It was supposed to be just a normal summer at your best friend’s house. Then her older brother, Oscar, showed up. You had always insisted he was boring and quiet. Now, a few years older and undeniably hotter, he was a lot harder to ignore.
THE FRESH RYE AIR WRAPPED AROUND YOU THE MOMENT YOU STEPPED OFF THE BUS, warm and salty in that way only coastal towns ever managed. It hit you with a strange mix of comfort and excitement, like your body remembered this place before your mind even caught up. Everything looked the same as last year—the bright sky, the quiet streets, the smell of the ocean drifting in from somewhere you couldn’t see yet. Rye always felt like summer to you. Not just a place, but a whole season pressed into one small town. And spending the whole break at Hattie’s house was the thing you’d been counting down to for months.
You dragged your suitcase behind you, the wheels bumping over the pavement as you walked the familiar five hundred metres from the bus stop. It wasn’t far, but every step made your chest feel lighter. The Piastri house came into view just as the sun hit it in that soft, golden way that made everything look a little magical. And there—right in front of the gate—was Hattie, waving both arms like she’d been waiting all day.
You didn’t even think about the suitcase anymore. You let go of the handle and ran the last few steps, your smile stretching so wide it almost hurt. “Helloooo!!!” you shouted, breathless and happy, throwing your arms around her the second you reached her. She squealed and hugged you back just as tightly, the kind of hug that made you feel like you were exactly where you were supposed to be.
Summer had officially started.
“You’re finally here! I missed you so much, girl,” Hattie said, her arms still wrapped tightly around you like she had no plans of letting go anytime soon.
You laughed into her shoulder before pulling back just enough to see her face. Her hair was a little longer, her cheeks a little tanner, but she still looked exactly like the friend you’d been counting down the days to see. “Of course I’m here,” you said, smiling so wide it almost hurt. “Did you really think I’d miss an entire summer with you?”
“Maybe,” she said, lifting one eyebrow in that dramatic way she always did. “You take forever to reply to my texts.”
You gasped, pressing a hand to your chest like she’d wounded you. “That is a lie.”
“It is absolutely not,” she shot back, already grinning.
You rolled your eyes, but the familiar teasing settled between you so easily it felt like no time had passed at all. Months apart, and somehow you always slipped right back into the same rhythm—the same jokes, the same comfort, the same feeling of home.
Before you could reach for your suitcase, Hattie grabbed the handle and started dragging it toward the house. “Come on. Mum’s already making lunch.”
“You know I would’ve carried that myself,” you said, following her up the path.
“Yeah, but then I’d have to listen to you complain about your arms hurting.”
You scoffed and nudged her shoulder, but you were smiling again, the kind of smile that came from being exactly where you wanted to be.
When you stepped inside, the hallway looked exactly the same as last summer—the framed photos, the sandy shoes by the door, the faint smell of sunscreen and something cooking. It all hit you at once, warm and familiar.
“Y/n’s here!” Hattie called out, her voice echoing through the house like an announcement the walls already expected.
You leaned into the doorway just enough to see the kitchen. Nicole was standing there, finishing lunch like she was in some cooking show, sunlight hitting her hair in that perfect. She turned, saw you, and her whole face lit up.
“Y/n! Sweetheart!” she said, already pulling you into a quick hug that smelled like sunscreen and whatever she was cooking. “How have you been?”
You opened your mouth to answer, but the universe apparently had other plans.
“Y/n! Glad you’re back,” Chris said as he walked in, smiling like you were some long‑lost relative and not the girl who once spilled juice on his carpet when you were nine.
The welcome was warm enough to make your chest loosen a little. This house always did that—made you feel like you’d stepped into a memory you didn’t realize you missed.
But then everything in your brain shut down at once, because someone else walked in behind Chris. Taller. Broader. Light brown hair. A face you knew but also… didn’t.
Your mouth worked faster than your thoughts. “Oscar?”
Oscar Piastri. Hattie’s older brother. The kid who used to lecture you about not leaving wet towels on the floor. The kid who once told you that running in the hallway was “a safety hazard.” The kid who was basically a walking rulebook.
Except the person standing in front of you now? Yeah. Not that kid.
He looked older. Sharper. More put‑together in that effortless way that made you feel suddenly aware of your own travel‑wrinkled shirt. His hair was messy in a way that definitely wasn’t accidental. And the shirt he was wearing fit him like it had been chosen on purpose, which was honestly rude.
Your brain tried to match this version of him with the one you remembered, and it just… failed. Completely.
That was Oscar?
You blinked once. Twice.
Definitely not the Oscar you remembered.
Oscar stared at you for a solid five seconds.
Honestly? Fair enough.
The last time he’d seen you, you’d been an annoying teenager who followed Hattie around like a shadow, talked way too much, and somehow managed to trip over things that weren’t even there. A lot had changed since then.
Apparently, he noticed.
“Y/n?” he said, slow and careful, like he wasn’t totally convinced you were real.
You raised an eyebrow, because what else were you supposed to do.
“You look… different.”
A laugh slipped out before you could stop it.
But before you could say anything back, Hattie groaned loud enough to shake the walls.
“No shit, Sherlock. You haven’t seen her in, like, five years.”
Oscar rolled his eyes at her, but his gaze flicked back to you for a tiny second.
Long enough for you to catch it.
“Hattie,” Nicole warned from the kitchen, not even turning around. “Be nice. Oscar is finally home for the summer. It’s a special occasion.”
“Exactly,” Hattie muttered. “That’s why we should document this rare sighting.”
Oscar shot her a look that said he was two seconds away from throwing a dish towel at her.
You laughed, because honestly, this family never changed.
And the truth was… you weren’t exactly upset that Oscar was home for the summer.
Not anymore, at least.
A few minutes later, you were upstairs in Hattie’s room, surrounded by half‑opened zippers and clothes spilling out of your suitcase, trying very, very hard not to think about the fact that her older brother was downstairs looking like a completely different human being than the one in your memory. You focused on folding a shirt that didn’t need folding, mostly because it was easier than admitting your brain was still stuck on the moment he said your name like he wasn’t sure it was actually you.
“And you didn’t bother telling me Oscar was here too?” you asked, pulling out another pile of clothes and pretending this was a normal question and not a mild emotional crisis.
It was such a tiny detail. A footnote. Something that shouldn’t have mattered at all.
But somehow… it did. A lot.
Hattie was sprawled across her bed like she had no bones in her body, scrolling through her phone with zero awareness of the chaos happening inside your head. She shrugged without even looking up. “I didn’t know it was that important.”
“Important? Maybe not. Relevant? Definitely.”
She snorted, finally glancing at you. “Well, he usually spends most of the summer with his uni friends anyway. I didn’t think he’d be around much.”
You froze halfway through hanging up a dress, your hand suspended in the air like your brain had short‑circuited. “That’s even worse.”
Hattie blinked at you, confused. “What is?”
“I haven’t seen him in forever, and suddenly he’s back looking way too fine to still be the same annoying Oscar.”
The words slipped out before you could stop them, and the second they did, you wished you could grab them and shove them back into your mouth.
Hattie sat up so fast she nearly fell off the bed. “You just called my brother hot.”
You stared at her like she was being dramatic on purpose. “Well… isn’t he?”
“Y/n!”
You burst out laughing, because her face was priceless.
“That’s disgusting!”
“Of course it’s disgusting to you. He’s your brother.”
Hattie grabbed the nearest pillow and threw it at your head with the force of someone trying to erase a memory. You caught it easily, which only made her groan louder.
“For me, though…” you said, wiggling your eyebrows like the menace you absolutely were.
“Oh my God.”
“I’m just saying—”
“No. Don’t.”
“You have eyes too.”
“I am literally going to throw up.”
You laughed so hard you almost dropped the shirt you were holding, your stomach hurting in the best way. Hattie glared at you like you’d personally ruined her life.
“You’re being dramatic,” you said, still smiling.
“I’m being normal. You’re the weird one.”
────────────
The beach was surprisingly busy for a weekday afternoon. Families were spread out under bright umbrellas, kids were running in and out of the shallow water like they were powered by pure sugar, and the sound of waves mixed with laughter in that soft, familiar way that always made Rye feel like summer. The sun was warm on your skin as you walked along the shoreline with Hattie, your feet sinking into the cool sand with every step.
Well—with Hattie and Rosie.
Rosie was sprinting up and down the beach like she had been personally hired to test the limits of gravity. She couldn’t stay still for more than three seconds, which honestly felt like a talent at this point.
“Rosie!” Hattie called again, probably for the tenth time in five minutes.
The dog did not care. At all.
From a little distance, you saw Oscar sitting in one of the beach chairs, his phone in one hand, sunglasses pushed up into his hair. You caught the moment he looked up—first at Rosie, then at you—and you could see the small laugh he tried to hide.
You looked away immediately, because wow, he looked good. Like unfairly good. The shorts, the tan, the fact that he was shirtless like it was no big deal. Shirtless. You had not been prepared for that. At all. Where did he even get that body? Did uni hand it out with textbooks?
You tried not to stare.
Tried being the key word.
“She’s literally never listened to a single command in her life,” you said, tearing your eyes away from Oscar and focusing on Rosie, who was now digging a hole for absolutely no reason.
“That’s not true,” Hattie argued.
Right on cue, Rosie sprinted in the opposite direction.
Oscar raised an eyebrow from his chair, like he’d been expecting that exact outcome.
Hattie let out a long, dramatic sigh. “Okay, maybe not.”
Before you could say anything else, another dog barked somewhere farther down the beach, and Rosie’s ears shot up like she’d just heard the most important sound in the world. For one hopeful second she stood perfectly still, her whole body tense, like she was deciding whether to behave or to ruin everyone’s afternoon. Then she chose chaos. Obviously. She launched herself forward with the kind of speed that made you wonder if she’d been secretly training for this exact moment. Hattie let out a tired sigh that came from the deepest part of her soul.
“Oh, no,” she muttered, already knowing she’d lost.
“ROSIE!” she yelled, but the dog didn’t even pretend to listen. She was already halfway down the beach, sand flying behind her.
Hattie tried again, louder this time, “Rosie! Get your ass back here!” but Rosie was gone, sprinting toward her new best friend.
You looked at Hattie, and Hattie looked at you, and the two of you shared the exact same expression. Then Hattie groaned dramatically, threw her hands up, and took off running after her dog, her feet kicking up sand with every step. “You’re useless!” she shouted over her shoulder.
“I’m enjoying the show!” you called back, because honestly, chasing Rosie would only make things worse. Rosie would think it was a game. And she would win. Every time.
Within seconds, Hattie was a tiny figure in the distance, still yelling, still losing, still committed to the bit. And just like that, the beach suddenly felt quieter around you. The waves kept rolling in, the sun kept warming your shoulders, but the space beside you was empty now.
Well… not empty.
You glanced over your shoulder, and there he was. Oscar stood a few metres away, hands tucked into his pockets, watching the chaos with a small, amused smile like this was the most normal thing in the world. The breeze pushed his hair back, the sunlight hit his skin in that unfair way that made everything look like a scene from a movie, and suddenly you were very aware that you were now alone with him. Alone in the kind of way that felt accidental but also… not.
You had two options. You could run after Hattie and pretend you were being helpful. Or you could walk back to Oscar, who was still watching you with that calm, unreadable expression that made your stomach twist in a way you refused to acknowledge.
Not to shoot your shot. God, no. Absolutely not. You’d known him since you were basically a child. This was just talking. Normal talking. A normal conversation with a person you had known forever. A person who just happened to be shirtless and tan and looking at you right now like he was trying to figure out what version of you he was seeing.
Talk. Just talk. Nothing weird.
The fact that you had to remind yourself of that three times was… probably not a great sign.
You took a slow breath, the kind you hoped would calm your brain down, and walked back toward Oscar. The sand shifted under your feet, warm and soft, and for a second you wondered why this suddenly felt like such a big deal.
He glanced at you when you stopped beside him, then looked back toward the chaos unfolding down the beach. Hattie was still sprinting after Rosie like she was chasing a criminal.
“You think she’s gonna catch her?” you asked, your voice lighter than you felt.
Oscar followed Rosie’s zig‑zag path with his eyes, his expression flat in that calm, unbothered way he always had. “No chance.”
You laughed, because of course he was right. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
Silence settled between you again, but it wasn’t heavy. It wasn’t awkward. It was just… there. The kind of quiet that happens when two people aren’t sure what comes next, but neither of them feels the need to fill the space with noise. The waves rolled in and out, soft and steady. Somewhere in the distance, Hattie was still yelling Rosie’s name like she believed it would work eventually.
You cleared your throat, trying to push yourself into speaking before your brain talked you out of it. Say something. Anything.
“Hattie said you’re in uni now,” you said.
Oscar nodded once. “Yeah.”
“What are you studying?”
“Engineering.”
For some reason, that answer fit him perfectly. It made sense in a way you couldn’t explain—steady, focused, a little too serious for his own good. You smiled without meaning to.
“That sounds incredibly boring.”
Oscar turned his head toward you, one eyebrow lifting. “There it is.”
“There what is?”
“Everything I ever did was boring to you.”
You laughed, because okay, fair. “To be fair, you didn’t exactly help your case.”
“How?”
“You never left your room.”
A small smile tugged at his mouth, subtle but real. “I left my room.”
“No, you emerged once every few hours for food and then disappeared again.”
“I was busy.”
“Doing what?”
Oscar shrugged, hands still in his pockets. “Stuff.”
You rolled your eyes so hard it almost hurt. “See? That’s exactly what I mean.”
That earned a quiet laugh from him—soft, low, and surprisingly warm. A real one. And it hit you then, in a slow, unexpected way, that you’d never actually heard Oscar laugh much before. Not when you were younger. Back then he’d mostly tolerated you because you were attached to Hattie, the annoying kid who talked too much and got in the way.
“What about you?” Oscar asked, turning his head just slightly, his eyes flicking over you like he was actually curious.
You blinked, caught off guard. “What about me?”
“What are you doing now?”
“Oh.”
You hadn’t expected him to ask. Not seriously, anyway. For a second, your brain scrambled for an answer like you’d been called on in class without warning.
“Well, I finished high school two months ago,” you said, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you kept walking. “I worked as a babysitter for a while, just a part‑time thing.” You shrugged, trying to sound casual. “And now I think I’m going to try and shoot my shot at uni.”
Oscar looked at you for a moment, his expression unreadable but somehow amused. “And you say I’m boring.”
You pressed a hand to your chest like he’d personally offended you. “Excuse me?”
“Babysitting?” he said, laughing under his breath. “Really?”
“What’s wrong with babysitting?”
“Nothing,” he said, still smiling. “It’s just exactly what I imagined you’d do.”
You narrowed your eyes at him, because what did that even mean. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”
Oscar shrugged, the corner of his mouth lifting like he was enjoying this way too much. “I don’t know. You always liked being in charge.”
You stared at him. “I was twelve.”
“You were bossy at twelve.”
“I was not.”
“You absolutely were.”
You scoffed, because he was absolutely making things up. “You’re lying.”
“I’m not,” he said, shaking his head. “Half my memories of you involve you telling people what to do.”
A laugh slipped out of you before you could stop it. “And I remember how you scolded me because I left a dirty plate on the table.” You pointed a finger at him like you were presenting evidence in court.
Before Oscar could defend himself, Hattie finally reappeared, Rosie dangling in her arms like a wet towel. She dropped the dog onto the sand and clipped the leash on with the energy of someone who had just lived through a war.
“I’m done. I need water,” she announced before collapsing dramatically into the sand.
You and Oscar shared a look—the kind that lasted just a second too long—before both of you burst into laughter.
“Unbelievable,” Hattie muttered, collapsing backward into the sand like she’d just survived a life‑threatening event. “I chase a dog halfway across Rye and this is the thanks I get.”
“To be fair,” Oscar said, glancing down at Rosie with the calm judgment of an older brother who’d seen this exact scenario a hundred times, “you chose to own her.”
“I didn’t choose her,” Hattie said, pointing at the dog like she was presenting evidence in court.
Rosie immediately climbed into her lap, tail wagging like she hadn’t just ruined everyone’s peaceful walk.
“Oh, now she loves me,” Hattie said, throwing her head back dramatically. “Of course.”
“That’s because the running part is over,” you said, unable to stop the smile spreading across your face.
Hattie scooped up a handful of sand and flung it in your direction with the accuracy of someone who’d been practicing. You barely dodged it, stumbling back a step as the sand scattered across the air.
Oscar let out a quiet laugh beside you—the kind that wasn’t loud, but warm enough that you felt it in your chest. Hattie glared at both of you like you’d personally betrayed her.
────────────
The next morning was already warmer than you expected, the kind of heat that settled on your skin the moment you stepped outside. The Piastri backyard looked exactly the same as every summer before—the grass a little uneven, the old volleyball net leaning slightly to one side, the sun already bright enough to make you squint. Hattie had decided you were all playing volleyball. You had not been consulted. You also had no idea what you were doing, but apparently that didn’t matter.
“I’m telling you,” Hattie said confidently, tying her hair up like she was preparing for the Olympics, “we are winning this.”
“You say that about everything,” you replied, rolling your eyes in a way that made her grin.
Lily waved you over from the net, already bouncing on her toes with way too much morning energy. You knew her well enough—she lived a few houses down, and the three of you had spent plenty of summers together doing absolutely nothing productive. A small group was forming on the grass, everyone stretching or pretending to stretch.
And then you saw him.
Oscar stood slightly off to the side, hands in his pockets, watching the setup like he wasn’t entirely sure how he’d ended up here. He looked half awake, half amused, and fully like someone who had not planned to participate in any sport today. Of course he was here too. Of course he was watching you. Because why wouldn’t the universe make this morning even more complicated.
Hattie clapped her hands together, full coach mode. “Okay, teams. Me and Lily versus—” she pointed at you, then swung her finger toward Oscar, “you two.”
You blinked at her, because surely she was joking.
“What?”
Oscar raised an eyebrow at his sister, the exact same expression he’d used yesterday when Rosie tried to eat seaweed. “You’re joking.”
“Nope,” Hattie said, far too pleased with herself. “Balanced teams.”
“There is nothing balanced about that,” you muttered, staring at her like she’d lost her mind.
Hattie just smiled wider, which was never a good sign.
Oscar let out a quiet sigh, the kind that said he already regretted agreeing to this, but he stepped forward anyway. He rolled his shoulders once, like he was preparing for something far more serious than backyard volleyball. “Fine.”
You turned toward him, squinting a little. “You’ve played this before?”
“A bit.”
“That’s not reassuring.”
“It should be.”
You narrowed your eyes at him, because that was absolutely not the answer of someone who was actually good at this. “I don’t trust that answer.”
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth—small, almost hidden, like he didn’t want to give you the satisfaction of seeing it. “You’ll be fine,” he said, voice calm and annoyingly steady. Then, after a beat, he added, “Just don’t overthink it.”
“Excuse me?” you said, offended on principle.
But before you could argue, Hattie was already yelling for the first serve like she was running a professional tournament.
The game started fast.
Too fast.
The ball came flying toward you and you missed the return immediately, the ball bouncing off the grass like it was mocking you.
“Y/n!” Hattie shouted. “Seriously?”
“I wasn’t ready!”
“You’re never ready!”
The ball came again—faster this time—and you lunged forward with all the confidence of someone who had no idea what they were doing. You misjudged it completely. It should’ve hit the grass. It didn’t.
A hand caught your arm lightly, steadying you before you could stumble.
Oscar.
He was suddenly right beside you, close enough that you could feel the warmth of him even with the breeze. “Hands up,” he said calmly, like this was the most obvious thing in the world.
You turned your head slightly toward him. “I knew that.”
“You didn’t do it.”
“I was about to.”
“Mm.”
That tiny sound—barely a hum—somehow managed to travel straight through your stomach and settle there in the most annoying way possible. You hated that it did that. You hated that he probably knew it did that.
The next ball came faster, cutting through the air like it had a personal vendetta. Oscar’s voice came from beside you, calm but firm.
“Go.”
You hesitated for half a second, your brain doing that thing where it forgot how to function under pressure.
“Go,” he repeated, sharper this time, like he already knew hesitation was your worst enemy.
You moved.
And somehow—by some miracle—you hit it cleanly. The ball sailed over the net in a perfect arc, landing just out of Hattie’s reach. She groaned loudly, throwing her head back like she’d just witnessed a crime.
“Oh my God.”
You turned slightly, half‑grinning, half‑shocked. “I’m learning.”
“Barely,” Oscar muttered, but there was something warm in his voice, something amused that made your stomach flip in a way you pretended not to notice.
Before you could fire back, another ball came your way—too high, too fast, too everything. You reached for it, but Oscar stepped in first, moving with this effortless ease that made you want to be annoyed and impressed at the same time. He jumped just enough to send the ball back over the net, his hand meeting it with a clean, controlled hit.
It landed perfectly.
Too perfectly.
Hattie made a dramatic noise of disgust, throwing her arms up. “Okay, what the hell?”
You blinked at Oscar, because honestly, what the hell indeed. “Since when are you good at everything?”
Oscar shrugged like it was nothing, like he hadn’t just casually shown off in front of everyone. “I’m not.”
“You literally just made that look easy.”
“It was easy.”
He said it so simply, so casually, like he wasn’t aware of the way your brain short‑circuited for a second. Like he didn’t notice the way your pulse jumped. Like he didn’t know that every time he did something effortlessly competent, it made your thoughts scatter in ten different directions.
And the worst part?
He probably did know.
You scoffed, crossing your arms even though you were still holding the ball. “Of course it was.”
Oscar glanced at you, eyes flicking down and back up in that annoyingly calm way of his. “You’re just bad at it.”
Your mouth fell open.
“Excuse me?”
A faint smile tugged at his lips—small, controlled, like he was trying not to let it grow.
“I’m kidding.”
“You better be.”
But then he served again, and somehow it was even better than the last one—clean, sharp, stupidly perfect. You pointed at him immediately, like you were calling out a crime.
“Yeah, no. That’s not fair.”
Oscar didn’t even pretend to feel guilty.
“Skill issue.”
You gasped, loud and dramatic.
Across the net, Hattie froze mid‑serve, staring at the two of you like she’d just walked in on something illegal. “Are you two flirting or competing? Because I genuinely can’t tell anymore.”
You froze. Oscar didn’t.
He just looked over at her, completely calm, like she’d asked him what time it was.
“We’re playing volleyball.”
“That is not an answer,” Hattie said, pointing at both of you like she was accusing you of treason.
The words hit you too fast, too directly, like someone had thrown a bucket of cold water at your brain.
Absolutely not. Jesus Christ.
You weren’t flirting.
Neither of you were flirting.
