between you—thick, electric—but somehow, it doesn’t feel urgent. It feels… safe. Warm. Like you could fall asleep right here and Caleb would keep the whole world away from you.
You sigh, feeling your body relax against him despite yourself.
“This isn’t fair,” you grumble.
“What’s not fair?” he asks, voice low and teasing as he presses a kiss to the top of your head.
“You being so… so…” You gesture vaguely, words failing you. How do you describe this? Caleb being infuriating and sweet and annoyingly perfect, all wrapped up in one stupidly handsome package?
“So what?” he presses, feigning innocence. His hand strokes lazily up and down your spine, his touch feather-light.
You groan into his chest. “Everything.”
He laughs—really laughs—and the sound rumbles deep in his chest, vibrating against you. You can’t help the small smile that creeps across your face. You hate how easy it is to be soft with him. How easy it is to fall harder when you promised yourself you’d be careful.
“You’re stuck with me now, sweetheart,” Caleb says, dropping his forehead against yours, his eyes shining with something raw and unspoken. “Might as well get used to it.”
Your heart thuds painfully against your ribs, and for once, you don’t have a snarky reply. Just this—this impossible, chaotic, beautiful morning. His arms around you. His laugh in your ears. His heartbeat steady beneath your hand.
Maybe you are stuck with him.
Maybe you want to be.
And when Caleb presses a soft, lingering kiss to your lips—tender, warm, unbearably sweet—you know you’re completely, hopelessly, irreversibly his.
And judging by the way he smiles against your mouth, he's known it all along.
Your lunch is burning.
You know it is—because you can smell the faint scent of charred vegetables—and yet, you can’t do anything about it.
Because Caleb.
Because Caleb, who has one arm lazily wrapped around your waist, caging you against the counter, a spatula abandoned nearby. Because Caleb, who keeps murmuring absolutely mortifying things against your ear in that deep, smug voice of his, his lips brushing your skin with every word.
Because Caleb, who somehow—somehow—has memorized every single humiliating word you ever wrote to him.
You try not to die of embarrassment right there.
“You know,” Caleb drawls, his voice a slow purr against your ear, “you were really dramatic back in middle school. I believe it went something like—” he clears his throat exaggeratedly, clearly having way too much fun, “‘Dear Caleb, I hate you so much I hope you trip and fall into a mud puddle in front of the entire school. Maybe then you’ll stop being so full of yourself.’”
You groan, shoving your sleeves over your face, mortified. “Stopppp.” You’re basically trying to melt into the counter at this point.
But Caleb’s laughing, warm and delighted, peeling your sleeves down to expose your burning face. He lives for this now, clearly. Every time you squirm, he looks like he’s won the lottery.
“And then—then,” he continues gleefully, ignoring your protests, “in high school, when I got a little popular… You wrote, ‘Congratulations, Prince Charming. Maybe one day you’ll notice the loyal commoner you left in the dust. But no worries. I’m totally fine. Totally. Absolutely fine. Not like I ever cared anyway.’”
He recites it with dramatic flair, clutching his chest like a wounded lover. You are dying inside.
“Oh my God, Caleb,” you hiss, trying to hide your face again. “Shut up! I was, like, fifteen! I didn’t know anything about anything!”
He laughs again, low and fond, his chest vibrating against your back. “You knew enough to break my heart, sweetheart,” he murmurs, and you feel the serious undercurrent beneath all the teasing—the raw affection.
You twist in his grip, attempting to shove him away, but he just effortlessly manhandles you into his lap instead. One strong arm loops around your waist, the other sneaks into your hair, stroking it slowly, tangling his fingers through the strands.
You pout at him, cheeks still on fire. “You’re so annoying.”
His grin softens into something devastatingly tender. His eyes burn bright and molten as he stares at you, like you’re the only thing in the entire world.
“Not done yet,” he murmurs.
Your stomach drops.
You already know what's coming. The worst part.
Caleb leans down, nuzzles against your temple, and in a low, sinful voice, whispers, “And then there were the ones where you couldn’t stop thinking about me at night.”
You jerk, mortified, but he tightens his hold on you, trapping you snug against him. His lips graze your ear.
“You had so many thoughts about me,” he says, voice dropping impossibly lower. “About what you wanted me to do to you. About what you wanted to do to me.” He chuckles darkly when you squeak and try to wriggle away.
“I can quote those too, if you want,” he teases mercilessly. “Maybe I should start with the one where you described me tying you up with my DAA-issued tactical belt—”
“CALEB!!” you shriek, smacking his chest as he throws his head back laughing.
You bury your face in his shoulder, absolutely vibrating with secondhand embarrassment, whimpering, “I’m going to die. I’m actually going to die.”
“No, you’re not,” he says, pressing kisses to your hairline, your forehead, your temple, over and over again until your trembling subsides into quiet giggles. His arms are warm and unrelenting around you.
You risk peeking up at him—and freeze.
He’s staring down at you with a look so filled with adoration it physically steals the air from your lungs. His hand cups your jaw so gently it makes your heart ache.
“You’re my life,” Caleb says, voice rough with feeling. “You’ve always been my life. You just didn’t know it yet.”
You blink up at him, stunned, your heart threatening to burst out of your chest.
Slowly, shyly, you rest your forehead against his, your hands sliding up to his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart beneath your palms.
Caleb exhales shakily, as if the moment is too big even for him.
The smell of burnt food lingers, the sun pours golden light across the kitchen, and you sit there, tangled up in him, the most chaotic, beautiful, utterly yours thing you’ve ever had.
“Guess I’m stuck with you, huh?” you whisper, a teasing glint in your eye.
Caleb’s smile turns crooked, boyish.
“Forever, sweetheart,” he murmurs.
And then he kisses you, slow and deep and soft, like a promise he’s waited a lifetime to keep.
—
Later that night, you're curled up on the couch together, tangled in a heap of limbs and fluffy throw blankets, a low movie playing in the background.
You’re half-dozing, feeling deliciously warm and safe against Caleb’s chest, his heartbeat lulling you into a haze. His hand strokes lazily through your hair, fingertips dragging slow, lazy patterns against your scalp.
You’re just about to slip under completely when—
"Sweetheart?" Caleb’s voice, deceptively casual.
You hum in response, not even bothering to open your eyes.
"What's this? Another letter?"
You tense immediately.
No.
No no no.
Your eyes snap open in horror just in time to see Caleb, that absolute devil, pulling out one of the more battered, worn pieces of paper from somewhere.
You gasp, trying to grab for it, but he holds it way above your head, smirking like the cat who caught the canary.
"Caleb!" you shriek, flailing. "Put it away! You can't—!"
He just laughs and pins you down easily with one hand on your waist, straddling your thighs to trap you in place.
“I think the people deserve to hear this one,” he teases, that wicked glint in his eye. “Specifically, me.”
He clears his throat dramatically while you writhe helplessly beneath him.
"‘It’s not fair,’" Caleb reads aloud, smirking as he drags his gaze down your squirming body. "‘It’s not fair how he fills out his uniform. How his gloves tighten around his fingers. How I can’t stop thinking about what those hands would feel like on my skin. How I dream about him tying my wrists, whispering filthy promises against my neck—’"
"CALEB!!" you wail, smacking your hands against his chest in a feeble attempt to stop him. Your face is boiling hot.
But Caleb, the menace, the absolute menace, just grins wider, loving every second of your humiliation.
