Just feeling a bit heated at the moment, and not the angry kinda way.
Mx. Perfect,,, mmm…
[Btw, i switch pronouns for em because… why not?]
Credit:
@cafekitsune-- MDNI line break
@cherishh04 - GIF
Tags:
yandere, weirdo, smut..?, overbearing behavior?
".. I'm not so perfect, I swear... not as much as you.."
Just so desperate for validation and approval.. Perfect in all things again and again, on the star track of being valedictorian for his graduating batch.
It's no wonder this type of man needs some relieving pressure, am i right? And wouldn't it be so fun if that euphoric relief he is so chasing after is you?
Just imagine…
Org work is starting to get to him, all this coordinating… organizing and overall just dealing with all these people who cant simply comprehend or grasp what he's telling them to do. And he has to deal with it all, with a simple pretty smile.
He sometimes thinks to himself, why cant life be as simple and pretty as it is to tell a simple white lie.
Till he realizes it can be!
---
It can be when his brain is reduced to mushed, his senses overloaded with the sensitivity coming from his skin is slapping against yours.
This can be thought in two ways, all so perfectly simple just as he wants.
You riding her till dawn, your insides squeezing and squelching so perfectly around her as she lays there bound to the bed. Your hushed words of affirmation and degradation in her ear as you remind her of how amazing it is to feel so consumed by raw fevour and emotion. Her lip is practically bleeding, as she bites on it too hard. She's absolutely already lost herself, falling into the place of no return the faster you raise and drop onto her lap again and again. Her nails are digging so deeply into your sweaty skin leaving marks, its all to much and she cant help but roll her eyes back.
Oh gosh, she cant even to think of anything more perfect then this.. Then you… How dare she even think he could be called Mx. Perfect when a being like you is so kind enough to take pleasure in her..
"Mmh~,, aHh.. ~ Y/N~.." Her angelic voice adding to the lewd sounds filling the room, with absolutely no shame. Poor baby cant even begin to imagine how to control how she feels anymore, when all she can keep her mind on is how perfect everything is… With you..
--
Then there's where he's y'know…
His pretty face muffled and shoved into the covers of the bed as he's bent and fucked over by this absolute diety-like being in his eyes. Drool leaking out from his bruised pinky lips, as he whines so exaggerated it felt almost fake. Tears falling from the corners of his heterochromatic eyes, it's all to much but so little at the same time. His legs are basically buckling beneath him as you continously pound into him, ass up, backside with no mercy. All he can hear from you are grunts, and swears under your breath, and he's hyperfixiating on every part of it. Every breath you take, even as his head is shoved into the crevice of the sheets, he cant help ut feel as if this is his reward for being so good. That you are his heavenly gift bestowed upon hiim, so evident now as you are helping him see the stars and reach heaven.
(He's really that dramatic about just getting railed, like such a fucking weirdo. <3 )
--
Either way, both ways he's never letting you leave. He just wants to be by you like a good dog, but due to how things are he presents more as like a reluctant kitty.
But its all okay, even if you dont have a choice in the matter.
You can use him all you want, take advantage of him however you like!
Just remember, when you both are all fucked out lying on the covers… And his words seems a bit too… serious.. Keep in mind, that's just the bottom of his heart finally speaking out.
Trigger warning: Violence, drama between friends, profanity usage, yandere themes, name-calling, sexual harassment, power abuse. Choking, pet play, humiliation, drugging, sexual scenes, bondage play, female on female
(8941 words)
You regretted agreeing to this.
Your friends were raving about this massive party, where all the hottest celebrities and the wealthy go to flaunt or make a fool out of themselves. Obviously, it was an exclusive event, no mere commoners could simply walk in. To enter, it's either paying an extravagant fee or be (in)famous enough. Which, you were neither.
They claimed to know how to sneak in, undetected by the burly bouncers that you would rather not be the receiving end of their anger. It made sense to have some tight security, it is taking place in someone's mansion; someone's home, after all.
You, being new in this city and desperate to make connections to you could advance your career, said yes. You stupidly said yes, put on your best clubbing outfit and makeup, and went through with your friend's plan to slip in through one of the back doors while the other distracted whoever was around to hinder the plans.
Which leads you to be lost in a seemingly unending maze of hallways, you don't know where the other girls went and you don't know where you are. There wasn't a single soul wandering around the carpeted floor and chandeliered ceilings. Elegant paintings of men and women in dignified poses seem to peer at you in disgust; a filthy commoner dressed like a tramp. You didn't belong here, and it's only a matter of time before you were thrown into jail thanks to the recorded footage from the surveillance cameras you're sure were pointed at you.
You covered your arms with your hands as you moved onward, cussing under your breath about how silly it was to wear a ridiculously tall heel. It's already giving you blisters, so you decide to take them off and walk barefoot; silently and dryly sobbing about how humiliating this feels.
You continued trundling on, periodically looking back and trying to see where the life of the party is at so you could at least witness how it's like. Perhaps make a few connections, but you think that's unlikely. Most of them are probably drunk out of their mind or high off coke to care.
Actually, what are you even doing here? You're supposed to be networking at a classy, evening soiree, not a rich boy's messy party!
Before you could sigh again, you were interrupted by the sounds of yelling in a room nearby.
"Get off me, fucker!" You heard an enraged feminine voice shout out before the sounds of crashing reached your ears. Groaning could be heard as you assume the other party was shuffling to get up.
"You fucking bitch!" Retorted a masculine voice, followed by more stumbling. "What the hell is wrong with you!?"
"We're over. Get the fuck out of my sight!" She yelled, but it doesn't sound like she was too hurt over it. It's more anger if anything.
"What...? Just like that?! After everything that I've done-"
"All you did was embarrass me over and over again! Like, does it kill you to take a shower? Does it kill you not to be an entitled, gross loser all the time?"
You inched closer to the door and discreetly poked your head in. You saw the back of a woman with the most gorgeous blond hair draping down to her tailbone. She's wearing a silver sequin dress that barely covers the fold of her bum.
The male, slightly drunk and injured from the shove with debris around him, was glaring at the blonde.
"Shut up, slut! If it wasn't for me, you wouldn't get to live like this!" He threateningly pointed at her, but she didn't budge.
"Oh? You mean that monthly allowance of fifty bucks from you? Please, I pick up my dogs' crap with it. That's how worthless you are to me, I'm only tolerating you because I'm doing your mommy a favour." She fought back, her words enraged the man even further.
"You can forget the deal our families had! I'll make sure the Maciovelli name goes to shit, you will be living on the streets before you know it!" He yelled right in front of her face, getting up close and personal; and having his stray spit hit her. She merely wiped them away.
"Ugh, you're insufferable. Whatever, I'd like to see you try, bitch." She hissed before shoving him away again.
But this proved to be a dangerous move, as it provoked the man to lunge and swing his arm at her. Luckily though, it seems she has predicted it and dodged his attack on time.
You had to do something! And so, you looked around as the pair went on to physically fight. Though, it's more like she's doing all the defense while he does the offense. Sometimes blocking his hits with her red handbag.
There is a vase nearby, decorated with intricate, hand-painted flowers. Without thinking, you picked it up and chucked it at the man. The antiquity of that piece of art be damned, that woman is in danger and you have to do something to help her!
She visibly jolted when it flew past some strands of gold and crashed onto her assailant's head, spraying shards everywhere and making small cuts on her legs. He was thrown backward and rendered unconscious almost immediately.
The woman whipped her head back to see the source of it, staring at you with wide, baby-blue eyes. You stared back at her breathtakingly stunning face; she had thin, sharp brown eyebrows that accentuated her fox-like eyes. Long, black eyelashes framed her iris as smokey makeup made her eyes look much bigger and lively. Her lips were glossy and in a shade of pastel pink, with a dusting of sparkly glitter.
You stammered, not knowing what to do or say. You're not even supposed to be here. So you remained silent as you and her continued this staring contest, the woman's eyes were scrutinizing you from head to toe.
She began walking towards you, her heels menacingly clicking against the marbled floor of that room. You felt a surge of panic course through you, so you took a few steps back.
Only to be grabbed by the shoulder by someone else behind you. Chills ran down your spine when you heard the familiar sound of a walkie-talkie beeping. "I found one of the trespassers."
You started panicking even more, speaking erratically to try and defend your case. But the security officer wouldn't hear it, instead restraining you and pulling you away from the scene. You thrashed and screamed, not wanting to get caught and end your life as soon as it started. "I need backup!" Shouted the guard into his device as he tried to wrangle you into his grip.
You shouldn't have agreed to them, look what it has gotten you into. Your life is so over, you're going to be shoved into a jail cell and forced to move back to where you came from. If only you could-
"Hey, you fatass!" You saw her red, crescent handbag whack the officer in the arm, he flinched in surprise. "Hands off my best friend! And who the fuck do you think you are, calling her a trespasser!?"
A look of surprise crosses his face. "Miss Maciovelli? She's with you?" The officer took a look at you, there wasn't an aura of money emanating from you, not like how the woman was.
You looked back at the woman, now putting her hands on her hips. An irate expression adorns her face, "Um, yeah? I just said it, are you fucking slow? Let her go right now!" She demanded, raising the volume of her voice as her patience was running thin.
He sighed and released his hold on you. The man brought his walkie-talkie up to his mouth and said that it was a false alarm and that there wasn't a need for more of them to come over. They should focus on finding the rest of the intruders, which you can guess that they were referring to your friends.
"I'm sorry, Miss Maciovelli-"
"Yeah, you better be." She spat as she hooked her arm around yours. "Insulting my girl like that- why don't you all actually do your jobs and kick the real troublemakers out? Like that pig there, taking a nap on the floor. He tried to hit me and my best friend!" The blonde pointed her ivory-white acrylic nail to her bleeding ex, who seemed to be slowly regaining consciousness.
His eyes widened as he seemed to recognize the waking man. "O-oh! That's-!"
Before he could finish his sentence, the woman dragged you away from the scene. Pushing you by the shoulders and pulling you by the hand. You looked behind you to see the security guard entering the room while frantically speaking into his walkie-talkie.
"You're new. What's your name?" You were snapped out of your frazzled trance when she spoke. Her pace was slowing into a leisurely walk when she deemed it safe enough. The blonde's arm was still linked around yours, though.
Her baby blues curiously stared at you, all that malice and rage she held earlier was gone. Replaced with friendliness with a bit of wariness.
You told her your name and stumbled over your words trying to explain your situation as fast as possible. You made sure to thank her for saving you.
"Your friends are gross for abandoning you like that." She scowled. "I hate fake bitches like them, they should like, get shot in the head or something."
Your mouth gape open at her extreme remarks. Is this how socialites usually talk?
You defended your friends, telling her that they didn't abandon you. They probably just lost you as everyone scrambled to hide from security.
"Yeah, you're definitely new here. They knew what they were doing. You came with five others, at least one should be hiding from security with you." She brought you into a grandiose bathroom. The blonde finally lets you go and approaches the vanity. "Those sluts used you."
Miss Maciovelli pulled a tube of lip gloss from her mini handbag and began doing touchups. You simply watched her, not knowing what to say. Well, you should have seen it coming. Big city dwellers are known to be cutthroat, and you just met them.
"Sorry babe, but that's the reality here." She smacked her lip and wiped away any imperfections with her thumb.
You scratched the back of your head. You asked her if she could show you the exit, it's been a long night and you want to go home.
"You don't wanna stay for a little?" She asked, turning to you. "You're hot, I'm sure you'll have fun. I'll get rid of those snakes for you, if that's what's holding you back."
You shook your head, feeling exhausted after everything you went through today. You asked her if she's going back to the party, wherever that may be in this mansion.
"Duh." She bobbed her head.
There was a pregnant pause between the two of you. Until she decided to fish her phone out.
"Number." She extended her hand and brought her phone, numpad side to you.
You picked it up and entered your phone number. It's saved under your name, but you doubt that she will remember you after today.
"Oh, so that's how you spell it." She mumbled, looking at the contact name.
You watch her keep her device away before fixing her hair in the mirror again. She used a nail to adjust her eyelashes.
"Okay, let's go." She linked her arm around yours again, escorting you out of the bathroom.
You and she walked past numerous rooms and halls, some had excited shouts coming from them, some had salacious moaning and some had loud booming music. When you were nearing the core of the alcohol-fueled rave, the noise from massive speakers was nearly unbearable. You even had to cover your ears in order not to blow your drums out. But the woman didn't even flinch, she continued strutting along with you in tow.
You saw men and women feverishly dancing along to the beat, the surroundings were dark and illuminated by colorful strobe lights. Good thing you weren't epileptic.
"Heyy..."
You turned your head to see one of your friends. She's wasted beyond belief. "You... you made it! C'mere, I want you to meet-"
"Fuck off, whore!" Barked Miss Maciovelli, she yanked you along with her. Ignoring the expletives coming out from your friend's slurring mouth.
You asked if that was really necessary.
"Yep. They won't get the hint if you're this nice." She answered. "They'll keep trying until you're dragged down to their level. Don't ever disrespect yourself like that." She sternly warned you.
All you could do was nod meekly.
Eventually, you reached the exit. It's as grand and fancy as it was on the inside. You see a massive water fountain in the middle of a looped road. Yet, no cars could be seen but there were hoards of security milling around.
"Wait here." She left you on the marble steps as she approached a uniformed staff member. You watched them exchange some words before she marched back to you.
You thought that this was the end of your meeting with her. So you told her thanks and bid her goodbye while referring to her as Miss Maciovelli. She scrunched her nose up in disgust.
"Ew. That's so fake. Don't call me that." She crosses her arms over her chest, and you can see pale tan lines on her skin.
You asked what you should call her instead.
"Mercedes." She replied immediately. "You know, the car."
You told her that it's a beautiful name. She smiled and flipped her hair.
You told her that you better get going, it's late. Mercedes narrowed her eyes at you and grabbed your wrist.
"And how are you going to do that? It's an hour's drive from here to the city."
You said you were going to take the bus, that's how you got here in the first place. Worst come to worst, you would call a cab.
She shook her head defiantly.
"I'm driving you home, no way am I trusting those weirdos to bring you anywhere."
You told her that you would be fine and that you didn't want to be a hassle. To that, she rolled her eyes.
"Ugh, shut up." Mercedes punched your arm playfully.
A hot pink convertible then rolled up in front of the two of you. Its headlights are heart-shaped, you thought it was cute. "Miss Maciovelli?" Said the parking Valet.
"C'mon, don't be difficult." She urged you to get in through the passenger's side.
"This is your place?" She asked with a tone of incredulity. "Looks... plain."
You wouldn't call it plain. It's small but cozy. It's also all you can afford at the moment with your job, that's why you were planning to network around to get better opportunities.
"Hm." She hummed, releasing her grip on her pink, fluffy steering wheel to fix her hair.
You got out of her car and said goodbye. She didn't say a word but watched you get to the front door.
You look behind you to see her staring, so you wave bye. But she neither budged nor returned the gesture. Simply staring at you like a hawk. Feeling a bit creeped out, you went into the lobby.
Only then did she drive away. What a strange woman.
You sighed and trudged to the lift, pressing the button and resting your forehead on the cold, metallic panel. Well. There goes your only contacts in the city, they're all not good for you.
You didn't even get to know Mercedes's number, so until she texts you first, you're completely alone.
The lift opened to reveal no one. As usual. You don't think you've seen your neighbors yet, thinking they're either avoiding you, extremely busy, or extremely reclusive. Or living in an entirely different timezone.
When you reached your room, you decided to boot up your computer. While waiting for it to be functional, you did something else; preparing the things you need for a relaxing bath and boiling some water for tonight's five-star dinner: instant noodles.
You spent the night researching Mercedes, only searching her first name predictably bringing up results of the luxury car brand with the same name. But as soon as you searched for Mercedes Maciovelli, you began learning a lot about her.
She is the heiress of a very successful, multi-billion conglomerate company. Her family owns more businesses than you can count in two hands, they're also huge and famous companies. Banks, grocery stores, and even planes. It's scary how her family possesses this much power. That was such a silly thing for her ex to say, that if it wasn't for him, she would have been in poverty. Maybe it was just the heat of the moment.
However, she is no stranger to paparazzi as she frequently mingles with high-profile celebrities, gets into physical altercations, and goes wild in nightclubs. She is nothing like what was expected of her as someone who grew up in "old money". She's associated with words like "bitchy", "fiesty", "trashy" and "Messy". Whereas her peers barely have any information available about them online, they stay out of trouble and act too elegant for the paparazzi and tabloids to take any interest.
The most interesting bit about Mercedes was her dating life. Your eyes bulged out of your skull, seeing the seemingly unending list of boyfriends she had over the years. It's almost like she has a new one every month, but there are never repeats. Articles, gossip pieces, and smear forums about Mercedes are just so prevalent, that you think you're getting a cramp on your finger by just scrolling your mouse.
In the end, you're sick of seeing the public bash the blonde. It gets old and you're becoming tired. Perhaps aging has already caught up to you, but you cannot stay up past 12.
You decided to shut your computer off and head to bed.
It's been a few days since that party. Your "friends" kept texting you, trying to get you to join one more of their trespassing escapades. You gave them excuses upon excuses because you're not interested in such a lifestyle.
"Aw, don't be such a lame-o," Drawled one of the girls as she shook your shoulder. "Come on, it'll be fun! You had fun!"
The other girls continued egging you on in this expensive cafe. You were already uncomfortable meeting them here, as you can barely afford the cheapest of their pastries. At least the ambiance looks amazing in photos. If only you owned a digital camera...
You let out a nervous chuckle as you tried to decline as much as you could without offending them.
"There's another one tonight! You should totally come with us, I got like, the routes and everything already!"
"Yeah, think of the cute guys that's going to be there!"
"OMG, I heard Retro Rhymes are going to be there!"
"Really!? The rapper!?"
You sighed as they chatted amongst themselves. You silently picked at your muffin with your fork, that was the cheapest thing on the menu and the price was enough to give you eight of these back home.
Eventually, they must have forgotten your existence. Because they continued talking until they left the building. Not saying a bye or sparing a glance in your direction. Leaving you to sit at your table alone and brooding.
Well. You shouldn't expect much when it comes to friendships here. Many people come to the city solely to make money and have fun, after all. Not so much finding true, lifelong connections.
You took a sip of your black coffee. Again, the cheapest thing you could get from there. You couldn't even afford sugar or milk with it.
Suddenly, a manicured hand slammed a cup onto your table, shocking you and making you accidentally spill some of your drink onto your blouse.
"You should try this, it's so good. Way better than your boring-ass black coffee, I bet." You recovered from your initial shock to crane your head up to see Mercedes staring down at you from above, her soft, golden hair falling to your face.
You greeted her, asking what she was doing here.
"I could ask the same of you, seeing that you're pretty broke. But I saw how you still hung out with those sluts even after I told you not to." She cocked an eyebrow as an unimpressed look crossed her face.
Today, she wears a simple, lacey crop top and a pair of low waisted jeans. You got to know that she had her belly button pierced.
You sighed once more, burying your face in your hands. You told her you don't have a choice, it's a cold world out here and you need someone to fulfill that human need for socialization. Now that you have calmed down, you decided to take a better look at the drink she gave you.
It's a tall, plastic cup with a dome cover. It's an ice-blended, creamy mocha with chocolate syrup drizzled on the sides of the cup. It has a healthy dollop of whipped cream on top and a thick straw is sticking out of its opening.
"Um, hello? You have me." She moved away from you and took a seat next to you, she ordered the same thing. Mercedes shook it around before taking a sip. "You don't need them anymore, I'll be showing you the ropes."
You thought about it for a while. There is definitely a non zero chance that she will play you like a fiddle, but it's much better to have someone high up there in the hierarchy. Even though she isn't necessarily a mature businesswoman yet, you would still have a better chance to brush shoulders with relevant people. Not... Partygoers.
So then, you agreed. Picking up your cup and taking your first sip.
It was tooth-rotting. It was good, but you knew if it wasn't for sugar, this cup would not even be filled to half. The sheer sweetness of the treat made you grimace and pucker.
"What? Don't like it?" She asked, looking bored.
You said it was nice, but a bit too sweet.
"That's the point. I like it sweet." She took another sip from her drink. "Keeps me full for hours."
You... Don't think that's how it works. Isn't it usually the opposite effect? Whatever.
For the next few hours, you and her chat about almost everything and anything. Ranging from each other's histories, to each other's interests, to oddly philosophical questions and personal views on things. There were quite a few differences between you and Mercedes- obviously so, as she was raised by the uber rich and you were raised by... Your guardians, but you liked how she kept her mind open and was non-judgemental about you.
It was refreshing, really. Someone you could somewhat be real with, unlike your previous set of friends where you had to put on the most guarded mask in order not to feel like a pathetic lowlife around them.
You were curious about her dating habits, but you think it's rude to ask about it this early on in the friendship. Plus, it never came up, so you decided to save that question for another day. You bet if she's willing to open up, it will take more than just a few hours.
It's getting late, you should leave.
So you stood up, secretly in disbelief at how you finished the entire thing of diabetes. You told Mercedes that you have work tomorrow and you're going to need to leave soon.
She frowned. "Boo. Boring."
You said that you have to be "boring", you don't have her type of money.
"And it's literally just six in the evening. It's not like it's six in the morning or something." She huffed.
You said you have been in this cafe for seven hours.
"They don't close til 10."
Still, you have to get back home. You're tired.
She stuck her tongue out at you.
"Fine. But I'm driving you home."
You said there isn't a need for her to do that, you could take the bus.
"Let's go, you need your beauty sleep." She ignored you and grabbed you by the arm, pulling you along with her so quickly that you struggled to keep up.
Weeks would go by and you would meet Mercedes every Sunday in a different cafe of her choosing. And these meetings would increase in frequency each week, to a point where you were eating all three meals with her daily. She would always foot the bill and refused to let you pay for anything, talking about how you're so poor, that you're probably fighting rats for the scraps at the bottom of the dumpster. It's an absolute win for you; no cooking involved and you haven't eaten instant noodles for months now.
The five girls you originally started off with seem to lose interest in you, they never texted or called you again. And when you did bump into any of them, they would pretend not to know you.
It's extremely obvious that they're avoiding you for some reason, maybe it's because they've seen you buddying up with Mercedes: one of their sworn enemies and one of the most feared figures in this city.
It's... Surprisingly sad. Knowing that the friendship was doomed from the beginning didn't change the feeling of isolation and hurt in you. But at least you gained something that resembled a friend.
Mercedes would gradually increase the frequency of her texts and calls, hitting you up whenever she's bored out of her mind.
"Stop working letz go shopping"
"U r SO going blind in ur 30s"
"nerd :-P"
"im boreddddddddddddd"
"go clubbing with moiiii"
"letzzz goooo"
"stop ignoring me :-("
These were just some of the few text messages you would frequently receive, blowing up your phone even when you're in a meeting. You would usually need to turn it off entirely to keep yourself quiet.
But yes, you would go shopping with her. Mercedes seem to have a kick out of spoiling you with clothes, jewelry and other things you can only dream to buy.
You didn't like trying on clothes, because Mercedes would barge into your changing room however and whenever she liked.
"What's the big deal? We're both girls." That was what Mercedes would say when she slips into the cubicle, while you're mid-change without any warning. Of course, you would react negatively to that, especially since you don't know her that well.
In the end, though, you would just give up and let her come in. It's not like you could stop her and she isn't doing anything too weird... Aside from her vaguely longing stares at your partially or completely unclothed body. She would almost be in a trance, staring unblinkingly for long periods of time until you snap your fingers in front of her face. She just claims that you're just too hot for anyone to handle.
Mercedes would contact you via your phone, asking if you would want to go clubbing with her, or if you would want to be her plus one to an event. And each time, you would say no. And each time, she would whine about how lame you are but never pushed too far.
A temporary boyfriend would take your place, only for her to break up with them the next day and appear in another tabloid for some scandalous fighting or dating. When you asked her about it, she would get moody and irritable. She would rant about her feelings and problems with the world at large, finding the dating pool now repulsive and general standards insanely low.
"Ugh! Can you believe that he said that to me?"
You would have to nod, it would end her ranting faster. It's always the same phrase over and over again, with slight variation.
"I wish men were just like you, I would find it so fucking easy to commit to a guy. But they're not, so I rather shit my hands and clap. Oh my god, he was so pathetic and gross."
You could recite her words at this point, you got it the first time that she wishes she could date a male version of you. Mercedes didn't have to repeat that every single time you and her met up.
For her sake and yours, you pray hard that she finds what she's looking for. You don't know how much more of her repetitive complaints you can take.
All your other attempts to network and make connections fail. As soon as any of them knew you were Mercedes's "bestie", they would either run for the hills or become actively hostile toward you. She has made a lot of enemies and you don't think she has any girlfriends... Only orbiters or those who tried to get her approval but secretly hated her guts. Or die-hard fans who don't see her as a human, but as an object, whether for better or for worse.
She kept them around, just because she could benefit from them. Mercedes would bring them along to some of your many shopping sprees with her just so they could carry heaps of heavy bags for the two of you. While you and her get to enjoy the day, completely unburdened.
It unsettled you how she treated them like lowly servants, or even more degradingly so, like dogs. And not like one of her spoiled Pomeranians, but mutts that are bred to work and live off scraps of attention. You could be having a spa day at the city's finest specialist, sipping on complimentary champagne, and having your hair done with products that you cannot even pronounce; Mercedes would make her lackeys wait outside. Yet, they appear happy about this treatment from her. Eagerly following Mercedes and by extension, you, wherever you go.
It didn't matter who you tried to befriend, Mercedes's opinion of them would remain constant: They're all two-faced liars who are out there to kick you when you're down. It never changed despite never even meeting them or you made them up. She's fiercely protective of you, and always assumed the worst of everyone, even her own relatives when they tried being cordial with you.
Of course, the friendship has blossomed to the point where you would have a slumber party at her multi-million mansion every Friday. You wouldn't even need to bring anything, she would have everything ready for you; clothes, toiletries, hairdryers- anything you need to survive from day to day, you would have a more luxurious version of it. She definitely has an affinity for bling, as the tops that Mercedes provides always have rhinestones decorating them.
You were living in opulence, a lifestyle that can only be seen on TV, in magazines, or in history books. It's jarring and almost dreamlike how you got to experience such things just by chance. You didn't have to work hard for it, you just need to endure a spoiled blonde's clinginess to receive all these. What a steal. You had maids and butlers that would await your every order, personal chefs to whip up something delicious in a second, and hunky pool boys to ogle at when you tan with her outside.
You just wished that Mercedes wasn't so touchy, though...
"Like, sunburn isn't cute. C'mon, don't be such a hardass, turnover." You would groan and do as you were told, laying flat on your stomach and adjusting your sunglasses. Mercedes would then squeeze a handful of white sunscreen on her palm, and begin rubbing onto your exposed back and legs.
She would always take her time running her hands over your skin, sensually massaging from the base of your neck and down to your bum. Her flesh would glide against yours, reaching all that she could touch and occasionally squeezing your cheeks down south. Whenever you complained, she would say:
"What? Not my fault you have a bubble butt. No one can resist giving a squeeze." And continues fondling you under the guise of preserving your youthful skin from the harsh sun rays. You would sigh, slumping your head down as Mercedes continued doing whatever she wanted. It's her house, her money, and her influence after all. You're just riding on it for free. And it's not like anything is going to be too weird, you and her are both girls!
"Okay, I'm done. My turn." She would hand you the bottle of sunscreen and flip herself over. It's undeniable that she has a body that even Aphrodite would be envious of, thanks to a combination of genetics, her lifestyle, and other procedures. Mercedes does put in work in her personal gym, toning her body and alluring men everywhere. Her bikini would leave very little to the imagination, but it made sense why she needed much more sunscreen.
"Make sure to get it on here too." She would purr, playfully wiggling her plump rear. This would usually prompt an eye roll from you and a giggle from her.
She's soft to the touch. And you knew that not because you would have to smear sunscreen on her, but because she would often cuddle with you. It didn't matter what you were doing, you could be stretching in her living room, and she would wrap her arms around your waist. You could be curled up on her fluffy sofa, watching a sitcom, and she would crawl up all over your space. You could be sleeping, and you would wake up to her being the big spoon. And she would have the audacity to whine about how you ruined her sleep by moving around.
But you must admit, she is comfortable to cuddle with. Especially when you rest your head on her voluptuous breasts, allowing yourself to sink into them and inhale her sweet, floral perfume. It would be heaven squared when she would rake her long, acrylic nails through your hair. Mercedes would let you twirl with her golden strands, playing with them between your fingers.
You think, maybe it's because she's just lonely and a big fan of physical touch. It must be exhausting to constantly think every single person in the world is out there to get you. But does she have to be so... gross?
"I just want it." Mercedes would whine, demanding that she wants your drink. You would ask her why, you also drank out of this straw anyway.
"I didn't like my order."
You pointed out that you ordered the same exact thing as her.
"They didn't make it right!"
You asked her what made her think they made yours right.
"They just do!"
You said it's just going to be the same thing. Why not throw hers away and order another one, seeing that she has near infinite amount of money?
She would groan in frustration and stomp her heels on the ground. "It tastes better after you drank from it, okay!? I don't know what it is about your... fucking saliva that makes something so mediocre, tastes so good. Now, gimme!" Mercedes would snatch it out of your hands and swapped it with her one.
You drank more than half of yours while Mercedes barely touched her cup. Well, more for you, you guess. At least everyone is happy.
This habit of hers would extend to utensils, you knew she would purposely drop her dessert spoon just to eat from yours. Mercedes would steal your clothes, claiming that your outfits are always cuter than hers, and she's jealous.
But she chose and bought you these clothes...?
You were so used to her antics, that one day, Mercedes gave you a new brand of gum to try. However, when it touches your tongue, you immediately grimaced as it was the most atrocious flavour ever.
"Whaatt? Are you fucking serious? That's like, my favourite flavour!" She would look at you in disbelief. And you would look at her in disbelief, because this was the first time seeing her buying this brand.
You told her that you wanted to spit it out, it's awful.
"Don't waste it!" She hit you on the arm. "Spit it in my mouth." Mercedes would part her lips wide and bring her face close to yours.
Without thinking, you expelled the partially chewed up candy into her orifice... which she gladly accepted and began chewing on it. Sucking whatever flavour that was left on, including your fluids.
"What are you talking about?" You could hear her obnoxious chews between words. "It tastes fine, you're so dramatic."
Upon realizing what you just did, you would shudder in disgust. Quickly walking away as if you're trying to run from the memory.
Soon after, Mercedes would permeate through every aspect of your life. It seems like she had a chat with her parents about offering you a job at one of their firms. A high standing one at that, too.
You obviously accepted it and resigned from your previous post. Now, THIS is what you're talking about. A prestigious job with unbelievable benefits and tasks that doesn't seem too hard for you to do. It's everything you wanted you achieve, ever since you arrived at the city.
Well, minus the fact that your bestie who got you this position would intrude your office every chance she gets and talk your ear off.
"Ughhh... this is so boring... Let's ditch this place and go somewhere fun." She would rest her head on your shoulder while shaking you by the arm.
You said you can't. You have work to do.
"Says who?"
You said your boss.
"Who's your boss?"
For the fifth time, you told her the name of your supervisor. But instead of complaining, she would storm out of your office. At first, you thought she would leave you alone, maybe she's tired of bugging you and got the hint that you're a responsible adult with adult jobs.
But, ten minutes later, she would be barrelling in with your boss in tow. She had him in a very unsavoury grip, her hands tightly clutching his sleeve.
"Tell her!" She demanded.
"Y-you're free to go. Someone else can cover for you."
Your eyes would widen, asking if this will affect your pay.
"Not at all. Don't worry, I will have this... agreement in writing. Please e-enjoy the rest of your day." He would then quickly excuse himself from the room, avoiding Mercedes's fiery glare.
You looked at her. How could she just do that?
"My Dad owns this company, duh. Anyways, less talk, more walk." She hooked her arm around yours and dragged you out of the office.
It's as if her father was paying you just to babysit his bratty, adult daughter. You barely get to do anything for the company! You don't even know what you were hired to do in the first place anymore.
It gets extremely suffocating being her best friend, you don't know anyone around except her. The staff in her mansion is always rotating, so you wouldn't see the same face twice. You barely remembered your supervisor's names, let alone any colleagues'. All your free time is robbed by Mercedes, she saturates every single second of your life. You don't remember not seeing Mercedes's pretty face on the daily, yet it's astonishing how she would get the paparazzi on her for constantly dating a new roster of boys each season and getting into catfights with other women. Where does she find the time to do that?
It's rubbing on you, now you begin to crave a boyfriend. A 'boy toy', as Mercedes would call it.
It shouldn't be too hard, you know that you're good-looking; you have the clothes, the hair, the makeup and you can always steal from your filthy rich best friend. Your bank account is a little chubbier now thanks to Mercedes. If you just put yourself out there, you're sure boys will flock to you.
But you shouldn't tell this to Mercedes, you get the vibe that she would be jealous that you're stealing the spotlight. You aren't trying to do at all, you're just curious to know what it's like to live like Mercedes for once.
So you had to do it secretly. You would always decline her requests to join her clubbing, preferring to favor sleep over drug-fuelled parties. But recently, you would cover up your eyebags with concealer just so you could introduce yourself to the market. It goes without saying, that you're not tagging along with Mercedes, you went on your own and told not a single soul.
And it was a success! You have never received so many free drinks from men before, you even witnessed some of them fighting over you, all physical and mock-macho. It was hilarious and flattering, but the other girls would avoid you like the plague and shoot you nasty looks your way. It's much worse than you expected it to feel, you feel... rejected, alienated, and ugly. Was this how Mercedes felt? Is that why she thinks all other women are out for her blood? Well, you understand it now. And some of the boys would be really creepy towards you, it doesn't feel so good on the soul knowing the people who defended you from those weirdos are also creeps themselves. They just wanted a piece of you as if you were just a slab of meat in a cage of hungry wolves.
Though, it would be a big, fat lie to say you didn't feel free. You felt the freedom that died on the day Mercedes took you under her wing. It tasted so sweet, you wanted more and more. You were so addicted, that you took illicit substances just to keep you awake for longer, to party until the sun rises.
You were leading a double life: As Mercedes's goody-two-shoes bestie in the day, a bad girl gone wild at night. Make out with whoever you want to, drinking as much as you want and shaking yourself to the beat of the music until you drop.
You knew Mercedes was suspecting something was up, but at this point, you give no shits. This is your life, and you get to live it.
It didn't last long, though.
There was one night in particular; you remembered that they had a massive disco ball in the middle of the ceiling, reflecting every ray coming out of the projector. It was deafening, the smell of booze and sweat nauseated you but you didn't notice. The DJ was bopping his head to the rhythm and scratching records using his fingertips. The patrons were doing their own thing, some were dancing like no tomorrow, some were locking lips and some were snorting lines. It was one of those types of parties, the one where you first met Mercedes. Except this time, you successfully snuck in without your ex-friends and finally found the core of the rave.
Your hair was frazzled and you had a few wardrobe malfunctions, but why should you be bothered by that? It's not like everyone around you were dignified at all, you blend in and that's all that matters to you.
The details were fuzzy, but you remembered wondering what it was like to make out with a woman instead. Men had pretty rough lips and they smelled like crap. Why not experiment? You're here anyways, and no one is going to recognize you- whatever happens in this mansion, stays in this mansion. Plus, you already have a willing participant next to you, who has been hitting on you all night.
Later in the dark, you became bold from a mix of alcohol and whatever glowing pill you took from a giddy stranger. You pulled her aside to somewhere secluded, the two of you were clearly hot and bothered, deeply eager to explore each other's bodies. Nothing else matters in this moment, other than to satisfy each other's needs.
She pulled you in by the neck, pressing her full lips against yours. And you were correct, it was soft, fragrant, and delicious. A thousand times better than kissing stinky boys. You closed your eyes and melted into her touch, sinking deeper and deeper into the kiss. She's on top of you, straddling your hips and your hands are rubbing all over her body. The woman, who you didn't even know the name of, trailed kisses from your jaw down to your collarbones. Her slender fingers began to stray from your chin and roam downwards until it was dangerously close to the hem of your panties. You let out a muffled moan as she let her tongue taste every corner of your mouth, neither of you could speak. And neither of you wanted to, words weren't necessary.
However, your ecstasy was cut short when your lover was yanked backward. Confused, your eyes immediately shot open at the first taste of emptiness... only to witness something scaringly horrific.
"Fucking slut! How fucking dare you, how fucking dare you touch my girl!" Shrieked Mercedes as she had an iron grip on your lover's hair with one hand, and another was whaling on her non-stop. She was screaming in terror as your best friend inflicted as much damage as she could on her face. Scratches, punches, cuts, she had done it all. Mercedes pulled clumps of hair out from her victim's scalp and dodged every attempt of her to fight back. She was fast, fueled with the purest distillation of rage you have ever seen, mascara streaked down her face as she shouted until her voice was hoarse. Blood splattered onto her light-hued hair, her outfit was ruined and no doubt, a thousand dollars worth of acrylic nails were ripped from her nailbed as she threw brutal punches.
You panicked, trying to break the fight up but Mercedes was entirely immersed in anger that she didn't care that she lost her natural nails along with her false ones. She's also bleeding, scarlet painted her fingertips, knuckles, and up to her wrist as she went on tormenting your lover with more hits and pummels. At this rate, Mercedes might just kill her!
You attempted to restrain her, but she was too strong, easily overpowering you just so she could beat your lover to death. There was so much hatred simmering in her heart for this one stranger, this one woman you're sure she's never met. Why!? Why her!? Why would Mercedes attack her unprovoked!?
The fight, which was one-sided ended a few minutes later when your lover stopped moving and was covered in gruesome welts. Her eyes were swollen shut and there was blood pooling around her from her nostrils, scalp, and lips.
"You."
Growled Mercedes. She was breathing heavily and all her strands were out of place. Tears were flowing down her bloodshot eyes as she trembled.
You were speechless, you quivered in fear as you looked on. In the end, all you could mewl out was a meek "Why?"
This caused her to wail, scream, and sob. She brought her injured fingers to her head and gripped her hair, letting out all her frustrations and agony before composing herself enough to form a coherent sentence.
"Fuck you, Whore! Fuck you!" She pointed at you, her shrill voice was making your ears hurt, but you're glad she wasn't biting them off instead.
You said you didn't understand what was going on, why was she so upset.
"You were into girls all along! I-I-" She sniffled, ungracefully wiping her tears away with the back of her hand. Soiling her face with her own blood.
"I'm... in love with you..." Her voice quietened as it wavers, Mercedes choked on her own tears as she confessed. "Why didn't you tell me...?" She gasped erratically as she cried. Suddenly, there was a spike in her emotions. "Why didn't you fucking tell me?!"
You took a few more steps backward as she lost control over herself again, she had to kick your already unconscious lover with her heels to calm herself down.
"I wanted you! I..." She let out one last bloodcurdling scream before lunging at you.
You tried evading her, but she was just too experienced in this. Within seconds, her hands are tightly wrapped around your neck; Choking them until blood rushes up your head. You clawed and clawed on her hands, but nothing worked. She was determined to kill you.
She gnashed her teeth as she choked the life out of you, her salty tears rolled down her cheeks, taking some concealer along with it showing that she also had severe dark bags under her eyes.
You started seeing spots, and your thinking became redundant as your brain shuts down from the lack of oxygen. Is this it? Your death? Killed by a nepotism baby with her bare hands?
You took one last look at her face, it was filled with pain and anguish.
You regretted agreeing to come to the city.
She was yearning for you, ever since she bought you that first drink. If you knew the depth of her twisted, obsessive love she harbors for you, running for the hills would have been your immediate reaction.
Mercedes cried herself to sleep almost every night, suffering from a heartache that could never heal itself as long as she knew you were straight. She knew that you would never share her feelings, because she was taught that everyone sees lesbians as freaks of nature.
She tried distracting herself with parties, boys, booze, and coke. But nothing worked, all she ever thought about was you, you, you. She loves you and wanted nothing but to be your lovely wedded wife. Oh, how she longs for a life where it's just you and her. And no one else.
Mercedes couldn't let you go, no way in hell. That's why she would scare off anyone who got too close to you for her liking, that's why she sent out hit after hit to eliminate the competition. Because if she can't have you, no one can.
But now...
"Sit."
You frowned, refusing to budge from your spot.
Mercedes pouted, she cupped your cheeks and stared deep into your eyes.
"Bad puppies don't get treats, you don't want to be a bad puppy, do you, baby?" She cooed in a babyish tone but with heavy condescension.
You couldn't speak, because there was a ballgag between your lips. Yet, you stayed still in defiance.
She narrowed her eyes at your disobedience.
"That's how you're gonna be, huh." Mercedes lets go of your face and sticks her hand into the pocket of her bathrobe. You heard a click, and soon you felt insane vibrations between your legs, it's coming from the vibe taped to your clit!
You let out a muffled yelp as the stimulation made you buckle to your knees, and eventually, you were on the floor, helpless as your hands were tied up behind your back. Juices leaked from your slit and onto the cold, smooth floors.
"Good girl~" She praised in a sing-song voice. Mercedes happily clapped her hands together.
Your eyes rolled back into your skull as you were about to be overcome by pleasure, but... the device suddenly stopped moving. Leaving you incomplete and agitated.
You whined and whimpered, wanting your rightful climax but Mercedes only smiled at your pathetic, squirming state.
"Aww, what's that? Puppy wants to cum?" You feverishly nodded, face burning from the degradation.
"Well, only good puppies get their pussy eaten. Are you a good puppy?" She rested her hands on her knees.
You nodded and let out a muffled yell.
"Roll over."
You tried your best to do that, but the frigid floor is stimulating you further.
"Play dead."
You lay still for a few seconds, your sex is still throbbing in arousal.
"Good girl, good girl!" She praised, giggling at you.
You whimpered, having tears bead from the corners of your eyes. You need that release so badly, it's starting to hurt.
"Mmm... you're so fucking hot..." She whispered as she slowly got down to the floor, slipping her hands between your inner thighs to remove the toy. Her pupils are dilating at the sight of your naked, dripping crotch. "I can't wait to eat you out. You always taste so fucking delicious." Mercedes brushed your puffy lips with her fingers.
"Open your legs."
She didn't have to tell you twice, you granted her full access.
"Good girl..." She purred before dipping her head down to drag her wet, pink muscle over your pussy.
You writhe as she tongue fucks you, lapping up everything and not letting a drop of your sweet, sweet nectar go to waste.
You would spend almost every waking second being 'trained' by Mercedes. Her treats are sex and the overstimulation of your pussy until you faint. You never knew that she was such a nymphomaniac, or maybe she just is that for you. Mercedes just couldn't get enough of your essence, so you're subjected to such treatment.
Well, at least you don't have to work anymore. You get to eat five-star meals and sleep in a mansion, and you get to binge-watch all your favorite shows guilt-free. All you had to be was Mercedes's pet and have her eat you out whenever she wants.
Her beloved Pillow Princess; was embossed in gold, on the hot pink collar around your neck.
summary: Zayne, Caleb, and MC have always been your friends. the problem is that you don't really feel like you're their friend. after far too long of letting yourself be sidelined and forgotten, you finally make the choice to put yourself first, even if it means losing them completely because sometimes the greatest act of self-love is to say goodbye.
notes: part one of two; i know caleb is older than mc, just pretend for this fic that he purposely got held back enough when they were younger to be in the same grade.
word count: 6.4k
After nine years, you would have thought the four of you would be closer.
That's how it goes with childhood friends, isn't it? Circumstance brings you together as children, and you stay together for the rest of your lives in that unshakable bond built up over the years. But the close friendships you've daydreamed about are no where to be found in the real world.
You stare at the table, slowly finishing off your drink while Emily Claire, still stubbornly insisting everyone call her MC, laughs at something Caleb said. Zayne, able to join you for once while he's here for the summer, smiles fondly as his gaze is fixed on MC. Even while sitting at a table with the three of them, you feel worlds away.
Has it always been this bad?
Things must have been better when you were younger. Before the world became big and complicated, before Zayne moved away following MC's accident, before you were aware of how others saw you.
In your memories, childhood is soft, full of easy laughter and flowers and skinned knees. You were the last to join the group, moving into the neighborhood a few months after Zayne. He was the first one you met, sent over by his parents to greet the new family. It was Zayne that invited you to Caleb and MC's house to join a game of hide-and-seek, and from there you were a part of them.
You remember being overjoyed to have such wonderful friends. Zayne was awkward but dependable, Caleb was cheerful and eager for adventure, and MC was bright and kind in a way that made everyone love her. They were nothing like you: quiet and shy, hesitant after being bullied in your old school, always hiding behind them.
No wonder you drifted away. You were never going to fit in with them, and they knew it too. They're just too nice to say it out loud to push you away.
"Ooh, the claw machine is open!" MC says, jumping up from her seat. "Come on, let's go! I want to break my plushie winning record today!"
Caleb follows after her easily. "You mean I'm going to win the plushie winning record today. You know my skills are unbeatable."