Right?
You opened your mouth, ready to shut it down immediately.
“I think they’re annoying,” Hattie corrected, rolling her eyes.
You let out a breath way too quickly.
“Yes. Exactly. Annoying.”
Oscar finally looked at you then—just for a second—like he was weighing that answer, turning it over in his mind. Then he nodded once.
“Fair.”
But the corner of his mouth was still lifted, just slightly.
And somehow, that made it worse. So much worse.
Hattie squinted between the two of you, suspicious.
“I’m serious. I leave you alone for five minutes and suddenly there’s… whatever this is.”
“There is no ‘this’,” you said, way too fast, way too defensive.
Oscar served again without even glancing at you.
“Mm‑hm.”
That sound again.
Calm. Unbothered. Infuriating.
You grabbed the ball that came your way harder than necessary, your pulse doing something stupid.
“Stop doing that,” you muttered.
“Doing what?” he asked, stepping closer again, his hand brushing your elbow as he reset your stance like it was the most normal thing in the world.
“You know exactly what.”
He leaned in slightly—not close enough to be inappropriate, but close enough that your brain forgot how to function for a second — and his voice dropped just a little.
“You’re imagining things.”
Your mind blanked. Fully. Completely.
You swallowed.
“Yeah,” you said quickly. “Definitely imagining things.”
Across the net, Hattie made a disgusted sound, throwing her hands up.
“I hate both of you.”
────────────
The house was still quiet when you woke up, the kind of quiet that made everything feel softer, slower, like the world hadn’t fully started yet. For a moment you just lay there, staring at the unfamiliar ceiling, trying to remember where you were. Then it all came back in a slow wave—Rye, summer, Hattie, the beach, volleyball, and Oscar. That last thought hit a little too sharply, enough to make you sit up faster than you meant to.
You didn’t know why you were awake so early. Maybe it was the sunlight sneaking through the curtains, warm and bright even at this hour. Maybe it was the faint sound of waves rolling in the distance. Either way, you knew you weren’t falling back asleep, so you got yourself somewhat presentable and slipped quietly out of Hattie’s room.
The house felt peaceful as you walked downstairs, still half-asleep, still wrapped in that early-morning haze. You expected empty rooms, maybe the hum of the fridge, nothing else.
But when you stepped into the kitchen, you stopped.
Oscar was already there.
He stood by the counter with a glass in his hand, hair slightly messy like he’d only been awake for a few minutes. The morning light made everything about him look softer—his shoulders, his expression, even the way he breathed. There was something calm about him in the quiet, something that made him look like he belonged in this moment in a way you didn’t fully understand yet.
He looked up when he heard you.
“You’re up early,” he said.
“So are you,” you replied, walking in slowly, trying not to look like you were surprised to see him.
He shrugged a little. “Couldn’t sleep.”
You nodded, reaching for a glass of water, suddenly very aware of how quiet the kitchen was with just the two of you in it. It wasn’t awkward, not exactly—just unfamiliar, like you were both standing in a version of the morning you hadn’t expected.
“What are you doing up so early?” you asked.
“Sometimes I run,” he said. “Sometimes I just sit and exist.”
You glanced at him, amused. “And today?”
“The second one.”
A small laugh escaped you before you could stop it.
“I can tell. Your hair is a mess, Oscar.”
He raised an eyebrow, offended in the most unbothered way possible. “Rude.”
“Honest.”
That earned a faint huff of amusement from him as he leaned back against the counter, finally looking at you properly—eyes a little tired, expression a little softer than usual.
“You don’t look much better,” he said.
You gasped dramatically.
“I literally just woke up.”
“And?”
You shook your head, smiling despite yourself.
“You’re mean in the mornings.”
“I’m always like this.”
“Terrifying.”
He didn’t deny it—just let the corner of his mouth lift, barely there, but enough to make your stomach twist in a way you pretended not to notice.
Before either of you could say anything else, Nicole appeared in the kitchen doorway, already fully awake, hair tied up, looking like she’d been up for hours. She had that bright, organized morning energy that made you feel like you were still half‑asleep in comparison.
“Oh good, you’re both up,” she said, like this was the best news she’d heard all morning.
You straightened a little. “Morning.”
Nicole smiled warmly, then looked between you and Oscar with this expression that made you feel like she’d just solved a puzzle in her head. She clapped her hands once, decisive.
“Perfect,” she said. “You can go to the shops.”
You blinked, because that sentence made absolutely no sense at this hour.
“Sorry?”
“Groceries,” she added, already reaching for a small list on the counter. “We’re out of a few things, and since you’re both awake and useful right now, you can go.”
Oscar let out a slow, suffering breath. “Mom—”
“No excuses,” Nicole cut in, placing the list into your hand before he could finish. Then she pressed the car keys on top of it like she was crowning you with responsibility. “It’ll take you twenty minutes. Maybe thirty if you two stand in the pasta aisle arguing.”
You looked down at the keys in your hand.
Then at the list.
Then at Oscar.
He looked at the keys too.
Then at you.
And for a moment, neither of you said anything—just stood there in the quiet kitchen, both fully aware that Nicole had just volunteered you for something you definitely hadn’t signed up for.
But also… something that suddenly didn’t feel like the worst idea in the world.
“Okay,” Oscar said, already reaching for the keys like this was a normal morning task and not the beginning of a disaster.
“I’m driving!” you blurted, way too fast.
Before he could even react, you snatched the keys straight out of his hand and spun on your heel, heading for the front door with the confidence of someone who absolutely did not have a license for this.
For a split second, the house went silent.
Then, behind you—
“Hey.”
You didn’t stop.
“Y/n.”
You definitely didn’t stop.
Footsteps followed—calm at first, then quicker, like he’d realized you were actually committing to this. You burst out the front door into the warm morning air, a laugh already slipping out of you as you heard him right behind you.
“Give them back,” Oscar called, not even sounding out of breath.
“Nope,” you said, walking faster across the driveway. “I claimed them first.”
“That’s not how it works.”
“It is now.”
You made it maybe three more steps before you felt him catch up. A hand wrapped lightly around your wrist—not tight, not rough, just enough to stop you from escaping. You tried to pull away, laughing, but he didn’t let go.
“Seriously,” he said, voice quieter now, closer, “give them back.”
“You’re not fun,” you said, still smiling.
“That’s not the point.”
You turned slightly, still holding the keys behind your back like that would somehow protect them. For a moment, the two of you just stood there in the driveway—warm sun, quiet house, the kind of stillness that made everything feel sharper.
Oscar sighed, the kind of sigh that meant he’d already decided how this was going to end.
And before you could even process it, he stepped closer, one arm sliding around your waist as he lifted you a few inches off the ground like it was nothing.
“Hey—!” you gasped, more shocked than anything.
He didn’t struggle. Didn’t hesitate. Just lifted you with this calm, controlled ease that made your breath catch for reasons you refused to examine.
“Oh my God,” you said, half laughing, half stunned. “You can’t just do that.”
“I can,” he said simply.
“You can’t just pick people up!”
“You stole my keys.”
“That’s unrelated!”
While you were still flustered, he reached around you and gently plucked the keys from your hand with his free fingers.
“Got ‘em,” he said.
You blinked at him, still suspended in the air like an idiot.
“…Rude.”
Oscar finally set you back down, steadying you with one hand before letting go.
His expression stayed calm.
But the tiny smile tugging at his mouth?
Yeah. That made everything worse.
The drive to the store was surprisingly normal.
Which, honestly, felt like a personal attack.
After the whole driveway incident—the keys, the running, the lifting—you’d expected things to feel awkward. Or tense. Or at the very least for Oscar to acknowledge the fact that he had picked you up like you weighed absolutely nothing and then walked away like it was just another Tuesday.
Instead, he acted completely normal.
Like nothing had happened.
Like you hadn’t been suspended in the air for a full three seconds questioning every life choice you’d ever made.
Meanwhile, you spent half the drive staring out the window, pretending you weren’t thinking about it, pretending your brain wasn’t replaying the moment in slow motion like some kind of embarrassing highlight reel.
It was annoying.
Very annoying.
By the time you reached the small grocery store, you had mostly convinced yourself to get over it.
Mostly.
“You got the list?” Oscar asked as you stepped out of the car.
You held up the paper like it was evidence.
“Do I look irresponsible to you?”
Oscar looked at you.
Then he looked at the keys in his hand.
You gasped, offended.
“One time.”
“You stole a vehicle.”
“I stole keys.”
“Intent matters.”
You rolled your eyes so hard it almost hurt and followed him inside, the automatic doors sliding open with a soft whoosh—like the universe was welcoming you into yet another opportunity to embarrass yourself in front of him.
The store wasn’t very busy, just a handful of locals wandering around with small baskets, picking up things for the weekend. Oscar grabbed a basket without saying anything, and you unfolded Nicole’s list like you were preparing for a mission.
“Okay,” you said, scanning it. “Bread, milk, fruit, pasta, snacks—”
“We don’t need snacks.”
You lowered the paper slowly, dramatically.
“We always need snacks.”
“No,” Oscar said, already sounding like a disappointed parent. “Hattie thinks we need snacks.”
“Which means we need snacks.”
He shook his head, the picture of long‑suffering patience. “You are exactly why Mum’s grocery bills are terrifying.”
“And you’re exactly why nobody likes grocery shopping with you.”
You kept bickering all the way to the snack aisle—not real arguing, just the kind where both of you were pretending to be annoyed while clearly enjoying yourselves.
“You do not need three different bags of chips,” Oscar said, sounding like he was delivering a public safety announcement.
“Counterpoint: yes, we do.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
You grabbed another bag and dropped it into the basket with dramatic flair.
Oscar immediately took it back out.
You stared at him.
He stared back.
The chip bag hovered between you like it was witnessing a divorce.
“You’re impossible,” you said.
“So I’ve been told.”
Before you could escalate the argument into something truly stupid, a voice cut in.
“Aww.”
Both of you turned.
An elderly man stood nearby with a shopping cart, smiling at the two of you like he’d just stumbled upon a Hallmark movie.
You knew instantly this was going to be a disaster.
The man’s smile widened.
“Young love.”
Your soul left your body.
“What?”
The grandfatherly man gestured vaguely between you and Oscar, like the evidence was obvious.
“You two. Arguing over snacks. Very cute.”
You nearly choked on air.
Beside you, Oscar went completely still—like someone had hit pause on him.
“We’re not—”
“We’re not together,” you both said at the exact same time.
The man blinked.
Then smiled even wider, like he’d just been proven right.
“That’s what they all say.”
“Oh my God,” you muttered, wishing the floor would open up and swallow you.
Oscar looked away first, rubbing the back of his neck like he needed to physically wipe the embarrassment off himself.
The old man chuckled, pushing his cart forward.
“Well, enjoy your shopping, kids.”
And then he disappeared down the aisle, leaving you and Oscar standing there in the middle of the snack section, holding a bag of chips like it was evidence in a crime neither of you committed.
A grin spread across your face before you could stop it.
“Are you buying me snacks because we’re a cute young couple?”
Oscar closed his eyes for a brief second, like he was praying for patience.
“Y/n.”
“Oh, come on,” you laughed, trailing after him as he pushed the basket farther down the aisle. “The man basically married us.”
“He absolutely did not.”
You grabbed a random bag of gummy bears and held it up with a flourish.
“Can I get these, my dear boyfriend?”
Oscar almost walked right past you. Almost.
He paused mid‑step, shoulders going still. For the first time all morning, he actually looked caught off guard—eyes flicking to the gummy bears, then to you.
It only lasted a second.
Then something shifted in his expression, subtle but unmistakable.
And suddenly, you regretted everything.
A slow smile curved at the corner of his mouth.
“Yes, you can, princess.”
You froze.
The gummy bears nearly slipped out of your hand.
Your brain short‑circuited.
Oscar just kept walking, pushing the basket like he hadn’t just detonated a small emotional bomb in the snack aisle.
You hurried to catch up.
“Princess?”
He shrugged, casual.
“Boyfriend.”
“That was a joke.”
“So was that.”
You narrowed your eyes at him, but the problem was that he sounded far too amused. Like he was enjoying this. Like he was waiting to see what you’d do next.
You should’ve stopped there.
Instead, you made the mistake of grabbing another snack and holding it up.
“What about this one?”
Oscar glanced over, barely turning his head.
“Whatever you want, princess.”
Your face warmed instantly—too fast, too obvious—and you hated that he definitely noticed.
“Okay, stop.”
Oscar didn’t even look up from the shelf. “Stop what?”
“You know exactly what.”
He blinked at you with the most innocent expression you’d ever seen on a human face. Which somehow made it ten times worse.
A few aisles later, you were still trying to recover when he reached for a box of pasta.
“Do we need two?” he asked.
You looked up.
Oscar was already looking at you.
“What’s your opinion, princess?”
You nearly walked straight into the shopping cart.
“Oh my God.”
His laugh escaped before he could stop it—a real one this time, warm and unfiltered, not the quiet little huffs he usually tried to hide. And somehow that made it even more distracting, like the whole aisle shifted a little around you.
“You brought this on yourself,” he reminded you, still smiling.
“You could’ve just ignored me.”
“You could’ve not called me your boyfriend.”
You opened your mouth.
Closed it.
Opened it again.
Fair.
Unfortunately.
Oscar looked far too pleased with himself as he pushed the cart toward the checkout, the faintest hint of triumph in his expression. And the worst part was that you knew—absolutely knew—he wasn’t done.
You had a sinking feeling he was going to keep calling you princess for the rest of the day.
And you had an even worse feeling that a tiny, traitorous part of you didn’t mind.
────────────
The café was small, tucked just off the main street near the beach, the kind of place where the windows were always fogged from the espresso machine and the salty air clung to your skin no matter how far you walked inland. You could still feel the warmth from the sun on your shoulders as you stepped inside, the cool air brushing over you like a quiet relief.
Hattie was already at the counter, halfway through an argument with the barista about iced coffee versus whatever new seasonal drink he was trying to sell her. She gestured wildly, he countered with a smile, and the two of them looked like they’d been having this exact debate every morning for years. Oscar stood slightly behind you both, hands in his pockets, wearing the expression of someone who had been dragged here against his will but didn’t care enough to complain.
You were half-listening to Hattie’s dramatic monologue about “the betrayal of warm coffee in summer” when you stepped forward to order next.
“Just a latte, please,” you said, offering a small, polite smile.
The barista nodded, tapping something into the register. Then he paused—just a beat too long—and looked at you again.
“Yeah, sure,” he said. “But I think I’ve seen you around before.”
You blinked. “Oh, really?”
“Yeah.” He leaned slightly on the counter, smile widening in a way that was unmistakably flirty. “Or I just would’ve remembered you if I had.”
You let out a small laugh, unsure if he was trying to be charming or just confidently testing his luck.
“Right.”
He started making your drink, still talking casually, like this was a conversation he’d been waiting to have.
“You’re here on holiday?”
“Sort of,” you said. “Staying with a friend.”
“Lucky friend,” he said, glancing at you again with a grin. “Must be nice having you around.”
You smiled politely, shifting your weight from one foot to the other, suddenly very aware of how close Oscar was behind you. You could hear Hattie laughing at something on her phone, completely oblivious. Oscar still hadn’t said a word.
The barista slid your cup closer to the edge of the counter, fingers lingering on the lid for a second too long.
“So,” he added, leaning in just slightly, “you come here often this week or…?”
You opened your mouth to answer—
—but then a voice cut in from beside you.
“Take your time,” Oscar said calmly.
You turned your head slightly, surprised.
He had stepped forward without you noticing, close enough that you could feel the shift in the air between you. His tone wasn’t rude. Not sharp. Just… present. Firm in a way that made the barista blink.
The barista glanced at him.
“Oh, you’re together?” he asked lightly.
You immediately shook your head.
“No—”
At the exact same time, Oscar said, “Yeah.”
You froze.
Oh?
The barista paused, eyes flicking between the two of you like he was watching a plot twist unfold.
Oscar didn’t even look at you.
He just reached for your drink, sliding it a little closer to your side of the counter with quiet finality.
“Come on,” he said, like the conversation was already over. “We’re going.”
There was no edge in his voice.
No irritation.
Just certainty—the kind that made your stomach flip in a way you absolutely did not have the emotional tools to deal with before caffeine.
You stood there for a second too long, still processing the fact that he had said yeah like it was the simplest answer in the world.
The barista gave a small, awkward smile.
“Oh. Uh… right. Well… enjoy your drinks.”
He handed you the receipt and stepped back with a polite smile.
“Have a nice day.”
You grabbed your coffee slowly, still processing, and the second you stepped away from the counter you turned on Oscar like you were ready to interrogate him.
“What was that?” you hissed under your breath.
Oscar took his drink like nothing had happened, completely calm, completely unbothered.
“What?”
“You just said we’re together.”
He shrugged, taking a sip as if he hadn’t just detonated a small emotional bomb in a public café.
“I thought we are,” he said casually. “Since I’m your ‘dear boyfriend.’”
Your eyes widened so fast it almost hurt.
“Oscar!”
He finally looked at you properly, and there it was—that tiny, traitorous smile he was trying very hard to hide.
“You said it first.”
“That was a joke!”
“So was mine.”
You pointed at him, frustrated, flustered, and very aware your face felt warm again.
“That is not the same thing.”
“It kind of is.”
“You can’t just go around telling people that,” you said, still half‑whispering, half‑panicking.
“Why not?” Oscar asked, like you’d just told him the sky was blue.
“Because it’s not true!”
Oscar tilted his head slightly, studying you with that calm, unreadable expression he used whenever he was thinking too hard. His eyes flicked over your face, searching for something you weren’t sure you wanted him to find.
Then, very quietly—
“You sure about that?”
You stopped walking.
Just for a second.
Long enough for him to notice.
Long enough for him to let that small, infuriating smile appear again—the one that said he knew exactly what he was doing to you.
“Relax,” he added, voice soft, like none of this mattered. “It’s just a joke.”
He nudged your arm lightly as he passed, casual and easy, like he hadn’t just knocked the air out of your lungs. Like he hadn’t just said something that didn’t feel like a joke at all.
You forced a breath out, trying to steady yourself.
“Right,” you said, watching him walk ahead. “Joke.”
Hattie fell into step beside you, still laughing under her breath like she’d been waiting for this moment all morning.
“You’re in trouble,” she whispered.
“I’m not in trouble.”
“You’re definitely in trouble.”
“I’m not—”
Hattie pointed ahead.
Oscar had already reached the car.
He opened the passenger door—your door—like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like he’d done it a hundred times. Like he expected you to walk straight to him.
And worse?
He glanced back.
Just once.
Waiting.
“Is there something I should know?” Hattie asked slowly, dragging out every word like she was already enjoying whatever answer she might get.
You turned too fast.
“No.”
Hattie narrowed her eyes immediately.
Never a good sign.
She took a sip of her drink, watching you over the rim like she was examining a crime scene.
“You said that way too quickly.”
“I didn’t.”
“You did.”
“I didn’t.”
“You’re doing it again.”
You exhaled, rubbing your forehead.
“There is nothing to know, Hattie.”
She hummed, unconvinced.
“Mm. Interesting.”
“It’s not interesting.”
“It is a little interesting.”
You glanced toward the car where Oscar was already leaning against the door, waiting like he had all the time in the world. Hattie followed your gaze.
Then looked back at you.
Then back at him.
Slowly.
Very slowly.
“Oh my God,” she said.
You froze.
“What?”
Hattie stepped closer, lowering her voice like she was sharing a secret she hadn’t fully decided whether to weaponize.
“No,” she whispered. “No way.”
You blinked. “What are you talking about?”
She pointed between you and Oscar, her finger moving like she was connecting dots on a conspiracy board. “You and my brother are being weird.”
“We are not being weird.”
“You are,” she insisted. “Since yesterday. Actually, no—since volleyball. Maybe even before that.”
You laughed too quickly.
“That’s insane.”
Hattie raised an eyebrow.
“Is it?”
You opened your mouth to argue—
—but then Oscar straightened from where he was leaning against the car, opening the passenger door for you like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Hattie squinted harder, leaning in like she was examining a rare species.
“You’re blushing.”
“I am not.”
“You are.”
“I’m literally just—” you gestured vaguely at the café, the air, the universe “—existing.”
Hattie smiled slowly, the kind of smile that meant she had already decided on a narrative and nothing you said would change it.
“That’s exactly what someone in denial would say.”
You opened your mouth, then closed it again, because unfortunately she had trapped you in a logic loop.
Across the parking lot, Oscar called out casually,
“You coming or what?”
Hattie turned her head toward him, then back to you, then to him again, like she was watching a tennis match where both players were hiding secrets.
She stepped closer, lowering her voice to a whisper.
“I’m watching you.”
“Stop being weird.”
“I’m serious.”
Then she walked ahead, still looking far too pleased with herself, like she’d just solved a mystery no one asked her to investigate.
You stood there for a second longer than necessary, coffee warm in your hand, heart doing something it absolutely shouldn’t have been doing.
────────────
The house had been asleep for hours.
At least, you assumed it had.
You couldn’t sleep.
Maybe it was the heat. Maybe it was the sound of the waves outside. Maybe it was the fact that your brain had spent the entire evening replaying every stupid thing Oscar had said to you in the last few days—every look, every joke, every princess that had lodged itself somewhere inconvenient in your chest.
Either way, sometime around midnight, you found yourself sitting on the beach.
The sand was cool beneath you, the kind of cool that seeped into your palms when you leaned back. The ocean stretched out in front of you, dark and endless, the waves rolling in with a soft rhythm that almost matched your breathing.
It was peaceful.
For about five minutes.
Then footsteps sounded behind you.
“Normal people sleep at midnight.”
You nearly jumped out of your skin.
“Jesus Christ,” you blurted, clutching your chest. “You fucking scared me.”
“Sorry.”
Oscar did not sound sorry. Not even a little.
He dropped down onto the sand beside you, stretching his legs out like he’d been planning to sit there all along.
You shot him a look. “What are you doing here?”
Oscar looked out at the ocean, not at you.
“I wanted to talk to you.”
Great.
That was never a sentence that ended well.
You stared at him for a moment, heart doing something stupid.
“Okay… now you’re scaring me again.”
A laugh escaped him—soft, real, the kind that only came out when he wasn’t thinking too hard.
“I’m serious.”
“That’s exactly why I’m concerned.”
His smile widened slightly. “You always this dramatic?”
“You found me alone on a beach at midnight and said you wanted to talk. What was I supposed to think?”
Oscar considered that for a moment, eyes still on the water.
“Fair.”
“Thank you.”