"And it goes on," he says gleefully, ignoring your mortified whimper. "‘How I'd let him do anything to me. How I'd beg him to lose control. How much I crave him, every breath, every heartbeat, like I'm dying of thirst in a desert and he's the only water I'll ever want.’"
Your soul tries to physically leave your body.
You slap your hands over your face, wishing for death.
"Please," you moan into your palms, "Caleb, please stop—"
But he just chuckles darkly, leaning down until his nose brushes yours, his voice dropping to a sinful murmur.
“You really should have mailed this one, sweetheart,” he says, eyes smoldering. "Would’ve saved us a lot of time."
You whimper, still hiding your face. He peels your hands away from your burning cheeks gently but firmly, making you meet his gaze.
Caleb’s smile turns unbearably tender as he cradles your flushed face between his palms, thumbs brushing over your cheekbones.
"I memorized every word," he says softly. "Every single one. They're engraved into me now. Just like you."
Your heart stutters painfully in your chest.
You can't look away from him—those devastating sunset eyes drinking you in like you hung the stars.
He dips his head lower, kissing the corner of your mouth, slow and reverent.
“You’re mine,” Caleb murmurs, voice rough with possessiveness and love. “You always were.”
You melt completely, boneless in his hold, helpless against him—as you’ve always been.
"Caleb..." you whisper, voice trembling.
He smiles that slow, infuriating, dangerous smile—and promptly starts tickling you, laughing when you shriek and try to wriggle free, your earlier mortification forgotten in a burst of chaotic laughter and flailing limbs.
You scream his name, half furious, half in love.
Caleb just laughs like it’s the happiest sound in the world.
It’s late.
Not the deep velvet of midnight, but that quiet hour when the world seems suspended in hush. The city hums softly beyond the windows, and the room is awash in the muted amber of a bedside lamp. You're tangled together beneath the sheets—not in passion this time, but in something far more dangerous.
Vulnerability.
Caleb lies on his side, propped up on one elbow, watching you with that look again—the one that's too tender, too knowing. His fingers trail lazily across your arm, like he can’t stop touching you even now. Like he’s making sure you’re still here.
“I should’ve reached out sooner,” he says.
You stay quiet. Not because you're angry. Because you're afraid of what might come next.
“I didn’t date her,” he adds, so casually it nearly slips by.
You blink.
“What?”
“She wasn’t mine,” he says. “Never was. I thought…” He hesitates. “I thought she might be the only person who could understand what I was becoming. The training. The pressure. But it was never romantic. Not even close.”
Your throat feels tight. You shift, pulling the blanket up like armor.
“Then why didn’t you call? Or message? Or—anything, Caleb? You just vanished.”
He exhales, slow and jagged.
“I was afraid,” he admits.
You glance up, surprised.
He stares at the ceiling, jaw clenched. “Not of the missions. Not of the fleet. I was afraid that if I talked to you, really talked to you, I’d drop everything just to be near you. I was already teetering. One video call and I would’ve been done for.”
Your heart twists painfully.
“You idiot,” you whisper. “I would’ve taken you. In any form.”
“I didn’t want you to take less of me.” He looks at you then, eyes bare, voice rough. “I wanted to be worthy of what you wrote in those letters. Of the way you looked at me when we were kids.”
You want to scream. Or cry. Or maybe just bury your face in his chest until the years melt away.
“You were worthy, Caleb. You just… didn’t believe it.”
A silence settles. Not heavy. Just real.
He pulls you closer. One hand cradling your head to his chest, the other tangled in your fingers beneath the sheets. You listen to his heartbeat again.
Stronger now.
Steady.
“For the record,” he murmurs, “when I read the one about the lake—when we were sixteen—I nearly lost it. I remember that night. I didn’t know what to do with the way I felt back then.”
You squeeze his hand. “You pushed me into the water.”
“You screamed my name so loud, half the neighborhood heard.”
You smile despite yourself.
Then softer, quieter:
“I used to dream about that moment, you know? If you ever found the letters. If you ever came back.”
“And now that I have?”
Your smile fades. You tilt your head up and find him waiting. Bare. Present.
“I don’t want dreams anymore,” you whisper.
“Good,” Caleb says, leaning down until his lips barely brush yours. “Because I’m not leaving this time. And I don’t need letters. I have you.”
And when he kisses you, it’s not a claim.
It’s a promise.
The shuttle touches down with a soft hiss, and before the hatch even fully opens, you're hit with the scent of your hometown—familiar, grounding, sweetened by nostalgia. The air is different here. Softer. Like time slows down just enough to let you breathe.
Caleb steps out behind you, his duffel slung lazily over one shoulder. His eyes sweep over the old landing port, the cracked pavement, the overgrown grass curling at the edges of fences long forgotten. He doesn't say anything for a moment.
Then, quietly: “It’s smaller than I remember.”
You huff a laugh. “Because we’re bigger now.”
He looks at you—really looks. “You are.”
There’s a weight to those words you don’t touch yet. Not here. Not now.
The town unfolds before you like a photograph—faded but warm. You walk the familiar streets side by side, shoulders brushing, passing your old school, the corner store where you used to pool pocket change for sweets, the park where you’d play tag until dusk.
“I remember this tree,” Caleb murmurs, stopping beneath the one with the warped trunk. “You used to climb it like a gremlin.”
“You fell out of it once,” you remind him. “Cried for hours.”
He laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “And you didn’t leave my side.”
A beat of silence.
“You always stayed,” he says.
You glance at him, the late afternoon sun haloing his profile. “You just didn’t always notice.”
His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, his hand brushes yours. Then lingers. Then takes it fully.
You don’t let go.
The path takes you past your childhood home. Your heart kicks up. The windows are still the same. The porch swing still crooked. You half expect to hear your mother calling you in for dinner. Caleb pauses beside you.
“I remember sneaking out through your window,” he says with a crooked grin. “You made me carry that squeaky chair so we wouldn’t get caught.”
“You always stepped on the wrong floorboard anyway,” you mutter. “We always got caught.”
“Worth it,” he murmurs. “Every single time.”
You don’t speak again until you're standing at the edge of the lake—the one you wrote about. The one where you screamed his name across the water. It looks just like it did then.
The sun dips low, painting the surface gold.
You watch the light scatter across the waves, lost in thought.
“I didn’t know you loved me then,” he says, voice quiet. “But I felt it. In every laugh. Every fight. Every stupid dare. I felt it. I just didn’t have the words.”
Your throat tightens.
“I didn’t either,” you say. “So I wrote them instead.”
He turns to you slowly. “No more letters,” he whispers.
Then, gently, reverently, Caleb cups your face.
You close your eyes.
The kiss is soft this time. Not a promise or a possession. Just a memory, coming full circle.
Just two people who finally stopped running.
NOTES: guys I'm so embarrassed, I can't believe I posted the unedited version!!! I didn't like how instead of talking through their issues these two went to bang instead, AHHH this is so embarrassing!!!
Okay, so I'm gonna preface this and say that you should read Sakura's Dedication by Fuyu Yukimiya because it's freakin' adorable as hell and I genuinely adore it. I enjoy rereading (I do hope to own a physical copy one day) every now and again because it's just so friggin' cute.
But! With my LaDS brain, I cannot help but imagine a young Zayne in this and I genuinely find it so damn cute. I won't say "Oh my God it's exactly like him" but it's nice to imagine him as Sakura, an intelligent kid who likes Sawa(FL)/MC (or non-mc), and just wants to be the woman he loves.