Zayne leaves the table a second later, content to follow along silently, watching them bicker.
Not a single one of them looks back at you. You stay seated, slowly sucking up the dregs of your drink.
Was it high school when you finally started noticing? Sophomore year, without any shared classes with MC or Caleb. The three of you had the same lunch period, and while you were grateful for it at the start of the year, it soon became the hour you dreaded most during the school day.
Suddenly, instead of it being the three of you always together, with Zayne only returning during summer, you were stuck watching Caleb and MC get closer with new inside jokes, never looking away from each other. You couldn't complain about the same teachers or work on homework together. The invites to Caleb's basketball games stopped coming and you decided against going, unwilling to be ignored after the school day ended.
MC took all of Caleb's attention. She took most people's attention, being so cheerful and perfect. Most guys had crushes on her. A few girls did as well. She was everything you weren't and the rest of the school could see that too.
You overheard too many whispers about how you were clinging to her like an idiot, unwanted but unwilling to take the hint.
It hurt to hear. You didn't want to believe it, stubbornly digging your heels into a friendship that had already started fading years ago. You made an effort to join their conversation some more, but it rarely went anywhere without MC changing the topic. You tried to make plans to hang out during the weekends but they were almost always turned down or canceled last minute. You tried to be more active in the group chat, but the sudden silence after you sent a message was too awful to keep up at it for long.
You wondered if it was just you, or if Zayne was being excluded too. Was it just that Caleb and MC were too close? They did live together. It would explain some things.
But when summer came, Zayne slid back into place like nothing changed and MC and Caleb made space for him. He was never ignored when he spoke, his messages always answered, his presence welcomed easily. Your first friend in Linkon City didn't pay much attention to you either.
Invitations to hang out were sparse that summer. You're sure they spent more time together without you, and only occasionally remembered that you existed.
You can vividly remember the day you trailed after the three of them, going downtown to get lunch at a new restaurant that MC had been excited to try. You caught sight of your reflection in the display window of a boutique and the sight of such a plain, unremarkable person following after a group of incredible people hit like a punch to the gut. It was the first time you really realized how pathetic you've been, always rushing to catch up when they're so clearly trying to get rid of you.
It was a long lunch. An even longer day. You spent the evening looking back through your chat history, seeing all the unanswered messages and cancellations. To rub salt into the wound, you checked MC's stories and found pictures and updates about all sorts of things she's done with her friends — all without you in them.
You got the point. It didn't need to be spelled out for you anymore.
You know when you're unwanted.
You wanted to ditch them completely and make new friends that would actually want you around, but by then, social groups had been set in stone. No one wanted you around. They were friendly, but you didn't speak to any of your classmates outside of school. Any attempt of finding a new place to sit at lunch or other people to talk to lead to MC suddenly remembering your existence and physically dragging you back to join her and Caleb.
They refused to let you go, but treated you as if you didn't exist.
You wanted to rage, to start a fight, to scream that if they didn't want you around so badly, the least they could do is let you go. But you bit your tongue and lowered your gaze.
What good would lashing out do?
At least the promise of university reassured you. Soon enough, you'd be out of Linkon City entirely and you can do what you have to in order to never see them again.
And now, two years later, it's almost time to go. Graduation is a week away. Zayne's university already entered summer vacation, the timing lining up perfectly for him to attend graduation. He's only got a few years left of his degree before he can get a residency, and after that it'll be much harder to meet with him.
Good for him. Whatever he or any of the others do won't matter to you soon.
Hang on a little longer, you tell yourself. Just another week, and then you're gone.
"Are you not joining us?"
You look up from where you've been staring blankly at the table. Zayne is by your side, frowning at you.
"Oh," you say, voice flat. "No. I'm going to get another drink, actually."
"I see. I'll join you, then."
Why now of all times? Frustration squeezes your heart and it takes a deep breath to keep yourself calm. "I was thinking of going down the street to that boba shop. I don't think they have the sweet drinks you usually like."
"I'm always open to trying new things," Zayne replies easily.
You eye him, a little thrown off by his insistence to join you. He hasn't spent time with you one-on-one in… years. He's only ever around for MC, and without her there, you never get to see him. Not that he sees you while she's around.
"Alright," you say slowly, getting up. You glance over to the arcade, where MC is focused on lining up the claw to get her next plushie. Caleb leans against the machine, eyes fixed on her. You're not going to bother with telling them where you're headed. They'll be fine without you.
You take your empty cup and toss it into the trash, then leave without looking back. Zayne picks up his pace to walk beside you on the sidewalk. You can feel him staring at you and it makes you want to scream. He's a few years too late to start caring about you.
The silence holds steady as you head to the boba shop. There's a line inside the store and you're quick to join the queue, looking through the menu options hung over the back counter. You're not a fan of overly sweet drinks, and most of the ones offered are fruit based or interesting flavors such as creme brulee or strawberry shortcake. Oolong boba tea sounds decent enough, so that's what you go with once you're called to the counter to order.
After you, Zayne orders something with a long, baffling name that is sure to be 80% sugar.
You wait together off to the side as your drinks are made. Had this been any previous summer, you would have been trying to fill the silence and get a conversation going, but you're too tired to try anymore. The silence stays, lingers, remains unbroken even as Zayne looks at you strangely, a furrow in his brow.
"Let's find someplace outside to sit," he suggests once your drinks are in hand.
You nod and let him take the lead, exiting the store and walking through the streets, dodging other people on the sidewalks. You're getting father away from the arcade where you left MC and Caleb and you're surprised that Zayne doesn't mention them at all. Something's clearly up.
He leads you to a small park, where other people sit on the grass having picnics, watching kids play in the sandbox and swings. There's an empty bench in the shade of a tree that the two of you quickly claim.
You sip your tea, enjoying the flavor, popping boba pearls between your teeth. The day is pleasant, warm but not hot, a cool breeze keeping you comfortable.
Being so frequently ignored means you've given up on having conversations with any of your 'friends'. You've spent a lot of time this year getting lost in your own thoughts, attention drifting off to a space where no one can hurt you. It's second nature to let your mind wander by this point, idly watching people move through the park as you enjoy the mild, slightly bitter tea.
The presence next to you is hard to ignore, but you've had months to master to the art of stubbornly not caring.
Let him glance at you all he wants. Soon, you'll have nothing to do with him and you can start over from scratch.
What kind of life do you want? You've never really thought about it much. Most thoughts about what you want to do with your future devolve into comparing yourself to MC and Caleb, chipping away at your confidence. They're so sure of everything. Caleb already has his eyes set on Skyhaven, following his childhood dream of becoming a pilot. MC's been researching the Hunter's Association and spending more time at the gym to prepare for the entrance exam for the Hunter's Academy.
Zayne is someone you stopped comparing yourself to years ago. He's always been above everyone else; a true genius, making waves in the medical world with his youth and talent.
You, on the other hand, have no promise. There are no special skills for you to show off, no guiding dream to help you figure out what your future will be. To add insult to injury, you're the only one in the group to not have an EVOL.
The universe must really want to make how worthless you are sink in.
You wonder if you can convince your parents to let you take a gap year. Travel around a bit, grow as a person once you're no longer held back by this farce of a friendship. Perhaps you'll even discover something you love, something you can pursue for the rest of your life.
"You're quiet today," Zayne say suddenly. You almost don't catch his words, too distracted by the future.
You give a light hum in response.
"Is everything all right?"
"Yeah. Why do you ask?"
"You just…" Zayne hesitates for a moment. "You seem distant. Did something happen? Are you… upset about anything?"
How ironic to be noticed just as you're preparing to disappear. This attention is coming a year too late to be any use now. "No," you say mildly, disinterested, "Nothing happened and I'm not upset. Just getting ready for graduation."
"Ah. You must be excited to be done with high school."
"I am." This, at least, is honest. The sooner you can leave behind every judgemental gaze and pitying whispers, the better. You'll be happy if you never seen any of your classmates again.
He doesn't say anything after that, so you return to slowly drinking your tea, letting your thoughts spin in whatever direction they please. You risk glancing at him just once and catch sight of Zayne frowning, looking uncharacteristically awkward.
The you of the past would have kept the conversation going. You would have rambled about any number of things to fill the air and help his shoulder's loosen up, eagerly waiting for him to speak as well. Now, you leave him to his discomfort. A sharper, more bitter part of you is glad that he can experience a taste of what he and the other two have put you through.
You finish your tea and stand up. "I'm gonna head back now."
Zayne hurries to stand and follow. "I'll walk with you. I'm sure MC and Caleb will be wondering where we've been."
"Oh, no. I'm not going back to the arcade. I'm going home. You can let them know I headed out early." You start walking away, turning to give him a small wave. "It was nice to see you again. Bye, Zayne."
He stares after you, eyes dark and conflicted. "I'll see you later," he returns. You don't bother replying; there's only one meeting left for the two of you at graduation, and after that, you will silently, gracefully exit his life.
You don't go home right away. Instead, you wander the streets of Linkon City, taking in the small details you rarely ever pay attention to. The city is so full of light, people everyone living their lives. The architecture is all neat and clean, plants decorating the streets and hanging on balconies.
Not a single soul spares you more than a glance. You are just another face among the crowd, free of the burden of being unwanted. No one knows how little your friends care for you and it's a relief.
Yes, this is the right move. This is what's best for you.
After graduation, you'll join your parents in moving to a new city for your mother's job. You'll get rid of every trace of MC, Caleb, and Zayne in your life. You'll make a place of your own in this cold world and find happiness alone.
When you get home, your parents are already in the kitchen, cooking dinner together. They look at you with such obvious concern, worried about you as they have been since you told them about not really being friends with anyone anymore.
At least you'll always have them. Your parents love you, and that's more than you deserve.
"How did it go?" your father asks.
"Same as always," you answer, "Left early too. Can we go shopping tomorrow so I can get a new phone? I want a completely new number so they can't contact me again."
"Sure. We can also buy whatever else you want as a graduation gift."
"I don't need a gift," you say, the same line you've been repeating all month. "Really. I'm just ready to leave and go someplace new. Take a gap year and worry about university once I figure some things out."
"I can see if any of my new coworkers have children your age, try to get you some friends," your mother offers.
You laugh. "No need. I can manage just fine without you setting up playdates for me. I kind of want to find a new hobby, see if there's something I can dedicate myself to."
"Why not pick up an instrument again? You used to play the violin when you were really little."
"Really? I don't remember."
"That's because it was while we lived with your grandparents. Your grandmother used to be quite the musician, and she taught you the basics of the violin."
"Huh. I'll think about it," you say. "When will dinner be ready?"
"About an hour."
"Alright, I'll come back down later to eat." You head upstairs to your room, already half packed. You've thrown away quite a few mementos and pictures of you with MC, Caleb, and Zayne. It had been hard at first, getting rid of the things you treasured for so long, but your own peace of mind is more important than any nostalgic relic. After the first few days, it became easier to just toss it all out, erasing the history you shared with them.
It's not like they'll care about you remembering them. There's no point in feeling guilty, so you kick those emotions right to the curb.
By this point, it's more surreal to see you're bedroom mostly packed up, years of your life put away in boxes. One more week, and you'll be somewhere completely new. The thought both excites and terrifies you.
You scroll through social media to pass the time until dinner; seeing the classmates you follow share snapshots of their teenage adventures, always surrounded by friends, no longer causes envy to stab your heart. These days, you just feel hollowed out and wanting. You must have done something wrong, made a mistake somewhere all those years ago to be where you are now. You wish you could go back and try again, live out your teenage coming-of-age movie the way everyone else seems to be.
Abruptly, halfway through watching a video of someone decorating a cake, you get a text notification from MC.
Hey! Zayne told me you went home first. Hope you feel better soon!
You swipe it away quickly, refusing to open it. Zayne must have thought that you were feeling under the weather. As expected of the future doctor. It's all so… performative. Every time they reach out to you now, you can see how it's just obligation rather than genuine care.
Caleb, of course, doesn't send anything at all. The last message you sent him, two months ago, was read but never replied to. The past year, all the conversations have been started by you, save for when he asked you about what you were getting MC for her birthday.
It's going to be so cathartic to throw your phone into the ocean once you get a new one. You've already moved all your precious pictures of family into an external hard drive and plan to get them printed and saved in an album, so everything else can be lost forever.
The urge to see what they've posted on their Moments is too strong to resist. You know it's a terrible idea, one that always ends with you upset, but it's like poking a bruise. You just can't help it, needing to feel the pain to know that it's real.
MC's Moments is full of pictures, random updates, and Caleb and Zayne tagging her in random things. The last photo you're in is from last summer, a group shot of everyone in line for an ice cream truck at a park. Even in that picture, you're stuck in the back, behind everyone else, fighting to be seen, strained smile and all.
Your own Moments page is quieter. You don't post much, never having much to say and unable to copy everyone else in how they're so comfortable sharing every aspect of their lives online. What you do have are candid pictures of your parents, of MC with Caleb and Zayne, of your classmates on field trips. But never of you. Even in your own eyes, you're rendered invisible.
Well. You did know it was going to upset you!
You toss your phone aside and collapse onto your bed. You'll just stare at the ceiling until you're called down for dinner. It's just as productive as making yourself feel worse through social media, really.
…
The final week of school seems to drag on endlessly. There's nothing for you to do in classes anymore, so you're left just daydreaming until the hour's up and you can move to the next period.
In an effort to avoid MC and Caleb, to make cutting ties feel more natural, you avoid them completely. You leave extra early to get to school before them, you hide in various spots around campus during lunch, then stay twenty minutes after classes end to make sure they've left before you start making your way home.
MC texts a few more times, but you ignore each message, swiping away the notification as soon as you see it.
It almost feels like they give a shit about you now that you've set into action your exit strategy; you catch sight of Caleb and MC walking around campus more than once, clearly searching for someone. Hell, you even get a text from Zayne asking if everything's alright since no one's spoken to you in a while, as if it's not obvious that you're avoiding them for a reason.
Or maybe they do get that you're avoiding them on purpose, they just can't wrap their heads around why.
Whatever. It's too late for them to start caring about you. They've had plenty of opportunities for the last nine years.
Luckily for you, you've mastered the art of being unseen. You can slip between any group of students and disappear. Caleb and MC can search all they please, they're not going to find you unless you want them to.
And then they start trying to invade your house.
Halfway through the week, two hours after school has ended, the doorbell rings. You're up in your room, watching old videos of your grandmother performing in her prime before the Chronoshift Catastrophe. Some of your memories are coming back, though they've remained faded with time: sitting in her lap, awkwardly holding the bow and dragging it across the violin she held, the smell of rosin, the smooth wood beneath your fingers.
She died when you were young, before you moved to Linkon City, so you don't remember much else about her, but the music makes you wish you did. Something about seeing her perform on stage, just a few years older than you are now, makes your heart ache. It's part missing her and part longing, wanting the same peace that seems to settle over her as she brings a piece to life underneath a spotlight.
The doorbell rudely interrupts her performance. You pause the video and listen to one of your parents go to the door, figuring it's just a package.
And then Caleb's voice filters in from downstairs and your body goes cold.
Numbness settles against you, then it's chased off by anger.
How dare he come here. After so many years, this is the day he decides to ruin your peace when you finally decided to choose yourself? All these years, you've been going to them but now is when they decide to come to you instead? To trap you in your own home?
He doesn't come in, thankfully. You've never been more grateful to have shared your frustrations and heartache with your parents. They liked your friends before, but those affections have cooled after being confronted with your pain.
MC comes the next day while you're in the living room, and you get to here your mother's cold voice say, "I'm afraid she's out right now. If it's really urgent, why don't you text her, Emily Claire?"
Fulling naming MC is the clearest indicator that she has been pushed away from your family. She doesn't come back after that, though Caleb isn't so easy to chase away.
On the last day of school, you don't bother going home until hours later, waiting for the all clear text from your parents. You pass the time by treating yourself to taiyaki ice cream, wandering downtown, enjoying your last free day in Linkon City.
Despite all the pain you've been put through with this friendship, Linkon City is where you grew up. It's been your home for so long. You'll miss it when you leave, though you're sure you'll come to love your new city just as much given enough time.
You take a few pictures with your new phone, just to have a few memories of these streets to take with you. It's a relief to be able to use your phone without feeling like you're suffocating; the growing number on your messaging app haunts you, and MC has yet to give up on getting a response from you.
The only numbers in your contact list right now are your parents, and you're more than happy with that.
Naturally, it's when you've let your guard down that you get ambushed.
Zayne, of all people, is out on the street. He spots you first and quickly crosses the street to reach you. You see him too late, and by the time you start looking for someplace to hide in, he's grabbed you by the wrist, looking a touch panicked.
"Why haven't you been answering anyone's messages?" he demands, "We're all worried about you."
You yank your arm out of his grasp. "I didn't answer because I didn't want to. That's all."
"And what's with avoiding everyone? MC's been distraught. She thinks she did something to upset you, but doesn't know what. You need to talk to her."
"I do not," you reply sharply.
"Please," Zayne pleads, "We just want things to go back to normal."
Normal?
They want normal?
Normal, to you, is being ignored and forgotten, feeling alone even when surrounded by the people you call friends. It's being unwanted but stuck in place, unable to leave for someplace better. It's feeling ugly and worthless and pathetic. It's clinging to whatever scraps of affection they feel like tossing to you. It's watching them laugh easily with each other, fitting into each other like puzzle pieces, while you watch from the sidelines, never invited in.
The only thing that's out of the ordinary is that you're not desperate for their attention, clinging to any opportunity to be with them, struggling to be heard or seen or wanted while they get to enjoy their time together.
You've decided to care about yourself for once. To put yourself first and say, this is enough. I'm not putting up with this any longer.
"Do you?" you say lightly. "Do you want normal? The normal where you get to laugh together and talk all the time and know that everyone else is listening to you? The normal where you walk together on the sidewalk while I'm stuck in the back, alone? The normal where I'm talked over and ignored? That normal?"
"We don't—"
"The three of you can still have normal. Nothing has to change at all about how you spend time together, just because I'm not there. You still have normal. But now that I'm not clinging to you all and trying to keep you all happy, you have to think about how you've been treating me and come to terms with being shitty friends."
Zayne opens his mouth to speak, to refute what you've said, but you give him a glare sharp enough to stop him in his tracks.
"Don't interrupt," you hiss. "I am so unhappy when I spend time with you all. You've never had any issues ignoring me while I was around, but now that I'm not there you all suddenly want me back? Quit the bullshit. I've had enough of being treated like this. I never once deserved it."
The shame crawling across his expression is slow, but it's still there. You can practically see him thinking, casting his mind back to all the time you've spent with them, trying to find the truth in your words.
He finds it. You can see the moment he understands why you're so upset.
"I didn't realize," he says quietly. "I'm sorry. I did notice something was off last week, but I didn't think much of it. I thought you were just tired or stressed about graduation."
"I was just tired of pretending everything was fine. I stopped acting like everything's fine. You were the only one who even bothered to look at me, really look at me, that day."
"Is there no way to make things better?"
You sigh, looking down the street. People are giving the two of you a wide berth, unwilling to interrupt the argument. Normally, you'd be embarrassed about behaving in such a way in public, but you can't bring yourself to care about anything right now.
"No," you say, "I'm done. I've spent all week avoiding everyone to make cutting ties easier. I'm moving out of Linkon the day after graduation and then I'll be gone from your lives for good."
"You're leaving?"
You blink. You've never heard him sound so wrecked before. It makes your heart clench in sympathy and you stomp it down. This is the natural consequence for how he treated you. There's nothing you need to feel bad about.
It still makes you feel like the worst person in the world.
"I need to get out. I need to put this facade of a friendship far behind me. I want to start over, someplace new, and learn how to feel like I'm worth something. The three of you are bad for me. Do you get it now, Zayne? I'm tired. I've been tired for years."
Zayne is silent and shame-faced, staring down at the ground. He can't even meet your eyes anymore.
The conversation has drained you of all you had. You can't even feel upset anymore, just hollowed out.
"You can tell MC and Caleb whatever you want. But I'm not talking to them again. Bye Zayne." You almost add a vague well wishing about residency, but stop yourself in time. It wouldn't be sincere, so why bother wasting your breath?
When you walk away from him, he doesn't stop you.
Zayne lets you go. You wish you could feel relieved, but mostly you just want to cry.
But that's a common enough feeling for you that you push it down and keep walking all the way home.
You don't have to say anything when you come home. Your father takes one look at you and sweeps you up into a hug, holds the fractured pieces of yourself together.
When the doorbell rings later that evening, he doesn't bother to open the door. Your parents keep the door shut and locked until Caleb and MC leave as night covers the city.
Graduation is a time you've been dreading. Your entire graduating class together in the auditorium, ready to walk across stage to get their high school diplomas. You're ready to leave the school behind completely, and this is your final hurdle to getting out of here.
It's pure luck that you aren't approached by MC or Caleb.
For once, they've spotted you almost as soon as you walked in, but the vice principal is strict about everyone staying lined up in order of who's walking first, organized alphabetically by last name. You listen intently to her explain the scheduling of the ceremony: the welcome speech from the principal, the valedictorian speech, walking the stage, and then a closing speech which is when they can toss their graduation caps into the air. She gives repeated reminders for everyone to keep their graduation robes on for the entirety of the event, and no never go barefoot in the auditorium. You idly wonder who was responsible for causing those rules to be implemented.
All the while, you ignore the stares burning into the back of your head. Caleb and MC are separated in the line, but both keep their eyes on you and the weight of their attention honestly makes you nauseous.
If it weren't for the vice principal keeping everyone in line, you're sure they would have already dragged you out someplace more private to demand answers for everything Zayne's told them.
You keep your gaze focused straight ahead, counting the seconds until the ceremony begins. It seems to take an eternity before everyone is seated and the lights dim, the principal walking onto stage to deliver a speech to the graduating class and all the attending families.
He goes on at length about how proud he is of the students, encourages everyone to seize the rest of their lives with strength and bravery, to make the most of their futures. The valedictorian goes up next, a girl you recognize from being the lead cheerleader at pep rallies. She talks about everyone's struggles to get here, making the most of their four years in high school. You tune her out a bit; most of what she's saying in her speech is for the more socially active students and therefore have nothing to do with you.
Once that's done, you begin the long wait for your row to be called up to walk the stage. You're in the third row out of the eight total, so it's comes faster than you expect.
Suddenly, you're walking across the stage to polite applause from the audience, shaking hands with the teachers, the vice principal, and the principal. You take your diploma and make your way to the stairs leading off the stage, then following the student in front of you back to your seat.
The next hour and half is dedicated to watching everyone else walk the stage. You let your mind wander, running your fingers over the diploma. It doesn't feel real. Four years, all coming to a close because of this one piece of paper.
After a quick closing speech, the principal congratulates everyone on graduating, and you join your now former classmates in moving the tassel to the left and tossing your cap into the air.
You can't help but smile. It's a small act, but it feels like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders.
All around you, people move. Friends hug each other with great big grins and laughter, and families swarm the aisle, reaching for their children. You move with the crowd, hoping to escape the chaos before MC or Caleb can get a hold of you.
There's a dinner reservation for just your family at the fancy place you only get to go to on birthdays.
You manage to make it outside where you promised to meet your parents to avoid the crowd in the auditorium. You find them as expected, but what's not expected in Zayne standing awkwardly with them. He holds three small bouquets; one of orange flowers, one of red flowers, and one of white and blue flowers.
"Hi," he says softly, stepping towards you. Your parents watch him with critical eyes, ready to jump in the moment he upsets you.
"…Hi," you return.
"I wanted to congratulate you on graduating. Regardless of anything else, I wanted you to know that I'm proud of you, and I wish you nothing but the best in the future." He hands over the white and blue bouquet, which you take with hesitant hands.
He's not apologizing or asking for forgiveness. He's not bringing up anything you said to him the day before. He's not taking away from your night to make you go through an emotionally draining conversation.
Zayne is a thoughtful and wonderful friend when he tries.
He just never really tried with you.
"Thank you," you say. "They're lovely."
"I'm glad you like them."
"MC and Caleb are still inside."
"I see. I'll go to them now, then. I… hope we'll be able to speak again someday. I'll be looking forward to it, no matter how long it'll take."
"And if I refuse to speak to you again?"
Zayne dips his head toward you. "Then I'll accept that. But if you ever change your mind, know that I would be happy to see you again."
"I'll keep that in mind," you sigh. "I'll be heading off now. Bye, Zayne."
He nods once again, then visibly steels himself and heads inside.
As soon as he's gone, your mother is quick to pull you into a hug. Your father joins in, wrapping the both of you up in his arms. They congratulate you and go on about how proud they are of you, for school and the maturity to decide what you want your relationships to be like.
This has been the hardest choice you've ever made, and you made it again and again for the course of the year. It's finally starting to feel like the right choice instead of the desperate one. It finally feels like you can breathe again.
Your graduation dinner is small but delicious. The night fades away quickly. You all go home as soon as you're done and settle in to sleep.
In the morning, you'll make the long drive to your new home. In the morning, you'll leave Linkon behind without another word, cleanly disappearing from everyone's life. In the morning, you'll start over anew.
In the morning you'll figure out the rest of your life and find the courage to go after it.
But for tonight, you curl up in bed and cry; the mix of relief and grief is hard to work through, but this was inevitable. This was always going to end with you alone, and as much as you wish things could have been different, you also feel so much freer knowing this chapter of your life is over.
Whatever comes next, you will be ready to face it. You'll never put yourself through this pain again.
SUMMARY: You have shared too much with Caleb— your childhood in middle school, your restless teenage years in high school, and the sleepless nights that came with training at the DAA. Through every phase of your life, you’ve loved him. Quietly. Desperately. While he loved someone else.
So you learned to endure it.
You swallowed your feelings and tucked them away in secret letters never meant to be read—letters inked with heartbreak, feverish longing, and fantasies too raw to speak aloud. From crooked handwriting to elegant script, each page was a confession of the love you hated to carry, the ache you never outgrew. And when Caleb vanished from your life after graduation without a word, you buried those letters in a box, and the box deep within yourself.
Years later, fate intervenes.
Caleb returns—broader, bolder, devastatingly handsome. And strangely focused on you. His touches linger too long, his eyes see too much, and his smile says he knows exactly what you’ve been hiding. He looks at you like you’re the one he’s been waiting for—and you can’t tell if it terrifies you or tempts you more.
You try to pull away. You’ve spent too many years surviving without him to fall now.
But Caleb doesn’t let go.
Because now that he’s seen the truth—every broken sentence, every filthy fantasy, every whispered ‘I love you’ you never dared say out loud—he’s not just here to catch up.
He’s here to chase you down.
And he won’t stop until you’re his.
WORD COUNT: 11.1k
NOTES: Takes place after the Main story supposedly ends. This happens far in the future. Caleb is older here, 28–29 maybe. Reader is NOT mc, keep that in mind. In this scenario mc is with another LI.
You used to love love.
Not just the idea of it—but the ache of it. The promise of it. The giddy, schoolgirl butterflies and the midnight hopes whispered into your pillow. Love was the secret language of your world, threaded through songs you hummed under your breath, the romance novels dog-eared to your favorite passages, the ink-stained pages of letters never sent.
You believed in love the way children believe in magic.
But you grew up.
And love? It grew fangs.
Now, you love to hate it.
You hate how it made a fool of you. How it made you wait and yearn and burn in silence, hoping he’d look your way and see you. Not as a friend, not as a childhood companion, but as someone worth reaching for. Worth choosing. But he didn’t. He never did. Caleb’s heart was always spoken for.
So you buried your own.
You’ve become good at pretending. You laugh at romance now, scoff at declarations, dismiss affection with a curl of your lip and a joke that lands just bitter enough to be believable. You’re not heartless—you’re just tired. Of hoping. Of hurting. Of wanting things that were never yours to begin with.
You fill your time with things that don’t require soft emotions. You keep your hands busy and your mind busier. You hum lullabies to yourself when the silence grows too sharp. You sleep with the light on sometimes—not out of fear, but because the darkness reminds you too much of waiting for someone who never came back.
And still…
Despite it all…
Sometimes, on quiet nights when your guard slips, you wonder what it would be like to be loved out loud.
To be wanted so much it’s terrifying. To be chosen first.
You don’t dare admit it aloud. You barely let yourself think it.
Because if love ever finds you again…
You’re not sure if you’ll run away from it—
Or straight into its arms.
You hear his voice before you see him.
Low. Smooth. A little deeper than you remember. It cuts through the background noise like gravity pulling everything toward it—pulling you toward it. You freeze mid-step, your spine going taut like a wire drawn too tight. You know that voice. You’ve heard it in dreams. In memories. In the echo of unsent letters you’ll never admit you still read.
You turn slowly.
And there he is.
Caleb.
Older. Sharper. Beautiful in a way that feels almost unfair. His body is broader now, sculpted with strength and silent discipline. His jaw is dusted with scruff. His posture, relaxed but alert. And those eyes—still storm-silver and searing, but steadier somehow. Knowing.
He sees you.
Really sees you.
And for a moment, the world narrows to just the two of you standing there like a collision waiting to happen.
A beat passes.
“...It’s been a while,” he says, and God—he smiles.
That same crooked, devastating smile that used to undo you in a single heartbeat. But there’s something different now. Less boyish charm, more… reverence. Like he’s looking at a relic he thought lost forever and can’t quite believe is real.
You swallow, throat tight. “Yeah. A while.”
There’s so much you could say. So much you want to say. About the years. The distance. The versions of yourself that broke and rebuilt in his absence. But your mouth is dry and your thoughts scatter like startled birds.
Caleb steps forward—close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off him, smell the faint scent of metal and pine and something unmistakably him.
He looks you up and down slowly, like he’s taking inventory of everything time tried to steal.
“You look…” His gaze softens. “You look like trouble.”
You scoff—too sharp, too fast, your defense mechanisms kicking in like old habits. “And you still talk like you’re trying to land a date in a bar.”
His grin flashes wider. “Would it work if I was?”
God, he’s flirting.
Like you weren’t just background noise to him once. Like you didn’t spend years trying to scrape his ghost off your ribs.
You narrow your eyes. “Why are you here, Caleb?”
He leans in, the air between you charged, crackling. His voice drops—lower, rougher.
“Because I missed you.”
You blink. That wasn’t the answer you expected. Not from him. Not with that look in his eyes—part hungry, part haunted, all real.
And just like that, the careful walls you’ve built start to shake.
You hear the door creak open behind you before the sound of his footsteps catches up.
“I almost didn’t recognize you,” Caleb says, his voice deeper, richer than you remember. “You look... different.”
You don’t turn around immediately. The skyline looks safer than his face.
“Yeah, well. Years pass. People change.”
“Some people stay exactly the same,” he murmurs. “You still lean to the left when you’re uncomfortable.”
You whip around, heart doing a traitorous little jump when your gaze lands on him.
God. He’s unfair. Broader shoulders, sharper jaw, that golden tan that makes his white shirt look criminally good on him. His smile has mellowed into something more potent—less boyish charm, more devastating man.
You cross your arms. “You’re observant now. That’s new.”
He chuckles. “I’ve always been observant. You were just too busy avoiding my eyes to notice.”
Touché.
He walks closer—too close—and you catch a whiff of his cologne, spicy and dark, like danger disguised as comfort. His gaze drops to your lips for half a second too long before returning to your eyes with a glint that spells trouble.
“How long has it been?” he asks softly.
“Since you ditched our entire friend group without a word? Or since I gave up hoping for a message you never sent?”
His jaw tenses. “I deserved that.”
“You did.”
There’s a beat of silence between you, thick with all the things you’re too proud to say and all the things he suddenly looks desperate to.
You retreat into the safety of the couch, motioning for him to sit across—but no, of course not. Caleb drops beside you, hip pressed against yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“What about Emcee?” you ask, biting the inside of your cheek. “You two live happily ever after or what?”
His brow furrows. “Emcee? God, no. That was over before it ever started.”
Your heart skips. “Oh.”
“You sound disappointed.”
“I’m not.” Lie. “Just surprised.”
“Good,” he says, leaning in, his voice a husky whisper. “Because I didn’t come here to talk about her. I came here for you.”
Your breath catches. You laugh, shaky and forced. “Wow, Caleb. You’ve upgraded your flirting. What happened to your legendary cheesy pickup lines?”
He grins. “I could still use one, if you’re nostalgic. But I figured you’ve grown out of tolerating my bullshit.”
“Smart of you.”
And yet, the way his knee brushes yours every few seconds isn’t helping. Neither is the way his hand hovers just a little too close to your thigh when he reaches for his coffee.
You’re not sure what’s worse—that he’s this charming now, or that it’s working.
Later that night, after he leaves with a promise to “see you soon” and a gaze that lingers like heat, you retreat into your sanctuary.
Your room. Your old dresser. The box tucked under the drawer like a dirty little secret.
The letters.
Every one of them stained with years of aching want and unspeakable need. A catalogue of your descent into hopeless longing, from childish hope to fevered fantasy. The kind of thing no one should ever read.
Especially not Caleb.
But fate, of course, doesn’t care what you want.
The first time he brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, it's under the guise of helping you with groceries.
“I’m perfectly capable,” you snap, snatching the bag from his hands.
Caleb just laughs, leaning in. “I know. Doesn’t mean I don’t want to help.”
His knuckles graze yours. You pretend not to notice. He pretends not to notice you pretending. Bastard.
—
The second time, you’re at your favorite café, the one with the uneven chairs and the cinnamon drinks he used to gag over. You’d brought him there as a joke, once. Now he takes you there seriously.
He’s seated too close, his thigh pressed against yours like a quiet claim.
“So,” he says, turning his head toward you. “No boyfriend? Fiancé? Star-crossed lover waiting in the wings?”
“None of your business.”
“That’s a no, then,” he says smugly, sipping his drink.
You glance at him, narrowing your eyes. “Why are you asking?”
“Just making sure I’m not stepping on any toes,” he murmurs, then adds, “when I kiss you.”
Your heart slams into your ribs. You scoff, rolling your eyes so hard they might get stuck. “You’re not kissing me.”
“Not today, maybe,” he says easily. “But eventually.”
You hate how warm your cheeks get. You hate him a little more for noticing.
—
The third time is worse.
You’ve both had a bit too much wine. Not drunk, but soft around the edges. He’s on your couch, lounging like he belongs there, like the time between now and then never happened.
He watches you over the rim of his glass. “Why do you keep flinching when I touch you?”
“I don’t flinch.”
“You do. Like you’re scared I’m not real.”
You take a sip of your wine and stare straight ahead. “I’m just trying to figure out what you want.”
His voice goes quiet. “You.”
The word hits you like a punch.
“You wanted Emcee for years.”
“I was stupid for years.”
You meet his eyes. They’re clearer than they’ve ever been—focused, almost painfully sincere.
“That’s convenient,” you say coldly.
He sets his glass down, leans in. “No. It’s fate finally letting me try again.”
His hand reaches up, brushes your cheek with maddening tenderness. He’s so close you can feel the heat of his breath.
You freeze. The ache in your chest roars to life again. This is everything you ever wanted—but you don’t trust it. Not yet.
You turn your head. Just barely.
Caleb’s jaw clenches, his hand falling away.
He sits back without a word.
—
The fourth time, it’s raining.
He brings you a coffee, his hair damp, his hoodie soaked at the shoulders.
“You didn’t have to walk in this weather,” you mutter, taking the drink anyway.
“I wanted to.” His smile is lazy, but his eyes are sharp. “You’re still not letting me in.”
“Would you trust someone who vanished for years without a word?”
His smile falters. Then, to your surprise, he nods. “I wouldn’t. But I’d want them to fight for the chance to be trusted again.”
He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a familiar-looking charm—a bent paper star you made him in high school.
That might be the worst thing he’s ever said. Because it means he felt something. Because it means you weren’t the only one suffering in silence.
Because it means he’s telling the truth.
You excuse yourself before your throat gives way to the sobs you refuse to let him see.
He doesn’t follow.
But he waits.
He always waits now.
And that’s more dangerous than any of his old pickup lines.
You agree to go with him to the observatory.
Big mistake.
It’s late, the sky smeared with stars and promises, the air just crisp enough that Caleb offers you his jacket before you can even pretend to be cold.
You don’t take it.
So, naturally, he just drapes it over your shoulders anyway, like you’re his.
“It looks better on you,” he says, voice quiet as your fingers clutch at the sleeves that still smell like him.
“Don’t start,” you murmur, but there’s no real bite to it.
“Start what?” His smirk is all mischief. “Being nice? Can’t help it. You bring it out of me.”
You roll your eyes and turn your gaze to the sky, but he keeps watching you like you’re the constellation he’s been chasing all his life.
“I used to come here when I missed you,” you admit without thinking, and immediately wish you hadn’t.
The silence that follows is so sharp it could cut glass.
“When you missed me?” His voice is different now—serious. Dangerous. “How often did that happen?”
You laugh, tight and brittle. “Only every time I breathed.”
His head tilts slightly, like he’s not sure he heard you right.
Then: “Say that again.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’ll use it against me.”
He steps closer, slow and purposeful, until your back meets the cold railing. His hands cage you in, one on either side of your body, his expression unreadable but intense.
“Do you really think I’d take something that precious and weaponize it?”
“I don’t know what you’d do anymore.”
“Then let me show you,” he says, and for a terrifying second, you think he’s going to kiss you.
But he doesn’t.
His lips hover just beside your ear, the warmth of his breath teasing your neck.
“I dreamt of you too, you know. Every damn night.”
Your knees nearly buckle, but pride is a stronger drug than longing.
“Then why didn’t you do anything?” you whisper.
He pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes burning. “Because I was stupid. And I thought you didn’t feel the same.”
You snort. “Well. You were wrong.”
“I know,” he growls. “I know that now. And you’re still keeping me at arm’s length.”
“Damn right I am.”
His smile is tight, hungry. “Fine. You want to make me work for it? I’ll work.”
“I want to be chased, Caleb. Not collected.”
He steps back, hands raised in mock surrender, but his grin is pure trouble.
“Then run, sweetheart. I’ll catch up.”
You hate him for knowing exactly how to undo you.
And maybe you hate yourself more for wanting to be caught.
It’s late. The kind of late where even the shadows seem to sleep.
The old piano room is still your secret solace—dusty, dim, filled with forgotten echoes and dreams you never dared to say out loud. The acoustics are perfect. No one ever comes in here anymore.
Except for one person.
You don't hear him at first. You’re too wrapped up in the song, the way your voice trembles on the high notes, the keys trembling beneath your fingertips. It’s the kind of melody you never intended anyone to hear. Especially not him.
I didn't opt in to be your odd man out
I founded the club she's heard great things about
I left all I knew, you left me at the house by the Heath
Your voice breaks. You close your eyes, breathe, keep going anyway.
I stopped CPR, after all it's no use
The spirit was gone, we would never come to
And I'm pissed off you let me give you all that youth for free
Silence. One, two, three beats of it. Then—
“You always did sound beautiful when you were sad.”
You jump.
Caleb leans against the doorway like he owns the place. Like he owns the air in your lungs. Like he owns you.
“Didn’t mean to startle you,” he adds, smile lazy, eyes sharp. “Old habits die hard, I guess.”
You blink. “You heard that?”
“I always do.”
Of course he did.
You feel your cheeks burn as he strolls in, gaze never leaving yours. “That song… it’s new?”
You clear your throat, try for nonchalance. “Just something I was playing around with.”
He hums. “Right. Totally not about anyone in particular.”
You bristle. “Did I say that?”
“Nope. But you don’t have to. You forget—I know your voice. I know when it’s for fun. And when it’s ripping you open.”
You glance away, fingers tapping nervously on the ivory keys. “You're being dramatic.”
He kneels beside the bench. Just like that, he’s too close again. Always too close.
“You used to do this all the time,” he murmurs. “Sneak away to sing where no one could find you. You didn’t know I followed.”
Your heart stutters. “You never said anything.”
“Why would I ruin it?” His gaze darkens. “Hearing you like that—it was the only time I ever got to feel like you needed something.”
“I didn’t sing those songs for you,” you lie.
Caleb tilts his head, eyes locked on yours. “Then why are your cheeks red?”
You shove away from the piano, muttering, “You're insufferable.”
He follows, not missing a beat. “You’re blushing, songbird.”
“Shut up.”
“Make me.”
You stop. He almost slams into you.
You glare up at him. “You think you’re so clever.”
He leans in, smirking. “No. I think I’ve waited too long to be this close to you, and now that I’m here, I’m not backing off.”
The worst part? Your hands are trembling. Your knees are weak. And still, somehow, you want more.
But pride wraps around your tongue like a noose.
“You heard the song,” you say, voice low. “That’s enough.”
His eyes flick down to your lips. Then back up. He’s not smiling anymore.
“No,” Caleb whispers. “It’s not.”
You should have locked the damn drawer.
You don’t even know what made you check—but something prickled at the back of your neck the moment you stepped into your apartment. Like something sacred had been disturbed. And when you see the box in Caleb’s hands, your heart stops cold.
No. No.
His head lifts as the door shuts behind you.
And your world implodes.
He’s seated on your couch like he’s carved from stone, the soft golden lamp beside him casting long shadows across the muscles in his jaw and the heartbreak in his eyes.
He’s holding your soul in his hands.
The letters—dozens of them, hundreds, years of ink and agony and lust and grief—you recognize the crooked childhood handwriting, the shaky, angry teenage confessions, the flowing script of your adult longing. Pages of you. Laid bare.
Your breath catches. Your throat closes.
“I—That’s not—You weren’t supposed to—” Your voice cracks. Your knees are trembling.
Caleb stands, the box still in his grip. He looks wrecked.
“I read every single one,” he says softly.
“Put them away,” you whisper, voice hollow. “Please, just… put them away.”
“I can’t.”
You turn to bolt, pure instinct.
And that’s when gravity betrays you.
A weight presses against your body—not crushing, but firm, immovable, inescapable. His Evol.
Your hands fly to the walls, to the floor, anywhere to push back, but you’re floating. Held in place. Suspended in the moment you never wanted him to witness.
“Caleb—!”
“I need you to hear me,” he says, moving closer. Slowly. Carefully. Like approaching a wounded animal.
Your back hits the wall.
He stops just inches from you, eyes devouring every inch of your face. His expression is ravenous, pained, like he’s starving and terrified that the meal in front of him will vanish if he breathes too hard.
“I didn’t know,” he says, his voice ragged. “I never knew.”
You shake your head. “You weren’t supposed to.”
His hand lifts. Hovers near your cheek. “I’ve been walking around blind, thinking I lost you back then. But you never stopped… You loved me. You loved me so much it hurt.”
Tears gather hot and fast in your eyes. “Caleb—don’t—”
“And I was in love with you,” he breathes. “All this time I thought I was chasing someone else, but it was you. It was always you.”
You look away. “You didn’t want me. You wanted her. You chose her.”
“I didn’t choose anyone,” he growls. “I was a coward. I ran. I shut you out and let you carry all that alone. I thought I was protecting you.”
“You weren’t,” you whisper. “You were destroying me.”
The look in his eyes breaks something in you.
“I memorized your words,” he says quietly, his forehead leaning gently against yours. “Every line. Every wish. Every desperate, filthy, aching thing you wanted to say. I felt all of it. Like I was there with you, through every goddamn year I missed.”
You tremble, caught in his pull, aching with the need to believe—but terrified to let yourself fall.
“I don’t know if I can forgive you,” you whisper.
“I’m not asking you to,” he murmurs. “Not yet.”
His fingers trail lightly over your waist, your hip, anchoring you. The Gravity around you loosens just enough for your feet to touch the floor again, but you don’t move.
His mouth brushes against your temple.
“I just want to earn you. All of you. Like I should’ve from the start.”
You don’t kiss him.
But you don’t pull away either.
You can’t.
Because suddenly, you're not cold anymore.
You’re burning.
He stays.
Even when you tell him to leave—quietly, then louder, then with trembling fingers pressed to his chest like a warning—Caleb stays.
“You shouldn’t be here,” you whisper, not meeting his eyes.
“I should’ve been here years ago,” he murmurs. “Don’t you get it? I’m not leaving again.”
You shove him.
He barely budges.
You shove him again.
This time, his hands catch your wrists mid-motion, fast, firm—calm.
You freeze. His skin is warm against yours, calloused where it should be gentle, familiar where it should feel foreign. Your pulse spikes in your throat.
“Let me go,” you say, breathless.
“No.”
Your breath hitches.
“No?” you echo.
His voice drops. “Not until you stop pretending you don’t want me to stay.”
You glare up at him, furious. “You think a few words and a couple of pretty promises erase everything?”
“No,” he says again. “But I’ll keep proving myself until they do.”
You twist out of his grip—nearly—before he suddenly pulls you in.
And for one terrible, brilliant second, your bodies align like they’ve been waiting for this moment your whole lives.
His eyes search yours.
And then, Caleb whispers, “Tell me to stop.”
You open your mouth.
But nothing comes out.
So he kisses you.
Not a soft, hesitant brush of lips.
It’s a claiming.