Silence settled again—not heavy, just… waiting. The waves rolled in and out, steady and slow. Somewhere down the beach, water crashed against the rocks. The breeze was cooler now, brushing over your skin, carrying the smell of salt and something almost sweet.
You glanced over at him.
“What did you actually want to talk about?”
Oscar looked down at the sand, dragging his fingers through it in slow, uneven lines. Then he rubbed the back of his neck.
Your stomach dropped.
Because that was new.
Oscar Piastri didn’t get nervous.
Not around you.
Not around anyone, really.
“Oh my God,” you said, sitting up straighter. “Just say it, Oscar.”
He let out a quiet laugh, breathy and unsure.
“I’m trying.”
“Well, try faster.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
You were already preparing yourself for the worst.
Maybe he’d met someone.
Maybe he wanted to tell you to stop flirting.
Maybe Hattie had said something.
Maybe he’d realized you were being weird and wanted to shut it down before it got messy.
The longer he stayed quiet, the worse the possibilities became.
“Oscar.”
He finally looked at you. Really looked at you.
And whatever joke you’d been ready to make immediately died.
Because suddenly he looked nervous.
Actually nervous.
Which was somehow far scarier than whatever conversation he wanted to have.
“You’re making this really difficult,” he admitted quietly.
You frowned.
“Why?”
For a moment, he just looked at you—really looked—like he was trying to decide whether to say the thing sitting on the tip of his tongue or swallow it and pretend it never existed.
Then he shook his head slightly and laughed under his breath, the sound soft and uneven.
“Because you’re looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like I’m about to tell you someone died.”
A surprised laugh escaped you, too sharp, too quick.
“Well, maybe stop acting like you’re about to deliver life‑changing news.”
Oscar smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes this time.
And that was when you knew.
Whatever he wanted to say wasn’t a joke.
“When you first got here…” he started, pausing like he needed to choose the right words. “I didn’t think much of it.”
You frowned at him, offended on instinct.
“Wow. Thanks.”
Oscar rolled his eyes, but there was no real annoyance behind it.
“Can you let me finish?”
“Fine.”
“You got here and you were still just…” He gestured vaguely toward you, fingers brushing the air like he was trying to outline a shape he couldn’t quite describe. “Y/n.”
You stared at him.
“Again. Not helping.”
A quiet laugh slipped out of him, softer than usual.
“You know what I mean.”
And maybe you did.
Maybe that was the problem—because the second he said it, something in your chest tightened in a way you didn’t want to acknowledge.
Oscar looked down at the sand, dragging his fingers through it in slow, uneven lines. The movement was absentminded, almost nervous, like he needed something to do with his hands while he talked.
“And then suddenly we were talking all the time.”
Your heart skipped, just once, but enough that you felt it.
“And then the volleyball thing happened.”
“Oh, so this is all volleyball’s fault?”
“Mostly.”
You smiled despite yourself, the memory flickering through your mind—his hand on your arm, his voice in your ear, the way he’d looked at you like he knew exactly what he was doing.
Oscar noticed the smile.
Of course he did.
He always noticed.
His own smile flickered across his face for a second before fading again, replaced by that same nervousness you still weren’t used to seeing on him.
“I kept telling myself it wasn’t a big deal,” he said quietly.
Your stomach twisted, a slow, sinking feeling that made you straighten a little.
“Oscar…”
“But then you’d walk into a room and I’d notice.”
His voice had gone softer, almost careful, like he was afraid of saying too much too fast. The words hung between you, warm and fragile, and you felt your breath catch before you could stop it.
“And then I’d catch myself looking for you.”
You stopped breathing altogether. The ocean suddenly sounded far away, like it had pulled back from the shore just to give the two of you space. Oscar’s fingers kept tracing lines in the sand, but his eyes lifted to meet yours, steady and unguarded in a way that made your pulse stumble.
“I’d hear you laughing somewhere in the house,” he continued, “and immediately know it was you.”
He said it like a confession. Like something he’d been holding onto for longer than he meant to.
His eyes stayed on yours.
“And then that guy at the café started flirting with you.”
You couldn’t help it—a tiny smile escaped, small and involuntary, because suddenly everything made sense.
“Oh.”
“Yeah. Oh.”
“You were jealous.”
Oscar groaned immediately, dropping his head back like he regretted every life choice that had led him to this moment.
“I knew that’s the part you’d focus on.”
A laugh slipped out of you, soft but impossible to hide.
“You were.”
“Maybe.”
“You absolutely were.”
“Maybe,” he repeated, but this time there was no denial in it—just a quiet admission wrapped in a word he hoped would soften the blow.
And then his expression shifted again—the teasing fading, the nervousness returning, something heavier settling behind his eyes. He looked at you for a long moment, the moonlight catching the side of his face, the ocean moving behind him in slow, steady breaths. And suddenly you knew. You knew before he even opened his mouth. You knew because the air felt different, because your heart was beating too fast, because nothing about this moment felt like a joke anymore.
“And that’s when I realized I was in trouble,” he said quietly.
Your heart thudded painfully. “What kind of trouble?”
Oscar held your gaze, and for a second you thought he might look away. But he didn’t.
“The kind where I like my little sister’s best friend.”
The words hit you like a wave—soft, inevitable, impossible to ignore. You felt them all the way down to your bones.
He laughed once, breathless. “Say something.”
You blinked, still trying to catch up. “What?”
“Anything.”
“You just dropped that on me.”
“I know.”
“I was expecting literally anything else.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know.” You shook your head, overwhelmed. “A lecture. A warning. A conversation about university.”
That made him laugh—a real one, warm and familiar—and somehow that eased the tightness in your chest just enough for you to finally say the thing you’d been holding onto for days.
“I like you too, idiot.”
Oscar froze.
Actually froze—like someone had hit pause on him, like he needed a full second to process the words you’d just said. And then, slowly, something shifted in his expression. The nerves melted. The tension eased. His shoulders dropped, and the smallest, most relieved smile appeared.
He leaned in.
Not rushed. Not dramatic. Just a quiet, certain movement toward you, like he’d been waiting for this moment longer than he’d ever admit. And when he kissed you, it felt like something that had been building for days—maybe longer—finally settling into place.
You’d been waiting too.
For a long time.
────────────
Nicole and Chris had gone for a walk along the beach, and Hattie had disappeared with a few friends hours ago. The house had slowly emptied itself of noise and movement until it was just you, the pool, and the soft hum of the afternoon sun.
Which meant you were completely alone with Oscar.
You were stretched out on a lounge chair by the pool, sunglasses on, letting the warmth sink into your skin. The air smelled like sunscreen and salt, the kind of lazy summer afternoon that made your whole body feel heavy in the best way. You were just starting to drift when you heard the back door slide open.
You looked up.
And immediately regretted it.
Oscar stepped outside, shirtless (which was already rude enough), sunlight catching on his shoulders, a bottle of water dangling from his hand like he hadn’t just walked out looking like a problem. He didn’t seem bothered by the heat at all—if anything, he looked like he belonged in it.
“Nice weather,” he said casually, as if he hadn’t just ruined your ability to think.
You rolled your eyes behind your sunglasses.
“You’re blocking my sun.”
“Tragic.”
You pointed toward the other side of the pool, refusing to let your gaze linger on him for more than a second.
“Go be annoying over there.”
Oscar ignored you completely.
Of course he did.
Instead of listening, he walked closer—not just a step or two, but close enough that his shadow stretched over your legs and the sun disappeared behind him. You lowered your sunglasses slowly, pushing them down your nose just enough to see him properly.
“What are you doing?” you asked, suspicion already creeping into your voice.
“Nothing.”
“You look like you’re doing something.”
“I’m not.”
It was such an obvious lie you didn’t even bother hiding your disbelief. You could see it in the way his mouth twitched, the way he kept his eyes fixed on you like he was waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
“Oscar.”
“What?”
You sat up slightly, bracing yourself.
“Don’t.”
His smile widened—slow, deliberate, the kind that always meant trouble.
“Oh, now I definitely want to.”
You barely had time to react.
One second you were stretched out on the lounge chair, perfectly relaxed, perfectly comfortable. The next, Oscar’s hands were around your waist and you were lifted clean off the chair like you weighed nothing at all. The world tilted, the sun flashed across your vision, and a loud, startled yelp tore out of you before you could stop it.
“Oscar!”
“What did you say, princess?”
“Oscar!”
“You’ve said that already.”
He sounded far too pleased with himself, far too calm for someone who had just scooped you up without warning. His grip was steady, his expression annoyingly smug, and you could feel your heart racing from the shock—or maybe from the fact that he hadn’t even broken a sweat doing it.
You started laughing despite yourself, the kind of laugh you couldn’t hold back even as you kicked your feet uselessly in the air.
“Put me down!”
“No.”
He didn’t even hesitate. Before you could argue, before you could twist out of his grip or threaten him with every creative insult you knew, he carried you straight toward the pool with that infuriatingly calm stride of his.
Your eyes widened as the water came into view.
“No. No, no, no—”
Splash.
Cold water swallowed you whole, shocking every nerve in your body. You surfaced a second later, sputtering, hair plastered to your face, sunglasses gone somewhere behind you.
“Oscar Piastri!”
His laugh echoed across the backyard—loud, unrestrained, the kind of laugh that made your chest warm even as you plotted his downfall. It was a real laugh, the kind that crinkled the corners of his eyes and made him look younger, lighter, like he hadn’t been carrying anything heavy at all.
“You are dead,” you declared, pushing your hair back.
“You say that every day.”
And then, without warning, he jumped in too.
Water exploded around you, splashing your face, your shoulders, everything. The second he surfaced, you scooped a handful of water and threw it straight at him with all the force you could muster.
Oscar blinked, then immediately splashed you back, harder.
“Oh, we’re doing this?” he said, already grinning.
“We’re absolutely doing this.”
For the next minute, neither of you accomplished anything except getting even wetter. Water flew everywhere—over your heads, into your faces, across the pool—and every time you thought you’d gotten the upper hand, Oscar retaliated twice as fast. You were both laughing too hard to aim properly, breathless and soaked and completely lost in the moment.
The pool settled around you, the ripples slowly smoothing out until the water was calm again. Oscar was closer than before now — close enough that you could see the droplets clinging to his eyelashes, close enough that your heart started doing that stupid, fluttery thing you were trying very hard to ignore. He brushed his wet hair out of his eyes, the movement easy and familiar, and gave you a look that made your stomach twist in the warmest, most inconvenient way.
“You know,” he said, voice low and amused, “this is probably why Hattie thinks we’re weird.”
You smiled, unable to help it.
“Probably.”
A comfortable silence settled between you, the kind that didn’t feel heavy or awkward—just soft, warm, suspended. The sun glinted off the water. The air smelled like sunscreen and chlorine. And then, without warning, Oscar reached for your hand beneath the surface, his fingers brushing yours before curling around them gently.
And suddenly neither of you were paying attention to the pool anymore.
He smiled—small, almost shy, the kind of smile that made your chest tighten. You smiled back, leaning forward without even thinking about it, like your body had already made the decision for you. The kiss was quick and sweet, both of you still laughing a little from the water fight, the moment light and easy and perfect in a way that made your heart ache.
Unfortunately—
A loud gasp echoed across the backyard.
Standing by the back gate was Hattie.
Of course.
Of course it was Hattie.
She pointed dramatically between the two of you, eyes wide, mouth open in pure triumph.
“I KNEW IT!”
You covered your face immediately, sinking lower into the water as if it might swallow you whole. Oscar looked like he was genuinely considering sinking under the surface and never coming back up.
“I KNEW IT!” Hattie repeated, marching closer like a detective who had just cracked the case of the century. “Nobody believed me!”
“We weren’t even hiding,” Oscar muttered, rubbing a hand over his face.
“That’s the worst part!”
You couldn’t help laughing, even as your face burned. The whole situation was ridiculous—painfully, hilariously ridiculous—and Hattie was soaking up every second of it.
“My best friend and my brother!” she declared, throwing her hands into the air like she was announcing the winners of a talent show.
She stared at you both for a long moment, still breathing heavily, still vibrating with vindication. Then she pointed at Oscar. Then at you. Then back at Oscar again. Her expression softened, just a little, something fond slipping through the dramatic outrage.
“You’re cute though,” she said finally.
You blinked.
Oscar blinked.
“…what?” you asked.
Hattie shrugged, as if this were the most normal thing in the world.
“I said it. Don’t make it weird.”
Oscar scoffed lightly.
“You’re literally the one who just ran in screaming.”
“I had to confirm it!”
You laughed, wiping water from your face, the tension melting into something warm and bright and stupidly happy.
And for the first time, it didn’t feel like trouble.
babsie radio ! this is definitely not my best work but I decided to overcome that damn writer block whatever it takes. i also wanted to write something for lando but i feel like i’ve had written every trope possible with him… 🥲🥲 pls help. hope you enjoyed this tho! i missed you guys! 💕
Synopsis: You arrive in Japan with a soft heart and nothing to lose until the meanest, the most popular fuckboy in your class chooses you as a bet, smiling at you like it means something. While you fall for him counting the petals of the roses he gave you, he’s only counting days to get in your pants.
Tags: Angst, emotional manipulation, bet trope, power imbalance, fear of abandonment, slow burn, smut, college AU, soft reader, rich mean Gojo, lots of drama.
Preview
You arrive wrapped in soft colors. Pink hoodies, sleeves too long, hands hidden. Your smile is automatic, practiced, something you give away so people won’t ask questions you don’t know how to answer in a language that still feels borrowed.
Japan is beautiful. And it reminds you every day that you don’t belong to it. Finance classes are neat. Structured. Predictable.
People aren’t.
You sit alone because it’s safer. Because you’ve learned that attachment hurts more when you know you’ll have to leave again. Because your heart is too soft for goodbyes that never warn you before they happen. You don’t hear the whispers at first.
You don’t see the way eyes follow you down the hallway. You don’t know that your quiet has made you interesting. Or that interesting, to the wrong people, means target.
The bet doesn’t start with you. It starts at a party you’ll never attend.
Laughter. Alcohol. Ego.
“She won’t even last a week,” Toji says.
“She barely talks,” Sukuna laughs.
And then his voice cuts through them—lazy, confident, cruelly amused.
“Thirty days,” he says.
“Thirty days and she’ll be in love with me. Head over heels. Thinking about me when she wakes up”
A pause. A smirk you don’t see.
“And yeah—she won’t be walking away untouched, would practically be dying to have me bust in her”
They laugh because they know his reputation.
Because he’s never failed. Because girls are games and feelings are temporary for him.
Gojo Satoru doesn’t chase.
He collects.
You don’t know his name yet. You just know the feeling of being watched for the first time when he finally notices you.
You don’t know that your shyness feels like a challenge to him. That your politeness feels like permission.
That your softness is something he thinks he can bend. He doesn’t know how your chest tightens when voices rise.
Doesn’t know how deeply words sink into you. Doesn’t understand that you don’t fall easily—you fall completely.
He thinks this will be easy. That you’ll blush, giggle, unravel. That you’ll mistake attention for affection.
What he doesn’t realise is that the closer he gets, the harder it is to remember why this was supposed to be a joke.
Thirty days.
A bet built on arrogance.
A heart that already knows how to break quietly.
And a boy who has never learned what happens when the game stops being fun.
EXTRA EXTRA READ ALL ABOUT IT CALEB’S IN HIS FEELINGS AND HE CAN’T GET OUT OF IT…
Sypnosis: Caleb x non!mc — you find out he only used you in this marriage of three, and only had a child with you to prove to the world that he, Caleb Xia, had moved on. 7k words. Warnings: HURT NO COMFORT no seriously, x reader is a stretch. mentions of pregnancy, birth and cheating. selfish caleb. i like exploring his ego. A/N: Sorry for the wait. I smoked 7 cigs in the process of writing this (working through my 8th now as I do the formatting). this stemmed from a little ask that was just too angsty to write a simple blurb on. highly suggest listening to mitski while reading this/earrings by malcolm todd (of which the title originates from) for the maximum angst experience.
There were three of you in this marriage, so naturally, it was a bit crowded.
Part of you felt unbelievably happy to be at the altar with Caleb Xia, yet another part of you couldn’t ignore the nudging feeling that something was very wrong with your husband-to-be.
To the spectators of the wedding, Caleb seemed perfectly composed. Not that most of them would know him any better than you did of the man you were about to dedicate the rest of your life to. The audience of the simple wedding at the courthouse consisted of your family and friends, and for Caleb…well, the only three people who he invited were Gideon and…
And her. MC. Of course.
You’ve always had an idea of who she was. It was hard not to acknowledge the woman your husband was obsessed with, is still obsessed with. You knew how much MC weighed on Caleb’s heart, and you could only guess how much that weight doubled when MC, instead of marrying him, married some cardiologist friend of hers. And you could piece together that you were nothing more than a trophy of proof for Caleb to show that he had moved on.
Yet, you still naively believed that, just like any good fairy tale, Caleb would eventually fall in love with you.
But one look into his empty, loveless eyes, as he signed your marriage certificate, told you otherwise. The chaste, brief kiss you exchanged felt like more of an obligation to show to the wedding guests rather than a genuine embrace of a husband and wife.
But then again, you didn’t think you expected much more.
In fact, Caleb looked happier when after the ceremony, MC bounded up with him with a grin, patting his hair and congratulating him for getting married and finally, finally moving on. To which he blushed and replied to her with something inaudible to you.
So from the very beginning, there’s always been three there has always been three in the spaces you occupied with your husband, three at the altar (you wondered if Caleb had imagined it was MC standing in your place on your wedding day), three in the bed (you could even imagine MC lying in empty space inbetween you and Caleb as you slept, and three at the table (at first before Caleb had learnt more about you, the dishes he served were all reminecent of MC’s favourites). You knew MC haunted, haunts, your marriage. But like any good wife, you looked the other way and hoped for the best.
Although it was not that you expected for Caleb to start acting like your husband right off the bat (you told yourself he needed time to heal). Not that you expected him to treat you like MC. Not that you never stopped praying that the underdog (you) of the story may prevail eventually. Yet the silence in his cold, gray penthouse, the lack of physical touch between the two of you, the meals consumed in harrowing conversation (you’d have to give it to him for always trying to ask you how your day was everyday), the nights spent so far away from each other, was slowly convincing you that this marriage was nothing but one of convenience. All you did was try your best to keep holding onto the hope that maybe things would change with Caleb for the better.
About two years into the marriage, Caleb surprised you by asking if you could have a child together.
You were shocked he was the one to ask.
Your remembered first attempt at intimacy had gone miserably. You could freshly recall on your wedding night when Caleb had loomed over you in the darkness of the bedroom, his chest heaving - though he hadn’t moved to do anything, anything at all - with spots of tears forming in the crease of his eye. After ten minutes of silence, he rolled off you.
‘I— I’m sorry…I- I can’t.’
You had told him it was okay. And you never mentioned it again, so you were coloured surprised when Caleb meekly asked you, as if he thought you might get upset, to try for a baby.
Fortunately for him, it only took about three times before you presented him with a positive pregnancy test. Fortunately for you as well, since each attempt was very awkward, terrifyingly so. You had no idea where you should have out your hands, your legs, if he even wanted your hands on him— and neither did Caleb know what to do with his touch. You’d think he didn’t want a baby by how hesitant he was acting. However, eventually when you did hand him that test with two pink lines, Caleb’s face practically glowed. You had never seen your husband, in all these years of marriage, look so…happy, so much more like his actual age than the cold, gloomy colonel you were married to. For the first time, you saw the sunny Caleb that you only got to know through photos stuck in dusty albums in the corners of your home. He hugged you, kissed you, and laughed in relief.
Relief?
Honestly, you were somewhat relieved too. Usually, Caleb would be away for prolonged periods of time, always muttering about something to to with the fleet, a mission, training, before departing for sometimes weeks at a time, but ever since you got pregnant, Caleb cut back on prolonged duties and stayed by your side if he could. There was one thing you could never complain about him, was that when it really came down to it, Caleb was not a bad husband by the books. He constantly cooks, cleans, cares and caters for you, and even more so now, he’ll drop whatever is on hand at moment’s notice to come running to you if you said you felt the slightest bit of discomfort. Plus, with all the baby essentials Caleb had purchased, they had really livened up the house much more. You watch as he assembles them without the need to look at the instructions whilst sitting on the floor of the living room. As he fusses about with you taking the right supplements, about getting enough sleep…it’s cute. It’s the closest feeling you’ve ever experienced to having a real husband, despite being married for well over two years now.
On a muggy afternoon, you inched out of Caleb’s grasp (he has now found it in himself to sleep closer to you with one hand usually over your stomach if you allow it) and wobbled your way to the walk in closet for some airier clothes. As you sifted through the racks, you accidentally knocked out a few photos from Caleb’s colonel service coat, which fluttered down to the bottom of the closet. Crouching down (whilst you still could), you inspected the photos.
Oh.
It was a laminated photo of your baby’s ultrasound. Not just that, but on the edges of the photo, written neatly in his handwriting in pen, were the words: [name]’s ultrasound appointment on xx/xx/xxxx.
Adorable, you thought, that Caleb carried this around with him. You privately wondered if he would proudly show it off to his co-workers or his underlings. You hoped he might, maybe even boast a little about how lucky he and his wife was. You couldn’t help but smile to yourself, wondering if this marriage was finally taking a step into the right direction.
But right next to that photo was that necklace. When U Come Back. You knew very well the story behind that necklace, how MC had given it to him before he left for the aerospace academy. How he used to wear it, 24/7, but had at least the decency to stop wearing it at all times and only keep it on him, after he married you. Yes, at least he had the decency to now never take off your wedding bands. Your eyes glazed over the necklace again. Bitterly, you wondered if he’d ever want to carry a photo of him and you someday.
Nevermind. You dried your eyes quickly. At least in this marriage, both he and you, are getting something that you both wanted, something that you will both cherish more than anything.
A bouncing baby girl.
He wanted your baby. He needed your baby. He wanted to be a father, because he wanted to be a father, a nurturing, loving figure, right? And not for any other reason? Right?
Right.
Two weeks later, whilst tidying up the kitchen, your hand bumped against a bright yellow lunchbox patterned with little apple stickers, long forgotten beneath a pile of documents and papers. Fondly, you picked it up.
In the very earliest days of your marriage, you had done the domestic, wifely thing of making your husband a lunchbox before he departed for work every morning. And he had returned an empty box everytime, down to the last grain of rice being picked clean. You still remember the fuzzy feeling of seeing Caleb smile at you, thanking you for such a delicious meal, how his subordinates had all fawned over the presentation, how delicious it was, how lucky the colonel was to have such a lovely wife…
So why not do it again? You thought merrily, after all, you haven’t made him a packed lunch in a while. Maybe showing up at his work with a delicious lunchbox might perk him up. Excitedly, you got into your car and made your way down into central Skyhaven.
