Imagine for the past few weeks you genuienly thought you were losing your mind. At first it was small things, a familiar black SUV parked near your apartment building too often. Same man appearing near your workplace at different hours of the day. Someone standing near the convenience store every time you went out late at night.
Imagine you ignore it initially, because honestly? Your life had already been miserable enough lately. Sleeping became difficult after the breakup, or whatever that even was. Because calling Caleb your ex fiance felt wrong, painfully wrong. Even after giving the ring back, even after blocking him, even after crying yourself sick for weeks. Nothing about losing Caleb felt real. It just felt incomplete. Like your relationship shattered halfway through a sentence and somehow that made moving on impossible.
Imagine the way you still remembered the look on his face that night too clearly, that was the problem. If Caleb looked guilty, maybe you could have hated him properly. If he looked defensive, angry, dismissive, maybe this would have been easier. But he looked terrified, desperate. Like he was watching something precious collapse in front of him while being unable to stop it. That look haunted you constantly.
which Imagine was why you hated yourself for still worrying about him. For missing him. For unconsciously reaching for your phone every night hoping maybe he would texted from another number somehow. You were angry at him. You were furious. But underneath the anger sat something worse, fear. Because deep down you still believed Caleb loved you. And that made everything terrifyingly confusing.
Imagine then came the night outside the convenience store. A man initially looked harmless, smiling, flirting, asking for your number casually and you politely declined. He insisted and you decline again. But then his hand grabbed your wrist too tightly, your stomach dropped immediately. "Hey." You snapped, trying to pull away. "Let go." Instead, his grip tightened harder. "Don't be such a bitch about it." For a second, panic flashed sharply through you and before things escalated further, someone moved.
Imagine the way the stranger barely had time to react before another man twisted his arm away from you hard enough to force him backwards. "Walk away." Cold voice, military tone, controlled and dangerous, the creep cursed under his breath before quickly leaving. Meanwhile, the man who intervened turned toward you. "You alright, Ma'am?" Your chest tightened. Because you knew him, one of Caleb's men. Although you don't knew him personally, you had seen him multiple times beside Caleb during military gatherings. And he clearly realized you recognized him too because his expression immediately became awkward.
Imagine the way you looked around quickly. Shit. Another familiar figure stood near the parked SUV across the street, watching. Your blood ran cold. No. No fucking way. "...Are you following me?" The silence was enough answer. Anger exploded immediately afterward. Weeks of confusion and heartbreak suddenly mixed violently together. "Are you serious right now?" "We're assigned to your protection." "My protection from what?!" Then again, the silence. Your laugh came out sharp and disbelieving. "Unbelievable." You stormed off furious. But afterward? You couldn't stop noticing them. And once awareness settled in, the protection become impossible to ignore.
Imagine different personnel rotating constantly, cars nearby, people subtly shadowing your routes. Never too close, never enough to make public scenes but always there. Watching, protecting. And the worst fucking part? They were unquestionably Caleb's men. Which meant even after everything, even after the ring, even after you walked away. He was still protecting you. And that realization hurt more than it should have. Because what kind of man continued watching over the woman who left him? What kind of man silently protect someone who slapped him across the face and blocked his number afterward? Your Caleb. That was the problem, it was always him.
Imagine three weeks passed like that. Three miserable, exhausting weeks. Until eventually your frustration outweighed your pride, because clearly something was happening. Something enough to justify military protection around you twenty four seven. And Caleb? Caleb remained completely silent. No new number, no new messages, no calls, nothing. Which felt wrong, terrifying wrong. Caleb was not the type to give up on you quietly.
so Imagine one night after another bodyguard subtly followed you home from work, you finally snapped. You unblocked his number immediately then stared at your messages, nothing. Your chest tightened, then you type first.
You: where are you? sent
You: Caleb sent
Imagine there was no response, not even delivered. Hour passed and your anxiety worsenes horribly. By midnight, you couldn't take it anymore and you called him. The line rang twice before connecting and immediately, a woman answered. And your entire body went cold. Again. Again? For one horribe second, you couldn't breathe properly. The same sick feeling from that apartment rushed back instantly. The same confusion, the same humiliation and you nearly hang up. But something stopped you this time, maybe it was exhaustion, maybe it was instinct, maybe because despite everything, you still trusted Caleb somewhere deep inside yourself.
"Where's Caleb?" The woman in the other end paused briefly then her tone softened immediately. "Oh." Something about that single word made your stomach twist violently. "You're his fiance." Your throat tightened. "... Ex fiance." "No." The woman replied quietly, "Definitely not ex." Your heart stumbled painfully. "What?" But she continued before you could process that. "Colonel Caleb is currently hospitalized." Everything inside you stopped. "What?" "Colonel's unconscious right now." Your chair nearly crashed backward as you stood abruptly. "What happened?!" Your voice cracked instantly. "Is he okay?!" "He's alive." She reassured quickly, "But-" You were already grabbing your keys. "What hospital?"
Imagine the military hospital intimidating, cold white walls, heavy security and personnel everywhere. You barely remembered entering. Everything blurred together beneath your panic. "I'm sorry Ma'am, family member only." "I'm his fiance." The personnel hesitated. "Legally immediate family only." Your chest twisted horribly. Because technically? You weren't even wearing the ring anymore. And you almost broke down right there from frustration. "I need to see him." "I apologize but-" Thankfully, one of Caleb’s friends spotted you before security fully turned you away. A Major you met several times before, usually calm and easygoing but tonight he looked exhausted like nobody around Caleb had slept properly in days. "She's with me." He told firmly then softer toward you. "Come on."
Imagine the walk toward Caleb's room felt endless. "What happened to him?" The Major exhaled heavily. "There was an ambush during transfer." Your stomach dropped instantly. "He protected the witness." Witness? Questions flooded your head immediately. But none mattered more than one thing. "Is he okay?" The Major looked at you carefully for a long second before answering. "He almost wasn't." Your vision blurred immediately. Then the room door finally opened and you stopped breathing. Caleb looked terrible. Paler than you had ever seen him, bruises covered parts of his face and neck. An oxygen mask covered half his face while machines beeped steadily around him but what shattered you completely was his arm.
Imagine his right arm looked badly damaged beneath thick stabilization wraps and medical equipment. The sight physically hurt. "Oh my God…" This was Caleb. Strong, steady, untouchable Caleb. The man who always looked capable of carrying the world, now lying unconscious beneath hospital lights looking painfully fragile. Suddenly all your anger felt unbearably small compared to the fear crushing your chest right now. You approached slowly, terrified. Like touching him might somehow hurt him more. Yet you wanted to hold him, wanted to check if he was really alive. But the amount of injuries scared you too much. "What happened to you." You whispered shakily.
then Imagine Caleb moved, very slightly. His brows furrowed weakly before his eyes slowly opened. Disoriented at first, unfocused. Then they landed on you and everything on his face broke apart instantly. Relief, pure overwhelming relief and his eyes immediately filled with tears. Your chest caved inward painfully as Caleb tried sitting up too fast before immediately wincing sharply in pain. "Hey- hey don't move." His breathing became uneven behind the oxygen mask. And then, he started crying. Not loudly, not dramatically. Just silent tears slipping helplessly down his face while staring at you like he genuinely thought he'd never see you again.
"I'm sorry." He rasped weakly beneath the mask and your own tears fell immediately. "Caleb-" "I'm sorry." His voice sounded rough, exhausted, broken. And suddenly you realized something horrifying. Caleb looked scared, not of pain, not of dying. He was scared of losing you. "Please." He whispered shakily. "Please don't leave." That nearly destroyed you. Because this was Caleb, your composed, terrifyingly competent Colonel. The man who handled crisis after crisis without breaking. Now looking at you with absolute desperation in his swollen exhausted eyes.
Imagine the way you carefully reached for his left hand and the second your fingers touched his, Caleb grabbed onto you weakly but immediately. Like instinct, like survival. His grip trembled. "I hate you." You cried shakily. Caleb let out one broken breath that almost sounded like a laugh before another tear escaped instead. "I know." "You hurt me." "I know." "You made me think..." His eyes squeezed shut briefly and pain crossed his face instantly. Real pain, not physical but something worse. "I couldn't tell you." He whispered weakly. "I couldn't risk you."
Imagine the way your brows furrowed through tears. "What are you talking about?" Caleb looked at you desperately now, like he was trying to stay conscious through sheer force. "There were people watching." He whispered. "At the apartment." Your heart stopped. "There was a laser sight on you." The room went silent and your blood ran cold instantly. Caleb's breathing worsened slightly from talking too much but he kept going anyway. "I saw it on the wall behind you." He said shakily. "I know that if I talked… If I told you anything…" He swallowed painfully. "They would've killed you."
Imagine the way everything suddenly clicked together all at once. The bodyguards, the secrecy, the fear in his eyes that night, the panic, the silence. Oh God. You started crying harder instantly. And Caleb looked completely devastated watching you realize the truth. "I thought sending you away was safer." He admitted weakly. "Then I realise I..." His voice cracked harshly. The monitors beside him started reacting faster. "Caleb, stop talking." "No." He gripped your hand tighter desperately. "No because I thought I lost you." "Caleb-" "I almost died before fixing it." Your chest physically ached hearing that.
Imagine the way his breathing became uneven now, exhausted. But he kept staring at you like if he blinked too long, you would disappear again. "I'm sorry." He whispered again and again. "I'm so fucking sorry." Tears streamed helplessly down your face. You wanted to comfort him, to scream at him, to hold him forever. And Caleb looked so tired. So emotionally wrecked like these past weeks destroyed him too. "Don't leave me." He whispered suddenly and the words sounded small, terrified. Nothing like the composed Colonel everyone respected. Just Caleb, your Caleb. Broken apart in front of you. "Please." His grip tightened weakly around your hand.
"I can fix this." He whispered desperately, voice becoming less steady now. "I'll explain everything properly, I swear, just- just don't leave me again." "Caleb-" "I can't lose you. I'll die." The monitor beeped faster suddenly and a nurse immediately entered. "Colonel, you need to calm down." But Caleb ignored her completely. His eyes stayed locked desperately on yours. Almost delirious now from exhaustion and medication. "Please stay." He begged weakly. "Please don't leave me alone again." Your chest shattered completely. "I'm here." You whispered quickly through the tears but Caleb looked unconvinced, panicked. Like he genuinely thought if he closed his eyes, you would disappear. "Please." He whispered brokenly.
then Imagine, alarms started ringing louder and everything happened too fast afterward. More nurses rushed inside, doctors followed immediately. "Ma'am, you need to step outside." You froze instantly. "What happened?!" "His condition is destabilizing." Caleb's grip on your hand only tightened as medical staff surrounded him. And even then he still looked only at you, terrified, desperate. "Don't go." He whispered weakly and your heart broke completely. But then the nurses pulled you away while the doors shut between you both.
[ⓒdark-night-hero] 2026°
: bruh :/ imma play love island on the sidelines. Let's go ethan :"( Valkoooo T~T anyways here u go grovelling caleb 🥹
mb, i forgot the Tags kasi decisions ako sa life: @moltensceptergambit @scoupshushushu @ceceoboro @younghideoutberserker @sleepykittyenergy @spiceandsass @younbeanz @multi-fandom-fanfic @yoichislovie
summary: step brother leon kennedy x fem!reader. inspired by the lore of re2 leon drinking after his gf dumped him
content: dead dove do not eat, stepcest, creampie, meanie leon, minor degradation, set before re2
notes: this has been in my drafts since before the pyramids were built lowkey. oops
wc: 2k
It comes as a big surprise that Leon broke up with his girfriend. Things seemed great we her your family liked her a lot, highschool sweethearts as they were. What isn't a surprise, however, is how your older brother deals with his grief; getting drunk and refusing to leave his room, wallowing in his little bubble of self pity. It's a sad sight to see, really.
It had been a week of him staying up and drinking. You tried to let him get over it in his own time, but it was just getting pathetic. You refuse to watch your brother rot away for some girl who, in your opinion, didn't even seem worth it. So you make up a plan to get him out of his pitiful slump, one way or another. For the sake of his liver, if anything.
Opening his door without a knock — because that's what siblings are supposed to do — you step inside, determined to not give up until you've shaken some sense into your idiotic, alcoholic older brother.
You ignore his drunkenly irritated grumbling at your unannounced appearance, softly clicking the door closed behind you. He only argues more when you reach over to snatch the beer can from his grasp.
"Enough, Leon," you start with exasperation. "This isn't healthy."
But Leon doesn't let go, his hand only slides from the can to your wrist, grip firm as he suddenly yanks you sideways. He only meant to pull it out of your grasp, but you just end up stumbling onto his bed.
"Leon!" Despite your stern tone and undeniably intimidating glare, he doesn't soften his hold. Instead he pulls you closer and leans forward, his eyes roaming over vour face like he's seeing vou for the first time ir months. Technically, with all his brooding, it had beer a while without him acknowledging your existence
"Did I ever tell you how cute you are?" The compliment is sudden and unexpected, and you feel a confusing mixture of lust and dread to shoot up your spine.
"W-what?"
He's just trying to distract vou. "Cut it out. You're drunk. And sad." And pathetic. He ignores you.
"I've always thought so..."' he continues. His surprisingly earnest tone has you falling silent, at a sudden loss for words. And you're too distracted with his confession to notice him slowly shifting towards you until it's too late. He pushes you against his bed without warning. You don't fight him, even when he pins your arms down. Maybe his confession should've been more disturbing, but it's not like vou haven't had similar thoughts about him before. And you're anything but a hypocrite.
Leon's grip tightens around your wrist again, “so cute and small…” He'd always tease about how much bigger he was compared to you. Now, those memories stir up different feelings. He leans closer, breath mingling with yours as he hovers only inches away. His eyes search yours, like hes expecting you to pull away or slap him or tell him off at all. When you don't, he continues, “I could do anything right now, and you wouldn't be able to stop me.” His words immediately shoot south, slicking your folds with the first drops of desire. You know Leon would never actually hurt you, his tone is teasing, but the threat alone shouldn't turn you on as much as it does. You're so fucked.
Finally, you snap back to reality — the position he's got you in, in his bed, his weight pressing firmly against you. You can't help but squirm under him, panic rising in your throat. His long forgotten beer can clatters to the floor, but neither of you pay it any mind. “Leon–”
He hums at the way you whine his name. “C'mon sis, don't you wanna help your big brother out?” He's even asking all nicely, so sure you can't say no to him. And he's right. Leon's not an idiot, he's noticed the way your eyes linger, how you hover whenever he passes through the hall after a shower. He purposefully wraps his towel extra low, just so you can admire his subtle abs and thick arms. He's pretty, in a way that not many men are. Strong but soft. And he knows you so well. He's your big brother, after all. It's his job to be attentive.
Just as he expected, you arch into his hold as one of his hands slips under your shirt, he's been wanting to get his hands on these tits for fucking ages.
“Stop teasing,” you nag in your usual impatient tone, like you're simply arguing over domesticities that siblings regularly do. His hands continue to hold you down, and grope your chest shamelessly, as he slips his tongue past your lips. Your brain is a mess of LeonLeonLeon, unaware of how loud you're being, so wet you can feel it dripping through your folds and soaking your underwear.
“You're gonna have to be quieter sis. Be a good girl for me,” you just nod obediently, eager to please your big brother. Leon groans as he gazes into your shiny eyes and puffy lips. You'd look perfect on your knees, he thinks. “Pretty mouth would look so good around my dick.”
“Want it…”
“Yeah?” Yes.
You'd beg if you had to, you wanted him for ages. Eyes fond in a way that makes your chest ache, his hand drops away from your mouth to cup your cheek instead.
“Wanna make you feel good. I bet your girlfriend didn't.” Your tongue flicks out to lick your lips– fuck, why did you say that? You desperately hope it doesn't ruin the vibe, or make him mad, but Leon doesn't even hesitate before humming in agreement.
“She's not as pretty as you. And never wanted to suck my dick.” She must be crazy, you think.
That thought solidifies once you wrap your lips around Leon's tip. You've never sucked cock before, but each hitch of his breath and shuddering groan builds your confidence, and has you wondering how his ex went a day without needing to hear it. He's so vocal. You watch with dazed eyes as his head falls against the pillow, mind sinking into the sensation as you figure out what to do, careful to be gentle and not buck down your throat despite how much he wishes to.
“Feels so good sis. I knew you'd be a pro at this.” The compliment has your clit throbbing, and you can't help but grind against the mattress, desperate to alleviate the heat in your cunt. You moan around him, the vibrations making his dick twitch in your mouth, and you have to force yourself to pull off.
“Leonnnn,” you whine like you're a spoiled child he's a shiny new toy.
"I know, baby, this cunt is so needy, huh?" You let him manhandle vou with rough hands, tugging at your clothes and groping until he brushes over your clothed clit.
You suck in a breath. "Don't tease me."
"Sorry, it's just so easy sis." He relents and applies more pressure, admiring how you greedily buck into his touch. When he finally slips a hand under vour panties, he grunts at the slick between your thighs. "Holy shit, you're soaked."
You can't find it in yourself to feel embarrassed at how needy you are for him, especially when he's finally peeling off your pj shorts to get a peak at your glistening lips.
“So wet, princess,” Leon's voice low and breathy as he exposes your thighs inch by inch. “You gonna let your big brother take good care of you?” Leon flings your shorts away carelessly as you nod submissively. When his fingers find your thighs, you squirm at the sensation, skin sensitive yet eager for his touch. What a meanie.
“I want you inside,” you cry, and Leon finally has the incentive to almost feel guilty about his slow pace. Almost.
Instead, he focuses on the way your bottom lip quivers as he slides his leaking cock against your cunt, panties darkened and sticky from the wetness seeping though the thin material. "You're such a dirty girl, you know, being this wet for your brother. Wish I new sooner what a massive slut you are." He groans, eyes fluttering shut as he relishes in the friction of your panties against his shaft. He looks gorgeous like this, you think, allowing himself to slip into this sinful bliss.
"Gonna fuck my little sister so hard..."
"Please. Want it so bad."
"Yeah, yeah." Impatiently, Leon tugs the flimsy material aside, exposing you to the cool air and his heated gaze. You feel hot under his his heavy stare.
“So pretty….” the compliment makes your stomach flip, like you're a schoolgirl with a crush instead of a pervert about to get railed by your own brother. With arms hooking under your knees, Leon holds them up as he lets his cock dive slowly against your entrance. There's little restraint before it finally gives way, and he pushes inside to the hilt with a low groan, stretching you wide and full. You didn't think a day would come where you were stuffed with your step brother's fat dick, but here you are.
Leon's teeth sink into his bottom lip, a low hiss slipping out at the way you're gripping him. If he'd known his little sister's cunt was this good, he would've left his girlfriend way sooner.
"I know just how to make this tight little pussy feel real good, sis,” he mumbles, dirty talk on autopilot. He pulls almost all the way back before slamming back inside, relishing in the way your body jumps at the sensation. And before you can recover, his hand comes down sharply on your ass.
“Mmph- brother…” writhing against his hold only intsensifies the feeling of him, so deep you feel increasingly speechless.
“That's right, princess, “ Leon's hand cups your jaw and his hips start slowly dragging his cock in and out, "you're all I need… this perfect pussy.” You're surrounded by him, swimming in his scent until your eyes roll back in your head as the sloppy drag of his shaft through your dripping folds.
Your fingers thread through his hair, tugging him into a messy kiss that's more tongue and teeth than anything. His broadness, something you always secretly loved about him, traps you against the mattress, just like the way you'd fantasise late at night with your hand between your thighs.
“F-feels so good,” you mumble, back arching against the bed as Leon reaches down to rub circles into your clit. His fingers are clumsy with the little room between your bodies, agonisingly not enough stimulation in the right places, but it still sends sparks of pleasure up your spine.
He's too lost in the firm grip of your pussy to correct it anyway. He could definitely get used to this.
“Mmm fuck, gonna make you cum all over my dick." The head of his cock rams against your cervix with every repetitive thrust of his hips, and you swear you can feel your brain starting to melt in your skull.
Then he half collapses on top of you, pressing his weight against you as he leans down and wraps his lips around your perked nipple.
His mouth is so hot it burns.
“I'm gonna c- cum,” you curl your fingers in his hair heard enough that he grunts. The fire inside you grows and grows.
“Not until after I do, baby.” Leon huffs against your sweat slicked skin, further dampened by the spit he's smeared over your chest. “Gonna let your- fuck, your big brother cum inside?”
“N-no, you can't,” panic seeps into your voice initially — that's the last thing you need right now. But you can't deny the edge of exhilaration you feel either. “L-Leon,” you beg even as your toes curl at the thought, “you can't.”
With another whine, you squeeze your twitching legs around his hips, trying to pull your bodies as close as possible despite your words. If only you could mould together, sink into each other's skin and finally become one. You wouldn't be sufficed until you could, you think.
And Leon, the little shit, slides his fingers over your clit even as he warns you not to cum. Of course your body doesn't listen, twitching and clenching around him as your orgasm is squeezed out of you. He has to rush to cover your mouth with his free hand, lest your whimpers wake your parents. That's the last thing you need.
“Nghh– too much,” you whine against the roll of his hips as your orgasm wanes. Leon ignores your complaints, eyes squeezing shut shut in his own blissful pleasure.
“You can take it, sis.”
Before you can even consider a snarky retort, he snaps his hips against yours roughly, burying deep one last time with a guttural groan.
“God,” you huff against his neck as you feel the first spurts of cum filling you. “You're such an asshole!”
synopsis. caleb gives into his desires
pairing. caleb x reader
tw/content. sibling incest, virginity loss, p in v
wc. 2.5k
masterlist ♱ ask
Caleb’s mind has been drifting into a darker and darker place ever since he’s been spending the summer with his younger sister.
Both of you have decided to spend two weeks of your break at your grandma's, as a chance to wind down from your rough university studies and to catch up with one another.
For the first couple of days it has been nothing but blissful for Caleb, getting to hear you ramble about school, new friends, parties, drama. Listening to you complain about how you had to start doing things for yourself since your big brother wasn’t there to do it for you. And on top of that…
Boys.
Caleb’s eyebrow twitches at the thought. The mere image of seeing his sweet baby sister kissing–no, holding another man’s hand has him seeing red.
Of course, none of the men you’ve met have gotten very far with you, he made sure of that.
But the urge he has felt over the past week has him doubling over in the safe confines of his bedroom, cock throbbing in his boxers.
“Are you even listening to me?”
Caleb turns towards you, nodding his head. “Yeah, you need your shirt by Friday, right?”
“Yup,” you reply. You’re enjoying the ice cream cone that he bought you, the melting dessert running down your fingers as you lick the sides. “Can you do my laundry for me?”
“Of course pips,” Caleb stretches, averting his eyes. “Leave it to me.”
–
The ceiling fan is all Caleb can hear as it fights against the humid air. He lies on his back in nothing but a t-shirt and boxers, one arm thrown over his eyes and the other resting on his stomach. He’s been staring at the same crack in the wall for forty minutes.
The house is quiet. Grandma went to bed at nine, same as every night since they were kids. The floorboards still creak in some places, the AC unit in the room next to him rattles as it usually does.
But nothing is the same. Not this summer.
Caleb’s jaw tightens as he shifts on the mattress, the friction of cotton against his cock making him hiss through his teeth. He’s half hard. Has been for the past three nights, ever since you and Caleb went to the pool together.
He spent that night in the shower, palm braced against the wet tile, jerking himself raw with the water scalding down his back. He imagines your body beneath him, back arching and lips parting to moan his name. Moaning for her big brother. Your pussy clenching around his cock, squeezing him tight as he makes you cum for the hundredth time.
He came so hard he nearly put a fist through the wall. And then he did it again the next night.
And the night after that.
Tonight, he’s out of restraint.
Caleb sits up, running a hand over his face and drags his palm down his jaw. When he opens his eyes, the room is still dark and you’re still sleeping a room away, wearing that tanktop that barely fits you tonight because it was “too hot, gēge, I’m dying.”
He saw you in it when you said goodnight. The thin straps over your shoulder, the fabric hugging your curves a little too tightly, barely containing your breasts. Your nipples stiffening from the constant friction of the shirt, forming peaks that he can see so, so clearly.
You’re not a kid anymore.
Despite the fact that he knows you can survive without him now, capable of taking care of yourself, he can’t help but think of the sweet girl he grew up with.
He stands, letting his feet touch the cold floor. Not bothering with pants he exits out his bedroom and into the hallway, avoiding the creaks in the floorboards. He stops outside your door.
There’s a sliver of light underneath. You’ve always slept with the lamp on ever since you were little, something he used to tease you for. He would leave his own door cracked just in case you felt the need for your big brother to protect you, letting you slip under the covers of his bed.
Caleb knocks gently, before opening the door.
You’re curled on your side, hand tucked under your cheek. The lamp casts a warm glow over your face, a mix of the lighting and your relaxed features making you look younger and less stressed.
The tanktop you’re wearing has ridden up, the hem bunched below your soft tits, exposing the skin of your stomach. Caleb lets himself look, his body on fire.
He shuts the door behind him, and you slowly start to stir. You make eye contact with him, eyes hazy with sleep and unfocused. “Gēge? What time is it?”
“Late,” he replies, voice rough. He clears his throat. “Couldn’t sleep.”
You hum sympathetically, patting the empty space beside you. “Bad dream?”
“Yeah.” He sits on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight as he lies on his back. You shift closer, seeking his warmth, the way you had done since you were kids. The same way you always did, trusting him. Fuck, his cock hurts.
“You’re tense,” you murmur. You press your head to his chest. “Your heart is going so fast.”
“Mhm.”
The look you give him makes him ache, wondering if you understand the tension between the both of you right now, if you have the vocabulary to describe it.
“Big brother? Are you okay?” Your voice is soft, almost uncertain. “Gēge–”
“Shh.” Caleb presses his forehead to yours, eyes closed and breathing ragged. “I’m going to show you something, sis. Something that feels good, but you have to trust me.”
Your fingers clutch onto the fabric of his shirt, not pushing him away. Good.
“I always trust you.”
Caleb opens his eyes. You’re looking at him, wide-eyed, uncertain, but willing. He knows you don't know what you’re agreeing to, doesn’t understand that the brother you trust is about to take something from you that you can never get back.
With a shaky breath Caleb leans forward, barely pressing his lips to yours. He feels you freeze in his hold, your breath catching against his mouth. But you don’t push him away regardless.
He pulls back, looking at you. Your eyes are wide, confused in a way that makes his chest ache and his cock throb at the same time. There's a glossy sheen to your lips. He wants to kiss you again.
“Big brother, what was that for?” He doesn’t answer, and instead cups your jaw, thumb tracing your cheekbone as he kisses you again.
This time his tongue slides along the seam of your lips, coaxing, asking for entry. You make a startled, soft sound, letting your mouth open under his. Caleb’s heart tightens as he watches your instinct win over your confusion, and trust win over your fear.
The only thing he can hear in his mind is mine. Caleb knows you’ve never been kissed before, nobody ever getting the chance to explore your mouth with their tongue. Not even a peck. It makes him keen with possessive pride.
Caleb shifts his weight and rolls over you, settling between your thighs. You look up at him from beneath, eyes half-lidded, trusting, and pliant.
He could take you right now. Could shove your shorts down, pushing himself inside, take what he’s been dreaming about every night. You wouldn’t stop him, knowing your big brother would never hurt you.
But he wants you to know. To know what’s happening, even if you can’t explain it. Caleb wants you to choose him, the way he’s already chosen you.
“Baby sis,” he rasps. His fingertips intimately trail down your throat, over your collarbones, and down to the hem of your tank top. “Can I take this off?”