Anyways, that's all. I highly recommend it if you like romance manga and just want to see characters fall in love and be cute as hell.
Bringing this back because I'm rereading it and my freakin' God, it's so damn CUTE! Like, in the first volume, first chapter really, the FL breaks up with her boyfriend and the ML tries to pursue her. When a rumor breaks out, after being told by the ML that he likes her, she notices that he dodges her and avoids her after the rumor spreads.
But this lovable idiot isn't avoiding her because of the rumors, no. This goofball was trying to play "hard to get" and thought women liked that. It's so damn cute.
And he straight up promises to make her happy when she confesses she likes him! Like, ugh! SO DAMN CUTE!
If I don't talk about her a little, she'll kill me. That's how it feels as I try to sleep but she doesn't leeeet me. She's like a demonic spirit, haunting me and keeping me awake at night.
So, Yin Zhao, amirite? I created a character that is so complex (definitely not) that I try very hard to look at her design (in my head) and think about the choices she makes.
For the people lurking and don't know anything about her, long story short, she's my OC for LaDS. Her version that haunts me is the Isekai version where she gets transported into the Love and DeepSpace universe. This is where her true complexities lie. She's from our universe (albeit slightly altered because I'm not a history/political person) and in that universe, she dies. The ol' song and dance of all Isekai stories, right?
What makes this story different is that I didn't go with the whole "My life sucks/sucked so when I died I was very confused but sorta happy I get to start over" schtick. It's a fine premise, I get it, but I got kinda tired of it. She isn't like that. She loved her life. She was happy. Even if there were situations that made it very difficult for her to really enjoy herself, she was still really grateful for the life she had. She loved it. But, even more, she loved her parents. She adored them, admired them, wished she could be half as good of a person that they were. She loved them to death.
And now she's dead. She used to be a stuntwoman and during one stunt, she died in the process. Now she has to come to terms with the fact that in her universe, she's dead and in this one, she never existed to begin with. No one in her life ever existed in this one. She wrestles with the knowledge that not only is this universe a video game in hers, but that everyone she loves is gone. They never existed and that fucks with her on the daily.
But also, she basically enters the world through someone else's body. A version of her that exists in LaDs. This body belonged to the Yin of his world. Something happened to this version of herself, but this version didn't quite die. She was simply unconscious and for some reason, Yin took over her body. In her mind, she stole this woman's life. She body snatched the fuck out her and stole her autonomy. She has no idea how to give it back or has any idea of how this is supposed to work.
She has to deal with the fact that face looking back at her isn't really hers. It's close, eerily so, but still different. The eye color isn't the same nor is the hair color because this Yin's hair is naturally blue rather than a dye that Yin usually chooses.
Now, with that knowledge under your belt, the reason I'm thinking about her appearance so much is because "the curtains are blue". Now, it's obvious if you know me, that I got most of my inspiration on what I was super interested in at the time. In this case JJK made me imagine Yin being the type to like the show. So much, she has Sukuna's tattoos. Not all of them, just the ones around her wrists and a matching set on her ankles.
Now in the show and in real life, they're a mark for criminals. Even if that's not how she felt when she got them in her world, in this one, she gets them because of two reasons. 1) It's an attempt to regain some form of individuality back and 2) it's because she sort of changed the way they are presented. In her mind, these are now her shackles as much as they are her individual expression. She feels like a criminal and therefore she deserves to be branded as one.
What started off as a simple "Oh, that would look cool. She'd look so sick with them because she's hot." She is, but I didn't want them to just be an accessory but to have meaning behind it. And it's my attempt to create the meaning behind it. Her tattoos are her mental state. It's how she feels because she not only feels like a murderer, she deserves to be branded as one. She's trapped in a body that doesn't belong to her. She "mutilates" this body and corrupts it because she is stuck in it for what she can assume is eternity. No matter how long she lives in it, it will never really be hers. It belonged to someone else.
She dyes her hair. Now, Yin's natural hair color is black. In my mind, I liked her attempting to at least dye it a little just to make it look cool, but I settled with this sort of half dye. Because her natural roots are now blue, she dyes the bottom half black. My concern is how to make it mean something. I had already made her name sort of mean something. Yin and Yang. Her hair being half-black on the bottom could also be a representation of her duality. She clings desperately to the past, the black hair sort of grounding her to her own reality. She isn't the same person, but she tries.
I think so much about these details because Yin is a very complicated person. She's supposed to be seen as this cool, down to earth, very chill individual. She's extremely loving and caring, with a compassionate heart. She enjoys nature, is very extroverted and doesn't really like being cooped up inside. She's a bit of an adrenaline junkie. Honestly, she's very much like how people view Caleb. But, unlike Caleb, she genuinely enjoys getting to know people.
But the complexities are when that sort of image gets distorted. When you peel back the layers, you see a very damaged person struggling with their own emotional state. She's in a situation no one has ever been. She's surviving purely on the pretense that she has "amnesia" because her version in this world got hit in the head pretty hard. She's living a lie that she can't really keep up with because her grief is manifesting itself through her stories of her family and friends.
It's a thing in this story where the guys and MC (who I love and her name is Meiqi Cen) sort of question how much Yin actually remembers. This woman talks at length about the stories of her past. She cooks almost every single day, every meal, because it's the only time she can feel connected to her parents. The food hasn't changed so much in this world, so this is the only way she can feel like she's close to them. She talks about them when she's cooking. Meiqi asks her questions and Yin usually has a story for those questions. And yet, she doesn't remember her time here with them? It's suspicious.
Nevertheless, she keeps her secrets. It's sort of tragic that people she's growing close to are the same people that would understand her the most and her situation but she cannot speak about it. She dug herself way too deep into her lie that if she tries to tell them, she doesn't really know what would happen. She has to keep up with her lies.
What makes her more layered as a character is something I did sneak in, sort of, in the Caleb story. Specifically the most recent one with NMC. Part of her bad traits is her detachment. It's a factor that came from her trauma after suffering abuse. She was groomed at a young age and that man basically stole more than just her innocence, he stole her ability to maintain a relationship. In the Caleb story, NMC gets betrayed, but instead of getting mad, she just detaches herself from the situation. She "burns the bridge" without a single care in the world.
What I didn't touch upon in that story is how damaging it actually is. How unhealthy that sort of coping really is. It's not a boss move or a badass moment, it's actually quite deeply unsettling. Especially since she masks her emotions so eerily close to how she'd normally act. Yin isn't feeling angry because she's over it. She isn't feeling anything at all. She has no feelings inside her. She copes by completely shutting down her emotions but knowing that it would look unsettling if she didn't "pretend" to be human.
That's where the true terror was supposed to be in. Not seeing NMC as a badass, but as a deeply damaged individual who would much rather shut off all her feelings than attempt to navigate them in a healthy way. It's disturbing.
That's how Yin is. She is disturbed. It's terrifying because it's the only way she knows how to cope. She was taught by her abuser how to perfectly and seamlessly pretend to be "functional". She doesn't know how to process her emotions when they start becoming too intense. And what's more heartbreaking is that she falls into it so often, she doesn't realize that she's doing it until her trauma manifests in a physical way. She loses her ability to taste anything. She has learned how to suppress her stress so much, she doesn't even realize she's actually anxious until she can't taste the food she's eating.