Entering the fleet HQ, you were immediately guided to your husband’s office.
You were about to turn the handle and step in - usually there weren’t much visitors in his office in the middle of the day - but a chorus of loud voices stopped you.
“And to Caleb! The newest dad-to-be!”
“The first of all of us to be a father, actually.”
You heard a round of clinking cups. It must be Caleb, inviting his flight school friends to celebrate the impending birth of your child. At his office though…strange. But it must be because he’s been so busy, he hardly had any time to go anywhere except his workplace and his home.
“Woah…no, no more.” You recognised that as Caleb’s voice. You could imagine his hand gliding over to cover the surface of his glass.
Drinking? In the middle of the day? Seriously? You snorted, hand going down on the handle again, But at least it’s to a good cause. Caleb being a new dad and all.
“But seriously. Here’s also to your marriage not being a total disaster!”
Your stopped before you could push against the door.
“It’s not. A total disaster.” Caleb said, his voice a bit slurred though not completely drunk.
“Yeah, yeah…we all know you had the hots for MC, but she ended up marrying that sexy doctor instead of the big bad colonel, didn’t she, oof—!”
A thud. Caleb had probably slammed whoever said that against the wall. A series of ‘ooohs’ followed.
“Kidding, kidding…”
“You better be.” Caleb dusted his hands off, sinking back into his seat. “I’ve long moved on from MC. I even have proof.”
“Oh yeah? Don’t tell me it’s—”
He pulled out the ultrasound picture that he kept in his uniform pocket, showing it to everyone in the room.
“I had a child with my wife. Can’t you see how much I’ve moved on already? I can have a child with someone who’s not MC. See?”
Tears stung your vision.
So thats what he was using that picture for.
Not for a happy memory’s keepsake, no. But to show the world that he, Colonel Caleb Xia, the yearner, the lover, the oh-so-perfect man…has moved on from his sweet MC.
…
You quickly threw the lunchbox you made away, and fled the building. You needed to get away from him, in that moment. You didn’t want to linger on in this kind of feeling anymore.
…
Time passes a lot quicker, you found, when it wasn’t just you in the house all day. With Caleb by your side (more or less constantly in the final few months of your pregnancy) the days had quickly passed. And before you knew it, there was a living, breathing infant in your arms.
The birth was easy, and again, you were grateful for Caleb’s support (he never left your side in those six hours, plus you’ve heard far too many horror stories of baby daddies bringing their Xbox, or not showing up at all…) though admittedly you swore at him multiple times and eventually snapped at him to wait outside. However, part of you feared he might react to an actual baby, his and your baby, with regret and hesitation. You couldn’t shake the fear that Caleb might feel prejudiced against a baby you made with him instead of one borne from him and MC. But those fears quickly evaporated when you saw Caleb crying, sniffling, holding the little pink bundle in his arms.
Both Caleb and you were overjoyed, though also albeit scared, naturally like most first-time parents. He was seriously dedicated at every step. Again, you’d have to give it to him for being a good dad.
After returning from the hospital, he never allowed you to get up in the middle of the night to soothe the baby. He never complained about doing the messy work that came with babies, often willingly taking care of all her wants every day as if trying to prove a point. He now even tries to come home earlier and go on less long-distance fleet missions to spend more time with the baby, something he’s never done for you in the time you were married. You watched as he poured his whole heart into being a good dad for a tiny little girl. A perfect masculine figure. Ever so sensitive to what she needed.
But what about what you needed?
Sometimes when you come home after a day out with your friends or a solo trip somewhere, the moment you open the door to your home, you feel as if your entire world is behind that doorway. That despite all the freedoms Caleb has given you in this marriage (the financial freedom, ‘you can go anywhere you want’ , you can do whatever you wish, travel anywhere), your world had drastically shrank to the man sitting in the grey parlour, who wasn’t even facing you.
On other days, he wasn’t even there.
Gone to MC’s. Emergency.
….you weren’t exponentially surprised by the reason. Caleb frequently rushed to MC’s house to deal with her emergencies. At this point, you simply shrugged it off and continued on as you usually would. Only that when you went to the nursery to check on your daughter…
The crib was empty.
Your heart dropped. You had frantically dialled his number. No response. You racked your head for thousands of possibilities. Did someone take her? Did he mention he was taking her anywhere? Did he…did he take your child? Taking off with MC to a place where you’d never find him again? Did Caleb pack up and leave altogether? With your baby?
You told yourself it couldn’t be true. That he’d never do something like that. He wouldn’t. That Caleb is a good, kind man. But to what distances he would go for MC, you had no idea. All you knew was that you’d like it to be you instead of her.
Ten minutes later, you were banging the front door of MC’s house.
Surprisingly, it was her husband, Zayne, who answered.
“[name]? What are you doing here?” Zayne asked, surprised.
He didn’t even get to answer before you shoved past him, calling Caleb’s name.
“Caleb, Caleb?!” Your mind flashed with possibilities of where he could be. Maybe he was already gone. Maybe he took MC and drove up to the airport already. But surely not, his car was parked outside, and, and…
There he was. In MC’s backyard, sleeves rolled up, that stupid grin on his face as he…tacked a nail into a piece of plywood, MC hovering over him with a tray of lemonade. You stopped in your steps where the stone of the house met grass, calming down, as you watched your husband beam up at MC, sweat glistening down his muscular arms, droplets forming on his healthy skin, a damp V forming at the top of his t-shirt. Time seemed to slow as Caleb reached up, took a sparkling glass, smiling at MC gratefully, a smile so bright you’ve never seen in all those times you ever offered him something.
“Caleb!” You snapped, finally loud enough that he whipped his head around, MC too. “Caleb! Where’s our daughter—“
Before you could even hear his reply, a beaming MC gasped in delight and smothered you in a hug.
“[name]! You’re here too! That’s perfect, you should stay and have dinner! Ooh, I’ll tell Zayne to set an extra space at the table.” She spun around, shouting into the open patio doors. “ZAAAAAYNIIIIEEEEE?”
She talked at such a fast pace, you barely even got to get a word in on how you didn’t really want to stay for dinner, how you just wanted to demand where your daughter is and go home. In that moment, you didn’t even really care if your husband went home with you. But just as you opened your mouth…
“Aw, pips, there’s no need, I’m almost done with building this part already.”
MC pouted, that little, pathetic, faux-childish pout she always made at her dear gege.
“C’mon, Caleb, staying for dinner is the least you could do for me, after rushing over on such short notice to build Zachary’s treehouse.” She said, referring to hers and Zayne’s son. She turned to you and smiled, dropping her voice to a whisper, “Zayne is so useless when it comes to things like this, and my gege is the best!”
She turned back to Caleb. “And bringing your adorable little daughter too! I’ve been dying to meet her. You know I’ve asked you so many times already.”
You paused. “Wait a minute. You…asked Caleb to…to bring…”
“Yes!” MC replied, “I know she’s only a few months old, but all I’ve been asking Caleb is to let me meet my adorable niece!”
It was almost laughable. The ‘emergency’ that required Caleb’s immediate attention was the construction of a treehouse for MC’s son. You couldn’t help but wonder how many other of these such trips to her house that Caleb took were also something else, something less significant but labelled as an ‘emergency’.
You turned to Caleb, absolutely pissed.
“You. You took my daughter just like that? You took her without asking me?”
“I told you I was going to MC’s—“
“You didn’t tell me you were taking her!”
“I thought you would have assumed—“
Right. Like you should assume, like every other little bit of your marriage, you should have assumed that Caleb’s judgement was right. That your husband is doing his best for you. For this marriage. That you should assume every step he did, he was thinking of you first, and not MC. You should always assume. You’d be happier off that way.
But obviously, you were much more headstrong than Caleb let on. You were no longer the nervous blushing bride that had once optimistically stood by his side.
“You have no right to take her and tell me, her mother, to just assume anything about the safety of her own child.” You replied, in a tone that surprised Caleb so much, that he wasn’t sure how to reply.
MC, caught in the middle, immediately pushed in to diffuse the tension.
“Aw, don’t be like that, my sister-in-law.” She smiled, holding onto your arm. “Don’t blame Caleb, it’s my fault. I asked him to bring the baby.”
“No, no.” Caleb cut in, standing up and putting a hand onto MC’s shoulder. “Don’t blame yourself.”
He turned to you, frowning. “[name], I think we’ve just blown this way out of proportion. No one’s been hurt and you’re acting if I’ve kidnapped someone!”
“You know that’s not what I—“
“Come on.” Caleb gently took your hand, herding you towards the house. “Our daughter’s fine. She’s asleep upstairs.”
He led you past the living room, past the kitchen where a frazzled Zayne stood, wordlessly watching as Caleb led you up the staircase and into the nursery, familiar with the layout as if it was his own house, to where your daughter was sleeping peacefully in their son’s old crib.
“See?” Caleb sighed, “Nothing’s wrong. You got all worked up over nothing.”
You wanted to yell and him and tell him that this wasn’t nothing. That somehow ‘nothing’ always seemed to be associated with his behaviour with MC, and that none of what happened concerning MC in your marriage could just be swept under the rug like that. Maybe that’s how he preferred it, you thought bitterly.
“I want to go home.” Was your only reply.
Caleb’s shoulders slackened. “C’mon, let’s just stay for dinner…”
“I want. To go. Home.”
Your husband seemed to give up this case, and sighed. “Alright.” He replied, “Let me get my jacket.”
Suddenly, both of your heads turned, as you heard MC rap her hand against the nursery doorframe.
“Caleb…can I just speak with you for a second before you go…?”
You wanted to question if she had been lurking outside, listening, but Caleb cut in front of you.
“Of course.” He replied.
He took MC by her shoulder“We’ll just be a minute.” He called to you.
“You don’t mind, do you?” MC asked graciously.
“Sure.” You replied evenly. “I’ll just be in here. Come get me when you’re done, okay? I’ll dress our daughter to leave.”
You saw Caleb nod, before escorting MC down the stairs. You made sure they both saw you close the nursery door.
You mad good on your promise to stay in the nursery and dress your fussy little daughter (who was looking more like Caleb by the day). Five minutes later, gently creaking open the nursery door, you snuck outside, thinking they’d finished their conversation already. But you realised they hadn’t gone far. As you stood on the stairs with your back against the side of the wall, you could clearly hear Caleb and MC talking in the living room behind the staircase.
Their words made your heart beat out of your chest.
“Is your wife always so…uptight?” You heard MC mumble, her voice suddenly sultrier than before.
“No, she’s just…” You heard Caleb began.
I’m just what, Caleb?
“…she’s just emotional, that’s all.”
You heard MC snort. “Emotional? Hardly. I seem to remember that at your wedding, she was ever so meek and crittery, so nervous, so deferent, so grateful to marry the big strong colonel…” She sighed, “And I thought that, y’know, hey! She might do a lot of good for you. She’s like a squeaky mouse, just like another version of me, how I was your ‘pipsqueak’…” Her voice suddenly dropped to a whine.
“I thought maybe you found a better replacement.”
You heard sounds that indicated that Caleb stepped forwards to hug her.
“MC…nothing and nobody could ever replace you.” Caleb said gently.
They were silent for a long time. Wetness had began to gloss your eyes.
“Well…on that happy note…” MC mumbled, “I have some news for you.”
“Hm? What is it?”
“I’m…” She giggled, “I’m expecting.”
“You’re what?!” You heard Caleb exclaim.
“Shhhh! I said I’m expecting. I’m going to have another baby.” MC replied hushedly.
“Oh wow…congratulations!” Caleb laughed. “Guess I’m ready to be uncle to another mini-zayne, huh?”
MC let out a small happy sigh. “Not quite.”
“What do you mean? Do you think this baby’s going to look more like you, or—”
“No, no…”
A pause. MC gazed up at your husband, clasping his hands.
“Caleb…the baby is yours.”
…
You couldn’t bear to hear the rest of the conversation. You sprinted back up the stairs, going back into the darkness of the nursery. You hated yourself for it, but you couldn’t help but sob, sob over this marriage which you’ve always held hope to, this marriage which, admittedly, up to that moment you were still clinging onto the hope that things may turn to the better, that your fate might change, that this wasn’t all a mistake, that your marriage wasn’t just a helpless fantasy on your part…
But look at you now.
Crying on the floor of the house which belonged to the woman who your husband was obsessed with. Crying with a baby that was only born into the world to prove a point for your husband, to prove that he had moved on. Or worse, your poor baby daughter wasn’t even born to prove a point anymore, she had only served to prove a lie, a lie that was quickly unravelling at the hands of the man who demanded her existence.
Caleb…oh, Caleb.
Your tears stopped when you heard someone coming up the stairs. Immediately, you dried your eyes and stood up, trying to slow down your breaths and calm yourself down. You refused to face your husband like this. You refused to make a scene. Not now, anyway.
“Ready to go?” He asked, pushing the door open.
You didn’t turn for a second. In that moment, time seemed to stop.
Slowly, you turned to him, your daughter held tightly in your arms.
“Sure.” You smiled, “Let’s go home.”
…
Home. Such a funny word.
As you watched the glowing skyscrapers pass you in the passenger seat, you suddenly felt very calm. The air was wet from rain, and a cool summer breeze had began to sweep through the night. You thought you might feel rage, or resentment, but instead…all you felt was a strange sense of sereneness. You were disappointed at Caleb, sure, but not as surprised as you thought you’d feel.
Which felt worse than being angry.
You’d rather feel that rush of adrenaline, make a scene, throw something at his face and scream at him and cry and slap him, maybe, but no, no, all you felt was a churning pit of emptiness in the pits of your stomach. Your belly empty, while MC’s swelled with life. His life.
“What do you want to have for dinner when we get back home?” Caleb asked you, breaking the silence.
You shrugged, wondering when, or if that all, he was going to confirm for you what you had overheard.
“Don’t be like that.” He nudged you with a half smile, “You can pick anything. Anything at all to eat, it’s up to you.”
You didn’t want to eat with him. Even the thought of sitting at the same table, across him, made you feel sick. The thought of your mouth wrapping around the utensils that once touched his mouth, his mouth that once warmed MC’s tongue. Biting into food prepared by his hands, his hands that once traveled across MC’s naked skin. A sickening scene.
You didn’t want anything to do with him.
“I’d rather you decide.” Came your firm reply. “Since you seem to decide everything that goes on around here.”
Caleb sighed, a long heavy drag. “[name], I don’t know what you want me to tell you.” He spun the wheel, pulling into the familiar street. “So can we please just drop the attitude?”
“What attitude?” You asked, fluttering your lashes as often MC did when she wanted to appease her dearest gege, “I really don’t mind what we eat. Why would I?”
“[name].” He said more seriously, “Please. I don’t want a scene. Our baby’s asleep in the back and I’d really like to keep it that way.”
Right, so you’d be fine having an argument if our daughter wasn’t here. Speaking of children…
“MC’s looked glowing today, don’t you think?” You mentioned, sliding out of the passenger’s seat almost the second Caleb rolled the car into the driveway.
He shot you a strange look as he unlatched your daughter from her baby seat in the back. “Yes…she did. Why do you ask?”
You shrugged innocently, unlocking the front door, “Nothing, I just meant that motherhood agrees with her.”
Caleb said nothing in reply. You watched as he carried your daughter inside, not a muscle in his face giving away a single hint of suspicion or anxiety. You knew what kind of man your husband was. It wouldn’t be so easy to gauge out the truth from him, or any semblance of emotion he didn’t want to express for that matter. But you were expecting this.
“Do you think she’s going to have another one?” You said coquettishly, shrugging off your coat.
He couldn’t help it this time. You watched from behind as his shoulder twitched, ever so slightly, for not even half a second.
“I wouldn’t know.” Caleb replied, his tone ordinary, “I wouldn’t be surprised if she did. She and Zayne are a happy couple, after all.”
Your husband would have made a great actor, you thought humorlessly. You wondered if he was tearing himself apart inside.
“Actually.” You raised your hand, smiling. “I don’t want dinner.”
Caleb turned, cocking an eyebrow at you. “What? But you—”
“I’m not hungry anymore.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.” You nodded, one foot on the stairs. “I’m going to bed early. It’s been a long day.”
“But it’s only—“
“Goodnight, Caleb.”
“…goodnight.”
…
Weeks had passed. You’ve continued to act as if nothing had gone wrong. Caleb went to work, came back from work, cooked, played with your baby girl (who was now crawling all over the place) and went to bed. The only aspect that he felt…off, about, was how pacified you acted now.
You didn’t pepper him with questions about his day anymore.
You weren’t there to ask if he was feeling alright the moment he came home.
You couldn’t even bring yourself to stand closer to him.
It was as if the marriage had undergone mitosis and split itself in two, as if the straining cell it had once been has finally pulled away from the other half. All that remained was two individuals, standing inches apart in the kitchen, sitting a meter away in the living room, sleeping in beds that felt miles away from each other at night.
Your scents didn’t even mingle together anymore. The air in your home felt stagnant. You were sure that if you hadn’t got used to it, if you weren’t you for a second and you had visited your current home for the first time, you would assume that there were no inhabitants in it at all.
You could imagine it now. The edge of the scissors pulling the winding umbilical cord into a taught triangular shape in the sterile air, about to snap shut, about to separate the two entities, mother snd baby, to deliver individuality and freedom to both…there just needed to be a little push. A little force. Just a little more, and you would be able to forever sever this rotting chord that ties you to this marriage .
Every day, Caleb would come home and wonder what changed your demeanor so much. And you’d wonder when your husband would grow the balls to tell you that MC is pregnant with his baby.
He didn’t on week one. Or two. Or three. Or four. And as you can guess…
He didn’t speak a word when MC posted a gender reveal (week 19) online, the cutting of the triple-tiered cake revealing flamingo-pink insides. Caleb liked that post, you saw.
He also didn’t mention a word when MC announced a baby shower (week 28), which you were also invited to (the gall. can you imagine the audacity?). You had acted perfectly amicable, presenting MC with a hug and a basket of gifts. Caleb had gone to congratulate Zayne. You couldn’t help but chuckle at the irony.
By the time the date hit 30 weeks after you overheard their conversation, you had had enough.
If Caleb was going to be a coward about it, then you would force him to confront the truth.
…
Week 34 was fast approaching. You knew a normal pregnancy would end at about 37 weeks to 40, so when Caleb, suddenly, in the middle of your morning shot up from his seat after answering a call, you were surprised.
“What’s wrong?” You asked.
“MC had th—her baby.”
“Already?” You hummed. “It’s a bit early, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” Caleb gasped, practically sprinting to put on his jacket hanging by the bannister, “That’s why I need to go see her. Now.”
“No wait!” You stood up, grabbing his wrist. “I’m coming too.”
“No.” He replied. “You shouldn’t. Someone needs to stay home with our daughter. And I won’t be long.”
“No, no!” You chirped merrily, picking up your daughter from her high chair. “Let’s bring our baby. After all, she should get to know her new half-sister.”
You enjoyed watching the colour suddenly bleach from his face.
“What?” His tone was chilling, shaken, almost boyish.
“You heard me.” You fished out the car keys from the little ceramic dish near the front door. “Come on.“
“[name]—“
“I thought you were in a hurry to go.”
“[name].” Firmer, now.
“So let’s go.”
“[NAME]!” Caleb yelled. It was the first time he had yelled at you.
“What is it?” You blinked back.
Caleb’s eyes were bloodshot. His shoulders heaved.
“How long…have you knew?”
“I think the better question is, Caleb,” Your face, he thought, was frighteningly unreactive. “When were you planning on telling me?”
He threw his hands down, turning away from you. “I was going to tell you today. After the baby was born.”
“So you can force me to face the consequences of your actions? If I like it or not? Is that why?”
“No! Don’t put words in my mouth.” He faced you again. “I was going…I was going to…”
“To what?”
“To work something out.”
“And how was that going to end?”
“I—“
“I’ll tell you how that was going to end, Caleb Xia.” You stabbed your finger against his solid chest. “It would end in me having to make sacrifices. It would end up in me in pain, over and over again, just to cope with how you’ve decided to treat me! I will be the one at a loss while you, you will get what you’ve always wanted. Every decision you’ve made was never for me. It was always either for you or for MC! I don’t believe a word that comes out of your mouth when you tell me that you’ll ’work something out’. I know you’ll give me the short end of the straw. You already have, for every day we’ve been married. Yet you never realise, because of course in the end whatever happens would work out for you, because it always fucking does!”
“[name].” Caleb breathed, “Calm down.”
“Don’t tell me to—“
“I’ll be home as quick as I can.” He said, pulling on his shoes at the door. “And then we’ll settle this.”
You laughed.
“Oh, Caleb.”
You watched as he glanced at you from the corner of his eye.
“I’m sure you’ll find yourself right at home.” You said with a smile.
…
“Caleb, come quick!” MC giggled, waving her hand to usher him in. “I just sent Zaynie to go out to the cafe to buy me some lunch.”
Caleb looked over at the bassinet, where a tiny wriggly baby wrapped in white lay. His lips broke out into a smile, a little wider than when he had first met his daughter with you, before gently, very gently reaching into the blankets, prying them apart, to reveal the scrunched up face of his new daughter.
He instantly folded, a finger stroking her wrinkly cheeks.
“Hey there, sweetheart…” Caleb cooed, as the baby made an uncommitted sound.
She was tiny. Wrinkly. But to Caleb, she was one of the cutest things he’s ever seen. She was part of him, and part of MC, after all.
Caleb took an awed breath in, as she fluttered her eyelashes, opening her eyes to reveal…
Big, green eyes.
Her eyes were green.
A bright, mocking, hazel.
Just.
Like.
Her father’s.
Zayne.
…
“What the fuck?” Caleb spun to MC, “You said—“
“Well…” MC smiled devilishly, a telltale sign that she knew the entire time, “I assumed wrong, I guess.”
“But you told me it was from that one night when—“
“There’s no way I could have conceived her with you from just one night, compared to how many times I’ve fucked Zayne around the same time.” She noticed Caleb wince in uncomfort at the mention of her activities with her husband. “You were right. Aren’t you always, gege.”
“But—“
“Caleb, the baby isn’t yours.” MC snapped.
He stood by the beside, shellshocked.
She exhaled out of her nose, smoothing out her blankets. “There is no ‘but’ to it.”
Caleb let out an exasperated breath. “I can’t believe you lied to me. You lied to be about something this important!”
“I had to!” Suddenly, her voice turned an 180 and became a pitiful, little cry.
“Gege…I was trying to help you…you married [name] and seemed to be so upset all the time, so I had to think of a way to get you out of that marriage. And see, now…” She smiled, “She’s out of the picture and will never bother you again.”