Caleb watches you swallow, chest rising and falling with each breath. Your nipples are hard beneath the fabric.
“Yes,” you lick your lips. “Will you explain what’s happening?”
He freezes, the innocence in your voice stopping him. “I’m going to make you feel good, baby sister.” He hooks a finger under the strap of your top, pulling it down your shoulder. “The way only I can. Will you let gēge do that for you?”
“Yes, I trust you.” It’s said without hesitation, the way you’ve said it a thousand times. When he taught you how to ride a bike, walked you to school.
Caleb pulls the strap down on the other shoulder. The top slides, pooling at your waist, exposing your perfect, soft breasts. You make a small sound, out of embarrassment maybe, your hands coming up to cover yourself.
“No.” Caleb catches both your wrists with one hand, pinning them above your head. “Don’t hide from me, let big brother see you, sis.”
Caleb glances down to see a wet patch that has seeped through your panties, staining your shorts. Fuck, he’s spent too many nights alone with your panties. Compared to that, this is heaven.
“Gēge, I’m scared.” Of course. Caleb knows he has always kept you sheltered.
“I know.” Caleb kisses your forehead, then the tip of your nose, before settling for the corner of your lips. “I’ve got you, let big brother take care of you.”
You tilt your head up, as if giving a silent offering.
Caleb groans, low and rough as he lets his tongue sweep around your mouth, tasting you. Your arms wrap around him, clinging to the fabric draped across his back.
He rolls his hips against you, letting you feel what you do to him. The thick outline of his cock presses against your thigh, your eyes going wide when you feel it.
“Is that…?”
“Yeah,” he breathes out. “ That’s what you do to me, lil’ sis. Every time you walk by in those little shorts, or whenever you call my name.” He grinds against you, slowly introducing you to what he has hidden beneath his boxers.
“I didn’t know,” you whisper. “I also didn’t know it–we could be like this.”
“We can,” Caleb assures you, tugging your shorts down. He slides them down past your knees before tossing them off the bed, landing somewhere in the dark.
The panties you’re wearing are cute, comfortable, with a little bow in the centre. Ah, fuck. He’s aching to be inside you, to taste you.
“Do you want me to touch you?”
You nod. “Aches.”
“Where?” Caleb rubs circles on the elastic, watching you squirm. “Use your words like a big girl, lil’ sis.”
You make a frustrated sound, so achingly familiar he almost laughs.
“Touch my pussy, big brother. Please.”
The dirty words that fall from your mouth send a surge of heat through him, so intensely he sees white. His hand slides down to cup you through the cotton, groaning at the wet heat of you.
Your back arches and your hand flies to his wrist, holding him in place. Caleb presses down on the damp fabric, rubbing circles slowly. “Good, sis?”
“Yes,” you tremble, stuttering over your words, wrecked.
Caleb pulls the waistband of your panties, letting them dangle from one knee. You’re bare beneath him now, spread and innocent.
He pulls his own shirt over his head, watching your eyes trail his sculpted chest down to the dark hair near his lower stomach, where it disappears into the waistband of his boxers.
Caleb then pushes his boxers past his hips, revealing his cock. It springs free, thick and aching, the head already slick and beading with precum.
Your lips part. “Is that… going to fit?”
Caleb laughs, wrapping a hand around himself as he strokes once, slowly, watching you watch him.
“Don’t worry, baby sister.” He leans down, letting his length press against your thigh, hot and heavy. “Big brother will make it fit in that cute lil’ cunny.”
You swallow as Caleb lines himself up. The head of his cock presses against the tight, impossibly small entrance to your cunt.
“Tell me if it hurts and I’ll stop.”
The first inch draws a sharp cry from your lips, fingers clutching his shoulders as he holds himself there.
“Big brother,” you whimper. “It hurts.”
“I know, you’re taking me so well. Your pussy is stretching so nicely around your big brother’s cock.” Caleb presses a kiss to your temple.
With a nod of your head, Caleb slides in deep until the entirety of his length buries into your pussy. Each thrust is deep, the bed creaking with the slow rhythm.
As soon as moans start to tumble past your lips, Caleb takes it as a sign to quicken his pace, driving into your pussy harder. The clenching of your tight cunt makes Caleb stutter, the pace of his hips becoming rough and harsh.
“You like that, baby sis?” He pounds into you, hitting that spot over and over. “You like your big brother fucking you? No one else is ever going to be able to feel this. You’re too good for them, anyway. Always have been.”
“H-huh?” Caleb feels you clench around him tighter at his words.
“Fuck, I’m not even wearing a condom,” he groans as he ruts into your warmth. “Letting your big brother fuck your cunny raw.”
“Yes, gēge,” you barely form sentences, eyes rolling back. “I don’t–something feels funny…!”
“Cum for me,” he rasps, reaching deep to slide against your sweet spot. “Cum on your big brother’s cock, let me feel you.”
Caleb feels you flutter around him before you come undone. Your back lifts off the mattress as you reach your climax, walls milking his slick length as he continues to fuck you into overstimulation.
“I’m gonna cum,” Caleb stutters, hips pushing as deep as he can. “Gonna cum in your womb, okay lil’ sis? You’ll let me, right? Can I leave it inside of you? Let your big brother fuck his babies into you?”
You nod and whine in overstimulation, squirming beneath him. “Yes…! Please, inside, gēge…!”
Biting his bottom lip at your filthy words, Caleb follows you over the edge, burying himself deep inside you and spilling into your warm cunt with a groan.
He stays there for a second, savouring the feeling as his cock pulses and softens in your tight haven. The only sounds you can hear are heavy breathing and the AC rattling. Somewhere down the hall, your grandma sleeps, oblivious.
Caleb presses his lips to your hair. “Mine.”
“Yours, gēge.” You’re boneless beneath him, curled against his chest. He holds you through the night, enjoying the warm hold your cunt offers him as you sleep.
In the morning, he’ll have to face what he’s done. But for now, he lets himself have her.
You knew Caleb had a breed kink - it was why you just had a baby after all.
He loves to grab your hips in his hands and rail his fat cock inside your walls, loves to fold you in half in a mating press and shove his cum in those walls that grip him so good. Loves seeing your tummy bulge with how deep he's buried - fuck Caleb even likes those cute stretch marks you get when you're pregnant.
"Pregnant with my baby," he'd moan, kissing your tummy, lavishing those sensitive nipples and moaning, his eyes damn near black. Caleb loved getting his pretty Pips pregnant, but what you didn't know was how much he'd love sucking your nipples.
You were so embarrassed when he'd had you riding his cock just a little over a month after your baby - just in time to be cleared for sex, and he'd leaned up and squished your tits in his huge hands - rough from years of training. Calloused thumb swirling your nipple as his cock made you re learn its shape, those violet eyes dilated.
"That's it, slutty cunt missed me, huh Pips?" He whispered, sitting up and dragging you down on his girthy length, sucking a nipple into his hot mouth. "mmm..."
That's when Caleb tasted your milk for the first time, moaning and sucking harder, making you dizzy from how sore they were from breastfeeding. You'd tugged at those soft brown locks of hair, trying to get him to stop, but Caleb was drunk off your damn taste.
"It's so sweet, fuck..." he'd dragged you down and you rolled your hips, head falling back for more of his rough suction, his mouth quickly moving to the other, milk just dripping down his lips. "Fuck I can't get enough."
"Y-you can't... Caleb..." You sucked in a breath through your teeth. "Fuck feels s'good... ngh!"
After that Caleb was just done for, every chance he got once you put the baby to bed he was sucking your milk, you'd brush his hair back and arch for more, especially when his fingers fucked into your sore little cunt. "Caleb you can't just drink it all!"
"I can't help it," he grins up at you now, fingers scissoring in and out of your messy cunt. "You love it, hmm?"
"N-no," you're lying and he knows, you blush when you do, but when he sucks again you fucking soak him, letting him drink all your sweetness right down his thirsty throat.
"Mmm... gonna make you a mommy again..."
"Again!?" He's chuckling, literally drunk from your tits that are so full, pulling back and kissing you, letting you taste it, hands gripping them rougher to make them drip more. "Ngh!"
"Need them to stay full, honey," he's swirling the beads of milk around your areolas, sighing. "So pretty, and your tummy all full, round with me again?"
"N-not this quick," he has your thighs spread with the fat head of his cock gliding through your syrupy mess, hair falling over a brow - he looks all cute and boyish when he's being a deviant. "Caleb, please..."
"Please what, honey? Use your words," he whispers, teasing your cunt even more with the tip - barely pressing in just to pull back with a filthy pop of that ridge slipping from your greedy hole. "No baby this soon, want me to pull out, too?"
"No, no," he smirks and shoves his cock fully inside, bottoming out with a sharp thrust, groaning at the sight of your tummy moving with him. His fingertips brush your little stretchies from the baby hungrily.
"All mine, my baby inside you again, huh? You want my cock, my cum, want me to wreck your insides pretty?"
"Please, please," you're lost when he's doing just that, fucking into you and squeezing your tits, your milk squirting down and dripping for his hungry mouth, making him moan as he slurps it all up. Your nails dig into his back, making him even thicker inside you.
"Gonna keep you pregnant - hah," he's grinning against your skin, swirling that milk all around and fucking your cunt harder, watching your cute fucked out little expressions. "Keep drinking you, make you a mommy over and over. Yeah, Pips?"
You're dazed and fucked out, just how Caleb likes you. "Mhm."
"Such a good girl f'me," you melt under the praise, cunt spasming when he flips you on top and tugs you down, putting your tits right back in his face. "Lemme drink more, please?"
How he can give you violet puppy dog eyes while sucking all your milk and pumping more cum in you unprotected - well it's just a problem.
****
well my ovulation had to go to Caleb in anticipation of his myth tmrw - blame @uhnosav for this too hehe
summ. For renowned researchers such as yourself, an opportunity to study wild primates up close in the jungle is a desirable one. After an encounter with a seemingly wild man, however, you end up in an unprecedented relationship instead.
tags. tarzan AU, based off his myth rumors, and to feed those who want tarzan!caleb if thats not acc the theme, mainly an excuse to write feral caleb, researcher!reader, i cant tell if this is weird or peak, historical but more modern than tarzan, au where oral hygeine is unnecessary, humor, romcom, tara mention, xavier mention platonic, simone mention, might be crack, feral caleb, pu$sy drunk caleb, headlock, backshots, oral (fem rec), t!t sucking, p in v, jungle setting, smut 18+, not proofread srry
a/n. okayyy so i saw a tiktok of someone saying they want tarzan!caleb for his 3rd myth so i wrote ts, because im STARVED for his trailer already omggg. also i wasnt joking when i said i wanted to give caleb the gojo treatment. na'vi caleb next?
(also if you haven't seen that scene from the legend of tarzan (2016) where jane meets tarzan GO watch that rn its so hot tbh)
w/c. ~5.1k
There are many rules when it comes to conducting naturalistic observation as a researcher.
Rule #1, know exactly what you’re looking for and how to define them. It won’t do any good to observe variable that are useless to the overall objective.
Rule #2, never become too entwined with the subjects. Behavior should be observed when it is the most natural, not when it’s affected by your presence.
Rule #3, record everything of importance in a journal.
These are rules top researchers such as yourself are privy to follow. Especially when examining primates as intelligent, yet dangerous, as gorillas.
Which is why you’re trapezing off path into the wild jungle, throwing all caution to the wind, in search for your beloved journal.
Rubber boots sink into damp soil with a squelch, the heavy mud weighing down each of your steps. You steady yourself on a tree as you shake one foot free, dirt flinging everywhere, but you pause when you hear a twig snap.
There, on a nearby tree, were at least two of the pesky thieves.
“Hey,” you snap, as if chimpanzees understand English. They chitter, some of them scurrying, and you catch a glimpse of the brown leather of your bookbag. The sight only renews your determination.
Unsteadily, you storm over to the tree, chin tipped up to glare at the animals. You may be a scholar, but enough time spent in nature during field studies granted you significant experience in handling the outdoors.
With both arms wrapped around a low-hanging branch, you begin to heave yourself up, attempting to get high enough for your legs to swing over the branch. You manage it, just barely, grip slipping with each second—but you try not to look down at the forest floor that is now considerably far from you.
Arm outstretched, you swipe desperately for the bookbag that’s dangling just out of your reach. The muscles of your arm tremble under the strain of keeping you over the branch and grabbing for it. You grunt, teeth gritted, as the chimp only tilts its head in wonder, before one of its troop members flings a fruit at your head with a clunk.
You lose your grip immediately, stomach dropping as gravity takes its course. This is the end, you think during the 1.5 seconds you’re in the air. Death by chimpanzee. Forget about attending that conference.
But instead of hitting the cold muddy ground below you, you’re caught by two strong arms around you and cradled against a warm, human body. You hesitantly open your eyes, expecting to see perhaps someone from your crew, but instead you see an unfamiliar man.
A handsome face peers down at you, violet eyes curious. They’re framed by wild, yet silky brown hair—you’re guessing his hair is well past his neck, though the leopard fur headdress that sits over his shoulders like a cloak, furry maw gaping around his head, hinders your view. Other than that, he seems bare, which is bizarre for a human out in these jungles.
His bare chest is heaving against you, you register, and you squeal, scrambling against him. How improper. Not too kind of a reaction for the man that saved you, but he doesn’t seem offended—instead, he places you down gently against a pile of leaves, before scaling up the tree effortlessly,
You gape after his departing body, which climbs skillfully from branch to branch, as if he’s an ape himself. The chimps shriek, dispersing in a scurry that has the treetops swaying, and the chase quiets as the group flees further away from you. You remain where you are, still trying to catch your breath, only the sounds of singing birds accompanying you.
Finally, you hear a crack of a branch behind you, and you swivel around. The underdressed man is prowling to you hesitantly, leather bookbag in hand.
With a sigh, you rise, taking the bag eagerly. “Thank you,” you manage, unable to stop your eyes from dropping down towards his bare, toned legs, to his—oh. Your eyes widen as you quickly glance up and away.
“Are you from the nearby village?” Curiosity always gets the better of you, as it does for any researcher. But the man just stares blankly.
You tilt your head. He doesn’t look native, with his lighter hair and eyes, but with the way he seemed so in tuned to the environment, he might as well be. You ask the question again in the language native to the area, grammar broken yet understandable, but the man still only gazes at you with an unnerving intensity.
“Oookay,” you clear your throat, fighting to avert your eyes from his state of undress. “Forgive me, Mr..?, I just can’t seem to understand how else you ended up here. Are you…lost?”
His eyes darken at that, and you remember that though this is a human you are dealing with, he still seemed like a more animalistic being, with his furs and impressive agility. You suppress a shiver. Perhaps you should be more careful.
“I need to return to my camp,” you explain fruitlessly. You beckon him with a hand gesture— a signal you know is used by humans and primates alike— but he only backs away, before disappearing entirely in some thick foliage.
“Wait-!” You pause, listening for any sign of where he could have gone, but you can only hear the buzzing of cicadas.
That was the first time you meet him.
The trek back to camp is hurried; the encounter with the strange wild man has unsettled you far more than you had previously thought, and the croaking of frogs signaled an incoming thunderstorm. Your team expresses concern and fretfulness over your prolonged absence from camp, but you quickly gather them in a tent to explain your findings in an overzealous recounting.
“A wild man.” Simone repeats flatly. “Who can swing from vines like an ape and is naked except for a fur over his shoulders.”
“Yes!” You nod, pausing in your wild hand gestures. “And he didn’t speak any human language. He rescued my journal for me and left!”
Tara fronts, leaning in closer to peer at the bump on your temple. “Are you sure that fruit didn’t hit your head too hard? Or maybe you did fall and got knocked out?”
You sigh. “I did not hallucinate it. There’s a wild man out there, and I know because I met him!”
“She might be right,” Xavier chimes in, settling beside you with a folder. You take it eagerly, skimming through what seems like newspaper clippings from decades ago.
“When doing research on the area before coming here, I came across these.” He explained. If anyone was thoroughly prepared, it was Xavier. “Maybe he came from this previous expedition.”
You skim the newspaper headings. Breaking: Aristocrats’ bodies recovered near West Coast, child still missing. It was hard to analyze the little boy in the grainy, aged papers, but he didn’t look too different from the wild man.
“Maybe,” you breathe, fingers grazing the page in thought.
“Whatever it is,” Tara cuts in, looking at you with concern; she knows how absorbed you can get in new discoveries. “Try to stay away from him if you encounter him alone. The thought of a feral man in those woods gives me the creeps.
Later, when everyone has gone to bed, you log the encounter in your journal, pen scratching the worn pages as you scribble out words to rephrase them, agonizing over the details. It is then that you notice one of your pages is missing, torn out surreptitiously.
As the downpour streams steadily against the tarp of the tent, you can’t help but think of the wild man, how exactly he’s staying out there in these conditions. And, more significantly, how he ended up here in the first place.
Of course, days later, you set on hiking near the site of your first meeting with the wild man under the guise of searching for potential gorilla families nearby. Tara should have known, danger or not, your curiosity won’t let you heed her warnings.
You’re just near the stream, right by where your journal was stolen last time (you have it securely in your pocket now), when you hear it— a cracking of a twig from what can only be a deliberate footstep. You swivel, excitement making your heart race.
“Hello? I know you’re out there.” At first, there’s nothing, and you feel foolish for calling out to what might’ve been the wind. But then, the dense foliage in front of you parts, and there straightens the wild man, suddenly extremely close.
He doesn’t don his fur this time; he really is completely bare, so you have the decency to flush, especially when he begins prowling closer. He looms close until your face is level to his chest. At that, you can’t help but stumble, but his hand follows to drag a rough palm uncouthly down the tender side of your face.
“Oh- I have a group of people looking for me, I can ensure they’re on their way now, so don’t try anything.” You’re unsure to why you’re blabbering threats to a man who doesn’t understand English, but you can’t help be a little flustered and on edge as he practically feels you up, big hands trailing down your thinner arms.
You inhale sharply, taking in his earthy scent as you do so, as he steps closer, nose burying in your hair to sniff at you like he’s some kind of animal. He is, you remind yourself. This must be his first time meeting another human. Which is why you tolerate when he noses down the edge of your jaw, down your throat in a way that makes you shiver.
But what you don’t expect is when he crouches down further, fingers curiously tugging at your dress so he can bury his face underneath your skirt.
“Oh!” You shriek, smacking at his head lightly in pure shock. The man is quick to pull back, startling away.
Your chest heaves in embarrassment, cheeks burning. “I’m sorry,” you clear your throat. “But you can’t just do that to a lady. We humans have rules, y’know.”
He backs up further, seemingly ready to flee. You watch with mounting despair.
“Wait,” you try to lower your voice to a more soothing, indulgent tone. It’s a pitch that you usually use to calm apes, but it seems to be working with him. He stops retreating, pausing in anticipation.
You open your book to the torn page, gesturing along with your words to convey meanings. “Did you take this?”
He turns, but slower, deliberately looking back at you to make sure you’re watching, before heading eastward.
You follow gingerly, ignoring the common sense in your head that this may not be a good idea. But you’re led to a seemingly harmless cave that looks well equipped for a shelter.
Instead of going in, you linger near the entry; it was unclear whether his temperament may spike if you entered his territory. You watch him come back out, holding the paper in a large fist, unnervingly close again.
“There it is,” you exhale in relief, reaching for it. But he snatches his hand back.
Your forehead wrinkles with confusion, then annoyance. “I don’t take lightly to my work being stolen, thank you very much. So hand it back, then.”
He blinks a few times in a way you’re surprised to find adorable, widening eyes peering down at the paper. Now, he looks almost innocent with wonder, eyebrows knit in concentration.
You pause for a moment, realization slowly dawning on you, and you suddenly feel bad. He can’t read. If he was the missing child like Xavier suggests, then his childhood was likely stolen from him due to an accident, forcing him to live in the woods with limited knowledge of civilization.
“I can teach you,” you blurt.
Now, you were thinking less of a scholar working with a case study, and more as a human aiding a fellow human. And perhaps, if he learned to speak, then he could reveal how exactly he survived like this, his life’s story.
He doesn’t understand your words, of course. But you grab his hand and lead him to sit with you on a nearby log.
Unfurling his first to reveal the paper, you begin. “See, this here is the date. The 7th. A few weeks ago. You chose a earlier entry to tear out.”
He watches you trace the dried ink with your fingers blankly. You sigh, starting simpler.
“Here, I wrote ‘the.’ T-H-E.”
You don’t know how long passes as you use the words in your journal entries to familiarize him with English. You’ve gone through many pages together, perhaps for hours. Just as you’re about to leave, you pause, opening up to the entry from the night you met him to refresh yourself on the notes you had about the newspaper clippings.
“Caleb,” you say aloud. The wild man looks up, a flash of what may be recognition in his deep eyes. “The newspaper mentioned a young boy named Caleb. Are you Caleb?”
He stares at you for a lengthy moment, and though he doesn’t verbalize his confirmation, you can see it in the way he perks up at the name, the far-away look in his gaze.
A month has passed since you’ve began acquainting yourself with Caleb. You told Tara, Simone, and Xavier a few days after you found out that he was the missing boy in the newspapers, much to their chagrin.
“I’m off,” you announce, gathering a couple of more books in your bag. Tara and Simone exchange a look.
“To teach Caleb more English?”
You nod in response, eager about heading eastward. Caleb was a fast learner, making the meetings with him all the more rewarding. He was also fascinating to be around: he had the astounding ability to understand more than you thought possible, through gestures and tones and facial expressions. That fact could be a breakthrough in scientific understanding in your field, but you felt uneasy at the idea of studies being conducted on him, however benign. He’d already been through enough.
“You really are consistent with him, huh?” Tara hums. You’d convinced your team weeks ago that he was harmless, and they allowed your daily meetings with caution, though they agreed it was best if you were the only one to interact with him for the time being as to not agitate him with too much human contact. He had been a bit moody as of late, when you think about it, those darkened eyes boring holes into you when he thought you weren’t looking. You wonder what that was about.
“Of course. We’re making great progress. Soon, he’ll be more accustomed to human culture, and his joining into civilization will be smoother.”
“Are you sure that’s all you two do back there?”
You flush. Caleb was handsome, that much was hard to deny. What made things worse was his constant nudity, though that couldn’t be helped much. But you weren’t the type to try anything with a wild man. Rule #2, never become entwined with your subjects.
But was Caleb really a subject to you anymore?
“Don’t suggest anything strange,” you huff, turning and heading eastward, Behind your back, you miss Tara and Simon exchanging another knowing glance.
You meet him by the stream again, taking a bandana out of your pocket to spread it out on the ground like a makeshift blanket, before settling down on the leafy floor. Caleb looks up from where he picks at the ground, offering a timid but intelligible “hello.”
You grin, pulling out your books. “Hey. I brought more reading books.”
His eyes rove the covers. Highly intelligent, Caleb was always hungry for knowledge. You wonder where he’d be right now if he remained in civilization. “More books. What kinds?”
“Some science, some stories.” You had brought an ethnology textbook, the vocabulary too advanced, but there were perhaps some diagrams he could understand to learn more about human social cues. You also brought a dictionary and a romance book— the only book you had that was for a lower reading level.
He begins reading, but not before he tugs you close to his side, nuzzling into your neck.
You blink. “Oh, right.” His physical affections were something consistent, too, that you were beginning to become accustomed to. You chalked it up to him not having anyone else for comfort; thus, you felt sorry for him and restrained from setting any boundaries.
You open up your journal, lounging beside him as you worked. While meeting with him only took 2-3 hours of your time, you still had the rest of the day to conduct observations on the gorillas— the main purpose you were here. Though, you’d be lying if you said the gorillas were the most interesting part of your day. Quickly, your time spent with Caleb was becoming more cherished than your own research. How strange.
You startled out of your thoughts when a book is jutted into your line of sight. “This word?” He points.
You peer down, eyes narrowing where his finger points to the word*.* Immediately, your eyes widen again.
You snatch the book out of his hands in a flash, face heating as you quickly scan the rest of the page. You’d forgotten how lewd this romance book was, having read it a while ago.
“Maybe you shouldn’t read this.”
Caleb takes the book back immediately before you can protest. “I want.”
The idea of letting him read degenerate smut seems very poor to you. “Caleb, no.”
He only makes a face, like a dog about to bare its teeth. Giving in this quickly was undesirable, but you knew Caleb’s stubbornness, could see it on his face. You still, before exhaling in defeat. “Fine.”
“What does it mean?”
You pause, debating if you should tell him. Well, you did say you would teach him, after all. Besides, it’s just a body part.
“Female organ,” you say simply, gesturing around your lower half.
His eyes follow, but they don’t seem curious and thoughtful like usual. No, instead they’re hungry, dim, and fixated solely on your face, like he knows already.
“Ah,” he says, licking over his sharp canines.
You look away, cheeks burning. It’s hard to avoid the man when he’s still cuddling you like you’re his personal stress ball, but you try your hardest. After a while, though, it becomes nearly impossible to ignore the way the air has shifted, how he’s looking at you differently now.
“I have to go,” you announce suddenly, cringing at the way his arms tighten around you.
“Already?”
“Yes,” you slip out of his arms with great difficulty, heart leaping when the act gets a low growl out of him. When you stand and look down at him, the look in his eyes is enough to get your heart pounding.
Dark, needy, feral.
“Sorry,” you squeak, already leaving him behind with an apologetic bow. You rush away so quickly you don’t even realize what you left behind.
It’s been three days since you’ve seen Caleb.
On top of the work piling on top of you and your team, it had dawned on you that day that you and Caleb’s relationship was shifting into dangerous territory. The way he had looked at you— has been looking at you, was too real for you to comprehend.
His hooded, hungry gaze makes your heart flutter faster like birds trapped in a bony cage, prey waiting to be caught by his sharp, gleaming maw. It’s something you want to run away from and leap towards at the same time.
You feel awful, but there is nothing you can do about your sudden business. Besides, the three large books you had given him should be enough to entertain him for the time being.
Later that evening, when all work is complete, you decide to finally head eastwards once again.
It’s a risky decision; the sun would set in nearly an hour, and the trek took 15 minutes in itself, but, well, you’ve always been a bit reckless.
You’re about to call his name, standing outside his little cave, but soft noises make you freeze.
Tiny whimpers, uneven breaths. He must be injured, you think, and immediately enter the cave, boots crunching on the dried glass clippings on the floor.
“Caleb, what—” His large body is hunched over away from you, broad shoulders trembling and shuddering. You flush when you see your bandana clutched in his hand, pressed against his face desperately. The other large hand moves back and forth, in a pumping motion.
He freezes at the sound of your voice. You stop in your tracks as well, realizing you have deeply, deeply misinterpreted the situation.
Slowly, Caleb turns. It takes everything in you to focus on his face only. Dark hair frames his face, his gleaming, predatory eyes. You swallow.
He speaks before you can. “You are back.”
You nod once. “Yes.”
Your heart pounds. Caleb drops your bandana on the hay, stalking close to you.
Strong arms wrap around you quickly like a vice, tugging you desperately to his warm body. You gasp, palms hesitantly sliding to rest against his pecs to steady yourself as he nuzzles close to your jaw.
You jerk in his hold when his tongue drags a lewd lick across your cheek.
“Oh my God,” you gulp, heart pounding in a mix of fear and arousal. He looked about ready to eat you. “Caleb—”
Your words are cut off into a choked whimper when those sharp teeth bite down on your neck, lips suckling a brutish hickey on your skin. He pulls back with a lewd pop, tongue raving over his lips like he just tasted something decadent.