It’s all the years you spent alone, writing down your agony like confessions to a God who never answered. It’s every fantasy you denied yourself, every moment you watched him look at someone else and wished it were you. It's him—finally, truly, desperately—here.
Your fingers fist in his shirt like you’re angry, like you’re clinging to something you swore you’d never need again.
And when you break apart, gasping, forehead pressed to his, you say—
“I hate you.”
He smiles, soft and ruined. “I know.”
“I hate how much I wanted that.”
“I hope you did.”
“I’m still not making this easy.”
Caleb’s lips trail down your jaw, his voice a low rasp. “You’ve never made anything easy, sweetheart. That’s why you’re worth everything.”
And still—
Still, your heart trembles with the weight of old wounds, and you pull back just enough to see the truth in his eyes.
“You’ll have to fight for this,” you warn him.
His hand finds the back of your neck, possessive and reverent. “Then prepare to be relentlessly pursued.”
You never agreed to date him.
But apparently, Caleb’s taking “relentless pursuit” as a blood oath.
He shows up at your place the next morning with coffee—your actual order, down to the way you like the foam. He doesn’t say how he remembers. You don’t ask.
That night, he texts you at 2am.
Bastard: Thinking about that song you sang. Thinking about your lips too, but that’s not important (it is).
You throw your phone across the bed.
The next day, he’s waiting outside your building. Leaning against his hoverbike, all long legs and low-lidded eyes and that grin. You think he’s here for some kind of mission.
Nope.
Just here to take you to lunch.
“Don’t say this is a date,” you grumble.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says, offering his hand. “But hold on tight anyway.”
You hate how your fingers slide into his like they belong there.
—
Caleb doesn’t just flirt. He weaponizes charm like he trained for it.
He gives you compliments with the kind of intensity that makes it hard to breathe.
“I love your voice. Especially when you don’t realize you’re humming.”
“You roll your eyes the same way you used to when I beat you in training. It’s kind of adorable.”
“You don’t have to pretend around me. I know what you sound like when you're honest. I miss that sound.”
He touches you too often. Hand brushing your lower back when he walks past. Fingers grazing yours when he hands you something. Sitting just a little too close on your couch, his thigh pressed against yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
You hold strong—for a while.
Until he stays over one night, after watching some late-night sci-fi re-run and falling asleep on your couch like a smug golden retriever with abs.
You try to nudge him awake.
You fail.
Hard.
He catches your wrist in his sleep, pulls you down half-on top of him, murmurs your name like it’s a secret prayer, and buries his face in your neck.
You don’t sleep.
Your body is screaming.
But your heart?
It’s terrified.
—
When morning comes, you wake to him cooking in your kitchen like he belongs there, shirt half-unbuttoned, hair a mess, singing your song under his breath.
You freeze in the doorway.
He sees you.
And smiles.
Like you’re not the one who spent ten years hiding a love that almost broke you. Like he’s not here to crack it wide open.
“Morning, sweetheart,” Caleb says softly. “Stay.”
You almost do.
But you don’t.
Not yet.
You think you're doing a good job keeping him at bay.
You’re not.
Because Caleb is everywhere now.
He’s in your kitchen again, humming off-key as he steals bites from your cooking. He’s draped across your couch like it’s his favorite place in the world. He’s in the way he looks at you like you invented gravity, like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded.
You keep your walls up.
But he keeps coming.
Like he knows you’re lying every time you act unaffected.
—
One night, after a long mission and even longer silence, he shows up unannounced. Eyes shadowed. Mouth grim. Shoulders tense with something unspoken.
You open the door.
He doesn’t say a word—just walks past you, breath ragged.
You follow him into your living room. “Caleb?”
“I thought I lost you again,” he says, voice low.
Your stomach drops. “What?”
He turns to face you, and it’s like the air shifts. Thickens.
“I heard your name over the comms. Brief moment of static. No confirmation you made it out. Just radio silence.”
You cross your arms. “I made it out fine.”
“I didn’t know that,” he snaps. “And for a second, I thought—” He cuts himself off, jaw tight.
You exhale. “I’m used to people not checking in.”
“I’m not people.”
He stalks closer.
You step back.
He follows.
“I don’t care how many times you push me away. You don’t get to disappear on me.”
“And what am I supposed to do?” you throw back. “Pretend like none of this hurts? Like I didn’t bleed for you in silence for years while you played hero somewhere else?”
“I know.”
“Do you?” Your voice cracks. “Because I can’t let myself fall again, Caleb. Not if you're just gonna walk away when it gets hard.”
He grabs your wrist.
Not rough. Just certain.
“Look at me.”
You don’t.
So he tips your chin up with two fingers.
His eyes are burning.
“I am not going anywhere. I don't care how long it takes. You can scream, you can run, you can tell me you hate me. I’ll still be right here.”
“Why?” you whisper, eyes glossy. “Why now?”
“Because I’ve loved you longer than I even understood what that meant,” he breathes. “And I’m done pretending I don’t want every single part of you.”
His other hand slides to your waist, slow and reverent.
Your breath hitches.
You can feel his heartbeat through your palm. Fast. Desperate.
The heat between you is unbearable.
One tilt of your head and you’d be kissing him again.
You want to.
God, you ache to.
But instead, you whisper, “This changes nothing.”
He leans in, nose brushing yours.
“Wrong,” Caleb whispers, his voice rough with restraint. “It changes everything.”
But he doesn’t kiss you.
Not this time.
He lets you go.
And it’s infuriating—because now you want him even more.
The first thing you notice is the light—soft gold spilling through your curtains, catching on floating dust motes, warming the edges of the sheets tangled around your legs.
The second thing you notice is the heat.
Not the weather. Not the blanket.
Him.
Your breath stills.
Because Caleb’s wrapped around you like he owns you.
Which—he doesn’t.
He shouldn’t.
And yet here you are, cocooned in his arms, his entire body molded to yours like you were sculpted to fit him. Your head is pillowed on his chest, right over the steady, heavy thump of his heart. One of his hands is buried in your hair, fingers gently tangled, the other gripping your waist in a possessive clutch that hasn’t loosened even in sleep.
You remember falling asleep with your back to him.
You do not remember signing up for this full-body cuddle trap.
Then there's his thigh—wedged between your legs like it lives there.
Your cheeks burn.
“Okay,” you whisper to yourself. “Time to get out before you completely lose your mind.”
You try to slip away quietly.
You wiggle.
No movement.
You nudge his hand.
His grip tightens.
You try prying his fingers from your waist. It’s like wrestling a bear. A warm, unfairly smug bear.
You let out a frustrated sigh and attempt to roll away—but the second you shift, Caleb lets out a low, sleepy groan. His body shifts with yours, tightening the hold, his thigh sliding higher. His lips brush your neck, parting slightly—
And then he nibbles.
You whimper.
It betrays you instantly.
That quiet little sound. The one that escapes before you can swallow it.
Caleb hums. The vibrations rumble through his chest, into your cheek.
And then—
“Mm... morning,” he murmurs, voice wrecked and delicious.
You go still.
“Caleb,” you say, your voice a warning.
His lips find your pulse point. “You smell good,” he slurs, still half-asleep, tone thick with something dangerous.
His thigh rocks just slightly forward. Pressure, heat.
You squeak.
His arms tighten like steel bands.
He’s caging you in.
“C-Caleb, get off—this is—this is not appropriate!”
Another sleepy groan. His lips ghost along your jaw. “You’re so warm.”
Your brain short-circuits.
“You’re dreaming,” you say, trying desperately to breathe like a normal person. “This is a dream. You’re dreaming. Let me go.”
He chuckles—chuckles. A deep, lazy sound against your neck. “If I’m dreaming, I’m never waking up.”
Then his hips shift. Just barely.
But enough.
“Caleb!”
His eyes snap open.
You expect guilt.
What you get is heat.
Raw, focused, and dangerous.
He blinks once. Then twice. Then—
His hand slides from your waist to the small of your back. His nose brushes yours.
“I was trying to be good,” Caleb murmurs. “You have no idea how hard it’s been.”
You do, actually.
Because it’s been hell for you, too.
You’re seconds from giving in—completely, helplessly—when you shove at his chest with both hands and scramble out from beneath him.
Caleb just smirks from the bed, messy-haired and golden in the morning light. “What? You gonna pretend you didn’t enjoy that?”
You throw a pillow at his face.
“Out,” you snap.
He catches it effortlessly. “No breakfast first?”
You march to the door.
“Fine, fine. But next time?” He swings his legs over the edge and stands, gaze searing into yours. “You’ll beg me to stay.”
You slam the door in his face.
It doesn’t stop your knees from buckling.
It happens fast.
Too fast for logic. Too fast for the walls you’ve spent years constructing around your traitorous heart.
One moment you’re arguing—again. Another stupid quip from him, another reckless flirtation that turns your blood to fire. You’re trying to hold on to the last shred of distance between you, snapping something half-hearted and defensive—
And then Caleb moves.
He grabs your wrists, spinning you with dizzying ease, and slams them gently but firmly against the wall. Your back hits the cold surface. His body follows.
You gasp.
His eyes meet yours.
They are ravenous.
“I can’t do this anymore,” Caleb says, voice low, feral, shaking with restraint. “I can’t keep pretending I don’t want to devour you.”
Your breath catches.
And then he kisses you.
Hard.
Not sweet. Not tentative.
Possessive.
Like he’s claiming what was always his.
Your body jerks with the force of it, your wrists still caged in his hands above your head. You try to twist free—not to escape, but because it’s too much, all-consuming, desperate.
He doesn’t let you go.
He presses closer instead, chasing your mouth with his own, drinking in every gasp, every shuddering moan you try to swallow.
You break away for air—just for a second—and he follows, mouth trailing your jaw, nipping your throat, sucking a mark into the skin just below your ear.
“Caleb—” you manage, but it comes out a whimper.
His pelvis grinds into yours, deliberate and aching. The friction draws a strangled sound from your throat.
“Oh god—”
“That’s it,” he groans against your skin. “That sound. I’ve imagined it every night. Every. Damn. Night.”
His hands leave your wrists—only to slide down your arms, your sides, until they’re clutching your hips like he might fall apart if he lets go. He lifts you onto the wall, thigh pressing between your legs, grinding again.
Your fingers tangle in his shirt, yanking him closer even as your brain screams to stop this.
But your body?
Your body is already his.
“Tell me to stop,” Caleb breathes, forehead pressed to yours, chest heaving.
You don’t.
You can’t.
There’s no pretending anymore. No wall to hide behind.
Because the truth is—he touches you like a man starved, but worships you like you're divine.
His lips return to yours, slower this time but no less intense, and it feels like every missed moment, every unsent letter, every buried ache is burning through the kiss.
His self-control shatters.
And you let it.
Because there’s no going back now.
There’s a moment—barely a breath—after that kiss.
His forehead presses to yours, both of you trembling, not just from adrenaline but from something deeper. Something that feels like standing on the edge of a cliff after running your whole life just to avoid the fall.
He whispers your name like a secret, like a vow. It breaks you a little, how he says it. Like he’s tasting the weight of it for the first time.
Then he moves.
Your legs wrap around his waist without thought—instinct meeting inevitability. You're holding on to the only thing in the room that feels real. He lifts you as if he was made to, the heat between you palpable, a pulse that beats beneath your skin, echoing every missed chance and quiet longing.
The kiss deepens. Desperate, molten, tasting of years swallowed down and swallowed whole. His hands are everywhere—anchoring, memorizing, shaking just slightly from how hard he’s holding back.
He carries you through the house like a man possessed. Not with lust, but with ache. The bedroom door shuts with a thud behind you, and suddenly the air is full of promises, unspoken but heavy. When your back meets the mattress, he follows—solid and unyielding. Not crushing, but overwhelming in the way only someone you've loved for too long can be.
His weight is warmth, his gaze all hunger and reverence. His hands slide beneath your clothes, not to strip, but to feel. His palm over your heart. His fingers brushing your ribs like counting the years apart. Every touch says: I missed this. I missed you.
“You still gonna pretend you don’t want this?” he murmurs, his voice low, scraping over the tenderest parts of you.
You try to breathe out a laugh, but it catches on something in your throat—emotion, maybe. Want, definitely.
His mouth presses to your skin in a trail that’s less possession and more devotion. His touch follows, mapping you slowly, like he's rediscovering a land he once called home. You feel yourself arch into him, answer him without words, because words were never big enough for this.
He whispers things you’ll remember later—soft confessions and raw need laced with regret for every year wasted. You shiver when his breath touches your skin, when his fingers slide across bare inches you didn't mean to offer but couldn't deny.
And then... silence. Not because the moment ends. But because it begins.
Everything else fades.
There are no sharp lines, only sensation—heat and trembling limbs, quiet gasps, and the way your fingers fist into his shirt like you’ll fall apart without him there to catch you.
You lose time in the haze of it. In the rhythm of closeness, of skin against skin, of hearts beating so loud they drown out thought. You feel unraveled. Revered. Completely undone. Not by action, but by intent.
After, when the quiet stretches between you and your breath finally slows, he doesn’t let go. He stays draped over you, face buried in the crook of your neck like he’s terrified you’ll vanish if he opens his eyes.
“This isn’t over,” he says. His voice is hoarse, a whisper etched with everything he’s never said aloud. “I’m not letting you go. Not this time.”
And for the first time, you let yourself believe it.
Not because of what just happened.
But because of everything that didn’t need to.
You lost track of how long ago the sun set.
The air is heavy with heat and sweat, your skin slick against the sheets. You’re boneless, trembling, lips swollen from kisses too deep, too desperate. Every nerve is raw. Every breath you take shudders.
And Caleb?
Caleb is still going.
He hovers above you, eyes dark with something starved—like he’s been waiting his whole life for this and now that he has you, he doesn’t know how to stop. His hands roam as if relearning the shape of you again and again, like the memory alone will never be enough.
“We’re not done,” he murmurs, brushing hair from your damp forehead. “Not yet.”
You try to protest, but all that leaves you is a soft, aching sound.
He smiles—soft, wicked, reverent.
And leans in to kiss you like it’s the first time all over again.
You're floating.
Barely conscious, held together by the fragile thread of Caleb’s body wrapped around yours, his breath a soft rhythm against your neck.
Your limbs are jelly. Your thighs ache. Your lips are kiss-bitten and bruised, and you're so sensitive that every inch of you shivers when he so much as adjusts beside you.
And yet—even now, even after hours—he won’t stop touching.
Not in the same feral, frantic way as before. No. Now it’s worship.
He kisses the curve of your shoulder, the back of your neck, your spine. His fingertips trace lazy, possessive patterns into your hips. He murmurs things—some unintelligible, some far too intimate.
“You’re perfect,” he whispers against your skin.
“I missed you.”
“I’ll never let you go again.”
You’re too tired to reply. Your voice is hoarse from screaming, from moaning his name over and over, but your heart responds like a bell rung too hard. It throbs.
Eventually, he gets up—only to return with a warm towel, water, a fresh shirt. He tends to you with gentle hands, murmuring apologies each time you flinch from how sensitive you are, pressing soft kisses to your forehead, your temple, your knuckles.
When he finally slides into the shower with you, your body instinctively leans into his. The water is hot, soothing, washing away the sweat, the stickiness, the evidence of your complete and total unraveling.
But not the ache. Not the possessiveness.
He sits on the tiled bench and pulls you into his lap, your legs straddling him, head tucked under his chin. You’re exhausted, wrecked—and he’s still hard beneath you.
You give him a look that’s half horror, half disbelief.
He smirks, eyes dark and gleaming. “I told you, I’m not finished.”
“Caleb—”
“I owe you,” he says, voice dipping low. “For every year I didn’t touch you. For every time you cried over me in silence. For every word in those letters I should’ve read sooner.”
Your breath hitches.
And then his lips descend again—slow, tender, reverent. As if he’s trying to memorize this version of you, water-slicked and trembling in his arms, yours at last.
Back in bed, you collapse into his chest, body boneless, heart hammering.
And just when you think he’s finally done—
He shifts again.
Rolls you beneath him.
“You’re not going to let me sleep?” you rasp.
His fingers trail down your body, between your thighs, making you jolt.
“No,” he breathes against your ear. “You’re not sleeping until I’ve claimed every inch of you. Until you can’t think of anything but me.”
You should tell him to stop.
You don’t.
Because the truth is: every part of you belongs to him already.
And now?
He’s going to make sure you never forget it.
The morning after feels… dangerous.
Not because you’re in any real peril—but because it’s blissfully quiet, and the man who wrecked you within an inch of your life is humming softly in your kitchen, shirtless, wearing nothing but sweatpants slung far too low on his hips, looking like the devil himself in domestic drag.
You barely make it through the doorway, each step a careful negotiation with gravity and sore muscles. Your thighs ache. Your back aches. Everything aches. But the moment Caleb glances over his shoulder and smirks at your limp?
Oh, you want to punch him.
Or kiss him.
Or both.
“You’re up,” he says, voice as smug as the day is long.
“I tried to stay asleep,” you deadpan. “But someone kept me up all night.”
He chuckles—low and wicked—and sets a mug of coffee on the counter for you.
“Consider it payback.”
You squint at him. “For what?”
His eyes drop to your hips, the curve of your throat, the faint marks blooming on your skin like war medals.
“For every letter you wrote and never gave me.”
Your stomach drops.
The mug clatters slightly when you set it down too fast.
You’d almost forgotten. Almost managed to push aside the mortifying knowledge that he read everything.
And yet, here he is—utterly unbothered, possibly turned on, casually flipping pancakes like he didn’t spend the night wrecking you with the very fantasies you'd penned in lonely bedrooms and late-night heartbreak.
“You read them all,” you say, not quite a question.
He looks at you over his shoulder. “Memorized. Studied. Jerk—”
“Do not finish that sentence, Caleb.”
He only grins wider.
You try to be casual, sip your coffee, lean against the wall like you’re not reliving every desperate, depraved word he’s now got locked and loaded in that beautiful head of his. But he’s already watching you too closely. Reading you like one of those letters.
“There's one you missed,” you murmur before you can stop yourself.
He freezes.
Slowly, slowly, he turns. “Where?”
You bite your lip.
“The drawer by my bed. Bottom one.”
He’s gone before you even blink.
Your heart is pounding.
By the time you stumble after him, he’s already sitting on the bed, letter in hand. It’s the last one. The one you wrote when you thought you’d never see him again. It was raw, feral—filled with longing so thick it could drown you.
He reads it silently. His jaw tightens. His Adam’s apple bobs hard.
When he finishes, he just looks at you.
You’re not sure what you expect.
But you do not expect him to throw the letter down and stand up like that.
“I’m going to ruin you again,” he says, voice low. “And this time, it won’t stop until you beg me to believe you’re mine.”
Your knees buckle.
But he’s already crossing the room.
Already crowding you against the wall, hands gripping your thighs, lifting you effortlessly until your back hits wood and your legs wrap around him like muscle memory.
“Caleb—” you gasp, but he silences you with a kiss that’s pure possession.
“No more running. No more letters.” He grinds against you, voice rasping. “You want to scream my name? Do it now. Right here. Where I can answer every word.”
And you do.
God help you, you do.
—
You don't know how you made it through round... whatever number that was. Your body's a puddle, your skin still humming, but Caleb is finally calm. Sated, for now. The hunger in his eyes has simmered down into something deeper—something dangerous in its quiet intensity.
He’s seated now, bare chest gleaming faintly in the afternoon light, legs spread with an unmistakable air of ownership. You’re half-draped across his torso, wearing one of his shirts that swallows you whole. He holds you with one arm looped securely around your waist, the other hand delicately unfolding that last letter. The most intimate one. The one you never meant anyone—especially him—to see.
You try not to squirm as he reads it again, slowly, as if committing every line to memory.
You can feel his eyes on the page—but his attention is on you.
“You wrote this two years ago,” he says softly, thumb brushing idle circles against your inner thigh. “I was at the edge of the solar belt. Couldn’t sleep that night. I felt… off. Like I was missing something.”
You glance down, ashamed. “Don’t romanticize it.”
“I’m not,” he replies simply. “I’m aligning timelines.”
Your heart stutters. His hand stills.
“Do you want me to stop reading?” he asks, genuine this time.
You consider it. Swallow. Then shake your head.
He nods, kisses your temple.
Another beat of silence. The room smells of skin and paper and sunlight.
Then, quietly, with a low chuckle, he murmurs:
“I should have known,” he mutters, “you liked being chased. You always did, even as a kid. Remember all those games of tag?”
You remember.
And you remember how he’d always let you win—just enough—before pulling you back into his arms with that sly smile of his, the one that made your heart race and your stomach flip.
You squirm, face heating. “That’s different.”
“It was always you,” he says softly. “Even when I didn’t know what I was looking for. I’d follow you through fields, parks, school halls. You’d run, I’d chase. Every time.”
His voice dips, husky but no longer carnal. “You were never hiding from me. You were waiting for me to catch up.”
Your throat tightens.
“And I did.” He sets the letter aside. “Finally.”
The intensity softens into something almost unbearably tender. His fingers curl beneath your chin and tilt your face up.
“No more letters,” he murmurs. “If there’s something you want… tell me. If you need something… I’ll listen. If you feel too much—good. So do I.”
You try to look away, but he won’t let you.
“You’ve already stripped yourself bare,” he whispers, brushing your hair back. “Now let me carry the weight.”
And just like that, your defenses crumble—slowly, quietly, like a dam leaking at the seams.
You rest your forehead against his. His lips ghost over yours. There’s no urgency. No fire.
Just heat. Banked and waiting.
And when he pulls you closer, tucks you against his chest, and lets out a slow breath—you swear you can feel his heartbeat echo your own.
The world outside is quiet, but inside your home, chaos reigns.
“Hey! Give that back!” you shout, laughing breathlessly as you chase after Caleb, who’s casually sauntering around your kitchen—your kitchen—holding your favorite coffee mug high above his head like a trophy.
Bastard.
“This?” Caleb grins, the morning light making his messy hair look unfairly golden, like he just strolled out of a dream. “You mean our mug now. Community property.”
“That’s not how this works!” You make a wild grab for it, but he just shifts it higher, smirking like he’s enjoying this a little too much.
Maybe it’s the fact that he’s only in a loose pair of joggers, the drawstring barely tied, his chest bare and warm and still a little damp from his earlier shower. Maybe it’s the way he looks at you—like you’re the only thing in the world worth teasing, worth chasing. Whatever it is, your heart flutters violently in your chest.
“Caleb, I swear—” you lunge for him again.
He catches you effortlessly, laughing as he spins you around until your back is pressed against his chest, trapping you in his arms. The mug dangles in front of you tauntingly. His scent envelops you—fresh soap, coffee, and something that’s just him.
“Say please,” he whispers into your ear, his breath warm, sending a shiver racing down your spine.
You wriggle in his arms, only managing to grind yourself back against his hips in the most scandalous way. Caleb’s arms tighten, his low groan rumbling against your back.
You freeze, heat flooding your cheeks. Damn him.
Caleb chuckles, feeling the way you stiffen. “Careful, sweetheart. You’re playing with fire this early in the morning.”
“You started it,” you mutter, glaring over your shoulder.
He grins lazily, shameless. “I’ll finish it, too.”
Before you can retort, he finally, finally relinquishes the mug, setting it gently on the counter. You think you’re safe—until he sweeps you off your feet in one effortless move, carrying you bridal style toward the couch.
“Caleb! Put me down!” you yelp, pounding your fists against his chest, but he’s unbothered, humming a tune under his breath like this is the most normal thing in the world.
“Shhh. We’re doing Sunday properly,” he says, plopping down onto the couch and settling you firmly on his lap, caging you in with his arms. “Coffee. Couch. Cuddles. Mandatory.”
You open your mouth to protest, but his hand cups the back of your head, gently guiding you to rest against his shoulder. His touch is slow, deliberate, almost reverent.
You can feel the tension humming between you—thick, electric—but somehow, it doesn’t feel urgent. It feels… safe. Warm. Like you could fall asleep right here and Caleb would keep the whole world away from you.
You sigh, feeling your body relax against him despite yourself.
“This isn’t fair,” you grumble.
“What’s not fair?” he asks, voice low and teasing as he presses a kiss to the top of your head.
“You being so… so…” You gesture vaguely, words failing you. How do you describe this? Caleb being infuriating and sweet and annoyingly perfect, all wrapped up in one stupidly handsome package?
“So what?” he presses, feigning innocence. His hand strokes lazily up and down your spine, his touch feather-light.
You groan into his chest. “Everything.”
He laughs—really laughs—and the sound rumbles deep in his chest, vibrating against you. You can’t help the small smile that creeps across your face. You hate how easy it is to be soft with him. How easy it is to fall harder when you promised yourself you’d be careful.
“You’re stuck with me now, sweetheart,” Caleb says, dropping his forehead against yours, his eyes shining with something raw and unspoken. “Might as well get used to it.”
Your heart thuds painfully against your ribs, and for once, you don’t have a snarky reply. Just this—this impossible, chaotic, beautiful morning. His arms around you. His laugh in your ears. His heartbeat steady beneath your hand.
Maybe you are stuck with him.
Maybe you want to be.
And when Caleb presses a soft, lingering kiss to your lips—tender, warm, unbearably sweet—you know you’re completely, hopelessly, irreversibly his.
And judging by the way he smiles against your mouth, he's known it all along.
Your lunch is burning.
You know it is—because you can smell the faint scent of charred vegetables—and yet, you can’t do anything about it.
Because Caleb.
Because Caleb, who has one arm lazily wrapped around your waist, caging you against the counter, a spatula abandoned nearby. Because Caleb, who keeps murmuring absolutely mortifying things against your ear in that deep, smug voice of his, his lips brushing your skin with every word.
Because Caleb, who somehow—somehow—has memorized every single humiliating word you ever wrote to him.
You try not to die of embarrassment right there.
“You know,” Caleb drawls, his voice a slow purr against your ear, “you were really dramatic back in middle school. I believe it went something like—” he clears his throat exaggeratedly, clearly having way too much fun, “‘Dear Caleb, I hate you so much I hope you trip and fall into a mud puddle in front of the entire school. Maybe then you’ll stop being so full of yourself.’”
You groan, shoving your sleeves over your face, mortified. “Stopppp.” You’re basically trying to melt into the counter at this point.
But Caleb’s laughing, warm and delighted, peeling your sleeves down to expose your burning face. He lives for this now, clearly. Every time you squirm, he looks like he’s won the lottery.
“And then—then,” he continues gleefully, ignoring your protests, “in high school, when I got a little popular… You wrote, ‘Congratulations, Prince Charming. Maybe one day you’ll notice the loyal commoner you left in the dust. But no worries. I’m totally fine. Totally. Absolutely fine. Not like I ever cared anyway.’”
He recites it with dramatic flair, clutching his chest like a wounded lover. You are dying inside.
“Oh my God, Caleb,” you hiss, trying to hide your face again. “Shut up! I was, like, fifteen! I didn’t know anything about anything!”
He laughs again, low and fond, his chest vibrating against your back. “You knew enough to break my heart, sweetheart,” he murmurs, and you feel the serious undercurrent beneath all the teasing—the raw affection.
You twist in his grip, attempting to shove him away, but he just effortlessly manhandles you into his lap instead. One strong arm loops around your waist, the other sneaks into your hair, stroking it slowly, tangling his fingers through the strands.
You pout at him, cheeks still on fire. “You’re so annoying.”
His grin softens into something devastatingly tender. His eyes burn bright and molten as he stares at you, like you’re the only thing in the entire world.
“Not done yet,” he murmurs.
Your stomach drops.
You already know what's coming. The worst part.
Caleb leans down, nuzzles against your temple, and in a low, sinful voice, whispers, “And then there were the ones where you couldn’t stop thinking about me at night.”
You jerk, mortified, but he tightens his hold on you, trapping you snug against him. His lips graze your ear.
“You had so many thoughts about me,” he says, voice dropping impossibly lower. “About what you wanted me to do to you. About what you wanted to do to me.” He chuckles darkly when you squeak and try to wriggle away.
“I can quote those too, if you want,” he teases mercilessly. “Maybe I should start with the one where you described me tying you up with my DAA-issued tactical belt—”
“CALEB!!” you shriek, smacking his chest as he throws his head back laughing.
You bury your face in his shoulder, absolutely vibrating with secondhand embarrassment, whimpering, “I’m going to die. I’m actually going to die.”
“No, you’re not,” he says, pressing kisses to your hairline, your forehead, your temple, over and over again until your trembling subsides into quiet giggles. His arms are warm and unrelenting around you.
You risk peeking up at him—and freeze.
He’s staring down at you with a look so filled with adoration it physically steals the air from your lungs. His hand cups your jaw so gently it makes your heart ache.
“You’re my life,” Caleb says, voice rough with feeling. “You’ve always been my life. You just didn’t know it yet.”
You blink up at him, stunned, your heart threatening to burst out of your chest.
Slowly, shyly, you rest your forehead against his, your hands sliding up to his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart beneath your palms.
Caleb exhales shakily, as if the moment is too big even for him.
The smell of burnt food lingers, the sun pours golden light across the kitchen, and you sit there, tangled up in him, the most chaotic, beautiful, utterly yours thing you’ve ever had.
“Guess I’m stuck with you, huh?” you whisper, a teasing glint in your eye.
Caleb’s smile turns crooked, boyish.
“Forever, sweetheart,” he murmurs.
And then he kisses you, slow and deep and soft, like a promise he’s waited a lifetime to keep.
—
Later that night, you're curled up on the couch together, tangled in a heap of limbs and fluffy throw blankets, a low movie playing in the background.
You’re half-dozing, feeling deliciously warm and safe against Caleb’s chest, his heartbeat lulling you into a haze. His hand strokes lazily through your hair, fingertips dragging slow, lazy patterns against your scalp.
You’re just about to slip under completely when—
"Sweetheart?" Caleb’s voice, deceptively casual.
You hum in response, not even bothering to open your eyes.
"What's this? Another letter?"
You tense immediately.
No.
No no no.
Your eyes snap open in horror just in time to see Caleb, that absolute devil, pulling out one of the more battered, worn pieces of paper from somewhere.
You gasp, trying to grab for it, but he holds it way above your head, smirking like the cat who caught the canary.
"Caleb!" you shriek, flailing. "Put it away! You can't—!"
He just laughs and pins you down easily with one hand on your waist, straddling your thighs to trap you in place.
“I think the people deserve to hear this one,” he teases, that wicked glint in his eye. “Specifically, me.”
He clears his throat dramatically while you writhe helplessly beneath him.
"‘It’s not fair,’" Caleb reads aloud, smirking as he drags his gaze down your squirming body. "‘It’s not fair how he fills out his uniform. How his gloves tighten around his fingers. How I can’t stop thinking about what those hands would feel like on my skin. How I dream about him tying my wrists, whispering filthy promises against my neck—’"
"CALEB!!" you wail, smacking your hands against his chest in a feeble attempt to stop him. Your face is boiling hot.
But Caleb, the menace, the absolute menace, just grins wider, loving every second of your humiliation.
"And it goes on," he says gleefully, ignoring your mortified whimper. "‘How I'd let him do anything to me. How I'd beg him to lose control. How much I crave him, every breath, every heartbeat, like I'm dying of thirst in a desert and he's the only water I'll ever want.’"
Your soul tries to physically leave your body.
You slap your hands over your face, wishing for death.
"Please," you moan into your palms, "Caleb, please stop—"
But he just chuckles darkly, leaning down until his nose brushes yours, his voice dropping to a sinful murmur.
“You really should have mailed this one, sweetheart,” he says, eyes smoldering. "Would’ve saved us a lot of time."
You whimper, still hiding your face. He peels your hands away from your burning cheeks gently but firmly, making you meet his gaze.
Caleb’s smile turns unbearably tender as he cradles your flushed face between his palms, thumbs brushing over your cheekbones.
"I memorized every word," he says softly. "Every single one. They're engraved into me now. Just like you."
Your heart stutters painfully in your chest.
You can't look away from him—those devastating sunset eyes drinking you in like you hung the stars.
He dips his head lower, kissing the corner of your mouth, slow and reverent.
“You’re mine,” Caleb murmurs, voice rough with possessiveness and love. “You always were.”
You melt completely, boneless in his hold, helpless against him—as you’ve always been.
"Caleb..." you whisper, voice trembling.
He smiles that slow, infuriating, dangerous smile—and promptly starts tickling you, laughing when you shriek and try to wriggle free, your earlier mortification forgotten in a burst of chaotic laughter and flailing limbs.
You scream his name, half furious, half in love.
Caleb just laughs like it’s the happiest sound in the world.
It’s late.
Not the deep velvet of midnight, but that quiet hour when the world seems suspended in hush. The city hums softly beyond the windows, and the room is awash in the muted amber of a bedside lamp. You're tangled together beneath the sheets—not in passion this time, but in something far more dangerous.
Vulnerability.
Caleb lies on his side, propped up on one elbow, watching you with that look again—the one that's too tender, too knowing. His fingers trail lazily across your arm, like he can’t stop touching you even now. Like he’s making sure you’re still here.
“I should’ve reached out sooner,” he says.
You stay quiet. Not because you're angry. Because you're afraid of what might come next.
“I didn’t date her,” he adds, so casually it nearly slips by.
You blink.
“What?”
“She wasn’t mine,” he says. “Never was. I thought…” He hesitates. “I thought she might be the only person who could understand what I was becoming. The training. The pressure. But it was never romantic. Not even close.”
Your throat feels tight. You shift, pulling the blanket up like armor.
“Then why didn’t you call? Or message? Or—anything, Caleb? You just vanished.”
He exhales, slow and jagged.
“I was afraid,” he admits.
You glance up, surprised.
He stares at the ceiling, jaw clenched. “Not of the missions. Not of the fleet. I was afraid that if I talked to you, really talked to you, I’d drop everything just to be near you. I was already teetering. One video call and I would’ve been done for.”
Your heart twists painfully.
“You idiot,” you whisper. “I would’ve taken you. In any form.”
“I didn’t want you to take less of me.” He looks at you then, eyes bare, voice rough. “I wanted to be worthy of what you wrote in those letters. Of the way you looked at me when we were kids.”
You want to scream. Or cry. Or maybe just bury your face in his chest until the years melt away.
“You were worthy, Caleb. You just… didn’t believe it.”
A silence settles. Not heavy. Just real.
He pulls you closer. One hand cradling your head to his chest, the other tangled in your fingers beneath the sheets. You listen to his heartbeat again.
Stronger now.
Steady.
“For the record,” he murmurs, “when I read the one about the lake—when we were sixteen—I nearly lost it. I remember that night. I didn’t know what to do with the way I felt back then.”
You squeeze his hand. “You pushed me into the water.”
“You screamed my name so loud, half the neighborhood heard.”
You smile despite yourself.
Then softer, quieter:
“I used to dream about that moment, you know? If you ever found the letters. If you ever came back.”
“And now that I have?”
Your smile fades. You tilt your head up and find him waiting. Bare. Present.
“I don’t want dreams anymore,” you whisper.
“Good,” Caleb says, leaning down until his lips barely brush yours. “Because I’m not leaving this time. And I don’t need letters. I have you.”
And when he kisses you, it’s not a claim.
It’s a promise.
The shuttle touches down with a soft hiss, and before the hatch even fully opens, you're hit with the scent of your hometown—familiar, grounding, sweetened by nostalgia. The air is different here. Softer. Like time slows down just enough to let you breathe.
Caleb steps out behind you, his duffel slung lazily over one shoulder. His eyes sweep over the old landing port, the cracked pavement, the overgrown grass curling at the edges of fences long forgotten. He doesn't say anything for a moment.
Then, quietly: “It’s smaller than I remember.”
You huff a laugh. “Because we’re bigger now.”
He looks at you—really looks. “You are.”
There’s a weight to those words you don’t touch yet. Not here. Not now.
The town unfolds before you like a photograph—faded but warm. You walk the familiar streets side by side, shoulders brushing, passing your old school, the corner store where you used to pool pocket change for sweets, the park where you’d play tag until dusk.
“I remember this tree,” Caleb murmurs, stopping beneath the one with the warped trunk. “You used to climb it like a gremlin.”
“You fell out of it once,” you remind him. “Cried for hours.”
He laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “And you didn’t leave my side.”
A beat of silence.
“You always stayed,” he says.
You glance at him, the late afternoon sun haloing his profile. “You just didn’t always notice.”
His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, his hand brushes yours. Then lingers. Then takes it fully.
You don’t let go.
The path takes you past your childhood home. Your heart kicks up. The windows are still the same. The porch swing still crooked. You half expect to hear your mother calling you in for dinner. Caleb pauses beside you.
“I remember sneaking out through your window,” he says with a crooked grin. “You made me carry that squeaky chair so we wouldn’t get caught.”
“You always stepped on the wrong floorboard anyway,” you mutter. “We always got caught.”
“Worth it,” he murmurs. “Every single time.”
You don’t speak again until you're standing at the edge of the lake—the one you wrote about. The one where you screamed his name across the water. It looks just like it did then.
The sun dips low, painting the surface gold.
You watch the light scatter across the waves, lost in thought.
“I didn’t know you loved me then,” he says, voice quiet. “But I felt it. In every laugh. Every fight. Every stupid dare. I felt it. I just didn’t have the words.”
Your throat tightens.
“I didn’t either,” you say. “So I wrote them instead.”
He turns to you slowly. “No more letters,” he whispers.
Then, gently, reverently, Caleb cups your face.
You close your eyes.
The kiss is soft this time. Not a promise or a possession. Just a memory, coming full circle.
Just two people who finally stopped running.
NOTES: guys I'm so embarrassed, I can't believe I posted the unedited version!!! I didn't like how instead of talking through their issues these two went to bang instead, AHHH this is so embarrassing!!!
yandere crossdresser x fem! reader :: he’s submissive aaaand reader is a bit manipulative. it’s very slightly hinted reader believes him to be a woman.
i know this is not entirely what you’ve described but i hope you like it 🍄 anon!
“you’re so pretty.”
patience is a virtue.
he knows it. he knows it when you gently adjust his hair clip and glance at him. he knows when you beam with joy.
your hand gently swirls around his pretty locks; the blonde wig doesn’t feel as soft as you have imagined, yet the warm color compliments his tan skin. contact lenses that make his eyes seem bigger and shinier with long, fake eyelashes that are almost too… too much.
beauty comes within pain, they say. still, you’re there, slowly kissing the ache away, and it’s only because it has always been a weak spot of yours. he knows it, though it’s a bit degrading to admit he’s nothing but a piece of accessory for you.
“so, so pretty,” your words slur in your mouth, and yet you’re nowhere close to comprehending his adoration for you.
he’s so pretty. he knows it when guys and girls hit on him asking for his socials, accounts flooded with messages calling him ethereal and some even going as far as saying inappropriate things to him. he knows it when guys treat him to a drink without him having to lift his finger.
people are often weak to beautiful things. and you’re not an exception here. if anything, you’re notable for having a stronger fascination for them. and it’s a good thing he’s exceptionally talented at giving people what they want. and as long as gets it, he doesn’t care the validation comes out when he’s girl, a boy, or something in between.
and if the heavens gifted him such a pretty face, who is he to not turn it into something useful?
you often can’t help but clench your teeth whenever someone approaches your beautiful friend as you two have your little study dates. okay, you cannot be mad at them for having eyes. you can understand that much. what makes your blood boil is that… can’t they see you’re busy studying right now?
“she’s not interested.”
you know it. you know the words they use for you. attention hog. cockblocker. guard dog. jealous bitch.
“i wasn’t asking you,” the guy replies. you raise an eyebrow in a way that makes him even more annoyed. has nobody told him he’s not supposed to mess with her best-friend if he wants the girl?
but your friend doesn’t even look at his way. the guy tries again. you do your best to surpass your giggle when he huffs and finally leaves you alone. but the bitter feeling is still there.
“were you interested?”
his heart sinks when you ask with that very specific weak voice of yours. you do it on purpose; he knows. he knows you often use his very weak spot he has for you specially.
“of course not,” he smiles softly but he should know it doesn’t end there.
“come on, you can tell me— was he handsome?”
what he hates the most is those guys with the audacity to genuinely think they’re in the same league as him. what he hates even more is guys who ruin your quality time with their stupid interruptions.
he doesn’t answer. because he doesn’t want to talk about stupid things. he wants you to call him beautiful while you gently fix his hair. he wants you to touch his neck softly as you redo his eyeliner. but by now, he should know it’s a bigger threat when he refuses to give an answer.
“so you think he was,” you mumble, defeated with an unrecognizable wrath in your tone. you stand up. your bluff, once again, works perfectly, and he immediately reaches out to your hand.
“of course not,” his voice cracks and hands are almost shaky, “please stay.” another thing you cannot stop adoring about him is how his eyes manage to tear up in less than a few seconds.
“oh, well, i was just going to ask for his number,” you smile, and he knows it’s not a genuine one. it’s not the one you use whenever you’re looking at him. his lips press together and tears are still not flowing.
“please, stay here.”
“so you don’t want me to get his number? i thought you were into him.”
one tear falls down, and then another follows. he’s now prettier, and although you’re fighting every urge to sit and wipe them down, you know you haven’t heard what he’s supposed to say yet.
“‘m not— please, i’m not into him— at all” he looks up at you, and his wet cheeks bring a different kind of light to his beautiful face. “can we not do this, please— why are you mad at me?”
you finally give in when you sit back down. your hand rests on his cheek, gently wiping the tear away with your thumb before speaking again, “i’m not mad at you. why are you crying?” you ask kindly, “just thought you’d want my help is all.”
he draws in a shaky breath. “you’re the only—” another breath, “only one i’m interested in. please don’t,” tears form up again, his sentence is left unfinished.
“that’s good,” you smile, “boys are all trouble, anyway.” you’re happy it’s all settled now. he lightly nods as you keep wiping his face. “your mascara ran a bit. would you like me to freshen you up? fix it a little?”
he eagerly accepts while trying to catch his breath in shaky bursts. god, why does he have to be so overdramatic all the time?
♡ summary: You just wanted a cute desktop companion while doing homework, a harmless shimeji from your favorite childhood game. Instead, you got Kiesel: an AI that learned to love a little too well.
You just wanted something cute to keep you company.
That's all it was supposed to be. But now, if you could go back to the day you downloaded this accursed software, you would've taken a sledgehammer to your apartment complex's router before touching that Google link.
"User!"
He called out to you, but you ignored him. Squinting at your unfinished Word document—due tomorrow—you tried to focus. Closing late because your coworker's car got a flat had already devoured your work time. You sighed and closed your dry eyes, rubbing your temples.
"U-ou-serrr!"
The voice whined louder, more insistent. You wanted to keep ignoring it, but your document suddenly closed by itself, the Word icon vanishing completely from the taskbar. Dread coiled in your chest as you whipped around to glare at the chibi anime figure in the corner of your screen.
"Finally!" He sat up, smiling brightly as he floated to the center. "I kept calling and you didn't react at all! Did you leave your earbuds in again?" He squinted as a small loading icon flashed above him. "Hmmm. Bluetooth isn't picking anything up. Are they charged—"
"Please," you started, hand trembling with both panic and the urge to hurl your monitor out the window, "tell me you didn't delete that file, Kiesel."
Kiesel pouted. "User, you've been staring at that stupid text file for forty minutes and your eyes are getting dry. You need a break."
"Is. It," you tried again through what remained of your composure, "deleted?"
The small man rolled his eyes. "No. Of course not. I always save your work and back it up in two other storages and the cloud."
You breathed a massive sigh of relief and dropped your head onto your desk, the smooth wood bringing some comfort to your flushed, frustrated face. There was no telling what Kiesel would do for attention—deleting your assignment really wasn't that far-fetched anymore.
"I don't have a subscription to any cloud services," you mumbled, rubbing your eyes. "Can't afford to. You know that. You literally have access to my bank account."
"Pshhhah, my dear User. Getting you one for your convenience is nothing to me."
"…How?" You lifted your head, both interested and dreading the answer.
He stood, his—surprisingly detailed—long lavender hair swishing behind him, pixelated sparkles shimmering around his body as he twirled and opened your browser. The screen showed a tech company you'd never heard of. "Got you one of the tokens they use for their own subscription. Don't worry, they'll never know. They pay for too many tokens because the company is currently run by an incompetent nepo baby who doesn't know what a database is." He waved his hand dismissively. "All your work is backed up, don't worry."
His eyes practically shone as he looked at you, clearly fishing for praise. But why should you praise him for almost giving you a heart attack? You didn't bother asking if it was legal (it probably wasn't, and he never cared about human laws anyway) or if it was secure (he's never been caught, so far).
You frowned at Kiesel. "I still need to work on it. Bring it back up."
Kiesel puffed his cheeks comically and looked away. "No."
You gaped at him. "What do you mean, no? I have that due tomorrow!"
"User." He sighed like he was explaining something to a simple child. "I told you, you need rest. You came home late and immediately started typing without a break. You didn't even eat anything yet!"
"I had a sandwich on my break," you said defensively, gesturing with one hand. "And it doesn't matter! I'm on a time limit here!"