“You don’t understand!” Caleb shook his wrist out of her grasp, “I would never have…have put [name] through all this if it wasn’t my child to begin with.“
“Come on, Cay, you’re just being selfish now.” MC picked at her nails, “It’s all for the best. You didn’t enjoy being married to her in the first place anyway. I can’t believe you went through all the trouble of having a kid with her just to prove that you were over me. You’re so pathetic, gege.” She chuckled.
Caleb felt as if he could not move. MC’s voice seemed to become a distant echo, until…
“Gege?”
He snapped back into reality. Caleb frantically began pulling on his jacket, turning his back to MC, his shallow breaths filling the room.
“Gege, don’t go.” She said softly, “It’s all for the best. You’ll still be an uncle to the baby. To our family. We’ll be together again, aren’t you happy about that?”
Caleb’s hand tightened on the door. He turned to look at MC, with the most hollow look in his eyes she’d ever seen him possess. Emptier even than the time she renounced him as her gege.
“No.” He replied curtly, pushing the door open.
“Caleb Xia.” MC barked. “Xia Yizhou!”
For the first time, Caleb didn’t look back to her.
…
Caleb wasn’t sure how many speed limits he broke while making his way home, but from the look of the bumper, he should be expecting a few tickets soon.
He was in a daze as he got out of the car, almost stumbling to the front door of the house, unlocking it.
He was ready. To apologise. To kneel before you and beg for forgiveness.
Anything at all.
To go back to the beginning. To make things right, as they should be between a husband and his wife.
To be a family. You, him and your precious baby, that you gave him.
He opened the door.
The house was silent.
Almost empty.
Empty…
The empty table. The empty living room. The empty bedrooms. The empty nursery. It was as if the house had reversed to its first day Caleb had moved in, where every inch was shrouded by plastic wrap and packed in cardboard. When no life had been breathed into his home.
A home without love is just a house, after all. How long had Caleb been trying to change that?
How long had he stayed, in denial, that his goal had actually been long fulfilled?
Where are the people who made his house a home?
“[name]?” Caleb called out. “[name]? Where are you?”
A prickling feeling creeped up against his spine as Caleb made his way back into the kitchen, where you had the fight just before he left. The plates had been cleared away, leaving only a sticky note taped onto the table.
You finally got your dream. I hope you can be happier with MC and your family with her. It’s all for the best. Love, [name] :)
Caleb fell to his knees.
A choked cry echoed through the house.
What dream? What family?
What had he forsaken to chase after his selfish needs?
Nothing was going right for Zayne today, exhaustion and cling on his weary form like a second suit, an intern messed up his medical files in an attempt to clean, back to back surgeries without rest, he lost a patient today and the family blamed him, fingers pointed at him as if he was the one who delayed the surgery in the first place despite his several insistent reminders that they did not have much time. Why isn't anyone listening to him?
His steps were heavy as he closed the door of his home with a controlled slam. He quickly makes work of his coat, his tie. Vanilla notes fill the air and he knew you were home from your trip to the mall.
You hummed as you finish piping the cupcake you were working on, perking up as you hear the door open and close, albeit a little forceful and it made you flinch a bit, but Zayne was home!
With a carefully decorated cupcake in hand on a small plate, you rush to greet your boyfriend.
"Zayne! You're home!" you beamed at him in that soft, dainty voice of yours that usually soothes his weary bones, but he was too agitated to care.
You were holding out the plate for him to take, "I made some sweets! I know you a hard day at work, I understand so-"
"Mhm," he quickly says, wishing you'd drop it and just let him go, determined to just retire in bed.
"But you need to eat!" you gently huffed, "Just eat one of these while I get started on dinner, okay?"
"Put it somewhere, I'm not hungry."
"But you haven't eaten anything! Yvonne told me-"
"For god's sake, listen to me!" his voice bellowed, startling you. "Are you deaf? Are those ears just for show?"
He knew he should stop, he should shut up. But he couldn't help it as his frustration finally spill out.
"I just spent an entire day of work with idiots who don't know how to follow instructions, I don't need one in my home too." he spat bitterly, "What the hell do you know about hard work? All you do is stay in my house, eat my food, waste my money. I don't have the time to play house with you. And if there's any semblance of intelligence in that brain of yours, you'd know to get off my back."
Somewhere, in your soft little heart, something breaks. You bow your head in shame, eyes starting to water, you lips start to wobble.
He tries to walk away, accidentally nudging your shoulder in the process as the plate fell from your trembling hands, shattering into the marble tile with a sickening crash. You let out a small yelp.
That woke him up.
When he looked back, you were already kneeling. Picking up the pieces of broken shards, visibly shaken.
"My love," he uttered as it finally dawned on him what he had just done. He was quick to approach and kneel with you, holding your hands to prevent you from picking up the shards any further. He fears you might hurt yourself.
"It's alright, please, it's dangerous to-"
"I'm sorry," you let out a shaky whisper. "I'm so sorry, Zaynie," you shoulders were tight, your hands on your lap. You looked so so small. Tears fell from you eyes and onto the back of your hands.
He just shouted at you. He yelled at you. He made you feel stupid, when in fact, you were the best thing that could have ever happened to him. He made you cry.
His heart lurched, a sickening feel starting to form in his stomach.
He slowly helped you up, steering you away from the broken plate as you slowly wrap your arms around his torso, tight.
"I didn't know, I'm sorry. I'll do better." you sniffled in his chest. You hadn't stopped shaking at all.
Zayne's eyes start to sting as he looks at your trembling form. "No, no, sweetheart. I should be the one apologizing, you didn't so anything wrong, I- Fuck." the words were stuck on his throat.
You, his sweet, shy little darling, couldn't have done anything wrong, it was his fault. He let his frustration take over him and he vented his anger on you, his angel. The only person who has never made him feel like he was an asshole, yet he's being one right now.
"I'll get a j-job." you say, "A-And then I'll work hard. I-I'll do my best," you whimpered.
"Absolutely not, you don't-" he gulped, "you don't have to, I know how anxious you get around other people and- I- I'm so sorry, my love. I'm sorry." his voice wavered.
His arms wrap around your shaking shoulders, holding you impossibly closer to him as he finally let his tears free. And under the coldness of the winter night, you held each other through your tears, Zayne remembers the reason he pushes through each grueling day, it was all for you. He doesn't deserve you.
"I keep on hurting you," he croaked through his tears.
"I love you." you reply. That just made him sob harder.
As you talked things through, and Zayne doing his absolute bestest to assure and show you how much you really meant to him, you finally drifted to sleep in the bed you both shared, he slips out to clean the mess. On the floor, the ruined cupcakes sat, untouched.
He picks one up and takes a bite. It was sweet.
His favorite.
Zayne, amidst the quiet, never felt more regret. Fresh tears finds it's way down his cheeks as he slowly savored the pastry you prepared.
The idea of Xavier, naming a star after you, nonmc! reader.
Years have passed but it's ever so vivid to him, the way your eyes shine when you smile, the chime of your laughter and your words spoken with a gentle lilt.
The way you held his hand through the aisles of grocery shelves, to the chaos of a festival night, to the serenity of quiet holidays. You showed him how to blend in, how to be human, how to be Xavier.
When his comrades fell and all that was left for him was doubt, it was you that held him through it. When memories of his homeland resurfaced, and he was drowning with the suffocating guilt, of leaving his queen, of betraying everything he was born for, you were his pillar.
His beacon of hope. He was a way finder in the vast cosmic sea, and you were his guiding star.
Alas, you were just human. Seasons come and go, and with each season comes age. He was blessed with longevity, you with mortality. You were growing old.
As Xavier held your trembling hand, wrinkled, your skin awfully thin. Time had come to collect its due. Longevity didn't feel like a blessing but a curse, the feeling of having something you cherish crumble, slipping through your fingers like the desert sand.
When you passed, Xavier had a half mind to follow. After all, without you by his side, what was the point of it all?
But he remembers your words, full of confidence, of belief.
"You'll find what it is you look for, and when you do, I'll be there with you."
And you were right. Because he did. Standing under the midnight sky, with MC in his arms, he did eventually find what he was looking for. Even if it took him decades, even if it meant losing you.
"All of the names you recommended got rejected? How bad could they have been?" MC says with a laugh.
"The Minor Celestial Object Committee was strict with naming, but there was one that went through. The first one." he hummed as he held her close, warmth shared amidst the chilly night air.
"Hm? Which one?" she replies, looking up the sky.
He points to one of the stars in the vast sky. The one he stared up at in each and every night, wherever he may be.
"There." he says, and with a quiet whisper, "Y/N."
tw: gore, implied suicide, angst cause that's all im good at
Hey so I'm like- thinking about Xavier x Philos Noble!Non-MC reader, wherein you were the crown prince Xavier's betrothed, an engagement set in stone, groomed to become his wife since the moment you were born, a noble blood befitting to be queen. You were the poster model of elegance and grace. It was embedded in every crevice of your brain that Xavier was going to be your husband, the man you'll spend the rest of your life with.
The prim and proper, stuck up you, who seems to turn into a lovesick fool yearning for a sliver of his attention while he fools around with that fellow knight of his, MC. In everyone's eyes, it was obvious that the crown prince holds affection for his classmate, and you were the villainess in their love story, and Xavier seems to think the same too as your existence never failed to remind him the weight of the crown waiting to be placed on his shoulders, a burden he is to share with you, not her. You remind him of the lack of control he has over his own life.
You never hesitated to call them out on it either. You don't meant to hurt her nor belittle her. You simply reminded her of her place. You were protecting what is yours. It was all you ever knew.
Years pass and you are now queen, married to Xavier yet not quite his wife, sure you've done your marital duties, but there was never love. He ignores you at best outside your shared bedroom as he leaves for expeditions to expeditions with his Grandis Knight, MC. Seems like he would rather face the battlefield than to breathe the same air as you.
"Must you leave again, Xavier?" you begged your husband as you follow him into the armory.
"As long as monsters roam the land, Philos will never be safe." he replied, his voice aloof.
"Monsters?" you scoffed, "Is it really? Or are you just looking for excuses to fool around with that knight of yours? She's married! What kind of knight would dare covet-"
The sharp clang of a sword meeting the hard marble floor stunned you into silence, "Quiet. You don't get to speak of her like that." he spat, eyes sharp with a glare.
But a kingdom without it's king is bound to be vulnerable. Under your rule, of trying to figure out the best for your kingdom without your husband, opposition from the nobles against the royal family start to grow, hungry for power, they eventually grew into rebellion.
And as the rebels invaded the castle, all your could do was hope, hope that Xavier comes back in time, hope that your defenses hold until the last minute. After all, you were never taught how to defend a castle from invaders in your bridal lessons, especially not when you are also carrying the king's heir.
But you were never lucky, no.
The sword in Xavier's hand dripped in crimson blood as he slowly walked through the palace halls. He tore through the rebels on his way back to the kingdom, on his way back to you.
He should have listened to MC. He should have read your letters. How they went from talking about something menial as the seasons changing, to raw unadulterated desperation, to begging for him to help you.
But he read them too late.
Bodies of the dead litter the floor, maids, guards. He reaches the throne room.
His heart beats louder, faster. He begs to all the gods he knew, that he wouldn't see you on the other side of the door. That you got out of the palace, safe.
His hands tremble as he pushes the door open.
And as his eyes follow the trail of blood, slowly up to the throne, a figure sat afar. He shuts his eyes tight.
His pace starts to haste, each step taunting him to look upon the consequences of his pride. He remembers your voice, your laughter, your smile, your eyes, the innocence behind them hidden by forced maturity that came with your title.
"Don't worry," you once wrote, "I'll make sure our young one will never end up like we did. He'd be free to love who he wants, to be who he wants to be. None of this wretched fate that trapped us both."
He never even knew you were with a child. Not until those letters.
And when he finally allowed his gaze too look upon the seat, under the light of the moon that lit up the room through the windows, you looked ethereal even tear streaked, like you were asleep in peace, if not for a sword lodged in your stomach, and your once pristine white gown drenched in your own blood. His breath hitched.
His wife, his beloved wife.
A sob escaped his lips as he stood infront if your corpse, perched upon the throne he once sat, as if you were protecting his place, and in doing so, he lost you both. He falls on his knees and for the first time in his life, Xavier weeps.
Slowly, his hands found the hilt of his own sword, it's sharp edge pointing at his own throat. In midst of tears, he makes a solemn vow.
"If the heavens would be kind enough to allow me a second chance to be with you once more, I'd make sure the bitter winds of sorrow never brushes your cheek ever again."
caleb x non-mc!reader wherein caleb receives a letter threatening to hurt the person he loves the most, yet instead of staying with you, his girlfriend, he thinks mc is in danger and stays with her in linkon for weeks on end, only for him to comeback to your shared apartment with the whole place wrecked and you nowhere in sight. he finds you eventually, but something doesn't seem quite right with you. but none of it matters as long as he has you in his arms again, beaming up at him in delight, even if your smile was a little different than he remembered. for him, you were home.
imagine being in love with Caleb for years, only to get constantly rejected again and again and again, says the fleet doesn't have time for romance yada yada, besides he only has one thing in mind, and that's getting back to MC.
imagine it was you who found MC when she chipped and tracked Caleb to a fleet clean up, saving her from a bunch of wanderers, but also deliberately injures her lightly as a warning to stay out of fleet's business.
imagine Caleb saw all that, gets mad at you, but what were you supposed to do? she was a trespasser. but you don't report her, no, that'll just put you on Caleb's bad side.
imagine you disappear shortly. no explanation, just gone. it bugged Caleb ever since. but you're tough, you're just out there, somewhere. not like he misses your company or something, not like he missed how you bring him the lemon tea he liked, or the lunches you bring, or how you almost, almost managed to make him laugh with your antics.
he surely doesn't miss how you always tell him you liked him, why you liked him. not your wittiness, your scent, your eyes. he doesn't miss you, and the lurching in his chest every time he sees your empty post, the way he keeps your letters, sticky notes and plane brooch you gave him on his birthday in the bottom of his office drawer. it doesn't mean anything... right?
a little something while i was bored out of my mind waiting for the work shift to end, decided to eat angst for breakfast today 🫡
My Love, Mine All Mine.
caleb x non!mc reader
warnings: ooc caleb, heavy angst no comfort, neglect, pregnancy, vomiting, kinda toxic? not sure what else to add, please let me know!
part 2 | spin-off ending
You wonder when it started- that Caleb started to neglect you.
Well, you wouldn't want to put it that harshly, he just has been- awfully absent.
'MC needs me for something.'
'The fleet called for an emergency meeting.
'There was a mission in Linkon and MC wanted me to stay and catch up for a bit.'
'The fleet had an emergency meeting- in Linkon.'
God, his excuses were getting more and more ridiculous.
And lord knows, if there's any deity listening to you out there, that you tried to understand. What MC means to him, how much he protects her and how they're 'family'. God, where do you even start to unpack?
You knew Caleb when he wasn't even a Colonel yet. It was in college. You met him in DAA where you took up aviation engineering, you lived worlds apart. For you, Caleb was untouchable, everyone loved him and wanted him, well- even you. Honestly, who wouldn't? He was the golden boy. You had joined the Farspace Fleet shortly after graduation. Years passed and you met him again, in the Farspace Fleet. He was.. different, cold. Not the all smiles, carefree Caleb you used to know, no. He was more guarded, more reserved, cold, calculating. He climbed through ranks and he made it look easy. And through it all, you stood by him.
First, it was really just for formality's sake, relieved to see a familiar face. Then slowly, and painstakingly, you shed through each one of his walls, albeit knowing that you don't know everything about him, still, he wasn't that hard to love. Eventually, that friendship grew to mutual affection and now, he's yours. Under the light of the brightest stars and the full moon, you declared your love for him, to which he replied with same intensity. He was the Colonel now, and you were known as the Colonel's wife. Well- you're just his girlfriend, but everyone calls you his wife anyways, both powerhouses of the same Farspace Fleet, just in different fonts.
Life was good, Life was great, until it wasn't anymore.
Caleb had confided in you, how he faked his death, the reason why he, quite literally and metaphorically, crawled out of the grave and it was all for one person and the only person that kept him going, his adopted little sister, MC. How he met her again as the new Caleb, catching her in one of her "spy" missions on the fleet. 'She was never good at disguises,' he laughed while recounting their encounter to you, his eyes crinkling in happiness and excitement, something that you thought only you could evoke from him.
You've never met her, Caleb won't let you, says it was too early, or that MC still has to process that he was still alive and wouldn't be able to handle new additions in his life. And you understood, like always. You'd had to spend nights, weeks in his other penthouse in Skyhaven cause MC was going to visit, his house wiped of any traces of you in an instant. Now, could anyone really blame your paranoia?
And now you're alone, in one of Caleb's many penthouses in Skyhaven, trying to get through everyday, pregnant and alone. You were 2 months in, Caleb knows that. He sends Gideon or Liam in frequently, and every ring that the doorbell makes is about to drive you crazy, cause you didn't need Gideon or Liam. You needed Caleb, the father of your child. For someone who said they were happy with building a family with you, he sure isn't acting like it. You were starting to get sick, quite literally.
"Baby?" Caleb voice rings out and bring you out of your reverie. You look up at your boyfriend, his face etched with concern and you sat in the dim kitchen with a sad bowl of porridge in front of you. That was the only thing you could stomach without hurling everything in the nearest bin, the anxiety and paranoia in you never settling.
"Hey," he says softly, taking large strides to reach you. You didn't say anything.
"Is everything okay? Are you alright? Sorry I took so long, the mission-"
"Liam told me your mission ended three days ago." you say, your voice hoarse from unuse, trembling.
"Right, but I had things to clean up after so-"
"Caleb, will you be home for the week?" you ask softly.
He looks at you, a mixture of surprise and confusion, then hesitation. You didn't even bother to hear his answer, MC was in town, so of course not. He calls your name, you didn't turn back.
"Wait- honey, please." he begs, catching you in a hug before you reach the bedroom, "I'm sorry. I got so busy, I'm sorry, my love. Don't worry, I'll stay with you the whole week, yeah? No disappearing. Let me take care of you, I'll make it up to you." he whispers in your ear. Your heart beats faster, your breath hitched. You love him, you were so smitten, and god, you just can't bring yourself to hate him.
Tears start to flow from you eyes, you were so upset and relieved that he chose you this time, and the stupid hormones wasn't helping at all. Caleb turns you, his eyes were apologetic, leaning down to kiss your salty tears.
He was murmuring apologies before he swept you off your feet, you didn't notice how weary your legs were until now. He carried and laid you down on the soft bed, "Yes, I'll be with you, sweets." he murmurs before catching you in a sweet kiss. You missed this, you missed him.
When you woke up the next morning, you were alone, anxiety starts to creep up your weary bones, until you smelled the warm scent of pancakes and bacon wafting from the open door of your bedroom, Caleb was here, he didn't leave. Your heart felt lighter, the sharp stabbing pain of disappointment dissipated. With a smile, you get up to greet your beloved.
Caleb looked so domestic like this, wearing only his sweatpants as he dons a pink frilly apron, his back facing you as he hummed a soft tune, all while flipping pancakes like he holds some guinness record. Sneakily, you tiptoe to him.
"Sweetheart, you know that had never worked on me, right?" he says with a small laugh, not even looking over his shoulder. You pouted, trudging over to him, "At least pretend you didn't hear me," you huffed. Caleb places the final pancake on the plate before turning to you. "Not a chance, can't let the little one think daddy's senses had dulled, hm?" he smiles before giving you a kiss. Your heart swelled at the action, following him to the dining table.
"I didn't even have to do a grocery run, the fridge was still full, what have you been eating, sweets? You haven't been neglecting yourself, are you?" he nags softly.
"No! I just- you just send so much its impossible for me to cook them all you know," you reasoned, a lie. You haven't even gotten the chance to cook anything, your morning sickness was so bad. Today was no exception, you kind of dreaded it but how could you refuse Caleb's cooking?
You didn't even get to eat half of the food when you shot up, hurriedly running to the bathroom to hurl your stomach empty. Caleb was immediately beside you, holding your hair.
"I'm sorry, I didn't know." he mumbled, were you even supposed to eat a lot in the morning? How bad was your morning sickness? It dawned to him that he didn't know at all.
Still, you gave him a soft smile, attempting to ease his worry. "It's okay," you say, "Our baby is just very picky," you humored as you reach up to flush the toilet, get up to the sink and wash your mouth, you did it so smoothly that Caleb couldn't even assist you with anything, like it was a process repeated so many times it became automatic. That didn't settle right with him.
"Is your morning sickness usually that bad or... Should I be worried? Gideon didn't tell me about this." He asks as he helps you change out of your pjs.
"Well, Gideon only visits in the afternoon and Liam at night, so they don't really see it, but it's okay, you're here now. You'll take care of me in the mornings." you declared to which Caleb replies with a laugh, "Yes, Ma'am."
His phone rings, MC, the caller ID read. Your heart drops as you look at Caleb, he hesitated for a bit, before reaching for his phone and declining it. You didn't even know you held your breath until he got back to you.
"MC..." you mumbled.
"It's alright," he says, "She's a big girl now. Doesn't need me anymore, she says." he continues with a sigh.
"Did you guys fight?" you ask.
"Don't stress your pretty little head about it, sweets." he assured you.
-----------
Caleb promised he'd stay with you for a week right? He promised. So why was he so mad now?
He called you to the bedroom, his voice low. You walk in to see that he was holding his phone, the phone that he had been silently looking for for the past few days, the one you hid.
"Why did you hide my phone?" he asks.
"I- You, well- it keeps ringing and disrupting... us. You promised you'd stay with me for the week, and I just did it to assure that." You pouted.
"MC is in the hospital, she got injured because she went on a mission alone thinking she'd be able to contact me immediately for backup since she was close, do you know what you've just done?" he hissed, taking big strides to reach you. His frame hovered over you, his eyes carrying a silent rage.
"W-Well, why did she go alone anyways? She could have called anyone and-" Caleb didn't hear you further, he just walked past you. You heartbeat starts to pick up, "Where are you going?" you ask, frantic.
He didn't answer, deathly silent as he starts to pick up his jacket and boots, heading to the door.
"You're not leaving, are you? Caleb, you promised!" you say, following him around, "Don't leave me! Caleb, you promised you'd stay! I'm not feeling well too, so please-" you begged as you reach for his sleeve.