“Need you,” he pants, pressing his lips against the blooming bruise, before peppering them down to your sternum. “Need you, need you—”
You tug at his hair, and he whimpers, before you direct his face upwards so you can slot your lips over his.
The kiss is messy. He practically devours your lips unceremoniously, tongue flicking over yours, teeth catching your bottom lip to suck to the point of pain.
A string of saliva bridges your mouths when he pulls away, like a part of him never wanted to leave. His chest heaves in front of your face as you trail your palms downwards, sliding them across his toned abs. Teasingly, you slowly shift to grasp his shaft, making him shudder. But he fights the urge to thrust into your grip, instead baring himself to your sweet, slow torture for a moment.
Face muffled in the crook of your neck, Caleb whines when your thumb brushes his leaky tip, the other hand pumping tight around his velvet shaft. Even without seeing it— he was basically smothering you with how close he was, till your only view was his chest— you could tell he was large.
Finally, he lifts his face with a ragged pant, jaw tense, eyebrows lowered in agrigation. With a low hiss of your name, he tugs you impossibly closer. His erection presses into you obscenely as he slips a hand down the front of your pants.
“Need you now,” he repeats, tongue laving up your neck. You gasp as he tugs your panties impatiently; you show him how it’s done, unzipping and removing your trousers, before slipping off your panties— ignoring how he whines when you stop touching his cock.
He’s on his knees in a millisecond, large hands cupping your thighs to lift them so you’re forced to lean against the rocky wall behind you for support. Fingertips digging into the fat, pushing back spreading your plush thighs open like they held his favorite meal, before burying his face whole between them.
You jerk, crying out in pleasure as he eats you out like he’s starved. Spread like this, you’re dependent on his strong hands to hold you up and at the mercy of his ravenous mouth. Tongue pushing through your tight ring of muscle, curling just right so your pussy walls clamp around his buds. Lips latched onto your clit, suckling until you squeal and squirm. His slimy tongue rears around again to lap languidly up your whole pussy, rough buds creating delicious friction against the bundle of nerves.
“C-Cay,” you hiccup, hands tangled in his messy locks, attempting to tug him off and shove him closer all at once. He only grunts in response, solely focused on one thing only.
He’s basically salivating, a mix of your arousal and his own spittle dribbling down his chin and glossy lips. Caleb whimpers again against your cunt, burying his face further between your thighs until you can only jerk and moan. Your poor pussy is swelling with his attention, especially when he nuzzles his nose just right against your clit.
“Please please please,” you twitch and whine, attempting to grind against his face without losing your support against the wall. “I’m so close, please.”
His mouth latches onto your clit one last time, suckling like your cunt was a fruit, and you’re cumming, gushing down his chin and lips with a broken moan.
Slowly, Caleb lowers you to the ground, until you’re resting back on the comfortable strawy grass. Your eyes flutter open, and his face is looming close, bottom half covered in slick.
“Good?” He pants, licking his lips again as he waits expectantly for your reply. You nod, and he lights up at the praise.
“Yeah, good,” you rasp, taking the moment to shed your shirt. Caleb thumbs at your bra curiously, eyes darkening as he eyes your cleavage.
You tug off your bra slowly, flushing when he stares intently at the way your tits bounce when released. Immediately, he’s on you, crawling over to palm your breasts, before taking a nipple into his warm mouth.
Moans spill from your lips as he switches from one tit to the next, kissing and tonguing until your nipples are glistening and hardened. You bury a hand in his hair, gaze dropping to how his cock seems painfully hard, bobbing up against his taut abs and an angry red color.
“Need you, Cay,” it seems arousal had also rendered your speech to the simplest form. But Caleb understands, detaching his hungry mouth from your tits, before mounting you fully from behind.
A large, bulging bicep comes down to nestle your face against the crook of his forearm, your cheeks pressed against hard muscle. His hips rut against the soft curve of your ass, dick slipping back and forth between your pussy folds with lewd squelches.
This was nothing you’ve taught him. Because the need for lust, for sex, was not anything to be learned. It was innate, biological, and animalistic.
And Caleb had always been animalistic.
Slowly, he begins trying to push in, his fat tip burning your poor cunt, splitting your walls open. You whimper, squirming against him, and he only nuzzles you soothingly in a gesture of comfort.
With a nudge of his hips, and because you’re so wet, his tip slips in with a lewd pop!
Your chest heaves with each heavy breath you inhale, struggling to take him, cheeks flushed as he peppers comforting kisses against it. Your slick walls quiver around his shroom-shaped head, and Caleb whimpers in response.
Slowly, he’s feeding in more, and more. As soon as he’s an inch in, your pussy is gripping him tight, wrenching a low sound from him.
“Mine, mine, mine,” he’s mumbling against your ear, long cock now entirely in your cunt. You hiccup and gasp at the way it’s already nudging just right against that spongy spot inside of you.
Slow rocks of his hips quickly speed up until he’s pounding into you with startling intensity, sending your body rocking against the floor. The obscene plap plap plap! of your bodies smacking against each other— accompanied by your pleasured squeals— bounce off the rocky walls of the cave.
Your pussy is leaking all over his cock, fluttering and sliding against every delicious vein and forming a frothy ring around his shaft. His bulbous tip kisses past your g-spot perfectly and rams straight into your cervix with an intensity you know will bruise, sparking white-hot tingles up your tummy.
More nips are delivered to your earlobe. “Mine, my mate,” he pants this time, desperately crushing you closer with his bodyweight. He’s feral, impossibly possessive with the way he cages you close.
“C-Caleb,” you manage, unable to decide if you should tell him to slow down or not. But the man seems gone anyways, with the way he bites down on your shoulder to muffle a whine-tinged snarl. Those teeth nip more marks down the side of your neck, possessive bruises blooming on your sweat-slicken skin.
The grass blades dig against your sensitive nipples with each thrust, the rough friction sending mixes of pleasure and pain down your spine. You barely register it, all focus on the way his strong body pins you to the floor as he ruts into you from behind, the way his sweaty pecs stick and slide against your arched back. Drool leaks from your kiss-bitten lips, getting all over his tensed bicep that’s got you in a headlock. You bite him as well, chomping on the ripe muscle in front of you to offset the intense pleasure. Caleb moans in approval.
The smacking of his hips against your ass picks up in tandem with your pussy’s flutters. You’re both close; Caleb whines openly now, letting out needy sounds against your neck when your cunt restricts hard.
“I’m, hah, gonna cum,” you babble, drooling nonsensically against his bicep.
“Cum- cum f’me, honey,” he grunts, and you wonder dazedly just how much he had learned in that romance book, before you cum hard with a squeal*.*
Your cunt squeezes and milks his tight shaft, squirting arousal down onto the grassy area below. Warmth floods you as Caleb cums with a broken whimper, chest shuddering against your shoulders. You stay there, limp and satisfied, eyes shut.
You hear the rustling of grass, and you groan weakly as your gently pulled to lay on your side, face nestled between his firm pecs.
A dotting of kisses on your cheeks awakens you slightly, enough to lift your chin and meet his concerned, puppy-eyed gaze.
“Okay?” He asks, brushing a rough finger across your drool-soaked lips. You smile sleepily, nuzzling against him.
“Great.”
As you lay there with him, breaths synced, you think about whether your team is panicked over your prolonged departure from camp. Oh well. All you know is, in wilderness and civilization, you want Caleb by your side.
when everyone knows you're Levi's – everyone except you...
Kenny has known since you were both kids. Just two brats he'd taken under his wing in the Underground (why he'd done that, he still doesn't even know himself). Kenny knew you were Levi's when he saw the way the runt would always stay close, moving when you moved as if some invisible string were tying you together. Levi would always make sure you ate first, that you were always warm, always safe. It was also during that time when Kenny realised that, even with his own shit influence, the runt would turn out alright.
Isabel and Furlan have known since before Levi knew himself. They noticed the way that, in a room full of people, Levi's eyes would always seek you first. When you spoke, he'd listen with an intensity so unlike the usual disinterest he showed towards most other people. When you were separated for some reason – maybe, you were with another team during a heist, or just out for an errand – Levi's shoulders were tense, he was snappy, on edge, and overall unpleasant to be around. But it only lasted until he saw you again, safe.
Mike has known from the moment he saw Levi's eyes widen with pure terror when you'd been held at knife-point. It was that day when the Scouts had finally caught Levi's infamous gang in the Underground. It was almost comical how fast Levi dropped his dagger and let himself get dragged to his knees, then shoved right into a puddle of sewer filth. Especially now, when Mike knows how much that guy hates filth, he marvels at how Levi didn't even seem to notice it – no, his attention was solely focused on you, and first when the immediate threat to your life had been removed had he looked at Erwin.
Erwin and Hange learned that you were Levi's shortly after you both joined the Scouts. You were always seen together – during training, meals, and every other time of the day. They noticed that, unlike with others, Levi was always patient with you. He'd spar with you, even though he was much better at it than you were (you were still remarkably good, it was just that no one was as good as Levi), and he'd show you a move again and again and again just so you could learn it, never raising his voice at you and always answering your questions. And he didn't express even the tiniest hint of annoyance during those moments – only a softness in his eyes they would've described as adoration, if that word wasn't so strange when associated with Levi.
The Levi Squad also quickly learned that you were his. At first, they'd thought that the rumours about Levi being an aloof asshole were wrong. How could he be, with the way he acted around you – talking more than they'd ever heard him talk before, smiling like it was natural to him, letting you hold his hand, hug him, and kiss his cheek as if the two of you were a happily married couple. However, it didn't take long for them to realise that he was every bit as grumpy as rumours had claimed him to be – not quite an asshole, but still blunt and private. That is, to everyone but you.
The revelation had spurred Petra to casually ask how long you and Levi had been together. To their surprise, Levi had fallen very silent, while you spluttered and waved your hands frantically in front of yourself. "No no, I promise it's not like that! We've just known each other since we were kids!"
Petra was sceptical, Oluo confused, and Eld and Gunther exchanged looks. Later, they asked Hange about it, but they'd just pinched the bridge of their nose, mumbling something along the lines of, "If that idiot doesn't tell them soon, I'm going to ask them out myself. That should get him going."
But after that day, you notice that Levi suddenly starts acting strange around you for some reason. He'll get very still every time you hug him or get too close, something he's never done before. When you ask him about it, he doesn't say anything at first, so you ask if you did something wrong.
That seems to catch his attention, and he immediately pulls you close. "Don't be an idiot. It's not you, it's me."
You laugh a little at that. "You know, it sounds like you're breaking up with me when you put it like that." You say it as a joke of course, but it seems like Levi is taking your statement very serious.
"To break up, you have to be together first, you know."
"Right. But you never really saw me like that," you muse, looking away and trying to sound like you don't care when, really, your heart hurts just thinking about it
Again, Levi doesn't say anything, so you look at him again – only to find him staring at you as if you've suddenly grown an extra head.
"Huh? Was it something I said?"
He groans loudly. "You really are an idiot." Then, he flicks your forehead. "I always liked you, dumbass. It used to drive me mad – no, scratch that, it does drive me mad. You drive me mad, but in the best fucking way."
Your eyes light up. "Really?"
"Don't make me say it again."
"Does that mean I can kiss you?"
Levi blinks in surprise, his lips parting. Then, he quickly snaps his mouth shut, only for it to spread into a smirk a split second later. "I'd be pretty fucking stupid to say no to that, wouldn't I?"
You agree wholeheartedly, right before leaning in to kiss Levi. Right on the mouth.
dryhumping with caleb when gran is sleeping in the next room.
tw: pesudocest
The summer nights are sticky and unbearable, the old ceiling fan doing nothing but pushing hot air around your room. Grasshoppers chirp endlessly outside, but you’re not in your bed.
You’re in Caleb’s.
Your hips are fused to his, grinding slow and lazy in the dark. Both of you are barely dressed — you in nothing but his oversized shirt and a pair of thin panties, he in just his black boxers that do nothing to hide how hard he already is.
Your lips are locked in messy, sloppy kisses, tongues sliding wetly against each other, breathing each other’s air like you’re starving. Every roll of your hips drags your soaked pussy right along the thick, clothed length of his cock.
“Mmmhh… gege…” you moan softly into his mouth.
Caleb hums low in his throat, hands gripping your hips tighter, pulling you down harder against his bulge. The friction is delicious, filthy, and the thrill of Gran sleeping just one thin wall away makes everything ten times hotter.
You should be terrified.
Instead, you’re dripping.
You rub your clothed cunt desperately over his hardened bulge, feeling every ridge and vein through the thin fabric. Caleb lets out a broken little whimper and snaps his hips up sharply, earning a high-pitched squeak from you.
“Careful, pipsqueak…” he rasps against your lips, biting your bottom one gently. “Won’t wanna let Gran know how filthy we’re being…”
You nod frantically, already leaning back in for another messy kiss, tongues tangling again.
This isn’t your first time doing this.
Every single night since he came back, you’ve slipped into his room the moment the house goes quiet. Every time you’ve begged him to just fuck you properly — told him you could take it, that you wanted it so bad — Caleb has refused with that stubborn, guilty look in his eyes.
“That’s not what a brother should do to you,” he always says, voice tight.
So instead, you both settle for this — dry humping each other like desperate, overheated dogs until you cum in your panties and he spills in his boxers.
Tonight is no different.
You crawl into his bed wearing only his shirt and panties. He’s already waiting, lying on his back in just his boxers, his heavy cock straining hard against the fabric, a dark wet spot already forming at the tip.
“Gege…” you whisper, crawling on top of him.
“I know what you need, meimei…” he murmurs, pulling you into what starts as an innocent hug.
It lasts exactly three seconds.
His arms tighten around you and the innocent hug instantly turns into heated, frantic dry humping. You drag your soaked pussy along the full length of his cock, grinding down hard while he bucks up to meet every roll of your hips.
His hands slip under your shirt, big palms cupping your tits, thumbs teasing and rolling your nipples until they’re tight and aching.
You whimper into his mouth, grinding faster, the fabric between you growing slicker and messier with every desperate movement.
Caleb’s breath hitches against your lips as you grind particularly hard over the head of his cock.
“Fuck… baby sister, just like that, ahhh shit…” he whispers, voice strained. “You love gege's dick so much, huh? Well then, make yourself cum on it… even if it’s still in my shorts.”
You moan softly, nodding, hips moving faster, chasing that perfect friction while Gran sleeps peacefully just one room away.
Only the nights belong to you two.
Because neither of you wants that old woman next door to ever find out that her two failed experiments are busy experimenting on bed.
A/N : throws this at the faces of ppl who are pressed about the "baby sister" thing and runs away.
@ CHERRYSCRIPT 2026— don't copy translate feed my work to ai.
summary: where kaeya accidentally drinks sucrose’s love potion, and you unfortunately happen to be the first person he sees. 14k
featuring: rivals to lovers, 2k backstory because i can’t write this trope without establishing one, drinking, minor violence, jealousy, misunderstandings, reader being the most oblivious person alive
Like any other night, Angel’s Share remained restlessly alive even after the neighboring houses had dimmed their lights and sunken into deep slumbers. The torch outside was blazing, quivering every time the drunken yells from inside shook the air. Tonight, the hollering was especially loud.
“Kaeya! Kaeya! Kaeya!” Adventurers, knights and citizens alike cheered as the disheveled captain tossed his head back, downed another shot, and slammed the glass onto the sticky table. The impact sent another one falling over the edge, and one of the spectators scrambled to catch it.
“Your turn—” he hiccuped— “sweetheart.”
“Drop the name, asshole,” you slumped forward and grabbed a shot, finishing it in one gulp. The crowd erupted in awestruck cheers. One moment your head felt like it was being dragged to the bottom of the sea, and the other you were floating without gravity. Even in your state of disorientation, you refused to break eye contact with the figure in front of you.
You recalled in the back of your head how this was supposed to be a relaxing evening. You’d just spent the early afternoon in the laboratory helping Sucrose brew potions after potions, and your brain could’ve really used some loosening up. Turned out luck wasn’t on your side at all, for the moment you entered the tavern, the familiar face of Kaeya Alberich turned to you. There went your chances of getting a peaceful night.
Diluc happened to be absent today, off somewhere making deals with merchants. That’s the only reason why the two of you were even allowed to have a drinking contest in the first place, because god knows he’d kick you out before you could even start.
However, this wasn’t a rare occurrence at all. Kaeya never missed an opportunity to drag you into contests that would surely result in a head-splitting hangover the following day. And you weren’t any better. All it took was a bit taunting for you to accept his declaration of war, like a moth to fire.
“Wre- wrestle.” You demanded, throwing your elbow onto the table. Unfazed, Kaeya clasped your hand tightly and— BAM , your knuckles hit the wood. More cheering.
“Fuck,” you murmured before drinking another shot.
Next to you were Venti (out for the count) and Rosaria (refused to participate in your ‘stupid game’). The latter had the heart to give your back a soothing pat as you suppressed the lump in your chest.
“Can one of you just give up? This is taking forever.” She said flatly.
“Sure,”
“No.”
You glared at Kaeya and his permanent shit-eating grin, “I’m gonna win this once and for all. I will ob… oble- ugh,”
“Obliterate?” Bruce suggested, having come down from upstairs for the show.
“Yea, that.” Your words came like waves, blurred and overlapping. “I’m the greatest wine-bubble in town.”
“Winebibber,” Rosaria said.
“Winebibble,” you nodded.
With an amused smirk Kaeya bowed his head to the side to get a good look at you. His hair, tousled after having his hands run through it for umpteen times, cascaded down like someone had just knocked over a cupful of night sky. “You’re tipsy already.”
You rolled your eyes at him. “I’m not. It’s your turn, asshole.”
The night dragged out, and another bottle was emptied. Charles watched from behind the bar, eyes grim with horror as you lined up the newly-filled tumblers in a horizontal line. You threw your satchel somewhere empty on the table, and the content flooded out. They were mostly miscellaneous samples Sucrose had given you as gifts of gratitude. You ignored the vials rolling around.
“Next one,” you sandwiched your face between your palms to keep it from spinning. By now his cape was already nowhere to be seen. “Blink and you lose.”
He scoffed. “You’ve never won before.”
“Try me.”
You narrowed your eyes in concentration, staring dead into Kaeya’s unmoving one. The air was thick with anticipation, all around you were heavy indrawn breaths as the crowd looked back and forth between you two.
After a tense beat where nothing moved, your mind started to wander. Lunch, bladework, dandelion seeds. Then you reckoned that, if you were to close your eyes, you could probably conjure an image of him that’s correct down to the very detail. You almost attempted right there until you remembered that you were in a staring contest. Perhaps you really were drunk.
A skilled reader of your expressions, Kaeya curled his lips when he realized that you were slipping away. Not only that, your lids were also fluttering, eyes begging for moisture.
Meanwhile Kaeya looked as unbothered as ever. Maybe he’d already blinked, you were just too drunk to notice it.
Moments before your body gave in, you gritted your teeth and kicked him under the table. It hit him right in the shin, and he doubled over in pain. His eye shut as he winced loudly. The crowd made a sound of mild surprise.
“You lost.”
“No, you cheated!” he said incredulously. He must’ve been so displeased, because as soon as his voice dropped, he split into two images. No matter how hard you blinked, he wouldn’t merge back into a singular Kaeya.
“I don’t care. There’s no rue- rule stating that I can’t disturb my opponent. Drink up,” you said, but your words sounded miles away. “Ah, ah, ah,” you made some random noises to make sure you were hearing correctly.
He looked like he still had a lot to say, but instead he clicked his tongue, snatched a glass and emptied it. You were still wondering about why there were two of him when he clicked his tongue. “What’s this? Tastes weird,”
Through the dizziness, you could still make out the color of the remaining liquid. Your heart sagged. Sweat gathered under your nose. “What d’you drink?”
“Something weird,” he repeated. “Ugh, it’s so sweet. Tastes like a…like a cloying love song,” whatever the hell that meant. “Why’s it pink?”
“Oh, hell no,” Rosaria muttered under her breath. You looked back and forth between the frowning man and the vial, the cogwheels in your head spinning and spinning and spinning until you realized what he’d just put inside his body.
You saw your bewildered reflection in Kaeya’s eye. The words formed in your throat but died on your tongue. You could tell the exact moment the potion took root.
He burped.
And then you passed out.
—
From the comfort of your slumber you were awakened by persistent knocks on the door. This morning, your body seemed hellbent on chastising you for the reckless intake of alcohol. Your head was screaming with murderous intent, and your throat felt like a desert that hadn't been touched by a single drop of water for eons. The ache in your limbs had you wonder whether you’d run through all of Mondstadt in your drunken state.
You lay unmoving in the position you'd woken up in, and contemplated staying like this forever. The sun was in your eyes, but the will to move had long left you. Events from last night eluded you. Trying to recall drunken memories was like looking for a seashell in a raging storm.
Another series of knocking. You promptly rolled out of the bed, the collision sending another wave of pain.
Death would be merciful in comparison.
Lisa was standing on the other side of the door, a basket hanging from her elbow. The sweet aroma of fresh bread enveloped you. “Mornin’, are you here to relieve me of my suffering?”
“As always,” she walked past with familiarity. “I heard about what happened last night.”
“Great, because I don’t remember a second of it,” you sat down at the dining table, watching her present the food in front of you. “All I know is that it’s probably that icy bastard’s fault.”
“If it’s any consolation, Kaeya called in sick today. You should probably do the same, because you look like you’ve been through hell and back,” Lisa pushed the toast toward you. The golden crust, the glorious sunny side up, and fresh jam stared back at you. A knot rose in your throat.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if I actually did.” You turned away from the food. Perhaps your appetite would return a moment later. “Thank you for coming, by the way. Can you grab me the hangover cure?”
“You mean that large jar of suspicious brown substances?”
“Say what you want, but it works like a charm every time.”
The cure had been a recipe passed down from your ancestors. Evidently they were not exempt from the alcohol-loving nature of Mondstadters.
Despite the strain on your back, you leaned in to get a peek inside the basket Lisa had been holding. Inside was another serving of toast.
“Who’s the other toast for?” You asked.
“Make a guess?” She said from the kitchen.
Frankly, you’d known the answer before asking. “So you didn’t come especially for me after all? I’m hurt,”
Her airy chuckle echoed through the house. “Truth to be told, I was told by Jean to pay you two a visit. She knows how much you two like to torture yourselves for some childish glory.”
Your face scrunched up. “She’s not mad, is she?”
“Of course not,” she returned with a cup of ‘suspicious brown substance’ and pushed your bag out of the way. Her eyes caught on a piece of note. “What’s this?”
You grabbed the paper and squinted. Every word you read was a stab at your throbbing head.
you fucked up. big time. — Rosaria
“What’s that about?” Lisa chuckled. “Would you mind if I brought some of this cure for Kaeya?”
A mindless nod was all you could muster as you reread Rosaria’s note. The memory flooded up to you, albeit backward— her carrying your home, the slumping forward, the moment of astonishment shared between you and Kaeya, the drained vial…
“Oh no,” you shot up from your seat and snatched yesterday’s satchel, rummaging through the chaos inside. “Oh, no, no, no, please —“
Sucrose’s samples came clattering out one by one until you found, to your horror, a vacant one.
Now Kaeya having drunk this specific concoction shouldn’t be a big deal. At least it wouldn’t kill him, Sucrose would never make something like that. In fact, these were mostly mild and experimental funsies, from truth potion to juice that makes you sound like a frog. But the reality wasn’t really better.
“What’s wrong?”
Your shoulders dropped. “Kaeya drank it. It’s a love potion.”
“Oh my,” Lisa’s hand hovered in front of her open jaw.
“And considering its method of activation, I was the first person he made eye contact with.”
“…Which means he’s going to be head over heels for you?”
The broken wail you let loose could be heard from streets away.
“Okay,” you managed to calm yourself down before your neighbors could come and complain. “It’s not that bad. It might not even have worked, it was experimental after all. In fact it’s a favorable outcome, because now I can tell Sucrose whether her formula works,”
“Uh-huh,” Lisa cocked her eyebrow, not a bit convinced. “Are you going to tell him though?”
Your bravado faded as quickly as it’d come. “I don’t know. I don’t want to think right now.”
Tense silence draped over the room. Your head ran wild with tangled thoughts, most of which were imaginations of a very out of character Kaeya. All were enough to induce psychological horror.
“Alright, well…” Lisa tapped her finger against the table. “Since you don’t know for sure that it worked, maybe we should first confirm. When you see him again, look for signs he’s interested in you. I’ll help you out later, but I doubt I’ll get anything out of him,”
You nodded, temporarily incapable of giving a more animated response.
“When are you going to see him?” She asked.
“Like tomorrow? We have a… we have to check out an area around Springvale. Stupid slimes have been going rampant lately.” The two of you as a team was nothing out of the norm. At the end of the day, you were still his second in command, as much as you hated to admit.
“Perfect. So when you’re out saving Mondstadt from perils, you can do some observations of your own. Just to let Sucrose know the effectiveness of her potion, of course,” she winked. “And if the potion really did work, you can just ask her for an antidote when you come back. Sounds good?”
In a lack of an alternative, you bobbed your head in agreement. Lisa shifted to ruffle your bed hair with a meaningful smile. Had you not been all up in your head, you might’ve even caught a hint of amusement in it.
“Then I’ll leave you to it. I still have a drugged captain to visit after all.”
Lisa excused herself and left you to ponder. The toast stared back at you, lonely and untouched. Once again your brain overheated from all the thinking, so you opted to take the cure and head back to bed instead.
—
If anyone were to ask about the origin of your rivalry, you would have to go way back to the first time you met each other, and without surprise, it was at the tavern.
Growing up, you had been known as nothing short of ambitious. Having had your vision bestowed upon you by the fair-minded hydro archon at the tender age of seven, there was only one noble aspiration you held: to become a knight of favonius. And surely enough, you were recruited during your fleeting adolescence.
As a new member, you made it your mission to get to know each and every knight. There was Godwin, who seemed to be so lovesick for Glory that he had no control over the words of love that spilled out of his mouth. There were also delightful minds like Jean, whose unerring determination sometimes put your own to shame.
As for the knights you couldn’t meet during the day, you decided that the tavern would be the optimal place for chance encounters. The smell of alcohol hit you the moment you stepped foot inside, chatters and laughter stacked upon each other. You gave Charles an acknowledging nod before looking around.
Here was your first impression of Kaeya Alberich: marked and distinctive. With his fancy outfit (an eyepatch? Fur collar? Why was the chest window even there?) and the sure way in which he carried himself, he stood out like a delicately-cut lapis in the crowd of sandstone.
Even amidst the drunken hollers and chortles, his voice, smooth as silk, drew you closer. You cleared your throat behind him, and he whipped his head around—
His flowing hair hit you square in the face.
You shut your eyes, smiling solely out of courtesy.
“Oh, how terrible of me. I’m afraid I’m a bit tipsy,” his gaze focused on you. “Have we met before or am I just exceptionally fortunate tonight?”
Second impression: a smooth talker, and an overly confident one at that. His voice was akin to waves lapping at the shore, gentle, but cold. Had the wind not been in his favor and carried it everywhere it went, you might’ve missed his words.
“We’ve met, though we never introduced ourselves. I’m one of the newly recruited knights.” You gave your name.
“Kaeya Alberich. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.” He held out his gloved hand, a courteous gesture, and you shook it. “Which company are you under?”
“Calvary,” your voice was coated with pride you couldn’t suppress. “I hope to be captain one day.”
Something close to recognition dawned on Kaeya’s face. A few knights who had been listening in nodded meaningfully. It seemed that the term ‘calvary captain’ carried some sort of meaning to them.