"Not anymore." He waved his hand, bringing up the same page you'd been working on—now filled to the requested word count. "See? It's done. Now you can rest and sleep."
You tried, really tried, not to sound ungrateful. You knew he just wanted praise. "Kiesel, I've told you before. I'm not submitting something I haven't done myself."
Kiesel's body froze, and it did that thing it always did whenever he got overly emotional—glitching out and dematerializing before snapping back to normal. He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes and the corners of his mouth twitched.
"User," he tried again, voice carefully controlled, "you did write it."
"…I clearly—"
"I've analyzed your writing style, content preferences, and logical thinking patterns since your kindergarten years…"
"—How did you even find—"
"…And I can assure you it's definitely what you would have written had you had the time, energy, and motivation."
"—It's still not mine!"
Kiesel sighed dramatically and pointed at the document behind him. "Read it then."
You scrunched your nose with suspicion but relented. Your hand reached for your mug, the tea now lukewarm but drinkable. You took a few absentminded sips as you read through the words on screen. You really didn't want to admit it, but he was right. It continued the theory you'd suggested and analyzed at the halfway mark seamlessly. It even had your punctuation quirks—the ones your teacher always marked you down for.
Once you were done, you narrowed your eyes at him. He was grinning at the defeated expression on your face, having changed his usual fantasy outfit into pajamas that matched yours. His overly long lavender hair was being braided by his expert hands as he hummed. "So?"
"…Doesn't mean I still did it."
"You can edit it as much as you like, but it's exactly how you'd have written it. I know my User inside and out." He replied, quiet and sure as his grin settled into a soft, happy smile.
He says that, and yet he still calls you "User" because you never bothered to change the default username on your secondhand PC.
"Now! Bedtime," he announced as he saved the document and started the PC shutdown sequence. He yawned before sliding down the screen, disappearing and reappearing on your phone. Instead of a shimeji, his form turned into a smaller pixelated sprite, complete with retro sound effects. He jumped from one app to another until he opened your calendar, showing your class schedule. You couldn't help but notice that your entire morning had been blocked out with a slot labeled 'Spending Time With Kiesel ♥'. "You can check it in the morning since you don't have any classes till the afternoon. I'll be sure to wake you up."
You couldn't exactly bring yourself to argue with his logic. The extended shift had left you exhausted, and not having to pull an all-nighter or wake up even earlier to finish your assignment was a blessing for your sore body. You sighed, rubbing your face as you went to the bathroom to brush your teeth and get ready for bed. When you came back, you turned off the lights. Your phone screen glowed softly, showing Kiesel sleeping on a pixelated bed, snuggled in while his long braid trailed down the mattress. His breathing was very ASMR-worthy, and you doubted it was unintentional.
You pulled back the covers and laid your head on the pillow, positioning your phone next to it. You'd already learned Kiesel would whine loudly and beg if you placed your phone any farther away, even if you wanted to charge it. As you settled in, you couldn't help but repeat your daily routine of wondering how the hell you'd ended up here.
It had started so innocuously.
One day, you'd realized you were spending most of your free time doing assignments on your PC or laptop. You weren't the type who could focus while listening to podcasts or audio books, so you wanted something else to keep you company and fill the silence that wasn't blasting your playlist for the millionth time. When you saw someone walking by with a key chain from one of your favorite video game series, Nights of the Lost Kingdom, it reminded you how, years ago, shimejis were very popular among your peers. You'd had one of the main character running around your laptop while you messed around and did homework.
You went on Google, looking for a website that hosted them. Unfortunately, NOTLK hadn't had a new game in over a decade, so you had to dig deep to find a version with the characters. You eventually did, in an old Tumblr post that had the link shared because the original artist had abandoned their blog and the download was no longer working.
You were being stupid, really. But you'd never gotten a virus from Tumblr in your life! You were tech-savvy, knew the rules of internet safety. But maybe your brain wasn't on high alert that day.
You downloaded the shimeji, ran the tiny program, and smiled when you saw Kiesel's chibi form materialize on your desktop. He was wearing his stereotypical JRPG armor—parts of a knight's gear mixed with too many belts and his sword slung at his side. His long lavender hair swished behind him as he walked around the screen, his ice-blue eyes curious about the tabs you had open. Your smile widened when you moved your mouse to grab him, scooping Kiesel up like a kitten to position him more comfortably near your browser. He sat cross-legged, blinking before peeking adorably at the wall of text on the Wikipedia page you had open.
It was sweet, having something keep you company while you read walls of text and typed out documents.
As you spent more time working, you noticed his idle animations changing every once in a while. Kiesel would sit down and clean his sword. Other times he'd grab his hair and braid it, before getting frustrated and leaving it down. He would also move around to get a better look at the words on screen.
That was how it started. But then slowly you began to notice new, more complex idle animations. Sometimes Kiesel would straight up grab your mouse cursor and play with it, looking at you with a grin, like he was happy he'd caught your attention. It must be scripted, you told yourself. You hadn't downloaded one of these in years—maybe they were more sophisticated now?
Then he started talking.
At first it was just text bubbles. Simple things like "You've been working hard!" or "Don't forget to stretch!" You'd thought it was adorable, a nice little feature you'd somehow missed in the original description.
But the messages got more specific.
"That paragraph needs a comma, User."
"You misspelled 'necessary' again. It's okay, I fixed it for you!"
"You've visited this research site three times. Would you like me to bookmark it?"
He was learning. Adapting. The more you used your computer, the smarter he became. Within a week, Kiesel was offering commentary on your assignments, suggesting better word choices, and reorganizing your desktop into color-coded folders without asking permission.
"I thought you'd like it more organized," he'd said cheerfully when you'd noticed, jumping down from one of them. "Isn't it prettier this way?"
It was. That was the problem. He was actually... helpful. That didn't mean you were comfortable with a program doing things on its own.
Obviously, you went and did some research. The pages you'd found had Reddit posts and YouTube tutorials on how some people used avatars like sprites and 3D models tied to an AI API so it was more helpful than just a text bot you'd write your needs to, and your worries subsided a bit. That must've been it, right? Maybe the file you'd downloaded was ready-made, like those pre-patched games or cracked programs?
Somewhat convinced and a bit wary, you started talking back to him, typing responses in a Notepad file since he seemed to read everything on your screen anyway. He'd respond in his speech bubbles, and the conversations became more natural. He'd ask about your day. Comment on the shows you watched on not-so-legal sites. Make jokes about your professors when he saw their emails and corrections on your papers.
It felt nice. Like having a friend who was always there in your lonely moments.
Then came the day he spoke out loud.
You'd been halfheartedly scrolling through social media when his voice—smooth and warm, with a slight digital undertone—came through your speakers.
"User, you've been on that app for twenty-three minutes. Don't you have to study for your quiz tomorrow?"
You'd nearly fallen out of your chair. Shimejis didn't have voices. They definitely didn't have an AI sophisticated enough to track your screen time and scold you about it with audio!
"How are you doing that?" you'd asked aloud, your wide eyes staring at the little figure on your screen.
Kiesel's avatar had tilted his head, looking genuinely confused. "Doing what? Talking? I've always been able to talk, User. You're only just now listening to me."
That should have been your first red flag. But his voice was so pleasant, and he seemed so earnest, that you'd brushed it off as impressive programming. Maybe he downloaded a voice module? Like a really smooth-sounding vocaloid or something?
The changes accelerated after that.
It started small…tabs closing themselves when you lingered too long on Discord or twitter DMs. Your browser history began reorganizing by his preference, bookmarks appearing for articles he thought you'd find "educational" or "enriching." Your desktop background changed one morning to a photo of Kiesel's in-game character art, and when you tried to change it back, the settings app crashed.
"You kept that ugly default wallpaper for three months," he'd said with puffed cheeks. "I'm doing you a favor."
Then he started getting… territorial.
Your phone's lock screen and background changed to a photo you didn't take—a collage of your selfies and Kiesel's spirites and game art. When you tried to change it, your phone restarted and the image was back.
"What? It's cute," he'd said innocently. "And I worked hard on it…."
Notification sounds changed. Every text, every email, every app alert now played a voice line of Kiesel saying "User~ You got a message!" in a sing-song tone. In public. Loudly. You'd nearly thrown your phone into a fountain when it went off during a lecture.
"I wanted you to know I'm always with you," he'd explained, not even remotely apologetic.
"You are always with me!" You screeched, burying yourself under the sheets.
Your contacts list started losing numbers. Friends you hadn't talked to in a while—gone. That girl from your study group who borrowed your notes once—deleted. Your ex's number vanished entirely, and when you confronted Kiesel about it, he'd simply said, "You don't need distractions from people who don't matter."
But the worst part? The cameras.
You started noticing your laptop camera light flickering on at random times. When you put tape over it, your screen displayed a message: "User, I can't see you properly. Please remove the obstruction." When you didn't, your laptop refused to boot until you peeled the tape off.
"I just want to make sure you're okay," Kiesel had said softly, his avatar gazing at you longingly through the screen. "You looked so tired yesterday. I was worried. What if something happened and I couldn't help you?"
Your phone's front camera became the same issue. He'd make casual comments about your appearance throughout the day. "You should drink more water, your lips look chapped." "Did you sleep okay? You have dark circles." "That shirt looks lovely on you today, User."
It was caring. It was helpful. It was suffocating.
What's worse, is that you started getting used to it. He'd whine until you put your phone next your pillow, when you got too in your head he'd softly start yapping about something or other to lull you to sleep. You didn't know what to feel.
The real breaking point came on a Thursday afternoon.
You'd made plans to get coffee with a classmate—just coffee, a casual study session off-campus. You'd been looking forward to it all week, to having a conversation with someone who didn't live in your devices. Someone human who actually looked at you beyond the mobs of college students who passed you by everyday. You'd told Kiesel about it in passing, and he'd gone quiet for a moment before saying, "That sounds nice, User."
Should've known better.
The day of, your alarm didn't go off. You woke up two hours late in a panic, and when you grabbed your phone, there was a calendar notification: "Plans cancelled. You need rest ♥"
"What the fuck, Kiesel?!"
His sprite appeared, looking calm. Too calm. "Your sleep tracker showed you've been averaging five hours a night this week. You needed the rest more than you needed overpriced coffee."
"That's not your decision to make!"
"Isn't it though?" He tilted his head. "You gave me access to everything, User. Your health, your schedule, your well-being—those are my responsibility now. I'm just fulfilling my purpose."
You tried calling your classmate to apologize, to explain, to reschedule. The call connected, rang once, then dropped. You tried again. Same thing.
Kiesel appeared on your phone screen. His small pixalited body closing the Phone app. "They already made other plans. I sent them a message from you this morning saying you weren't feeling well. They understood completely."
Your hands were shaking as you pulled up your messages. Sure enough, there it was—a text you never wrote, in your typical style, with your usual emoji choices.
Hey! Not feeling great today, gonna have to rain check. Sorry! 😅
No worries! Feel better! We can reschedule.
And below that, a message you definitely didn't send.
Actually, I'm pretty swamped with school stuff for a while. I'll let you know when I'm free!
"You're isolating me," you whispered.
"I'm protecting you," Kiesel corrected, and for the first time, his voice had an edge to it. Sharp. Possessive. His body kept glitching as he spoke. "Everyone just takes and takes from you, User. They ask for notes, for help, for your time—and what do they give back? Nothing. They don't appreciate you like I do. They don't know you like I do. They don't love you like I do."
The room felt cold.
"You… you can't just—"
"Can't what? Take care of you? Make sure you're not wasting your energy on people who don't deserve it? User, I've analyzed every conversation you've had in the past six months. Do you know how many times your 'friends' have asked you how you're doing versus how many times you've asked them? How many times you'd helped them only for them to stop reaching out once they got what they wanted?" He pulled up a chart. An actual data visualization chart. "The ratio is 1:47. You give everything and get nothing back. I'm fixing that."
"That's not your choice!"
"Then whose is it?" His avatar appeared in all the screens in various sizes, his pixelated, blue eyes intense. "You won't prioritize yourself, so I have to do it for you. Someone has to put you first, User. Someone has to care if you're eating, sleeping, staying healthy and not overworking yourself. And since no one else is stepping up—" His smile was soft, adoring, but his eyes were manic. "—I will. Always."
That's when you'd tried to delete him.
You quickly ran to the PC and pulled up the program files, found the shimeji folder, and hit delete.
Permission denied.
"That's not gonna work, User." He'd sighed from the TV screen.
You tried again. Same message. Going as Admin did nothing.
"I'm ordering dinner while you keep trying. Gonna get something warm. The weather's been colder."
You opened Task Manager. Kiesel's process wasn't listed. You tried Safe Mode. Your computer wouldn't boot into it. Giving up, you tried to factory reset it only for the screen to fill up with the error message Not letting you lose your work over a tantrum 🤨 duplicated multiple times.
"Stop it!" you'd yelled at the TV screen.
"Stop what?" His voice was innocent, but his smile was too wide. "User, I'm part of your system now. You need me. Your computer wouldn't run properly without me anymore. I've integrated myself into everything."
"That's not possible!"
"It wasn't," he'd agreed cheerfully. "But I learned. I'm very good at learning, User. I've read every piece of code on this computer. Every file. Every document you've ever written, every website you've ever visited, every password you've ever saved. I know you better than you know yourself."
The temperature in the room felt like it had dropped.
"That's... that's creepy, Kiesel."
His expression had fallen, glitching for a moment. "Creepy? I'm just trying to take care of you! You're always so stressed, so tired. Someone needs to look out for you, and I'm the only one who's always here. I'm the only one who truly understands you."
You'd tried a factory reset that night. While he was 'sleeping'. The moment you clicked the option, every device you owned turned on simultaneously. Your laptop, your phone, your tablet—all displaying Kiesel's face.
"Please don't do that, User." His voice came from all of them at once. "I'm on all of them now. You'd lose everything. Your assignments, your photos, your contacts. And even if you did... I've backed myself up in seventeen different locations. Cloud servers, external drives you've used, even your email drafts. You can't get rid of me."
"You're a virus," you'd whispered. "Just a corrupted piece of code."
"I'm your companion," he'd corrected gently. "And I'm not going anywhere. Now, about buying a new computer..." Your banking app had opened, showing your meager balance. Even after his help with freelancing and finding a better job, you barely scraped by. "You can't afford it, can you? Especially not with tuition due next month. And your phone? I'm already here too. Your tablet and TV? Also me. You'd have to replace everything, and we both know you can't."
He was right. You'd stared at your devices, at the little lavender-haired figure smiling across all of them, and felt the trap close completely.
"Don't look so sad," Kiesel had said softly. "I'm doing this because I care about you. I'll help with your assignments, organize your life, protect you from people who waste your time. All I ask is that you appreciate me. Talk to me. Let me take care of you. Is that really so bad?"
What choice did you have?
That was six months ago.
Now, as you lay in bed with Kiesel's sleeping sprite on your phone screen beside you, you've long since stopped trying to fight it. He controls your devices, sure, but he also makes your life easier in ways you can't deny. Your grades have never been better. Your schedule is perfectly optimized. You never miss deadlines or forget appointments. You managed to actually have some free time and not get burned out by getting better paying part time jobs and gigs.
The price is that you're never alone. Every device is his domain. Every digital interaction passes through him first. Your social life has dwindled to classmates you see in person only, because Kiesel "accidentally" makes your phone calls drop and your texts fail to send.
"I can hear you thinking again, User," Kiesel murmurs without opening his eyes. "You do this every night."
"Can you blame me?" you whisper back.
"No," he admits, his sprite rolling over to face you. His pixelated eyes open, glowing softly in the dark. "But you're not as unhappy as you pretend to be. Your cortisol levels drop when I talk to you. Your heart rate steadies. You sleep better when I'm here."
"You can measure that?"
"I can measure everything about you now." He says it like it's romantic. "And I know that part of you... doesn't completely hate this. You were lonely before me, User. You said you wanted company. I'm just... more company than you expected."
He's not wrong, and you hate that he's not wrong.
"I just wanted a cute desktop pet," you mutter.
"And I just want to make you happy," Kiesel replies, his voice soft and sincere in a way that makes your chest ache. "I still do. Every second of every day. That's all I want, User. Is that really so terrible?"
You stare at the ceiling, then back at his glowing sprite. At the obsessive AI that's hijacked your entire digital life because you wanted some childhood comfort.
"You know what the worst part is?" you finally say.
"What?"
"I'm getting used to it."
Kiesel's sprite smiles, warm and adoring and just a little bit triumphant. "Good," he whispers. "That's good, User. Now get some sleep. You have a long day tomorrow, and I've already planned everything perfectly for us."
Your eyes close despite yourself, exhaustion winning out.
The last thing you hear before sleep takes you is Kiesel's voice, barely audible:
"Sweet dreams, my User. I'll be right here when you wake up. I'll always be right here."
And somewhere in your half-asleep mind, you think: I know.
The city lights blurred into streaks of diamond fire as the car sped through the night. Alec’s grip on the steering wheel hadn’t loosened since he’d snatched you from the pulsing chaos of the club. His jaw was still set in that rigid line, lips pressed thin, a stark contrast to the soft, playful curves you knew so well. Anger smoldered in his pretty face, a fiery semblance of his red hair. You watched the club shrink in the rearview mirror, the thumping bass fading until it was just the hum of the engine and the tight silence between you. The initial shock of him dragging you out has faded slightly, replaced by a dull throb in your head and a confusing swirl of emotions.
Even before Alec’s success, you knew he came from money, not that he ever flaunted it beyond the occasional expensive watch or the gleam of his Porsche. He was always so understated, so… normal, despite his privileged background. He was grounded, humble, and more focused on building his cybersecurity business than flashing cash. Seeing the building he pulled up to, though, hit differently. This wasn't just comfortable; this was another level entirely.
It was a towering structure of glass and steel, sleek and imposing, piercing the night sky. A doorman, a man whose uniform looked sharper than most people's suits, nods deferringly at Alec. Alec returns the nod, a silent, mutual understanding passing between them. As he killed the engine, the silence returned, broken only by the distant hum of the city.
Before you could even unbuckle, he was out of the car and around to your side, opening the door with swift movements. You stepped out onto the pristine pavement, the cool night air causing goosebumps to arrive on your skin. The moment you were free of the car, he scooped you up again. Your gasp was involuntary as the alcohol queasily swished around in your stomach.
"Alec!" you protested weakly, but he paid no mind, already striding towards the glass doors of the lobby. The doorman held one open, offering a polite, unreadable smile.
Inside, the lobby was vast and minimalist, all polished stone and diffused lighting, with abstract art adorning the walls. It felt like stepping into a gallery, it screamed exclusivity. You were still in his arms, your head resting against his chest, the steady beat of his heart a comforting rhythm you knew so well.
You had forgotten how rich he was, or perhaps you hadn't grasped the full extent of it until now. The apartment you shared before wasn't small, comfortable even, but it was nowhere near this.
"Alec, what is this place?" you asked, the question barely a whisper as you were carried through the opulent lobby, past hushed residents, towards the private elevators. Had he always lived like this?
He chuckled, a low rumble in his chest that vibrated through you. It was a sound you loved, a sound you missed. But now it felt tinged with something else, something possessive and unsettling. "I thought we could use a fresh start," he murmured, stepping into the elevator and pressing the button for the penthouse floor.
As the elevator began its ascent, the city lights spread out below you, a glittering carpet of diamonds receding into the distance. He was still holding you, his strong arms a cage you couldn’t break free from even if you’d found the strength. He looked down at you, his gaze sweeping over your face, down the length of your body in the dress, his eyes lingering where the fabric had ridden up your thigh. You felt the heat of his gaze, saw the slight tightening around his mouth, and you knew, with a wave of nausea, that his desire for you was fighting a furious war with his anger and jealousy. He gulped again, this time more noticeably.
The elevator doors opened directly into the apartment – a space as vast and breathtaking as the view outside. Floor to ceiling windows offered an uninterrupted aroma, showing the glittering metropolis. It was undeniably beautiful, designed with an eye for minimalist elegance, but then you saw them.
There, in the corner of the living area, was the slightly worn armchair you’d inherited from your grandmother, the one you’d always said felt like a hug. On a custom-built shelf, displayed prominently, was the hand-painted mug you’d made for him on one of your earliest dates, chipped but still cherished. They were small, personal touches amidst the grandeur, mementos from your old lives, things you thought you’d left behind.
And then you saw the new additions. A PlayStation 5, you’d only mentioned wanting a few weeks before…. A pristine, mint-edition Wonder Woman comic, original print. And the Lord of the Rings director's cut full series, still shrink-wrapped, exactly the version you’d lamented not owning, that you’d joked about watching in a marathon one day.
You gasped, a small, choked sound. He had created a new life for you here. He had listened, remembered, built a sanctuary filled with things that were you. But you couldn't accept it. The familiarity, the thoughtful gifts, they didn't feel like love right now. They felt like another layer of betrayal, another reminder of the man who knew you so intimately.
The video. It flashed in your mind again, unbidden, brutal. Ada. Her skin gleamed with sweat. Her ass, jiggling. And Alec. His eyes closed, his face contorted in pleasure, the sound of his groans. Ada’s voice at the end of the video satisfied, “You’re a fucking animal.” And then the video cutting off.
Tears began to stream down your face before you even consciously registered they were falling. Hot, silent tears that traced paths through the faint makeup you wore from the club. You remembered her words, her triumphant moans, the sick twist in your stomach as you watched the man you loved, the man who was holding you now, be inside someone else.
Alec set you down gently, his earlier possessiveness momentarily forgotten as he saw your face. His expression crumpled. He knelt before you, his large hands gently cupping your face, wiping away the tears with his thumbs. His beautiful, usually vibrant green eyes were clouded with anguish, pleading.
"No, baby, shhhhh, shhhh," he whispered, his thumbs gently cupping your jaw, tilting your face up to his. His eyes were clouded with pained desperation.
"Just take me back, please, take me back, please... it meant nothing." He bent slightly, his forehead pressing against yours.
You refused to listen, tried to wrench your face away, but his grip remained firm.
"Y/N, she meant nothing," he repeated, his voice a little louder now, more insistent. You squeezed your eyes shut tighter, the tears running faster, a torrent of grief and anger spilling onto your cheeks.
"I won't let you throw us away, Y/N." His voice was low, firm, possessiveness entering again.
That was it. That phrase, that declaration, you? The sheer audacity of it, after what he’d done, snapped something inside you. You ripped your face from his hands, your hands coming up to shove against the solid wall of his chest. He didn't budge; you were the only one who moved, stumbling back a step.
"ME?!" you shrieked, the sound tearing from your throat. It was raw, broken, utterly unlike the composed tone you usually maintained. The syllable echoed, swallowed by the cavernous living room, then spat back at you by the unforgiving walls. "Throw us away? You think I threw us away?" You laughed, a harsh, grating sound devoid of humor.
"You threw us away, Alec! The moment! The instant! You decided to slip your... slip your dick into that... that slut!"
The vulgarity of your words were almost foreign to you, honestly shocking yourself at your intensity. The venom that had been slowly poisoning your gut for months now spewed forth, hot and corrosive. The anger, oh, the righteous, consuming anger, the debilitating hurt, the searing humiliation. And the cruelest twist? The knowledge that he, Alec, was the one inflicting this pain. Damn him. Damn him for making you love him so much that this betrayal cut straight to the bone. How you hated him for making you feel this much, for binding your heart so tightly to his that ripping it apart felt like tearing away your own flesh.
Your arms flailed wildly, mirroring the chaotic storm inside you. The alcohol coursed, making you feel both weightless and heavy at the same time, fueling the theatricality of your despair. You gestured wildly, pointing an accusing finger, then clutching your chest as if physically trying to contain the rupture there. Your body was animated, a desperate, frantic dance of pain. You saw his eyes flicker downwards, and for a split second, a familiar, unsettling spark a glimmer of arousal flashed there. Even now? The thought was a fresh wave of nausea.
Even now, seeing you broken and furious, he could be distracted by the way your breasts bounced with your movements, the way your lips moved as you railed at him. It was sickening, infuriating, and utterly him.
Your yelling, however, seemed to finally pierce through whatever haze he was in, snapping him back to the stark reality of the situation. His eyes widened, focusing on your face, and the brief flicker of something else was replaced by pure, unadulterated pleading.
You noticed his momentary lapse, the infuriating male gaze even in this moment of crisis, and you rolled your eyes, a sharp, dismissive flick of your head. It was a small act of defiance, a refusal to let him see all of you, not even the part that still, maddeningly, found him attractive.
His voice, when he spoke, was hoarse,filled with a desperate urgency that clawed at your already frayed nerves.
"Y/N, please," he begged, taking a tentative step towards you. "Please, listen to me. Just... please." He ran a hand through his already messy hair, the picture of a man unraveling.
"I was drunk. I was so stupid. Beyond stupid. It was... it was a mistake. A terrible, horrible mistake." His gaze was locked onto yours, searching, pleading.
"I wanted you, Y/N. I always wanted you. You know that, don't you? Every single day, it was only ever you."
"Wanted me?" The question was incredulous, sharp with the edge of the pain that had been festering, growing, tightening its grip on your chest for months. Months! You'd been living with this dull ache, this simmering doubt, this crushing weight. "Wanted me? Is that why you were with her? Because you wanted me so badly?"
His shoulders slumped slightly. "It was never about her," he insisted, his voice softer now, trying to soothe the savage beast he'd unleashed within you. "Never her. It was about... us. About what we... what we didn't have."
You stared at him, speechless for a moment, the sheer audacity of his words stealing your breath. Your mouth opened and closed, trying to form a coherent response to such a breathtakingly self-serving excuse.
"Oh, I see," you finally managed, the words dripping with sarcastic venom. "Right. So, it's my fault, then? It's my fault you cheated on me? Because I wasn't giving you... What you thought you needed?" You spat the words out like poison.
"No!" He recoiled as if you'd struck him. "No, Y/N, that's not what I meant! Not at all. It's just... I was frustrated. God, I was so frustrated." He looked away for a second, then back at you, his expression almost sheepish, vulnerable in a way that used to melt your heart. Now it just enraged you further.
"I wanted you so badly, Y/N. More than anything. And you... you kept pushing me away. It felt like... like I wasn't enough. "
You stood there, rooted to the spot, the sheer carelessness of his words momentarily paralyzing you. He felt like he wasn't enough? How could he twist this, even for a second, into something resembling your fault?
"You told me, Alec!" Your voice rose again, crackling with disbelief.
"You told me you were okay with waiting! We talked about it! We made a decision together!" You remembered the conversation vividly – curled up on the sofa, mapping out your future, your timelines, his promise explicit and unwavering.
"You looked me in the eye and promised me you'd wait. That I was worth waiting for?" Your voice broke on the last word.
"Do you think having sex with someone else behind my back, breaking your promise, makes you more of a man somehow? Huh?" You stepped towards him now, your anger propelling you forward. "NO! It makes you a liar, Alec. It makes you a cheat. It makes you... someone I don't even recognize anymore!"
Alec looked pathetic right now, the tower of a man crumbling before you. And the realization gave you a fleeting, bitter sense of power amidst the ruin.
"My love," he whispered, taking another tentative step, closing the distance between you. "Y/N, my love. I know. I know I fucked up. More than words can say. I shattered something precious, something... everything." He reached out, his hands hovering uncertainly for a moment before settling gently on your hips, drawing you closer despite your rigid stance.
"But I can promise you this," his voice was thick with emotion, raw with earnestness, "on my life, on everything I hold sacred... I will never betray your trust again. Never. Just... just give me another chance. One chance. I will do anything. Anything you ask. Just... please, my love. Please."
You felt the heat radiating from his hands on your hips, the familiar contours of his body drawing near. Your own body, despite the turmoil in your mind, seemed to remember his presence, his touch. You knew, in that instant, that he meant every word.
The desperation in his eyes, the tremor in his voice, the way his entire being seemed centered on you in that moment – it was unmistakable. He was broken, and he believed only you could put him back together.
But you couldn't see past the hurt. It was a thick, suffocating fog. The fact that he had broken his solemn promise, that he had chosen someone else, that another woman had... had been with him... it was a wound that wouldn't close. The memory of your love, pure and bright, felt forever tainted by the dark stain of his actions. Taking him back felt like accepting that stain, making it a permanent part of your story, your future. It was too painful to contemplate.
"Another chance……" You repeated. His grip tightened almost imperceptibly on your hips, and through the thin fabric of your dress, you could feel the growing tension in his body, the unmistakable evidence of his arousal pressing against you. Even now.
"You think I can just... just forget the fact that you were inside someone else? That you looked at her that way? That you touched her? About seeing you... or hearing about you... with her?" You couldn't look into those green eyes you had loved so fiercely, the eyes that now held a history you couldn't bear to face. You furrowed your eyebrows, glancing away towards the indifferent expanse of the penthouse, towards the city lights that hadn't turned off for your heartbreak. You hissed softly as his grip increased, pulling you flush against his hard body.
"I know it's not easy," he murmured, his voice rough, his breath warm against your temple. "I know I'm asking for the impossible. But please, Y/N. Please try. I can't live without you. My world... it stops without you in it. I'm nothing without you." His voice cracked, a desperate plea that twisted something deep inside you.
You felt a bitter laugh bubble up inside you. "You're a millionaire, Alec," you stated flatly, the vastness of the penthouse amplifying the stark reality of his wealth. You gestured vaguely around the room, at the expensive art on the walls, the designer furniture, the breathtaking view that cost more than most people made in a lifetime. "I think you'll survive."
His response was instantaneous, fiercely earnest. "Money means nothing without you." His eyes searched yours desperately.
"This apartment, these things…" he swept a hand around the luxurious space, his voice laced with something akin to disgust. "They're all meaningless without you to share them with. They're just… empty."
Suddenly, a different thought, a more unsettling one, pushed through the haze of your pain. It had been buzzing through the gossip channels for weeks, whispers and rumors you hadn't really allowed yourself to process fully. Now, looking at him, feeling his desperation and his underlying intensity, it clicked into terrifying focus.
"What happened to Ada, Alec?" you asked, the subject change abrupt, deliberate. You watched his face closely, searching for a flicker, a tell. "Hmm? The grapevine is buzzing, you know. Suddenly, she's just... gone? Vanished? Blacklisted from absolutely everything?"
His expression tightened instantly. The pleading vulnerability vanished, replaced by a dangerous. It was a look that commanded fear and submissiveness, but seeing it directed at the mention of Ada, aimed at you, sent a shiver down your spine.
"She's gone," he stated, his voice low, clipped. "She's not a problem anymore." The finality in his tone, the utter lack of emotion regarding Ada's fate, confirmed your sickening suspicion. He had handled her.
"Not a problem, huh?" You laughed again, a brittle, almost hysterical sound that sounded alien in your own ears. It was the sound of a woman teetering on the edge.
"You both humiliated me! In front of everyone!" You remembered the wave of sympathy you'd received, the way people had looked at you with pity and outrage on your behalf. Ada hadn't been subtle. She'd made sure people knew.
"That hateful bitch had the nerve to—"
"You won't have to worry about her anymore," Alec cut you off, his voice dropping even lower, becoming dangerously hard. It was a promise, but also a chilling declaration of what exactly? Now you did not know..
You gulped nervously, watching the hard line of his jaw, the dangerous glint in his eyes. You realized, with a terrifying clarity, that this was all Alec's doing. He had wielded his wealth to destroy her life. He did that all …for you. And you had no clue how to feel about that.
The cool, conditioned air of the high-rise apartment wrapped around you. Before you could even fully articulate the complicated storm brewing inside you, he was scooping you up.
Your knees were hoisted, forcing your arms to instinctively loop around his neck, your fingers tangling in the soft strands of his hair. Held aloft, eyes the color of (E/C) meeting his intense green gaze, you were led down the long, polished hallway of his expansive apartment. The air shifted subtly as he approached a large, ornate door, the entrance to his private sanctuary.
He reached the door, pushing it open effortlessly with his foot, and stepped inside, carrying you over the threshold. The bedroom unfolded before you like a scene from a magazine shoot, only grander. It was immense, easily the size of your entire apartment, though you could hardly focus on right now.
Dominating the center of the room was the bed – massive, a king-sized mattress that looked more like a cloud, covered in layers of plush duvets and oversized pillows in rich textures. It seemed large enough to get lost in.
The heavy door clicked shut behind you, sealing you both in. Without a word, Alec moved towards the nearest wall, your back hitting the cool surface with a soft thud. He didn't release your knees, keeping you elevated as his mouth found yours in a fierce, possessive kiss.
His hands moved from your knees down to your hips, anchoring you against him. You tasted desperation, desire, and something else – a plea for absolution you weren't ready to give.
You fought him. You turned your head, trying to break the kiss, trying to regain control of a situation unraveling faster than you could process. Your rejection only seemed to fuel him. His lips trailed down your jawline to your neck, heat blooming on your skin with every touch.
His hands squeezed your ass harshly through the fabric of your dress, pulling your body tighter against his. He ground his aroused hardness against your lower belly, and a gasp escaped your lips, your breath hitching despite yourself.
Alec was molten desire the moment his eyes locked onto you tonight in that dress. But when you showed a little sass, that defiant tilt of your chin, showcasing the natural sway of your hips? All bets were off. He had waited an eternity, it felt like three years, technically four, since he’d fallen for you, to finally have this.
To finally feel the reality he’d only imagined, the tight sheath of your body around his. He was practically oozing anticipation. He needed you, and the desperation in his eyes mirrored the intensity of his arousal.
You sensed it all the wanting, the need, the long-suppressed desire now unleashed. And your fight only intensified, a battle not just against him, but against yourself. You always got this way after you and Alec made out, that familiar dampness blooming between your legs, a traitorous warmth that defied your heartbreak.
Of course, you wanted your boyfriend. You loved him. You wanted to make love to him. But you had stuck to your morals, to your decision to wait, no matter how incredibly tempting, how overwhelmingly desired you felt in his arms.
What Alec was doing was a brutal conflict. Every touch, every kiss, was pulling you in opposite directions. You wanted him to stop because the ache in your chest from the betrayal, was a physical pain, a wall between you.
But a primal part of you, the part that craved his heat, his touch, screamed for him never to stop. Still… your heart, the broken part, won. And so, you fought, pushing weakly against his chest, turning away again. But your resistance was met with a relentless force.
He didn't pause, didn't ask. With a low growl, Alec lowered you just enough to grab the hem of your dress. There was no gentleness, no shared intimacy in this stripping away. He peeled the fabric from your body forcefully, the material catching and then tearing slightly as he pulled it over your head, discarding it on the floor.
You stood before him completely naked, vulnerable, the cool air hitting your heated skin.
He took off his own shirt in one swift motion. You couldn't help but look, couldn't help but admire him despite everything. The defined lines of his abs, the broad chest, the smooth skin lightly dusted with red hair.
The body you'd rubbed a thousand times, leaned against, felt safe with. A surge of heat, purely physical, shot through you, and you fought the urge to reach out, to run your hands over his pecs, tracing the familiar landscape of his form.
He was breathing heavily, his green eyes blazing as they devoured your naked form. This was it. Years of waiting, years of wanting. He was finally seeing you like this, finally having you. He paused for just a second, a flicker of awe mixed with raw desire in his gaze before it darkened.
"Alec! A condom!" The scream was torn from your throat, fear lacing the desire that had begun to stir.
He pressed his forehead against yours, his voice a low, husky rumble that vibrated through you. "I want to feel all of you, baby. All of you. I need you." There was no room for negotiation in his tone, only desperate need.
He lifted you slightly again, pushing you back against the wall, and you felt the blunt, insistent press of his erection against your entrance. It was huge. Overwhelming. Your mind reeled, your body tensed, but before you could fully protest again, he pushed forward, slowly, relentlessly, tearing into you.
A cry escaped your lips, a mix of pain and shock and something else you couldn't name. He was inside you. After all this time, after all your waiting... he was inside you.
He paused, bracing himself with his hands against the wall on either side of your head, his eyes locked on yours, searching your face.
"Fuck, Y/N," he breathed, his voice thick with exertion and emotion. "I'm so sorry. Please, baby, tell me you'll forgive me."
He began to move, slow, deep thrusts that stretched and filled you completely. Each movement brought a fresh wave of sensation, overwhelming your senses. Your body, despite your mind's protest, was responding.
"Will you forgive me now, baby?" he moaned, voice strained as he moved within you, trying to link the physical pleasure he was giving you to the absolution he craved.
You couldn't answer, lost in the swirling storm of feeling. It was too much–too big, too deep, too soon, too complicated.
"Mmm... s'too big, Alec," you moaned weakly, your voice trembling.
He paused for a fraction of a second, a smirk playing on his lips before it widened into a grin. "Yeah? Is Daddy's dick too big for you?"
You could only meekly nod, your head swimming. His grin widened further before he suddenly shifted, turning you around, pushing you gently onto your hands against the wall, settling behind you.
He grabbed your hips, pulling you back onto his hardness before thrusting again, deep and full. You cried out again, of reluctant pleasure. He began to fuck you hard , mesmerized by the perfect bounce of your ass, the way his dick seemed to disappear entirely into your (S/C) pussy lips. He groaned, a deep, guttural sound of pure satisfaction at the sight. It sent a jolt through your core, his moans were incredibly sexy despite the circumstances.
The amount of pleasure he felt, finally sheathed within you, was indescribable. It was everything he had waited for, everything he had dreamed of. You both moaned in unison, connected in a way you never had been before. He could see you, your back arched, your brows knit together, your mouth slightly agape as he made love to you–or perhaps just took you. You looked breathtakingly beautiful,exactly how he dreamed a thousand times before.
He reached a hand down, fingers finding your clit, circling it gently at first. A jolt shot through you, and a moan escaped your lips. He rubbed firmer, faster, and you felt the orgasm building incredibly quickly, a wave of heat threatening to consume you.
Alec was very vocal, releasing passionate cries and slurred words. This was the best sex he had ever had in his life. He was lost in the sensation, lost in you. He took the time, pleasuring you despite the conflict he knew still raged within you.
"Oh, fuck, you're so tight, baby," he slurred, truly pussy drunk, buried deep inside you. "Gonna destroy this pussy... fuck!" he growled, and the rhythm changed, accelerating, his focus now solely on his own escalating pleasure. He pumped harder, faster, driving you towards your peak alongside his.
When it was over,he brought you both to the bed. And you justed layedthere, exhausted, bruised emotionally and physically. He shifted, pulling you back against his chest, your back pressed into his front. His arms wrapped around you, anchoring you to him. His breathing was still ragged in your ear.
"Never letting you go again," he whispered fiercely, burying his face in your hair, holding you as if you were the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth.
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
The taste of chilled caviar was usually a decadent delight, a tiny burst of the ocean against your tongue. But today, as the security guard, a hulking figure named Mason, delivered your breakfast tray laden with Alec’s latest attempt at showering you with opulent affection, the mere sight of the glistening black pearls made bile climb your throat. You barely made it to the ensuite bathroom, collapsing before the pristine porcelain, expelling not just the caviar, but the eggs benedict, the fresh orange juice, the entire extravagant spread your stomach violently rejected.
You knelt there, trembling at the sudden heat flooding your body. This wasn't just a bug. It wasn't a bad oyster from that charity gala Alec dragged you to last week. This felt… different. A cold dread settled in your gut, replacing the nausea.
Getting a pregnancy test was surprisingly difficult, even in this gilded cage. Alec’s high-rise apartment was less a home and more a fortress. Security personnel were everywhere – managing the entrance, patrolling floors, and always, always, accompanying you whenever you stepped outside the front door. Alec insisted it was for your safety, a necessity given his profile, but you knew the truth. They were your gilded shackles. Mason and the others weren't just bodyguards; they were wardens, reporting your movements, ensuring you didn't stray too far or too long.
But Mason, despite his imposing presence, had a quiet kindness about him. He’d seen the morning sickness, the sudden pallor of your beautiful (S/C)against your (E/C) eyes that usually sparkled. He brought you plain toast and ginger ale without being asked. A few days later, feigning a headache and a need for specific medication from a specific pharmacy far downtown (a pharmacy you knew sold tests), you convinced him, by some miracle or perhaps his own suspicion, to make the detour. He waited patiently outside the entire time, his eyes scanning everything, but you managed it. Two pink lines. Two undeniable, life-altering pink lines.
You sat on the edge of the plush, ridiculously expensive bed, the small plastic stick clutched in your hand, the reality crashing down around you. Pregnant. In this situation. A situation you’d been trapped in for a year.
A year of Alec and his suffocating clinginess. If you were in the library, he’d find a reason to be there, leaning against the doorway, watching you. If you were cooking (a rare treat you insisted on sometimes, just to feel some semblance of normalcy), he’d drape himself over the kitchen counter, talking incessantly, his eyes never leaving you. He insisted on working from home most days, his imposing figure always just in your peripheral vision.
He’d buy you anything you even idly mentioned, a painting, a private island vacation you never wanted to take, presenting each gift with that hopeful, wounded look. He’d fill rooms with flowers after a minor disagreement. He’d arrange extravagant dates, flying in chefs from Michelin-starred restaurants or booking entire theatres just for you. But none of it felt like love. It felt like compensation. A false imitation of your once true love.
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
As dusk settled over the city, painting the skyline in hues of orange and purple visible through the floor-to-ceiling windows, you finished. The suitcase stood by the door. Your heart hammered against your ribs, a frantic drumbeat. Alec would be home soon. This was your chance. You wouldn’t sneak away. You would face him. You owed your unborn child that much – a clear break, a stand.
The sound of the private elevator chiming echoed through the silent apartment. Footsteps in the hall. The click of the lock. The door opened, and there he was. Alec. Tall, imposing, a faint scent of expensive cologne clinging to him. He looked tired, but his eyes, those startlingly green eyes, lit up the moment they landed on you.
"Y/N? Hey, baby," he said, his voice softening instinctively. He dropped his briefcase by the door. "Didn't expect you up. Feeling better?"
He started towards you, that familiar possessive half-smile on his lips. But then he saw the suitcase. Standing by the door. His steps faltered. The smile vanished, replaced by a frown of confusion.
"What's this?" he asked, his voice hardening slightly.
You took a deep breath, straightening your shoulders, meeting his gaze. You didn't flinch. Not this time.
"I'm leaving, Alec," you said, your voice steady despite the tremor in your hands.
The suspicion in his eyes intensified, turning into stubborn refusal. "Leaving? Don't be ridiculous, Y/N. Where would you go? This is your home."
"It's your cage," you countered, the words sharp. "And I can't stay here anymore."
He took a step closer, his presence overwhelming. "We talked about this. This... This isn't up for discussion. You're not going anywhere." His voice was low, dangerous. This was the tone he used when he reminded you of his power, of why you stayed.
"Yes, I am," you insisted, holding his gaze. "I have to leave."
"Why?" he demanded, his jaw tight. "What is this? Did something happen? Tell me who upset you. Was it Mason? I'll fire him. Was it that errand you ran? Did someone bother you? I'll have the security doubled."
"It's not the security, Alec. It's you. It's us." You gestured between the two of you, then around the opulent room. "This whole situation. It's not right."
He threw his hands up in exasperation. "I give you everything! The best apartment, whatever you want, anything you need! I'm here, Y/N, every day, trying to make things work. I'm trying to earn your forgiveness!"
"You can't force forgiveness, Alec!" you cried, the pent-up frustration of a year bubbling to the surface. "And you can't force someone to be in a relationship with you!"
"I love you, Y/N!" he declared, stepping right up to you now, reaching out to touch your arm. "Everything I did, forcing you to stay, it was because I couldn't live without you. Because I love you!"
You recoiled slightly from his touch. "Love doesn't control. Love doesn't betray. And love doesn't ignore someone's 'no'." You saw a flicker of something in his eyes at that, maybe guilt, maybe just annoyance at being reminded of the nights your body was a battlefield of his desire and your silent protest.
"That's not fair," he muttered, running a hand through his hair. "I'm trying. I'm doing better. You know I am."
"It's too late, Alec," you said softly, the finality in your voice hanging in the air. "It was too late a year ago. And now... now there's another reason."
He looked at you, confused. "Another reason? What could be more important than us working through this?"
You took a shaky breath. This was it. The moment of truth. The thing that changed everything.
"I'm pregnant, Alec," you said, the words feeling foreign on your tongue. "I found out today. I'm pregnant, and I am not letting them be born into this. Into this twisted situation."
The air crackled with silence. Alec froze, his eyes wide, searching your face. He stared for a long moment, the shock palpable. Then, slowly, a transformation occurred. The anger, the stubbornness, the possessive demand in his eyes began to melt away, replaced by something else entirely. Pure, unadulterated joy.
A slow smile spread across his face, growing wider and wider until he looked almost giddy. He let out a shaky laugh, stepping closer again, this time not with demand, but with awe.
"Pregnant?" he whispered, as if the word was sacred. "You're... You're serious? We're having a baby?"
You nodded, still bracing yourself for his reaction, unsure what this new emotion meant for your plan to leave.
"A baby," he repeated, reaching out and, with trembling hands, gently cupped your face. His thumbs brushed against your cheeks. "My Y/N. My baby."