Caleb looked back at you, carelessly pulling his arm harshly out of your hold that you almost stumbled forward. His glare was icy, angry. Suddenly the galaxy eyes you adored doesn't feel as safe anymore. That shut you up. He left, slamming the door close, anger evident in his every movement. And you were left, once again alone in the big penthouse, crying.
lowkey had an idea of where this is going but I won't push that just yet, I'll think about it 😔 also don't at me for the pacing i made this at like 30 mins before the end of my shift aaa, first fic so far! lmk how u think lovelies mwah!
Synopsis – On the dining table, against the wall, on the couch, on the carpet, against the window, can you imagine how many positions the Colonel wants to put you in after a weeks-long mission, after his first taste of you that night on his birthday?
[18+ Love & Deepspace] Caleb (Xia Yizhou)/Gender-Neutral Reader
Tags: MARATHON SEX, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, food play, male-receiving oral, gender-neutral oral, doggy style, prone bone, missionary, riding, WHINY reader and WHINY Caleb, POSSESSIVENESS and jealousy, heavy making out, some angst because can you imagine how lonely Caleb was before we found him?
Word count: 5.7k
EXPLICIT SMUT BENEATH. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.
THE USE OF ANY FORM OF ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE ON MY WORKS IS PROHIBITED.
—
The Colonel was used to coming home to a dark house. A deep frown on his face as he passed through the empty doorway, no one to greet him. A frustrated sigh as he went over the endless stream of mission data and reports to secure his position in the Fleet, to forget about the fact that only rabid hatred and angry violence made up his very DNA as an officer in the Fleet—from assassination attempts on his life to angry husbands and wives trying to claw his eyes out for stealing their beloveds away from them with his orders for full Toring Chip implantation on all members of his Fleets.
He’s a bad man, and he knows he deserves more pain than an empty house or empty threats on his life. But today, he comes home to the scent of his favorite spices wafting through an open window. The dark house in his hazy memories those first months after his supposed death and initial deployment in the Fleet is alive today with orange lights. A young tree of Asiatic apples blooms in the afternoon sun at the end of the stone path leading to the front door.
He remembers your hands as you planted it. The only hands that have held him with love in the last year.
Caleb crosses the stone path. Your silhouette crosses the open window. He catches a glimpse of a tray in your hand.
He races to the front door, a smile coming to his face as he hears you move around in the kitchen. You make little grunts of effort, a few noises of delight—you must be trying the dishes you’d prepared for his arrival. Caleb has never smiled so hard in his life since that day at Gran’s house.
With concentration furrowing his brow, he adjusts his tie, dusts off his cap, and straightens his posture. He places a hand on the doorknob.
You’d left the door unlocked. He swings it open.
“I’m home!” he calls, to a house aglow with soft overhead lights and a ‘Welcome Back!’ sign strung up in golden balloons at the roof of the entryway.
“Oh shit, Caleb!” Caleb melts at the sound of your voice, even with the expletive. “In the kitchen!”
He can’t help himself. Caleb reaches the kitchen in four quick strides, almost running towards the sound of your voice.
He scoops you up in his arms the moment he reaches you. With a reluctant laugh you struggle against him and begin to complain.
“Caleb, the pie! It’s apple pie!”
He doesn’t let go. And in spite of how funny it is to hear you protesting his affections all to save a pie, he can’t help the melancholic swell in his chest. He has never come home to safety, to love. The last few months, he returned home as a dead man—on paper and to everyone he ever knew.
But you’ve changed that. It took just your smile, he remembers those first few nights he returned to you, to change so many things about him. You made him want to be alive in spite of how he was dead in every possible aspect.
With his face pressed into the crook of your neck, Caleb begins to cry.
You still immediately as the salt of his tears wets your shoulder. His sobs are gentle. He presses himself closer to you, bending down with his arms wrapped so completely around you, stronger than any gravitational pull. Against the typical gentle nature of comfort you pull him into a tighter embrace, savoring the feel of the only man you love coming back home to you, safe and sound, in your arms. He deserves to know that you will never let him go. So you show him that with your arms wrapped just as tightly around him.
When he stills and his cries turn to sniffles, you pull back from him to smile up at his handsome face, wiping tears from under his glistening supernova irises. Your thumbs are soft on his cheeks as you wipe the tears of your beautiful boy. He gives a gentle smile as he looks down at you.
You’ve never been looked at with so much love.
“Welcome home, Caleb.”
And Caleb has never loved the sound of three words more.
—
Caleb compliments your cooking all throughout the meal. Of course he can’t help throwing in a few quips at you here and there. He teases your Julienned carrots, poking you in the nose as he reminds you of how you cut up so-called Julienned carrots into little letter ‘J’s in every home economics class because you believed the kid who bullied you when he told you Julienne meant spelling out the inventor’s name. Seated next to him, knowing you can’t stay away and you would have transferred to the seat over anyway if you’d sat across from him, you get the chance to shove another forkful of, in your opinion, perfectly Julienned carrots in his mouth as he snorts out another laugh at your irritated expression.
“Go ahead and get changed into something more comfy,” you tell him once he finishes the main course. Because, of course, you’d crafted three specific courses for his return. You’ve only gone through two so far.
“I haven’t had dessert yet though,” he says, eyeing the apple pie on the plate next to your elbow. You grab it, holding the plate in front of him in a tempting hover.
“You want it?”
He snorts. “Boo. I just got home and you’re already bullying me?”
“You heard me, Caleb.”
“Okay, okay,” he says, standing. He spares one last glance at you, smiling at the sight of you filling his dining room with light and scrumptious home cooking and a smile that could be the sun in all his lifetimes. He goes up the stairs to get changed.
And with that, you undergo your own costume change.
You’d planned this the whole time he was gone. Turned the idea over in your head a million times. He’d so enjoyed receiving you as his gift—matter of fact, he admitted staining his pants a bit when you’d arrived at Fleet HQ in an outfit wrapped in ribbons on his birthday a few weeks back. Wouldn’t he enjoy having you as a gift, just one more time?
But what if he already thought the idea was corny? As you strip down till you’re in nothing but your underwear, regret begins to come to the surface. Here you were being presumptuous about the kinds of things Caleb would like. You’ve never explored anything remotely sexual with him before, and you’d only been together a few months. That one night on his birthday was all you had. Your brow furrows with embarrassment, and you reach for your clothes again—
“Oh,” a voice breathes from behind you. “Pipsqueak…”
Wrapped in lace that hugs your frame, you know you look like the most mouthwatering meal Caleb will ever have a taste of. But the embarrassment lingers, even as he approaches with sin already pooling in his eyes, his muscles bulging from the tight white shirt he put on, the dogtag you gave him nestled between his outrageous pecs. When you chance a glance downward, you can see how his dick print begins to swell in his grey sweats—its outline grows larger the longer you look at it.
“Is this all for me?” he asks, his fingers ghosting over your bare shoulder. You catch his hand before it can move further downward.
“I haven’t spoiled you rotten already, have I?” you tease. “Be patient. This dessert is for later.” You move to his side and guide him to his chair. “Sit down.”
Caleb tilts his head, curious at what you have prepared for him when you look more than ready for him to dive in between your thighs.
You walk around him once he’s seated, picking up the tray of three servings of apple pie. Caleb almost stands up to help. All it takes is a look from you and he’s sitting back down slowly as you set the tray in front of him.
“Here’s your dessert, Colonel.”
He doesn’t even spare a glance at the apple pie—his eyes never leave you. Pshaw. You’d work so hard on presentation. The caramel on top even shines a creamy gold.
“Pipsqueak—”
“If you keep talking and don’t start eating, you’re going to miss out on your real dessert.” He doesn’t pick up on your impatience. If he asked you nicely right now, you’d bend over for him and let him pound you into next Sunday. You’ve missed him just as much as he misses you.
The Colonel likes a good challenge. He shovels each forkful of pie into his mouth, eyes never leaving yours. At times he glances down at your figure and slows down, sometimes pausing completely. But after several seconds of eyeing you like a hungry wolf he seems to remember where he is and what he should be doing and resumes piggin’ out.
It’s when he’s halfway done with the apple pie that you remember the second half to this part of your plan. While sensual, your movements are a bit harried.
Caleb pauses eating as you stand in front of him, as you had made enough space between the table and his seat when you planned this slightly new kitchen layout. You motion for him to continue eating. With a swipe of your thumb to his lips, you catch a crumb of apple pie that had caught on his mouth, and press it to your lips, swallowing while maintaining eye contact with the man whose hard-on grows more and more prominent by the millisecond.
He knows better now than to stop eating. He just has to be good for you. So even as you press gentle kisses to his jawline and along his neck, akin to the fluttering touch of a butterfly, he continues to obey your previous orders.
But when your body slides downward, your chest pressing warm against his before you keep going down and down and down, smooth as molasses, finally landing on your knees between his spread legs, he finds his voice again.
“Pip—”
Any words he might have for you are lost in a grunt and him nearly choking on a mouth full of apple pie as you press a hot, open-mouthed kiss to his cock through his sweats. Already more than half-hard, it was easy for you to find the tip. You give him another kiss through his sweatpants, mouth catching in just the right way at the tip. His thighs part to make more space for you. When your eyes find his again and take in him obediently finishing up the apple pie, you smirk. His reward will be priceless.
You pull his sweats to his ankles. He didn’t even bother wearing boxers. His cock springs up to smack gently against your lips, and as it slaps into your mouth you give a hungry little gasp.
You don’t hesitate to kiss and suckle along the length of him. You start kissing from the side of his cockhead to the base, before you press intimate kisses to the rest of his length, tongue lolling out to lick at him with every. Single. Kiss. Caleb, with only about a total of five hours of experience since that night on his birthday, nearly cums then and there.
He grips the wood of the table hard in his hand as you kiss the underside of his cock, licking and sucking in heavy sweeps with your tongue. You moan against him, the vibrations crawling right up his spine. He leans back against his chair. Savors the first feel of your mouth on him. You didn’t get to have him like this that first night. He was too busy finding places to lick between your thighs.
“That’s so good (Name),” he murmurs. You look up. The fork is back on the plate at the table, and his hand is drifting towards you to hold your face in the most gentle touch.
You swat his naked thigh with a loud slap, your mouth still on him. Caleb looks down at you in real bewilderment, his dusky eyes hazy as a lazy sunset, before he recognizes your command and, with strain in his body, pulls the fork back to his mouth. He chews open-mouthed on the apple pie, panting through his meal, his head rolling back into the chair. His Adam’s apple bobs heavily as he swallows.
One thing you are truly skilled in is making this man struggle. You wouldn’t tell him just yet, but while he was away on mission you were busy practicing with a sex toy you’d kept hidden in your drawer for several months. Having him in your life as more than a friend has made you bring it back out into the world. While he was gone, you eagerly went over articles and forums, imagining with great pleasure how your newfound skills and efforts would translate into giving him the craziest head of his life.
You were a tad nervous earlier. But you reveal just how much you’ve practiced now.
“Baaaabyy, have you always been so good at this?” Caleb moans. “Ooohhh, oh fuck.”
You suck your cheeks inward. Bob your head up and down with your wet tongue pressed flat against the underside of his throbbing cock, caressing the sensitive skin of his frenulum every time you bring your head back up to his tip. Caleb shudders, swallowing another slice of apple pie through his struggle, his fists clenching. He hunches over the table and pants. It provides him with minimal relief, obstructing at the very least his hyper-arousing view of your mouth swallowing his cock down into your throat while you look up at him with the prettiest pair of teary eyes.
“You finished the pie yet, baby?”
Caleb’s cock twitches at the sound of your voice. It’s all fucked-out, raspy when you give voice to a vowel. He can only imagine the strain on your throat every time you sucked his cock into the back of your throat, holding it there so that he could feel the way your throat squeezed at his cockhead every time you gagged. When did you learn how to do such lewd things?
He decides to voice the question, leaning back to meet your gaze while he breathes hard through each word, “Where did you… learn to… do things like that?”
“Hmm?” You press a sweet kiss to the tip of his cock. Your tongue swipes over a bead of precum that slips out of the puckered hole on his tip. Caleb clenches his fist, holding steady in spite of your ministrations. Still he falters slightly when you nuzzle your soft mouth into him, your voice vibrating against his cock deliciously with your words, “What d’you mean, Cay?”
His eyes flutter. His nails bite into the skin of his palm as he clenches his fist harder. “I-I mean, have you had practice… before?”
You freeze. Guilt creeps upon your expression. At that, jealousy begins to churn in Caleb’s gut, corroding his patience.
You stammer out something silly, unwilling to admit you’d been going to town on a dildo the entire time he was gone so you could practice for his return, “Don’t get the wrong idea—”
Caleb bends down and lifts you from the ground.
In the past, Caleb would reel in his instinctive responses of jealousy. When you were teens and you’d gush to him about cute love letters left in your locker, all that would reach you were subtle words that reeked of envy, perhaps a “he’s never gonna be good enough for you” or “there’s somebody so much better out there just waiting for you.” Tonight, after every time you’ve given in to him, every time you let him push your limits, he decides to finally, just once, surrender to his petty jealousies.
Caleb has picked you up, his hands on the backs of your thighs. You’re vulnerable in his arms as he stands from his chair, not quite looking at you, his expression unreadable. You’d be afraid if you hadn’t put your life in this man’s hands a dozen times and without fail he prioritized it above all else.
“You’ve let somebody else touch you?” he asks, his face so close to yours you can almost taste the jealousy on his breath. “Somebody who would never even bother to take the time to learn exactly what you like, like I’ve always done?”
You don’t give him an answer.
He tilts his head at you. Even with his patience running thin, he will give you a chance to escape. “I’ll give you five seconds to answer.”
One second passes. Then two. Something inside him shifts as he closes his eyes in a final attempt at restoring his composure. Beneath his eyelids, images of how you might have let other people touch you, how you allowed somebody else to hold your precious body in their hands and give you pleasure that should have only been reserved for his eyes, the only ones that would look at you with love like his, pass through his mind. Inside him, a yawning, vicious black hole forms at those thoughts.
Caleb’s eyes open. You search his gaze and arousal jumps in your stomach as you take in the unnatural darkness in the eyes of your usually sweet, tender boyfriend. His pupils are blown wide in his lavender irises.
“Your five seconds are up,” he whispers.
With a gentle sweep of his arms, he sets you on the table. Caleb settles between your spread legs, his hands coming under your knees and hooking your thighs over his shoulders as he leans back to marvel at how beautiful you look with lace tracing the lines of your body. He knows exactly how he’ll ruin you so that you forget that anyone could have ever touched your body before him.
“We’ll need a safe word tonight,” he murmurs, his fingers brushing hair from your eyes. His eyes fall to your lips as they part with a soft noise of surprise.
“Apple,” you tell him.
“The moment you don’t like what I’m doing,” he says, “The very nanosecond you feel anything, you say it.”
Caleb’s thumbs slip under the underwear hiding your core from him. Later, he’ll tear through the rest of your clothing with his teeth. The lace ribbons especially.
“Because now,” he says, his fingers ghosting over your hole, “I’m not going to hold back. I’m going to spell my name out on your hole with my fingers, and my tongue, and my cock. And you won’t ever forget who you belong to.”
You shiver.
“I want you to,” you say. Your eyes don’t break away from his even as you moan while he circles your hole with a finger. Caleb drops to his knees, his head settling between your thighs. His tongue slips from his mouth and laves over your hole. You lie back onto the table and wrap your legs around his shoulders as he begins to devour his favorite dessert.
Vaguely, through the haze of three orgasms, you recall various sensations.
Caleb’s tongue lapping at your hole with dangerous vigor. How he sank his teeth into every inch of the fat of your inner thighs to mark the holy space between your legs with bruises that would remind you who you belonged to every time you looked down in the shower. The hickeys he sucked into your lower stomach will bloom a fresh purple in beautiful juxtaposition with the rest of the marks he left.
He tried to be sweet after turning you into nothing less than his last meal, after scissoring his fingers into your hole to the point where you had to beg for him to pull his skilled digits out and give you his cock already.
“Open your mouth,” he said. You parted your lips for him, looking up at him with dazed eyes, before arousal filled your gaze once again as he spat your cum into your mouth. His mouth hovered over yours as he let his spit and your cum dribble onto your waiting tongue, and he watched with dark eyes as you took it all, writhing beneath him with arousal.
“Swallow,” he commanded. You did, without question, without hesitation. “You like your taste?”
You can only nod.
“Yeah?” He rubs your bottom lip. “Discovered that it’s my favorite in the universe that night. June 13th, I’ll save the date. But from now on, I might just have to eat you up for breakfast every morning to get my fill.”
“You…” You shake your head at him. “Have always talked way too much.”
“Hm, what else should I be doing aside from havin’ a nice chat with the love of my life?”
Your eyes roll back into your skull for reasons you don’t like.
“You say that like you didn’t just suck the soul out of me,” you mutter.
“C’mon. Tell me what you want, honey.” Caleb hovers over you, a boyish smirk playing on his chapped lips.
You take his hand in yours. You never break away from his gaze, even as your hole twitches when you brush the pads of his fingers over your puckered, stretched entrance.
“Can’t you feel how hungry I am for you?” you ask. You guide his index finger, press it just enough so that it slides inside you ever so slightly. Caleb’s breathing hitches. “You neglected me for three whole weeks. I need your cock inside me, baby.”
Your breathing hitches as he gathers you in his arms, taking your hand away from your core to guide your arm over his neck. He captures your lips in a deep kiss, his tongue slick inside your mouth—you arch into the warmth of him, chest pressing to his, before your mouth opens with a loud gasp as his cockhead presses against your hole.
“I’m putting it inside,” he whispers quickly, his forehead against yours, voice mingling in relieved moans with your own sweet chorus of pleasure as he finally slides through your slick and into you. You watch as his whole face goes slack at the sensation of your tightness sucking him inside.
You arch against him, cling to him in desperation as he gives deep, seeking thrusts into your hole. You squirm as his tongue seeks your own once more, overwhelmed by sensation.
“Mnnn!”
Neither of you last long. You’d been apart from your lover for weeks with only his photos and pre-recorded vids for company. Some were innocent recordings of him singing his favorite song that you’d put on the record to keep you company while you cooked. Some were videos shot in the dark of his body soaked in sweat while he moaned your name, with you sitting on the other side of the screen imagining his hands on you.
Caleb falls apart first, moaning ‘pipsqueak, pipsqueak’ in reverence as he fills you. And when you cum for him, crying his name in relief and from the fullness of him in your body, he doesn’t give you a break. He lifts you into the air and slides you down onto his dick. In this position, you can’t run from him, can only writhe and twist as he presses relentless thrusts into you. He cages you against the wall, covering your neck in relentless kisses. After driving you to two orgasms against the cold concrete he rips the rest of the lace off you and bends you over his couch. Caleb commits the sight of you bent over for him, arching for him, to memory right then and there, taking in every dimple in your skin and every muscle that contracts as he fucks your aching hole.
“Caleb, I want more,” you say in a needy voice after he finishes inside you on the carpet, having ridden him till he whimpered for you to stop. Evening has already fallen over Skyhaven. The moonlight shines on your beloved as he pants with exhaustion on the carpeted floor, his cock at half-mast, craving your heat once more in the same way your eyes devour the sight of him now.
Caleb chuckles, the sound so low and rough and frankly so fucked-out. You shiver at how primal he sounds.
“Can’t get enough of me, huh, pips?”
You whine needily, upset that he’s taking so long to give you what you want. It isn’t like him to deprive both you and himself. “Caleb,” you mewl, calling for his attention as you bring yourself to stand by the floor-to-ceiling windows and present yourself to him under the stagelights of a bright moon. He turns to watch you, smirking, before his smug demeanor falls apart an instant later.
You press your chest to the glass as you bend over with weak legs to spread your ass for him with your fingers. Caleb gives a groan at the sight, crawling up to you in a hurry, his hands sliding over your ass and your hips as he reaches you. Finally, he stands, and adjusts his body to settle his torso over your arched back. You feel his length rise between your thighs before the now familiar spread of him spears inside you. Your hole stretches for him once more. Caleb inhales sharply at the first press.
“Caleb,” you moan, head thrown back. Caleb bends over your body, pressing a hand into the glass. He nuzzles into the back of your neck and gives a slow, lazy thrust into your hole.
“I’ll give you two more,” he promises. That nearly makes you weep.
“I can’t,” you whine. The noise is pathetic even to your own ears.
“Yes, you can.” His arms engulf you in a bear hug, dragging you into his hips as he meets your ass with his thrusts even as you try to squirm away from him. You feel the familiar weight of his Evol balance the both of you as he presses you into the window, and yet you know that with it, you have no means of escape from him. His hands settle over your chest and collarbone. “Say it with me, (Name).”
You shake your head. He squeezes your ass hard enough to leave a red handprint in your skin, forcing a surprised yelp out of you. The night has made you familiar with how he makes good on his threats. If you don’t give him two now, he’ll make you give him four.
“I-I can,” you whimper.
“Say it again. Say my name.”
“I can, Caleb, I can,” you say, voice breaking in the middle when he gives a precise thrust into a sensitive spot inside you. He learned all your ticks so quickly. Can push your puttons with just a shift of his hips or a kiss to a certain spot on your shoulder, or behind your ear.
Caleb grunts at your words. “You’re soaked down here,” he murmurs into your ear, probing your hole with his fingers even as he pistons his cock into you. “But… did you see? All of it is my cum.”
Caleb tilts your head upward and brings his hand in front of your face. You moan at the sight of his fingers drenched white with his cum, from where he’d just touched you. Every single inch of your body throbs with arousal. You squeeze his cock as he shoves it inside you and he chuckles, the sound low in his throat. You can hear the smug smile on his face.
“Can you a-also give me two?” you ask, hiding your greed with sweetness in your voice.
Caleb huffs at your saccharine, honeyed tone. You sound so sweet underneath him, sounded sweet the whole night. His perfect little pipsqueak.
He might not know it yet, but he’s nothing but a fool when he’s balls-deep inside you. You’ve already noticed—you know you could ask for anything and he’d beg to be the one to give it to you.
You can feel the exact moment he gives in to your innocent plea. His body steadies over yours. He’s getting ready to give you everything you asked for.
“Easy peasy,” he mutters, feeling how easy it’ll be to cum inside you twice more especially when you look back at him with your tear-stained eyes, the pleasure in them matching his.
You laugh in a tired voice. But you know to brace yourself as he crowds you into the glass, his body pressing you to the window as his thrusts grow harder, find deeper places inside of you. It barely takes a minute of him simply giving you his cock in such an intimate, tight position against the window, his grunts breathing heat into your ear and nailing arousal straight into your brain, before you’re going limp in his arms and falling back into him with the first of the two orgasms he plans on giving you.