Which brings up another issue with her. Despite how open she appears to be about her emotions, a lot like Zayne, Caleb and Rafayel, she doesn't talk about her problems when they really become too much. She lies and isolates and prefers to "process" her feelings on her own. She hides her pain. She hides her depression. She hides and hides and hides until she can manage well enough once again.
One of the scenes in my head is that Yin likes to eat with people. She's the "family dinner" type of person. She doesn't really enjoy eating alone, so most of the time (because sometimes I treat this world like a sitcom) she's eating with the rest of them. They all enjoy breakfast if they stay over or dinner together. Maybe even lunch if they have the time. But when she realizes she can't taste anything, when she drinks first, she stalls. She lets them eat first, pretending she's really interested in savoring her drink or being really thirsty. She listens and watches how they react to the food on the table if she wasn't one that made it or if they brought take out. Then she decides to eat and parrot the same remarks of the food.
They don't catch on until later and the way it happens is still up in the air for me. There are certain aspects in the story I haven't made canon for it yet. But, when they find out, be it Xavier or even Sylus, they trick her. They swap her drink carefully, because she's usually on high alert when she can't taste anything and notices every single detail because she has to, and call her out when they notice she didn't. It's oddly intense as a scene, because as I said, she's on high alert. Yin drinks very bitter teas (another manifestation of her trauma) and so swapping it with one that is overtly sweet (swapped Zayne's tea with hers), they're trying to distract her when she catches the floral scent that isn't quite the bitterness she's used to.
She drinks it, but because she's extra cautious, she catches much too late that it's not the same tea she usually makes. It's flowery and smells sweet, but she can't taste it. Because she usually takes her time to "savor the drink", it's supposed to be a good amount before she realizes it's been swapped. Any normal person would be able to tell the difference immediately and she didn't. She stares at it for a long time before she looks up to meet Xavier's, or Sylus's, eyes and realizes too late she's been caught in her act. She doesn't pretend, she just says, "how'd you find out?"
Ugh, I just love this character and the AU. I may do other aspects of her story and stuff. I just wanted to talk about how the duality of a character who is suffering so deeply and can't talk about her situation or her mental state while also being the same person who is doing thirst traps (not actual ones) in her god damn kitchen at two in the morning because she was hungry and listening to music.
Also, in this AU, I'll say it again, I fucking love MC. People hate on MC and I'm like "Not my girl. Meiqi Cen, my MC in this AU, is fucking awesome." I love her. She's so sweet and so fucking loving and amazing. She's so God damn cute. Oh my God.
I had a whole little thing where Yin is her best friend. She loves that woman so much. So much, in fact, that she got jealous over Mephisto because he's a bird and can hitch a ride on Yin's head. It's so funny and adorable, because Yin is trying not to laugh when she gets back and hands Sylus his bird back and she can't contain it so she uses Mephisto to cover her face because she can't help but laugh. She's failing to contain her laughter and Meiqi is red in the face, embarrassed and telling Yin not to say anything but she can't help it. She tells them the story about what happened and Meiqi is pouting and angry when they look at her like she's a little crazy.
God, I can go on and on about their dynamic. It's such a great part of the story with how much Yin and Meiqi get closer. How as much as Meiqi is important to Yin, Yin is just as important to Meiqi. How they build each other up and how Yin sees her as her own person with her own thoughts and feelings and not someone that used to be someone else.
But another time. Another post. I think I'm finally allowed to sleep. Until the next time with My OC's!
Once again, if you did read everything, thanks. I like talking about them but I also know it's not everyone's interest. So thanks if you're reading this. :)
Had an idea about dog!hybrid!NMC fic with Sylus, but then the trailer for the new 5-star card came out and now I'm just like "Ugh... if I try to write it, it'll feel lame. I have to wait but then I might not return to it."
But then again, I dunno what direction I want to go with. There's this one sc-- fuck I'm overthinking again. I can just write the scene. I can WRITE THE SCENE AND FLY AWAY!
Quick personal ramble on my recent fic [not the dialogue one]. Feel free to ignore it.
But, I think I know why I wrote NMC the way that I did and why I gravitate to NMC fics in my writing with that sort of mentality. (not all of them).
Once upon a time, when Adult Swim used to have anime, there was this show called S-CRY-ed. I had woken up and ended up catching the final moments of one of the episodes. The scene I saw was of one of the characters [Scheris Adjani] finding the corpse of her crush [Ryuho Ryu]. The man already has someone he cares about and loves, and yet she still sacrifices her life to resurrect him. It's stated she never really uses her powers all that much and to the extent she did, she basically trades her life for his.
It's a bittersweet moment but when he wakes up, she's gone. All that's left is a pile of her clothes. The other main character [Kazuma] finds him and tells him what happened. But what stuck with me, and probably altered my brain chemistry, was that Kazuma tells Ryu to cry for her. That she sacrificed herself to save him, the least he could do is cry for her.
And he does. And it's not some small little tear rolling his cheek. He's on his knees, clinging to her clothes and sobbing for her. And that really stuck with me.
[btw in the manga it's different and she's not dead but this was way more impactful for me]
I think that's what I was going for in the Xavier story. Even if Xavier wouldn't love NMC, it didn't mean he didn't care. It didn't mean that him crying over her meant he lost a love that was always nearby. It meant that he respected her. NMC willingly put her duty and her life on the line for his decisions and his hope for a solution to prevent MC from having to sacrifice herself for the planet despite being in love with him. She didn't want to risk all their hard work going down the drain.
And she died doing what she thought was right.
But he never got the chance to get to know her. He was so consumed with his plans and his need to prevent the love of his life from being used as a battery over and over again that he never got to know NMC. The irony was that if he had simply kept in touch with her instead of getting updates through Jeremiah, maybe she wouldn't have died. It was literally that simple: just sitting on the couch and watching TV.
Her haunting him was just to spend what little time she had with him. The moment he found out was her time to move on. She couldn't linger anymore, it wouldn't be right.
BTW, one thing I would elaborate on was that blood was DEFINITELY shed. Xavier did not fuck around.
I do like thinking Jeremiah plants her favorite flowers and grows them in his garden [which if you're self-inserting it would be yours]. It's just a way to say thank you and honor NMC.
a/n: I should be sleeping but as you will learn, I write every single time I'm tired and should be asleep.
dialogue only | drabble | zayne x reader | humor [mostly to me]
"Let me get this straight, you want me to teach you how to dance?"
"I believe that's what I asked, yes. Thank you for repeating it exactly."
"You?"
"Yes."
"I've seen you drop it to the floor."
"... I didn't 'drop it to the floor'. I slipped."
"On beat!?"
"Coincidences happen."
"Sure, they happen, but on beat? Zayne, I was standing right there at the club and you so happened to 'slip' when the beat dropped smack dab in the middle of the dance floor."
"If you recall, I was trying to get to you and the floor was slippery."
"And you got back up like it was nothing."
"I have a good balance."
"Uh-huh. Also, why are you asking me to teach you? I've seen you dance and trust me, I don't think I really need to teach you anything."
"But if you drop it, I want to be there to catch it."
"I fucking hate you."
"You're laughing."
"Because you're ridiculous!"
"Is that a no?"
"Why don't you 'slip' again and then I'll consider it."