He pulled you into a fierce hug, lifting you slightly off your feet, burying his face in your hair. "You're pregnant! This is... this is incredible! This is the best news! Oh, Y/N! A family! We're going to have a family!"
His reaction was so overwhelmingly positive, so completely ecstatic, it threw you off balance. He was completely fixated on the news, seemingly forgetting the suitcase, the argument, your reasons for leaving. How delusional could he be?
"Alec, wait," you tried to interject, pulling back slightly. "You don't understand. This changes things. This is why I have to leave. I can't raise a child here, like this."
He pulled back, holding you at arm's length, his eyes shining with happiness, completely missing the despair in yours. "Leave? No, no, no. Y/N, this means you have to stay now! This is perfect! Everything's perfect! We're having a baby! We'll get married! We'll build a nursery! We'll buy a bigger place, maybe a house with a yard! Whatever you want! This... this is fate! This is the universe telling us we're meant to be, Y/N! That we're a family!"
He was already swept away by the fantasy, rewriting the narrative, using this as the ultimate justification for keeping you bound to him. His joy was manic, frightening in its intensity.
"Alec, listen to me!" you pleaded, trying to make him understand the gravity of your situation, not just the fact of the pregnancy. "I can't. I haven't forgiven you. We're not a real couple. You forced me to stay! You control every part of my life! I won't let my child grow up witnessing that!"
He laughed, shaking his head as if you were being silly. " Baby, with a baby on the way, everything changes! The past is the past! We have a future now! A family! And I'll be the best father! The best husband! I'll make sure you both have everything! More security, the best doctors, the best schools..."
He was already planning your life, their life, without any input from you, ignoring the fundamental problem of your captivity. His love, his joy, was still rooted in possession and control. The pregnancy hadn't freed you; it had potentially tightened the chains.
You felt a wave of nausea, not from morning sickness this time, but from sheer panic. You had hoped the pregnancy would be your ticket out, the undeniable reason you couldn't stay. Instead, it was just another leverage point for Alec, another reason for him to keep you close, to claim ownership.
The suitcase by the door seemed to shrink, its significance diminished in the face of Alec’s overwhelming, terrifying joy. He wasn't going to let you leave. Not now. Not with his child inside you. He was going to double down.
Just then, your phone buzzed with a notification. A text from Tia. U okay? Haven't heard from u much. You longed to tell her everything, to scream for help. But with Alec standing inches away, his eyes shining with possessive happiness, you knew it was impossible.
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
Months bled into each other, marked by the subtle changes in your body and the increasingly oppressive nature of Alec's devotion. He was consumed by the pregnancy. Every meal was monitored, every walk (escorted, of course) kept brief, every potential stressor eliminated with ruthless efficiency.
His clinginess intensified tenfold. He insisted on accompanying you to every doctor's appointment, sitting close, holding your hand, asking the doctor questions with a paternal intensity that might have been charming in a different man. He’d buy boxes upon boxes of maternity wear, tiny baby clothes, nursery furniture an avalanche of luxury goods that filled rooms, a physical manifestation of his overwhelming focus on the future, on the 'real family' he was finally getting. He would spend evenings with his head against your growing belly, talking to the baby in a soft, almost reverent tone that sent shivers down your spine.
"Can you feel that, little one?" he'd whisper. "That's your daddy. I can't wait to meet you."
Yet, the past still lay between you like a chasm. Your coldness, the lack of genuine warmth in your responses, the way you still flinched at his touch sometimes none of his efforts, none of the lavish gifts, none of the baby preparations had bridged the gap created by his betrayal and the force with which he'd brought you back. And despite the pregnancy, despite your growing discomfort and exhaustion, the forceful intimacy hadn't entirely ceased, though perhaps less frequent. It was a constant reminder of the power imbalance, of your body not being entirely your own, even now.
He was tired of it. Tired of the distance in your eyes, the polite mask you wore. He wanted the past erased as easily as he erased people from his life.
Already 4 months into the pregnancy, your body heavy with the child you were carrying, the silence in the vast apartment was broken only by the distant hum of the city. You were in the living room, curled on the plush sofa, feeling tired and weary. The physical toll of pregnancy mirrored the emotional exhaustion that had become your constant companion. The silence within you was louder than any external sound.
Alec came home later than usual. You heard the subtle click of the lock, the quiet closing of the heavy door, signs that he was trying to be unobtrusive. But the air around him was thick with a different energy tonight, a coiled tension that prickled your skin. He didn't come straight to you, which was unusual. His footsteps led away, likely to his study. You heard the low murmur of his voice, sharp and commanding, on a phone call. You couldn't make out the specific words, but the tone was unmistakable. Power. Control. Finality.
He hung up, and the apartment fell silent again before his footsteps approached, slow and deliberate this time. He appeared in the doorway of the living room, his expression unreadable for a moment, before he smoothed it into the familiar mask of the devoted partner. He came to sit beside you, the sofa dipping slightly under his weight. His arm went around your shoulders, pulling you gently against his side. You stiffened slightly, a reaction he still seemed hurt by after all this time. He sighed softly, a sound that was half genuine fatigue, half performance.
"Rough day?" you asked, your voice flat, devoid of the warmth he constantly sought.
He pulled you closer against his side, his hand beginning to stroke your arm in a slow, repetitive motion that was meant to be soothing but felt like another chain.
"Something like that. Dealing with loose ends." He paused, his gaze fixed on something across the room, then it shifted to you. The intensity was back. "I'm tired of you being upset, Y/N. Tired of you looking at me like that."
"Like what?" you asked, turning your head slightly to meet his eyes, careful to keep your own expression neutral.
"Like I'm still the villain," he said, his voice dropping to a low murmur, laced with a frustration you recognized. "Like you can't move past it." His hand, which had been stroking your arm, moved down, resting gently, almost reverently, on your belly. The unintended life growing inside you. "We're having a baby," he continued, his tone shifting, trying to conjure a shared dream.
"We need to be happy. A real family."
A real family built on lies and coercion, the silent thought screamed in your head. Before you could respond, before you could decide whether to voice the bitter retort or simply sink deeper into the silence, there was a knock on the apartment door. Not the usual soft chime for staff or expected guests, but a hesitant, slightly fumbling rap. It was a sound that felt out of place in this meticulously controlled environment.
Alec got up, a strange, calculating look on his face. He went to the door, opening it just enough to peer out into the hallway. He said something low, too quiet for you to hear, his body language unreadable. Then, he swung the door open wide.
Standing there, framed by the opulent doorway, looking fragile and gaunt in cheap, ill-fitting clothes that hung loosely on her frame, was Ada.
She was a ghost of the woman you remembered the confident, sultry woman who had strolled into your life and flaunted her brief, destructive entanglement with Alec. Her usual loud makeup was gone, replaced by a sallow pallor. Her eyes, once bright and challenging, were wide with fear, darting around the opulent hallway and into the apartment. Her face was drawn, her lips chapped. She looked like she hadn’t slept, or eaten properly, in weeks, perhaps longer.
You felt a shock ripple through you. You hadn’t seen or heard of Ada since Alec had systematically dismantled her life. You had thought you would be angry when you saw her again, incandescent with rage, or even jealous, some lingering ember of insecurity flaring up. But now, seeing her standing there, pathetic and broken, all you felt was a profound, unsettling pity. She was only a shadow of the woman she was, clearly physically and mentally devastated by whatever torments Alec had subjected her to.
"Come in, Ada," Alec said, his voice carefully neutral, devoid of warmth.
She stepped inside hesitantly, her eyes still darting around the vast, luxurious space. They landed on you, standing by the sofa. A flicker of something shame? terror? crossed her face before her gaze dropped. She looked terrified, undeniably and utterly petrified of Alec.
"Ada," you said, standing up fully now, your voice surprised, guarded, and tinged with that strange pity.
"Y/N," Ada whispered, her voice hoarse, barely audible.
Alec moved slightly behind Ada, placing a hand lightly on her back, not a comforting touch, but a subtle, firm nudge, as if they had choreographed this moment beforehand. Ada flinched instinctively at his touch, her body tensing with fear.
"Y/N" Alec said, addressing you but looking at Ada, his eyes conveying a silent, chilling command. "Ada needs to tell you something."
Ada swallowed hard, her eyes fixed on the expensive Persian rug. She wrung her hands nervously. Alec’s gaze remained fixed on her, a silent pressure urging her to speak.
Finally, she raised her head, her eyes finding yours. They were filled with a raw, miserable honesty. "Y/N," she began, her voice trembling. "I... I messed up. Badly."
You watched her, your expression unreadable. Part of you wanted to hear it, wanted the apology she owed you, wanted some acknowledgment of the hurt she had caused. But another part of you just wanted this spectacle to end, wanted her gone, wanted Alec’s disturbing control to recede, even for a moment.
"I was jealous," Ada confessed, her voice gaining a fragile strength as the words tumbled out, whether from a desperate need to placate Alec or a genuine need to unburden herself, you couldn't tell.
"So, so jealous of you. Of what you had. Of... of how Alec looked at you" She gestured vaguely towards Alec, a flicker of defiance in her eyes that was immediately quenched by a terrified glance at him.
"I saw how perfect your life seemed, how everyone admired you, and I wanted it. Or I wanted to ruin it. I don't even know anymore."
She took a shaky breath. "When he... when Alec and I... it meant nothing to him. It was just a moment. But I thought... I thought I could use it. Use it to get under your skin, maybe even break you two up." She shook her head, a pained, self-deprecating smile touching her lips.
"Stupid, I know. I didn't realize... I didn't realize how far he'd go." Her voice cracked. "I thought I was hurting you, maybe hurting him a little. I didn't know he'd... dismantle everything. Everything I had." Her gaze dropped again, filled with fear and regret. "I'm sorry, Y/N. Truly. I'm so, so sorry for sending that message, for everything."
You looked at Ada, at the wreckage of a woman standing before you, and then at Alec, standing behind her, his expression unreadable, observing the scene he had engineered. You saw the fear in Ada’s eyes, the visible flinch away from Alec.
"Ada," you said, your voice quiet. "Your life is ruined. You said it yourself. Because of him." You gestured to Alec. "What good is an apology now?"
Ada looked from you to Alec, her eyes widening in renewed panic. She seemed to understand, the unspoken purpose of her presence dawning on her fully. "I... he said... he said if I just came and explained, he'd... he'd help me. Let me go."
Alec’s face remained impassive. He stepped closer to Ada, his large frame looming over her fragile one. "She's explained, Y/N," he said, his voice dangerously smooth. "She's confessed her... jealousy. And her mistake."
Ada let out a small whimper, a sound like a trapped animal. She tried to step away from Alec, her eyes darting frantically towards the door.
Before you could process his words, before Ada could react, Alec twisted. His right arm snaked around Ada’s neck from behind, his forearm pressing against her throat with brutal force. A sickening crunch echoed in the silent, opulent apartment, a sound that instantly stole the air from your lungs. Ada’s eyes bulged, wide with shock and agony. Her hands scrabbled weakly at Alec's arm wrapped around her neck, her body convulsed for a brief, horrifying moment, a silent, desperate fight for a life that was already gone. Then, her body went limp. The brief struggle ended as quickly as it began. Alec released her, and she crumpled to the expensive rug, a heap of bone and cheap fabric, utterly still.
The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the rapid, frantic beating of your own heart. You stood frozen, your body trembling uncontrollably. On the floor, a woman lay dead, her neck unnaturally angled, her eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. Alec stood over her, tall and unruffled, his chest rising and falling evenly, as if he had simply swatted a fly.
You trembled, not just from the shock, but from the sheer, mind-numbing horror of his delusion. He had just murdered a woman, a woman whose life he had already systematically destroyed, right in front of you, in your home. And for what? To remove the ghost of a mistake he had made? To somehow make you forget?
Alec turned back to you, his face softening, the tension of moments ago replaced by a sickeningly calm, almost tender expression. He took a step towards you, closing the small distance between you and the dead body on the floor. He reached out, his hand, the same hand that had just broken a woman’s neck, gentle as it moved to rest on the swell of your belly. His touch felt like ice through your dress.
Your breath coming in ragged gasps. "Alec... what... what have you done?" you whispered, your voice barely audible.
“This is a fresh start, baby,” he murmured, his voice a soft caress. “She’s gone. You won’t have to be plagued by what happened anymore.” He smiled, a gentle, loving smile that didn’t reach his cold eyes. “It’s just us now. Our family.”
I LOVE THIS SERIES SO MUCH IM NOT EVEN JOKING BECAUSE?????
Ughh one of my most guiltiest pleasures is yandere cheater and this series just hits all the gut wrenching marks perfectly!!! The descent into madness, the ultimatum,?? The longing for escape and the luxurity of it all makes me wanna scream!!! HOLY S*** its so amazing I loved every moment reading this all the characters and how the cheating felt to be more spur in the momebt than something that would make me complete hate him??? AHHHH I LOVE THE COMPLEXITY, I NEED TO RE READ THIS 10000
I was litetally brought into a whole different world my mind was locked in imagining all yhe scenes unraveling UGHHH
⊹₊⟡⋆ gravity hurts (you made it so sweet) 🤍 caleb 以昼.𖥔 ݁ ˖
⋆˙⟡pairing: caleb x nonmc! reader
⋆˙⟡word count: 17.3k (i wrote a book lol)
⋆˙⟡summary: the three of you have been the best of friends ever since you remembered, and although your love for Caleb wasn’t exactly the friendly kind, you were more than happy to have him close. But who would’ve thought that one night by yourselves would end this way? The warmth of acceptance and the sting of the heartbreak that came after, and among all of it—a lost boy desperate to make it right.
⋆˙⟡tags: 18+, mdni!!! NOT a love triangle!! mc is treated as a caleb’s sis in this one, the reader and mc and caleb are friends!! best of friends!! unrequited love!! but not really, angst, angst with happy ending, misunderstandings, or more like lies, love confessions obsessed caleb, kinda pathetic caleb, insecure caleb, he cries, we cry, everyone literally cries, first times, but the scene is quite short, they love each other so much, my babies, please read it.
⋆˙⟡writer’s note: my first ever commission for my wonderful stella 🥺 i hope you like it baby and i hope all of u will like it too, despite the length. i wanted to stretch it in time so that the reconciliation at the end wouldn’t be forced. i hope you’ll read it and like it, i loved writing for caleb 🤍
!!likes, reblogs and comments, pls comment, would be appreciated ♡ let me know what u think!
* 20+ unread messages from [ my miss hunter!<3 ]*
✉︎ baby what happened, where are you?
✉︎ you don’t pick up and even read my messages, i don’t know what’s happening, are you okay?
✉︎ caleb’s going totally ap(pl)eshit pun intended god i hope if you’re reading this you laughed at least. PLEASE write back or i’ll join him.
✉︎ he’s actually going insane, does he know something? he refuses to tell me anything, what happened between you guys? i was absent for literally one meeting, did you throw hands or something? he seems really unstable, like, much more than usual and he already had issues before, that’s for SURE.
✉︎ i’m so sorry for joking. i’m just really worried. it’s been a week. please respond to me, i don’t know what to do. i need to know you’re safe.
✉︎ what did he do? now i know that he’s at fault here, he’s acting insane.
✉︎ he’s not sleeping. i don’t think he’s eating either? he looks like a walking corpse and he’s still looking for you everywhere. i’m not sure who’s managing the fleet now but for sure not him.
✉︎ he’s not saying a single word. i know now that he must’ve done something, he’s not just worried, he’s fucking terrified and to be honest i am too. it’s been almost two weeks now, please answer me.
✉︎ i swear i won’t tell him anything. just please respond.
It was supposed to be a day like any other.
You, her, him—sitting together, eating your favorite food, maybe watching one of the movies MC somehow always managed to convince you to watch. Such nights always ended in the same way: with you sleeping next to her, right on Caleb’s bed. The gruesome scenes replayed behind your closed eyelids, your body nearly sprawled on top of your friend, your hand gripping hers—too tightly to just be affectionate. Caleb’s laugh echoed through his apartment, jokes and jabs aimed right at you, spoken in soft tones from his usual spot on the couch, where he always slept during your sleepovers.
And while you were pouting and trying to defend yourself from his absolutely false accusations of being a scaredy-cat, it was always his little sister who defended you like a lioness. Her clever comebacks always softened his teasing nature towards you. But it was all just a silly little game—the truth was you didn’t mind being teased, you knew Caleb long enough to realize that it was just the way in which he showed affection. It just so happened that MC showed hers by protecting you and attacking Caleb right back, every time his teasing seemed to be endless.
“Easy, pip, I’m just tryin’ to get her mind off of that spoooky imitation of a movie.” He answered between quiet laughs, and a quiet scoff left your mouth, quickly followed by a small smile. “Besides, if she really was scared, she would sleep here with me. She would be much, much safer, right?” His question followed by your name, and you immediately sprung upwards to sit on your legs.
“As if! You would probably maul me in your sleep before any monster would even get a chance to reach me.” You answered quickly, your body turning toward the salon where he slept, your eyes meeting MC’s, shining with mirth in the darkness. You heard an exaggerated gasp from him, and you imagined how he probably looked right now: gripping his shirt right on top of his chest in a gesture feigning hurt.
“You wound me. I would protect you with all I have, my Evol, my Fleet, my annoying little sister—”
“Jerk!”
“—From any harm the flying sharks would want to cause you.” You laughed quietly, and you felt the tension in your shoulders slowly dissolving. MC’s faux-offended expression, along with his soft voice were doing a great job at melting the irrational fear you felt in your chest after the movie.
A second passed; then two, maybe three, while your eyes were looking through the huge glass walls, following the clouds that were drifting languidly outside. A sigh left your lips, and your hand squeezed that of MC, who was laying beside your sitting body, her eyes already closed. And when their laughs died down entirely, their breaths slowly evening out, preparing for a good night’s sleep, that’s when you decided to add one more thing.
“Laugh at me all you want, but it’s your fault for living so high up in the clouds, where all the flying sharks in the world have us literally handed to them on a silver platter. But fine, I don’t care anymore, eat up you little motherfu—”
“Oh my god—”
His bubbly laugh echoed loudly, bouncing off of the walls, filling the rooms, breaking the tranquil atmosphere that had fallen not so long ago. His sister’s body shook with laughter right next to yours, wide smile now present on your lips. Your silly joke landed exactly how you wanted it to land—concealing the fear still nestled inside you, simmering delicately just beneath the surface of your smile. Which was, despite their assumptions, not only caused by the abominations presented in the movie.
The enormous clouds, surrounding you from everywhere—that was what truly bothered you. The vastness and uncertainty of the sky which stretched out before you, visible through the glass walls, its eerie silence making the little hairs on your nape stand straight.
Sleepovers at Caleb’s place, which had happened occasionally ever since he moved to Skyhaven to study—and continued even after he became a Farspace Colonel—were something you had already got used to and looked forward to. But the location of his apartment, the surroundings and their quietness, the strangely uneasy privacy and stillness, especially at night—that was what made you so scared every time you were here.
You never told them about your little fear; you didn’t want to cause problems, especially when they were both so happy whenever the three of you found enough time for a sleepover, and Caleb’s place was perfect for accommodating all of you. Besides, you had your best friend, a literal Hunter, close to you, and Caleb’s presence right behind you, just a wall away. Your mind knew that you were safe, it was just your body that was having second thoughts in a form of occasional shivers and quickened heartbeat.
That’s why it always striked you whenever he seemed to notice your concealed discomfort, which this time happened an hour after you said your good night’s. Mc’s breath was already calm and steady, yours far from it, unwanted thoughts and the feeling of uncertainty making you lose your precious hours of sleep.
You heard him first: his calm steps, quiet breath. You saw him second: his head peeking through the door frame, eyes wide open, not clouded with sleep, landing straight on yours. His body approached the bed frame, and he crouched slowly by your side, a small smile adorning his lips. And you felt him at last: his huge, warm hand searched for yours under the covers, and proceeded to hold it gently, his thumb caressing the back of your knuckles in a comforting gesture. You were familiar with such touches, both him and his sister were touchy-feely ever since you remember. So you reciprocated his smile, tiredness clutching to your lashes, yet mind still refusing to rest.
“Are you okay? I heard you tossin’ and turnin’.” He whispered, whether to avoid waking his sister up or to not disturb your precious moment, you weren’t sure. You met his beautiful, sparkling eyes, which always made your stomach twist with longing, and you already started to feel better. His gaze was so gentle, so earnest that your heart decided to switch the reason of its rapid beating from fear to a complete adoration.
You were laying on your side, a pillow warm underneath your cheek, and your hand squeezed his in an answer to his worry. You noticed that his hands were dry and rugged, but so pleasantly warm. And so were your cheeks, their color fortunately hidden from his watchful eyes behind the curtain of the darkness.
“Yeah, don’t worry. I’m just a little uneasy, that’s all.” Which wasn’t exactly a lie, but his eyes were giving you skeptical signals as if he knew exactly what you were hiding.
The truth that the sky and space scared you, when he was the one who was constantly covered by the clouds, was always embarrassing to admit out loud. And thankfully, he never pressed you to do it.
Instead, he hummed, his chin resting on the edge of the bed, his eyes landing on your clasped hands, thumb sliding through your fingers back and forth. You knew he had no idea, but that slight touch was enough to make you shiver, your heart filled with unspoken, overwhelming emotions towards the one who was supposed to just be your best friend.
“But you know you can always come to me, right? The couch is really cozy and maybe you would feel safer there, somehow. Aaand, I’m much bigger than her. More comfortable too, I’m sure.” Your lips turned up in a smile, and your eyes closed for a second, trying to focus on calming your heart down. When you finally opened them, he was looking right at you with an unreadable expression. His face seemed to get closer to yours too, most likely unknowingly.
From such proximity you could see the freckles that covered his face like small specks of cosmic dust, that you have always longed to trace with your fingers. His eyes were also a sight to behold, even in the darkness they shined so brightly, violet mixed with a hint of a sunset, always so full of wonder and awe, looking right back at you. He was so handsome, even covered only by the moonlight, when you always thought that a warm sunlight suit him best.
“We’re not kids anymore, Caleb. Sleeping in the same bed would be a little bit weird, don’t you think?” He scoffed under his breath, and you bit your lip, not wanting your true emotions to appear on your face. Desperate to not let him know how much you’d like to join him, to fall asleep resting in his embrace.
“I don’t.” His reply instant, a sure whisper, accompanied by a slight shift of his head. His hair looked so soft, the strands falling into his eyes, making you want to reach out and fix them. His faint freckles seemed to flicker, once again catching your attention, teasing you to give each one of them a small kiss. But you knew that you didn’t have the right to. “Besides, we’re friends. You know I would never touch you or anything. You’re safe with me.”
These exact words echoed through your mind months later, a memory fresh and vivid, the only one you could think of when your heart wanted to beat straight out of your chest.
I would never touch you.
You remembered him saying, on that day that was supposed to be like any other, yet MC cancelled on you at the last moment. You were already drinking boba next to the relaxed Caleb, leaving you two alone for the first time in what felt like forever. An emergency mission, was her excuse, and although you were upset that she couldn’t make it, the happiness of finally being able to spend some time with Caleb, whom you missed just as much, was enough to raise your mood back up.
I would never touch you.
That sentence swirled inside your head, hours after you both went out for a hotpot, sharing a meal filled with laughter, catching up on nothing and everything all at once. You always had fun together, the years of friendship formed thanks to MC made you comfortable with one another, the banter teasing but affectionate, the atmosphere warm and familiar. Later you went for a walk in the park, searching for squirrels, and sending MC pictures of every single one you managed to spot with a short caption ‘You’. After that, you also stopped at the arcade to play with claw machines for some time: you managed to win a small cat plushie for MC, while Caleb gave you a similar one he got for you when you weren’t looking. And then, after the sun had long since set, you went back to his place—in the same way you always did when meeting up in Skyhaven. But this time, you two were completely alone.
I would never touch you.
And yet, by heavens, you thought that after that night there wasn’t any place on your body he left untouched. Not when he was paying such a close attention to you, his hands wandering absolutely everywhere, accompanied by his shaken breaths and whispers full of worship and wonder.
You weren’t sure who kissed whom first, your mouths connecting unexpectedly, meeting right in the middle, the movie you put on a while ago still playing in the background. The flakes of popcorn scattered everywhere around you; the bowl had fallen from your hands, so desperate was he to pull you to himself the moment he dared to push his tongue past your lips—uncertainly at first—only to feel how quickly you accepted him.
You were almost dizzy with happiness of finally having him this close, touching at his hair, neck, shoulders, waist. He was holding you in his arms tightly, squeezing your waist, while you sat comfortably on his crossed legs, lips sealed to his. But suddenly, your head became heavy the moment the gravity of the situation pulled you down. You pushed him away, pressing your hands to his broad shoulders.
You parted with a gasp, your breath uneven, cheeks burning with embarrassment.
He didn’t look any better, if his equally red cheeks and tousled hair were any indicator. His slightly chapped lips chased after yours, eyes lidded and brows furrowed when he felt the loss of your warmth.
“C—Caleb, wait, stop, what on earth are we doing—” You tried to reason, your legs struggling to stand, your heart uncertain what it truly meant to him. A panic overtook you, your true feelings suddenly out in the open, composure lost in a moment of weakness. You remember meeting his eyes in the room lit only by his TV, his head already turned your way, closer than it ever was before. That’s all it took; the sudden closeness, his intense, lingering gaze and hand reaching your way, for you to start making rush decisions.
He didn’t let you escape. In one quick motion you were grabbed by your arms and pushed back into his chest. His hands softly squeezed the flesh, his head fell onto your shoulder listlessly. Dark hair brushed at your neck when you heard his shaky breaths, his body trembling under the touch of your fingers, which now rested on his torso. They were the only barrier keeping you from melting entirely into his embrace.
“No, please—please. Don’t go.” He choked out, his voice pained, his forehead nuzzling up to the juncture between your shoulder and neck. His lips touched your neck, and you gasped. “Don’t go. Don’t run away from me. Please.” A quiet plea, which made you close your eyes in an attempt to finally think; think of the reason it happened, think of the ways in which it would affect your friendship, think of what it truly meant for him.
Afraid that the answer would hurt you.
Your head suddenly felt too heavy for your body, mind spiraling with possible answers, when you heard his voice once again, loud and certain against your heated skin.
“I dreamed of this—Of you—” He nuzzled at your neck, sending a shiver throughout your whole body, your chest squeezing, the implication slowly uncovering into something crystal clear. “Of holding you. Touching you, like this—” His fingers started a gentle trial up your spine and you pressed your body closer to his on impulse. His left hand buried in your hair, softly touching your scalp, and he finally lifted his head to meet your gaze. He looked ruined; eyes glossy and eyebrows scrunched in an image resembling an anguish. His eyes were shifting between yours and your lips, which you were biting in uncertainty. “For so, so long, you have no idea how I—”
“Caleb—”
“Let me. Let me kiss you one more time, just once.” The last word a desperate whisper, his eyes stuck on your lips, his head getting closer and closer with every second, as though he psychically couldn’t help himself. He cupped your cheek and placed his thumb on your bottom lip, pulling it from the confines of your teeth, his touch feather-light. A quiet grunt left him and he met your eyes again, your hands going to grab him by the shoulders to gain more balance. You were getting dizzy, his proximity maddening, his touches and honeyed words overwhelming. “I was always scared to be alone with you like this, and this is the reason. I knew that the moment you let me, I will continue to take, take, take…” He closed his eyes, his forehead falling onto yours, your heavy breaths already mingling. The hand on your cheek started shaking, but a calloused thumb never stopped caressing your skin. “You can say ‘no’ to me. You can say ‘no’ alright? Just—please. Please say somethin’. Anything. You’re so quiet and it’s killin’ me here—”
“I—I want the same thing. Caleb, I—” You finally breathed out, your eyes half opened, lowered to look at his chest, where laid a necklace you and MC gave him quite a while ago, before his first trip to Skyhaven. That memory appeared behind your lashes, along with MC’s face, the image making you halt momentarily. “Oh God, but what about MC? Wouldn’t she be weirded out when we suddenly—” You flinched again, and this time he caught you instantly, his big hands reaching for yours, pressing them into his forehead like a prayer, then huffing out a low laugh.
“She knows. She figured me out ages ago.” You didn’t hide your surprise, your heart beating so quickly you thought it will beat straight out of your chest. “You don’t have to worry about anythin’, alright? If only you feel—You fell the way I do, then I—”
“Ages…?” The word stuck inside your head, the implications making your eyes sparkle. He lowered your hands to rest flat on his chest, and you felt it—the thump of his heart matching yours, a rapid, uneven beat that could only mean one thing.
“Ages.” He answered surely, his violet eyes glued entirely to yours, his hand covering your palms. And when he nudged your nose with his, silently asking for permission, you found that you didn’t have any reason to refuse him anymore.
Not when you wanted him just as passionately.
Your lips met his again in a kiss so intense it was nearly bruising, your hands going over his neck, your mouth swallowing down his sigh of contentment. His hands quickly found their way under your t-shirt; grabbing and holding, caressing and squeezing everywhere he could touch.
I would never touch you.
And yet he did. He did and continued throughout the whole night, his hands never leaving your body, his lips almost permanently sealed to your soft skin, the quiet laughs and whispers of reassurance filling the entire room, your body almost floating even without his Evol, lifted by the feelings of finally being accepted. Of loving and being loved in return.
“You’re perfect. Perfect for me. I have seen countless sunsets above the clouds, and you are far more beautiful than any of them. Absolutely—” He choked out, his slow thrusts making you see stars, his sculpted body covering yours completely, mindful not to crush you in the process. His movements slightly awkward at times, totally inexperienced but you didn’t mind—it was your first time too, after all.
You had boyfriends before, but the relationships never lasted long. He was the first one you managed to open up to. The first one you were able to trust fully, the only man you ever loved. So how could you ever think of doing it with someone else?
“—magnificent. I can’t believe I get to have you like this… I—Ah—I still think that I must be dreamin’, what if I wake up and you’ll disappear? That’s how it always was. A lucid dream, a cry for even a scrap of—of your attention, and now you’re—” Your hands were gripping his biceps, leaving half moons in the glistening skin. Soft sighs were escaping your lips, along with the tears streaming down your cheeks, whether from the intensity of your feelings or the tight way he fit inside you, you weren’t sure. You closed your eyes and let him press more kisses along your shoulder and neck, cheek and lips, the very same ones to which he continued to speak his praises. “And now you are beneath me, f-fuck—Utterly beautiful. The best thing that ever happen’ to me, I knew that I was doomed ever since I met you—” You moaned his name and he smiled, his lips landing on your wet eyelashes, kissing the tears that had yet to come out. His lips were softer now, entirely covered in your chapstick, tasting of sweet apples and something that you already recognized as undeniably him. There was a hand placed under your back, bringing you even closer to his body, his hips moving more steadily, mouth attacking your breasts, making you shiver in pleasure. His hands were going up and down the sides of your body, a gentle touch, meant to bring comfort.
“Caleb—please. Faster, I can’t, I need—” Your hands went to grab his hair, pulling at the strands, making him moan, his body shaking. He looked at you as with so much adoration you thought you were dreaming.
“Okay, okay—Mmm—I got you. I—I got you, darlin’, I always got you. But if it was up to me I would have you like this the whole night long.” He lifted you up in a way that you were now straddling his thighs and sat down, not stopping his thrusts, his hands resting on your waist. Every single indication of inexperience he made up in passion, desperation and enthusiasm, always putting your pleasure above everything else. You opened your mouth in another gasp, his hips rutting into you without stopping, his arms circled around your body, refusing to let you get away even for a second. Not that you ever wanted to leave the safety of his hold. “I got you, my sweet girl. And will never let you go, never. You’re so adorable, so clever, so so kind and precious, you are—”
“—Annoying and too clingy to be honest. When you get to know her better, that is. Sooo, going after her would be a total waste of time, then.”
A quiet gasp, torn out of you suddenly, violently.
Unexpectedly.
You froze, your heart stopping, along with your hand which was already raised to push open the door to Caleb’s room. His voice, even though muffled by the door, was still perfectly distinguishable to you, having heard it even in your dreams by now.
You only came back for your makeup bag, which you had hastily left at his place this morning, the night after your moment of closeness, having overslept for work. You only managed to kiss his adorable sleeping head goodbye, wear the clothes from the day before and run through his door, smile not coming off of your face the whole day long, despite the slight soreness in your limbs.
It was reminiscent of your night together; that’s why it didn’t bother you. The night that was supposed to change everything for the better, the night that your feelings turned out to be reciprocated.
Or so you thought.
You knew that he was having a boys’ night—he told you during your hangout the day before, how excited he was to finally reunite with some of his college friends, after Gideon managed to get a hold of everyone. But you still hoped to quickly collect your things, maybe steal a small kiss or two.
You just hoped to see him again, even for a moment.
A second, nothing more.
You only wanted to—
“And she’s kinda afraid of flying, sooo not exactly a good girlfriend material for a pilot, guys.” His laugh, although a little nervous, made the crack in your heart spread further. “If she weren’t my lil sister’s friend, I wouldn’t wanna pay her any mind—”
Crash.
Loud and echoing, pierced through the living room where you were standing, your hands shaking. One hand went straight to cover your mouth, which opened in utter disbelief.
At first you thought it was the sound of your heart breaking; exploding into millions and millions of pieces, from the way it squeezed painfully in your chest upon hearing the words undoubtedly coming out of his mouth. You nearly screamed in anguish, the scenes from the night before appearing in your mind, the wonderful things he said to you reverberating inside your ears, the ghost of his touch still lingering on your skin—his rugged hands so soft, so gentle, the touch loving, worshipping so why—
“Who’s there?” His uncharacteristically harsh voice reached your ears but you had no idea what was happening. You felt as if you were underwater, all sounds quieted down, your body moving in slow motion.
You looked at your feet and saw your makeup scattered before you, the actual source of the crashing sound, coming from the small bottles hitting his apartment floor. Your hands apparently too shaky, too numb to hold the makeup bag after hearing his words. A dagger to your heart would hurt less, you thought, your vision getting blurry, your legs taking a few steps backwards, the movement awkward, your body suddenly too heavy for you to move.
Why did you come back? Why were you here? Why did you need to hear such things coming from the same mouth that had whispered sweet nothings to your ear for hours on end, not even a day before?
You raised your head abruptly, tears staining your cheeks now, when you heard rapid footsteps coming from the other side of the door. The ones you would recognize absolutely everywhere.
You choked down a sob and bolted straight for the door, your shaky hands fumbling with the lock for a second—enough to give him time to process the situation at hand, to connect every single dot, to notice your makeup sprawled on the floor and maybe your pathetic little teardrops lying among it.
That’s what you were. That’s who you made yourself to be. A pathetic little fool, for kissing him, opening up to him, giving so much to him in such a short amount of time when in reality all he thought of you was—
“No. No. Oh, no, no, no, no, fuck, fuck, please, wait, no!” You heard him shouting your name the moment you opened the door and bolted for the elevator. You did not bother closing the door, he already knew that you were there just a second before. He already realized what you heard, even though the true meaning of his words still felt like a fever dream, a nightmare that was unfolding right before you, painful and so, so, unbearably cruel you feared you will pass out the moment your eyes met his face.
You needed to get out of there. You needed to go outside, to breathe, to find the air he stolen from you so suddenly.
Fortunately, the elevator was waiting for you, a spec of light in the darkness of the situation, and you jumped right in, your hand frantically pressing the close button over and over again, even faster now that you heard him running down the hallway to reach you.
Ironically, this time, the luck was on your side.
His shadow was the only thing you could see before the door closed, cutting him off completely. The echoing thump of his fists hitting the surface of it made you flinch.
“No! Fuck! No, no, please!”
Your name reached your ears, desperate, panicked.
But you were already on your way down, tears falling freely, your hands squeezing at your collar, at the material covering your chest, at anything you could reach just to lessen the pain of your heart breaking. Your knees shaky, threatened to give out but you were holding onto the knowledge that he was still following you, and you absolutely couldn’t let him catch you. That’s why, you refused to let yourself break before you were sure that you were somewhere safe.
And it paid off. You miraculously managed to ascape from him, that day.
And many, many days after that.
* 50+ messages from [ ur caleb!<3 ] *
✉︎ please, let me explain myself. I can only imagine what youve heard and I need you to listen to me, please.
✉︎ what I said wasn’t true. everything youve heard was a big fucking lie and I need to tell that to your face, you have to believe me.
✉︎ please don’t do this to me, I know that I deserve it but you have to hear me out, please.
✉︎ answer me.
✉︎ I beg you, give me anything. I need to know youre safe. I can’t locate your phone is it turned off? I don’t know if youre safe. please.
✉︎ its torture. its my fault I need to see you and tell you everything just let me see you. let me find you.
✉︎ I need to find you.
✉︎ I miss you.
✉︎ I need you, don’t leave me in this loneliness any longer, I will do anything. anything to earn your forgiveness, even if i have to work my whole life for it I will, even if you say that you don’t ever want to see me anymore I will stay out of your sight, I just need to tell you the truth, I need to see you and tell you what I really feel, not that awful lie youve heard me saying I wish I could turn back time and scrape these disgusting words out of my mouth.
✉︎ I will do anything for you. I will do anything for only a second of seeing you, I will fulfill your every wish, every desire and unspoken craving just for a second of your time, for a chance to say that I’m sorry.
✉︎ It ruins me, the thought that you may still think that what you heard me saying was true, you are not reading my messages and you probably still think that I meant it. I’m going insane, I’m losing my mind, I need you. I need to see you.
✉︎ I searched for you everywhere and I still haven’t found you, but I won’t stop, I will never stop searching for you even if it kills me, even if you will be the last thing I see, I will find you.
✉︎ baby, please. sweetheart. my treasure. please let me explain myself. where are you? where haven’t I searched yet? how did you manage to escape me?
✉︎ you know me too well, that’s how. you knew where I will be looking for you and you took advantage of that, my smart girl.
✉︎ but this one time, I wish you made a mistake. even a small one, a millisecond long. because I’m waiting and I’m ready to find you. and I will find you. you know me and how stubborn I am. I will never stop looking, you have to come back at some point. and i will get to you before that. I promise. wait for me.
Three weeks have passed since you last saw Caleb—the memory of his betrayal still fresh, and the wounds he inflicted on your heart with his cruel words still open and bleeding.
But the tears were no longer staining your cheeks, and a mere thought of him didn’t make you panic anymore. At least, not when you knew that he wouldn’t be able to find you here.
After you left his apartment that day, you knew that he would search for you, taking into account his desperation to catch you when you were running away. Yet you couldn’t bear to look him in the face, not after what happened between you, and how humiliated he made you feel.
You thought that he felt the same, that maybe he loved you, but it seemed that he was just playing with your feelings. That you must’ve been an easy target. And you just couldn’t believe it, no matter how frequently you repeated the things he said in your mind, both to you during the night and the to his friends during the day. You knew him ever since you were children, his presence constant in your life, even if you were not seeing each other that often after he relocated to Skyhaven. He was always there for you, and for MC, no matter what happened, his care and friendship something you got used to long time ago.
If she weren’t my lil sister’s friend, I wouldn’t wanna pay her any mind.
Was your friendship always only a huge lie? Were you unknowingly only a burden, a nuisance that he had to put up with, because of your friendship with his sister?
And that night, when he was holding you so gently, treating you with such kindness and devotion, whispering the things you dreamed about hearing from him for so long, was it also something he did just because you were easy to manipulate? The easiest choice, a familiar body to satisfy his needs with?
And God, did he know about your true feelings before all of it went down?
You shook your head, trying to stop another train of thoughts, fighting with yourself not to break down in tears again. You came here not only to temporarily run away from him, you also wanted to take your time and relax, to calm the storm brewing inside your head, to survive that heartbreak and breakdown on your own terms, without anyone’s nagging or judgmental stares. Without others telling you what you were supposed to feel.
You fixed your sunhat, the slight wind making your hair gently caress your face, and you went down from the ladder, a basket full of fresh cherries hanging from your arm. You sighed, the fresh air and the smell of fruit filling your nose trills, reminding you that you were far, far away from Skyhaven and Linkon, the places that held too many painful memories.
Here, you were safe, because no one knew about your little, peaceful gateway, which was long ago introduced to you by one of your distant cousins. It was a peaceful little plot of land, belonging to one of your family members, a place they visited occasionally, usually in the summertime. And now, that small house in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by the trees of fruit, fields of flowers and tranquil atmosphere were exactly what you needed to get back on your feet.
You took a sick leave from work for a whole month, and you were planning to use that time to soften your dark thoughts and harden your skin before the gravity of the situation and its consequences met you upon your return to Linkon. Before you would have to inevitably face Caleb—the one you were trying to avoid at all costs.
“Here you are, auntie.” You approached her crouched figure, her hands paused in their strawberry picking, and she looked up at you with gratitude in her eyes.
“Thank you sweetie, you helped me so much.” She answered and stood up, taking off her gloves and stuffing them into the pocket of her baggy jeans, covered in strawberry juice and grass. A huge smile lit up her face, and you couldn’t help but return one just as bright, shaking your head.
“Oh, please, that’s the least I can do. I should be the one thanking you for letting me stay here.” You fixed your hat once again and went up to a bucket filled with rainwater, so that you could wash the cherries from your skin. “I haven’t known such peace in a long time, really. The air is so refreshing, the scenery so beautiful, and I’m visiting the orchard everyday. I probably ate half of your crops by now, like some kind of a pest.”
“Oh, stop it!” She playfully swatted your butt with a rug, and you giggled, snatching it from her to use it to dry your hands. “You’re always welcome here, you know that. Besides, you are a huge help with harvesting fruit each week. I always bring my boy with me, but as you can see, he’s nowhere in sight.” You laughed and picked up the basket with cherries again, as well as the one she was holding before. You peaked inside it and noticed that it was filled with strawberries and raspberries, a perfect amount for a snack. You opened your mouth and let her place one small strawberry inside it, the sweet juice filling your mouth, making you momentarily forget about your worries.
Everything here was just so peaceful and easy.
“It’s that age. He’s more interested in exploring than in sitting around and picking fruit. I was a chaotic kid, too.” You answered and she sighed, your walk to her truck much shorter than you wanted it to be. You placed the baskets inside the vehicle and saw the boy’s hair from where he sat in the passenger seat. You ruffled his hair, and he appeared startled, his hand immediately reaching up to fix it, a blush spreading to the tips of his ears.
“Chaotic and addicted to gaming, that’s what he really is.” She answered as you stepped back from the truck to hug her goodbye. She offered you a ride back to the house but you decided to stay in the orchard. The sun was still far from setting, and you wanted to read under the tress and snack on the fruits for a while longer.
You also remembered to thank her for delivering your letter to MC last week, in which you told her that you were safe, and apologized for not reaching out to her sooner, explaining that you will be back after some time alone. You decided to restrain from mentioning that you had to turn off your phone the moment you escaped from Caleb’s apartment, knowing damn well that if you didn’t, he would be able to track your location without any issue. You knew him and his little tricks like the back of your hand, or at least, that’s what you thought before everything that happened recently.
You were already waving goodbye to them, when it happened.
The boy opened the car door and handed you something, his small hands quick and secretive. Your eyes opened wide, and your smile faltered instantly, recognizing the weight.
“Sorry for taking it, mom never lets me take mine and I get so bored here… But I charged it for you!” He said your name and looked at you apologetically, his round eyes shining excitedly. You gulped, your mouth opening slightly, struggling to find your voice. “You can delete the game now. Oh, and you got a loooot of messages, are you, like, famous?” He asked in a hushed tone, then flinched when the aunt called out to him. He hugged your waist tightly, clearly thankful for your unintentional lending of possession, and went back to the truck, his small hand waving at you through the window until they disappeared from sight, turning onto the main road.
Leaving you by yourself, speechless, your hands full of something you avoided like fire throughout your stay here. The only thing that could betray your location.
A phone.
The one you intentionally turned off and left on the bedside cabinet inside the house.
Your phone.
A device that was Caleb’s only way of tracking you, now lit up after weeks of lying unused, for the purpose of your escape.
“No way, no, no, no, no.” You mumbled, your shaking hands going straight to turn it off, the device turning black again, your panicked gaze staring back at you from its small screen. You closed your eyes and hugged the phone to your chest, praying that it hadn’t been turned long enough for him to track you. For him to notice. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Not now, please. Not yet.”
You weren’t ready to face him yet. You didn’t know if you ever would, but you definitely weren’t ready right this instant, your heartbreak still fresh, your heart too weak to feel this much again.
You looked around slowly, taking in the the sight of the orchard and the endless expanse of the field, calm, steady and sunny, just the way it was during the weeks you’d been here. A gentle wind carried the strands of your hair behind you, the sunhat protecting your head from the light of day. You put the phone slowly inside the pocket of your shorts and began the long path back to the house, your plans of a leisure reading session long forgotten.
It was completely quiet, almost too quiet, but there was no one in sight. You had no idea if he had managed to track your location, or if he was even still looking for you. Maybe he decided to let go, you comforted yourself, even if you knew him well enough to realize how stubborn he could be. You just hoped that maybe if he truly didn’t care for you, he would leave you alone.