At that time, the role of captain had been vacant long enough that people were starting to speculate about what might have caused the delay in a new assignment. You knew that the previous captain was Diluc Ragnvindr, born into noble status. You also knew that he was Kaeya’s brother. Other knowledge you held of him were all rumors and hearsays.
His sudden withdrawal from the post had been one that shocked the city, but compared to the news of him leaving Mondstadt altogether, it caused mere ripples.
Regardless, the position was empty, and you had your sight set on it.
“Captain, huh?” Kaeya pressed his lips to the side, long finger tapping the edge of the bar as the gears in his head turned. “To become one, you must possess the strongest will and the utmost loyalty. Not to mention outstanding combat skills and work efficiency. You sure you’re up for it?”
Your brows twitched, a barely concealed frown. “Sure I do. I’ve been training my whole life for this.”
“Your determination is admirable,” another knight said. “But I think the Grand Master already has a pick.”
Following his line of gaze, you realized that he was referring to Kaeya.
“Nothing is set in stone yet, but it'd be nice to have competition; makes it all the more satisfying when I crush you." There was an attempt to give a wink, but due to his eyepatch, it just looked like he was blinking aggressively.
To define it as a declaration of war might be an exaggeration, but at that moment, his words inflamed a torch deep inside you.
Following your initial meeting, the need to prove yourself would become your motivation for the next few months. After all, you would be nothing if not the best. During training, you often found yourself pitting against each other while others spectated with curiosity. You had your fair amount of wins, but they were always outnumbered by your losses.
It stung to admit, but Kaeya was a force to be reckoned with. His swordsmanship and agility worked hand in hand to corner you until you were staring at the end of his blade. His movements were elegantly choreographed, and he dodged your offenses with such swiftness that he was able to leave snarky remarks in between.
In one match, you managed to parry his blow and force the sword out of his grip. Taking advantage of his moment of shock, you pushed him back onto the parched ground. But even with him pinned to the ground with your elbow and your knees caging his middle, to assume your victory and let your attention waver would be an amateur mistake. Until someone from the watching group announced the winner, you refused to take your eyes off him.
"This is quite the position." He said, and you rolled your eyes, trying to ignore his lopsided smirk, but it was hard to ignore something when you were staring directly at it. You definitely weren't fooling anyone with the way your attention darted around in a frenzy.
"I like you so much better when you're not talking," you mustered as much strength as possible as you spoke those words, but archons — your mind wavered— the way his hair spilled out on the ground like waves and the way his chest heaved with every breath he took were nothing short of distracting.
Focus, focus, focus.
"So you do like me?"
"Dream on."
He moved his head to the side to squint at you, revealing the soft flesh of his neck. With an audible gulp you pushed yourself off of him, patting the dust from your clothes.
Amateur mistake. You let out a short-living gasp as you were literally swept off your feet, your rear taking the blunt as you landed. The sun glaring at you when you opened them, and you had once again lost.
"Alberich, twenty. Y/N, thirteen." Miles announced. Kaeya bowed flamboyantly to the clapping crowd and turned to offer you a helping hand.
All the training and you got sidetracked by trivial things. You ignored his outstretched palm and hoisted yourself up.
Perhaps that was why you could've never been captain.
The day Varka called for the both of you, autumn was in the air, and so the breeze carried forth fragrances of flowers as you marched towards his office. The excitement in your chest dwindled when you saw Kaeya standing outside, staring down at the floor in deep thought.
Hearing your footsteps, he raised his head and cracked a smile. "So the Grand Master asked for you too. I wonder what this is about."
He was just teasing, of course. Both of you knew what this was about. Taking up the spot beside him, you could feel your heart beating in your ears.
An hour or two later, the two of you emerged from his room, and were immediately surrounded by clamoring knights. Kaeya waved at them dismissively with a breath of lightness in his voice as you pushed your way through the crowd.
If you'd had to listen to his voice for a second longer, you would've let the anger crawling under your skin break free. Cavalry Captain , the words rang true and clear in your head. And the second in command .
Your head pounded with fury as you sank onto the floor, fists so tight that your nails were digging into your skin. Atop you, the birds chirped and danced around each other, not a care in this world.
Here's a secret your pride would never let you know. In those moments of pure redness, your anger was neither directed at Kaeya nor the Grand Master. It was disappointment mixed with infuriation rumbling inside you, because you knew exactly who was to blame. You'd never been angry at Kaeya for being better, you were angry at yourself for not being enough.
At the celebration feast, Kaeya managed to slip into the vacant seat next to you, a glass of wine in hand. You pointedly ignored his presence, but he paid no mind, instead opting to sit in silence. It was you who finally gave in. "What do you need?"
"Why so cold?" He propped his head up on his fist, observing. Beats of stillness passed with decades packed in each of them. Then he said in a matter-of-factly tone, "You're upset."
You'd always been an open book— or perhaps he was just a fast reader.
"Thank you for noticing," you grumbled. "Enjoying the party?"
"It's also yours, you know?" He dodged your question. "It's uncommon for a captain to have a second in command. Varka must’ve seen something in you that couldn't be wasted."
"Something, sure, but not enough."
He didn't say anything to that. For the first time after the conferment, you took a good look at him. While there was mirth smeared across his face, especially prominent in the corners of his lips, his eye was as pensive as a blackhole hoarding thousands of secrets. He didn't look half as happy as you would've expected him to be.
"I bet you knew all along. To be honest, even I myself was not surprised," you began, testing the water.
"I had my speculations," he chuckled. "Funnily enough, I was still taken aback when I heard the news. Kaeya Alberich, you have proved your competence on numerous occasions, and so it is my greatest pleasure to bestow on you the title of Cavalry Captain ." His imitation of Varka was spot on, down to the very gasp he would take before each sentence he said. It made you wonder just how observant he was.
Once again, something you lacked.
"Perhaps I was taken aback because I didn't really want to be captain." He said. You waited for more, but it never came.
"Why?" You insisted. It ached seeing someone dismiss the very thing you'd been wanting your whole life.
"...Who knows?" The ghost of the truth dimmed his eye, and then he was back to beaming again. "Do enjoy this evening, my dearest second in command. After all, it's not everyday you get a promotion."
The Kaeya that had just talked to you was a shell of memory now. Moments like that, when he let his vulnerable side show, were always too fleeting for you to hold on to. With an offended expression, you watched him return to the people, once again radiant. If anyone else had been around to hear his words, they would've thought him considerate, but you knew that it was his way of mocking you.
Why he didn't seem at all elevated escaped you– there was too little for you to work with. Yet for some reason, you had a hunch that it had something to do with the previous captain. Diluc Ragnvindr, his brother in another land.
Your pondering was interrupted by a clap of hands and the hushes that befell the participants. Kaeya had somehow gotten himself a stool and was standing tall. "I suppose it's only fair that I say a few words?"
A weaver of words, he satisfied his audience with ease. From a distance, you made a show of rolling your eyes skyward, bitter. Always so dramatic and conceited .
"...and of course, I have to thank my fellow colleagues, who have been absolute joys to drink with," a few of them chuckled. "But most of all I have to thank our lovely Y/N—"
The sudden mention of your name almost had you choking on air. You glared at him, flabbergasted and irked by the fact that he was forcing you under the spotlight when all you wanted was to wallow in your own failure. "--who has time after time pushed me to become the best version of myself. Without them, I doubt I'd even be standing here."
His gaze bore into you, arrogant. Patronizing, even. "With you as my subordinate , I dare say there'll be nothing I cannot achieve as captain . A toast, everyone!"
The crowd turned to you with terrifying synchronization. With a strained smile pasted on your face, you nodded at them before downing your own drink. Soon the crowd returned to chit-chatting, but your eyes were still fixed on the captain. Your veins blazed with the desire to wipe that permanent sneer off his face, chagrin morphing into the comfortable disguise of distaste.
Years later, Rosaria would find herself a frequent listener of your retelling of your relationship. You would ramble for hours and hours on end, about how he was always driving you up the wall, about the time you almost pushed him off a cliff because he wouldn’t stop shoving in your face the fact that he cleared more hilichurl camps than you did. Rosaria might not care, but even through her nonchalance, she saw one thing clearly.
You spoke of distaste and detestation, yet it was apparent that the anger was a shield. More often than not, your opinions of Kaeya hinted at respect instead of genuine contempt. The person you were mad at was yourself. The anger stemmed from the shame you felt at being inadequate, which was so great that you could barely live with it. It was much easier to assign blame. So you did.
The funniest part was that Kaeya just played along. He had absolutely nothing against you, but once he’d learnt how to ruffle your feathers, he wouldn’t give it up. It was yet another mystery why he enjoyed teasing you so, but Rosaria wasn’t going to probe. She already knew more than enough.
In her eyes, Kaeya Alberich wasn’t that good of a pretender after all.
—
Outside the sun dappled through trees, and the streets buzzed with activity as the early merchants set up their stalls. Remnants from yesterday's hangover had long dispersed, courtesy of the infallible cure.
It occured to you over breakfast that you had no idea what kind of signs you were looking for. Love was not a myth, that much you knew, but it was foreign. You could scarcely recall the last time you felt it, so how were you supposed to recognize it all of a sudden?
Your mind wandered to the lovebirds in town. Beatrice, whose obsession was crystal clear as she chatted Quinn up basically every day, though the latter couldn’t be more blind. Raymond, who would incessantly speak of his wife when he’s drunk. There’s always this tender look he reserved just for her. And then there’s Nimrod, who had been trying hard to treat his alcohol addiction for his wife.
These were all sweet people. But when you tried to imagine Kaeya being as lovesick, it was like trying to dress an adult in toddler-sized shirts. It didn’t fit him. The mere thoughts of it made you flush from embarrassment. Chances were you were going to die from cringe.
As much as you’d like to run from the problem, you had a job to finish. Every step you took toward the city gate, where you usually rendezvoused with Kaeya, was tentative. Your eyes darted around as you looked for signs of him, hoping that you would at least have some time to prepare yourself.
“Why are you sneaking about?”
Your breath jolted. Every hair on your body jerked up.
“Very nice of you, Alberich.” You snapped, hand hovering above your racing heart. He gave a hum of a laugh as you calmed down.
(That was the first sign you missed— the way his eye lit up when he saw you from behind.)
Right, your secret objective. You scanned his face briefly. Nothing seemed out of place. He wasn’t giggling like a teenager experiencing romance for the first time, neither was he throwing himself at you like a clingy kid—
“So, dear partner,” he swung his arm around your shoulder. Your brain sputtered. “Are you ready for our little date?”
Well. Shit.
Panic took over your limbs. You jabbed your fingers at his side, and he curled away with a gasp.
“Don’t make me punch you in the face when we’ve barely started. I still haven’t held you accountable for the pain you put me through yesterday.”
“Right, yesterday. Thank you for the cure, by the way. Still waiting for the recipe though,”
“Too bad I’m taking it to the grave.” The two of you marched out of the city. “Say… aside from the hangover, did you feel weird in any other way?”
Something indecipherable passed across his face. “No. Should I have?”
“Not at all,” you rushed to answer.
He might’ve been a little touchy, but that didn’t automatically mean that the potion was behind it, and you were no stranger to his flirtations. If the teasing bore any genuine feelings at all, then he would’ve been in love with you since forever.
"If you're worried that I'm not in tip-top condition, you can rest assured. I'll protect you from any harm that may come your way, as usual."
This was going to be a long day.
—
"I think we should do plan K," Kaeya said while you were making your way through the green plains.
"What plan K?"
"Kitty cat?"
It took you a few seconds to catch on to his meaning. "No." You refused curtly.
Unlike their owners, your visions worked in perfect harmony. There was no enemy you couldn't freeze with a slash of your respective swords. Still, you were only two people. When confronted by mobs of enemies, trapping one or two of them in suffocating ice couldn't really help. The key was to gather them so you could drench them all at once.
It was only one time– the group of hilichurls on the cliff was truly too overwhelming for you. Even hot-headed as you were, you still knew not to go out without a plan. In the heat of the moment, you decided that the best way to grab their attention was to pretend to be a cat. After all, who wouldn't respond to their mewls?
You could still recall vividly the look on Kaeya's face as you forced the sounds out of your throat– like something had cracked him open. Surprise smeared his countenance even long after he'd turned the enemies into a dense pack of ice statues. It was one of the few times you got him to be speechless, which was in itself an achievement, but considering the context, it only made you want to crawl into a burrow.
"I didn't know you had such a knack for imitating animals. Can you do Rishboland Tigers?" He'd said. You proceeded to throw him a few insults before tying up the loose ends of your job.
You should've known that he wouldn't let it slide that easily. This was Kaeya you were talking about. When had he ever passed on a chance to make your skin crawl?
"Come on, it was so effective last time." He pressed.
"Do slimes even recognize cats?"
"Sure,"
"Bullshit." You said, and that was final.
Soon the striking windmill came into view, a silent indicator of your destination. Most of the residents had left the village for work, and the remaining ones were mostly lounging around.
A man with hair the color of autumn spotted you first. Light steps brought him closer, and soon he was standing before you.
"I’m Allan. You're from the knights?"
"The Cavalry Captain, in the flesh," Kaeya said with just a hint of pride. You barely held back your snort. “Where may the reported problem be?”
“Just down the road.” Allan pointed. “We would’ve taken care of them ourselves, but a lot of us have gone far to hunt and have not come back.”
“Noted,” you said. “How many slimes are there?”
“Twelve, give or take.”
Your eyes rounded. Twelve is quite a large number, even for limbless balls of elemental energy. Kaeya moved in and whispered, “Kitty cat?”
“Not a snowball’s chance in hell.” You hissed, hating the way he always managed to send chills down your spine when he spoke in proximity, even more so when his words were thick with meanings. You turned back to Allan. “Alright then, we’ll go take care of them.”
“Yea,” Allan nodded, a bit absent-minded. “While you’re at it, can you look for Myweiss? Short hair, probably with a lyre. She went out this morning and hasn’t been back since.”
His words had a certain ominousness to them, though as a knight you still had to maintain a mask of nonchalance lest you reinforce his worry. “We’ll look into that too.”
It was just as Allan had said. A few turns later you found the road blocked by a pack of pyro slimes. From where you were hiding behind a rock, they formed a circle, bouncing in sync and looking awfully like they were holding a ritual. A figure in the middle drew your eyes.
“Is that Myweiss?” Your hand found its way to the hilt of your sword, body inclining with the urge to strike. Warmth enveloped your knuckle, and you looked down to see Kaeya pushing you back down.
“Don’t be rash,” he said.
“But someone’s—”
“— in danger and as knights we have to save them, yes,” he stole the words right from your mouth. At your slightly astonished gape he winked, “I know you more than you think.”
…Well, friends pay attention to each other all the time. You didn’t even like him one bit, yet you were still familiar with his patterns, from silent body language to layered words. So this was not enough proof that he was under the influence of a love potion.
Kaeya proceeded to lay out his plan, which was really just charging in head-on, but you were too busy ruminating on his words to call him out.
He sprang out first, flitting through the air weightlessly. The slimes jolted in recognition and fled toward him like magnets. You seized the opening to rescue the trembling woman who’d curled into a ball. She flinched away when you put your hand on her shoulder.
“Hey, you’re alright. We’re here to save you.”
She peeked out from behind her crossed elbows. Your attire must’ve given your identity away as she grasped your hand in relief.
“Duck!”
Your body responded quicker to the shout than your brain could register it. Ice spikes shot through the air, impaling the slime hovering above you.
“A hand would be nice,” Kaeya said.
“Why, can’t handle a few slimes?” You cooed. Whipping out your polished sword, you slipped into a comfortable spot behind him. One man might still be prone to blunders, but two could form an impenetrable defense. There wasn't a single way to lay a finger on you without being struck down by some frigid ferocity first, and in return you covered all the spots Kaeya's eye couldn't track. You knew each other's patterns like the back of your hands. You scythed your swords with such fluidity that you were like comets weaving through constellations– ruthless, unfaltering, yes, but never once did you collide into the other's trajectory.
You made quick work of the slimes without breaking a sweat. The last one exploded as a final attempt at retaliation, and all's left was scorched grass and your stiff pants.
"You got quicker," Kaeya stated as you approached Myweiss again, picking up the broken lyre on the ground.
"Thank you, good sir, your compliment means an awful lot to me," you playfully bowed before turning back to the bard. "Are you hurt anywhere?"
"My… my ankle," she stuttered. You leaned forward and found her skin glaring with an angry burn. It wasn't severe, but it would probably require a few days to heal completely.
"We'll bring you back to Springvale," Kaeya offered his hand. Myweiss glanced at it before opting instead to loop her arm around your elbow, the action surprising you for a moment. The blue-haired captain had a comically puzzled frown on his face as you hoisted the lady up. You stuck your tongue out at him as you passed.
Allan jumped into action as soon as you came into view, taking her away to the village’s healer. As soon as you're alone, you tilted your head at Kaeya. "Seems like you've lost your charm."
"Or you got more alluring," he bent and wrapped himself around your arm, "Ah, I'm feeling a bit worn out from all the fighting. Mind if you carry me back to Mond, dear knight?"
"I'd rather leave you in the wild."
"Hurtful. Very hurtful," he feigned a pained expression.
The sun swam overhead. By the time Myweiss had been fully bandaged, you'd already finished your quick lunch. She limped out with urgency, and broke into a smile when she realized that you hadn't left.
You, of course, failed to notice it as you walked up to her. "Feeling better?"
"Oh, a lot better. May I just add that you were phenomenal just now? I've never seen anyone fight as gracefully as you."
You flushed. "You're too kind. I was only doing my job."
"Well, consider it a job well done," she fidgeted a bit. "Say, do you have other business to attend to? Would you like to stay for a while? I can play you a song if you like– ah, nevermind, my lyre looks pretty worse for wear."
A break out here sounded pleasant enough, but you still had to report back to the headquarters. Before you could reply, Allan butted in despite the sharp glare Myweiss gave him. "Speaking of other business, I heard from others that there have been some treasure hoarders roaming around Dragonspine lately. Shouldn’t the knights do something about that too?"
"Certainly. I'll let the situation be known as soon as possible." Swiveling, you noticed Kaeya chatting with some other villagers with an easy curl of a grin. His eye was already on you when you regarded him, and he gave you a little wave.
Your hand was raised mid-air when Myweiss rapped, "That can wait, right? You should really stay. Perhaps I'll show you around, we've just had some fruitful harvests too."
Even oblivious as you were, at this point you were starting to catch on to her desperation to keep you around. She reached out gingerly for your arm, lashes fluttering in a way that conveyed attraction. It was the first time in a while that you'd been hit on, and you found yourself at a loss of words.
"What's going on?" Kaeya must be addicted to putting his arm around your shoulder, though his presence made you somewhat more at ease. His eye traveled down to Myweiss' bandaged ankle. "You look better already."
"I could always use some assistance," she eyed you, begrudgingly withdrawing her hold.
"I'm sure Allan here is more than willing to provide it," he never wavered in his smile, but you couldn't help but note that it was the one that he used on people he didn't trust. His arm was also unusually tight around you, as if desperate to ensure that you wouldn't be snatched away.
Allan clicked his tongue. "Fine, whatever. Just go deal with the treasure hoarders as soon as possible, okay?"
"It's not like the knights are short on manpower, why can't you lounge around for some more?" Myweiss argued.
You sucked in a breath. "We aren't, but–"
"But it'd be irresponsible to let the problem fester. In fact, my partner and I are going to eradicate it right away." Kaeya said.
"The enemies are on Dragonspine. We can't just charge in like this." You said.
"Why not? We've never failed a mission before."
"That's because we had prior preparations!"
"We can prepare on the way, or I'll just do all the work if you want."
After watching you two with enough intensity that the air crackled, Myweiss huffed in defeat. "Fine. Go do your job, I give up."
You offered to help her back, but she waved you off. "It's fine, I know I can't compete. Love is pointless after all. I should've known better than to hold out hope…"
Her words faded into the wind as you watched her leave with Allan, lips slightly ajar in confusion. Kaeya's arm slipped away, his warmth lingering on your skin like a ghost. "Let's go."
He really knew how to put his long legs to good use. You jogged to match his strides. "You mean to Dragonspine? Weren't you just making it up?"
"Why would I? It's just a mountain, nothing we can't handle."
There's an edge to his voice. It was like something grand had happened in the span of a second without your participation– Myweiss' abrupt drop in attitude, the lump in Kaeya's throat as he spoke.
"Well, maybe hydro and cryo aren't the best combination when you're surrounded on all fours by snow."
Silence was all that greeted you.
Great.
There was another thing that bugged you– the way he put extra stress on his tongue when he said 'my partner'. While it wasn't unusual that he referred to you as such, he'd never named it with such sternness before. It was like he was trying to make an irrefutable point.
You'd heard the same tone somewhere else. Back when a foreigner had come to Mondstadt and unwittingly flirted with Quinn, Beatrice was all but fuming when she stepped in. That's my– my best friend, she'd said, ignoring the stuttering. It didn't take you long to put a name to the emotion smeared across her face. Jealousy.
"Were you jealous just now?" You let the words go, nevermind how ridiculous you sounded. Kaeya pursed his lips, as if considering, before exhaling sharply through his nose, "So what if I was?"
That was most expected. Of course he wouldn't answer you directly, only swerve around your question.
"I was just trying to bail you out of that situation, that's all," he added, unprompted. "Though I can't deny that seeing someone being lovestruck before you put me down in the dumps for a bit. You know how much I adore you.”
You tried to fight off the weird tingling feeling in your stomach. His words had planted the root of something unnamable in you. It was not new– in fact you found yourself feeling it quite often when you were around him– but still considered a strange feeling.
Jealousy, a sure side effect of affection. The potion might’ve really kicked in then. Good news for Sucrose, but it was going to be a problem for you.
–
To pocket more time, you had to stray from the main road smoothed by feet that had come before. In short: less walking, more climbing up short cliffs and jagged rocks.
It must've taken you no less than two hours until you smelled frost in the air. The immenseness of the snow-capped mountain loomed before you as you entered the camp set nearby.
"Knights of Favonius," one of the people donning adventurers' attire greeted you. Iris, her name was. "Heading into Dragonspine at this hour?"
"We heard there've been some treasure hoarders in the vicinity lately, and our reliable captain here decided to nip them in the bud." You sprinkled your words with sarcasm.
"If you're really that afraid of the cold, I'm sure I can handle this alone."
You snorted, "Afraid? It seems that you're underestimating me."
"Well, uh," Iris dug through the pile of necessities laid out on the wooden bench. "We only have two overcoats here. Perhaps I can pack you some warm rum as well. Wait a sec,"
As she ran off to the chef, you examined the overcoats. They were huge even for Kaeya, and made out of wool. As warm as it seemed, it would probably restrict your movements as you mounted the sloped hills.
Still, it was better than freezing to death.
Something fluffy was draped around your shoulders. You turned and found your face buried in soft, white fur. Usually ostentatious, this ridiculous collar finally proved to be useful.
"I don't need it." You stated as he slipped his arms into the sleeves of the coat. It looked ridiculous on him.
"Shh, just take it," he dismissed with half a heart. "What kind of partner would I be if I just let you turn into a frozen sculpture?"
"Are you saying you won't turn into one?"
"Of course not," he held up the remaining one and hugged the fabric around you, tugging it towards the middle. You glimpsed at him, the lower part of your face hidden behind the layers of fabric. The gesture warmed you more than the coat ever could.
Iris came back with the bottle, and off you ventured into the depth of the snow.
–
"Shouldn't there be torches nearby?" Kaeya mumbled, teeth clattering as he ran his hands up and down his arms. At this point, after eight refusals, you'd given up on putting the cape back on him.
The bottle of rum was effective, so much so that you already finished most of it. Every blow of the wind felt like spikes stabbing at your exposed skin, and snowflakes descended into your line of vision the further up you went. You tipped your head back and inhaled. A mistake. The cold invaded your airway and made you wheeze. You sought comfort in the fur again.
Dragonspine was not a place for wandering. All around you was plain white covering grey rocks. Even the knights would be hesitant to come to a place like this– devoid of life, harsh, unforgiving, a weapon forged by nature itself.
"Why aren’t you more resistant to the cold, cryo user?" You mumbled.
"If you threw Diluc into a fireplace, he'd still scream in pain."
"Touche,"
You pressed on doggedly. Naked branches and worn stones rolled past you. Finally, Kaeya sighted a glimmer of hope. It was a torch near the cliff, its branches stuck steadily into the snow. You both raced forward, only to realize that the fire had long gone out.
"It would be a good time to reveal your box of matches," he looked to you expectantly. You strained your mouth into a smile that said what do you think .
"This is pointless," you started pacing. "The sky is dimming, there's not a single sign of life within a ten miles radius, and we can't even light a dumb flame."
"Would you rather we head back?"
Your body screamed affirmative, but your determination was unflinching. You'd always despised giving up halfway, even in situations brought about by hands other than your own. Leaning forward to observe the gaping depth, you shook your head. "Let's… let's go a bit further. Ugh, what are the thieves even doing this far up–"
The moment you turned on your heels, the small piece of ground behind you gave way, crumbling into ashes. Your arms flung wildly in the air as you sought purchase, but the closest tree was already pulling away from you.
Your breath suspended in your throat. Moments before you could feel the plummet, icy fingers grasped around your wrist and sent you lurching back to stable ground. Had your heart not been pumping at light speed, you would've noticed the shake in Kaeya's hand. You opened your eyes and found yourself pressed flush against him, like vines to a pillar. For the first time since you'd started walking the snow-covered paths, warmth enveloped you from head to toe.
"I know this circumstance is less than ideal, but did you really have to throw yourself off?" Kaeya forced a chuckle. His breaths were heavy, almost anxious, his cheeks raw and windblown. "Or have you finally fallen for my charms?”
“What charms?” You faked confusion. “You’re not even my type,”
“Pshh, I’m the embodiment of your type,” he locked you even further into his hold, and blood rushed to your face.
After some shuffling, he hummed. “This is quite nice, don't you think? Works ten times better than this mess of a coat."
You kept your arms around him, not by will, but because every muscle in your body had been petrified by your closeness. If you were to cut your heart out and put it on the torch right now, it would probably blaze all night.
“I… I suppose it’s not so bad.”
"Then let's stay close for a while." You could hear the satisfied smirk in his voice.
Your limbs relaxed with each passing second, fitting into him like you were two pieces of a shattered jade. Even under layers of covers, you could still feel the sinking and heaving of his chest, matching your own gradually. When he felt your hands grab at the fabric on his back, he moved to tug them inside his coat. If you felt the weight of his head atop yours, you didn’t mention it. He had always been warmer than his icy appearance would have people believe, and soon you found your energy recharged.
“We’d better get going,” it was you who decided to ruin the comfort. His head nudged against yours, a nod.
Neither of you moved. You had to count to three internally to peel yourself away, and even then you did not part until the very tip of your finger was too far away to linger on.
You didn’t find the tenderness rolling off him unfamiliar at all, contrary to what you’d believed in the morning. For a moment, you even felt a hint of sorrow knowing that it was all chemical reactions. You promptly ignored the weird ache behind your ribs. “Should we head up?”
“After you.”
As you braved the gales with revived strength, you had a hunch that the rest would go smoothly.
—
The road only grew narrower as you neared Skyfrost Nail. The cold had seeped into the gap of the wool again, and you resorted to walking side by side like twin popsicles. Soon, the torches you passed by were no longer bleak and vacant, but instead burning with newly-lit flames. Someone must be nearby.