"Now you're being ridiculous."
i dunno man, I think it's funny. but i'm also pretty easy to make laugh when i'm tired
f!reader x Xavier | non-mc!reader x Xavier | unrequited love | plot twist | angst | there's gonna be grammatical errors | might have lore mistakes my bad
Xavier knew something was wrong the day he saw you sitting on his couch, uninvited with an awkward smile on your face.
He knew that you, out of everyone that remained of the Backtrackers, remained dutiful and isolated from the rest of the team. You didn't show up unannounced without a good enough reason. And yet, there was no great exigency that caused you to break into his home and watch day time television on his couch.
"The mechanic shop you had me maintaining near the outskirts of the N109 Zone is under repair after some nasty Wanderer situation. So, hope you don't mind me crashing at your place."
"Could you not stay at Philos?"
"You forget I'm still angry at Jeremiah. Yeah, no, that's not happening unless you want him knocking at your door demanding compensation for all the flowers I'd destroy out of spite."
"The flowers are innocent."
"Don't care."
And yet he couldn't shake the feeling that something was off about you. You never specified exactly what happened, however, crucially, he never pressed you for more details aside from one or two questions that you vaguely answered.
You crashed in the spare bedroom, yet each morning he always saw you on the couch, no matter what odd hours of the night he woke up. You would just wave at him, watching whatever was on. He never took you as the type to indulge in modern television, investing your time in dramas and sitcoms like you had nothing better to do.
"So, if I'm understanding this right, Kim is in love with Taeha, but because of the historical accuracy this show is trying to present, they can't be together because they're both men and being gay is illegal?"
"I'm not even sure what's going on because you've been watching this for the past three days and I just started right now."
"Okay, but, what would be your opinion on that? Would it just be better to elope somewhere and move away?"
"If I understand it based on this half-hour you've made me watch, I don't think that's possible. They're both in the military to start off and Taeha is his commanding officer. They'd be hunted and killed for deserting if they made that attempt."
"Tragic."
"Sure, but since when did you commit so hard to watching dramas? The last time I saw you, your commitment was towards monitoring everything you could about the current technological advancements."
"Mnm, I was. I simply hit a cap point for now and thought a hobby was in order. Besides, I like hanging out with you."
And there was just something about the way you turned to him, eyes soft and smile so tender that made him realize that he never really got to know you. He'd never taken the time to really learn about your likes and dislikes. What other hobbies did you have? Did you try to make friends here, like he and Jeremiah had?
Were you happy with the way things turned out? Did you have any regrets? Did you have any doubts?
Did you feel like you were withering away here?
For the time being, he made the effort to try to learn more about you. He hung out with you more, finding a nice TV show to watch together. He learned what made you laugh the hardest or what trashy show ended up being a guilty pleasure. He learned that you were closeted romantic, catching the tears in the corner of your eyes as you tried to disguise the sniffles when the couple finally kissed.
Before he really knew it, months had gone by with you in staying at his place. He grew accustomed to your presence in his home, always greeting him when he came home and wishing him pleasant dreams when he couldn't keep his eyes open anymore. He woke up with a blanket over him more times than he could count.
"I noticed something about you."
"Mnm, what's that?"
"You've been wearing the same sweater the entire time. I don't think you've taken it off. With how often you wear it, I can't imagine all the dead skin cells and sweat that might be clinging to that poor thing."
"I'm sure you've heard of them before, but just in case you haven't, there's this machine that cleans your clothes. They call it a 'washing machine' and it's pretty easy to use. You just toss your clothes in, add some laundry detergent and fabric softener, press a button or two and it cleans your clothes for you."
"Uh-huh. But why not wear something else in the meantime?"
"It's my favorite sweatshirt. You gifted it to me a few decades back, don't you remember?"
"Hm, yeah, it looks familiar. I'm surprised it's still in good condition after all this time."
"I take good care of my gifts, Xavier."
He should've known something was wrong at the time, too. He should have noticed it. Aside from the meter, there was nothing noticeably different about the bills that came every month. No extra water usage. No dip in his food bill when he went out. Even the days he was gone longer on missions, the food in his fridge remained untouched. Not even extra dishes.
You always made the excuse that you ate beforehand every single time, too stuffed to even drink a glass of water. He never took the time to question it, believing more that you just did everything outside of the apartment.
Xavier believed in you, even if his instincts warned him in the back of his mind. He trusted you because you were never lied to him. You never betrayed him. You stood by him when the other Backtrackers turned. You sullied your hands with their blood alongside him, knowing the dangers of losing part of your own humanity. Living with the looming threat that if you lost your sanity, you would turn into a Wanderer just like them the longer you remained.
"She's training to be a Hunter now."
"Mnm, it's been a decade since the disaster hasn't it?"
"It has."
"Worried?"
"No. Well, maybe a little."
"Relax. Her Majesty was rather skilled from what I can remember. I'm sure she'll be alright. Just keep doing what you're doing and keep an eye on her from the defectors and everything should be fine."
"Don't you mean 'we'?"
"... Of course."
He should've known then. He should have questioned you right then and there and pressed for more information. But he didn't. He ignored what his eyes were telling him because you were his friend. Because he grew comfortable around you despite the suspicion gnawing inside of him.
Xavier should have known something was wrong when you refused to go see Jeremiah at Philos. You claimed you were still angry at him, but who held a grudge that long? He never knew what it was that made you resent him so much that you just outright refused to even contact him. Which was why he thought he'd try to smooth things over and ask him while he was getting updates on the other Backtrackers.
"Wait, you're telling me that she's been squatting at your place for months now? And she's still mad at me?"
"This week would mark the eight months she's been at my place. She showed up and said that the shop was in repairs. Though, every time I bring it up, she tells me that the construction was delayed due to the increase in Wanderer activity."
"That's weird."
"She's never lied to us about situations like these before, so I trust her. But, I'm also here to see if I can extend the olive branch. I don't really know what it was that made her hate you so much."
"Hm, I want to see something."
"Dodging the question?"
"I'm looking up the updates from her last entry and something isn't quite adding up. You said she's been there eight months right?"
"Watching TV on my sofa like it belongs to her."
"... Xavier, the last update she gave me was almost a year ago. It's been eleven months. She never missed an update before that."
"That doesn't make sense. I understand eight months since she's been with me, but eleven? Where are the extra three months unaccounted for?"
"No idea. You said she was mad at me, right? Enough to not want to talk to me? But, even if that were the case, if she really had a problem with what I told her, she would just message you, not me."
"... I'll try talking with her. Something isn't adding up."
"Tell her I'm sorry, while you're at it. I... I didn't mean to call her out."
"Call her out?"
"She'll know. It's not something I'm allowed to tell you."
Hundreds of possibilities surged through his head on his way back. Hundreds of potential lies. Hundreds of questions that all led to the one conclusion he refused to believe.
You didn't betray him.
You were loyal.
You stood by his side when all he wanted was to make sure that the woman he loved wouldn't have to be sacrificed time and time again for the sake of a doomed planet.
You turned your back to your comrades. You turned your back to your people that cursed their names for their betrayal. You killed people that you once called a friend. You did it all with him, never once wavering.
Had time finally caught up with you?
Were you finally too exhausted of this life and just wanted to go back home?
He needed to finally quell the suspicions that plagued him. He'd rather make an ass out of himself, questioning your loyalty than be weighed with the guilt that his decisions finally pushed you over the ledge.
And like always, when he entered his apartment, you were there, smiling at him and welcoming him home. The TV was on, like it always was. You were watching reruns of the drama you've probably seen a hundred times already.