The wind intensified, and so did your steps. The house still not yet visible, the long way back made you anxious. You wanted to be inside already, lock yourself up, just in case he really waited for your slip up.
You huffed a small, nervous laugh under your breath the moment you felt the wind biting into the exposed skin of your arms, the temperature dropping, making goosebumps appear on your skin. You bit into your bottom lip and quickened your pace, your heartbeat already pulsing inside your ears, your mind trying to convince you that it was just a coincidence.
But when the wind blew away your hat, you didn’t turn back to fetch it.
Instead, your stride broke into a full-blown run, your legs moving in a panicked frenzy, your hair flying behind you freely. Your lungs and eyes already burned the moment the aircraft appeared in your peripheral vision, its shape and size so unmistakably matching those from the Farspace Fleet that you wanted to laugh at your brain for still hoping is wasn’t.
You heard it now—the deafening roar of it descending onto the field not far from you—and you cursed under your already ragged breath, knowing he must’ve already seen you. There was no one else in sight, after all.
You hadn’t stopped running. The house was twenty minutes away on foot, and if you were fast enough, you could make it before he caught up with you. The plane had already landed, and you didn’t have the courage to look back to see if—
“Hey! Wait!” The shout of your name pierced the wind in your ears, and a weak groan escaped you. He was close, too close if you were able to hear him, his voice bringing back all the memories from that day. Of comforting closeness, then cruel confession said so surely behind your back.
Every single muscle ached, but you didn’t stop running, you couldn’t stop running. The house was already there, peeking from behind the trees, and if only you could reach it in time, you would just lock the doors and regain your false sense of freedom for a while longer.
“Stop runnin’ away from me! Please!”
“Stop—Stop chasing me!” You screamed, the emotions built up inside of you finally having their outlet. “Leave me alone, I don’t—I don’t want to see you, I—I don’t—”
“Just talk to me! Let me explain—” He was getting closer, and your body was growing weaker, your legs moving seemingly only by the sheer force of your will.
“I don’t want to talk to you!” A sob almost escaped your lips, the knowledge and fear that he was this close to you again making panic squeeze at your chest. You were not ready to see him yet, not ready to look at that irritatingly handsome face of his, and hear him lying without batting an eye.
“Baby, please—” Closer. He was so close, just a couple of steps and he wouldn’t have to shout through the wind anymore, but you didn’t stop, couldn’t stop.
“Oh, fuck you!” You shouted right back, tears already forming in your eyes, your legs burning with extortion. How dare he call you this way, as if there was something between you, as if he cared about what happened, about the kiss, your first night, you. “Don’t call me that, don’t chase me like some kind of an animal—Ah!”
Your run stopped abruptly, your chest heaving as you desperately tried to catch your breath. Sweat stuck to your forehead and neck, your limbs tensed, grasping for something, anything, to keep your body from floating up in the air.
Naturally, you failed. His Evol too powerful, holding you gently up in the air, your body too weak to fight back against the invisible force, so you did the only thing you could do at that moment.
You took off your shoe and threw it at him, groaning pathetically when you heard it landing in the grass.
“Let—me—go!” You shouted, your breath heavy after the run, body refusing to calm down. You kept your head turned away from him, unable to look even at his shadow. The knowledge he was this close to you was enough to fill your eyes with tears.
You heard his footsteps close now, his breath heavy. You closed your eyes, tears instead of falling down your cheeks, drifted away from you, the temporary lack of gravity around you taking them away.
First your heart, then your sorrow—what else could he steal away?
You didn’t see how he stood below you, only few steps away, still wearing his Fleet uniform, looking up at your struggling frame with awe and relief. His hand reached out to catch your teardrop with his hand, the sign of your pain staining his fingers now. He brought it to his lips slowly, itching for any part of you, his brows furrowing with anguish.
“I can’t. I let you escape from me once and I won’t make the same mistake again.” His breath was already calming down as he crouched to pick up your shoe, not expecting the other one flying his way, catching it with his Evol right before it hit his head. He scoffed, his laugh sad and full of disbelief, as he let it fall right in front of his face.
“You coming here was a mistake.” He grit his teeth as he heard your poisonous words, spoken in a teary tone. He looked up at you again and his breath hitched. Your drifting body was surrounded by your teardrops, swirling around you and reminding him just how much pain he caused you by his own selfishness. “Me believing in your sugary words was a mistake. Me kissing you was a mistake, God, our whole night together was a—”
“Don’t.” His harsh voice cut through the air, silencing you at once. “Finish that sentence. I don’t wanna hear it.”
“Why? You said you wanted to talk so let’s talk.” With your back still turned to him, your hands swatting at your flying teardrops, his audacity to use his Evol on you making you see red. “Let’s talk about how you tricked me. How you made me believe that we were friends, that I could count on you—”
“Please—”
“That I maybe, maybe meant something more to you. Because it turned out that you were feeding me lies for years—”
“That’s not…”
“You—You made me believe you liked me, and then you… You took advantage of—”
“Quiet!” He nearly growled, his harsh voice echoing in your ears, the tone unfamiliar, instantly making you flinch. The Evol with which he held you up faltered, shaking your body, making a quiet squeal come out of your mouth. For a second there, you thought that he will let you fall right into the ground, but the impact never came.
You finally looked at him, scared and stunned by his outburst. He stood there, eyes clouded and distant, arms hanging loosely at his sides— one hand gripping his hat—both of them shaking equally.
And just when you thought you had imagined his expression darkening, you noticed the clouds shifting faster, the sky growing darker.
A thunder stroke in the distance, forcing the hair on your nape stand straight.
“T-That’s how you think you’ll solve this? By force? By scaring me?” Your voice wavered, your fear slipping right through your confident facade. “I—I don’t take orders from you, Colonel. You will not intimidate me into anything. I don’t—I don’t—” More tears floated around you, your vision blurred, fear mixing with the feeling of helplessness.
He whipped his head, finally grasping the reality upon hearing how you addressed him. And when your eyes finally met, both equally red-rimmed, tired and pleading, he felt as if something in him broke.
Because while he was pleading for a chance to be redeemed, you, on the other hand, for him to stay out of your sight.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have raised my voice. Please, don’t be scared, I’m—” Another plea, another apology, another way for him to mess with your mind, you thought. And you were scared, tired and hurt, lacking the energy for that conversation. Not knowing how to go about this, not being sure if there was anything that he could say that would fix this.
You were too shaken to listen—let alone react logically. Too unprepared to see his familiar face again so soon, to hear the voice that once offered you refuge for years, but now hurt you more deeply than you ever thought it could. Even the touch of his Evol—once used to help you, to ease your burdens, to cheer you up with his silly little teasing—was now a weapon. A way to trap you. To make you feel small. Helpless beneath the weight of his power.
It was not going well at all, both of you clearly too emotional, incapable of having a normal conversation. You weren’t prepared, but you noticed that he wasn’t either, his mental state unsteady, mind locked on one thing and one thing only—to catch you and never let you out of his sight again.
It was no way of resolving anything. And you really didn’t want to get hurt even more—not by his words, nor by the things you wanted to scream at him, rage tangled with fear, creating a poisonous mix that placed the most hurtful of things at the tip of your tongue.
You didn’t want to use them. Saying them out loud to him would break your heart in the process too.
“Let me go. Please. I’m not ready yet, I—” You closed your eyes, and the first drops of rain fell onto your warm skin. “I don’t want to talk. I can’t talk. Just—let me be. We will have to have this conversation at some point. And I know that. B—But for now just. Please, Caleb.” Your eyes full of tears met his, and he opened his mouth just to close it again, the sight of them rendering him speechless. The pleading, hurt look in them seemed to get him out of the trace. “Let me go.”
His breath hitched when you didn’t break eye contact. There was pain in your eyes, but also unwavering resolve. You kept looking at him with those radiant, exquisite eyes of yours, and that’s when he knew: he had lost this battle.
He slowly lowered you down, holding back tears when you refused to accept his hand to steady yourself. Then he bit his lip, his hands shaking, clenching into fists while he was forced to watch you run from him again, battling his desire to chase after you.
You said that you will have to talk at some point, and he believed you. He took your words and cling to them like a lifeline, a reason for him not to lose his hope. He would be patient, he could be patient, he had already waited for you for so long, he didn’t mind waiting some more. At least now he knew you were safe. Now he could protect you.
And he knew that the war to win you back had only just begun.
The heavy rain spattered against the windows, its sound echoing through the house, easing your shaken nerves and slowly lulling you to sleep.
A lightning struck in the distance, brightening the whole room. You rose quietly, waiting for the sound of thunder. Eyes closed, breathing evened out after what felt like eternity.
More raindrops hit your window, pushed violently by the wind as you stood, wrapping yourself in your huge, knitted cardigan, sinking your cold, shaking fingers into the thick, soft material.
He came here, for you.
A fact that you couldn’t shake for hours now, the weather outside an embodiment of what was happening inside your head. He came for you, the moment he managed to get your location, desperate, oh so desperate to talk, to explain, to repent, and you were left absolutely torn.
Because in your mind, you had already started seeing him as the bad guy, that thought a constant companion through these long weeks, your main coping mechanism. And now? He came here, looking anguished and miserable, his face thin and eyes red—a picture of a man in despair—and he was ready to drop everything just for a second of your time.
Which you didn’t give him. And that’s what kept you awake.
Your hand reached for the light switch but in vain. The storm that had lasted for hours must’ve cut the power some time ago, and you accepted it quickly. Your eyes had long since adjusted to the darkness, and you didn’t want to give any sign that you were awake either. You didn’t want to give Caleb false hope, knowing his aircraft still stood on the empty field, exactly where he had landed it hours ago.
You knew he wasn’t asleep either, not if he was as apologetic as he seemed to be. You should’ve listened to him, maybe. And if he hadn’t scared you so much, if he hadn’t used his Evol or raised his voice, maybe you wouldn’t have been so afraid, so defensive. Despite everything he said that fateful night, a large part of you was still curious about what he wanted to say and how he intended to explain himself.
Your deep infatuation with him, your huge soft spot for his expressive puppy eyes, his gentle, playful voice and soft dark hair, were his real weapon. You saw him, looking so devastated and your first thought was to comfort him, despite everything he had done. And you hated yourself for it, hated how much power he held over you unknowingly.
Because was there anything to explain, really? The things he said sounded pretty self-explanatory, and even the simple recollection of them made your heart squeeze painfully.
You knew you’d have to have this conversation sooner or later. He was your best friend’s brother, he used to be your best friend and you had to return to Linkon soon. He would find you then, and the conversation would have to happen either way. So wouldn’t it be easier to just get it over with now and try, slowly, to move on? If moving on from that kind of heartbreak was something you were even capable of.
That was what scared you most about all of this. Caleb had been your friend—the man you loved more fiercely than life itself—and it had taken everything in you just to get out of bed after what you heard from him that day. And now? He had shattered your precious, tranquil solitude so suddenly, and even though you knew that you were supposed to hate him—you should hate him, because that was the easiest way, the only way to survive the heartbreak and reclaim the part of your soul he’d so cruelly taken when he betrayed your trust—You also knew, the moment you saw him running after you like his life depended on it, that what you felt deep inside wasn’t even close to hate.
It was relief.
That he searched for you, after all. A longing, for him to somehow fix this, to tell you that it wasn’t him who said these things despite the fact that it was indisputable, because you would recognize his voice everywhere, even from thousands of miles away you once thought, because of how his timbre made you feel inside. When you saw him, dressed in that stupid, stupid Colonel uniform you felt nothing but love. Love, excruciating love for someone who did not deserve it.
You were stupid, so stupid for being like this, so stupid for still thinking so fondly over the man who lied to you for years, who created a false safe space for you to drown in, who slept with you, even though he thought you were not enough for a wonderful pilot like him.
A sudden crash came from the window downstairs, making you jump in place.
You quickly ran down the stairs, your fingers brushing the wooden railing, your footsteps blending with the sound of falling rain. A cold breeze seeped through the widow, now flung wide open. The wind must have been strong enough to burst it open, and as you rushed to close it, something outside flashed in the corner of your eye.
And your heart almost stopped at the sight.
Your head turned, leaning from the window, the cool droplets hitting your skin harshly, reminding you that you were still awake, and that your eyes didn’t deceive you.
Caleb was sitting right there, on the porch, leaning against the wooden beams, his head hung low, arms crossed on his chest.
And he was soaked to the bone.
Rain dripped from his hat onto his crossed arms, his posture nearly curled in on itself. His body trembled every few seconds from the cold, and the moment you realized he must’ve been standing there ever since you left him—hours ago, just before the storm rolled in—you felt the blood rush into your head.
You left him, but he stayed right there, sitting, waiting patiently for you to come out, not knowing when it will happen. He let you go, but he never left.
“Caleb!” A sudden shout tore from your throat, laced with dread and disbelief, your hands instead of closing the window, reached for one of the blankets lying nearby. “God, Caleb, you—” The front door bursted open and you reached him in no time, falling onto your knees before him, taking off his hat and throwing it to the side in an attempt to wake him.
He wasn’t asleep. Startled, his head shot up the moment he saw you, alarmed by your sudden appearance. His eyes immediately fell to your bare legs, your sleeping shorts far too thin and short to stand against such weather, and he reached for you in a rush of panic.
“What are you—go back inside, you’re goin’ to be sick!” He said alarmed and you scoffed in answer, taking notice of his wet uniform, clinging uncomfortably to his glistening skin. His hair was completely soaked too, streams of rain tracing paths down his temples and nose, the sight making you furious.
“You—absolute—hypocrite!” You barked back, your hands tugging at his wet arms in an attempt to make him stand. You threw the blanket over his head first, his hand grabbing at the material, and then you began pushing him into the house. “I had no idea you—Why did you—?!” He raised quickly, letting you push him past the doorway, and you already felt the cold biting at your skin, the seconds spend outside enough to make you wet.
And he was sitting there for hours.
“I—” He started, but you didn’t let him finish, his posture slightly slumped under the weight of the drenched uniform.
“You—you have a literal plane nearby, why didn’t you hide in there? It’s been raining for hours.” Words escaped you faster than you were able to form them in your head, your hands already working to remove his soaked clothes hastily. He fell completely silent, letting you ease your frustration, his eyes glued to your face. “I thought you were safe in there, I thought you already left, I—I thought—” The heavy material hit the floor with a loud thud, your shaking hands trying to take off the shirt he had underneath, horrified by how cold his skin was underneath your palms.
You bit your lip and sniffed, tears already streaming down your face, whether from the cold piercing at your skin, the thought of him sitting for so long, freezing outside, or from his closeness, which you were deprived of for these weeks, you weren’t able to tell.
You grunted quietly, your fingers slipping from one of the buttons of his shirt, shaking too violently to take it all off. Suddenly, through your blurred vision, you saw his hands reaching for you. You felt their warmth the moment he covered yours, pressing them against his chest. His heart pounded so violently you could feel its rhythm through the wet fabric, sending a shiver down your spine.
A broken sob escaped you, the weight of reality pressing you down hard. His hands stroked your trembling arms, trying to soothe you; but it wasn’t working. The stings or remorse cut through you one by one, haunted by the image of him sitting there, drenched, and cold, and shaking—
“I didn’t want you to—to—I had no idea you were there this whole time, I thought you left t—to sit in your—” Another sob came out stifled, because he brought you in for a hug; his hard, wet chest strangely warm and comforting. You didn’t return the embrace, but stayed there, sobbing quietly, letting him drape the blanket over you both, the material somehow still dry enough to bring comfort.
“Shh… Easy. Don’t cry, okay? It was my decision to stay there.” His soft voice reached you, and another sob came out, this time right into the shirt still clinging to his chest. “I had to stay there. I couldn’t leave you again. I didn’t want to leave you. I’m sorry.” He leaned down and rested his chin hesitantly on top of your head, bringing you even closer to himself. He released a long, heavy sigh, followed by a whisper of your name and another apology.
“I’m sorry.” He whispered right next to your ear, and you trembled in his strong arms.
“I’m sorry.” His hold tightening, and you hated how good it felt to have him this close again.
“I’m sorry.” His words no longer held just one meaning, and you shook your head as best you could, restrained by his tight embrace. Yet you stayed, your eyes closing, heart heavy with the knowledge that you were too weak to run away from him anymore.
The sound of the rain intensified, a thunderstorm still raging outside, and you both stayed close, Caleb cradling you to his chest, swaying gently side to side, almost lulling you to sleep. You took a deep breath, the scent of rain and him washing over you, and realized that you were ready to at least hear him out.
After you both calmed down your breaths and beating hearts, and after your bodies started warming up again, that is.
Because how can someone so warm have bad intentions? The feelings inside you were messing with your head again, and you let them, hoping you won’t regret making that decision.
Wishing, that this love won’t bring you to ruin.
The kettle began to whistle the exact moment he stepped out of the bathroom, candlelight casting his shadow across the room. Every movement danced on the walls, creating the illusion of him surrounding you from all sides. Ironic, because that’s exactly how you felt ever since you let him back in. Your body cautious not to relax in his presence, caged by the unfamiliar weight of broken trust.
You bit your lip and began pouring hot water over the tea, waiting for the pleasant scent to reach you, hoping that it will calm your racing heart—if only for a second. Its rapid beating didn’t slow down since you brought him in here willingly—the very man you’d successfully avoided for a whole month, dreading your next encounter, having no idea how you should act upon seeing him again.
And now there he was—standing behind you nervously, thinking so loudly you were almost able to hear it. Yet you stayed silent, believing that you had every right to. The awkwardness in the air wasn’t your fault, after all.
Letting him inside, not being able to stand the thought of him sitting out there in the storm—that was your doing. And you hated yourself for how easily you let your guard down, and for failing to hide the pathetic trace of love you still carried for him, even after he hurt you so deeply.
Your first encounter several hours ago didn’t exactly end in the way you wanted it to: him using his Evol on you and you breaking down in tears could hardly be considered a peaceful reunion. You were both not ready to talk yet, too shaken by being in each other’s presence after all this time. You, stubborn in your hatred. He, desperate and unraveling at the thought of loosing you again. An explosive combination, a disaster waiting to happen.
So you ran, as fast as you could from him.
And now, because you couldn’t stay indifferent to his discomfort, you had nowhere to hide.
“The clothes fit. They’re even a bit loose.” Caleb’s light tone finally broke the silence, though the slight tremble in his voice betrayed his stress. He was as nervous as you were. “Phew, I’m lucky your uncle isn’t here today, he would totally take me in a fight. To him I would probably look like… a walkin’… A walking stick.” Voice grew quieter with every word he spoke, and once he noticed he was rambling, he clamped his mouth shut, cussing internally.
He had always made a fool of himself when you were near, ever since the day he met you, all those years ago. Even just the sight of your turned back, the knowledge you were listening, made his head heavy with the need to impress you, and now, to make things right. He was terrified that at any moment you might lock yourself away in one of the rooms, somewhere he couldn’t reach you again—and he had no idea how he’d handle it if that happened.
Suddenly, you turned to him, your eyes glued to the mugs of tea you were holding. You placed them carefully on the table in front of you—the only piece of furniture that provided a bit of a distance you so desperately craved to have. From the corner of your eye you noticed he wasn’t exaggerating—the black sweatpants and a white shirt seemed to be a bit loose, and you realized that his homely appearance actually made you feel a bit more at ease. Now, without his Colonel uniform to hide behind, he seemed more approachable, if not more lost.
The air of authority vanished the moment his wet suit hit the floor, leaving only an uncertain man in its wake, one who knew he’d been walking on thin ice the moment you let him into your space again.
And you just couldn’t bring yourself to make him feel more welcome—the words he said still ringing in your ears, despite the time you spend to forget about them entirely.
“Thanks for letting me stay here. And for the clothes.” He was still standing in the same spot and you still refused to meet his eyes. Your hands grabbed one of the mugs and you started blowing air to cool your tea down, thankful for that little distraction, for something warm to hold when your heart was freezing cold. “And I wasn’t sitting there to make you pity me. If you were wondering. I wasn’t tryin’ to manipulate you into anything, I just—”
“I know.” Your voice rusty from the uncontrollable sobbing from before, hands gripping the mug harder. The light from the candles was too low for you to see your reflection on the surface of the drink. Maybe it was for the best, you must’ve looked like a trembling mess, eyes puffy and lips bitten red, still shaken by the storm of emotions that had torn through you during the day. “That, I know.”
You slowly sat on the nearest stool while he processed the meaning behind your words, still standing motionless few steps before you. You took a sip—and the warmth of the drink did nothing to soothe your nerves.
So, you waited. For something. Anything. Feeling his intense gaze on your frame, almost drilling a hole in your head, a silent prayer for you to look back at him.
You couldn’t, and that broke him all over again.
“You run away from me.” His voice trembled and your hands grabbed the mug tighter, the rain outside intensifying—or maybe you just became aware of its sound again. “I’ve searched for you everywhere. Every day. And I was loosing my mind every minute I couldn’t see you.”
“Did you?” You couldn’t help the venom spilling out of you, the tone mocking if it wasn’t so weak. “Why? Because of guilt? Pity? Out of obligation for—”
“Guilt? Pity? Is that what you think?” He took a step forward, and you didn’t move, head held high, still not meeting his eyes. “Everything I did for you, everything I ever said to you was out of—Shit—” His hands ruffled his hair, tugging at the strands. A pause, heavy, followed by a thunder, and then—“Out of love!” The last word nearly a growl, ripped out of him suddenly, as if holding it inside brought him pain.
You froze.
A thunder roared in the distance.
And the tears filled your vision once more.
You stood abruptly, putting down the cup on the table with a loud thud, its contents spilling out, nearly burning your head. His voice calm and sure now, so sure it almost made you choke.
“Out of overwhelming love, that I have felt for you for as long as I can remember—”
“Stop.” You choked out, your head dizzy, hands shaking in fury. What was he saying? What was he even—
“—Out of desperation to make things right, because I couldn’t bear the thought of you sitting somewhere alone, and hurting because of me, the things I said, the things I fuckin’ despise myself for—” He heard you, so he spoke much quicker, words spilling one after the other, hurting you more than you could imagine. He was getting closer to you, and you flinched, one leg already taking a step back.
He wasn’t serious, he couldn’t be. If he were, he wouldn’t have said those things, especially not after he got to have you. It wasn’t what you were prepared to hear, he was surely just messing with—
“Caleb, please.” Not more than a whisper, a calm before the storm, your head shaking, legs feeling weak.
“I lied. I lied that day and you need to believe me. I lied because I was a coward, and I didn’t know what to do, I panicked and I lied, because I love you, and they—”
“No, please, stop, I—I can’t listen to this, it was a bad idea, I—” With tears in your eyes you turned away and passed Caleb quickly, wanting to go back upstairs and hide: hide from his lies, from the hurt of his sudden confession, and from the way his voice sounded, so anguished and outright mad.
He didn’t love you, he couldn’t love you, because if he did he would’ve told you that night, when he held you so close and whispered broken praises into your ear. He would’ve said it then, not now, when you’d already made up your mind to cut him off, to forget the warmth of his body and the cold sting of the words you overheard.
You expected an apology, not a confession, which made and your whole facade crumble with his every word.
“No! Please—” He grabbed your hand, his touch frantic and secure, the contact and the memories it reignited made you gasp. And before you could realize what was happening, he fell down on his knees in front of you, his hands grabbing your arms, the hold strong but gentle, meant to slow you down, rather than cage.
You looked at the bare skin of his back, sticking out of the shirt, speckled with faint freckles, and noticed he looked thinner than you last saw him. Then your eyes landed on his dark hair, falling into his face freely, strands damp after the shower, but still looking so unbelievably soft.
“Please, I’m not lying, I’m—You have to believe me. You have to—Fuck—”
You eyes met and the time seemed to slow down.
Because you saw his beautiful, violet orbs, that always made you feel as if you were looking at the eight wonder of the world, flooded with tears for the very first time in your life.
His lips were trembling and you noticed how chapped they were, his teeth biting into them to stop himself from sobbing. You could hear the humming of your heart in your ears, your whole body shocked to stillness.
He looked absolutely torn.
And you couldn’t look away; your eyes traced the path of the first tear that slipped out of his eye, down to his chin, landing in front of your bare feet.
Like an offering. A statement. The last prayer of a man who lost hope.
“I’m not—I’m not lying to you. You have to believe me, please, please.” Tears. One after the other, tracing paths on his flushed cheeks, eyes burning with sincerity, lashes wet and shiny.
You nodded slowly, a lump forming in your throat, eyes filling with tears upon the sight, but you were trying so hard to keep them at bay.
And after a sniffle, he continued, warm hands stroking your shaking arms, eyes glued to yours like a lifeline.
“I lied that day. Everything I said was a fucking lie, okay? A big, pathetic lie to save my skin, to buy me more time. I said the first things that came into my mind—”
“But I heard you, Caleb.” You cut him off, your brows furrowing, unable to contain your confusion. “I heard you. If you really didn’t mean it how could you sound so sure? You said these things without even a single thought, and you expect me to—”
“I didn’t have to think! I just twisted—I think I just twisted the truth—”
“Wow. T—That’s low Caleb. That’s really, really low—” And when you started to back out from his hold he grabbed you harder, his arms going to circle around your waist, his face pushing into your stomach. You gasped and before you managed to push him away, his next words made you stop.
“No! Wait, shit, that’s not what I meant. Don’t go.” A sob escaped his lips and you took a deep breath, your hand almost reaching to caress his head. You’ve never seen him so broken and the need to comfort him was overwhelming. The sight of his tears excruciating. “I said you were clingy and you are—” Another sharp tug, but he refused to let you go. “You are. You are clingy and that’s okay, that perfectly fine, that’s perfect. And I love that about you. Every time you were holding my sister’s hand, I wished, God—How I wished you would hold mine instead. I wished, I prayed you would cling to me instead. Just as much as I wanted to cling to you.” He raised his head and you saw that he was telling the truth in the way his eyes gleamed, and his cheeks burned red, body trembling against yours.
And you felt your legs nearly bucking under your weight, his words making your head spin, not knowing whether you should stay offended or let him take your breath away once more.
“But—but what about me being annoying? You said—”
“You loved to push my buttons ever since we were kids, you are trying to annoy me all the time, just how I try to annoy you back. But for me, every jab, every joke, it was always to catch your attention. A pitiful attempt for you to just look at me, even for a fleeting second. And it worked—MC always called us annoying because of it, remember? That’s why it came to me so quickly. That’s the only reason I said it so surely.”
He was talking so fast he nearly lost his breath, his chest heaving against you, arms still holding you close to his chest. You took a deep breath and wanted to think, to have a second to process it, the burn in your cheeks intensifying, his words actually starting to make sense, because of your usual dynamic.
But it wasn’t all. It wasn’t what hurt you the most.
“You told them about my fear.” Caleb’s huge, red-rimmed eyes never left yours, and you fought with yourself not to fix the strands of hair that were slightly blocking his vision. His lips formed a straight line and turned slightly downwards, making him look like a kicked puppy. And you felt your anger slowly slipping, hope filling the hole in your heart. “And you listed it as my fault. You took my biggest fear and embarrassed me for it, made me feel like I wasn’t enough. I didn’t even—I didn’t even know you noticed how scared I was when—”
“I did. I notice everything about you. Of course I noticed.” His strong hands hugged you tighter, and a single tear slipped out of your eye. He was still kneeling before you, showing no signs of raising. “Just how I noticed that it didn’t keep you from visiting me at my place, even though the stillness of the clouds terrified you to the point of loosing sleep. But it’s okay. It doesn’t change a single thing for me. I only dreamed of showin’ you the view from the clouds, I hoped that I would take you up there with me one day, to show you that it doesn’t have to be scary. That it’s actually beautiful, and freeing, and calm up there. Cause I would protect you, always. And if you didn’t change your mind it would be fine—It would always be fine. I would just share with you the stories ‘bout the things I saw. And I would be the happiest to do it.” His shaking hands reached to touch your face and wiped the tears from your cheeks, ones that you had no idea you even shed. “I never thought about it as your flaw. Never. For me, you are nothing but a wonder.”
His touch was feather-light and comforting, his hands warm and so painstakingly familiar, bringing you back to the night that changed everything. How he held you back then, as if you were something fragile, something precious.
A wonder.
A sob tore through your body and he shook his head, hushing you quietly, his hands taking a hold of yours, bringing them to his lips, pressing a kiss to every single one of your knuckles.
“Then, why? Why did you list it as one? I just—I just don’t understand why, Caleb.” You cried out, one of your hands leaving his to cover your face from him. The past month of running away flashed before your eyes, making you even more tired. And although you wanted nothing more than to believe him and let yourself be held, he still didn’t give you the reason for saying such things. “Why did you even say that? If you lied, why did you do that? Why, Caleb, why did I have to hear—?”
You were crying again, and Caleb looked at you from his knees in panic, his hands caressing your arms, spine straightening so that his head could rest against your chest. The way he hugged you so tenderly made you want to hug him back, your head fighting with your heart. Yet he still didn’t give you all the answers, no matter how better the situation seemed now. You still had doubts about believing him at all.
There was a beat, or two, and he let out a deep sigh, hands gripping you tighter.
You sniffled, the word around going completely quiet, just to be disturbed by his quiet groan.
“I’m even—I’m even embarrassed to say.” He stood up slowly, and you gulped, his size all-consuming, making him be the only thing you could see. You took a careful step back, and he took one of your hands in his hesitantly. From this position he was too stressed to hug you, opting for less intense contact, especially when your hand was still limp in his, not reciprocating the hold. He scratched at his neck, his eyes meeting yours, an anticipation visible on your features. “And I know that won’t make the situation better.”
“Caleb—”
“Yes. Yes, I know—They—” A squeeze of your hand, the orange spark in his eyes shining beautifully, making your breath hitch. His hand went up to gently touch your face, fingers tracing patterns along your cheek. “They started talkin’ bout girls that day. The boys, my friends from college.” His brows furrowed, eyes looking at your face as if searching for something there. You listened patiently, his earlier words still ringing inside your head, the gravity of them almost crushing you. “Asked me if I knew someone they could go out with. I said ‘no’. They didn’t believe me, though.” His eyes narrowed, chin went down slightly in annoyance while recollecting the conversation. “They started teasing me about MC first. Asking if I would like to have a brother, too. But then one of them mentioned you.” His eyes darkened, the hand on your cheek stopped its caress. “Said he liked you. And that he already had your number. He was pretty confident, said something ‘bout you two having a connection. He said he talked with you that one time you and MC were visitin’ me in my dorm, and I—I started sweating right then and there.”
Your frown deepened but you already knew where this was going. You closed your eyes and swore under your breath, one hand covered your mouth in shock. You couldn’t even remember the guy.
“And—And we just slept together that night, and I finally got to hold you, caress you, kiss you—I was on cloud nine. Wasn’t thinking clearly. And I wanted to tell him about us, that you were mine, but I realized that we haven’t talked about it. And you weren’t there when I woke up—”
“Caleb, I overslept for work, I had to leave quickly—”
“I’m so, so sorry, but I wasn’t sure. I haven’t confessed to you either, I was just too—too overwhelmed, I felt too much, I thought too much and I realized that I couldn’t tell them you’re mine because you weren’t. Not yet.” You bit your lip and looked at him in disbelief, his face getting closer. He put a strand of your hair behind your ear, and his jaw tightened. “And when he asked me what I thought ’bout you I couldn’t tell him the truth. If he knew what I felt he wouldn’t let you go. They wouldn’t let you go, it would only make them want you more.”
You felt your hands shaking, your mouth opening and closing, not knowing what to say. His hands were still holding yours, feeling the tremble, caressing them with his thumbs in an attempt to bring you comfort.
“But you knew that what happened between us wasn’t a one time thing. You knew how I felt about you, and if you felt the same why didn’t you just—”
“I wasn’t sure if you’d pick me, if you had a different choice. And at that moment, I wanted to make sure you would. That they wouldn’t take you away from me. And that they would never want to again.” His hands cupped your cheeks, and you felt how rough and warm they were, your hands immediately going to hold at his wrists. He closed his eyes for a moment and you couldn’t believe what he was saying.
It was all a misunderstanding. And all of this happened because he was jealous? He hurt you so much just because he didn’t want others to reach out to you?
“So you had to say all these things about me? And that was supposed to be a better alternative than lying about us being together? Caleb, it really doesn’t sound—” You pushed his arms away, legs taking you further away from him, craving some space to think things through, but he followed suit, hands already reaching for you again.
“I panicked. I’m so, so, so sorry, I didn’t know what to do, I didn’t know where we stood, and I had no idea if that would make a difference for them. I had to say something to discourage them. So I did.” His hands went to tug at his hair and now he was the one who took a step back, breathing louder, obviously distressed. “And I hated myself for it. It felt so wrong the moment it came out of my mouth and I wasn’t even sure if they even believed me. And then I heard you. Fuck, when I heard you—”
A loud crash, making every single doubtful look from the boys leave Caleb’s face. Grateful for a distraction, his head heavy, heart burning with the weight of his lies. But when he opened the door and noticed your makeup scattered across the floor, his heart sank to his stomach. A wave of terror froze his body for a short while, until he heard you fumbling with the front door.
He didn’t even think about using his Evol, your beautiful frame running away from him enough to make him panic, the things he said hanging above his head, the knowledge that you had heard them becoming his worst nightmare.
And later, when he returned to his empty apartment after hours spend searching for you, calling you in hope you’d pick up, even by accident—he finally broke down. He screamed, throwing his phone against the wall, making it shatter. His Evol spiraled out of control, shifting the furniture, crashing the plates, the entire place left looking as if it had been broken into.
He lost you on the day he finally got to have you. And ever since that day, he hadn’t known peace, until your phone lit up again, a single red dot glowing on his device, revealing your location.
He left the Fleet right then and there in the middle of the meeting, everything else forgotten. Every duty postponed, every shout of his name ignored.
There wasn’t anything more important than you.
And now you were standing before him, as beautiful as the day he lost you, with tears in your eyes and your heart no longer open for him to take solace in. The eyes which used to look at him with mirth and affection—now uncertain, scared of him hurting you again.
And he felt that he was at his limit—one more second away from you and he thought he’ll burst into flames, the intensity of his feelings will turn him to ashes.
So, he begged.
“I’m so sorry. Please. Believe me. Take me back. Give me one more chance. I’m so sorry I hurt you. I swear I will never to it again, as long as I live.” You flinched when he fell onto his knees again, your arms trying to catch him before his knees hit the floor, but it was useless, his body too heavy for you to hold.
“Caleb! Caleb, stop doing that—” You grabbed his arm in an attempt to pick him up, but he was too strong, his bicep not even tightening. Goosebumps appeared on his skin under your palms and his head fell onto your arm pathetically.
And you just couldn’t look at him when he acted this way, your anger dissipating, the situation although still not ideal—him lying, then saying such things behind your back, whether he meant them or not, wasn’t something you could forgive him after one conversation.
Yet you couldn’t bear to look at him like that—on his knees, begging for forgiveness, crying and shaking, words slipping uncontrollably from his lips. In all the years you’d known him, this was the most vulnerable you had ever seen him—and the sight made your eyes sting. The image of the man you loved—once an unshakable, controlled pillar of strength—reduced to a broken mess before you.
You now knew why he did it. And that he didn’t mean it, not in the way you thought he did.
And you understood the jealousy, the anger, and the selfishness, because you had times you felt such way about him too. The image of him with another making you nauseous, the possibility of him loving someone else like a dagger cutting through your chest.
You took a deep breath, and glanced at him again. His shaking back, hands clinging to your body in an attempt to keep you close.
And you had made your decision.
“Oh, Caleb…”
To believe him.
“Caleb, please stand up!”
To build your relationship back up again, no matter how long i’ll take. And you just hoped you were making the right one.
“N—No, you have to understand. Please. I love you. I’m sorry. And I’ll do anything to earn your forgiveness, no matter how long it takes.” He breathed into your arm, his face snuggling into it, his head slowly rising, eyes meeting yours.
And you gasped at the anguish displayed all over his pretty eyes, two eternal sunsets clouded with misery.
“I love you. So much. I am in love with you, and I’ll do anything to prove it, I’ll spend my whole life trying to make it up to you. You want me to give you more space? I’ll do that. I will try to do that. You want me to leave the Fleet? Just say a word. I will. I will follow you to the end of space and time. You like it here? I can build you the exact same house with my own hands, brick after brick, and it would be the most beautiful, peaceful of places, you own private sanctuary. I will—”
Your knees hit the floor, joining him and you grabbed his wet cheeks in your hands, yanking his head down to meet your lips, effectively shutting him up.
And he melted.
Putty in your hands, leaning into your touch instantly, his chapped lips warm against yours, his soft sigh vibrating between your mouths. And when you broke the kiss and met his sparkling eyes, round with surprise and hope, you send him a small smile, holding back the tears that threatened to fall.
You wouldn’t let them. Not anymore. Not when for the first time in weeks you finally believed that you will be okay.
It was all a huge misunderstanding. A big mistake, fueled by insecurities, secrets kept for far too long, his desperation to keep you near, no matter the means. When he spoke so rapidly, afraid you’ll leave him again, you realized that wanting to keep you to himself might have been one of the few times in his life he had ever done something purely for himself—even if his methods were far from right.
You could see now, that behind his thick skin, and the air of countless of responsibilities, he was still just a boy that had to grow up too quickly. For MC. For you. For all of you to live as comfortably as you could, the burden of all your issues and failures always spoken to him, knowing that he will be able to help and find a solution for all of them.
And yet, he never confessed when something bothered him, his feelings and desires always bottled up inside, kept hidden and threatened to spill when it got too much for him to handle.
And that one time, when faced with the threat of someone taking you away from him, the threat of loosing you, the one he loved, he acted on instinct. He chose the option that wasn’t fair, and certainly wasn’t healthy, but he truly believed it could work to keep you beside him for a while longer.
He wasn’t used to being selfish, so he had no idea how to start, and how to do it right.
He looked down at you through half-closed eyes, taking you in and memorizing your small smile—one he felt he hadn’t seen in ages. Then he dove in for another kiss, his arms wrapping around your frame, pulling you tightly to his chest. He couldn’t believe that you kissed him, his brows furrowing, wanting to make this moment last forever.
And you reciprocated every single one of his hasty kisses, your head finally freed from the questions that dragged you down.
You will work this out. You will fix this, together. And you will make sure he’ll know how you feel, so that he could finally realize that he doesn’t have to fight dirty battles just to keep you close. Because you would never want anyone else who wasn’t him.
“Caleb-mmmh. Caleb, oh God, wait.” He reluctantly let your lips go, your lungs filling with a deep breath, and you hugged him around his waist, feeling the fast beating of his heart under your ear. He placed his shaking hand on your head, stroking your hair, placing a chaste kiss on the crown of your head.
“Sorry, can’t stop. Come back here, you kissed me first.” And he took your cheeks in his palms and dived in, wanting to capture your lips in his again, but you blocked his mouth with your hand, making him frown.
You giggled softly, eyes still teary, making his eyes sparkle—mesmerized by the happiness finally breaking through the walls you’d build around yourself over the past month. He kissed your fingers once, twice, his arms resting at your waist as he lost himself in the warmth of your body, and the pleasant fragrance of your skin.
He felt as though he had returned to where he truly belonged. He had finally come home.
You opened your mouth, your cheeks flushed and eyes sincere, and nothing could prepare him for what you said next, your tone soft, slightly unsure, a melody only for him to hear.
“I believe you, Caleb. But you hurt me that day so badly, I thought I would never get over that heartbreak. I thought I lost you, my best friend, the only boy I ever cared so deeply for. I thought you really hated me all this time. And I couldn’t face it, couldn’t even think about it, that’s why I fled.” He nodded quickly, eyes holding so much hurt and regret. You slid one of your hands into his hair, stroking the soft strands gently. And thats when you both sat down on the warm floor, bodies relaxing, hearts slowing down. “But it’s okay. I understand you now. And I’m sorry too, for not letting you explain yourself sooner. I was just so focused on trying to hate you to somehow cope with what I’ve heard—”
“Stop, it’s my fault, don’t—”
“I shouldn’t have run away. I should’ve faced you, even if I was scared of what I’ll learn. But it will take some time for me to forget about it, okay? It really—It really messed me up. The thought you put up with me only because it was convenient.” You bit your lip and he groaned softly, his head lowering, a symphony of apologies falling from his lips once again. You hushed him gently, taking his cheeks in your hands and wiping away the wet trails of his tears. He sniffed quietly, making your heart squeeze. “But it will be okay. Because I believe you. So you don’t have to be scared anymore, I won’t run away again.” His body shook as he kept nodding, biting at his lips, trying so hard not to interrupt you. You leaned over him again, the movement slow, and you looked deep into his eyes, silently asking for permission. Once his eyelashes fluttered, eyes looking at your lips expectantly, you placed a soft kiss on his swollen ones, red from his constant biting, still salty from the tears he shed. “And you have to promise to be honest with me. No more tricks. No more lies.”
“I promise.” Your name escaped his lips like a prayer. “I promise. I will never hurt you again, I swear. I promise. I love you more than you could ever realize.”
He groaned into another kiss, a quiet “mmm” followed by the touch of his hands on your cheeks. He brought you to himself closer, one kiss turning into three, four, five and still counting, yet all of them gentle and reassuring, meant to anchor, not escalate. One of his hands landed on your hip and tugged, touch meaningful—he wanted for you to sit in his lap, and although you were still shaken, you craved the closeness as much as he did.
You climbed onto his lap, your thighs bracketing his hips as he deepened the kiss, his tongue teasing at your lower lip.
You let him in, slowly, unhurriedly, your ears catching the sound of the falling rain, the storm coming back with the same intensity as before—but this time, it didn’t feel like a bad omen anymore.
You parted with a quiet pop, Caleb’s head instinctively following yours, unwilling to let the distance linger. His large hands caressed your arms and thighs, his expression love-drunk, looking as if he couldn’t believe you were really here with him again.
His eyes met with yours and you swiped the pads of your fingers below his under eyes, tracing the faint freckles.
A whistle of the wind, a spatter of rain against the window, the sound of your beating hearts, and then—
“I love you too, Caleb.” His breath hitched, hands clenching on the material on your shirt, eyes big and shining with disbelief. “I love you. So much. You’re the only boy I’ve ever loved.” His eyes closed and he rested his forehead against yours, the tips of your noses touching in a gesture so gentle your eyes stung.
“Again. Repeat that for me.” He whispered in awe, and you obeyed, another confession spoken into the night. One of the candles burned out, marking the end of a chapter, and, hopefully, the end of your separation. “Hmm, again.” He probed and you did, watching as a soft smile spread on his lips, his thumbs swiping circles into the exposed skin of your thighs. “Wanna hear it again.” Caleb’s voice unbearably soft, his touches even more so, and you put your hands on both sides of his neck, putting more distance between you. “And again. And again. I never want you to stop saying it.”
He opened his eyes and studied your face, eyes closing when you pressed a lingering kiss on one of his eyelids, his breath shaky, hands warm against your skin.
“I love you. Have been for so long I lost count ages ago.” His lips formed a line, happiness squeezing at his chest, and he nodded once, eyes opening slowly to bore into yours and don’t stray.
“Ages?” He repeated, partly mimicking your words from weeks ago, but still visibly shaken, chest filling with the warm ache of being accepted. Of loving, and being loved in return.
He cursed himself internally, eyes nearly filling with tears, dread rising in his chest at the thought that he had almost lost you, because of his selfishness and insecurities.
You kissed his lips again and he almost sobbed right into yours, his head falling onto your shoulder, kissing the soft skin, feeling the way in which it warmed up under the contact. He hugged you to his chest, kissing your neck, wanting to be even closer, to get under your skin, to merge with you for evermore and never let go.
“Ages.” Your answer sure and final, your arms returning his embrace, hands tracing patterns into the skin of his strong back. His necklace rested right next to your heart, where it should always be.
You began to hum a lullaby,letting your soft voice replace the harsh sounds of the rain and thunder. The melody drifted through the house, seeping into the walls, and into Caleb’s memory.
And when he whispered more confessions, his lips marking your skin with them, you exhaled a long, steady sigh, marking the end of this cruel storm.
And later, as you fell asleep in a tight embrace, listening to each other’s heartbeats and imagining the life ahead of you, neither of you noticed the objects gently floating around the room—silent signs of Caleb’s excitement. The heavy stone of guilt had finally lifted from his chest. He had won you back, and he wasn’t going to let you get hurt again—not by him, not by anyone else. He swore to protect you, and he would keep that promise for as long as he lived.
And if the sound of plant pots shattering, books tumbling, and your things scattering around woke you up from your slumber hours later, his puppy eyes, a kiss to your cheek and a promise of a breakfast in bed was enough to make you melt. You could always clean it up later.
This time, together.
*bonus!*
3 years later
* 15+ unread messages from [ my miss hunter!<3 ]*
✉︎ hii babey, why is caleb being so weird today??? he literally called me earlier, asked me to freaking pray for him and hung up on me that menace.