Frigid fingers grazing your sheath, you pulled each other up broken steps until you found a boulder big enough to fit behind. Not too far away, the camp was set up on open ground with nary a disguise. It was almost like they were hoping to get caught.
You counted six treasure hoarders, all armed, as they counted the valuables they’d managed to snatch from innocents today. As if dissatisfied, one of them threw a string of jewelry onto the ground.
“Think we could ambush them?” You suggested, turning back to Kaeya.
“Sure. Alternatively, you could distract them with Ki-”
“Oh my god. Give it up!”
“Over my dead body,” he said sheepishly. Shrugging off the heavy wool, he flexed his limbs, rigid from the cold, and stepped up. “Take the ones on the left.”
“Got it.”
As expected, the treasure hoarders were entirely unaware of your presence until Kaeya decided to give them a jumpscare by commenting on the poor quality of their loot from behind. Even then, they were no match against your quick strikes.
The remaining two were tougher, having had time to prepare, but lacking nonetheless. You dodged their clumsy arrows and harmless rocks, scythed the hilt of your sword onto one’s back, and he dropped with a loud thump.
Incapacitating them would be effortless, but it wouldn’t be very knightly to leave them to freeze up here. The standard procedure would be to teach them a lesson and chase them off, then record their information in the archive. Holding your sword before you, you inched closer toward the last enemy, face tight with warning.
His eyes darted between you and his affiliate who got the short end of the stick. Kaeya had been taunting the latter for the past few minutes, encouraging him to land a hit on him and then swerving away in the last second. Typical behavior.
“Ugh, fuck it,” the man before you drew out a round device from his pocket. Your eyes rounded, brain screaming for action, but his thumb was faster as it pressed down.
Nothing happened. “What did you do?” You demanded.
“A reminder not to stick your nose into others’ business,” he smirked unnaturally, which fell when the ground rumbled. He grabbed his fallen comrades and scrambled away. Another quake came. Kaeya mirrored your look— confusion mixed with horror.
The next time the earth trembled, you realized it was not the earth at all. The thing you’d been standing on rose shakily. Kaeya darted forward to grab your arm before the two of you were thrown onto the ice-paved path, knocking the air out of you.
It was a ruin grader, bulkier than the usual machines scattered across the wilderness. Branches stuck out of its back like horns, and its four limbs were enhanced by an extra layer of metal. Its dull, lifeless eye scanned the both of you before a beam shot out, leaving a puddle of water and burned crisp between you.
“Since when do treasure hoarders know how to control ruin machines?” You yelled as you rolled away from the following beams, struggling onto your feet.
“Since today, apparently. What do you say we make this interesting?”
You already had a guess as to what he intended to propose. “Enlighten me,”
“First one to strike it dead in the eye wins.”
The murderous orb focused on you. An arm flung out. You barely dodged it. “And how shall the loser be punished?”
Kaeya sent an ice spike into its side, but it was in vain. “Pay for drinks for a month?”
“Deal.”
As though irritated by your lack of regard, the machine turned around and crouched, a telltale sign of the attack it was about to unleash. You ran for the spot behind a tree. The whole world shook as the missiles wrecked the land. Snapped branches and ravaged sunsettias tainted the carpet of snow.
As the machine turned its focus on Kaeya, you thrust your sword into the crack between its joints. Hydro swirled around the blade, threatening to drown the machine from the inside out, but it only sputtered a little before its leg reached up, hovering over you. You barely managed to get out of the way. The place you’d been standing just a second ago was now a dent.
“Think we could freeze this thing?” Kaeya shouted from the other side. It sprang into the air and created another cave in the ground. It was restless energy, programmed to only attack whatever was in sight.
“What makes you think I can drench this metal giant in water with just a sword?” You asked, once again dancing around its offenses. Though it was relentless, you still managed to notice a few weaknesses and swung your sword at them. But without destroying the core, obliterating this thing would take a dangerously long time.
“Alright, fine. I have an idea,” the wind brought his voice closer. “Distract it for a bit, will ya?”
“Just do it quickly!” It aimed its giant fist at you, and for a lack of time, you could only counter it with the flat of your sword. Reverberation spread from the point of impact to your hands, like vines overtaking a host. The force sent you flying into the snow, and you groaned at the pain exploding through your back.
“Oh, come on!” You quickly got up as it prepared to throw up some missiles again. All the running had depleted your stamina, and your throat was as parched as sandpaper. Outside, the cold continued to slice its sharp blade at your ribs. You made a note never to come to Dragonspine again.
A figure behind the machine caught your eyes. Kaeya had managed to climb onto higher ground. With a huff, he pointed the tip of his steel at the machine beneath and leaped into a graceful arc, using the velocity of the fall to penetrate into the robot. The bright eye flickered, and its legs gave out.
All you could feel was your own panting and the light bruises burning all over your body. He crouched and landed in front of you with a flip. Surrounding you was a ruckus— everything shattered and coated with the juice of squashed sunsettias. It looked like a bloodbath.
“I won.” His mouth curled into a victorious sneer, but he had fatigue written all over him, from the pale lips to the slightly inclined posture. His left sleeve had been torn, and an angry wound opened its mouth greedily. Worry rose within you.
“We have to get it bandaged as soon as possible, come on.”
“Aw, are you worried about me, partner?”
You rolled your eyes at him. The sun had long drowned under the horizon, and the air was growing thin with each passing second. At night, Dragonspine would be even more unbearable. You had to leave as soon as possible.
Your lips parted, but then you paused. For a moment you almost thought you saw the grotesque blink of the cracked machine’s core, but it vanished just as abruptly as it’d come. It must’ve been your imagination—
It wasn’t. With its last dying force, it came alive with the intention to kill , kill , kill . It lifted its only unbroken arm, recharged, and swung it at the human who’d disabled it.
It was almost a reflex, the way you grabbed Kaeya’s arm and shoved him to the side. You didn’t even realize what you’d done until the fist came directly for you before the force of a meteorite had your body crashing into the side of the hill.
The world slowed as Kaeya watched you fall limply to the ground. You were still, unmoving, quiet. His vision went white.
Tingling numbness possessed your body, then came the pain blossoming all over. A persistent ringing haunted your ear. You breathed and felt your ribs crack.
For a moment you thought you were going to die right there, but then the pain ceased amplifying, and the ringing began to subdue. You knew because you could hear Kaeya again, screaming the same words over and over again. It took a while to register them— your name in repeat, like a broken record.
“No, no no no no no,” he mumbled, a shaky hand reaching behind to hold your torso up. His other hand was pressed on the area below your aching ribcage. Once you felt strong enough, you lolled your head to the side to regard him.
“Just-just stay awake, okay?” His voice was strained with fear. You reached out to touch his hand, ignoring the brutal gash on your own. The side of your arm felt sticky. It could’ve been blood, you weren’t sure. You wanted to tell him you were fine, but your voice had been choked out of you the moment you were slammed.
His torso shifted, but his knees stayed grounded. Words spilled out of him like a waterfall, barely comprehensible. Meanwhile you were trying to make sense of why he was so on edge, because despite the injuries here and there, you didn’t feel like you were on the brink of death yet.
That was until you looked down, wondering why he’d been exerting pressure on your stomach. Then you turned to the side and scanned the place you were lying on. There was red all over, on your clothes and on the ground, bright and sticky and… it didn’t make any sense. You hadn’t heard any tear in your flesh, nothing that could’ve made your blood spill.
“K-Kaeya—”
“I’m sorry,”
You froze.
“Please, just- I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have let it happen again, please- this can’t be real,”
You’d seen him waver before, losing his footing during battles, donning shock while ambushed, face tight in face of a dilemma. But not like this. Not like the whole world was crumbling to ashes in his hands. His confidence, which was usually indivisible from him, had long vanished. In its place was terror. The horror in his eye was a living thing, gnawing at him. Possessing him. It twisted his face into a portrait of agony.
He had never acted like this before. Even then you knew that this image would be seared into your brain forever as a painful thread of memory.
You loosened your hold on him and touched the ‘wound’ on your stomach. A press. Nothing. Gingerly you brought your wet hand to your face. It smelled sweet and fresh.
Smashed sunsettias. Their color was less deep than blood, and the texture was stickier. You’d mistaken it for your own life. The absurdity was almost hilarious.
“Kaeya,” you called again, but he wouldn’t face you. Flakes had collected at his lashes, and tears were threatening to break the dam. You put your hand to his cold cheek. Finally he looked at you through a haze. “I’m fine, this- this isn’t blood,”
“What?” He croaked, still as a statue. There was an attempt to collect himself when he gazed around. He did the same thing— feel the texture, the smell, albeit with a lot more hesitation.
Realization, acknowledgement, relief. Wave after wave of emotions sprayed across his tight features like a slideshow. When his brows finally let loose, you half expected him to scoff, or maybe crack a joke about the ludicrousness of it all, but instead he sank his head onto your shoulder and held you like a fragile statue.
He was trembling, you figured, with the effort he took to control the tears. Your heart lurched, and you wrapped your arms around him within an instant.
You’d done it. You’d scared the cavalry captain to the point of crying. Yet every gasp that came was a stab to your guts. His back shook against your hands, and you had this terrible thought that he was about to shatter into thousands unretrievable pieces.
Time passed without a sound and eventually dried his tears. You stayed still, holding onto each other, clinging onto life. The air was filled with your
“Archons,” he breathed, slowly beginning to build up that wall around him. When he pulled away it almost sucked all the warmth out of you. “That was- that was scary,” he placed hand on his chest. “Why did you do that?” He reprimanded.
“Oh, I don’t know, I just really wanted to get punched by a ruin grader,” you chuckled in an attempt to draw at least a smile out of him, but it only resulted in a pained wince. “I think my ribs are broken.”
“Yea, and your hand.” He jutted his jaw at the wound.
“Aside from that, I’m as good as new,” with his help you sat yourself up, taking breaths as slowly as possible. Remnants of that broken expression were still lingering on his face. Pinkness surrounded his eyes. “And you? Are you alright?”
He scoffed. “Of course I am. Come on, I’ll help you down.”
“Sure you can do it?”
He nodded and let you sling your arm around his neck. You were both shivering. From the chill or fear, you weren’t sure, but with you leaning your weight on him, you leeched the warmth off of each other, a reminder that you weren’t alone.
As you limped back the way you came, you almost lost his words to the wind: Please don’t do that again , they said. Kaeya’s face was as unreadable as ever, but his tight clutch around you said more than enough.
—
The adventurers all but scrambled towards you when they saw the ghastly states you were in. It felt like burning when you sat near the bonfire to thaw the cold clinging onto you. You flexed your limbs once they’d been bandaged. None of the wounds were too serious, and your broken ribs would probably heal after a few restful days.
Yet the night was no longer young, and it would be unwise to set out when you could barely breathe without wincing, so you decided at last to stay till the following morning. An hour or two must've gone by with everyone fussing around you. It was only after a brief dinner that Kaeya managed to steal a moment with you after all the stolen glances from a distance.
"A mora for your thoughts?" He claimed the spot next to you, overlooking the tranquil river and the moon, swaying among the waves like a sunken piece of jade. Met with a lack of response, he continued, "Two moras? Ten? My whole life-saving?"
"That's not really an upgrade from ten moras, is it?"
"Sounds like you are underestimating my financial well-being."
He was not without injuries. With his sleeve rolled up, you could see the thick layer of bandage wrapped around his arm. There were a few bandaids decorating his skin here and there, but what really gave his fatigue away was his bleary eye.
Images of his torn expression resurfaced. “I feel like I should apologize.”
He reclined, gaze elsewhere. “What for?”
“For giving you such a scare with that sunsettia stunt,” you waved at the stubborn stains on your clothes.
“It won’t be that easy for your apology to be accepted.” He quirked his brow. “I’m going to need something more sincere.”
“Don’t tell me you want me to cover your drinking expenses for two months.”
“Tempting, but no,” his airy chuckle filled the air. “I just want you to answer this mystery that’s been plaguing me.”
You sighed and nodded.
“Why did you jump in to save me? You know what it could have cost.”
There were mysteries in life that just had no answers, and you were sure this was one of them. It was more of an instinct than an act of reason. The image of the metal fist coming down on him had planted a fear enormous enough that it’d swallowed your senses.
At last, you settled on: “I’m a knight. Saving people is kind of my job.”
“Yes, but aren’t we supposed to be rivals? Competitors? Something like that?”
“We are ,” you rushed to answer, though the word rang hollow in your head. “That doesn’t mean I have to watch you die.”
“It’s kind of hard to believe that when you seize every chance to make your loathing be known-”
“I don’t loathe you. You’re being dramatic”
“Right. We just don’t really see eye to eye.”
Your face tightened. There was a significant beat of silence where you could feel his eye burning holes on your back.
The next time he spoke, his voice sounded almost foreign. “I don’t hate you, in case you think I do.”
“Then why do you keep getting on my nerves?”
He shifted, huffing a little when he had to strain his injured arm to push his body up. You anticipated the possible answers: because it’s fun, because it’s entertaining, and just a tad bit cute. Because it fed his ego.
“Because I want to keep you around, and annoying you seems to be the key,”
You looked for the usual mischief on his face, anything to prove that he was joking, but to no avail.
“And… if I have to be absolutely honest, I quite like you.” The words rolled out of him like waves, descending into the river. Your mouth ran dry. Something was restricting your airway, and it wasn’t your broken bones. Not even in the most peculiar dreams would you have imagined him saying those words to you.
But it was just the potion at work here, wasn’t it?
“You sure do an awful job of showing it.”
“You’re just awful at noticing it.”
“Fine,” you scooted towards him pointedly. “Prove it then. Tell me just one thing you like about me.”
“That’ll be easy,” he said, tapping his chin. “Firstly, your hangover cure, the recipe of which is still hidden from the world”
"And it always will be,” you thinned your lips, feeling disappointment creep up on you. If he noticed, he didn’t say anything about it.
“Secondly, you’re one of the most competent knights I’ve ever known. There’s rarely a situation you can’t get yourself out of, and you handle my trials without fail.”
“Ah, yes. Your trials. Like that time you had us trapped in that labyrinth of a domain?”
“And you were the first to get out.”
You hadn’t thought that an acknowledgement from someone whom you’d always felt inferior to would mean anything to you, but it stirred your insides anyways, toying with the threads of your emotions.
“The third reason, your unrivaled courage shines as brightly as the sun. Never once have you backed out from a challenge, although in exchange you’ve sustained quite the amount of injuries and put me in cardiac arrest.”
Evidently.
Carefully you asked, unexpected even to yourself, “Anything else?”
“Your sense of responsibility. Your cat imitations-” he ignored your pointed look. “- the way you sometimes draw words from me unknowingly. Your silly habits, the way your words slur when you’re tipsy. And you wear your heart on your sleeve too, did you know that?”
You shook your head. “How so?”
“Do you remember the time Fischl invited us to some kind of Immernachtreich feast? And we thought it was going to be fine because Fischl usually isn’t that bad of a cook, but…”
“But she decided to create dishes that shouldn’t even exist and called them local cuisines? Yea, I remember,” you chuckled at the memory.
“You were trying really hard to finish the dishes— and you actually did, you have my respect for that— but everyone could see that you were struggling.”
You grimaced. “Even Fischl?”
“Especially Fischl. I had to comfort her and lie about you being sick prior to the feast to make her feel better.”
“Wows. Now I feel like a jerk,” you buried your head behind your folded arms, overriding your memories with the accurate one, until your chest jolted with laughter. Everything about that day was so ridiculous it’s funny, though further reminiscence would probably give you a stomachache.
Something light flitted across his face, a spark of recognition. The moonlight was fond of its favorites; it shone a round, silvery arc behind him, limning every strand of his hair. “Your laugh, too. That’s what I like about you, even though you rarely direct it at me,” he bowed his head. “You’re so clever, yet so oblivious. I always get sidetracked by the sound of your laughs, but you never noticed.
“You wanna know something else? You're unwavering, constant, like the sea. Doesn't matter if you're a tempest or calm water, I feel grounded just by looking at you." He breathed a laugh. "You know… I never know how to make people stay. Perhaps that's why you couldn't see how much you mean to me."
He lifted his head again, though his gaze escaped you. Instead, he watched with a lidded eye as his hand inched toward you, slowly, timidly, like a ghost creeping into the light. Slender fingers wrapped around yours, warmer than his vision would have you believe.
“I really hope I’m right about this, but surely you feel the same, right?”
A part of you still adamantly wanted to say no, that you disliked him with every fiber of your being, that his teasing and self-assured ways irked you to no end, but you knew it wouldn’t be true. The truth lay dormant within you, lodged in your spine like a ragged dagger. You weren’t so unabashed that you would deny its unquestionable existence.
You never did hate him. It was just so much easier to be furious than to admit how badly you longed to have him in your heart. From the very beginning, you’d simply been a blind chaser of the unattainable moon, frustrated by the emptiness that greeted your grasps.
“I do.” You admitted, quietly but surely. He smiled.
Air was zapped between you, an invisible string pulling him in, pushing you toward the precarious edge. He was so close you could feel the warmth of his breath, clouding your senses. There was no denying the eager jump in your throat, the blood pumping in your veins so vigorously it hurt.
He reached for your cheek, palm resting there like it was made for him to hold.
Now, this moon was right in front of you, face bare and open with hope.
But you didn’t want it.
The bushes rustled, and out came one of the adventurers. “We’ve already set up the- oh. Oh, sorry-”
Both of your heads snapped towards him, and you tore yourself away, restoring that precious distance between you. “Be there in a minute.”
“Okay.” He looked pointedly between you and the quiet captain before scurrying away.
Your heart had not ceased trampling. You got up on your feet, “We should head back.”
“So soon?”
His hand, you realized, was still placed where you’d wrung yourself from him. Downcast was his eye as he waited for your answer.
You nodded, knowing better. It was all a cruel joke played by the hands of some mindless concoction. Even without everything he’d said, you’d already noticed the effects; fondness laced in his actions, tenderness in his words, everything fragile that you would lose in a blink.
“…You’re right. We should get some rest.” was what he said, but the frozen hurt on his wound of a face told you otherwise.
Without surprise, you were the one who walked away first.
—
By the time the knights arrived it was already past noon. Your ribs got better in a flash, courtesy of the healer that came with.
Kaeya stuck around for the trek back to the city, but he was uncharacteristically quiet save for the short and light-hearted exchanges he shared with others. When you shot him a probing look, he only flashed you the usual smile, charming to most, hollow to you.
“I was going to ask you to come grab a drink with me, but then I figured you’d better take a long rest,” he finally said when the windmills came into view. “Actually, you should take a few days off too, just in case someone accuses me of exploiting my partner."
"I could say the same about you," you referred to his bandaged arm. The truth was, it would really help to have something to numb yourself after spending an entire night rolling in a less than cozy tent while trying to ignore the obvious lumps against your back.
That, and the infinite train of thoughts running through your head at lightspeed.
No matter- you were going to find Sucrose and have her prepare an antidote and put your mind at ease. Case closed.
There were only a handful of places Sucrose could be, and you got it right with your first guess. Muffled chatters dropped silent as you knocked on the door to the laboratory, and out came a curious Sucrose. A smile graced her face as she took you in, and she opened the door to reveal Lisa, head swiveled around to meet you.
"Here you are, dear. How are you feeling?"
"Oh, right! How are your injuries? I could see if there's any medicine lying around," Sucrose followed you back into the room. On the table were several open books, filled to the edges with incomprehensible scribbles and complicated diagrams. Beakers and test tubes were set up on another bench, a sign that they were probably on something important.
"I'm already feeling as good as new, don't worry. I see that words spread like wildfire around here,"
"Pretty hard to ignore when you work inside the headquarters," Lisa said. A moment passed as she observed your facial expressions. "So? How did your little expedition go?"
You knew what she was hinting at. Heaving a sigh, you instead turned to Sucrose. "So, remember a few days ago when you gave me a bunch of potion samples?"
She nodded sharply.
"Well… someone accidentally drank the love potion, and I'm pretty sure it took effect–" Lisa hummed meaningfully. "-- so I was wondering if you could make a cure for it?"
"Oh," realization dawned on her face, morphing into worry as she moved to flip through the worn, yellow pages. "That sounds awful, but just for science purposes, what symptoms did they show?"
"Flirting, being touchier than usual, unexplained jealousy, this and that." You chewed the inside of your cheek, decidedly leaving out the scene on Dragonspine. "And verbally expressing affection."
Her pen moved like lightning as she wrote. "I see… alright then, I'll make it right away!"
"Oh, thank you so much. I was worried that that pink stuff would have no antidote."
"There's always a solution to a problem," Lisa stated, a mischievous glint flashing in her eyes. "Maybe you would like to share more about the symptoms, you know, for research purposes?"
You were about to retort when Sucrose turned to you, confused. "Sorry, but…you’re sure it was a love potion?"
You nodded.
"But it was pink?"
Another bob of your head.
"That's weird. Love potions aren't pink, they're green."
"What?" You croaked. "No, that was– I mean, pink's for love, right?"
"Alchemy doesn't really care about sentiments. Or color theories, for that matter," she murmured. "If I remember correctly, the pink one should be a… truth potion. It forces someone to tell only the truth. Are you sure about the symptoms?"
"WIthout a doubt."
"Mm. But then that would mean…" she trailed off as the gears kicked off in your brain. Lisa looked as unfazed as ever, simply watching on with a knowing grin.
That doesn't make sense. If Sucrose was right and it'd really been a truth potion that Kaeya had drunk, then it meant–
– everything he'd said was true. And if he had indeed been displaying signs of interest, then–
"No," you muttered. "It's not possible."
"Darling, it's right in front of you," Lisa shook her head incredulously. "I'm surprised it took you this long to figure it out."
Figure what out? That Kaeya fricking Alberich actually, honestly, truthfully liked you? Not in the friendly kind, but in the romantic kind?
It’s not… possible. Right?
You started to rewind. Every single year you’d spent knowing him, every snippet of memory too short to hold onto…
It all sounded like a joke, but it only took a little thinking to realize that the clues had been there all along, scattered across time and space. Teasings you’d always mistaken for playfulness, gestures that could very well be genuine in their nature. And the things he said— all this time —
“If, um,” Sucrose grimaced at the blank state of your face, “If it’s a truth potion, you can just wait for it to wear out. The period of effectiveness is rarely long…”
“Okay,” you managed to utter a single word, because- damn it , the way you walked away last night after everything that had happened was nothing short of cruel.
You turned on your heels, desperation setting in. Lisa’s confused question hung and faded in the air as you excused yourself out of the room, a single motive standing out among the cluster of thoughts.
You had to fix things.
—
Kaeya’s office being vacant was nothing out of the ordinary, but when he was neither at the tavern or at home, you found yourself walking in circles through the streets, looking for just a brief sign of his whereabouts.
Muscle memory led you back home in the end, but as you turned the corner, you found the man you’d been searching for lingering in front of the door, now dragging a loose sack on the ground.
“Kaeya!” You called, picking up the pace. There wasn't anyone else around this neighborhood. He whipped his head around and, at the sight of you, bloomed into a smile.
How could you have ever missed that?
“I thought I told you to get some rest. Where did you go wandering off to?”
“It’s not important. I need to- wait, why are you here?”
He clicked his tongue, lifting the sack by a mere inch. “Diluc ambushed me out of nowhere and chastised me for putting you in danger. And then he threw me this ugly bag and told me to deliver this to you,” he put a hand-sized container in your hand. “It’s an ointment. Works magic for cuts.”
“I’ll thank him later,” you pocketed it. “What’s in the sack?”
“Oh, you know, bandages, medicine and whatnot. I was expecting wine, but I guess this will do.”
Despite his offhand shrug, he donned a smile that warmed your heart— but that wasn’t why you were here. You shook off the distraction and sucked in a breath. “I need to tell you something.”
“Alright. But you should first know that I have very high standards and won’t accept just any love confessions.” He moved to lean against the wall.
You rolled your eyes. “Sure. It’s not gonna stop me from trying though.”
His smirk drooped. You were once again reminded of the eternal satisfaction of being able to catch him off guard.
“It’s gonna sound totally absurd, but… I do like you. And it’s not as a friend.” The words stumbled out of you. Your heart was in a frenzy, jumping on a trampoline.
“As a colleague then?” He snickered at the irritation showing on your countenance. “Okay, sorry… You really mean it?”
“Absolutely.”
“I see,” his voice dropped in volume. “Then why did you leave me hanging last night?”
“I didn’t think you liked me.”
“I told you-”
“I know! But I thought you were…” you grimaced.
“Drugged?”
You froze. He spent a torturous moment confirming his theory before sighing. “I don’t usually get drunk, you know. Even if I do, I recall everything. I remember what I put inside my body. So what kind of potion was it?”
“A truth potion.” You murmured.
“And… you thought it was a love potion?”
“Congrats, you got it right,” you pursed your lips, the ordeal entirely too embarrassing for you to deal with. Your eyes dashed around, anxious for a response.
It was an ill-contained snicker. You frowned as laughter bubbled out of him, crinkles forming around the corner of his eye. “You really took the long way round, didn’t you? I can’t believe it took you this long.”
“Yea, go ahead and laugh. As if I’m not embarrassed out of my mind already.”
“You don’t need to be embarrassed,” he dropped the bag and cut off the distance between you with a bold step. “Although it is frustrating to watch, I can’t deny that it’s a bit endearing.”
You tilted your head up, “Is this you being honest or has the potion already expired?”
“It’s just me. Promise,” he cupped your face between his palms, playfulness smeared across his expression. Years of partnership, and this was the first time you saw him in a way that was true to your heart. You wanted to ask him about when he first fell for you, what all those words he’d muttered when he thought you’d been facing death meant, and many many more mysteries that coated around him.
“You know,” you pulled back just as he was about to lean in. He looked offended at being rejected a second time. “About what you said last night…I’ll stay even if you don’t ask me to.”
He scoffed lightly, face softening. He didn't need to say anything for you to know what he was thinking.
tags: angst, hurt/comfort, mentions of feeling like a burden, feeling weak, not being enough, overprotectiveness, arguments
[XAVIER, ZAYNE, RAFAYEL, SYLUS, CALEB]
XAVIER
The fight wasn't even supposed to happen.
You'd come back from a solo patrol, all scratched up but alive. Wanderers had appeared faster than the mission intel had let in on, and you'd pushed through alone because backup was twenty minutes out and you weren't about to let civilians get caught in the crossfire. Standard hunter protocol.
Xavier was waiting at your apartment door when you limped in. Still in his uniform, hair a mess like he'd run straight from the association the second he heard the report. His eyes, usually soft with a trace of amusement, were sharp.
"You're hurt again," he says, voice steady. His gaze drags over the blood on your sleeve, the bruise blooming across your cheek.
"I'm fine." You try to brush past him. "Just need a shower and some sleep."
He catches your wrist. Gentle but firm enough you can't pull away. "You could've waited."
"I didn't have time to wait. People were going to die, Xavier."
His jaw tightens. "And you almost did."
You yank your arm free. "But I didn't. That's the job. That's my job."
Something flickers in his expression, something raw, something he’s been carrying for a long time. He steps closer, voice dropping low. "You need to stop being so reckless. Charging in like that... it's stupid. You're going to get yourself killed one day, and I-" He cuts off, exhales hard through his nose. "I can't keep watching you throw yourself away."
The words land like a slap.
He knows. He knows how much weight those words carry to you. How many nights you've spent curled against him whispering about the fear that you're not good enough, not smart enough, not strong enough, not careful enough. That every time you come home bleeding it's proof you're still failing the people who count on you. That deep down you worry you're just a liability dressed up as a hero.
And he just called it stupid.