But things were different. He wasn't allowing his eyes to be clouded in the presence of a friend, but someone that could potentially ruin all the work they've done these past hundreds of years. He was going to see you for all that you were.
"How was Jeremiah? Still tending to his plants?"
"Yeah. But, we need to talk about something." You hesitated briefly, the corner of your lips tightening a bit before you relaxed yourself.
"Can it wait until after the show is over?" A show you've seen a hundred times already? It wasn't that interesting.
Xavier wasn't going to let you deflect. He walked towards you and picked up the remote, turning it off and standing before you. You closed your eyes, sighing deeply before sitting up and meeting his eyes.
You weren't running away. You never did.
"What's up?"
Too many questions sat at the tip of his tongue, his eyes darting around the room for a moment to take in the environment. Was it... always so cold near you? Is that why you wore a sweatshirt all the time? Was there a draft?
The lights never turned on, but the TV was never off. No matter what odd hours he woke up, be it in the middle of the night or late into the afternoon, you were always sitting right there.
Eight months.
Eight months... and he never got close enough to touch you.
Xavier felt his grip around the remote loosen until it clattered to the floor, his heart sinking so deep into his stomach as a cold chill ran down his spine. He a took step towards you. Then another. And another. Each one heavier than the last until finally, he was standing so close, his legs brushed against yours.
You didn't flinch. You didn't move away. But your expression looked so clouded, your smile wavering as you looked up at him with tears in your eyes. He reached forward to touch your cheek, feeling something solid, just... frozen.
You were freezing to the touch.
"What happened?" Your eyes fluttered shut, your hand coming up to hold his hand closer to yours, nuzzling your cheek into his palm.
"Something bad. I'm sorry, Xavier. I'm sorry." He dropped down to one knee, taking your face fully in his hands as he watched the tears that gathered finally fall.
"Tell me everything." You laughed weakly, peering at him through bleary eyes, your lips quivering as you tried to keep a brave face for him.
"I failed. I wasn't strong enough for the ambush sprung on me. I didn't have time to react and I didn't know my system's defenses had been breached. The remaining defectors caught me and though I tried to fight them off, eventually I was captured."
Xavier bit his tongue, the anger that ignited within him threatening to overtake him. He couldn't allow his emotions to get out of control right now. Right now, you needed him to stay calm. You needed him to be in the right state of mind.
"They threatened me, tortured me, tried to blackmail me and when I didn't budge, they were willing to use me as bait. The problem is, when you rile someone up enough, they make mistakes. They get so angry and so resentful, they lash out." You chuckled weakly, shaking your head lightly. "They didn't mean to kill me. But... I was hoping they would. It would ruin the mission if you had to deal with a hostage exchange."
Anger gave way to shock. Shock turned to disbelief. Disbelief turned to grief.
"You're dead?" And suddenly, everything clicked into place. Why you never moved from your spot on the couch. Why you never ate. Why you never drank. Why you wore the same clothes every single day.
He was right. He was wrong.
You didn't betray him. You never did.
Your loyalty got you killed.
Your trust and faith in him to find the solution he was so desperate for made you think your life wasn't worth saving.
You swore your allegiance to him. To the Queen. You never wavered.
And in the end, all you got in return was an early grave after dedicating your life to finding a solution and a way back home.
Guilt tore at him in a way he couldn't imagine, his chest feeling like it was caving in on itself as he struggled to maintain his composure. It didn't make sense though. Something still wasn't adding up.
"How are you... here?"
You laughed. You laughed, staring into a fit of giggles before bellowing out with laughter as the tears continued to fall. As you held his hands so tightly, trembling from all the emotions you were experiencing.
"Guess ghosts are real, huh? You know what they say, if you die with regrets, you can never really move on. Didn't think it'd apply to aliens like us, huh?"
It wasn't funny. It wasn't funny at all.
He spent these months with you in his home. He watched all sorts of dramas and movies with you. He learned everything he could about you, crossing that bridge and getting to know the person you were.
A hopeless romantic deep down inside. So much, you cried at even the most shallow of love stories because you were happy they were in love. But you cried the hardest when the second lead never got their chance to be with the person they loved. When they let them go... because their happiness meant more to them than their own heart.
"Even if the second lead would have given up their entire soul for the main lead, it takes a lot of whole lotta grit to let someone that means the whole world to you go. Their happiness is all that matters."
No. It couldn't mean...
"Jeremiah said he's sorry for calling you out... what did he mean by that?" Your lips brushed against his palm in a chaste kiss, your eyes slowly dragging from his lips up to his eyes to really look at him.
"He knew I was in love with you."
It never crossed his mind. It never was a thought he entertained when he was so devoted to his beloved. To the young woman he was so desperate to save.
He could argue that you never let it show. He could shift the blame that you didn't like being around people often that he never saw it. He could lie to himself all he wanted.
The truth was in the sweatshirt you wore. The day he gave it to you, you never looked so soft. Your smile was splitting your face, the giddiness rolling off you in waves as you put it on as quickly as you could. The only time you went out of your way to hug him, squeezing him tight as you thanked him for the gift.
It was just a sweatshirt. He got it because it suited you and he thought you would like it since you had been working so hard.
And now you were dead.
"I don't think I've ever seen you cry before, that's so alien. It's a little weird." Xavier couldn't help it. He couldn't help the anguish he was feeling, never knowing your true feelings. Even if he couldn't return them. Even if...
He pulled you tight into his arms, hugging you close and burying his face into your shoulder. His body wracked with sobs, the guilt of every decision he made and all the people he lost tearing right through his chest and carving a hole where his heart was.
You died and remained with regrets.
You haunted him because you wanted to remain close to him.
Even if all you did was spend time watching stupid shows and movies on his couch while he drifted in and out of sleep. That was enough for you. It wasn't fair to you. It wasn't fair at all.
Xavier cradled you in his arms, pulling you onto his lap as he sobbed into the very gift that meant so much to you.
"It's okay, you know? I don't blame you. It was just something that was bound to happen the longer we stayed here." You soothed his back softly, comforting him even in death. "I'm sorry you had to find out this way. Even if it wasn't something I couldn't control, I'm sort of glad it happened. It meant I could hang out with you like this."
He shook his head violently, his grip around you tightening so much that he would have left bruises if you were... alive. "You could have done that at any time! Not like this. Not when you're just a ghost in my apartment. Not when..." God his voice never sounded so broken before. "Not when you're dead. Not when your body is somewhere we don't know."
"Yeah, sorry. That was... insensitive of me." He couldn't let go.
He didn't want to let you go.
There was still so much he had to learn. So much he wanted to talk to you about. There was so much time you both were supposed to have. So much time wasted. So much time he could have taken to actually hang out with you. Suddenly, a hundred years felt so damn short. He took the long lifespans for granted and now it was all too late.
"Xavier." You did your best to peel yourself back so that you could look at him. His eyes were burning and his nose was blocked up, but he met your gaze head on. Your fingers brushed against his cheek, wiping the tears away.
He committed your face to his memory. The way your eyes softened when you looked at him with the most gentle smile on your face. The way you looked at him with such tenderness and love, he wished he could see it on you for real.
"I love you." You leaned in to kiss him, your lips soft against his as he gently kissed you back. It wasn't out of love, but he felt you deserved it. You did.
It was closure and you deserved it more than anyone.