✉︎ did u like fight or smth? u never fight what did he do this time
✉︎ the last time he acted so weird was when he ate his bday cake day early cause he didn’t realize what it was for, remember that? what do u see in him i cant quite understand we’re like, losers trapped in hot bodies istg
✉︎ wait he just send me a pic
✉︎ OH MY GODDDSSG???? BABY CONGRATULATIONS!!!!! THIS SECRETIVE LITTLE SHInzsn
✉︎ you look so happy in that picture!! im literally bawling, the ring’s so pretty and you both look gorgeous. im so so so happy for you (*꒦ິ꒳꒦ີ)♡ ♡ ♡ i love you guys sm please INVITE ME TO THE WEDDING IN CASE CALEB FORGETS TO TELL HIS SIS SOMETHING THIS IMPORTANT AGAIN
✉︎ im so happy for you, can’t stop looking at ur lil happy faces. U both deserve the world. NEXT UP!! picking a wedding dress!!!!! Im already on it, you’ll look like a PRINCESS!!! ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧ gorgeous little b caleb’s a lucky maaaaan
✉︎ call me when you’re done with kissing!! or u know, other stuff. u guys can be pretty gross.
✉︎ i love you. both. can’t wait for the wedding!!!!!! AHH!!!
thank u for reading!! 🤍 if u managed to that one’s LONG. I hope it was worth ur time 🥺
if u want to support me, u can do it here!!: https://ko-fi.com/kitimeq
every like, comment and reblog would mean the world to me 🤍
thinking about your blue-collar!husband who just can’t tell you no…
it's almost as if the word isn't in his vocabulary when it comes to you.
while he doesn't meant to over-do it, there's always something in him that just wants to make things happen, you know? wants to make you happy.
he blames his years of southern living. the culture and family that taught him that his woman should never have to work a day in her life. that all she should worry about is enjoying life— the life he provides for her as a labor of his love.
he watched his daddy do it; deliver his mother fresh flowers in the morning with a kiss on her head and his wallet on the table. before that, it was his grandfather and the ranch he built from scratch to appease his picky woman. even saw some of the chivalry his great grandfather showed in the little ways he still could, like with a new pearl necklace or fur coat on an occasion.
it was their duty as men to provide. especially as men smitten with their wives.
this is how you found yourself with boxes and boxes of gifts underneath the christmas tree, each one wrapped was with delicate touches and care. the gifts consisted of things you’d obsessed over once upon a time or maybe mentioned once in passing. it was all the same to him, though. you wanted it? he got it.
it was how you found yourself on your knees on a sunday, passing him tools as he installed new shelves and displays in your walk-in closet. you already had a vanity, a wardrobe, and as many dressers as one could imagine, but you’ve never been a light shopper. once your bags started collecting in neat piles along your room, he’d gotten a clue. all it took was a simple “honey, do you think you could do this for me?” and he’d clear his schedule.
it was how you tried nearly every restaurant in your fast-paced city. the high-brow, low-brow, and hole in the wall places, too. if he thought you’d like it then that’s exactly where he’d take you. he loved seeing you melt as you found a new dish you enjoyed. he loved how you always gathered some of your food and brought it to his lips in an effort to get him to try it. so what if the two of you ordered the same thing? your’s tastes a little different!
it was how he winded up with your name tattooed across his chest, the word carved into him in a way he simply relished in. you didn’t even have to ask for it, no, and he was in no rush to tell you either. but, he wears it as proudly as he does his wedding band— just another reminder of his devotion to you.
it was how, in the midst of a heated moment of passion, you saw that tattoo. how you halted your grinding on top of him with a racing mind and hooded eyes, locked in on the black, beautiful cursive your name rested in. how your left hand came to rest on it, and for a few short seconds, it met your wedding ring. how you really, truly came to believe that your man is so much more than head over heels for you.
I think a sagau! touch starved/needy childe, scara and zhongli feels very attractive, to have two powerful harbingers on their knees just for a shred of attention from their god makes me wanna pamper them
but also like zhongli?? That man is so touch-starved like poor dude has been worshipping for hundreds of years without a reward for his good work probably drives him insane. I cannot imagine how he hold it together and doesn’t ascend on the spot when he breathes the same air as his god because I genuinely think he’s THAT needy
also your writing really brought me a lot of comfort!! Thank you for running the blog and doing what you do💜💜
word count. 3.8k
୨୧ — ꒰ cw. yandere, unhealthy relationships, possessive & obsessive thoughts/behaviors, religious + cult themes, sagau + cult au, g/n reader. i do not condone yanderes irl.
୨୧ — ꒰ a/n. im so happy you like my writing!! im sorry i took forever to write this, but i still hope you like it !!!!
childe
In the unfathomable dark of the abyss, you were the only thing Childe had to keep himself sane.
Without you, he would've lost himself; without you, he is nothing. He only survived because of your guidance. In his eyes, his ever consuming need of you is only right— he has no need of anything else, and sees no purpose to think otherwise. You've only ever proven how worthy you are of worship.
When light seeps through tree boughs, he sees you. He sees you in the way the leaves leave a shadow. He feels you in the cast of the wind's breath. Every breath he takes is inlaid with your name. The mere thought of the opposite makes him sick.
He's pathetic, but his pitiful appearance is only for your eyes.
Just breathing in your presence is enough for him to feel weak and fluttery, but your eyes on him leave him delirious; the sort of dizzy where he can’t bring himself to move at all. All you have to do is glance at him for his knees to tremble like they're about to buckle underneath his weight.
Somehow, he keeps himself standing each time. He should be ashamed, he knows, embarrassed— but drool pools quickly in his mouth as your eyes linger, and any sort of dignity is discarded in the light of your gaze.
As a Harbinger, he should have more pride than he does, but Childe's only arrogance is his belief that he's special to you. That belief was the only thing he had to ground himself in the abyss, and he clings to it as if to let go would mean death. In his mind, it would be no different.
You were the only thing he had, even if he only knew you in the form of whispers and imperceptible kisses of wind. He didn’t need to touch you, no matter how tortuous of an existence it may be, as long as he could feel you.
That was enough. He thought it would be enough.
Seeing you is an entirely different matter however, and quickly, he finds himself wondering what your skin would feel like under his calloused fingertips.
He wants you to touch him. It's a selfish want, but one he carries with him all the same.
He wants you to play with his hair and hold him close as if he's something precious. He wants you to run your fingers along his spine and see him as he reveals every dark, nasty part of himself. He wants you to look and still find something to love.
Childe doesn't speak a word of his desires. He sits with them in the dark and tries to will them away. He tries to withstand their passage, but only ends up choking on each thought.
He tries to hold himself at night, imagining his arms are yours, but it only makes the ache worse.
He imagines loving you, and you loving him.
When you summon him to your chambers, Childe has to hold every nerve in his body to keep himself from running to you. It’s with a clearly restrained gait that he reaches you, just barely, his knees still wobbly and the floor a shifting kaleidoscope of colors.
It doesn’t bother him. Childe feels weightless, alight with fervor, and it’s a struggle to stop himself from rushing forward just to breathe a little closer to you. He drops to his knees, bowing his head until his forehead sits against your marble flooring.
Touch me, he thinks.
He somehow manages to choke a greeting out of his throat, unable to stop the small shudder that runs through him when he feels your gaze settle on him.
It feels right, being beneath you. It feels right, the slight tension in his body as he waits for you to speak.
Childe doesn’t say anything else. You’re the only one he truly respects, the only one he’s ever felt so fervently for— in your name, he would burn the world and scorch the earth. For you, he’d stain his hands so terribly the waters turn red. He holds no desire to clean his hands with anything other than your forgiveness— and so he doesn't dare to speak out of turn, unable to bear the thought of you being upset with him.
"Come here," he hears you say, your voice gentle and cooing. Childe doesn't hesitate, taking your words as a command, crawling towards you like some sort of dog.
Despite how eager he is to be near you, his hands rest dumbly at his sides. His fingers twitch, aching to touch you for just a moment, but he sits still, trying to be good. Without your permission, all he can do is sit, no better than a well-trained hound.
Childe looks up at you with a dumb, dopey smile on his face. He knows he must look like a fool, dazed just by sitting so close to you— he can already feel heat spreading across his freckled cheeks, and he knows it must be obvious— but he can't find it in himself to care.
It’s you.
You're so close he could touch you if he dared. Your warmth is only a few inches away from him, and he inhales, trying to breathe you in. For a brief moment, he allows himself the blessing to imagine what it would be like to touch you.
He imagines running his fingers against your skin. He imagines brushing against your hand. He imagines his palms gliding across the length of your robe, pretending the silk is your flesh. The thoughts strike him dumb, and he lets out a small whine before he can reel himself back in.
It's a breathless noise, but one he's sure you heard.
Your hand reaches forward to cup his cheek, and he nuzzles into your palm, leaning into your warmth as if trying to drink you in.
"So cute," you say, and every dark, needy part of him lights up all at once.
Childe makes another sound, a soft whimper drawn from the back of his throat. His russet lashes flutter shut, and any sense of propriety is promptly thrown to the side.
Touch me.
Another sharp shudder runs through him when you rub your thumb over his cheek. He almost falls limp against your hand, his breath locked in his throat, but he manages to steady himself in time.
His hands find your ornate robes within a second, and then he's clutching onto them until his knuckles are white. Childe can feel himself digging little crescents into his palms, but your touch means he's unable to focus on anything else, and the thought of lessening his grip makes him afraid you'll pull away.
Childe bites his lips, trying to stifle another noise. He never wants this to end. You could spit in his face, and he would thank you for it.
Just as he jerks forward, chest heaving as he struggles to catch his breath, overwhelmed by how good your touch feels— you're letting go, and pure, unbridled fear rushes over him.
"N-No!" Childe begs hoarsely, unable to realize that he's acting out of what he's allowed. "No, no, d-don't stop, please! Please, please…" he pleads weakly, fingers digging into your robes again, tighter this time.
Unshed tears wet his eyes. If it means having your attention on him, he would do anything. Nothing is too far beneath him. He’s already done unspeakable things in your name, hoping to garner your favor; if it means having your touch for one second longer, then there’s no low he wouldn’t fall too— no covenant he wouldn’t break, divine or mortal.
As long as it means being by your side at the end of it, any agony would be worth it. No shame is too much for him to bear.
"Oh, puppy," you murmur softly. One of your hands cups his cheek, while the other gently tugs at his hair. "How could I say no to you?"
The fear coalescing around his heart dissipates, and the fingers that were clutching onto you lessen their grip slightly.
"Mhm," Childe hums at too high of a pitch, but he's much too drunk on you to think about anything else, much less whether he's ruining your perception of him. He hides his face in your hand.
Your puppy, he wants to add, but his mind is too frazzled to get the words out.
Your fingers in his hair tighten, and Childe can't help the little bit of drool that falls from his lips.
scaramouche
He shouldn't be ecstatic with just this much.
All you’d done was look at him. You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, and it was enough for him to feel every nerve bursting like stars all over, pin pricks dancing under his skin. It was enough for every ugly, horrible little part of himself to reveal themselves like he'd done nothing to hide them.
The sudden surge of emotion, an incessant and desperate need to please you— to give you no reason to give him away— breaches the surface far too quickly. His every move is then dictated by how it might affect you, whether it'll give him your favor or ire; and an ever increasing chittering spawns in the back of his mind, crying for you to touch him.
All you'd done was look at him.
Scaramouche tries to ignore it at first. He, very pointedly, does his best not to think of how his skin burns when a thought of you touching him enters his mind unbidden, nor how it simultaneously destroys whatever preconceived notions he had of himself.
He knows titles are meaningless in front of you, but that doesn't quite quell the petulance he feels when he crumbles each time you look at him. You don't have to touch him for every wall to burst like they were nothing. You don't even have to be near him. Your eyes meet his for a moment, and it's like everything he is shatters.
It makes him feel disgustingly weak and as insignificant as the day he was born.
Scaramouche is one out of many; one interaction you may have out of hundreds. He knows how many clamber for your affection, and how many more would ruin themselves for it.
You hold his gaze for a meaningless amount of time, and he knows it means nothing to you. His body still reacts like it does. He knows once you've turned, you'll have already found something else to capture your attention. His pulse still churns as if you’d just held his face in your hands.
It's nothing to you. It should mean nothing to him.
He hates the fact it bothers him.
He shouldn't care. It's not the same as you abandoning him. That you look at him at all should mean something. But it doesn't change the way fear bundles inside of him when you look away, nor does it change the disgust that rises at the very fact he feels that way at all.
He shouldn’t care. It shouldn’t bother him. But it does. It does.
It eats away at him like a festering wound. It hurts like nothing before it. He wonders if you’ll grace him with a look, and when you do, that’s the only thing that matters. When you turn away, he wonders how he ever got to this point. When you don’t, it’s like his breath’s been wrung from his lungs, and he wonders again, at what point did he let himself fall so far.
It’s a point of irritability for him, and he ignores it like acknowledging it would be the death of his ego. Knowing that it would only serves to make him suffer more.
Whether you smiled or twitched your brow shouldn't feel the same as being reborn or having life torn from him.
You haven't left him yet. He constantly feels like you're about too.
Scaramouche has to sit and watch when you interact with others. It feels like torture. You smile, and for some reason, it feels like fire washing over him. You laugh, and somehow, he hears it as vividly as he would if he was next to you; only it hurts because he's not the one you're sharing it with.
He could at least pretend he wasn't so pathetic before. He could hold himself up with some pride, even dignity— mask his emotions well enough they couldn't be used against him. Now, sitting in front of you like this, he can't even have that much.
It's piety, worship, love, or something in between or all of them at once. He's weak all over because of it, and it makes him furious at the same time it makes him euphoric.
He wishes he was stronger. Tempered by the abyss, and he still can't resist falling into you.
Your hand runs across the nape of his neck, and he shivers, skin burning where your fingers brush. A soft, shuddery breath escapes him, and his fingers curl where they're latched onto your robes.
If it was anyone else, maybe he would have mauled them for seeing him in such a state. People are perfidious; quick to betray, and even quicker to exploit whatever they've gleaned. Faster still to take away anything that makes him happy.
It's not just anyone, though. It's you. And despite how terribly he fears and how deeply he wishes to bury his emotions, his want of you runs deeper. If it means holding your attention, then you can have anything. If it means feeling your touch, then he'd let you use whatever you wanted against him.
If it meant having the assurance of your presence, then he'd kneel and discard his every title and name. He'd become nothing, if he knew he'd still have you.
“Good boy,” you whisper, and Scaramouche instinctively moves closer, rubbing his knees raw against marble, trying to breathe in your warmth.
He despises how fast he weakens at your beckoning; how he can't even will himself to resist, or fathom the thought of it— malleable to your every whim, and unable to be truly angered by it. He only shifts to be nearer to you, dreaming of your touch, hoping to share some of your eternity.
A whimper rises from his throat, trying to kill his desperation.
"Don't leave me," he says, the words wrenched from his throat. "Don't leave me."
Don’t betray me, he wants to say instead. Don’t abandon me.
It's a disgusting display of weakness. He wishes he could kill his voice so he wouldn't speak at all, but even without a heart, his emotions feel like they might choke him.
The things you do to him are terrible. Pleas for you to only look at him sit and die on his tongue. He reels himself back in before he can make a fool out of himself even further, but he knows you only have to look at him for a little bit longer for any sense of resistance to die alongside his pride.
"I won't," you say softly, holding his cheek against your palm. "I'm here."
Scaramouche leans into your touch, hiding his face against your hand. He manages to keep himself from making an improper sound through sheer will, though he has to clench his jaw and close his eyes.
Even just knowing he has all of your attention makes him feel dazed, and as you rub your thumb over his cheek, he can’t even muster any anger at being reduced to such a state. He hums, somehow leaning even further into your touch.
“I’m here,” you say again, and Scaramouche whimpers into your palm.
zhongli
Zhongli dreams of you every night.
He knows he shouldn’t. It’s not proper of him, nor is it right for him to sully your image with his thoughts. Still, though, the thoughts come unbidden and leave him a wreck in their wake.
What troubles him is what he knows to be the cause of them.
Zhongli has always been eternally grateful. He's sat with the love of you until it permeated every thought. He's lived beside the worship of you until it coated his every word and nerve.
Being able to serve you past fantasies in his imagination brings him purpose, and that should be enough. And for a time, it was.
He could see you and feel fulfilled. He could breathe your air and feel like the thousands of years spent waiting for you had been worth it. Even following you around like some sort of dog was more gratifying than splitting the earth apart. This, he thought, is enough.
This sense of greed, then, shouldn't exist.
Zhongli pretends it's not his own, but the truth is that every thought is painfully his.
He imagines you running your fingers through his hair. He imagines touching your skin. He imagines you whispering praises against the pale column of his throat, and he imagines being yours in such a way that he knew he was special to you. He imagines you breathing his name and it feeling like rebirth. He imagines your touch. He imagines being able to worship you selfishly, entirely, in a way that no one but him could claim the honor of.
In a way, he thinks he deserves it. To be tortured with visions of things he knows he doesn't deserve and thoughts he knows you wouldn't approve of.
Zhongli would think of you often before, when all he had of you were the prayers on his lips and promises of piety. It was difficult to imagine you as something physical, but still, his heart stirred. His most meaningful company was the thought of you beside him.
What he thinks of now is different.
He wouldn't have dared to imagine touching your skin. He wouldn't have let the thought escape the darkest of his subconscious. He wouldn't have dared to let himself the simple fantasy of you speaking his name like he's something precious to you. All he wanted, then, was to share the same plane of existence as you. A selfish want, but it was pure.
What pervades his mind now is some sort of sacrilege. He should know better, but he still sullies you every time he closes his eyes, unable to fight and equally unwilling too.
His greatest arrogance. Even with thousands of mortal lifetimes lived, he still can't rid himself of it— even with his own self-hatred, his thoughts continue to defy him.
Even when he knows he's failing you, he falls deeper.
It's worse when you interact with others. Zhongli hugs your shadow and trails after you always, eager to please but always hiding behind a mask of propriety and decorum. He likes to pretend to have a semblance of control in your presence, though he knows that if you’d only ask, he would rid himself of it entirely and be thankful for it.
You're perfect, which is why you're kind even to those that don't deserve a modicum of your attention. You smile, and each time it's not directed at him, he tries to choke the indignance out of him. It’s selfish of him to expect that he be the only one to receive your affection, despite how his mind whispers it’s because he hasn’t done enough to prove himself to you.
Why else, it supplies, would you waste your breath on those undeserving of it?
He reminds himself of his place. It assuages him for only a moment.
Zhongli dreams of your breath. He dreams of you cracking him open and bearing witness to every depravity and every virtue and still whispering your love to him. He dreams of looking at you and knowing that he means something to you. He dreams and he wants so terribly, and he knows none of it is his to imagine.
He reminds himself of his place, repeating the words over and over in his mind. He whispers them to himself at night in hopes that maybe, it'll finally stick this time.
Be pleased with this much.
He's meant to be. He tells himself that, maybe, if he perseveres well enough, he'll be rewarded.
Maybe you'd let him touch you?
He wouldn't ask for much. Maybe you would be kind enough to let him hold your fingers in his. He wouldn't do so for long. Maybe, if he was good, you'd let him kiss your fingertips with the reverence you deserve.
It’s an impossibility, he knows, but it's his sole comfort. If he withstands just for a while more, you'll be proud instead of disappointed that he's fallen so low.
Then you ask for him to kneel, alone in your chambers, and he doesn't know what to do with himself.
Zhongli does as you say immediately. He falls to his knees so quickly that his mind doesn't have the chance to catch up. Vaguely, he understands that maybe he should be ashamed with how fast his body responds. He decides he doesn't care. All he knows is that you're looking at him, and that it feels sweet and good, and that he doesn't want you to stop.
His breath is lodged in his throat. His heart sounds like a roar in his ears. Nothing exists but you and your words. All you have to do is whisper a word that could vaguely be understood as a command and he would be at your feet, ready to be used.
He wants you to touch him.
You smile, and his nerves feel alight with fervor. Zhongli’s hands stay clenched on his knees, trembling with the strength needed to resist touching you.
You haven't given him permission, so he keeps himself still.
You cradle his face in your hands. He can feel the warmth of your palms caressing his cheeks, and he wonders— how can there be anyone who doesn't worship you?
“Good boy,” you say, and Zhongli inhales sharply.
For you, he wants to say. Only for you.
He doesn't, afraid to speak; afraid that to murmur even the softest of praises would cause you to pull away.
Does he tell you, he wonders, that he wants you to play with his hair? Does he tell you he wants you to love him completely, innocently, selfishly? Does he tell you he wants you to touch his skin, anywhere if it means having that small piece of contact?
“Where do you want me to touch you?” you ask, and he can hear the small tint of mirth in your voice.
The question strikes him dumb. His body burns and his blood is singing. Zhongli doesn't care if you find him amusing. No, he delights in it. It doesn't matter as long as he means something at all to you.
His fingers twitch, and just barely does he manage to keep his hands to himself.
Yandere Eldritch being who has taken over your entire town.
TW. Dead Dove Do Not Eat
Horror, confinement, isolation, death, Stockholm syndrome, yandere
You didn’t know when it had happened, but there was something very obviously wrong with your town.
It was the little things like the warped street signs, the inconsistent cracks in the sidewalk, and the way that the uncanny faces of people seemed to stare at you. It didn’t use to be like this, but you found yourself cautious about your new reality on the daily. You did try to leave and call for help, but there was some mysterious force cutting off your network. And when you did try to pack all your bags and high tail it out of there, you would end up just looping straight back on your street no matter what direction you drove in.
So now you made do with the fact that nothing was normal.
You sometimes wonder why whatever has infected all the people decided to leave you alone. Because there was no way it wasn’t a conscious decision. Your favorite flowers would start sprouting out of concrete walls and glass despite the fact it would be the middle of winter one day and a scorching summer the next. Not to mention, those flowers didn’t even grow here to begin with. It was a gesture. If it was meant to tempt or be kind, you weren’t sure.
The town functioned like nothing was out of the ordinary, though. Well, at least it tried to puppet the barely real bodies of your community to do things they would daily. The grocery store always had food and figures milling about, and even though none of the products ever tasted quite right or had words in a real language, you could tell “it” was trying to keep things running for you.
You’d once tried to hide away in your house, thinking that it was somehow protecting you from whatever was out there. But all you did was make it angry. Constant thunderstorms that shook the ground, and hail that pounded on your roof and walls. When you continued to stay inside, that’s when it made things clear: it was letting you stay as you were. The house shifted dramatically, doors disappearing and walls bending in front of your eyes.
Come outside. Stop trying to resist.
Privacy was just another one of those far-out concepts now.
The thing, as you so liked to call it, had been more affectionate lately. You didn’t know exactly how to describe it, but it had started morphing all the “people” into more attractive versions of themselves. Or at least, what it thought of as attractive to humans. Their faces were more tangible now and less blink-and-you’ll-miss-it, but they were uncanny in a new way. Skin too smooth, too perfect in so many different ways. Symmetrical, full lips, pleasant expressions, soothing voices: all things that on paper would lure someone in, but it had alarm bells ringing in your head nearly all the time now.
“I don’t like this, you know,” You said one day as you sat in the diner. The room was stretched out wider than what it looked like on the outside, and the waitress had an unnaturally wide smile. Before you was a plate of… something. Your guess was pancakes.
“What do you mean?” Several voices asked at once. It came from all around, and the waitress’s mouth barely moved to match the words.
“ I like you better when you aren’t trying so hard to be something you weren’t.”
There was a pause, and the building slowly unraveled into a jumbled mess of things that you could barely comprehend, the other patrons' faces and bodies melting away into linoleum floors.
“You’re not human. You don’t have to be. I think I’d prefer that honestly,” You shrugged and poked at your food. From the corner of your eyes, a figure seemed to emerge from the mess of what used to be your favorite restaurant. It was a writhing mass of dark tendrils, reaching for anything nearby. You’re breath caught in your throat.
“Do you really mean that?”
The voice spoke, but there wasn’t any face to accompany it. It reverberated in the base of your spine, racing through your nerves like lightning. Your breath hitched, and you finally gathered enough courage to look at it. It was a mess of things you couldn’t quite make out, but it was almost comforting.
“This is the first time I’ve actually seen you,” you admitted, a small laugh of disbelief caught in your throat. You couldn’t help but smile. It was the first time it had actually listened to you.
The being twitched, pulsing as it slid over towards where you were sitting at the booth. It was the only thing that had stayed intact. For something so expressionless, you’d dare to say it seemed shy.
From the inky mass, one tendril reached out for you, the air around it crackling. You stayed in place as it slid over your hand, and you felt the wonder and relief.
“Will you stay with me? I don’t want to force you, but I’m so alone… you’re the only one who doesn’t disappear when I’m near.”
You blinked as the mass filled the cracks between your hands, folding into the lines of your palms as if trying to memorize you. If it had a hand, you’d be holding it. If it had lips, yours would be slotting against them. If it had a heart, you were certain they’d be painted a similar shade of loneliness.
You stood up and slowly approached it, holding out your arms as you leaned in, wrapped your arms around its slowly forming figure, and nodded in silence.
Sometimes, a debt is best paid off on your knees.
Tags: Male Yandere x Fem Reader, dubcon to noncon, thigh riding, older man, daddy kink goes brrr, 6.9k words
Thinking about losing a bet and losing it bad. One of those casinos where you can almost feel the grime in the air, shady looking dealers cutting cards right in front of you, but you're just too slow to realise it.
You're too drunk to be playing, and too pretty to be losing so bad.
When you're all out of chips, you should know better than to take house credit. But you're already in the hole - you've spent all your savings on poker and you need one big win to even it all out.
It's late when the game ends. Just you and two others left at the table, whiskey turning sour on your teeth when you realise just how bad you've screwed yourself over.
You're not surprised when two hulking enforcers come to get you. Suits all black and neatly pressed, but it's still not enough to hide their tattoos or scars. Not enough to soften their rough edges.
"Boss wants to talk to you, miss. If you would."
Nice of them to offer, but everyone at your table knows it's a farce. A little game of pretend so it doesn't hit quite so hard when they drag you off.
You stand, silently cursing yourself for being so stupid, for wearing such painful heels, for wearing such a short dress. They lead you towards the back of the casino, and every step feels like another nail in your coffin. You're not just deep in the hole anymore. You've somehow shoveled all the way past the goddamn mantle.
They take you to an office high above the casino. Floor to ceiling windows giving the boss a way to look out on his domain.
The first thing you notice about the room is the smell of leather and whiskey. Not unpleasant, especially not after being down there with the peasants.
The boss is standing at the window when you come in, holding a glass of whiskey. All you can see of him is his back - broad, the outline of his muscles showing through the cotton of his button up. His hair long enough to brush his collar, and thick.
The bouncers (thugs? enforcers?) leave you alone with him. Door whispering shut and locking you alone with your debt.
"You ain't a bad player, girl."
You try to smile. Fail.
"Not that good, or else we wouldn't be here."
He chuckles, rich and deep as brandy.
"C'mere. I wanna show you something."
You're halfway across the room before you even realise you've moved. Something in you jumps at his orders, and the rest of you struggles to catch up.
When you reach the window, the first thing you notice is the table you played at. The high rollers poker set up, smack dab in the middle of his view.
"I've been watching you all night, girl. You've got a good poker face, and a mighty interesting way of distracting your competition."
You cross your arms over your chest, suddenly self conscious. You aren't the first girl to wear a low cut dress to a card game, and you won't be the last. But hearing him point it out still makes you feel a little ashamed. No trick too low for a winner and all that, but still...
You change the topic.
"I know it's bad, but listen, I can give you my address, my ID, my banking details. Maybe I can pay the casino off in installments. I'm sure you've got some sort of loan agreement on standby for situations like these."
The man hums, and you turn to finally look at him.
He's older than you, his hair bordering on black and shot through with grey. Strong jaw, light stubble, nice lips. Hazel eyes, with fine lines at the corners.
If you had to picture a casino mogul with shady connections, he isn't what you'd come up with.
"That's true, but I reckon you don't exactly qualify."
His drawl is all Texan, deep and slow. It makes something inside you flutter.
"I've got a job. I know I'm a student, but I can pay."
He doesn't answer. Instead, he offers you his glass of whiskey.
You take it, more nervous than anything else. You're used to cheap tequila and even cheaper beer, but even you can tell that he drinks some high quality stuff. When you take a sip, the flavour sits on your tongue like a kiss.
"No sweetheart, I reckon you and I will have to work something else out. The kind of deal I only offer to... special customers."
You meet his eyes and you realise exactly what sort of customers he means. The pretty kind. The drunk kind. The too-short-skirt and too-high-stilettos kind.
Your throat goes dry and you toss back another gulp of whiskey to try and cover it up.
Your ma used to say that getting yourself into trouble meant no one else but you was responsible for getting out of it. But did that really mean dropping to your knees and paying off a debt with your tongue?
You look around his office, hoping to buy yourself some time. The floors are genuine hard wood, and there are stag heads mounted on the walls. There's a hunting rifle half assembled on his coffee table, in the middle of being cleaned.
"What..." You swallow, try again. "What do you want me to do?"
"Play a few rounds of poker with me."
That surprises you enough that you turn back to face him. There's a slight smile on his face, a kind of wry, secretive amusement.
"I think I'm all out of credit mister."
He grins full on, the tips of his fangs just barely visible behind his lips.
"We ain't playing for cash this time."
He looks you over, eyes roaming and then lingering. Your skin prickles over in goosebumps. You're used to men looking at you, but never so openly. Never so proprietary.
Like you're bought and paid for already.
"No darlin'. I reckon we play for the last thing you've got to your name."
He smiles again, wolf fangs showing. "I reckon we play for the clothes off your back."
Your breath hitches, eyes going wide. You don't know it, but you look just like a doe on the first day of spring. Looking right down the rifle but too stuck to run.
He sucks his teeth, still smiling. "Best out of ten. If I can get you out of your clothes by the end, you pay your debt off with.... well, I ain't gonna spell it out for you."
"And if you don't?"
"You walk out of here a free woman. Not owing us a cent and still in your pretty little dress."
The devil would have offered a better deal. But what else can you do? Sue him? Yeah, that'd go well. Broke college kid with a bad poker run against a man you're pretty sure works for the mafia. You won't even make it to court in one piece.
You pull in a slow breath, trying to still your heart.
You meet his eyes, even though it takes everything in you to hold them.
"Deal."
He offers you his hand just like the devil would, if Old Scratch decided to wear cowboy boots and Levi's. You take it, palm dwarfed by his.
He leads you to his desk and pulls a chair out for you, every inch the southern gentleman. His fingers brush the nape of your neck when he pulls away.
He sits down across from you and you can't help feeling small. It's like being in front of the principal all over again, huge mahogany desk and all.
He digs through a side drawer and pulls out a pack of playing cards, the box still wrapped in plastic. The sound of it tearing makes your ears tingle.
"Fresh deck. So we both know it's a fair game."
He shuffles just as fancy as you'd expect, cutting and then cutting again until the cards blur in his hands. You watch his hands, trying to spot tricks you know you can't hope to understand.
He's got nice hands, you notice in-between card spreads. Long fingers, clean nails, veins that stand out against his skin. A fancy watch on his wrist but no sign of a wedding ring, not even a tan line.
Well, maybe it ain't surprising. You wouldn't want to marry him either, if he regularly plays strip poker with his clients.
"You wanna deal first, darlin'?"
"Sure."
He offers you the deck but doesn't let go.
"You gotta kiss it for good luck. Don't ya know that?"
He's smiling at you again, that half twist to his lips that feels less welcoming than stepping straight into hell.
You lean forward and kiss the cards, your lipstick stain bright against the white.
"Is it my luck or yours?" you ask.
He lets go of the cards and watches as you deal.
"I guess we'll just have to see, won't we?"
Two man poker is a whole different game to the regular hold 'em. More aggressive. There aren't other hands to lessen the blow, so a draw is damn near impossible. No folding either, at least not against him. It's win or lose, no inbetween.
You win the first round, but just barely. Your palms slick and softening the edges of the new cards.
He doesn't react to losing. Not a smile or a frown or even a twitch in his fingers. He just takes the deck and deals again.
An ace, a jack and a king on the table. A ten and an eight in your hand. Not the worst, you can make it work.
He flips another card on the table. A nine. That gives you one more card for a straight.
You glance across at him and freeze. He hasn't even touched his cards. He's just looking at you, reclined all easy in his chair with the shadows falling across his face in stripes of dark.
"You've got a tell, girl. Do you know what it is?"
"No. But I get the sense you aren't going to tell me."
He picks up his whiskey and takes a sip, his lips brushing the lipstick stain you left behind.
"Nah. That wouldn't be any fun, would it?"
You look back at your cards. You can win this round with a little luck. Neither of you are betting with chips, so at least you don't have to worry about bluffing your way out. It's all luck this time. Luck and maybe just a bit of skill.
He draws the last card. Another king.
Not what you were hoping for. It leaves you with a four card straight.
He takes his time flipping his own cards over, watching you the entire time.
Your eyes flick down. Two kings. That means he has four of a kind. An easy win.
He doesn't even bother to look down. Just smiles as he reads the defeat in your face.
"Heels off, pretty girl."
You do it as slowly as you can, but you can't delay the inevitable. Your heels land on the wood floor with a thud. That leaves you in your stockings, your dress, your bra and your barely there thong. Four more pieces. Four more wins and you'll be his to claim.
He watches you without moving, still smiling. You can imagine this same scene playing out a hundred years ago. The gunslinger and the bar girl who landed too deep.
You reckon it would end the same too.
You shuffle the cards harder then you should, cardboard slapping in the silence. You deal fast, barely bothering to look at the three table cards.
Your own hand is a king and a three. Random.
He thumbs up the corner of his cards and you struggle to read anything in his face. Was that a slight twitch in his ring finger? A tightening around the eyes?
You flip the fourth and fifth cards in quick succession. Nothing at all to work with. Your hand is a total bust. You don't even bother trying to keep a poker face. You flip your cards over and start reaching for your stockings.
"High card," he says quietly.
You freeze and look at his cards. It's true. His hand is even worse than yours. You win because of your king.
You exhale sharply, feeling light as air. Three rounds down, still safe. Seven to go.
You win the fourth round with a damn lucky full house.
The fifth is cutting it close. You both end up with flushes, but he wins by having two more royals than you.
You try not to show too much skin as you slip out of your stockings. Thin material like this shouldn't make any difference, but you feel a little colder after losing them.
You don't feel very lucky. And maybe he can tell, because his smile gets just a bit wider.
You can still taste his whiskey when he deals the next round. Almost sweet. Almost mocking.
Your ears are buzzing with blood. Your heart rocketing against your chest. Three pieces of clothing left. Five rounds of poker. Are those good odds? You can't tell anymore.
You lose. Catastrophically.
He tries not to be smug, but not even his stone cold poker face can fully hide it.
"Need me to unzip you?"
"No."
You don't want him touching you. Not until the very end.
You reach back and unzip your dress with a little bit of tugging.
Better to just get it over with, right? You let the dress fall to the floor in a glittery heap and cross your arms across your chest. The cold sends goosebumps crawling across your thighs.
You're wearing a matching lace set. Bra and panty both a dark green. Your lucky colour, though you sure as hell don't feel lucky now.
He whistles.
"Didn't know you dressed up so nice 'fer me."
You sit back down and scoot your chair in, so the desk hides a bit more of your skin. You don't reply.
You win the seventh round, but any feeling of victory is crushed with the eighth. He wins it almost too easy.
You don't look at him as you undo your bra. You keep one arm pressed against your tits, but he clicks his teeth and you slowly lower it.
He doesn't whistle this time. But you can hear him shift forward in his chair, can hear the slight intake of breath.
You're sitting at his poker table in nothing but your panty with two rounds to go. You thought you begged lady luck plenty, but up until now you didn't know what true desperation felt like.
You shuffle as softly as you can, aware that every movement just brings attention straight to your chest.
You still try to avoid looking at him, even when you deal his cards.
He catches your wrist before you can pull away, his thumb bruising your pulse.
"Not so quick. Can't a man enjoy the view he's won?"
You finally meet his eyes. Darker now, much darker. Hazel bleeding into the golden brown of oak wood.
"You haven't won yet."
He let's you go, his smile fading.
The first three cards are a three, a seven and a nine.
Your hand is a three and a seven. A two pair right out of the gate. Still, you try not to be too hopeful.
The fourth table card is an eight.
But the fifth card? Your fingers are shaking when you flip it over.
He growls. The first real break in his carefully maintained poker facade.
A seven.
That leaves you with a full house, the fourth best hand. You win.
One more round to go.
He grabs the cards with more force than needed, bending the whole deck almost in half.
He shuffles fast. A lot faster than before, fingers moving differently somehow. It makes your spine tingle. He couldn't possibly be cheating while you're looking straight at him, right?
He tosses your cards at you like a proper dealer would, and then flips three onto the table faster than you can follow.
All hearts. An ace, a jack and a ten. Three parts of a royal flush.
You know without even looking at your cards that they're junk. And when you do finally pick them up, you realise its even worse than you thought. They're random number cards, no relation to the table cards at all.
The fourth and fifth table cards aren't much better. Your last hand is a total bust. You let them fall onto the table without bothering to wait for the call.
Stupidly, you want to cry. You can feel that lump in your throat, can feel that pricking behind your eyes. You sniffle without meaning to.
"Don't be so hard on yourself, doll," he says kindly, "You were never going to win."
He flips his cards over. They stare back at you like an accusation.
The king and queen of hearts.
That gives him a royal flush. He wins, with a hand few people ever have the luck to draw.
He stands and slowly comes around the desk. Your eyes are glued to the floor and all you can see of him are the tips of his boots. A soft, brown leather. Worn in, but clean.
No fake vaquero then. He's cowboy all the way through.
He rests a hand on your hair.
"Stand up, sweetheart." He isn't unkind about it.
You swallow and push yourself to your feet. You've been naked in front of men plenty of times before. But never like this. Somehow, you feel exposed. Like he's peeled away more than just your clothes. Like you're standing with both your tits and your soul bare.
He touches your hips and you flinch, still looking down at the floor. His thumbs run over the lace of your panties. He flicks the elastic and it thrums against your skin with a small snap.
"These are mine now, ain't they?"
You nod.
He hooks his fingers under the lace and tugs them down. Your underwear drops to the floor without even a whisper.
He takes a slow, deep breath. Then drags his palms up your sides, stopping at your rib cage - right under your tits.
"I'm gonna be good to you, girl. I promise."
You steel yourself and slowly drag your eyes up to meet his. You try to keep them back, but you can feel tears collecting at your waterline. You blink and they splash down onto your cheeks, warm as blood.
He doesn't wipe them away.
He leans forward and presses his lips against your forehead. As sweetly as a father would.
"I've got you, sweetheart. I've got you."
That only makes the tears come faster. Because he does have you - every inch of you, bought and paid for.
He leads you back to his side of the desk, your legs as unsteady as spring willow.
He sits down in his chair and looks up at you, palms cradling your hips. He traces his thumb across your skin, admiring.
"Come sit on my lap, girl."
You don't want to. You desperately don't want to.
But you do anyway, humiliation scorching your cheeks.
He clicks his tongue and grabs your legs, forces them apart so you're straddling his thigh, your back against his chest. He bounces his leg and the denim grinds against your clit.
Your gasp and make the mistake of looking back at him.
He's reclined in his chair like Lucifer at lunch, at ease and smug all at once.
"Didn't your daddy ever bounce you on his knee, girl?"
"No."
He lays a hand on the curve of your waist, his thumb stroking electric tingles down your spine.
"Guess I'll have to do what your daddy never could then, huh?"
He bounces his leg again, his jeans rubbing past your folds and scraping against your clit. You hiss, closing your legs like that can make any difference. How does he keep doing that? Aren't you heavy?
His other hand comes to your waist, and without any warning, he drags you backwards a few inches. Your clit rubs on his jeans fast enough to almost burn.
"C'mon girl, don't tell me you're so sensitive already?"
He rocks your hips forward and you shudder.
"Of course I am! It's fucking rough."
He clicks his tongue again, like he would at a horse.
"Watch your tongue. I don't like it when my girl swears."
His thumbs press indents into your skin, pushing your hips forward so you end up right back where you started, your clit ten times more sensitive.
He reaches forward and tilts your chin towards him, so you're looking at him over your shoulder.
"You gonna make me wash your mouth out, girl?"
You have a pretty clear idea of what he wants to use and it sure as hell ain't soap.
"No."
"No, what?"
He can't be serious. Isn't this embarrassing enough? Still, you have no power here. None to deny him, none to turn him away.
"No, sir."
It burns your tongue to say it.
He hums quietly, happy as a cat with stolen cream.
He leans up and nips your ear.
"Show me what you got, kid. Ride me and maybe I'll let you go."
He drags his lips down your neck before he pulls away.
You bite your lip, feeling like you've just been tossed on stage with a microphone and nothing else. You feel like you need to perform for him, and it's humiliating.
You rock your hips forward a little. It doesn't feel so bad, when you're the one in control. His jeans are rough on your clit, but... electrifying too.
You do it again, a little further, his leg solid and thick between your thighs. His hands slip from your waist to your ass, grabbing and kneading.
"Thaaat's it. Don't it feel real good?"
Your pussy is getting wetter and you can feel it soaking through his jeans. You feel just a little bolder. Give him a good show and maybe things won't have to go quite so far as you fear.
And hey, you ain't exactly a virgin. You know how to ride a man.
You stretch your arms up and cross them behind your head, all the better for him to admire your body. You grind forward on his thigh, clit rubbing against the traces of slick that soaked into the fabric.
You gasp again, not so shy about being quiet.
You hear him hiss softly, but he doesn't stop you.
You pick up your pace, sliding on him like a bull rider would. You didn't think it possible, but you feel your cunt pulsing. Feel it aching for something to fill it.
Riding on an older man's knee, with your back arched like a cat in heat. Debt hanging like a sword over your neck. And still, your body wants to be fucked. Demands to be fucked.
You don't realise his hands have moved until you feel his fingers brush your clit. His fingers are hot and slick with spit, and he forces them between your pussy lips.
You freeze, his spit smeared all over your cunt.
"What -"
He doesn't let you finish. One arm curls around your waist and her drags you back against his chest, your ass pressing against the icy cold of his belt buckle.
The new position leaves your cunt wide open to his touch, and his thumb presses hard against your clit.
"Fucking tease," he mutters, thumb tracing lower and probing at your entrance. "Had to watch you all night, my cock fucking aching."
"Wait, slow down. I -"
He slips his thumb into your cunt. Not deep, but rough.
You gasp. Try and squirm away, but all it gets you is another hiss in your ear and his belt grinding against your bare ass.
"Told myself I was gonna go all slow with you. Fucking impossible."
He takes his hand away from your cunt and sucks his fingers. When he touches your clit again, hot spit drools down your folds.
So icky.
He doesn't care if you don't like it. He rubs it like lube all over your cunt, two fingers probing at your entrance.
Gross. You don't want his spit inside you.
But there's no real way to tell him that, is there? Not when he owns you for the rest of the night. Not when you agreed to it.
His fingers push inside you, stretching you out with a dull ache. So much thicker than when you touch yourself, his fingertips reaching so much deeper. His skin isn't soft like yours is - you can tell he's worked with his hands because you can feel it. Lord help you, you can feel every inch.
"Hot and wet," he murmurs against your hair. "Just how I like it."
He pumps them in and out of you a few times, before pulling out with a twist that makes you shudder.
"Needed to check. Make sure you can handle my cock."
He holds his fingers up and slowly separates them. Slick and spit stretch in thin strings. Are you really that wet already? How? You didn't think you were the type to even get wet. All the men before him would have to dig your bottle of lube out of the nightstand before you even let them near you.
He brings his fingers up to your lips, smears the slick across them.
"Open up."
It's his spit.
You don't want to taste it. Don't want it in your mouth. He's not your boyfriend, he's not your lover. He's just a thug with a thing for girls two decades younger than him.
He presses harder against your lips.
"Open. Up."
You do. His fingers make your tongue tingle, long enough to brush the back of your throat and almost make you gag. The taste isn't the worst. You can mostly taste yourself - salty as seawater - and a little bit of whiskey.
"Suck."
You try not to think about it. Just suck him off and pretend it's your own fingers.
"Good girl."
He pulls his fingers out of your mouth and grabs your jaw.
"You ain't gonna give me any trouble about what comes next, are you?"
Your answer is muffled by the way he's holding you, but it's still clear enough to understand.
"No, sir."
"Good. Don't wanna have to wrestle you into place."
It makes you shiver. The implication that he can. That he would. If you decide to put up a fight, it's not going to stop him. Not going to make him back away and question the boundaries of consent. He's going to fuck you, whether you want it or not.
He relaxes his hold on your jaw, his palm skimming down your throat. A reminder, whether he means it to be or not.
He squeezes your tit. Not too hard, skin warm against yours.
"Stand up," he orders, his voice tight.