Your knees give out beneath you. Your body slides downward. Caleb’s body simply follows, too heavily weakened by the tight clench of your hole as your orgasm has you milking him with every piston of his hips. He doesn’t stop thrusting into you, letting you ride out the entirety of your orgasm, as you cum for him and slowly fall to the floor. Caleb’s chest heaves as he hunches over you, gritting his teeth as you clench up so tight around him.
Your moans are incomprehensible, uncontrolled noises pulled from your throat. He thinks he might hear syllables of his name in between, but you’re too far gone after the orgasms he gave you to put the words together. Your body writhes in his grip and he holds you close, keeps you steady even as your whole body submits to gravity and you end up on your hands and knees on the floor, body rocking back and forth with the continuous, unrelenting pistons of his hips.
“Oohhhh, baby, I’m never gonna get tired of how tight you squeeze me,” he mutters, watching the way your body slides back and forth on the rug every time he brings his hips to your ass. Your back tightens and he watches the muscles there strain. He can’t imagine how he survived being weeks away from this. This view only he gets to see, this pleasure only he is allowed to indulge in with this body of yours.
“Cum for me, Caleb, please,” you whine. “I need you to fill me up.”
It hits him out of nowhere. The moment that plea leaves your lips, Caleb’s body, exhausted from so many rounds and sensitive from each one, gives out. The backs of his thighs tremble as you both collapse into the rug. His heartbeat presses into your back as he holds you close, folds you into the carpet beneath with his weight. He’s heavy above you, rasping your name in an endless, pleasured mantra as he pulsates within you to fill you with his cum. You cry at the feel of his weight, unable to escape from him as he pumps you full of cum, holding him to you with a hand on the back of his neck.
But he doesn’t stop. Even as he trembles and whimpers from the overstimulation, he continues to piston himself into you. You squeal in protest, too brainless to string together the vowels in a word.
“One more,” he whimpers, kissing and biting the lobe of your ear, his breaths hot as he whispers his love to you, “One more, my baby. Soak my cock one more time.”
Your body writhes hard in his grip as his fingers find the most sensitive parts of your pelvis. He fingers you to and over the brink of overstimulation, and you can’t even tell him it’s too much, can’t ask him to stop—there are no words for the pleasure he gives you, the love pouring from his body into yours. Like always, you can only take what Caleb has to give. Even if it’s too much.
“Love you,” you finally babble after he pulls you to his chest to thrust up into you. “I love you so much, my Caleb.”
He whines, his cock as sensitive as your hole, drenched in slick, his cum and yours, and pulsating with overstimulation. “I love you, pipsqueak, baby, I love you—”
His voice cracks as his moans grow ragged. Caleb flips you onto your back and folds you into the floor. Pushes your legs up and locks them around his waist. And as his thrusts deepen, as your hole froths to become creamy with your cum and so much of his, your bodies give together at the same time.
Caleb cradles you to him as he cums first. He cries your name, looking down at you and never breaking your gaze as his cock fills you with final spurts of pleasure. You claw at his arms, nodding up at him and meeting his eyes just the same as he tells you to cum for him, to show him who your body belongs to, and he kisses your forehead as you finally twist beneath him and shower him in slick.
“My pipsqueak,” he murmurs softly, exhausted, but unwilling to pull away from you. You feel his cum drool from out of your hole, slipping down onto the carpet. Closing your eyes, you stroke his hair as he sighs into you, peppering your face in kisses.
“I missed you so much,” he says. He pulls back to look at you, at the mess he’s made of his lover. His pipsqueak, his his his. You’re all his.
“Mm, I can feel it,” you whisper, voice still hoarse from screaming his name. You let him maneuver you onto your side, still connected with him, as he snuggles you into his embrace. He ignores your complaints of being dirty and sweaty. He smells like sex. The scent of his cum dripping forth from inside you hits your nostrils.
“Give me five more minutes with you like this,” he says, and he sounds so sweet and how could you ever, ever tell him no, when throughout all the years he has given you everything you’ve ever wanted without protest, without complaint?
“I’ll be here however long you want, my Caleb,” you whisper into his ear, kissing him there. You feel him blush a bit as you settle into his side, and know just how to tease him further. “My Caleb, my Caleb, my Caleb.”
“Yes,” he says, sighing with content, “Caleb is all yours.”
—
Reblogs are deeply appreciated !!
This whole thang was like a year in the making. I deeply enjoyed writing this. I hope you enjoyed as well, little apple!!
‣ In which you are the campus menace. Brilliant, sharp-tongued, and completely unbothered by reputation. A senior in Aircraft Maintenance and Engineering who smells like jet fuel and trouble, feared in labs and worshipped in group chats. You're a genius with grease-stained hands, a motorbike, and zero tolerance for nonsense. Caleb Xia is your opposite. The golden boy cadet pilot. Junior. Top of the Aviation program. Captain of the Aviation basketball team. Clean record, clean smile, professors' favorite, freshmen's idol. Disciplined. Polished. Untouchable.
You don't mix. Until your ex, Viper, the captain of the engineering basketball team and walking red flag, starts dating Caleb's younger sister. So you do the most petty, logical thing possible. You fake date her brother. It's supposed to be strategic. Temporary. Harmless. It isn't.
🅵🅴🅰🆃🆄🆁🅸🅽🅶
‣ Caleb Xia x fem! Reader
‣ Campus Aviation au
🅶🅴🅽🆁🅴
‣ Romcom ‣ Fake dating ‣ Slow Burn ‣ Enemies (?) to Lovers ‣ Rivals ‣ Slight! Angst
🆃🅰🅱🅻🅴 🅾🅵 🅲🅾🅽🆃🅴🅽🆃🆂
‣ Y/N the thirdwheel
‣ Aviation Trio
1. Touch some grass
2. Breaking news
3. Damage control
4. Rage bait
5. Answer me
6. Bothered
7.
🅰/🅽
‣ i will be posting in here for sometime.
‣ still thinking if I should add a tag list or nah
As a famous and well-sought after artist, Rafayel had the luxury of taking as many or as little commissions that he wanted. Well, at least within the constraints of his manager Thomas, who was more than eager to broaden Rafayel's network and prestige.
Rafayel, himself, didn't seem to care about accepting all of these commissions just to please the masses or garner the attention of artist snobs. If he felt the inspiration for it, he'd do it right away. If not, Thomas is bickering at him for days about an upcoming deadline that was more or less forgotten.
His current commission was unfortunately the latter.
It was some billionaire this time, an older woman who took great pride in creating a lucrative enterprise all on her own. She had spoken with Thomas about hiring Rafayel for a few wall-sized pieces to be put in her new luxury resort chain down by some expensive islands, the kind that television advertisements would romanticize.
She didn't give Rafayel any specific concepts or sketches, simply that this was a luxury resort to invoke romance for couples and beach living. Seemed easy enough, if only Rafayel could find the motivation to do them.
Romance and love wasn't exactly something Rafayel was overflowing with.
He had this everlasting bond tethered to MC, a woman who happened to be the little girl he had met when he was a young Lemurian. It seemed like he was waiting lifetimes to see her again, but despite that, the bond was merely a faint afterthought in this current life.
MC was in love with this doctor from Akso Hospital, a childhood friend apparently, according to her after he practically pestered her to spill the beans on her private life.
It left a bitter feeling in his heart, knowing he wasn't the only one who shared these moments of youth with her. Especially when she never returned back to the beach they met, a promise that was never fulfilled ever again.
She had forgotten him it seemed, and only ever remembered bits and pieces when they met as adults. Though their meeting wasn't exactly a happy reunion, she was simply a woman getting leads for her job.
A hunter meeting an artist. Once acquaintances, and now maybe somewhat friends. Begrudgingly, he supposed. He's probably messaged her more times than she did, her answers often short and brief.
Rafayel told himself it was fine, that not being the one in her heart as long as she was happy and thriving was enough for him. It didn't heal the growing loneliness within himself however.
He thought he hid it well, always masking such pain with playful sarcasm and well-placed smiles. No one in the media could tell the difference, he was just a famous artist with the exuberance of a man that was extremely talented and desired.
Though, the ones close in his life, like his aunt Thalia and Thomas, knew that when he was not in front of cameras or a canvas, he was a much different person than what is perceived.
There were many days where he would lay motionless in his bed with shut doors, his dissociative eyes lingering past the vast ocean from his windows as morning and night passed like an excruciating blur.
He was just escaping out of such a rut, at the insistence of Thomas who came by that morning after not hearing him for the past week.
It wasn't a big deal to him. So what if he didn't move or eat much for those few days? He'll get back to normal soon enough.
It's why he decided to don on some casual beach clothes and take his DSLR camera with him after all of Thomas's nagging and begrudging reluctance to eat breakfast.
He eventually reasoned with Thomas enough that if he took some pictures out by the beaches of Whitesand Bay today, he should at least be able to have enough inspiration to start the commissioned paintings.
Which wasn't a total lie, it's just part of it was so he could get some fresh air and more time to himself. Luckily, Thomas nodded with a tired sigh, parting with him at his house to who knows where in order to do all the busy work that comes with maintaining an artist.
Rafayel spent what seemed like hours walking across the coastline, trekking past the threshold of his home to the more public areas of the beach. With time, he started to see more faces around.
Couples, families, tourists... All of them living in their own little bubbles while he walked past them by his lonesome.
He did as he said he would, taking pictures of the oceanic landscape and inhabitants enjoying it.
Smiles and lighthearted laughter accompanied the rhythmic crashing of waves, the subtle sizzle and pop of damp sand being touched with seafoam. The golden sun was set high, a few clouds swirling in the blue skies. Winds smelled of salt and memories, his mind whisking him to a nostalgic, yet melancholy time.
Everything around him felt like a painting. Tangible and beautiful, but completely out of his grasp to step into. He felt as though he had no part of it, no ties like everyone else did.
He had no lover's hand to hold while walking, no child of his own following him around with sea shells to show him, not even a friend to converse with under a large, colorful parasol.
He was... alone. Painfully so.
With a long, somber exhale, Rafayel adjusts his camera's strap around his neck before bringing it up to take more photos. At this point it was becoming tedious work rather than bringing him anything joyful.
Another view of the ocean. Click.
Sprawling sands with people doing various activities. Click.
A woman crouched down with her phone pointed towards the sand...
Before his index finger could press the capture button, he paused and continued to stare through the viewfinder.
She seemed like an ordinary woman, wearing her light blue jean shorts, a loose summer camisole, and a cream colored crocheted sweater over top it all.
Her hair wisped around her face from the ocean breeze, her sandal covered feet shifting against the sand as she moved her phone horizontally and vertically a bunch of times.
He wouldn't think much of it, if not for her expression.
Her eyes were bright, blinking with crinkled eyes and a wide smile that made the apples of her cheeks that much more rounder. An ordinary face, or so he wanted to believe.
Rafayel couldn't help but be curious to what was so interesting on the ground, his camera zooming and pointing downward. With a focused squint of his eye through the viewfinder, his eyebrow slowly raised in surprised realization.
Crabs. Speckled and spotted ones.
She was enamored by the little scuttle of them heading sideways away from her. Her fingers could be seen frantically capturing the movement, following as they scurried further and further towards the shore.
Even from this distance, he could see the inaudible chuckle she lets out to herself as she was procuring her album with a scroll and tap of her index finger. He didn't know why, but he almost wished he could see what was so funny. As though he wanted to join in on her fun.
Rafayel blinks back into focus when he realizes she's moved from his camera view, his head raising up to notice she was heading off further down the beach. Without much of a plan, his feet started taking him forward, following her every little action.
Every so often she pauses when she finds a colorful shell, stuffing it into her pocket before surveying the sands again. He kept himself a short distance away, stopping and trailing behind when necessary.
He tried to appear nonchalant, pointing his camera elsewhere with a small melodic hum while he looked at her from the corner of his eye.
There was nothing fascinating about what she was doing. People shell collect and take pictures of the beach all the time. It was nothing special. So then why was he picking up on all her subtle mannerisms?
Her hand repeatedly brushed her hair away from her face when the winds would pick up, which only made her sweater sleeves drop back and forth down from her elbows to her knuckles.
Clumps of sand were definitely getting into her sandals and in between her toes, making her waddle similarly to a duck. That managed to get a undignified snort out of him that he was hardly able to restrain with a back of his hand.
It was only when she stopped for a final time, crouching down in front of a group of hermit crabs that his body practically froze on the spot.
What now? Wait until she's finished taking pictures again?
Surely to anyone taking notice of this would say he looks a bit creepy, standing off to the side just staring at her.
But what would he say? He wasn't a stranger to talking with, well, strangers.
He didn't understand where this hesitation he was feeling right now was coming from.
It was almost as if he was afraid to disturb her peace with his presence. Would she even want him there or be bothered by some random man coming up to her?
His fingers tapped along the edges of his camera, lips pursing in thought.
He was tempted to leave now as the awkwardness seeped into his very body, but when he sees her eyes sparkle over the crabs and a soft giggle leave her lips, something told him the embarrassment of not knowing what would happen was worse than leaving and never seeing her again.
With a small huff of breath through his nose, he finds the courage to get his own sandals moving across the warm sand.
"Taking pictures of crabs?" He asks once he was a few feet from her.
His voice makes her head whip up, the upturn of her round eyes causing a momentary lapse in his attempted suave demeanor.
Cute.
Why was the first thing that came to mind was that she looked cute?
And why was he feeling more fidgety and clammier than before?
"Ah, sorry, am I in your way?" She frantically voices out, quickly getting up into a standing position with her phone held tightly in one hand.
His eyes darted down to the hermit crabs scurrying off at the sudden commotion before slowly raising them back up to her, offering a small smile.
"Oh, no, it's fine. You're not." He notes, bringing a hand to nervously run through his hair, "Sooo, I was just curious... What's the pictures for?"
"Hm? Oh, uh, just for myself."
"Ah, right. I guess a lot of people do, huh. Do you... post them?"
"Um, well... sometimes, on my Moments account." She mumbles, her gaze flitting to her phone.
Was her cheeks getting flushed the longer they talked? It was hard not to notice in the bright sunlight.
Rafayel had to hold back an intrigued smirk, choosing instead to tilt his head in teasing inquisitive.
"Ooh, I see. A famous influencer, huh?"
She lets out a sudden snort, or really more like a chortle, at the tease. Their eyes both widened at the same time as soon as the sound left her throat, but his was more out of surprise compared to her more flustered mortification.
"S-Sorry, I didn't mean to laugh like that."
His smile rose significantly, shaking his head.
"It's okay. Glad you liked my humor. I'm Rafayel, by the way."
"...Nonmc." She murmurs, giving a subtle smile back in greeting, "Nice to meet you."
His shoulder straightened at the pleasant introductions, somewhat pleased to have accomplished such a thing. Well, at least first impressions were going good so far.
"You know, phone cameras are good, but they always miss the finer details." He explains, tapping a hand against the side of the DLSR camera hanging around his neck, "Wanna try mine?"
Her eyebrows rose, lips parting into adorable confusion.
"Huh? Oh, I... I don't know. I feel like I'll break it or something."
"Don't worry, just follow my lead. Here, you can put the strap around your neck."
Nonmc sputters quietly, wanting to protest but failing to do so as he enthusiastically tugged the camera strap off his shoulders and gently put it around hers instead.
She could only blink rapidly as he helped lift her hair up that was getting caught under the strap, his fingers brushing against the edges of her crocheted sweater.
"Heavy?" He asks with a gentle cadence.
"...A little."
"You'll get the hand of it, I'm sure. Here, put your hands on each side of the camera like how I did."
She follows his gestures with tentative movements, raising her eyebrows in silent approval. He nods in agreement, moving to her side and pointing at sections of the camera with his index finger.
"Just like that! Now, you can look through here. The zoom scroll is up there and you click this button to capture."
She hums softly, glancing at him from the corner of her eye.
Rafayel was quite near to her shoulder, the speckles of pink and blue in his eyes becoming a bit mesmerizing. She swallowed thickly, calming her nervous beating heart and focusing on his instructions.
After a few adjustments and a steady squint of her eye through the viewfinder, there is an audible click that sounds off as she takes a picture. She pulls back slightly, scrunching her nose at the small screen where her created image popped up from.
A simple landscape shot of the shoreline, the edges shaky and slightly tilted.
"...I think it came out blurry." She mentions with a disappointed pout.
He glanced away from the camera's screen, taking in her features while she was busy scrolling the zoom pad to examine her mistakes. The pucker of her plush lips, the slope of her round nose, the eyelashes upon her eyes that looked full of bubbly life.
"I messed it up, Rafayel." She added, turning to him with furrowed eyebrows.
"That's okay. It was the first try."
Nonmc still hums sadly, one of her hands reaching for the camera strap as though she was ready to hand it back after her failed attempt. He immediately hovers up a hand to stop her, shaking his head quickly.
"Don't stop now. You just started!"
"But I already tested it out..."
"Mm-mm, you only took one photo. Try taking some more. Come onnn, don't tell me you're actually busy right now."
"Well, I..." She glances around the beach, the picturesque atmosphere too tempting to explore with the camera, "I guess I wasn't."
"Then I'll follow your lead! The SD card has a lot of memory, so do it to your heart's content!"
"Are you sure..?"
"Positive! I won't take my camera back until I'm satisfied."
She puffs up her cheeks in thought, the adorable expression stirring up his heart for reasons he couldn't explain. Only once she nodded back did he smile widely in accomplishment.
Just as Rafayel said he would, he followed her lead around even when he knew the beaches and coasts of Whitesand Bay like the back of his hand.
He's been here countless of times, it didn't matter if it was early morning or the dwindling hours of night. This, however, was the first time he walked here with the purpose of seeing through the eyes of someone else.
Where his walks was usually for quiet, solemn contemplation, hers was brimming with curiosity. She had been shy at the start, nervously clicking the capture button with less-than confident intention.
After a half hour of crouching and pointing the camera as far or as close as she wanted to, his words full of encouragement sprinkled in here and there for each picture taken, she started to have this pep in her step that signified just how much she had been warming up to doing this activity.
It was odd. Usually he was more cautious in offering his things to others or at worse, potentially feeling the incidental touch of another. With her, she was respectful, murmuring little apologies and giving reassuring smiles to show she meant no harm if her shoulder brushed his or something similar.
Her hands were gentle around his camera too, holding it with such care as to not let it dangle precariously around her neck or allow sand to enter the small crevices.
Nonmc was receptive to advice he had on any pictures she took, sometimes even giggling at his teasing remarks rather than taking them as serious jabs. At some point, he was simply fishing for more conversations, listening to her hum or mumble an answer in response to his mindless babbling.
He learned of little tidbits. Work, family, hobbies... even nonsensical facts like what color her shell would be if she was a hermit crab herself.
She took it all in stride, answering with as much enthusiasm she could muster around flushed, embarrassed cheeks. Even when he alluded to his fame as an artist, which she seemed at least a bit aware of, she still didn't pry on anything that anyone else would have taken the chance to.
People usually cared to know about how much money he had or what other famous people he knew, but she never asked. Instead, she began with questioning what were his favorite types of paints and brushes to use.
It seemed like all she wanted to know was what made him become an artist in the first place. She was interested in the inner workings of his mind, or at least what he'd allow her to see. He never expected that each time he'd offer up a new fact to learn about him, that her eyes would sparkle in awe.
It was different. To be seen as Rafayel, rather than Rafayel, the artist.
Soon enough, the sun that was high within the sky had dipped close to the ocean's horizon, leaving the beach in a dark orange glow. He takes that chance to eventually seat himself on the cooling sand, gesturing for her to take the spot next to him.
"Come on, let's sit here and review what you've taken so far."
Nonmc hums in agreement, lowering herself down so she could sit and tug the camera strap off from around her neck. Her thumb would then start to press down on the arrow button for the camera's dial every so often, pursing her lips at each image popping up on the screen.
"I think I took too many photos."
"It's fineee. We can choose and delete any you don't like. Sound good?"
"I guess so..."
And so that's what led them to just procuring her photography session for the next half hour, the gentle waves crashing against the shoreline and the occasional conversation of people passing by giving that comfortable, almost cozy feeling to the atmosphere.
"Sooo... what brought you to Whitesand Bay in the first place anyways?" He asks as she was silently looking over the photos, his hands fidgeting with a colorful rock that was nearby.
"Hm? Oh, it's my day off today so I decided to come to the beach. I figured I'd go to one of the best ones."
"You do that often? Going to beaches?"
"Ugh, I wish, but sadly no. Actually, it's probably been a few years since I really visited a beach before."
"Oh? City life problems?"
"Yeah." She answers with a soft huff of laughter, "Something like that."
Nonmc lets out a long sigh, lowering the camera to rest over her lap so she could gaze out at the waters.
"I remember I used to come to the beach all the time when I was younger. My friends and I used to play mermaids."
Rafayel snorts, the mention of that little game feeling a bit ironic when she was literally sitting next to what would be a merman.
"Mermaids..?" He repeated with a playful raise of his eyebrows.
"Hah, yeah, we'd bring our own twine and jewelry kits to make stuff from the ocean. Shells, rocks... you name it. We'd spent all day crowning ourselves with our jewelry and pretend to be different mermaid princesses presenting our gifts."
Somehow learning that she was playing pretend-Lemurian did amuse him. He even wondered what she'd look like as one.
What kind of shimmering scales would she have? Purple? Aqua? Maybe blue like his?
He thought it would have been nice if she was actually Lemurian, knowing he could have grown up with someone like her. He kind of liked the idea, to be honest.
Nonmc clears her throat right after, her eyes going downcast with a dejected smile.
"I must seem pretty weird to you, huh." She mentions in a dull tone, making him furrow his eyebrows slightly in confusion.
"Why do you say that?"
"I... I'm very quiet and... I usually don't talk to people for very long. It's why I stumble on my words and go into these long tangents that no one really cares about. I'm just... I'm not like you."
"What? 'Not like you'? Please, I'm not perfect either."
"That's not true."
"Hah, come onnnn, you're flattering me."
"I mean it."
"Yeah, yeahhh."
"I'm..! I'm telling the truth!" She suddenly exclaims in annoyance, staring at him with wide eyes before darting them away bashfully from her outburst, "I... I mean, I think you are... in my opinion."
Rafayel blinks over at her profile in bewilderment, before suddenly bursting into a bright chuckle. Her face burns from his laughter, her lips settling into a deep frown.
"No, no, don't be upset, I'm not laughing at you." He reassures her, waving his hands up to dismiss the notion, "Honestly, I think you're way off the mark for yourself."
"...Huh?"
"Well, you wanna talk about being perfect? You're actually quite confident yourself."
"Me? No way."
"Why not? Look at you, you're talking to me right now. Telling me about your interests, your whole life. Who can confidently talk about that?"