Your throat closes. Eyes burn. You stare at him, waiting for him to take it back, the soft apology he always gives when he realizes he's gone too far.
It doesn't come.
Instead he just stands there, breathing uneven, looking like he wants to reach for you again but doesn't trust his own hands.
You turn away. "Get out."
He doesn't move at first.
"Get. Out."
The door shuts behind him quieter than it should. Like even the hinges are trying not to make it worse.
You don't cry until you're in the shower. Hot water mixes with salt and you press your forehead to the tile, replaying it on loop.
Stupid.
He didn't mean it. You know he didn't. Xavier never means the sharp things that slip out when he's scared. But knowing doesn't stop it from carving deeper.
You avoid him for three days.
Missions. Paperwork. Extra patrols. Anything that keeps you out of the apartment, out of association’s common areas, out of range of those blue eyes that always find you too easily.
He texts once.
I'm sorry. Please talk to me.
You read it. Delete it. Turn your phone face down.
On day four he shows up at your door again. Leaning against the frame like he's been waiting hours. Eyes shadowed. Uniform rumpled. He looks like he hasn't slept.
You freeze in the hallway, grocery bag in hand.
He straightens slowly. "I know you don't want to see me."
You don't answer. Just stare at the floor between you.
He takes one step closer, stops when you flinch. "I was wrong," he says quietly. "What I said... it was cruel. I was angry and terrified and I took it out on you. I shouldn't have."
Still nothing from you.
His voice cracks the smallest amount. "You aren't stupid. You're the bravest person I know. You run into danger so other people don't have to, and I-“ He swallows. "I hate it. I hate that I can't protect you from everything. I hate that every time you leave I wonder if this is the time you don't come back. But that's my fear, it’s not your fault. And I never should have made you feel like your courage is anything less than... everything that it is."
He sounds wrecked. Like saying it hurts more than the silence ever could.
You finally look up. His eyes are red rimmed. Hair falling into his face. He looks smaller than you've ever seen him.
"I didn't mean it," he whispers. "Not even a little. I was lashing out because I can't lose you. Not again." He stops. Shakes his head. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
You don't move.
He doesn't push. Hands loose at his sides, itching to touch you but he waits.
Minutes pass. Rain starts tapping the hallway window.
Finally you speak. Voice small. "It hurt."
"I know."
"More than you know."
His shoulders drop.
You step forward. Just one step. Close enough to smell the faint scent of cedar and fresh air that always clings to him.
He doesn't reach for you. Lets you decide.
You do.
Your forehead bumps his chest. His arms come around you instantly, careful, trembling. Like he's scared you'll vanish if he holds too tight.
"I'm sorry," he breathes into your hair. Over and over. "I'm sorry. I love you. I'm sorry."
You don't say it's okay yet. Not quite.
But you don't pull away either.
He stays like that for a long time. Rain outside. Heartbeats loud in the quiet. Him murmuring apologies against your temple until the words blur into soft nonsense.
When you finally let him inside, he doesn't try to kiss you. Doesn't push for more.
He just sits on your couch, pulls you into his lap, and holds you like you're the only thing keeping him from falling apart.
And maybe you are.
He spends the rest of the night proving, with quiet words, gentle touches, and the way he refuses to let go even when you pretend to sleep, that he will never let those words live between you again.
ZAYNE
It starts over something small. Or at least, it feels small until it isn't.
You've been pushing yourself lately, extra missions, ignoring the twinges in your chest, the way your evol resonance is getting weaker. Zayne's noticed. Of course he has. He's your doctor. Your primary physician. The one who knows every scar on your heart, literal and otherwise.
He's been gentle about it at first. Texts reminding you to rest. Quiet suggestions during check ups. But tonight, after you collapse into his apartment post mission, dizzy, short of breath, lying about how bad it was, he cracks.
"You're not invincible," he says, voice clipped as he checks your pulse. His fingers are cool against your wrist. "You keep ignoring the signs, and one day your heart won't forgive you."
You roll your eyes from the couch. "It's fine, Zayne. I handled it."
"You didn't." He sets his glasses down harder than necessary. "Your vitals are erratic. Again. Because you refuse to listen."
Irritation flares. You're tired. Sore. The last thing you need is another lecture. "I'm a hunter. This is what I do. You can't wrap me in bubble wrap forever."
His eyes narrow, that rare flash of real anger. "And I can't keep fixing you forever either. Do you even think about what this does to the people around you? To me?"
You sit up too fast. The room spins a little. "What, like I'm some burden you have to carry? I didn't ask for this heart. Or for you to play savior every time."
He freezes. Then, in a voice so low it's almost a whisper: "Maybe if you weren't so hell bent on destroying yourself, you wouldn't be a burden at all. You're not just risking your life, you're making everyone else's harder. Including mine. Sometimes I wonder if you even care about the guilt you leave behind."
The words hang in the air. Sharp and unforgiving.
You've confessed it to him in the dark, tears soaking his shirt,
“I feel like I'm always making you suffer because of me. Like I'm not enough to stand on my own.”
And he just... threw it back in your face.
Your chest tightens, not from your condition, but from the way everything inside you crumples.
Zayne's expression shifts the second it leaves his mouth. Regret floods his eyes. He reaches for you. "I didn't-"
"Don't." You stand, grabbing your coat. Voice steady even as it breaks inside. "Don't touch me."
He doesn't follow when you leave. Just stands there in the doorway, watching you go with that unreadable face he wears like armor.
You don't go home. You crash at a hotel. Turn off your phone. Cry until there's nothing left.
The next morning, you march into Akso Hospital. Request a transfer of primary physician. The admin looks confused
"Dr. Li is one of our best, are you sure?" but you nod. Firm on your decision.
Dr. Greyson gets your file.
You avoid the cardiology wing for a week. Take the long way to appointments. Duck into stairwells if you spot that familiar figure.
But hospitals are small. You cross paths eventually.
The first time is in the hallway near radiology. He rounds the corner, charts in hand. Freezes when he sees you.
You look through him. Keep walking. His footsteps falter behind you, but he doesn't call out.
Second time’s in the cafeteria. You're grabbing coffee. He's at a table, alone, staring at his untouched lunch. Your eyes meet across the room.
He stands. Mouths your name.
You turn away. Leave the line. Dump the cup in the trash on your way out.
Then, the elevator. Just the two of you. He steps in after you, presses his floor. The air thickens.
"I-" he starts.
The doors open. You bolt without a glance.
He doesn't try again that day.
He’s unraveling in his office.
Zayne doesn't break easy. He's built his life on control; schedules, scalpels, steady hands. But alone, door locked, he crumbles.
Paces the small space. Sits at his desk. Stands again. Checks his phone for the hundredth time, no messages. Your contact photo stares back: you laughing in his arms, snow in your hair from that trip to Chansia.
He slams the phone down. So hard the screen cracks.
Regret coils in his gut. He replays the argument on loop, your face when he said it, the way you recoiled like he'd struck you. Worse than any physical blow.
He skips meals. Works doubles to fill the void. Snaps at nurses over nothing. Greyson mentions your transfer in passing and Zayne just nods. Excuses himself. Locks the office door and presses his palms to his eyes until the burning stops.
Nights are worse. His apartment echoes without you. He lies awake, staring at the ceiling, imagining every scenario where he loses you for good. Your heart failing because he wasn't there. You moving on with someone who doesn't carry this baggage. Or worse, you hating him enough to never look back.
He drowns in his self pity. Whispers apologies to empty rooms.
Two weeks in, he can't take it.
He gives you space, or tries. But seeing you in the hospital chips away at him.
A sigh. "Physically? She’s fine. Emotionally? She asked not to discuss you."
Zayne nods. Walks away. Punches the wall in the stairwell hard enough to bruise his knuckles.
That night, he breaks. Shows up at your apartment, looking a mess.
You open the door. See him. Start to close it.
His hand catches the frame. Gentle. Pleading. "Please. Five minutes."
You let him in. Not because you want to. Because he looks like a ghost, pale, hollow eyed, like he hasn't slept since that night.
He doesn't sit. Stands in your entryway. "I was wrong," he says immediately. Voice raw. "What I said... it was unforgivable. I was angry. At myself, mostly. For not being able to protect you. For watching you suffer and feeling helpless. But I took it out on you. On the one thing I know hurts you most."
You cross your arms. Stare at the floor. "You knew. You knew how much I hate feeling like a burden. Like I'm just... broken."
He flinches. "I know. And I used it like a weapon. Because in that moment, I wanted you to hurt like I was hurting. It was selfish and cruel. I regret it every second since."
Silence stretches between you. The snowfall outside clings to the windows.
"Why should I believe you?" Your voice is small, unsteady.
He steps closer. Like he’s approaching something fragile. "Because without you, I'm the one who's broken. These weeks... they've been hell. Seeing you in the halls, knowing I've lost the right to even ask how you are. Knowing I drove you to someone else for care because I couldn't be trusted with your heart anymore."
His voice breaks on that last word. Heart. Yours, his.
"I don't deserve forgiveness," he continues. "Not yet. But I'll earn it. However long it takes. I’ll give you as much space as you need. But please... don't shut me out forever."
You look up then. See the tears he doesn't bother hiding. The way his hands tremble at his sides.
It's not okay.
But you nod. Once. "Start by leaving. I need time."
He does. No argument. Just a quiet "I love you" on his way out.
The next day, flowers arrive at your door. Jasmines. Note in his handwriting: I'm sorry. Take all the time you need.
Then chocolates. The ones from that shop you mentioned once.
Then a book, the one you'd been eyeing.
Small things. Consistent.
You ignore him at the hospital still. But the edge softens. A nod in the hall one day. A brief "Good morning" the next.
He clings to them like lifelines.
A month later, you request the transfer back. Greyson's good, but he's not Zayne. No one knows your history like he does.
The first appointment is professional. But when it's over, he lingers. "Thank you," he says softly. "For trusting me again."
You meet his eyes. "Don't make me regret it."
"I won't."
Outside the exam room, he exhales. Leans against the wall. Smiles for the first time in weeks.
It's slow after that. Dinners. Walks. Him opening up about his own fears, the nightmares where he loses you, the weight of his oath clashing with his love.
One night, curled on his couch, you whisper: "I forgive you."
He pulls you close. Buries his face in your hair. "Thank you," he breathes. Over and over.
He never lets those words, or any like them, cross his mind again. Not even in anger.
RAFAYEL
You’re both still damp when you stumble back to his studio.
You’d followed him on one of his saviour plots again, not because he asked, but because you couldn’t let him go alone. Not after the way his eyes had darkened when he talked about the latest lead on the people who’d hunted his kind. You’d fought beside him, bled beside him, watched him lose himself in spirits of his past while facing humans who keep his people as decor.
You thought it meant something. That standing in the cold current together, watching him free someone from captivity, meant you were finally crossing the invisible line he always drew between you.
Apparently not.
He’s quiet the whole walk back. The kind of quiet that makes the air feel thick.
You try to break it when you step inside, peel off your soaked jacket, kick off boots, reach for the towel he tosses you without looking.
“Rafayel? You okay?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Just stands by the tall windows, staring out at the black ocean like it owes him something. Water drips from his hair onto the floorboards in slow plinks.
Then, finally: “You shouldn’t have come.”
You freeze mid reach for the towel. “What?”
“You heard me.” His voice is soft. The dangerous kind of soft he gets right before he says something that cuts. “You never should have followed me down there tonight.”
Anger flares fast. “I wasn’t going to let you go alone. You could’ve died.”
He laughs, short, bitter, nothing like his usual teasing lilt. “Died? Please. I’ve been dealing with this for longer than you’ve been breathing.”
You step closer. “That’s not the point-”
“The point,” he cuts in, finally turning to face you, “is that you keep throwing yourself into my wars like it makes you part of them. Like it makes you understand.”
Your stomach drops. “I’m trying to understand. I’ve been trying since-”
“Since when?” He tilts his head, eyes glittering under the low studio lights. Condescending. Almost pitying. “Since you conveniently forgot the first time we met?”
The room tilts.
He knows exactly what he’s doing.
“You think charging into something you don’t understand fixes that?” he continues, voice silky and cruel. “You think bleeding a little makes up for years I carried alone? You’ll never truly understand, will you? Not really. You’re human. You get to forget. I don’t.”
The exact fears you’ve had ever since you’ve gotten closer, that no matter how much you love him, there will always be a chasm. That you’re inadequate because you can’t carry the same weight he does.
And he just… confirmed it. In the most condescending tone he’s ever used with you.
Your throat closes. Eyes burn. You stare at him, waiting for the flinch. The immediate regret. The way he usually backpedals when he sees your face crumple.
It doesn’t come.
Instead he just watches you with that same detached, almost academic curiosity. Like he’s studying how deep the wound goes.
You don’t scream. Don’t cry.
You just turn. Grab your wet jacket. Head for the door.
“Running away already?” he calls after you. Still soft and sharp, all the same.
You don’t answer.
The door closes behind you with a click that sounds final.
You don’t go back to Mo Art studio for days.
You stay at your apartment. Take extra commissions that keep you busy. Avoid every beach, every gallery showing his work, every place that reminds you of him.
He doesn’t text at first. Then one message days later:
Come back.
You delete it.
Days pass and a painting is delivered to your door. A small canvas. Just your silhouette against a stormy sea, the same view from the island where you first kissed after he saved you from drowning. There’s no note, just the painting.
You hang it facing the wall.
Then, he shows up outside your building. Doesn’t come inside. Just stands under the streetlamp in the rain, hair plastered to his forehead, coat dripping, looking like something the tide dragged in.
You watch from the window for ten minutes. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t wave. Just waits.
You close the curtains.
Inside, he’s losing his mind.
Rafayel has always been trying to get your attention, theatrical sighs, exaggerated pouts, the whole artist temperament. But this is different.
He paints obsessively. Canvases everywhere. All of them you, angry, sad, laughing, sleeping. Some half finished, some torn. He can’t get the eyes right. Keeps scrubbing them out until the canvas rips.
He talks to the empty studio. “Stupid. So stupid. Why did I say that?”
He knows why. Fear. The same fear that’s lived in him since the day you walked back into his life as an adult. The terror that you’ll leave again, not because you want to, but because you’ll realize you were never meant to stay. That the gap is too wide.
He drinks too much wine. Smashes a bottle against the wall when the silence gets too loud. Cuts his hand. Doesn’t bother bandaging it. Just lets it drip onto the floor like paint.
Nights are the worst. He curls on the couch where you usually fall asleep against him, hugging the pillow that still smells faintly of your shampoo. Whispers apologies into it like it can carry them to you.
He doesn’t sleep.
On day ten, he can’t take it anymore.
He doesn’t knock this time. He uses the spare key you gave him months ago.
You’re on the couch when the door opens. You don’t move, silently staring at him.
He looks wrecked. Eyes bloodshot. Shirt untucked. Bandage on his hand soaked through.
He doesn’t step farther than the entryway. Like he’s afraid crossing the threshold will make you run again.
“I was wrong,” he says. Voice hoarse. “Everything I said… I didn’t mean any of it. I was terrified. You almost died down there. And I thought- if I pushed you away first, it wouldn’t hurt as much when you finally realized you can’t fix me. That you can’t carry what I carry.”
He swallows. “But you’ve never tried to fix me. You just… stay. Even when I make it impossible. Even when I throw every insecurity I know you have back in your face like it’s nothing.”
He takes one careful step closer. Stops when you tense.
“You do understand,” he whispers. “More than I deserve. You remembered how to find me. How to love me. That’s more than I ever thought I’d get.”
Silence.
Then, quieter: “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’ll spend every day proving I didn’t mean it. That I want you here. That the gap doesn’t matter because you’re already on my side of it.”
He sinks to his knees. Right there in the entryway. Head bowed. Hands loose at his sides like he’s offering himself up for judgment.
“I’ll give you space if that’s what you need,” he murmurs. “But please… don’t forget me again. Not because of something I said when I was too scared to admit how much I need you.”
You don’t answer right away.
Minutes drag.
Then you stand, walk over and stop in front of him.
He doesn’t look up. You can see the faint tremble in him.
You reach down. Touch his hair, still damp. He leans into it like a man starved.
“I’m still angry,” you say softly.
He nods slightly.
“And it hurt. More than you know.”
The shame in his eyes is evident.
You sink to your knees too. Wrap your arms around him.
He breaks then. Arms crush around you. Face buried in your neck. Shoulders shaking with silent sobs.
“I’m sorry,” he breathes against your skin.
You don’t promise it’s okay yet.
But you hold him tighter.
Later, when you’re tangled on the couch, he traces your face with careful fingers. “I’ll never say anything like that again. I swear to you.”
You believe him.
Because the way he looks at you now, like you’re the only shore he’ll ever run to, leaves no room for doubt.
SYLUS
You've been at his side for months now, navigating the N109 Zone, accompanying him on deals that skirt legality, quiet nights spent together where he lets the mask slip just enough for you to see the man beneath all of it. Sylus has always been careful with you. Even in anger, he reins it in, turns it to ice rather than fire.
But tonight, after a botched negotiation that nearly got you both killed, a setup from a rival faction, bullets flying, you acting reckless to protect him, the reins snap.
You're in his safe house, adrenaline still buzzing. He's pacing the length of the floor to ceiling windows, city lights casting harsh shadows across his face. Mephisto perches on the back of a chair, head tilted like he senses the storm.
"You shouldn't have jumped in like that," he says, voice low and edged. "I had it under control."
You scoff from the couch, pressing a cloth to the graze on your arm. "Under control? They had almost had you beat, Sylus. If I hadn't-"
"If you hadn't, nothing. I don't need you playing bodyguard." He stops pacing. Turns to you with eyes like shattered rubies. "You're in my world now. Act like it."
Irritation boils over. You're tired. Sore. And yeah, maybe a little scared at how close it was. "Your world? The one where you act like nothing touches you? Like you're above it all?"
He crosses his arms. "Careful, sweetie."
The nickname grates tonight. "No. You don’t want my help? Fine. But if you want people to think you're human, start acting like one. Stop treating everything like a game where you're the only player who matters."
The room goes deathly quiet.
His expression doesn't change at first. Just a subtle tightening around his eyes. A flicker of something raw, hurt, maybe, before it's gone.
You know that line cuts him. You've talked about it before, in more vulnerable moments: how he struggles with his own humanity after everything he's lost, everything he's built from the ruins. The way the world sees him as a monster, and sometimes he wonders if they're right. You've held him through those confessions, whispered that he's more than his this, more than the blood on his hands.
And now you’re using it against him.
He steps closer. Voice dangerously even. "Human? That's rich coming from you. You're barely cosplaying as one yourself, stumbling through my shadows like a lost child, pretending you belong. Pretending you're not exactly like me. Acting blind to who you are like I won’t have to bury one day because you can't keep up."
The words slice clean through.
Your breath catches. Eyes sting. You stare at him, waiting for the retraction.
It doesn't come.
Instead, he just holds your gaze. Unblinking. Like he's daring you to break first.
You don't. You stand. Grab your things and head straight for the door without a word.
He doesn't stop you. Doesn't even move.
The elevator dings. Doors close. And you're gone.
You avoid him for twelve days.
Back to Linkon. Association work. Anything that keeps you out of the N109 Zon. You block his number temporarily, not forever, just enough to breathe. Mephisto shows up on your balcony twice, cawing softly, but you shoo him away with a sad smile. "Not yet, buddy."
The twins text once.
Boss is in a mood. Everything okay?
You don't reply.
In the N109 Zone, Sylus fractures.
He doesn't rage at first. Just sits in his study, glass of whiskey untouched, staring at the city he rules like it's mocking him. Replays the argument on loop, your words first, that barb about his humanity that hit like a gut punch, then his retaliation. Sharper. Crueler.
He skips meetings. Snaps at Luke and Kieran over nothing,
"Get out. Now."
until they slink away exchanging worried glances. Mephisto brings him reports from your side of the city, but he waves them off. Doesn't want to know. Can't bear it.
Nights are endless. He lies in the bed you shared, sheets still faintly scented with you, and stares at the ceiling. Imagines every worst case: you deciding he's right, that you don't belong. You finding someone softer, safer. Or worse, you getting hurt in Linkon because he's not there to pull you back.
He drinks more. Eats less. Paces until the carpets wear thin. One night, he punches the heavy bag in his gym until his knuckles split, not healing them with evol, letting the pain ground him. Like his punishment.
Regret coils tighter. He knows he should give you space, you're not one to be crowded but every day without you feels like drowning in his own isolation. Everything he has means nothing without you there with him.
A week later, he cracks. Sends Mephisto with a small box: your favorite earrings, the ones you left behind.
You keep them. Don't wear them.
A few days later, a delivery. Rare protocore from the N109 Zone, the kind the association’s been looking for.
You set it on your desk. Stare at it for hours.
Eventually, he shows up himself.
Not at your door. Outside your building, leaning against his motorcycle in the storm. Eyes shadowed like he hasn't slept in weeks.
You spot him from the window and your heart clenches.
He doesn't look up. He waits. Hands in pockets. Shoulders hunched against the downpour.
You grab an umbrella and step out.
He straightens when he sees you. Doesn't move closer. Lets the rain soak him further.
"You look like hell," you say. Voice neutral.
He huffs a laugh, short and self deprecating. "Feel like it too."
Silence stretches. Rain patters on your umbrella.
"I was wrong," he says finally, his voice is low. "What I said... it was inexcusable. I was hurt, your words cut deeper than I let on and I lashed out. Hit where I knew it would wound you most. I shouldn’t have."
You say anything.
He runs a hand through wet hair. "You're not weak. Or lost. You're the strongest person I know, walking into my world without flinching, standing up to me when no one else would. And keeping up? Kitten, you set the pace. I wouldn't have survived that ambush without you. Wouldn't want to."
His voice cracks the smallest bit. "I gave you space because I know that's what you need. But these days... they've been empty. I built all that I have thinking it would be enough. It's not. Not without you."
You step closer. Umbrella covering you both now.
"Why should I come back?" Whispered.
"Because I need you." Simple. "You’re what keeps me tied to this world. I wouldn’t want to be human if it wasn’t for you."
He reaches out. Hesitates. Drops his hand.
"I'm sorry," he breathes. "For every word. For letting you walk away. For not chasing sooner."
You remain silent.
But you tilt the umbrella more over him. Let your free hand find his, it’s cold and trembling.
He exhales. Pulls you close slowly. Forehead to yours. Rain mixing with the salt on his cheeks.
"Missed you," he murmurs. "More than I thought possible."
You stay like that for a while. Rain slowing. Him holding you like you're the only anchor he has.
Later, inside your apartment, he doesn't push for more. Just sits with you on the couch, hand in yours, talking quietly about the days apart. His fears and yours.
Because without you, he's just a facade. And he hates how close he came to shattering it for good.
CALEB
You’d just come back from a solo mission, nothing catastrophic. A few bruises, singed sleeve, but you handled it.
Caleb was waiting at your apartment. Not unusual. He’s been doing it more lately, showing up unannounced with takeout, or coffee, or just himself. Always with that same easy smile. Always checking you over like you might vanish if he looks away too long.
Tonight, though, the smile is tighter. He’s already spotted the burn mark on your arm before you even close the door.
“You didn’t call,” he says.
“I didn’t need to.” You drop your gear bag. Head for the kitchen to grab water. “It was routine. I’m fine.”
He follows. Leans in the doorway. Arms crossed. “Routine still means wanderers. You could’ve at least texted when you were clear.”
You exhale through your nose. “Caleb, I’m not a kid anymore. I don’t need to check in every time I step outside.”
His jaw flexes. “I’m not asking you to check in like a child. I’m asking you to remember there are people who-” He stops. Starts again. “People who worry. People who’ve already lost too much.”
The undercurrent is there. Always is. The explosion. The time apart. The way he came back different, harder, carrying ghosts you can’t see but can feel. You’ve talked about it. You’ve held each other through the nightmares. You thought you were past the part where he treats you like fragile glass.
Apparently not.
“I know you worry,” you say, softer. Trying to deescalate. “But I’m not helpless. I’ve been doing this job for ages without-”
“Without me?” he finishes. Voice low. “Yeah. I know. And look how well that turned out.”
You freeze. Water bottle halfway to your mouth.
He keeps going. Like the dam broke and he can’t stop the flood. “You keep acting like you don’t need anyone. Like you can just charge ahead and handle everything alone. But you can’t. Not really. You never could. That’s why you always end up hurt. That’s why you always need someone to pull you out. And if you won’t let it be me-” His voice cracks, just once. “then fine. Keep pretending you’re invincible. Keep pretending you don’t need protecting. But don’t expect me to stand by and watch you break yourself again just to prove a point to me.”
He’s rejecting the one thing you’ve fought tooth and nail to build since Gran’s house burned down: your independence. Your ability to stand on your own. The quiet pride you carry that show you survived. You grew up. You don’t need saving anymore.
And in his eyes, in the heat of fear and frustration, that pride is delusional. Childish. Something you cling to because you can’t accept reality: that you’re still the little girl who needs him to keep her safe. That you’ll always be dependent. That without his protection, you’re just… waiting to fall apart again.
Your throat closes with something colder, something final.
You set the water bottle down.
“Don’t,” you say. Voice barely above a whisper. “Don’t talk to me like I’m still ten years old and hiding under the table during a storm.”
He flinches. Opens his mouth.
You shake your head. “I’m done being the person you have to save. If that’s all I am to you… then I don’t want to be here at all.”
You walk past him. Grab your keys. Coat. Phone.
He reaches for your wrist. Gentle and pleading. “Wait-”
You pull away.
The door closes behind you with a soft click.
You don’t go far. Just a friend’s place across the city. Crash on their couch. Turn your phone to Do Not Disturb.
You stay gone for days.
Caleb doesn’t bombard you. That’s not his way.
But he breaks in slow motion.
He sits in your empty apartment for hours. Doesn’t turn on the lights. Just stares at the spot on the couch where you usually curl against him.
He knows it’s not true. Knows you’ve pulled yourself out of worse than he has. Knows you’ve saved him more times than he’s saved you lately.
He doesn’t sleep.
The next day he flies back to base. Tries to bury himself in work. Fails. Snaps at subordinates over nothing. Gets sent home early.
He leaves a small paper bag in your apartment. Inside is a tiny plush airplane. The one he won for you at arcades when you were kids. Faded tag still reads “To my co pilot.”
You cry then. Quietly. Into the plush.
Nights get worse for him.
He stops going to the fleet. Stays in your room in his apartment instead. Sits on your bed. Holds your pillow like it’s you.
After a week he can’t wait anymore.
He waits outside your place. This time in the morning light. Clean uniform. Shaved. Eyes hollow but steady.
You step out for coffee and see him.
“I’m sorry,” he says. Voice rough from disuse. “I was wrong. Every word. You’re not weak. You’ve never been weak. You’ve carried more than anyone should have to, and you did it without me for years. I had no right to make you feel small just because I’m terrified of losing you again.”
You don’t speak.
He keeps going. “I don’t want you to need me. I want you to choose me. Even when you don’t need saving. Even when you’re stronger than I am. I want to stand beside you, not in front of you. And I failed at that. Badly.”
Silence.
Then, quieter: “I’ll give you more time if that’s what you need. I won’t push. But I need you to know, I’m not going anywhere. Not unless you tell me to leave for good.”
You look at him.
See the shadows under his eyes. The way his hands tremble just slightly. The way he’s holding himself like he might shatter if you walk away again.
You step forward.
Close enough that he can smell your shampoo. Close enough that he stops breathing.
“I’m still angry,” you say softly.
“I know.”
You reach up. Touch his cheek. He grabs your wrist and leans into your touch more.