He felt it before he saw it. Your form was dissipating right there in his arms, but he didn't pull away. He just clung to you tighter, kissing you harder to give you something before you completely disappeared.
"Thank you." Were the last words you said before you were gone.
He sat there on the floor, his arms empty and his apartment colder than ever. You were never coming back. He was never going to see you sitting on his couch and welcoming him back. He was never going to hear you laugh too hard at a comedy skit or ball your eyes out over some romantic drama.
He was never going to learn more about you. Never hear your voice again. Never see you again.
You were gone.
"Thank you for always being by my side."
a/n: could not put the post twist in the tags, sorry. if it bothers you, feel free to yell at me. and yes, I write this in one go because I have no self-restraint
non-mc x Rafayel | hot spring event banner story [not the card] | hurt/comfort
"She's the only one that ever understood the real me."
Funny how that's the first thing that springs to your mind as your boyfriend tells you that he's having issues with his vision. Like a sudden knife between your ribs as you try not to let your face show how shocked and hurt you're feeling. It's not about you. It's not important. It was something he told you when you were friends and he had been hung up on a woman that he was desperately in love with. You hadn't even developed feelings for him then.
But it haunts you.
He didn't tell you.
You only realized it when he was struggling to distinguish between the animal figurines on the shelf, his hands guiding him through every bump and ridge as he pretended he was fully aware of the world around him. You only noticed when you picked one up and said the wrong name on accident, him nodding along enthusiastically before you caught your slip.
It wasn't the first time he had issues with his sight. He'd told you about it in the past, when he was still hung up on the only tether that kept his depression from fully consuming him.
"It isn't all bad. You look gorgeous in this lighting."
You swallowed your feelings down and simply helped him through the moments where the blinding light made it harder for him. You took his hand and guided him carefully through the streets as you took in the views. You hand fed him mostly out of love but partly to keep your own bitter feelings at bay, finding some comfort in the way he soaked up your attention like he couldn't live without it.
You hated the feelings of helplessness. You hated thinking about what she could do if she was there. If she really knew him better than anyone else, would he have been better off? It wasn't just frustrating that you were thinking this way, it was downright disgusting that you were standing in the way of your own happiness over the past version of him that poured his yearning into the pieces he painted with her in mind.
"I know you're worried about me, but I promise you that I'm alright. It's not a big deal and the resort manager said it's just a side effect from the hot springs. It'll go away soon." Even if that was the case, it didn't really ease up the feelings festering in the back of your mind.
But the way he smiled at you, leaning into you and whispering his adoration into your skin as he pulled you close to him was enough to try and focus on the rest of the trip. The warmth of his hands and rhythmic thudding of his heart against your ear was enough to soothe your feelings. He was here with you to have a nice vacation and get some pigments.
The rest can be dealt with later.
But when later eventually came in the form of a painting, you couldn't take the time to truly admire the beauty.
You stood before a portrait of yourself bathed in an array of golden hues, the feelings of inadequacy reared its ugly head once more. Memories of watching him pace around the classroom to talk about her as you stayed late to work on some sketches he assigned the class to do. The times he let his jealousy show itself to you as he complained over lunch that she was getting closer to some guy he didn't really know the name of.
"You don't understand. He's so possessive over her and he's completely restrictive."
"And this is her adopted brother or is this the guy that works with her at the Association? And, by the way, saying he's possessive seems a tad ironic considering you're her stalker."
"First thing we're getting out of the way is that I am not her 'stalker'. I just so happen to know things because I pay attention to the world around me. I'm an artist after all, I pick up on the small details no one else pays attention to. Stop snickering, it's really rude. Secondly, it's that pathetic mess of a guy that refuses to wear grown up clothes."
"Right, right. Whatever you say, Professor Rafayel."
"Ugh, I know you're my student but that's just rude to call me that outside of school. Besides, if I'm being honest, I just think she'd be better off with me. I'm clearly the better option. We're destined to be together."
And you believed it at the time. You honestly thought he was able to really let his feelings reach her and touch the part of her heart that could return his devotion and love.
But you remember so clearly how he called you in the dead of night, partially drunk on whatever liquor he was drinking, voice hoarse and devoid of his usual charm.
"I had to let her go." Were the first words out of his mouth when you answered.
You didn't really know what to say at the time, uncertain how to comfort someone who was hurting in a way you didn't understand at the time. So you said the only thing that made sense at the time. "Where are you?"
And after a lengthy taxi ride to a rest area for campers, you found him parked near a cliff side that had a beautiful view of the ocean. He was resting on the hood of his car, arm slung over his eyes and looking more disheveled than you had ever seen him when you approached him.
"What do you need?" You leaned over the hood next to him, looking out at the ocean as he sniffled a few times.
"A friend." You stayed with him the entire night. You endured the chill of the night air biting at your cheeks and freezing your fingers. You listened to the restraint of his sorrow and committed it to memory. You didn't look at his pain. You didn't comment on his despair. You didn't judge his way of coping through his broken heart.
When the sun's rays finally began to pierce through the night sky and he began to move beside you did you finally look at him. You noticed his puffy eyes. You noticed the way his lower lip quivered ever so slightly. You saw the despair in his eyes as he looked at you with such vulnerability, your first instinct was to cup his face in your hand and gently pull him into a warm embrace.
"It'll be alright. I'll stay with you until you're okay."
You meant it that day. You stayed by his side. You stayed until you fell in love with him. When he returned your love, you had been over the moon. You believed him. You really did.
But now? After that trip? After staring at the portrait of his love and devotion right in front of your face did you start to feel the anxiety of not being the one he wanted. For the first time, you actually began to doubt if he loved you because he truly felt love for you or if you had simply been the logical choice.
You had seen him at his most vulnerable state and yet he still hid a part of himself from you. He hid parts of his life from you when he went off on little excursions that he didn't need you to tag along with. He hid something from you when he isolated himself for a night or two every year, telling you not to worry despite how uncomfortable he sounded over the phone.
Did you understand him? Did you ever see the real him?
You wanted to smile. You were desperate to put on a brave face and smile so big and wide that it'd hurt your cheeks. You wanted to say how sweet and touching it was that he painted you. You wanted to cup his face and squish it and kiss it and just... You didn't want to cry.
You didn't.
But you couldn't help it as the tears spilled out before you could stop yourself. You choked out a sob, your hand covering your mouth to try and stifle the rest as the anxiety you weren't aware of suddenly burst forth. You were hurting over something you didn't even consider before.
"Hey, baby, what's wrong? Are you okay?" The world was spinning around you as you sobbed, unable to get the words out as you cried, your hands clutching his shirt so tight that it might just tear. All you could think about was every confession he shared with you about her. All you could think about was the late night messages about how he needed a distraction because he was going crazy thinking about her.
All you could think about was the night on the hood of his car, listening to him break beside you because he was willing to let her go to someone else.
None of the good memories could overpower the anxiety of being the second option. Not the way he reached for your hand to calm his nerves at events. Not the way he pulled you closer to him when someone tried to hit on you. Not the way he looked at you with pure devotion in his eyes, like you were the only person in this world that ever truly mattered.
You sobbed into his chest, his arms tight around you as he whispered something into your hair. He held you there, comforting you until you could finally settle down long enough to hear what he was saying over the sniffles and the fierce beating of his heart beneath your ear.
"I love you. I love you so much. Please... I love you. Don't leave me. Don't leave. I won't survive without you, my muse. My love. My life."