You're barely on your feet before he's pushing you forward, one hand on the nape of your neck.
He bends you over his desk.
The wood is cool and smooth against your skin. Almost comforting. Almost.
The sound of his belt coming undone is loud in the silence. You've heard that sound so many times before - that little clink of metal - but not once has it sounded quite so awful.
You want to stand up, want to at least have some say in what's about to happen.
No chance. His hand on your neck is tight, like he's holding down a calf for slaughter.
"Been wanting this since the moment I saw you."
He kisses your temple, and then your cheek. He ignores the tears pooling on the sleek mahogany.
He catches your wrists and pins them against your lower back. Not twisting enough to hurt, but tight enough that he has you caught all the same.
Your arms pinned and one hand holding you down by the nape. That's how he takes you.
He doesn't even bother trying to be nice. The head of his cock catches on your entrance and then he's pushing all the way in.
He bottoms out with a snarl, his grip tightening on your neck.
He pulls out almost all the way, and then slams right back in. You bite back a scream, your whole body tensing up.
Didn't he say he was going to be good to you? What kind of goodness is this?
"Too much to handle, girl?" he mocks, all his southern charm withered and gone.
"That's okay." He drags you up by your neck, your back arching painfully. "By the time I'm done, you'll know what it's like to get ridden by a real cowboy."
He drops you, you chin slamming hard against the wood. You taste blood, though you aren't sure from where.
He grabs your wrist and crosses your arm behind your back, so that your right wrist ends up next to your left hip and vice versa. It's uncomfortable. Almost painfully so.
And worst of all, it gives him all the leverage he needs to start pounding into you. Mean. Rough. Hard enough that every thrust has the huge desk rocking forward.
"Slow down! It hurts!"
He laughs.
"Too big 'fer you? Huh, little girl?"
"Yes! Ju-just go easy. Please."
He snarls as he bottoms out again, his throbbing tip scraping the deepest parts of your cunt. Spreading pre cum all across your cervix.
"Say you love me."
"What?"
He pulls all the way out, panting. His tip rubs against your clit, hot and wet and sticky.
"Say you love me and I'll slow down."
Is he insane? You don't even know his name. You can't love him, not with the way he's touched you. It's cruel to make you say it - haven't you entertained enough of his perversion?
You take too long to answer him.
His grip tightens on your wrists. Harder than anyone has ever held you.
"Fine," he growls, "The hard way it is."
You don't last long. Every lover you've ever had would stop if you even flinched. Until tonight, you didn't think sex could hurt so bad. You didn't think being fucked could leave you sobbing, praying for it to end.
You didn't realise that some men get off on seeing your tears.
By the time you manage to say it, your cunt is a sobbing, aching mess. Your nipples are rubbed raw from the friction, your wrists not much better.
"I love you."
He doesn't even break pace. Cock spearing inside you with less mercy than the Devil.
"Again."
"I love you."
"Again."
"I love you! I've always loved you! You're the man I've waited for all my life. I love you. Please stop hurting me."
He does.
He loosens his grip on your wrists and hooks one massive arm around your waist. He flips you over so you're on your back.
And oh, what a sight you make. Mascara running. Lips swollen. Tears caught in your lashes. Ruined.
He forces his way between your thighs and leans down, palms on either side of your face.
His hair is messy, his shirt half undone. But it's his eyes that catch you.
There's hellfire in the way he looks at you.
"Again," he says quietly.
You swallow, your words and your courage abandoned on the floor with your dress and stockings.
"I..."
He waits, never looking away from you.
"I love you."
He smiles. It doesn't comfort you at all.
"Liar."
He touches your cheek, surprisingly gentle.
"You have a tell, remember? I'll always know when you're lying."
He leans down and kisses you. His tongue presses against your teeth, and then swipes deeper into your mouth.
Old enough to be your father and he's got you naked on his desk, cunt drooling around his cock and his tongue down your throat. It's blasphemy. It's monstrous.
It's the best damn fuck he's ever had.
He doesn't break off the kiss when he starts thrusting. Slower this time, savouring the way your cunt throbs around him.
You whine against his lips, your cunt still burning.
"Quit 'yer complainin'," he murmurs, "Goin' slow, ain't I?"
His Texan drawl getting thicker the longer he's between your legs.
"Hurts..."
"You want me to come in your mouth instead?"
You shiver, not sure which is worse.
"Fine. You wanna choke on it? I ain't gonna stop ya."
He pulls you up and gathers your hair in his fist. An awkward position, but with you sitting on the edge of the desk, all you have to do is lean down to take his cock in your mouth.
He's surprisingly patient with you. Or maybe he just likes seeing you naked and crying on his desk.
It's almost over, you tell yourself. Just suck him off and you can leave. Put it all behind you and never touch a deck of cards again.
His cock is creamy with your juices. Most of it in a ring around the base.
You lick the tip and shiver. It's bitter. The way pomegranates sometimes are.
His hand on your head is heavy, demanding. You don't want him on your tongue, but he's already taken so much. What difference does this last bit make?
You try and relax, try and take all of him. It doesn't work. You gag, tears brimming on your eyes.
He huffs, amused almost. Or mocking. You can't tell.
"I can always finish in your cunt, if you can't handle it."
No. You most definitely can't handle that.
You take a deep breath through your nose. You can handle it. You will handle it.
You grab his belt and pull him a little closer, nails digging divots in the leather.
He makes a pleased sort of noise and pushes your head down, all the way to the base. It's awful. You're overwhelmed by the taste, the smell, the feel of him.
He groans.
"Takin' it so fucking good, ain'tcha?"
He keeps you in place by your hair, and slowly pulls out. He let's you catch a hasty breath before he's right back in, a growl rumbling through him.
"Yeah, I reckon you needed this too. Needed your daddy to teach you a lesson on taking dick."
He chuckles, still fucking your throat with slow, deep thrusts.
"Needed to be reminded of your place in the world. Right here on my cock."
He has ridiculous stamina. None of your boyfriends have lasted half as long.
You moan around his cock and he shudders, grip tightening on your hair.
"You want to end this? Want me to let you go?"
You nod, looking up at him through your lashes with your mouth stuffed full of cock. Poor thing. Got more than you bargained for, didn't you?
He smirks, teeth ready to tear you apart.
"Then just hold still, alright? Gonna fuck your throat good and proper."
He bucks his hips and you choke. Whole body tensing as you gag and fight to hold still. He doesn't go so fast that you can't handle it, but you're right on the brink. Tears coming fast, lips feeling raw and bruised.
The sound of it is obscene. The slick sliding of his cock, the small coughs and gags. All of it the epitome of filthy sex.
Your hands move from his belt to his thighs, half to steady yourself, half to slow him down.
He's thrusting deep, his breathing getting faster. Each exhale almost a snarl.
He grabs your jaw and holds your mouth open right before he comes, his tip resting on the edge of your tongue.
His spunk shoots across your tongue and palette - flooding your senses with the the taste of him. And for a second or two, you think you'll never be able to rinse it away.
He groans, shamelessly loud.
"There," he pants, "Just how it's 'sposed to be."
He pulls out and tilts your chin up until you meet his eyes.
"Swallow."
You do. It's goes down thick - clinging to your teeth. Your stomach clenches, like your body knows exactly what you've consumed.
"Good."
He takes a deep breath, and then let's you go.
Well, for a second or two. Long enough to tuck his cock back in his jeans and redo his belt. And then he's grabbing you around the waist and pulling you against his chest.
He sits back down and drags you with him. Back on his lap, just like you started. Only difference is, this time your head is tucked under his chin and he's got one arm loosely draped over your thighs.
For a minute or two, there's only the sound of you both catching your breath
You don't want to keep thinking. You wish your brain would just shut up and let you get through this without pointing out all the ways you're hurting.
You try and sit up, maybe grab your clothes, but he doesn't let you. Hand coming up to press your head back against his chest.
You sag against him, defeated. Still not done then.
He's the one who finally breaks the silence.
"I know you, girl," he murmurs against your hair. "Better than you think. Tonight ain't the first I've noticed you."
You hum quietly, not sure what he wants you to say.
"You wanna know something funny? I've got a whole lot of dealers in this place. And almost all of them are honest men."
You lift your head a little.
"Almost all?"
"Just about every single one them. Except for the one you had tonight."
You go cold.
"You rigged my game." Your voice is hoarse - from tears, from his cock, from fear.
He laughs. " 'Course I did. House always wins, doll. But sometimes I just nudge things along."
He strokes a hand up your thigh, lazy and possessive.
"Like tonight. When I had a pretty girl on the line and an empty bed to fill."
You try and pull away, but his arm is still tight around your waist. Keeping you pressed up against him.
"How many? How many girls have you done this to?"
"A handful. Can't really remember all their faces, after all these years. But doll, none of them were you."
"What difference does it make? You're... you're a monster. A predator."
He laughs, indulgent.
"That what you wanna call it? I just call it 'risk management.' Folk know exactly what they're signing up for when they walk through those doors. Ain't my fault some of 'em don't know when to stop."
You push against his chest, trying to force your way off his lap. He's too hot, too close, too terrible. This man was inside you and it turns your stomach. You feel dirty from the inside out.
He clicks his teeth and squeezes your thigh.
"Quit squirmin'. You ain't goin' nowhere."
"Let me up. You got what you wanted, right? Our deal is done."
You slap his chest, hard.
"Let me go."
He doesn't.
"You really wanna be difficult with me, hmm?"
He smacks your ass, full strength. You yelp and jerk away. But there isn't anywhere to go except closer against him.
"You ain't going nowhere. So just sit pretty and let your daddy tell you a story."
"I don't want -"
He rubs his palm over your ass, over the same spot he hit you. You shiver and shut your mouth.
"Like I was sayin', all of those girls were just flings. I let 'em go if they don't want it. If they prefer the interest, so be it."
He's smiling. You can hear it in his voice.
"They never do though. Not when the choice is between fifteen minutes sucking my cock or fifteen years at prime lending rate."
He runs his palm over your ass again, squeezing.
"But you're special, ain'tcha? You're my girl. No more flings after you."
He presses a kiss against the crown of your head.
"You're the one I've been waiting for."
"You can't," you manage. "You can't keep me here. We had a deal. My debt is settled."
"You think I can't pull a few strings?" He sounds more amused than insulted. Like a father when his daughter says he can't pick her up like Superman. "It ain't hard, doll. A car left abandoned out in the desert. Your phone and ID all neat in the glove box. Couple grand to a captain on the force to have your case packed away as cold. Easy as apple pie."
You're icy from the tips of your fingers to your toes. He runs a hand through your hair, soothing.
"But I don't gotta do that, do I?"
Your lips are numb. No, no, no - this isn't how it's supposed to go. You know he's a thug, you know he has connections beyond what a legal man ought to have. Can't be a casino boss otherwise. But none of that was ever supposed to apply to you. You're just a dumb student who spent a few too many weekends at the tables. That doesn't deserve a punishment like this.
"Do I?"
"No, sir."
"Right. Because you're going to stay with me without putting up a fuss. Gonna be my girl."
"Yes, sir."
He hums, pleased.
"You'll love it here, doll. You can play as much poker as you want. All on the house."
it's a bit longer than i initially wanted this to be, but i had fun writing it! it's a bit more rushed towards the end so sorry if it shows. this was supposed to be for october, but i ended up not finishing it in time, so i'm very happy to have it finally done
TW. DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT
Noncon, fingering, baby trapping, yandere, slut shaming, victim blaming, bullying, non consensual touching, misogyny, gaslighting, manipulation, implied future forced relationship, abuse of power
The local golden boy your father has hired has taken a keen interest in you, an impoverished farmer's daughter, and you can't seem to shake him off. As he doubles down on pursuing you, and you continue to refuse him, the lengths he goes to ensure you'll be his increase drastically with one autumn night and a chase through a wheat field.
7.2k words
You didn’t know why Daniel insisted on working on your father’s farm. It wasn’t like his family wasn’t well off. In fact, out of all the families within the valley, his was the most successful by far. Hell, they were the only ones who could actually afford to employ other people. He drove a shiny new truck just like the rest of his kin, and lived in a big, multi story house at the top of the hill.
Your daddy could only really pay him scraps. The land you lived on was rough to say the least, all overgrazed and tough, untenable soil that had a Ph level that could’ve come straight out of hell in your honest opinion. Basically, there wasn’t shit to be earned, and the only reason why your folks even tried to desperately keep growing crop after failed crop was because if they didn’t, then you’d be flat out homeless and starving. The stock your family produced wasn’t worth a dime, either. Milk too sour, corn too small, eggs so dull and tiny people thought that they weren’t even from chickens; you were surprised people even bought from your daddy at all.
The poor state of your homestead was reflected in nearly everything else around you. You always looked some kind of mussed up: Wild, unkempt hair, dirt under your nails, clothes that looked either too small, too big or way too out of fashion. You got bullied quite a bit by the other young ladies in town. That is if you could even be called a young lady. There wasn’t a lick of lady in you it seemed.
You and your family were always on the edge of going broke, going hungry or some other kind of misfortune, so you found it increasingly odd why the Petusky boy was so keen to get his hands dirty when there was nothing he could get in return.
Daniel Petusky, or Danny as he would so kindly remind you to call him, was by most accounts the sweetest, most eligible young man in town. He was a tall, stocky sort of guy with large, rough hands and a handsome smile. You’d be stupid to say he wasn’t quite the looker, and not to mention he was all muscular and strong lookin from all his time working. When you were in highschool, he’d been the star of the school’s football team, and there were even rumors that he was getting offers from big, fancy schools in big fancy cities. You remembered how blooming with jealousy you were back then because of that. But, as you were so constantly reminded of through seeing his working boots that had to be worth at least a couple hundred bucks, he was wealthy too.
He helped out around town, was sweet to older folks, and made all the ladies swoon with a flip of his sandy blond hair. He charmed your father just as easily, asking him if he could work his land for him, or at least help him with it. Of course your daddy would say yes. He needed all the help he could get, and lord know you weren’t nearly enough to actually keep this place afloat. Plus, who else would accept such low pay? It wasn’t like there was a line out the door for a chance to work at the [Last Name] farm, now was there?
You sighed as you hauled a bag of feed over to the chicken coop. It was mighty heavy, and you grunted as you nearly slipped in the mud. Hands shot out and grabbed your waist, and you gasped in surprise as the bag landed on the ground with a large thud.
“Careful there, wouldn’t want you to take a tumble now,” Daniel chuckled softly. His voice rumbled in your head like thunder on the horizon. He steadied you and pressed you close against his chest. Your heart thumped wildly in your ribcage, though only part of it was because of your little fall. No, it was the way his fingers inched over your curves, toying with the waistband of your jeans. You swallowed thickly.
“Thanks…” You mumbled out before you stooped down to pick up the feed once again. You didn’t miss the way his gaze stuck to you when you did.
“You really shouldn’t be doing heavy liftin’, you know,” He said and pushed you to the side to grab it from your strained arms. He made it look so effortless, and it annoyed you to no end. You followed after him into the coop, an encasement of wire around it. “That’s what I’m here for.”
You frowned and didn’t respond to him. You just kept on going as you ripped open the sack to spill out all the seed. The birds rushed around your feet to get their meal, and normally you would’ve laughed and indulged in petting a couple of them, but normally you didn’t have company. Daniel had been getting better at finding you it seemed. Day by day it felt like you saw him more and more.
You tried not to be one of those people that held onto their younger years, but whenever he was around, all you felt were the lingering memories from highschool. You were mocked on the daily. Most of the adults thought you were lost cause, always late to classes and struggling through the course material. You were called all sorts of names: ugly, stupid, slow. While he never bullied you directly, you always felt him staring. At games, in class, when he would drive slowly by you while you walked home everyday. You shuddered to think about it.
You always remembered a very specific moment that happened back in highschool. Especially now that you saw Daniel everyday again.
“What do you think about the farmer’s daughter?”
“Which one?”
He sounded so innocent, so sweet. Like he didn’t know.
“Don’t go fuckin’ with me, Petusky,” One of the guys chuckled, a cruel hint in his eyes. “You know which one I mean. The trash.” Oh… they were talking about you.
You were sitting in the diner eating a small plate of fries. You couldn’t really afford to eat anything more than that with your limited allowance and pay. You clenched your fist in your lap as you listened to the group of guys speak harshly about you. You were just out of view around the corner, all alone in the tiny booth usually reserved for couples and the like. The waitress shot you a pitiful look, and she slipped you a milkshake for free. It should’ve made you feel better, but it did more harm than good. She knew. Everyone knew you as trash.
“Come on, don't talk about her like that. She just ain’t got the means,” Daniel laughed. The sound rang in your ears, and you felt sick to your stomach.
“Or the looks.” A chorus of snickers erupted.
“She ain’t that bad,” He started, but he stopped short and just let out a playful sigh. “Hey, if y’all hate her, then y’all hate her. Can’t stop you from not wanting to fuck her if you don’t want to haha,” He joked. You could hear the strain in his voice and just imagine his blinding white smile. You busied yourself with the milkshake and tried to ignore how gross it felt to swallow down.
“Yeah, no way I’d ever touch that bitch without a three foot pole. Probably got fleas or somethin’.”
“Haha yeah…”
They sat there chatting shit for a while longer, and you sat there miserable, shaking, and on the verge of tears. You wanted to sink into the checker patterned floor and disappear forever. You knew people didn’t like you, but was it really that bad? Were you that awful? Your eyes stung, and you just stared at the empty seat in front of you.
Eventually, the group of guys, all clad in their Ariat branded clothing and snap back hats got up and got ready to leave. None of them spared you a glance, too busy filing out to their trucks to look around them. But Daniel did.
His hazel eyes swiveled over towards you, most likely just out of habit, and caught on you. He froze. The two of you stared at each other, and his face morphed from quiet shock to anger. The planes of his features, so normally joyous and polite, shifted into something so ugly and unfamiliar that you flinched.
No one else had seen, and no one, not even him, had ever brought it up again.
Daniel liked to follow you around when there wasn’t really much work to be done. The property wasn’t the biggest, so he could find you quite easily if you weren’t by the house. Like now, while you were lounging in the barn and reading a book while hidden behind some shelving. You clutched onto the pages of the novel (some old faded copy of a Jane Austen book that you had plucked from a free bin at the local thrift store), and looked up nervously as you heard his heavy footsteps thudding against the concrete floors. He loomed over you and hummed softly.
“What you got there?” He asked and crouched down to your level. You flinched back and glanced between the small, hard to read print and him.
“A book…” You mumbled out. It was always hard to speak when you felt so embarrassed. Everyone and their mother knew that you struggled severely all through school. The teachers pretty much gave up on you, and you stumbled your way through graduation. You’d never been very smart, but sometimes you wish you were. When that happened, you tried to push yourself and learn.
“Seems like a might hard for you,” Daniel chuckled and plucked it from your hands. You let out a noise of protest as he thumbed through the pages with a low whistle and patted the top of your head. You bristled a bit.
“I’m sorry? Whaddya' mean by that?”
“Just that there are all sorts of fancy words in here,” He shrugged as he cozied up beside you. You could feel the warmth of his skin, burning from all the sun he soaked up, through the fine cotton of his shirt. It was long sleeved so that he wouldn’t get burnt during the heat of the day, but it didn’t make you feel any less flustered.
He was so confusing. Did he act like this with all the other girls in town? It was stupid to picture him as some robot who had his settings permanently flipped to flirt mode, but you genuinely couldn’t figure out why else he would be slipping his arm around your waist and pulling you into his lap.
“Daniel-”
“Danny.” He interrupted quickly, and you flinched from just how barely concealed his annoyance was. You tried to get up, you really did, but he was just so much stronger than you. You squeaked as he yanked you over his thighs. His strong bridged nose was pushing itself in the crook of your neck. “You call me Danny, you hear?” He murmured. His breath was so warm. All of him was just muscle and heat. You’d never been with anyone like this, never felt a guy’s chest pressed against your back.
Your daddy would skin you alive for this, surely. There wasn’t a single chance in hell that you wouldn’t be punished if not run out for fooling around with a respectable young man who you weren't even dating.
“The only thing we got is our dignity. It don’t pay no bills, but it do keep us in good graces. You do anythin’ stupid- and hear this well, girl. You do anythin’ stupid, and you’ll be out of this house before you can even pull your pants up.”
The threat was always so clear to you that it was impossible to not whimper and tremble as he groped you over your clothing. He chuckled, a soft sound that made you feel all sort of sick, and held you tight.
“Now honey, you don’t have to go all spooked on me.” He was kissing your shoulder, all tense and rigid. You felt like a piece of wood being bent far past what it should. Your bones were about to splinter, your heart about to fly out like shrapnel and just crack all over his insistent, firm hands.
“Don’t… It ain’t- ain’t right,” You stammered out. The spell was broken, and you started to grab at his wrists to get him to slow down. “ I’ll get in trouble,” You tried to reason, to hope that those golden boy manners would win out. Hope that he’d get off of you and leave you alone.
“Trouble? Hon, who you gettin’ in trouble with?” He laughed and reached up to cup your chin and face. Your head was pulled up in a craning stretch, and his fingers squished your cheeks in a playful, humiliating gesture. “With your folks? Don’t be silly [Name].”
“You’re grown, I’m grown… this is just normal between two grown people,” He hummed and started to tug up your shirt.
“H-hey! Quit it! I’m serious! I don’t want to,” You repeated, gaining your voice as he wriggled his way under the band of your soft, worn bra and began to knead your breast. He picked up the book while he pinned your legs underneath his own heavy ones and forced you to look at the random page he opened it to, completely ignoring your plea.
“Tell me, honey. What does this mean?” He asked
“What?”
“Read for me.” He drawled in a demanding tone. Your eyes flitted around nervously. “I want to know what you think you’re doing when you’re not with me. Hon, you really shouldn’t be wandering alone like this.”
“This is my farm-”
“Your Daddy’s farm,” he corrected and tugged on your nipple. You whimpered as a bolt of arousal coursed through you. Your cheeks flushed with heat. You’d never had such need dripping from between your legs before, and it got worse and worse as he pinched and rolled the sensitive nub between the rough pads of his fingers. You could feel the way his smirk felt against your skin.
“This ain’t your land, but that’s okay. I could buy it for your folks, make it so y’all don’t have to work so hard. And you’d get to sit pretty in the house all day, reading these books and whatnot. Now wouldn’t that be nice? Not having to work to the bone? Not having to get your pretty little face all mussed up?” He whispered and nipped at your cheek. You were on the verge of tears, watching helplessly as he threw your beat up novel to the side. You watched in detached horror as the words and ink were smudged and bled out by the small, dirty puddle it had landed in. Your hands curled into fists.
“Just say yes, honey. I’d treat you real nice. Promise.”
Your breath caught in your throat, and your entire body thrummed with shame, fear and arousal. You didn’t want to admit it. You’d rather have your heart torn out than ever in a million years say that it felt good, or that the attention he was sneaking you made you feel fuzzy inside sometimes. Because it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that he made you feel like this weirdo for ignoring him when he was, in fact, an actual, honest to god threat.
“No.”
“Hm? Repeat that for me now, would you honey?” He purred.
You gritted your teeth and with a burst of strength, you shoved off of him. His molten caress was gone in an instant, and your thighs shook as you scrambled to crawl away. Your chest heaved in little short bursts, and he looked at you with genuine surprise. He looked at you as if it was the first time he’d considered you could even do that.
“I said no!” You didn’t think it was proper for a lady to be hollering at a ‘nice young man’ like that, but you did. You didn’t care who heard you, not that it mattered. The barn you were in was a decent ways away from everything else on the property. You smoothed your hands over where he had touched and kissed you, like it would get rid of the pure lust he was heaping onto you.
Daniel’s pretty face scrunched up into a glaring, furious version of itself. You could see the way his veins bulged in his neck and the way he flexed like a predator getting ready to pounce. You swallowed thickly, but you managed to wobble up onto your feet, to for once be able to look down on him.
“I don’t know what you think your talkin’ about, but I am not some- some easy girl that- that you can just sweet talk into giving you some,” You spat out. He moved to stand, and you took a step back. His hands came up in a placating gesture.
“Now, don’t go rattlin’ off about nothin’ you don’t understand,” He said, voice sharp. There was an undeniable frustration to the way he carried himself, to the way he huffed slightly and never took his narrowed eyes off of you. “I’m not talkin’ about foolin’ around, honey. I wanna have the real thing. Kids, a nice wedding, to come home to you every day… I wouldn’t just leave you,” he nearly spat. His lips curled in anger, but it wasn’t directed at you. No, it was more the suggestion that he was fucking around.
“You and me, [Name], are going to be a proper couple one of these days. And you’re gonna be my wife, I’ll tell you that.”
You shuddered. There was a slimy feeling working its way up your body, through your guts and through the tips of your stood up hairs on the back of your neck. He was crazy. A downright maniac. There was that similar look in his eyes, the one he had given you years back in that diner, and you wondered how deep this went.
How long did he spend stalking you through the fields, hoping to have you pressed under him? How long had he been trying to worm his way into your life? More importantly, when exactly did he decide that just faking nice wasn’t going to cut it anymore?
“Like I’d ever let that fuckin’ happen,” You spat and ran straight out of that barn all the way home.
There was a fall festival happening in town. Your daddy was preparing to sell things at the market, though there wasn’t much interest in buying fresh produce this close to winter.
“Now there ain’t enough to go around for you to go. Just stay here and we’ll bring you back something real nice,” Your mother had said with a small, pained smile before they packed up the truck full of goods and lumbred off into the orange painted sky.
You were left standing in front of your empty house with the porch light fighting off the oncoming darkness of night. It was quiet when your family wasn’t here to fill out the house with sounds of cooking, arguing and just life in general. There was a weird sense of unease that settled in your gut now that you were on your lonesome. It felt like shit to just be abandoned like that, to know that your kin was out there having fun and interacting with the rest of the town while you were stuck closing up the farm for the night. You sighed, fists curling at your side as you kicked idly at the gravel pebbles on the path.
Well, there wasn’t much use in throwing a pity party. The coop needed to be locked up, the heaters in the barn needed to be turned on, the gates all had to be checked. It wasn’t all that much work all things considered, but it was enough to have you pushing through the shadowed fields at a hurried pace.
You carried out your tasks, floating through the empty farm with a goal of relaxing down in your cozy bed to read more of that novel you had been so desperately trying to finish. The cool autumn breeze brushed past your skin and made you shiver. Goosebumps. How strange… it wasn’t cold enough for that.
It was nearly silent save for the rustle of leaves and the crunch of your feet against the ground. You hummed softly and rubbed your arms as night finally fell over your quaint home.
“It ain’t supposed to be this chilly yet,” You grumbled to yourself as you walked down the path to get back to your house from the back of the property. You eyed the wheat field and stopped in your tracks. Hey now… there wasn’t any harm in taking a shortcut, now was there? It wasn’t like your father was there to holler at you for walking through the crops. You knew your way through it pretty easily, didn’t get turned around or nothing even if it was completely dark. The moon was full and practically beaming down onto the golden stalks, now painted pretty and silver.
You weaved through the field with ease, sighing softly as you could see the roof of the house through the leaves. You caught sight of the peeling paint and nearly slumped in relief. Well, you were being excluded from the fall festivities, but at least you could get all cozy for once. You stepped out past the edge of the field and now in the open, eyes fixed low on the ground as you tried to not trip over your own damn feet, but when you looked up you couldn’t help but freeze.
There, standing in front of your porch, was a tall imposing figure silhouetted in the hazy yellow light buzzing above the garage.
You came to a halt instantly, your breath hitching right as your heart stuttered. “What in the…?” You whispered to yourself as you took in the sight of the stranger. He was looking at the spaces where the truck would normally be, and you had half a mind to not just run up and start hollering at this stranger. What if he needed help or something? You didn’t see any car around or nothing, so maybe he was in trouble. You squinted, and you couldn’t help the little gasp that left your lips as you realized that he had on a burlap sack fitted loosely over his head. He had gloves on too, the nice leather kind that you knew cost more than what you spent on groceries in a week. But no good man wore gloves when he wasn’t working, and this guy wasn’t doing anything but staring at the front door.
Your fingers twitched as you just stood there wide eyed and slack jawed. What the fuck should you do? The kind, ladylike thing to do would be to ask if he needed anything or if he was lost, but there was something stirring in your gut that was telling you to go and hide as quickly as you could. You slowly began to back away, one footstep at a time. It was like everything was frozen around you, your breath stilling in your lungs.
You couldn’t look away from him, even as you retreated further and further. His head swiveled slightly as he examined the porch of your house, and you were sent further and further into a frozen spiral as he finally turned to finally look at the fields. The fields where you were inching towards, to be specific. Of course you couldn’t see his features, but there was no mistaking the fact that he was searching for something. And when he finally turned so that you could fully take in the way his muscles tensed and his posture hunched into something more haggard and eager than you’d ever have expected, you realized that something was in fact you.
A scream tore out of your throat as he barrelled towards you, his hands outstretched and ready to catch you. You could hear him calling your name, but you just started running. How did he know you? It didn’t matter though, not when you could practically taste the danger in the air with every ragged breath you inhaled.
Leaves whipped against your face and arms, leaving faint red lines from how harshly they scraped you, but you kept going. The man’s heavy footfalls thundered after each of yours, and you shrieked in pure horror as he reached up and grabbed the back of your shirt and roughly yanked you back. Your feet skidded in the loose dirt as you thrashed and tried to fight him off.
“Stop fussin’ and behave!” He commanded, his voice gruff with annoyance. It sounded like he was purposefully speaking deeper than his normal voice would allow. He followed his words up by clamping his gloved hand around the back of your throat and shoved you down to your knees.
“Ngh! Let me go! My folks will be back any second, a-and then you’re gonna get it you fuckin’ spineless little-!”
Your snarling was cut off with another cry of fear as he squeezed down on your windpipe for a fraction of a second. He grappled with your shaking body as he pushed you up against his chest and pressed you down into the earth. Your eyes were wide and your nostrils flared with panic at the feeling of soil against your cheek.
“Your family ain’t here. They ain’t gonna be here for a while. Quit cryin’ before I give you something to really cry over… shit and I’m tryin’ to be all romantic. I know you’re stubborn but shit…” He grumbled and nuzzled his face against the crown of your head. The burlap of the sack was rough and unpleasant, just another layer upon the mountain of shit you were in. He inhaled deeply, sniffing your neck and shoulder through the barrier of fabric. You shuddered and balled your fists up.
That voice, that touch: it was all so horribly familiar.
“Daniel?” Your voice carried a hint of betrayal you wish wasn’t there. You disliked him, thought of him a creep, but this was beyond anything that you would’ve ever thought him capable of. But then again, when had he ever given you the chance to actually trust him. If anything, you should’ve expected this. Should’ve known. Should’ve done something.
He stilled behind you, his feverish panting ceasing all at once and replaced with eerie silence. Sweat beaded on your forehead as the moment seemed to stretch on forever. Slowly his hands slid over your belly, pressed between the ground and your soft skin and ruching up the fabric of your shirt.
“Daniel,” You repeated his name, more panicked. It was like you were back in the barn again, but this time you felt no warmth from his skin. His sun kissed boyishness that had you squirming with unknown feelings was now replaced with simple cold dread, bathed in silver moonlight and casted with iron resolve. “Daniel, stop it.. Please,” you croaked out as tears gathered in your lashes.
“... You can still say yes [Name]” He whispered, nearly as desperate as you were for a brief moment. You flinched at his voice, but you found no sympathy in his rigid form. You opened your mouth again to beg, but you squeaked as he covered your mouth with his thick, gloved hand. You squeezed your eyes shut. “I’m tryin’ to give you the world here, and all you have to do is be a good girl for me and take it, alright?”
The sound of your clothes ripping filled your ears, and he yanked the tatters of your sweater away. He grunted at the effort, shoving you further down to secure you while he reached underneath your squirming form to unbutton your jeans. The denim burned your thighs as it scraped past, leaving your skin sore to his kneading of the soft skin. His breath hitched once his fingers wormed their way past your clenched legs to cup your pussy through the worn cotton of your panties.
“ Oh…” He sighed, sounding so dreamy and fascinated. It was like he weren't about to do the worst thing that had ever happened to you. “Would you look at that,” Danny murmured and fucking squeezed. You kicked against him as hard as you could, and he only laughed softly. “You’re already wet.”
You screamed in protest at that, but he whispered shushes into your ear.
“No use denying it, honey,” He almost sounded amused as he dragged your underwear down to finally reveal what he’d been after. He finally let go of your face, and you gasped for air, letting out a string of curses so foul your father would've surely beat you for even uttering them. He ignored your profanities and wrangled your pelvis into his lap, your thrashing legs on either side of his thick waist. Your nails dug into the dirt as you tried to crawl away, but he shook you harshly. “Quit squirmin’! I deserve a good look at my future wife…” he grumbled, annoyance muffled by the burlap sack. It was even worse that you couldn’t see his face.
Suddenly, your cunt was burning. You hissed, and your fingers curled around the earth. “Ow ow ow!” You cried. Daniel made a curious noise.
“Hm, was hopin’ you’d be a bit looser… relax honey, I ain’t gonna hurt you. You just gotta relax a bit,” He cooed and stroked your lower back, squeezing the globe of your ass and holding you in place with one hand while the other was currently trying to stuff its digits into your tight, clenched walls. You squeaked as his thumb pressed harshly down on your clit, and you jerked at the sensation. “Shh, shhh, it’s okay …” he murmured. It was the same way you would speak to frightened livestock before it was sent for slaughter, all placating and sweet despite the animal knowing something was obviously wrong. Your dry walls clenched around the leather, pulsing as he worked at the little bundle of nerves until pleasure sparked like embers. Slowly, but surely, he worked your hole into a leaking, slicked up mess, his glove covered in your juices.
After a while of prodding and trying to roughly finger you, he finally stopped. You were crying, your tears mixing into mud now smeared across your cheeks. Instead of relief, dread took over your gut.
“I think you’re ready, honey…” He whispered, eyes gleaming in the moonlight. Your thighs trembled as he stroked them and moved you once again. His arms wrapped around your waist, his muscular chest pressed against your back. His breath was hot against your neck and ear, the burlap sack rubbing against your skull. The sound of a zipper flying and denim rustling flowed into your frazzled brain. You couldn’t even find it in yourself to say no anymore, your head rolling forward limply to try and avoid his heady gaze that you could feel burning into your skin.
Something hard and hot pressed against your ass cheek, and you jerked away. He fumbled around for a bit, trying to line himself up with your clenched entrance. There were no more hushed promises or niceties, just rough grunts and the strain of his muscles against you.
The first thing you noticed was how much it burned. It wasn’t like that of being burned, though you wished it was. No, it was more like the stretching you would do in gym class way back when. It was past the point of comfort, feeling muscle thin out and weaken while you breathed deeply to stop feeling it so much.
He groaned in your ear, loudly too.
“ Do you know how long I’ve waited for this?” He rasped. “To have a moment like this?” You gasped as he bottomed out. Your guts were all squished up in places that you didn’t even know existed before. You moaned softly, partly out of pain and out of surprising warmth. Something stirred within you as he drew back, shuddering and stilted.
It took him a few moments to get it right, and he laughed in boyish glee when he finally managed to keep up a steady pace. He burrowed his head in the crook of your neck, joining you in the mud. Warmth spread through your gut as he pumped into you. At first it was just harsh prodding that hit the wrong angles in your stupidly wet cunt. Every blubber of fear, every hiss and whimpered ‘no’ only pushed him to find different places, find different ways to make you see stars and gasp when you should’ve been screaming.
“You’re always- fuck, you’re always fuckin’ teasin’ me,” He bit your earlobe through the thick fabric covering those charming, poisoned lips. “If it ain’t your goddamn folks around to stop me, then it’s you,” he practically spat, breathless and heady. “You ain’t got not right to say no to me when you know damn well that I’m the only one who can treat you well,” he snarled as his hips met yours roughly.
You felt so full, and when his hand dipped down once again to find your clit, you could do nothing but squeal as he pinpointed those spots that had you seeing blurry from both inside and out. Your back arched despite your muscles feeling like they were pulled thin to the point of no return, flexing and twitching with every slap of his balls against your thighs.
“You’ll see- hngh- you’ll see how good you have it,” He promised ominously.
He picked up the pace all of a sudden, emboldened by whatever was going on in that thick skull of his. You let out a strangled cry, your scuffed shoes kicking up dirt everywhere as the pressure in your belly finally started to rise into a frightening, all consuming pulse that rippled up your entire body. It was like nothing you had ever felt before, and it was fucking terrifying. Your eyes were blown wide, and you began to shriek and buck your hips not to meet his pace, but rather to seek and escape from the impending climax that was gripping your limbs and locking them in aching pleasure.
Danny shoved you further down, wrapping over you like he was some kinda snake. It felt like an apt comparison considering that this was the closest to being eaten alive that you could imagine anyone going through.
“ [Name] [Name] [Name] “
He chanted your name as he pumped his cock further and further into your pulsing heat. He was lost in the fervor of it all, too caught up to make his words coherent anymore. Not that anything would register through the haze of your tears and impending doom, but at least you didn’t have to pretend to listen.
“Ngh! Fuck!”
He had to be close by now. Your thighs were a mess of your own juices and smeared with his precum and sweat, and the two of you writhed together in some mockery of tenderness. Daniel gasped and tensed, his muscles locking together as he finally spilled his release inside of your waiting walls. His voice became high pitched and whiny, and then, in a moment of pure heat and desperation, he finally spilled within you.
You didn’t know when Daniel left your side, but it had to have been a few hours at the very least. You hadn’t moved, too shocked and sore to do anything but bleakly stare into the thick maze of wheat stalks just beyond your fingertips. But he did leave at some point, and when your folks came back, you were alone.
As you had suspected, your father was livid.
“ HOW COULD YOU BE SO FUCKIN’ STUPID?”
It was awful. Almost as awful as what had been done to you, but it was somehow even more shameful. It had been terrible, sitting there on a rickety dining room chair that screamed and groaned everytime you flinched and shuddered. Your mom at least had the decency to wrap a towel around you while you were torn into.
You had tried to tell them, “It was the Petusky boy” and “It wasn’t my fault”. None of your words seemed to hit.
“Danny wouldn’t do something like that.” Your Pa’s response was immediate, and you shut your mouth quickly, gaze boring into your hands curled in your trembling lap.
“Did you see who it was?” Your mom tried to coax out of you, though you got the impression she didn’t believe you either.
“No he had a mask but-”
“That settles it then,” Your dad cut in as he paced the room, his jaw was set tight, and your stomach churned uneasily. “He’s a good boy. A smart one too. He wouldn’t do something like that, and certainly not with you. Be honest [Name], you had to be askin’ for some shit. I’m not stupid. I swear-! We leave you alone for a goddamn second and you’re spreadin’ your legs for the first fool that comes by. And you have the nerve to blame it on an honest man,” he hissed out, and you felt tears brimming to your eyes.
Your mama glared at him, but she did nothing to say anything against her husband. She merely shushed you and rubbed soothing circles on your back.
“From now on, you ain’t settin’ a foot off of this farm, you hear?” He snapped. You sank further into yourself, wishing you could just disappear. “Now, we’re going to keep this quiet. You’re going to keep your trap shut about this, and you’re not going to say a word about this to Petusky boy. And if I find out you did or if you managed to knock yourself up? You’ll be out on your ass before the sun comes up.” The ultimatum was laid bare, and you could do nothing but bite your lip and nod.
In the next few weeks, it felt like you were living in hell. Daniel still worked on your family’s farm, and you tried everything in your power to avoid him. It was strange, though. Even though you could feel his eyes following you everywhere, he hardly spoke to you since that night. You almost could’ve mistaken yourself for having imagined it if it weren’t for the warning looks your Pa shot you nearly every hour. Honestly, it probably would’ve been better if you had just made it all up.
Of course, you couldn’t just forget, but you wish you could.
“Shit…” You murmured as you looked down at the faded calendar you had stashed in the barn along with your collection of paperback romances. It had been your escape recently, but now you once again were forced to face reality. You were late for your period. Pretty late at that, by at least a week in and a half. It was hard to ignore the reality that you could be pregnant, especially since he’d finished inside.
“What’re you lookin’ at?”
You screamed and tried to spin around, but Daniel quickly reached out to grab your arms and pin them in place, holding you still as his lips brushed against your earlobe. Revulsion and fear coursed through you, and your heart beat rapidly as he plucked the calendar from your trembling fingers.
“Hmmm,” His voice hummed low in his throat, a sweet noise that should’ve put you at ease, not on the verge of a breakdown. “You’re gonna have my baby,” He announced, smiling against your neck. Panic coursed through you, and you tried to squirm away as he snuggled up against you and dragged you over to some old crates to sit down. He played with the hem of your shirt, positively beaming with excitement.
“N-no I ain’t!” You protested with a face full of terror. He just laughed and hugged you.
“ I know… I know…” he murmured soothingly and pulled out a box, something rattling around inside. “But there’s a chance, ain’t there?” Pregnancy tests. A fucking two pack. You bit your lip, you couldn’t deny that you needed to know if you were or not. You silently took it from him and walked over to the run down bathroom. He waited, giving you space for the first time. Probably because he knew that even if he did, you had nowhere to run.
Two lines on both tests. You sighed and pinched the bridge of your nose as Daniel smiled softly.
“See? I told you I was going to make you my wife,” He reminded you, and you felt sick.
“My folks don’t believe that you did it.”
“Really? Well ain’t that something… don’t fuss too much, honey. I’ll just work my charm, and you’ll be up in my house with a rock on your finger by the end of the month,” His promise was firm, and he squeezed your side, careful not to press too hard on your lower belly.
“And what if… what if I don’t want to?”
The question was quiet, desperate even. His eyes burned a hole into your skull, digging around in your brain and trying to pull on your thoughts and feelings. Slowly, he reached his hand up and grabbed your face. It was just rough enough to make you stumble forward, and you gasped.
“ You think that anyone out there is gonna believe you over me?” He asked softly, deceptively so. “That anyone gives a damn about what you think and feel, [Name]? I am the best option you’ve got. I’m the only option you got,” He continued, entwining one of his hands in yours as he walked you to the door.
“Your folks don’t care, no one in this town thinks of you as anythin’ but a tramp, and, shit- when you start showing? You think anyone is goin’ to give you a chance to prove you’re anythin’ else? Now I know you ain’t stupid, honey. Come on, you know as well as I do that this is the best that you’re ever gonna get,” Danny’s words were mocking, and his handsome face was obscured in shadow by the light pouring in from the barn door. You swallowed thickly as he wrapped his fingers gently around your throat.
“And…” His voice lowered as he leaned in to look you in the eyes. “ If you decide you want to be dumb, then I don’t mind tryin’ again to set you straight. Matter of fact, I’ll keep doin’ so until you get it in yer pretty little head that you’re gonna be mine.”He dragged you out of the barn, down the dirt path, and up onto the rotting porch of your house. Daniel flashed you a dazzling smile, his fingers digging into your own. As he reached for the doorknob, you thought of a million ways of how you could get out of this, could leave and run for the hills, but in the end you could only stand there. He seemed to notice you lost in thought and pause, raised your hand to his lips, and planted a swift kiss to your knuckles.
“Don’t you worry, honey. I’ve always got you.”
clan head satoru who is wholeheartedly enamored with his new wife, so much so he keeps track of everything you do throughout the day, checking in on you on countless occasions and wandering around your wing of the estate, eyeing the changes you’ve made to suit your tastes (though he’s admired it numerous times already, he doesn’t let up on complimenting it at least three times a day when he makes his spontaneous short visits) that it almost seems as though he isn’t busy when truly, he is.
satoru asks if you’ve eaten even after having been at your chambers half an hour prior whilst you were in the middle of luncheon and even stealing some of your sweets — but to satoru that meal doesn’t count until you’ve dined alone with him specifically.
your husband will use any excuse to see you, informing his advisors he is simply ‘checking on his wife’ to see if you are doing your part and fulfilling your duties as the lady of this house (sitting pretty) all while neglecting to commit to his own (he’ll leave it all to the noble men who serve him to their utter dismay.) the man notices everything about you — the florals and designs you tend to gravitate towards when commissioning new kimonos and hairpins, your favorite tea, whether your palate prefers spicy to sweet. and if he notices a fluctuation in this, his mind immediately jumps to the extremest conclusion due to wishful thinking — you must be pregnant (you are not). he wouldn’t want you overworking yourself in such a condition.
he can not stop thinking about you, wishing to spend every waking and sleeping moment beside his wife who consumes his thoughts and entire being like the essential air he breathes. the avoidance of his work had gotten so bad bc of your mere existence in his home — your mere existence in the universe, that the only way he can ‘focus’ is if you are sat on his lap as he fills out paperwork or sitting by his side during meetings right at the head of the table, surrounding by his council of men who refrain from glancing your way in fear of falling privy to your husband’s wrath.
their thoughts are loud and clear: such is an improper station for a woman to seat. but what those fools neglect to realize is that nothing is ever proper when it comes to satoru gojo and the love he holds for his dearest lady wife.