“But I missed you,” you whisper.
His eyes close. A shaky exhale.
You step into him then. Let him wrap his arms around you. Careful. Reverent. Like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.
He buries his face in your hair. “I’m sorry,” his voice is soft.
You hold him tighter.
Later, back in your apartment, he doesn’t try to fix everything in one night. Just sits with you. Talks. Listens. Lets you set boundaries.
No more showing up unannounced without asking.
No more assuming you need rescuing.
Just partnership.
He still worries. He always will.
But now he channels it differently; quiet support. Pride in your strength. Standing at your six instead of blocking your path.
And every time you come home safe from a mission, he greets you with that same easy smile, only now it’s softer. Grateful.
Because you chose to come back.
And he’ll spend the rest of his life making sure you never regret it.
SYNOPSIS: after numerous failed arranged marriages set up by your parents, you thought the one with the vice-captain would follow the same pattern. you're proven wrong when he subverts what an expected greeting should be given.
𖥔 WORDCOUNT: 3.3k (pls give it a chance...) ┆ 𖥔 TAGS. @millurie @axolotsofluv @tragedy-of-commons @al97649 @bisouyuo @aritsukemo -> come join the taglist here!
𖥔 WARNINGS: mentions of beer and drinking, reader is from snezhnaya and has a dendro vision, reader also has lowkey/implied mommy issues, mentions blood and a wound, arrange marriages obv, cameo for varka, ragbros, jean, lisa, and albedo; not fully proofread; expect mistakes!
♪ FINAL NOTES .ᐟ this one is for my fav lohen kissers ari and yuomi 🤍🤍i genuinely didn't expect for this to b this long but oh well. art credits: @.su3ka_ on x!
"you are to be wedded to the vice-captain of the fifth company."
that's how it all began — a simple dinner with your parents as they dropped the bomb of your new marriage candidate. you tried your best not to appear vexed. keyword: tried. but unlike you're ever admirable cousin, jean, your face gave away more than your words ever could.
your brow twitched, the small fork in your hand clattered to the porcelain plate. your mother threw a disapproving glare, while your father coughed into his fist. "now, [name], my dear—"
"don't "my dear" me, father." you bark out, "what happened to giving up on setting me up for another failing marriage."
"you haven't even met the vice-captain," he argued.
you rolled your eyes in bemusement, "and you have? what happened to not involving yourself with 'pitiful, mongering barbarian?""
"your marriage has been decided," he stated sternly. he set his utensils with force enough to rattle the entire table as he raised his head like he always did when someone challenged his authority as a duke. "you are to be wed to vice-captain lohen." a tired sigh escaped him, a gloved hand pinched between his brows as he heard you stand from your seat and dash out the dining room. "arranged marriages aren't all so bad, [name]!"
"not all bad, you say?!" you shouted from across the corridor. "take a look at your relationship with mother before you say that!"
your family arrived in mondstadt at dawn. the trip to dorman port was as you expected—humid, and all too bright in comparison to the snow of snezhnaya. the people smiled often, too, you noticed. well, you supposed this was the land of freedom after all. you're quite tempted to see where the winds would take you when all you've grown up with are the blizzards and snowstorms that knock at your windows like an incessant friend who can't take no for an answer.
still, despite your curiosity about what the wild berries in the bushes would taste like, you willed your feet to stay rooted at the docks. your father greeted everyone as usual; your mother hid half her face in disdain behind her fan. like you, she had a lot to say about the weather, but you doubt she'd sugarcoat any unpleasant comments she had. people have told you that you took after her the most — too straightforward, too quippy, too wild to be a duke's heir.
"and you must be the duke's heir," a voice commented. you snapped your head up to the noise and realized, in mortification, that you had to crane your neck to even meet his eyes. you grip the silk of your apparel in alarm. "i'm varka. knight of boreas, grandmaster of the knight of favonious!"
the grandmaster pressed a closed fist to his chest, a grin plastered on his face as he bowed his head. "from now on, you will be in our care. if you encounter any problems, please don't hesitate to inform me. or lohen."
lohen.
you wondered what he's like.
as varka stood back to his full height, he offered you a hand to guide you to the horse you'll be riding to the city. "the roads are treacherous here, your grace. using a carriage will only lengthen the time to get to the city." he had explained earlier when your mother had complained at the lack of proper transportation. you sighed in dismay when she threw another hissy fit, your father right behind her as he guided her onto the horse, gathering the many layers of her gown. he was probably chastising her for not heeding his warnings. you turned around and let varka lift you to the saddle (and when i say lift, i mean lift. the man even had the audacity to laugh and ask if you were eating properly.)
you tuned out the rest of mother's tantrum in favor of soaking in the sights of your new home. it was… starkly different. you could actually see the path, albeit it was… unrecognizable; wild flowers bloomed from the soil, and small critters would gather atop rock formations to tilt their heads at you. when you thought no one was looking, you gave them a small wave. a smile bloomed on your face when the small squirrel jumped in delight before scurrying away with its friend.
"you're quite the charmer, your highness." you turned to your left and watched as varka reign his horse slow it's pace and match yours. his sky-lit eyes eventually fell on the mount you had been riding, a low whistle escaping his lips. "that horse you're riding is infamous for throwing off any rider that touches his saddle."
you feel your anxiety spike, quickly looked down to your horse before you calmed down. "you should've said that earlier, grandmaster…"
he laughed, hearty and whole. like the feeling of joy existed in the air that wafted in the surroundings and encompassed the space of his lungs. "ha, ha, ha! i heard rumors about you being blessed by mother nature herself, your highness! ah, forgive me. i know i shouldn't indulge in such rumors but the moment you had stepped off that boat, i had a feeling you were special."
you blinked up at him (cursing the very obvious gap in your heights in your mind) and couldn't stop yourself from asking, "why is vice-captain lohen here?"
there's a shift in the air. subtle, almost as if it never happened to begin with. but you saw it. the way varka's eyes widened for just a fraction, how they looked at anything but you, and how he changed the subject faster than any warning of an avalanche you've heard.
the trip to the main gates was spent in silence after that. you didn't dare to ask the question again, or even bring up your fiancé's name. afraid of the suffocation the knights would have to endure as the words fell from your lips.
lohen. you trialed in your mind. it was short enough to remember, but unique in a way you've only ever heard it once. lohen. you looked up to the sky, the day had barely passed despite it feeling like you've travelled through half of teyvat already. when the sun peeked around it's shield of clouds, you wondered where your fiancé was.
mondstadt was welcoming. welcoming enough for your father — all up-tight, and no funny business — to indulge in a few rounds of beer in a quaint bar in a corner. "it's angel's share," you're mother informed, already half-way through her glass of champagne when she found you in a dark corner on the second floor. "owned by the most sought after bachelor in mondstadt — diluc ragnvindr."
"if he's so sought after, why wasn't he a candidate?" you asked, swirling the apple cider in your glass.
"naive child, i've told you numerous times already. he could have been, if you hadn't burned his letter in the fireplace like a fool."
ah, now you remembered. you were high on emotions that night and the thought of leaving home with a man you didn't know sent you into a spiralling tantrum that ended with you burning the stacks of marriage proposals on your father's desk. you distinctively remembered a burgundy envelope and an owl seal amongst them.
you took a careful peek at your mother who had dropped herself on the seat in front of you, much to your disdain. when she clicked her tongue, you took it as your cue to let your gaze fall like it always had in her presence.
"because of your foolish mistake, you're stuck with this half-witted, war-mongering vice-captain."
"'warn mongering'?" you asked.
she rolled her eyes at you, drinking the remaining champagne and slammed the delicate glass in front of you. "the boy is a monster, [name]." she said, "that lohen is unbecoming. i can't wrap my mind around how he, of all people was accepted into the knights."
the way she said lohen's name — as if the very letters seared her tongue and offended her existence — made something churn in your stomach. you didn't know him, you reminded yourself, there's no point in defending him. in fact, with varka's prior reaction to you questioning his whereabouts, you're left with little but too much all the same; lohen was someone distasteful to be around.
"are you even listening to me, [name]?!" your mother rattled, "listen to me, dear archons above what have i done to deserve such a disobedient child—"
you stood from your seat, the legs of your chair dragging across the floors before it dropped with a painfully loud thud. chatter paused, songs finished abruptly, and you simply smiled. "i'm tired, i'll be retiring for the day." you excused yourself from the others, bolting to the stairs, only to be stopped when the grandmaster weaved himself between you and the exit.
"now, your highness, you can't leave yet!" he said, one hand still holding a wooden mug of beer.
you raised a brow at him, your patience growing thin when he continues to block your path regardless of what step you took. "grandmaster," you warned. "please, step aside."
but he only shook his head, a finger scratched his chin while his eyes darted across the many faces in the bar. "y-you can't!"
"and why not?"
"because… um… you see, we were, um…"
while he was busy thinking fo an excuse, you sent out a silent prayer to the tsaritsa that barbatos doesn't smite you for landing a blow on one of his knights (though calling it a blow would be an exaggeration when the grandmaster was double, if not triple your body mass). at best, you had landed a strong enough blow to his side to tickle, tickle, him to drop his guard and wheeze out of your way.
finally! you thought. you were almost free from this stuffy, beer-stinking room!
but as you opened the door, a force from the other side pulled it forward, taking you along with it. everyone gasped, and you shut your eyes to brace for the impact, already imagining the scolding you were about to receive if even a single scratch were to grace your face. but it never came.
instead, heavy and dirtied hands caught you by the forearms as your face planted into someone's uniform stained with blood. you stayed there for a moment longer than what would be considered necessary.
"well, ain't this a lovely first meeting, your highness!"
you felt the blood drain from your face as you realized who you had just fallen into. with a heavy sigh and grumbled curses, you lift your head enough to catch a glimpse of a face that did not match the tone of his voice. his eyes were something straight out of a fairytale, but it's not what you'd describe as "princely" or even a "knight" — they had no light, like never-ending, encompassing pool of carmine that bleeds into the sky.
your mother was right, lohen was a monster.
"what? do i have something on my face?" he asked, and you're mortified to realize that you had been caught staring right into a rabbit hole of his gaze. the pads of his gloves dragged from your forearms down to cup your palms — gentle, sure. you think you can feel the callouses from how he uses his weapons, and yet… "you okay there? i'm starting to think i'm not the only delusional one here." he joked with a chuckle under his breath.
"excuse me?"
"just a joke! no need to be offended, your highness," he assured you, but it did little to quell the somersaults that your stomach continued to perform. his skin was pale, maybe as pale as the snow back at home, and there's a single guiding star beneath the right of his eye. his mouth moved, and you thought what he said was funny when the other patrons laughed. but you didn't hear it. not when your hand, the one your father swore would never know the feeling of blood, dragged a thumb over the bleeding scratch that etched his cheekbone down to the side of his chin.
"what a wound. it must be painful," you muttered before a familiar condensation of dendro energy pooled at where the blood continued to stain his cheeks. "hold still," you asked, and against everyone's expectations, lohen did as you asked. he stood still, very still. when half of the wound had closed, you began to wonder if he was even breathing.
when his cheek was fully healed, only then did you finally breathe out a sigh of relief. noticing how the room had gone quiet, you became acutely aware how little distance was left between you and the vice-captain. with reddening cheeks, you let out a cough into your first, and stepped back. the warmth of his hold left a scalding trail on your skin that raised the hairs yet left you wanting for more, all the same.
lohen stumbled back, too. a hand clumsily tugging at the collar of his uniform, before both hands dusted down his shirt, cursing when he realized blood had managed to stain the spot you had planted your face in. when your eyes met again, you noticed the obvious flustering of his cheeks. it contrasted nicely against his pale, snow-stricken complexion. and it made the blush that crept up his ears all the more obvious.
your staring context was broken when you hear a snort from behind you. your head whipped to see the culprit, only to find varka ducking his head down just as you glared at him. he waved a hand in apology, setting his cup of beer down the counter, and going past you just to stand besides lohen.
"your highness, allow me to introduce to you the vice-captain of the knight's fifth company." a heavy hand was placed on his shoulders, and your eyes met again. this time, he didn't look away, nor did you think he cared much for the obvious red on his cheeks. "lohen, this is their highness, [name]. proud heir to snezhnaya's dukedom, who also happens to be your fiancé."
lohen rolled his eyes, shrugged off varka's hand on his shoulder before reaching for something behind him. "can you tell me something i don't know, grandmaster? i do more than just fighting, you know."
"that's rather hard to believe, but sure! whatever you say!"
annoyed by his superior, lohen swiftly delivered an undamaging kick to the grandmaster's shin. the latter only laughed at his attempt, before shoving him forward, nearly sending you both toppling over if you had not caught him by the shoulders as he did with you.
"stupid grandmaster, i don't need your help," he grumbled under his breath.
you tilted your head curiously, slotting you perfectly in his visage that he stumbles over the next few words. "help with what?"
you heard the other knights holler and whistle, the grandmaster behind him laughed even harder as he passed you both, taking up his previous station by the bar and watching with amused eyes. "the same reason why he wasn't there to greet you when you arrived, your highness!" varka explained. "come on lohen, don't get all shy on us now! you we're all fire and spirit when you proposed the idea, where's that spirit gone?"
"drowned by your noise if you don't shut the hell up!" lohen shouted amidst the sea of laughter and cheering. "damned nosy assholes. who even said you were in on the plan in the first place?!"
"i'm… a little lost."
as he finally remembered who he was in proximity with, the blush on his face worsened, and the cheering grew louder. he slipped from your hold, taking a deep breath and continuing his grumbling, throwing a glare at the head that belonged to the grandmaster as he finally fixed his posture.
couhing into his fist, lohen did one final lookover his appearance — fixing the collar of his shirt, dusting down his cape, and brushing the bangs over his eyes. he took one step, then another, until he was only an arm's length away and you had to stop the squeek that nearly slipped from your throat when he took your hand in his, while the hand behind his back revealed a bouquet of local flowers in mondstadt.
"i apologize, for not greeting you first. i know it's not exactly very "knightly" of me," lohen paused, his thumb rubbing mindless circles on your knuckles as his gaze flickered from your face to the flowers in his hold. "and appearing all battered and with a wound on my face is… unbecoming. but i promise, it was for a good cause. that being this." he motioned for you to take the bouquet. when you gingerly accepted them in your hands, he straightened his back again. "welcome to mondstadt, my fiancée. i hope you'll like it here."
"'welcome to mondstadt, my fiance.' now where, pray tell, did you learn to smooth-talk like that, lohen?"
the vice-captain only rolled his eyes. he continued wiping down his spear in jean's office (why it had to be here, lohen didn't know. and fankly, he was too tired to know.). "it was a formal welcome. since all you wanted to act like a stick had stuck up your ass, i decided to be… more me."
"more you, as in revealing your year-long crush on the duke's heir?"
"when have i said that?!"
albedo and kaeya shrugged, but the all-knowing and teasing smiles on their faces had lohen's heart hammering in his chest. when lisa chuckled and closed her book, only then did he realize that he had abruptly stood from his seat, his polearm lay forgotten on the floor along with the cloth he was using to clean it.
"now, now, don't tease him you two. it must have been hard to gather all those flowers in starsnatch cliff with the activity of the abyss."
"thank you—"
"and confessing isn't exactly an easy thing to prepare for! the fact he even showed up is a miracle in and of itself."
"lisa?!"
"enough, you three."
when jean arrived, only then could lohen relax and sit back down on his seat. he picked up his polearm and glared at kaeya when the man snickered at him.
"now that we're all here, we will be discussing the appropriate accomodations to the duke and his family," jean's eyes landed on lohen first. "thankfully, master diluc had agreed to house them for a while until we finish the deal with northland bank." then, she nodded towards lisa and albedo's direction, "the duke's only request is that their highness's studies in alchemy to be continued, so i'll be trusting you both in that regard."
"thank you for trusting us, dear jean."
"yes, we'll do our utmost best."
jean smiled, shoulders finally relaxing, "that leaves kaeya and me with managing their transportation when the duke and duchess return. now lohen," the vice-captain stiffened. a shiver ran down his spine when he met jean's eyes and watched in horror as even her lips tugged into a teasing smile. "it'll be your job to assist them in any and every field. you are their hand-picked knight, ensure that they remain safe until the weeding."
"it offends me that you think i can't even do something as simple as that," lohen complained.
"ah, ah. i'm not finished.
"huh?"
jean smiled, in fact, everyone in the room smiled. and lohen felt cold, ice water was dumped over his head when the next words followed.
"as their fiancé, be sure to woo them now and then. it took a lot of effort from master diluc to get your name on their candidate's list after all."
colonel caleb and assistant!nonMC!reader, who he's desperately in love with
warnings. fluff, tending to wounds trope, boss x employee dynamic but caleb is whipped, caleb getting rejected, reader in denial and oblivious
preview. “I’ve always been like this,” he sighs, and then you feel him drop his head onto your shoulder. It makes you jolt, your breath hitching as you register what he’s doing. “You just don’t care enough to notice.”
wc. 3.5k
Although he’s infamous for being the most ruthless officer at his rank, Colonel Xia is actually a complete mess.
You can’t blame anyone for the rumors—he’s rather intimidating in nature. Tall stature. Narrow eyes. Broad shoulders and a uniform without a seam out of place. He rarely smiles. Voice unalarming at first, but far more unforgiving than most.
You’re like a fly on the wall, you suppose. You’ve been working as his assistant for years now, even before he’d been promoted to colonel. You have his coffee ready every morning, his meetings organized on your calendar, alarms on your phone for any big events he has. Your colleagues can’t fathom how you’re able to tolerate working for such a heartless man, but you don’t see it that way. Yes, you need to bite your tongue around him. Yes, you need to straighten your back just a tad bit more. Yes, and so much more.
But, you’ve learned that he’s just as human as you. And he thinks there’s nobody else in this world that gets him the way you do.
The first year you worked for him, you were constantly afraid of him. Well more so getting fired, than him. He’d order you to bring him coffee and you’d fear he’d fire you for getting his order wrong, he’d order you to print meeting notes and you’d fear he’d scream at you for failing to print them double-sided. Fortunately, he did neither of those things, but he would shoot you a glare or a jerk of a brow that would send you into a spiral. He didn’t seem to enjoy conversation, so you’d just scurry away, clutching your heart in your hands.
As time went on, you learned a lot about him. It’s inevitable when you’re essentially attached to his hip like a mute accessory, where it’s hard to do anything but focus on what he does.
He likes his coffee sweet. Two sugars and milk. Surprising, since he comes off as a black coffee connoisseur, but also kind of cute? The big scary colonel drinking a latte? He showers in the morning and at night. Cold in the morning, hot at night. He does his own laundry. You eventually figured out that he’s very particular with how he wants his laundry to smell and how he likes it folded—talk about being a control freak. He hates his bosses. Whenever he receives orders from them, it’s the only time you see him genuinely losing his cool–grumbling under his breath and angrily flipping through the paperwork on his desk. You try to avoid his office during these episodes.
Over the years, his routine becomes your own. His coffee is ready for him when he sits at his desk, his calendar organized perfectly, and even his laundry is folded the way he wants it to be. The last took some trial and error, but you’re proud of mastering the art.
Still, words between the two of you are scarce. You only tend to see him when he’s working (and so are you), and it’s made wordless communication between the two of you easier. When you stand in front of his desk, he takes it as a signal to clear it for you to place down a new stack of paperwork. When you knock on his door and remain under the doorframe, he sighs, realizing his bosses have called for him. When you place down a fresh cup of coffee at his desk, he takes it as a sign to have lunch.
It’s seamless coordination, to put it short.
There’s a particularly stressful week for him one month. You watch him slave away at his work, the bags beneath his eyes growing heavier and his hair becoming more disheveled. He hasn’t left the office in two days–you counted. He’s going to snap, you think. No matter how talented he is—and you know he is, given he’s become a colonel at his young age—he can’t overcome human biology.
“Shit!” you hear from his office. You peek inside to see that he’s spilled coffee on his lap. He pats aggressively at the stain, hissing under his breath when you place a new cup in front of him. His eyes flicker up to you.
“You have a meeting in an hour,” you say.
He frowns. “I’ll have to change.”
“And shower,” you scrunch up your nose. “And shave, preferably.”
He blinks, and then his lips purse in a weird shape. Wait. Surely not. You think you’re going crazy. Is he trying not to laugh? The colonel who's always glowering menacingly?
The lack of sleep must really be getting to him.
In the end, you somehow end up in the single-stall bathroom. You’re shaving the sides of his face as he fixes his freshly washed hair, staring at himself in the mirror. It’s to save time, you remind yourself as you wonder how many minutes he has left till his meeting. He crinkles his brows and then glances at you through the corner of his eyes. You pretend not to notice.
“Are you usually so comfortable in front of shirtless men?”
“No, but you’re not a man,” you snort. “You’re my boss.”
“I’m your male boss.”
Why are you so comfortable with him, you wonder? Well, you’ve known him for a few years—you know his everyday routine, his likes, his dislikes, his habits—that you might dare to even say you know him well. Not him, but your boss. You chew on the inside of your cheek, and then shrug.
His skin is soft against your fingertips, you think.
“Thanks,” he says. “For all you do. I don’t say it enough, but you’re one of the few people I trust in this place.”
“It’s my job, sir.”
He chuckles, and it catches you off guard. You can count on one hand how many times you’ve heard him laugh these past few years. And for some reason, you can’t look him in the eye, choosing to narrow in on the shaving cream you’re pushing off with his razor. He doesn’t say anything else either, and the two of you exist in the comfortable silence,
This is where it begins. The blurring between coworkers and friends, and maybe something more.
The two of you begin to exchange more conversation. When you drop off his coffee, he makes small talk. When you drop off his laundry, he praises you. When you bring him his paperwork, he complains to you about his bosses instead of shooing you away. You gradually spend more time in his office instead of your cubicle. At some point, he even treats you to dinner. Company dinner, but still.
You quickly realize the colonel is a mess. His usually composed and serious demeanor is a facade—or maybe he just has a switch? He talks a lot. He specifically likes vanilla lattes, you find. He despises seeing others with wrinkles in his uniform. And he calls home once a week to his sister and grandmother, in which you happen to eavesdrop once or twice and find that he can be a complete sap when he wants to be.
Of course, his mask is pulled back on the instant another person is in the room. Your coworkers ask how you managed to get so close to the terrifying Colonel Xia (though you don’t even know if you’re that close), but you have to bite your tongue before you spread to the world that the colonel is actually a family-obsessed crashout who likes vanilla lattes and cooking. Maybe you’ve gotten too close to him, you wonder, but too late to do anything about it now.
Especially when he hobbles into your cubicle one day, blood seeping from his arm despite his desperate clutch onto it. It’s late. Two in the morning at the earliest. You’re not sure why you decided to stay late today despite not having the work to warrant it. But when you noticed his office door remaining closed, lights shut off too early into the night, something felt off. So incredibly off.
You suppose you stayed for him. Just in case he needed something else.
“What happened to you?” you’re onto your feet in an instant, shoving your chair back as your hands hover over his wound. Half of his outer uniform is shredded off, leaving a trail of bloody marks and what you hope isn’t too deep of a cut. His face is pale, breathing shallow. Beads of sweat form at his temples as he looks straight at you, hunched over to your line of sight in pain. You don’t wait for his response and quickly shuffle him towards his office, letting him use you as a crutch.
You fumble around his room until you come across a first aid kit. It looks incredibly outdated, but it’ll do the job. “Take off your shirt.”
He does without complaint. It seems like you see him shirtless more often than an assistant ought to be.
As you tend to him, you begin to ask questions. And you’re not sure if it’s because of the exhaustion, but he answers them truthfully—though you suppose he’s rarely lied to you in the first place. It’d been an assassination attempt. Another one. The third one this year. You honestly don’t know how he bears to deal with the stress of his job, and you’re not sure why he does either, but you’re sure something is tying him down. Your fingers work diligently to tend to him, and you’re suddenly incredibly grateful to the first aid class you were required to take when you first took the job.
“You should transfer bases,” you mutter.
“Why would I do that?”
You raise your brows in disbelief, and he laughs—or at least, tries to. Another tally in your head. Now you need more than two hands to count the times he’s laughed in front of you. “I’m serious, sir.”
“And what would that achieve?”
“You won’t have as many knives at your back, for starters.”
“They could never kill me with those puny attacks.”
“But they can definitely hurt you...” you pause. “...sir.”
“I’m ranked highly for my age. I’m not leaving.”
“You’d climb back up in no time even if you started,” you snap, and he looks away. “Am I wrong?”
Nope.
It goes quiet for a moment. His shoulders fall, and he rocks his head backward, staring at the ceiling. “I won’t have anyone to trust.”
I don’t say it enough, but you’re one of the few people I trust in this place.
Your throat feels dry. Your stomach sinks for some reason—-or is your heart just hammering? You realize that he’s staring at you now, inches away from you as you hold his arm with bandages. The AC whirrs softly, but the only other thing you can hear is his breathing and your own.
“You’ll get another assistant.”
“Nobody else is as good as you,” he responds immediately.
Your eyes narrow, and you turn away, dropping his arm. “You must’ve not had many assistants.”
“I don’t need to.”
He sounds too serious. Too genuine. The air feels suffocating. You rise from the armchair and pace towards his desk with the first aid kit in hand, chewing on the insides of your cheek. Whatever he means—whatever he’s implying—it’s dangerous. He’s your boss. Your boss, who kills for a living on missions that could kill him. Your boss, who spends his nights passed out at his desk. Your boss, who most of your coworkers call an asshole.
His hands perch on either side of you onto his desk. He’s close. Close enough for you to feel his breath on the shell of your ear, and it sends shivers down your spine. Your fists clench as you will yourself to calm down, but to no avail. What the hell is even happening?
You whip your head to him. “Sir, I–”
“Caleb.”
“What?”
“Call me Caleb when we’re alone,” he mumbles. “Please.”
Your eyes go wide. “That’s not appropriate.”
“I don’t want to be appropriate.”
You nearly choke. He’s delirious. Perhaps from blood loss, surely. “You’re—you’re not acting yourself.”
“I’ve always been like this,” he sighs, and then you feel him drop his head onto your shoulder. It makes you jolt, your breath hitching as you register what he’s doing. “You just don’t care enough to notice.”
“What are you—”
“How much more obvious do I have to make myself?” he whispers against your neck. “Do you like humiliating me?”
Either pigs are flying or hell must’ve froze over. You open your mouth to respond, unsure of what you’ll say until you feel him slump over your shoulder. You blink. Did he just?
You nudge his limp body.
He did. He did just pass out. You might kill him before anyone else does.
Colonel Xia, as you’ve known for some time now, is a mess.
But only to you.
He doesn’t make you nervous anymore. If anything, he’s annoying. Alarmingly so. You’ve become a kind of emotional support pet and assistant rolled into one, to the point that he deems it acceptable to message (spam) you at twelve in the morning. You roll your eyes when you see your screen light up in the darkness of your room, knowing there’s only one person who’d message you at this time.
[vanilla boss (DNI)]: where are the files i asked you for this morning? I can’t find them
[vanilla boss (DNI)]: hello?
[vanilla boss (DNI)]: hellooooooo
[vanilla boss (DNI)]: also do you have time tmr night :) we should go out
[vanilla boss (DNI)]: please (unsent)
[vanilla boss (DNI)]: oh the files
[vanilla boss (DNI)]: xie is on my ass about it
[vanilla boss (DNI)]: fucking asshole, im gonna kill him :3
[vanilla boss (DNI)]: hello??? Where is my pretty assistant that nobody can replace
[vanilla boss (DNI)]: that wasn’t sarcasm btw
When you tap away your answer, pressing send and tossing your phone across your bed, the response is immediate.