You shut your eyes, clinging to him tightly and found comfort in his warmth. "I'm not leaving. 'm sorry I made you worry."
"Worried would be an understatement." He laughed hoarsely, clinging to you tighter somehow. "I've never seen you cry like that so every bad thought went through my mind."
You nuzzled into his chest, chuckling weakly. "Every bad feeling I never knew I had went through mine. That's why I cried."
"Well, guess we'll stay like this until we're both okay."
"Heh, that might take all night."
"Might as well get comfortable right here on the floor then. Because I'm not going anywhere."
You had time to talk through your feelings another time. You had time to really get into the crux of your own anxiety and self-doubt. So long as he was here, holding you in his arms, it could wait until you were both okay.
So I'm just finishing up the final parts of the event, right? I'm a filthy procrastinator, so this is also your warning to finish it up before it ends soon.
Xavier was last so I left off on Chapter 4 and the moment I heard Latin music, I was so damn excited. Like, YESSSSSSS! YESSSSSSSSSSS!
Now all I can think about is Xavier dancing the tango.
And once again, if you haven't finished the event, go ahead and finish it before it leaves. :D
Three instances where Caleb Xia felt afraid of the person you were.
In truth, he couldn't quite measure the fear the way a normal person could. He'd seen it all. He's faced off Wanderers that could shred you to pieces without much effort. He's survived several assassination attempts, only one taking his arm in the process. He'd drifted into the inky black darkness of space and came back out the same.
But watching someone like you fight with an Evol that volatile and destructive like it didn't cost you a single thing was exhilarating. The way you moved was wild and unpredictable. Too wild. Too unpredictable.
You fought like you had nothing to lose.
And wasn't that terrifying, when he knew that you had so much to lose. You had a family. You had friends. You had dreams and aspirations with a full life ahead of you. And yet, you were choosing to fight like you never had them to begin with.
What made you so twisted that you so willingly chose to throw your life away?
The second instance was understanding that you were not at all what you seemed. He thought he knew you. Cool. Relaxed. Kind. You got along with almost everyone you met. Your emotional maturity was almost envious. Nothing quite got under your skin as you brushed off insults and complaints with a roll of your eyes and a shrug of your shoulders. "Some people are always going to hate you no matter what you do. So, you might as well just learn to live with it and enjoy your own life." You said once over a dinner date.
Caleb thought he knew you. He truly thought he knew the levels of your anger. He knew when you got annoyed. He knew when you were frustrated. He knew when you just wanted to vent and rant about someone at work. He knew what triggered you. He knew what actually pissed you off.
But to see the true scope of your anger wasn't a violent outburst of power. It wasn't an explosion that led to a fist fight. It wasn't bloody knuckles or busted lips or broken bones. It was so much colder, with malicious intent as you attacked not with your hands but with your words. You didn't speak to intimidate. You weren't trying to win an argument.
You wanted the person that dared to fully piss you off to break.
Vulnerabilities. Secrets. Insecurities. It didn't matter. You hit below the belt. You stabbed them in the back. You threw their mistakes back in their face. Caleb realized you paid far more attention to people than you let on. You knew what would hurt them the most and sat with the knowledge like it was ammunition you weren't ready to use yet.
How terrifying that the person that people looked towards as a friend and confided in was the one person they never should have trusted? That you were willing to set the bridge on fire while they were still crossing just to watch them fall.
Caleb couldn't pretend he wouldn't have done the same thing. He couldn't sit there and judge you when he was just as messed up as you were. The true terror that lied within him was knowing you could easily turn on him and you knew, very down in the depths of your heart, what could absolutely destroy him.
The final instance was when she came back into his life. When the life he lived with you, sharing a part of his home and even a tiny speck of his heart with you, would end.
Caleb knew the day would come that he'd put an end to the relationship he built with you. He just didn't expect it to happen so fast. He never told you, but you never needed him to.
He prepared himself emotionally, mentally and physically. He wanted to give you one final day filled to the brim with excitement and happiness before he delivered the news, because he was so sure that you were going to hate him.
Nothing he did prepared him for your reaction.
He sat you down and told you he was ending things. He revealed the truth to you about the woman he truly loved and how much it meant to him to be with her. He told you that he never loved you.
But you didn't react the way he imagined you did. You didn't scream or yell at him. You didn't tear him apart with your words. You didn't do anything. You just checked your phone, laughing to yourself about something before pocketing it and smiling that you should pack your stuff then.
He thought that you were simply in denial. He thought that you hadn't fully processed his words. He genuinely believed that you were just doing this to fuck with him at this point. He thought... He thought he knew anything about you.
But as you smiled at him, joked with him and teased him that the least he could do was help you gather your stuff from his place, he realized the true terror of someone who could play the part of someone so perfectly human. There was nothing in your eyes.
Your smile reached your eyes. Your voice carried the same casual tone. You responded the way you usually did. You moved like you always did as you packed your stuff. But Caleb couldn't shake off the creeping dread of being in the presence of something so eerily inhuman.
Just how often did you pretend? How long did you keep up the act? How could you so appear so seamless as you went about his home, mulling over what constitutes as yours if you both bought it together. You murmured to yourself as you weighed the pros and cons of taking something with you that you really liked but wouldn't use that often now that you didn't have use for it.
"Aren't you angry?" He whispered behind you as you packed the few articles of clothing you brought in a box, more concerned with the arrangement than the elephant in the room.
"No, not really. Don't you remember what I told you when we started dating?" You looked over your shoulder, smiling at him like you always did. Like he was the only one that deserved to see a smile so full of tenderness and love. That he was the one person that knew the real you. "None of my relationships last. You're just another one that was never meant to be."
How much of it was real? No, he knew it was real. He knew the way you took his face in your hands to pepper kisses all over it that it meant something. He knew that when you looked at him, you saw someone that you wanted to spend the rest of your life with. He knew that you meant every whispered confession of love into his skin. He knew that you meant every compliment.
Damn it, he knew that you loved him when you held him through his worst moments. Every single time his hands were stained with blood, you took them in yours without fear or disgust and told him that they brought you so much comfort. Every shared laugh meant something. Every look meant something. Every kiss meant something.
The terror wasn't that he felt he was tricked. He wasn't.
It was the fact that the moment he betrayed you, you severed your ties. You didn't even flinch as you took all those moments you shared with him and lit them up without a second thought. In your mind, in your heart, they no longer meant a single damn thing.
He wasn't a friend. He wasn't a stranger. He was something you were tolerating and playing nice with until you were done with him.
And that hurt far deeper than he could ever imagine.
I wanna write so damn bad, man. I have so many ideas in my head and I want to get them out. I want to just post a story, even if it's bad or filled to the brim with grammatical errors and spelling mistakes and just be happy it's out there.
I just can't. I want to. I feel the need to and yet I can't bring myself to do it and I hate it. The scenes play in my head like a movie that I can't stop seeing. The dialogue flows so naturally that I want to capture it in writing but the moment I bring my hands to the keyboard, it all just goes away.
I feel the inspiration when I play the game and I have so many little things pop up, but it just never clicks. I want to write so badly, but it's so frustrating when I can't bring myself to do it.
Y'know what sorta hurts? When you make an OC.... and then later on, play a game where not only does your OC have similar powers to a character in that game, but they also have a similar color scheme and fighting style.
I promise! I am original! T~T It's just a weird coincidence!!