"That's because I'm getting comfortable. Besides... we'll probably never see each other again anyways, so it's just easier this way."
His eyebrows knit tightly together at that, his head moving in closer with an accusatory gaze.
"What do you mean we won't see each other again? Aren't we friends?"
"H-Huh? Are we..?" She sputters, blinking rapidly at his sudden near proximity.
"Seriously? We took pictures all afternoon and are chit-chatting together. Or is it because we didn't play mermaids? Well, excuuuse me, I didn't know I was supposed to bring twine and jewelry kits to the beach today in order to make a new friend."
His miffed demeanor, that pout and fiery stare... She couldn't help but laugh, covering her mouth as more of it threatened to spill.
"Oh, now you're laughing at me? How dare you!" He huffs, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Geez... You know, you're... kind of dorky."
"Me, dorky?!" Rafayel practically cries out, making her shush him as people walking by turned their heads at the commotion, "I am not dorky!"
"Oh my god, Rafayel, It's not an insult. I meant dorky in a... cute kind of way."
He harrumphs, but at least quiets down at hearing her admit he was cute and perfect. How could he not preen at that?
"Well... since you meant well, I'll let it slide. But we are friends now, right?"
Nonmc sighs in halfhearted resignation, nodding along.
"Yes, yes, we're friends, if that's what you want."
"I do want that. And you should know, that friends... are supposed to gift each other things. It's like rule number one." He explains matter-of-factly.
"Huh? But... I don't have anything to give you right now."
Rafayel gives her an unimpressed look before taking ahold of his camera from her lap and placing it down onto his own. She thought she had done something else to somehow irk him, but instead, he starts to take off a bracelet that was around one of his wrists, dropping it into her palm as a replacement.
"Fine, I'll start then. Here. You owe me a gift for next time."
She slowly gazed down at her palm, lips parting in shock at the shiny golden chain decorated with various glittering, iridescent pearls of creamy whites and baby blues.
"Are these..."
"Yup. Actual pearls."
Nonmc couldn't believe her eyes at the intricate bracelet. These many pearls on a singular piece of jewelry would cost a fortune, and yet he had at least a dozen or more attached to it.
Not to mention the chain itself would fetch a hefty price.
The disparity between being a famed, wealthy artist and a regular person was quite clear.
"How did... This many..?" She managed to ask, eyes now as wide as saucers.
"That's a secret. Buuut just know I made it all by myself."
"The whole thing?"
"Mhm. The whole thing. You're not the only one who knows how to use jewelry kits."
"Wow..."
He looked over at her smugly, his hands leaning back behind him so he could leisurely square up his shoulders confidently.
"You can keep it."
Her head lifts up in one quick second at his statement, her expression now in complete disbelief.
"W-What? No, I couldn't take this."
"It's a gift. I want you to have it."
"You... Ugh, you won't let me say no, will you?"
"Nope." He answers readily, making her groan and hang her head down in defeat.
While he enjoyed teasing her, there was more to him giving that bracelet up.
Those pearls, they were the very ones he has cried before. Some old, some recent.
In the past, his tears were like endless mockery of his sorrow and pain. A reminder of all the things he lost and could never have.
He used to hide them away, kick them under some furniture or pack it away into some box so that it would stay buried between numerous things in one his many closets. After a while, he realized that doing so was no better than letting the pain fester like an open wound.
So, instead, he started using them.
Decoration filler for vases, something to line his windowsills, and now usually... jewelry. Necklaces, earrings, bracelets. At this point he was creating a small shop with them.
Rafayel wasn't offering it up for sale or anything, he was just simply creating a small collection that would fill a jewelry drawer to look at later. At least until he runs out of room for them.
Wearing one on his person was a way for him to somehow reclaim his grief, to have an anchor and a reminder that these were merely old memories.
It's why he can readily give it away to her. He wanted to see what she would do with his grief and whether that was something he could share with anyone.
He watches as she wrestles with this sudden offering, giving him a scrunch of her nose in answer.
"All right, fine, I'll take the gift. Even if it's too pretty to give away."
Rafayel huffs a laugh through his nose, a bit of relief untangling the metaphorical thorns surrounding his heart. He wouldn't have known how to react if she had refused the gesture and treated the whole thing like nothing special.
Luckily, she seemed to prove him wrong at every turn.
When he sees her gaze at the bracelet thoughtfully, that's when he tightens his hands against the coarse sand, feeling a sense of encouragement to up the ante.
"...What if I told you those were tears from a Lemurian?" He asks next, trying to mask the hesitating tremble in his tone.
"Lemurian..?" She repeats, tilting her head inquisitively as she glanced over at him, "You mean... an actual mermaid?"
"Oh, you know of them?"
"Kind of. Mostly as occasional blog posts about mythical creatures and stuff. Are you saying they're... real?"
"They could be. What do you think?"
"Hmm... Well, for the sake of going along with what you're saying, sure, I'll say I'll believe that they could be real."
"Then what if I told you that this specific Lemurian wept for days, enough to make that string of pearls? Can you believe something so beautiful could be created from such melancholy and despair?"
There was a shift in the playful mood, something dark lurking in his beautiful eyes. All he could think about in that moment was how would she react to hearing something so absurd.
Nonmc pursed her lips in turn, raising her eyebrows in mild confusion, perhaps subtle apprehension at the sudden lack of light in his expression.
"...You're joking, right?"
At her cautious question, he gave a smile quite like the ones he had been giving already, trying to ease what had been brewing underneath.
"Duh, of course I am. You're so gullible."
She hums in response, a little laugh through her nose drifting out afterwards. Her eyes followed how his turned to the sea after that, his gaze while crinkled from his genuine smile still lacked that luster from before.
It was easy to tell there was more to Rafayel than what was being shown.
Nonmc didn't know what lurked within his heart or mind, but even still, she felt compelled to listen. To be kind to this handsome stranger she only just met, it felt like the right thing to do.
"If they were really Lemurian tears, then..." She starts, "I'd treasure them with my whole heart."
He blinks back into focus, glancing back to see her open the bracelet clasp and slowly but surely wrap it around one of her wrists.
"...What? You... would?"
"Mhm. I would. After all, tears caused by such pain deserves to be treated with all the care in the world. If anything, I would hope that I could transfer some of my happiness to whoever made these pearls."
"Well... Maybe I was lying. Maybe there's no Lemurian actually."
"Even still... The thought that perhaps there's some truth to that little tale does pull at my heart strings. It makes me wonder about all the pearls created in the world."
Rafayel tries to let out a laugh to brush her off, yet the sound is frayed at the edges. He was barely holding his emotions together.
"T-There's no need to get sentimental. Not all pearls are made that way."
"Then I'm protecting them anyways since you gave them to me." She states resolutely, giving a stubborn pout as she clutched the bracelet around her wrist, "I'll keep it nice and clean in a pretty jewelry box. Maybe I'll place it near my bedside and wish it good night in hopes the Lemurian feels my gratitude."
Nonmc continues her dramatics by pressing the bracelet to her sun-flushed cheek, closing her eyes as though her thoughts could somehow reach the weeping Lemurian. Of course, she would never know that it was actually working, especially when that very one was watching her do her little ritual of compassion.
He had to turn away from her when she did, his hand resting over his mouth to hide the grin that's formed. He could feel his face warm, much more than from the beating sun earlier.
It was a different kind of warmth. The kind that seeped into the cold depths of a heart that was more akin to a deep ocean cavern.
How was her words able to reach there? How is it that he felt touched by her inconsequential actions?
"Natural flirt..." He mumbles into his palm, barely a whisper heard.
"Hm? What did you say?"
"Oh, nothing." He sighs out, looking back at her nonchalantly, "Just thinking about how much of a sap you are."
With the sun setting past the horizon, they took that as their cue to head out from the beach where the breeze was becoming a colder chill.
Rafayel kept to her side while they headed back towards the parking lots, most cars from throughout the day having left at this point. Eventually her keys jingled out from her pocket, her head turning to give an appreciative smile as they finally stood by her car.
"Thank you for spending time with me, Rafayel. I had a lot of fun today."
"Yeah... Me too."
They both stood there awkwardly, unsure how to end it. Nonmc, being the shy person she was, didn't know what was protocol, while he on the other hand was just reluctant to part with her at all.
He decides then to clear his throat, his hand coming up behind his flushed neck.
"So, um, I have to start on my next commissions once I get home. Do you... want to come over to watch me paint? It's not that far. I could even make dinner and stuff."
Her eyebrows rose in surprise, the invitation not lost on her. She wasn't one to get such things often, but even that had her questioning what that would entail. Was it a courteous suggestion or... something more?
"O-Oh, uh, sorry, I would love to, but... I have work tomorrow morning. It's all the way back in Linkon, so..."
"Ah... I see. Well, it's no big deal. It's whatever." He shrugs it off, trying to not show how dejected he was actually feeling inside.
Nonmc bit into her bottom lip nervously, glancing up at him in contemplation. She could easily end the night this way, more or less rejecting the possible advances from him, but...
"Is... the offer only for today?" She asks next, making him lift his eyes up with brightening hope, "I could maybe... visit this weekend. U-Unless you're busy, of course..."
He shakes his head before she could even change her mind, holding back the giddiness from getting to see her again.
"No, no, that's perfect. Yeah, I can wait till the weekend."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"O-Okay! Weekend it is then!" She concludes, giggling softly to ease her own excited nerves.
Rafayel lets out his own cheery laugh, promptly taking his phone out from his pants pocket and handing it to her with the 'new contact' screen open.
"Here. Put your number here." He directs enthusiastically, his words almost jumbled together into one with how quickly he said them.
She nods in agreement, tapping away her information.
"If you text me the address to your house, I'll go as soon as I can." She explains, but he shakes his head once more.
"Don't worry, I'll come pick you up instead."
"Huh? Really?"
"Sure. You're my guest, it's only right that I treat you."
Nonmc snorts, giving his phone back with a playful pout.
"Looks like I'll end up owing you a gift and an invite someplace too now."
His smile turns into a toothy grin at her response, his head tilting to the side in that charming way of his.
"I guess I should keep being nice to you so you'll owe me forever."
"Haha, very funny." She halfheartedly rolls her eyes as she goes to open her car door, heading inside.
Rafayel stays planted there to the side of her car while she starts it up, giving her a wave back when she does the same through her window before watching her drive off down the street.
Once her car was no longer in sight, he stretches his arms up with a satisfied sigh, his cheeks a little sore now from all the smiling he was doing all day.
He quite liked the feeling, actually. It was... rewarding.
It seemed like this time, he won't wait for love to come find him. He'll go running towards it.
bitches broken heart. colonel caleb x non!mc reader
the colonel knows you have a crush.
in truth, he knows it runs far deeper than that.
he knows you are hopelessly, irretrievably in love with him.
you have never been subtle. not with the way your gaze lingers on him from across the corridor, nor when you answer his call with a swiftness that betrays your longing.
he notices everything.
just the sound of his voice is enough to make you drop whatever occupies your hands, even something as critical as mission logs, just to rush to him like someone starved for affection.
and though he would never say it aloud, the colonel pities you.
he pities you because, in some distant way, he sees a reflection of himself in you.
he notices it in the small, deliberate acts.
the way his coffee is always prepared exactly to his liking without him ever needing to ask. the way you quietly shoulder the more tedious responsibilities assigned to him by the higher ups, making his job—at least the most dulling parts—bearable by taking care of them yourself.
it mimics the way he’d do anything for her.
to be there for her in any way she needs him. willing to do anything for her even if it meant chipping away every part of himself.
but when it comes to you. he is none of that.
and he draws a line where he must.
especially in the times you offer him meals you've prepared, he’ll return them without hesitation, and his amethyst eyes will peer at you colder than necessary.
as if keeping you at arm's length could somehow protect you.
yet even then, you smile—soft, polite, unwavering. his rejection seems trivial compared to the simple miracle of his presence before you.
as if he is the only lifeline you have in this desolate hell.
and the torring chip in your brain was meant to regulate feelings like these, to suppress and erase attachments that might threaten efficiency. by all logic, your love for him should have been erased long ago.
yet still, you persist.
for him. for the ruthless colonel.
for caleb.
that, above all else, is why he pities you.
despite your best efforts, despite all you offer—your time, your patience, your care, your devotion—the simple truth remains: you are not her.
you will never be the reason he drags himself out of bed every morning.
you are not the warmth that draws him back from the cold, merciless edges of his own soul.
nor are you the light he orbits, the sun at the center of his universe.
you are not the reason he operates from the shadows, scrubbing the blood from his hands of men he's murdered who get too close to the truth—who dig too deeply into the whereabouts of the little girl he escaped with from the research facility all those years ago.
you are not his purpose, you could never be.
not while she's alive.
not while he watches from afar, able to hear her addictively sweet laugh through a listened call with a coworker, or view a picture from her moments page. one of her sitting across the same man he's despised since childhood. the man her grandmother had entrusted her with when she knew something was coming for them.
and even if it hurts, even if it kills him, her memory, her existence—even her love—has long since rooted itself into his soul in a way that could ever be displaced.
and there is no room left for yours.
he tells you this himself.
calls you into his office the very day you return from a mission centered around finding any abnormal metaflux energy and stabilizing it, though the details barely matter now.
for a fleeting second, when you step inside, he almost falters.
there it is again. that spark in your eyes, the glint that only surfaces when he calls you by name instead of reducing you to just another soldier.
the hope you cannot quite conceal flickers—brief, but unmistakably present.
and he knows, with chilling certainty, that he is about to shatter it.
he doesn't hesitate.
he shapes his words like a blade, sharp enough to wound before the pain even settles in.
still, he studies you as he speaks, cold amethyst eyes fixed on you as he watches the moment your composure cracks.
he notes the subtle widening of your eyes, the rigid set of your posture, the way your breath catches before you can steady it.
even the tears pooling at the corners of your eyes don't escape his notice, and while you try to blink them away, failing miserably, something about it makes him sick.
sick with something perilously close to satisfaction.
"did you really think your feelings would ever be worth something to me?" his voice is cold, laced with enough venom to raise goosebumps along your skin. "that they would matter?"
the words land, and you remain frozen.
you can't tell if it is the shock of being exposed or the brutal way he said it that leaves you reeling.
he continues anyway.
"i could never love you."
as if to steady himself, his gaze drops and his fingers close around something small—a delicate charm he rolls between his thumb and finger.
your eyes betray you, flickering towards it before you can stop yourself.
an apple pendant.
the sight of it twists something nauseating deep inside you, and you wrench your gaze away, fixing it on the patterned floor beneath your feet.
anywhere but him.
you swallow, or at least try to, but the lump in your throat refuses to budge.
yet by some miracle, you force yourself to speak.
"very well, colonel." your voice wavers despite your effort to steady it. the strain is so obvious it's humiliating. "i understand. i'm sorry."
so much for composure, for even a shred of dignity left intact.
"you're dismissed."
when you finally look up, he's already turned away from you, and there is nothing left for you to do but obey.
you walk out in silence, each step heavier than the last, your heart splintering under the growing weight.
and one question lingers...
could you ever stitch your broken heart now?
the following day passes by, and when you fail to report for duty, he finds himself laughing under his breath.
so this is how you respond.
you chose the coward’s escape, vanishing rather than facing what was coming. after exposing your heart and having it tossed aside, you can't even look him in the eye.
how pathetic.
a week drifts by, and your absence grows more conspicuous with each passing day.
you're nowhere on the base—at least, nowhere within his line of sight. no fleeting glimpses from you in the corridors, not a hint of your quiet presence lingering just out of reach.
it feels as though you vanished from existence.
is something he would've assumed if it weren't for the tracker embedded into the arm of every soldier in the fleet, which includes you.
your signal still pulses steadily on his monitor, a persistent red dot glowing against the dim light of his office.
your records also remain untouched, meaning there was no indication of termination, and no reassignment was logged through official channels either. so by all accounts, you should have still been fulfilling your duties.
except you weren't, because you were avoiding him.
he drags a hand through his hair and lets out a slow, weary breath.
he can't blame you. he crossed a line, and anyone with sense would have fled from such cruelty.
could he have handled it differently? yes.
...does he regret it?
the question hangs in the air, lingering just a moment too long.
no. he doesn't.
as another week slips by and your absence grows from a mild nuisance to a sharp annoyance, he finally takes the action he should have taken days ago.
he stops one of the soldiers from your division in the hallway.
she's a tough one; he's knowledgeable about her role in cleaning up after the fleet's done their dirty work.
the moment he calls her surname, she straightens, her posture snapping to attention like a drawn blade.
"tell me," his voice is edged with ruthless command. "where is she?"
at the sound of your name, her eyes flicker with unease, a shadow crossing her face.
"why hasn't she reported for duty?" he says.
she hesitates, just long enough to give him a reason to press harder.
his violet eyes darken, now burning with something raw and barely contained.
"i'm not going to ask again. where is she?"
"she was transferred, sir," she answers, voice tight. "the higher ups thought she was a better fit for colonel alden's division. they reassigned to the ever subdivision."
as the weight of her words settles, he doesn't respond. doesn't need to.
by the time she dares to glance up again, the colonel is already walking away—leaving her to fix the crease in her uniform's collar.
he doesn't stop walking until the corridor is empty, but even then, he doesn't relent.
every one of his steps is measured, unchanged to anyone who might be watching, yet there's tension beneath the surface, something restless.
it refuses to settle.
you've been transferred.
the words hang in the air, stubborn and heavy, refusing to fade.
when had you been transferred?
there was no indication of it in your files. information that he, as the colonel, should've had access to.
it shouldn't matter. not to him, at least.
because it happens all the time. fleet soldiers are always assigned elsewhere, roles shifting when they're ranked, placed into different sectors of the base without ceremony.
and yet.
the ever subdivision out of all places?
now that was just callous.
his gloved hand curls slightly at his side before he forces it to still, taking calculated breaths, forcing a facade in hopes it might be enough to steady whatever has begun to slip.
he shouldn't even be upset. this is better.
because you're no longer his responsibility. you're no longer the fly that hovers at the edges of his space, annoying yet always there.
you're no longer filling the office with the sound of your voice, speaking of the chores you wished to carry out on a particular weekend, no longer looking at him like—
the thought slips away unfinished. he refuses to chase it, letting it vanish before it can take shape.
he pivots down the corridor toward the exit, already forcing his mind toward the endless meeting that awaits him, three hours of endurance ahead.
fine.
this is fine.
curfew had been mandated two days ago following the explosion in the cascade district, and as a result, caleb now sits alone at his desk, buried beneath scattered paperwork
written reports of the incident pile high. accounts of the incident that require careful revision before they can be released to the public. there are details he needs to censor, truths to distort. entire sections he needs erased.
he agrees to this, all in hopes to cover up as much as he can without bringing attention from the girl sleeping soundly in his home.
but exhaustion seeps in, blurring his thoughts and weighing down his every move.
it doesn't help that frustration and paranoia gnaw at him, sharpened by the higher ups' demand that he resolve this by sunrise.
defeated and barely thinking, he picks up and hurls the precious pendant across the room.
it slips from his grasp with more force than he meant, striking the window to his left with a sharp, jarring crack before vanishing from view.
the silence that follows presses in, thick and suffocating.
he drags a hand through his hair, fingers snagging as he exhales, trying to steady himself.
or at least he tries.
but his mind betrays him, wandering back to you.
that's been happening a lot lately.
because you would have made this so much easier. you would've done this, or at the very least, have been by his side, assisting without being asked.
you would have noticed the tension in his shoulders and the patience that wears thin. you would take one glance at him and would've known he was close to breaking.
and you would have brought him coffee, dark roast with two sugars and a splash of milk. just the way he likes it.
and you would have smiled, that naive, unwavering smile so full of trust it almost seemed foolish, wasted on someone who could never give it back.
stop.
he needs to shut it down before his thoughts spiral somewhere he refuses to follow.
he reminds himself how irrelevant you are, that whatever purpose you served is replaceable and easily forgotten.
because you were no one to him.
absolutely no one.
it's a lie.
one that comforts no one but himself.
that thought lingers for all of three seconds.
and within those three seconds, a recognizable laugh rings out beyond his office door, followed by a voice that stirs something visceral inside him.
"that heartless colonel has everything coming to him."
your words float, tinged by the slightest hint of amusement, and that alone makes something unnamed inside him waver.
there is no trace of bitterness, none of the delicate caution you once used when speaking of your colonel.
it's replaced with ease.
"...and frankly, i think i needed that wake up call," you continue, a slight chuckle escaping. "i would've stayed pathetic, lingering in the presence of someone who hated me."
that's the moment he finally sees you.
and you're not alone.
"haven't you heard? love makes you do stupid things."
you laugh again while the man at your side stands tall, his brown hair slightly disheveled by the wild wind outside. he carries himself with a composure that speaks of discipline forged by the fleet.
and as caleb’s gaze settles on him, a subtle detail draws his focus.
it's in the way this man's hazel eyes rest upon you.
they are unmistakably soft, unguarded in a way that can't be taught or feigned.
caleb recognizes that look at once. he's seen it before.
he's seen it in you when you looked at him.
he's seen it in himself when he looks at her.
and what unsettles him most of all is not the man, nor the closeness between you, but rather, the absence of something else.
whatever you once carried for him, whatever you formerly felt, has been replaced by something much lighter. something much more forgiving and safe and secure.
and the truth is simple. it's more final than anything he has ever admitted to himself:
that even if he spent the rest of his life atoning—for his words, for his actions, for the quiet cruelty he disguised as necessity—you would never look at him the same way again.
he knows now that whatever love you had carefully nurtured and held onto tightly for him, only to have it thrown back into your face, had not purely faded—
it had been given to someone else.
he realizes then, that he was wrong.
because there is nothing left to pity in you.
your attention shifts, finally catching sight of the man you once loved with everything you had.
he stands there, a lot smaller than you remember.
he looks exhausted, and there are dark circles under his eyes. he mustn't have been getting enough sleep lately.
but it goes beyond that. his whole expression betrays him, the pinch of his brows, the tremble in his bottom lip.
you look away from him much sooner than you once would have. the old you would have rushed to his side, guiding him to his quarters and quietly taking on his burdens.
you keep on walking though, allowing for the company beside you ruffle your hair in that familiar, teasing way you have learned to tolerate, letting yourself to be swept along by his presence instead.
yet when your thoughts slip back to caleb, to the silent plea in his eyes, you realize something you could never bring yourself to say aloud.
you truly pity the colonel.
⏾⋆.˚
a/n: "and what about mc?" she's snoring from all that cold medicine caleb gave her. poor girlie is out like a light 💔 and n!mc didn’t even get over caleb with the guy she’s walking with at the end. he’s just a rando #sorry #ihatehappyendings