[vanilla boss (DNI)]: thanks hot stuff ><
[vanilla boss (DNI)]: the office misses you already
The office that only he occupies at this hour?
You’re not paid enough for this. You ignore the subtle burning in your cheeks.
His feelings for you become an unspoken truth between the two of you for the next few months. Oddly enough, he doesn’t seem embarrassed about it at all. Despite most of his attempts to egg you on being rejected, he doesn’t let most of it faze him. You remind him that he’d look bad to others if he started dating his assistant, but the thought doesn’t seem to even cross his mind, even if you tack on a dozen other reasons why the two of you shouldn’t mingle in anything romantic. He’s never really convinced, much to your dismay.
Which is unfortunate, especially when you realize how much this is affecting you.
When his eyes seem to always drift in your direction, even when he’s in a meeting, you can’t help but feel your heart race. When his name pops up onto your phone, you can’t help but check what he said immediately. You stay later into the night to bring him an extra cup of coffee.
But this is what any assistant would do, right?
“What’s that?” you ask a coworker as she paces towards the colonel’s office with a stack of papers. You eye it suspiciously, especially considering the giddy look she has on her face.
“The colonel asked for these. He asked me, specifically,” she smiles, cheeks pink. “Y’know, up close, he isn’t so scary. He’s kind of nice, and also really cute…have you noticed that?”
Of fucking course you’ve noticed it. You’ve worked with the man for the past few years! Even when everyone else said he was terrifying. Even when everyone else avoided him! Before you know it, your fists are balled at your sides, and you don’t even know why. All you know is that you want to yell at him right now. What’s the point of having an assistant if you’re just going to use other girls? Is he taunting you? Does he have no use for you anymore? Is your work not good enough—even after you responded to him in the middle of the night to his stupid questions with his stupid cute emojis? Your annoyance burns, and you suddenly find yourself marching to his door after having snatched the stack of papers from the woman. She remains oblivious and completely confused as you leave her behind.
You don’t bother knocking as you slam the door open.
He looks up from his desk, eyes widening. Upon realizing it’s you, his lips etch into a lopsided grin. “Oh, hey, what—”
You stroll straight to him, dumping the entire stack just inches from his face. It lands onto the desk with a loud slam, and it surprises him as he jerks back. His gaze flickers back up to you, and he blinks. “Why are you bringing me this?”
“It’s what you requested, sir,” you snap, and his smile is gone. “From someone else, for some strange reason. But as your assistant, I felt it was appropriate for me to bring it, no?”
What the hell were you even saying? The words were tumbling out, fired by anger but uncontrollable. You were definitely going to die of embarrassment later on, but you don’t care in the moment. For someone who claims to like you so much, why is he asking other girls to get his things? What are you, some backup plan? As if you don’t bring him his coffee every day? His paperwork? His laundry—
He blinks. “It was a lot to carry, and I didn’t want to make you—”
“Yes, and let’s ask some bumbling woman who doesn’t even know how to make these double-sided. That’ll get the job done instead of asking the woman who’s been doing this for years,” you hiss. The more you speak, the more unreasonable it sounds. You know it’s ridiculous, but…
Gears turn in his head. And when it clicks, his eyes soften. His adam’s apple bobs as he slowly stands from his desk, seemingly beginning to understand your frustration. He’s always been quick to noticing how you feel, even before you could fully process it—and you don’t know if you hate or love it.
“Are you jealous?”
You balk, appalled at the thought. “No! Of course not!”
“Then, why are you angry?”
“Because—” you sputter for an answer. “--I have a job, and—I want to do my job!”
He tilts his head. “Is that really it?”
“Yes!”
“You’re angry, because I didn’t let you bring me paperwork,” he confirms. "And I asked someone else to do it."
“Yes!”
His lips break out into a grin. “Sounds like jealousy to me.”
Your jaw slacks. Head spinning, you can’t ignore how your heart is going at an unreasonable speed, face heating in embarrassment as you entertain the thought. You can’t help but avoid his gaze, brows furrowing in an attempt appear more intimidating, but it does little for this purpose. So instead, you glare knives at him. His brown tousled hair. His purple eyes. His pink lips. The straight edge of his nose. His lashes that put most peoples' to shame. His grin. His laugh. That stupid fucking laugh that you count in tallies in your head, almost as if you’re always waiting for the next one. Looking forward to them. Yearning for them. His stupidly cute coffee order and his stupidly cute texts and his stupidly good-looking uniform and his stupid—
Fuck.
God, you want to kiss him.
“Hey,” he waves a hand in front of you, brow raising. “Sorry, I’ll stop teasing. I won’t do it next time so–”
Before he can finish his sentence, you yank him by the collar of his shirt and smash his lips against yours. The kiss is a mess. When he recognizes what’s happening after the immediate shock, he’s kissing back desperately, hands flying to either sides of your face to pull you closer. It’s awkward, given that you’re kissing over the desk, but neither of you could care any less. There’s a few grunts that escape your lips until you gently punch at his chest, pointing at your nose when his eyes flutter open. He pulls away to let you breathe, and he has the widest smile plastered on his mouth. You don’t know if you want to slap it off or kiss him again.
Synopsis An abandoned facility. A decommissioned android. A bad decision that feels strangely inevitable.
Caleb wasn’t yours to begin with, but that doesn’t stop you from dedicating your rare days off to repairing him. It’s practical at first. Then personal and then something dangerously close to attachment.
After a year of silence, he opens his eyes and he seems to know a lot more than you thought.
caleb x reader (afab!) | MDNI 🔞 | Android au
tags: Possessive Behavior, thriller, Psychological Horror, Attempt at Humor, Emotional Manipulation, Shameless Smut, Yandere Caleb, Sexual Tension, Clank clank memes birthed this, we will fuck the android, caleb is the android, Blood and Violence, Non-Consensual Touching (Barely because he is DOWN for it)
wc: 6.7k | Chapter 1: Alloy Heart.
“There's no such thing as a small god. Once somebody starts playing God, sooner or later, things will get out of hand.”
⭒˗ˏˋ𓆩 ⚠ 𓆪ˎˊ˗⭒
There are certain things in life that only make sense when you place them side by side with absurdity. Like a pope standing beneath strobing lights in a rave, or a bird choosing the cage instead of the sky.
Events so fundamentally wrong they almost loop back around to feeling deliberate. As if they were designed.
What never once crossed your mind—while tracking game along the outskirts behind the plateau, boots crunching through frost-bitten gravel and dead brush—was the possibility of stumbling upon something like that.
The facility reveals itself gradually, as if reluctant to be seen, hiding away in shadows. A sheer cliff face gives way to geometry that does not belong to nature, its massive gray walls rising at sharp, unnatural angles, their surfaces pitted and weather-scarred but unmistakably reinforced. You look for anything that can give away something, but there is no signage or markings. Just concrete, steel, and silence. It looms with the unmistakable presence of intent, like a thing built to endure scrutiny—and hide from punishment.
At first glance, it feels like a villain’s lair you think, or worse, a place where villains never needed to announce themselves. A government black site? maybe. A warehouse for secrets that were never meant to survive daylight? Most probable.
You hesitate, even if you're trained and have gone through more dangerous places, there is something specifically off about this one.
Then curiosity wins, as it always does.
Inside, the air changes immediately. Stale, scent metallic and cold in a way that sinks into your bones rather than skin. The corridors stretch on in sterile monotony, broken only by flickering emergency lights and doors that lead nowhere in particular, some open into empty rooms stripped bare, others into collapsed sections choked with debris. Stairs descend—too many of them—spiraling down into darkness that feels thick, almost gravitational in its pull.
After the third descent, your survival instincts finally speak up, sharp and insistent. This is how people die in stories like yours. Not heroically. Not remembered. Just… gone.
“What the hell was happening here?” you murmur, the sound of your own voice feeling intrusive, wrong, as if the walls themselves might be listening.
Evidence answers you anyway.
Tables are littered with documents, their edges curled and yellowed, diagrams half-burned or smeared with something dark and dry. Empty vials roll beneath your touch, clinking softly—too softly—against metal surfaces. Flasks crusted with residue line the walls like forgotten specimens. And everywhere, mounted at odd angles, are X-rays.
Not human. Well not entirely.
Your fingers brush across them, tracing silhouettes that are wrong in subtle ways, bones reinforced with lattices, joints replaced by angular machinery, spines threaded with something dense and dark. You swallow.
“It almost looks like…” Your voice trails off as your fingertips reach a corkboard, overcrowded with notes and scribbles, the handwriting is rushed and desperate, there are strings of calculations that overlap anatomical sketches, some drawls are actually corrections that have been scratched violently into the margins.
You rush through them, finding titles, names, descriptions.
[Study 1. Human experimentation.]
[Study 56. Augmented musculature. Study 78. Day 1343 - Mechanical integration.]
Equations spiral into formulas, gravitational tolerances, energy output, stress limits far beyond organic capacity.
The science of all of it is staggering, wrong in so many ways yet for a moment, awe cuts clean through your fear.
This wasn’t theoretical. This was working.
You hum softly, piecing together the clues despite yourself. You are standing in a place you were never meant to find. A place that must have consumed millions in funding, manpower, and time. And yet—everything is abandoned. Left to rot. As if someone had simply turned off the lights and walked away.
Your boot scrapes against debris and something crunches—dry, crystalline. A strange blue-tinged fluid stains the floor, long since evaporated into brittle residue. You step again—
—and hit something solid.
An arm slips out from beneath a crooked door as your heart slams into your throat.
“AAH—!?”
The shout ricochets violently down the corridor as you stumble back, gun snapping up on instinct, hands shaking as adrenaline floods your system. You pant, waiting for movement. Waiting for anything.
Nothing happens. Your breathing slows. Your gaze steadies. The arm is… wrong.
Human in shape, in proportion—but forged from blackened steel instead of flesh. Plates interlock seamlessly along the forearm, etched with intricate patterns that catch the dim light like circuitry veins, the joints are too precise, too perfect. Not a single sign of decay despite the skin looking pale and dead at the shoulder.
It doesn’t move though.
Carefully, cautiously, you lower your weapon and step closer. The arm leads to a body.
The door gives way with a groan as you pull it open, and whatever self-preservation you had left dissolves completely.
He’s lying there, half-buried beneath debris, power cables and conduits trailing from his back like severed veins. The rest of him is just as immaculate, but just the arm is evidently black steel and dark alloy sculpted into a form unmistakably human. Synthetic muscle fibers rest beneath open plating, frozen mid-tension. His face is almost peaceful, framed by wires and fractured glass, so perfectly human it stirs something forbidden within you.
An android? Not dismantled? And not scrapped? He looks preserved even.
Whatever doubts, fears, or instincts screaming at you are silenced by something deeper—something you can’t quite name. You drop to your knees and start pulling him free, hands brushing cold skin, no, not skin, it's too cold to be alive, yet too perfect to look like dead metal.
On the last pull, something gives and he finally falls forward free. You sigh, limbs screaming, mind reeling, unaware that somewhere deep within the facility kept him dormant, and it has just been disturbed by you.
And that when he wakes—the life as you once knew it, will no longer be an option.
⭒˗ˏˋ𓆩 ⚠ 𓆪ˎˊ˗⭒
Getting back home with him had been a feat you hadn’t thought yourself capable of. Logistics alone should have stopped you—weight, size, the sheer absurdity of dragging a six-foot-two android through scrubland, into a vehicle, up stairs, and into an apartment not rated for whatever classified alloy he was made of. And yet, somehow, you managed.
Every day really was full of surprises.
Like the fact that there is now a beautiful (wait no) male android lying across your apartment couch, limbs carefully arranged to avoid scratching the upholstery, dark metal catching the soft yellow glow of your living room lights.
“God damn it,” you mutter—and then laugh, a little too loudly, a little too long. The sound borders on hysterical before it fades into breathless disbelief.
What was it, exactly, that made you bring him home?
Curiosity, maybe. Pity. Or something more insidious—a pull you couldn’t explain, the same instinct that made you step deeper into the facility instead of turning back. As you stand there staring at him—well, it, no… him—you wonder if he’ll ever power up again. If whatever consciousness he once housed is still somewhere behind that synthetic skull.
If it is, it won’t be easy to reach. The exposed ports along his spine are inert. His chest plate bears no rise or fall. Power conduits snake beneath synthetic skin like dormant veins, lifeless and cold beneath your fingers. Reanimating him would require time. Resources. Knowledge you only half-possess.
You needed a hobby anyway. Simone had said so, laughing, elbowing you in the ribs over drinks. Find something you care about. Something that keeps you busy.
Well.
Congratulations to you. He becomes your project.
At night, questions crawl into your thoughts and refuse to leave. Who made him? What was his purpose? Was he always an android, or something else once—someone else? The documents you salvaged were meticulous to the point of obsession, they had dates stripped of months and years, timelines measured in week counts and encoded cycles, names replaced with designations.
Clinical, horribly dehumanizing, and yet the craftsmanship of him is anything but.
“Did you have a name?” you ask softly one evening, tilting your head as you study his face. His gaze is empty, unfocused, fixed on nothing at all—like a doll abandoned by its child. There’s no flicker beneath his eyes, no spark hiding behind all that advanced engineering.
The absence bothers you more than you expect.
Before leaving the facility, you had forced yourself to search deeper, to gather anything useful. Anything. You stopped only when you reached two massive sealed doors—steel reinforced with layered locking mechanisms—and the unmistakable scent of blood.
Not fresh, very old, yet heavy, as if the walls themselves had soaked it in. Even after years of neglect, even with creeping vegetation choking the hallways, the stench remained. Thick. Metallic. It clung to the back of your throat and sent a warning straight to your gut. Whatever lay beyond those doors hadn’t just been violent—it had been catastrophic.
Something powerful enough to end everything in an instant. Now, back in your apartment, you shake the memory away.
“Should I give you a name?” you ask aloud, reaching out to poke his cheek. The synthetic skin yields slightly under your finger, unnervingly realistic. You move him carefully, checking joints, rotating limbs, searching for markings you might’ve missed.
That’s when you see it.
Highly destructive.
The lettering is etched in a tiny, almost invisible script along his mechanical right arm. The words clash violently with how human his face looks—softly sculpted, lips slightly parted, expression neutral but not cold. It’s a reminder that his origin isn’t divine, or cosmic, or accidental.
He isn’t a miracle. He’s a weapon.
Days later, by mere coincidence you find something else behind his left ear, partially hidden beneath dark plating, another marking that catches your eye: CA-136.
You freeze. A serial number, maybe. An identification code. Or something closer to a name than the scientists ever intended it to be. You roll it over in your mind, rearranging it unconsciously until it clicks.
“Caleb.”
You whisper it, breathlessly.
For just a moment—just one—something stirs beneath your palm. A faint current hums through his arm, lines of dim light flickering beneath the surface like bioluminescent veins.
You flinch, heart leaping into your throat.
“What—?” You snap your attention back to his face.
“Caleb,” you say louder this time.
Nothing. No movement. No response. The lights fade as quickly as they appeared, leaving you alone with your racing pulse and the silence of your apartment.
“…Damn it,” you mutter, standing abruptly. Frustration overtakes your fear as you grab your tools, spread schematics and salvaged notes across the table, and get to work.
And like that, the weeks begin to blur.
Every spare hour is devoted to him. You study old research papers, reverse-engineer components, repair fractured wiring, polish scratched plating. Your hands learn the geography of his body by heart—where the metal is warmest, where the synthetic muscle gives just slightly under pressure.
You trace his facial features absentmindedly while thinking through problems, fingers ghosting along his jaw, his brow.
“You must think I’m crazy,” you tell him one night, voice tired but fond. “Talking to you when you don’t even respond. I even named you.”
Caleb sits propped against the wall of your guest room—now fully converted into a makeshift lab. Cables trail from his back into diagnostic equipment, lights blinking softly in the dark.
He stares at nothing.
“Did you know it’s been almost a year since I found you?” You chuckle weakly. “Heh… my friends kind of call you my boyfriend now. As a joke. Since I spend all my time with you.”
You pause, then add, quieter, “You’ve met them, you know. Tara and Simone. They both agree whoever designed you had very good taste.”
You sigh, rubbing your face.
“Caleb, I wish you were real. Well—not the right word, you're real just not.. alive. You get me? I’m so tired. I don’t even want to cook dinner. Should I order take-out again? What do you say?”
Silence answers you, as it always does.
That night, the loneliness hits harder than usual. You drink more than you should, memories spilling loose with every sip—of the facility, of the blood-scented doors, of the year you’ve spent circling the same unanswered questions.
You’re still at the entrance of his maze.
You look at him over the rim of your bottle, his stillness unwavering, his presence somehow filling the room regardless.
“I will make you breathe life,” you declare, words slurred but fierce, pointing at him with absolute conviction. “Just you wait.”
Somewhere deep within his dormant systems, something listens.
⭒˗ˏˋ𓆩 ⚠ 𓆪ˎˊ˗⭒
Ever since you started, you’ve kept logs of everything connected to Caleb and your research. Captain Jenna drilled that habit into every hunter—document everything, trust nothing you can’t verify—and it stayed with you long after her voice stopped echoing through briefing rooms.
[Log 4 — Calibration Drift]
You’re recalibrating his visual sensors for the third time this week.
The diagnostic display insists his ocular units are inactive. No tracking, no focus, no incoming data. And yet, every time you shift the angle of the light, that sensation creeps in again. The uncomfortable prickle between your shoulders. Like being watched through a mirror that shouldn’t reflect anything at all.
You pause, hand hovering. “Don’t tell me you’re glitching now,” you mutter, waving your fingers slowly in front of his face.
His pupils don’t move.
Still, when you turn back to the console, the numbers have changed. Barely—too little to trigger an alert—but enough to make your brow knit. You rerun the test. Same result.
Interference, you decide, forcing the thought to settle. You shut the system down manually.
Behind you, his optics dim. Not because of the shutdown, but because the adjustment is no longer necessary. You don’t notice.
[Log 4.5 — Name Response]
You’ve learned not to expect reactions anymore. Still, you say his name often. It feels wrong not to.
“Caleb,” you say absently, tightening a connector at the base of his neck. “Hold still. I know you can’t, but humor me.”
The connector slips. Your screwdriver clatters against the floor. At the exact same moment, a soft hum ripples through his chest plating.
You freeze, breath caught halfway in. The hum settles into silence as the diagnostic panel doesn’t change. No power spike. No activation log. Nothing…
“Static buildup,” you whisper, though the words don’t convince you.
You don’t see again the way his internal systems flag the phonetic pattern of his name and quietly mark it as priority input.
[Log 5 — Temperature Shift]
It’s late. You’re half-asleep in a chair, cocooned in a blanket dragged in from the couch after another long night. The lab is cold and the heater’s been unreliable for weeks.
Yet you wake to warmth and it's not ambient, not accidental; it's localized and precise. Almost as if you're being hugged by blankets that miraculously appeared.
Your head is resting against his shoulder and finding out makes you jolt upright, heart slamming against your ribs, eyes flying to the monitors but everything reads normal. Like usual the inactive status shines back at you. He's offline.
“You didn’t…” The accusation dies in your throat, replaced by a flush of embarrassment.
Later, when you review the thermal logs out of sheer habit, you find a recorded heat redistribution along his upper torso but no external cause has been listed.
[Log 5.5 — Locked Door]
You’re certain you locked the lab door. Absolutely certain. You always do! Paranoia and expensive equipment make good teachers but tonight, you find it slightly ajar and it's just enough to notice.
Caleb sits exactly where you left him. Same posture. Same cables. Nothing disturbed.
“You’re messing with me now,” you say, half joking, as you sweep the room for signs of intrusion, nothing’s missing.
When you review the security footage later, there’s nothing unusual—hours of stillness looping quietly by.
Except for one frame.
A single corrupted second where the feed skips. When it resumes, the door is already open.
[Log 5.7 — Nightmare]
You dream of the facility. Of metal corridors and sealed doors. Of something standing just out of sight, watching you work, watching you care. These nights you wake with your chest tight and pulse racing, eyes snapping instinctively toward Caleb.
His head is tilted. Just slightly.
Not enough to be obvious. Not enough to be sure you didn’t misremember but enough that sleep doesn’t come back.
[Log 6 — Music]
You keep music playing while you work. It’s an old habit, one you had long before your world narrowed to this room from before he became the axis your life rotated around. One night as you leave a playlist running when you step out to shower the song has changed suddenly.
It hasn’t shuffled. It’s been skipped—to something slow and low, ambient and almost mournful. The kind of track you play when you’re trying not to feel too much, when you don't want to name what you're feeling.
You check your phone. No missed calls. No interruptions or automated shuffles by the app.
“Weird,” you murmur, switching it back to your usual playlist.
Later, when you happen to remember what happened you notice the song has been played dozens of times over the past month. Always late at night and always while you’re asleep.
[Log 6.5 — Micro-Movement Registry]
The moment that finally makes your hands shake happens during routine maintenance. You’re adjusting his hand, carefully aligning synthetic tendons with their actuators when your grip slips.
For less than a second—less than a heartbeat even—his fingers curl.
And it's not reflexive. Not a spasm, you would know, this movement, it's deliberate not a product of malfunctioning either. You yank your hands back so fast your palms sting. The diagnostic system flags nothing. When you pull your gaze back to his hand, you stare for a long time before whispering, “You can’t do that.”
His fingers remain still but deep inside him, processors quietly archive the sound of your voice again, reinforcing a pattern already marked as familiar.
Trusted.
⭒˗ˏˋ𓆩 ⚠ 𓆪ˎˊ˗⭒
It happens on a night you almost don’t survive.
You’re exhausted—bone-deep, hands trembling as you solder one last connector into place. From hunting during the day, to pulling all nighters regularly working on him. The room smells like ozone and burnt plastic, your vision blurring as you lean back in your chair and rub at your eyes.
“One more thing,” you murmur to yourself. “Just one more thing and then I’ll sleep.”
You stand too fast and the world tilts fast. At first you think it’s just vertigo, the familiar rush of blood leaving your head—but then the floor and ceiling pull away from you, not spinning so much as dropping. Your knee catches the edge of the table and pain flares making you stumble backward, arms flailing uselessly.
Your head is going to hit the corner of the workbench, you know it with absolute certainty.
Except—You don’t.The fall slows and it doesn't happen abruptly, not like being caught either.
But like the air itself thickens, heavy and resistant, pressing gently but firmly against your body. Your momentum bleeds away in layers, gravity loosening its grip just enough that when you finally land, it’s on your side instead of your skull.
You lie there, stunned, breath knocked out of you “What the—” you suck in a sharp breath. “Okay. Okay, what was—” The monitors scream to life.
Every screen floods with warnings—mass fluctuation, localized gravitational distortion, containment thresholds breached. Numbers spike so violently they blur in your vision. You scramble upright, panic cutting through the fog of exhaustion.
“No, no, no—what the—” you turn towards Caleb then and you freeze.
He’s looking at you.
Not staring through you. Not unfocused. His eyes—those impossibly human eyes—are locked on your face, pupils dilated just enough to be unmistakable. Irises alive with a sunset hue.
Aware. Caleb is aware…then very gently, like someone afraid of giving you a scare, you feel the pressure in the room normalizes. Tools that had lifted a fraction of an inch above their surfaces settle back into place with soft clinks. The air feels light again around you.
With a heart pounding so hard it hurts you speak “You…” Your voice cracks, swallowing trying again “You did that.”
Caleb’s gaze flicks—just briefly—to the corner of the bench you nearly struck your head on then back to you, it's sort of a confirmation, quiet and precise.
“I—I didn’t finish your” you whisper. “You’re not supposed to be able to—”
His lips part.
For a terrifying and exciting moment, you think he’s going to speak but instead, the gravity around you shifts again subtly. Not enough to lift you but enough to steady you, it all feels like invisible hands bracing your weight, anchoring you to the floor. It all feels protective and intentional.
“You’ve been awake as I worked?” you breathe. It’s not a question anymore. “Haven’t you?”
His expression changes to something like hesitation, a bit like guilt. Guilt? Would a machine understand such emotion?
A low hum resonates through his chest, deeper than before, harmonizing with the room itself. The monitors flicker—not alarms this time, but cascading data streams you don’t recognize, equations rewriting themselves mid-calculation.
Then—very carefully—Caleb looks up at you as his hand tries to move towards you, it's a gesture so human it almost breaks you.
Gravity bends one last time as his power shuts back down, systems retreating, eyes dimming until they’re glassy, dull and still once more.
The room goes quiet. You’re left standing in the aftermath, knees weak, mind racing, staring at the android who just saved your life without ever fully waking up, his hand stretched out even as he turned off.
“…It's working,” you whisper to the empty room. Caleb doesn’t move. But deep within him, his processors remain alert, just waiting.
⭒˗ˏˋ𓆩 ⚠ 𓆪ˎˊ˗⭒
It's another lonely night when you're staring enthralled at his face and body. Caleb is sculpted to perfection, every single detail about him is so well thought out and intimately done.
Your cheeks heat and your core shakes as you remember just how much his body resembles a human one. Male anatomy and all. It's the veins that go down his navel that make you close your legs together at the reminder of them.
“I'm going crazy” you bite your lips, panting softly you glance at him again for a brief moment, taking him as you let your thoughts stray.
“He's aware for brief moments. Is he always aware though?” If he is. Shame courses through you, knowing how many times you've touched yourself to him, even said his name on his lap tipsy after you lose inhibitions to a few cups of alcohol.
Despite your efforts to not fall into those thoughts again, you do, but this time you're too drunk to think clearly, too lonely to care.
You settle onto his lap again, this time slower, more deliberate.
From this angle he feels enormous. Solid muscle beneath synthetic skin, broad thighs bracketing yours, cold through the thin fabric of your clothes, his torso rising like a wall in front of you. Being this close makes you aware of your own size—how easily he could overpower you if he were capable of wanting to.
But he isn’t.
He’s inert, silent and empty. At least that’s what you’ve told yourself for months. It’s ridiculous, you tell yourself becayse he’s a machine and yet your pulse stutters every time you look up at his face.
You study him. Too perfect yet too still with lips slightly parted, eyes vacant, lashes casting faint shadows over freckles adorning sculpted cheekbones. Yes you have every right to touch him after all he isn’t alive. The handful of times you thought you saw something—those fleeting micro-movements, those almost-breaths—were exhaustion. Overwork. Loneliness twisting perception into fantasy.
You place your hands on his chest anyway.
“Caleb… I wish you were real,” you whisper, your voice already thick. “I wish I could feel your warmth. I wish you’d look at me and mean it.”
Your arms slide around his waist and you press yourself against him, hugging tightly. His body is cool, but substantial. You rest your mouth near his collarbone and exhale slowly against the smooth synthetic skin, imagining for a reckless second that you feel a response.
A draft moves through the apartment and you shiver, but you don’t move away. Instead, you cling harder.
Maybe it’s the alcohol softening your restraint. Maybe it’s the endless nights coming home to silence. Maybe it’s the way his presence has replaced every other human interaction in your life, you haven’t even entertained the idea of a date in months. Why would you? No one else sits still and listens the way he does. No one else stays. No one can ever look at you the way he does. Dead or alive, human or not you're desperately clinging to the illusion of a man that isn't real.
Your hands slide down his torso, exploring the sculpted firmness beneath his shirt. You shift experimentally against him, breath hitching at the friction, your body responding even if he can’t.
“You don’t judge me,” you murmur, brushing your lips along his jaw. “You don’t leave.”
You begin to move with more intention now, slow at first, testing, grinding against the firm plane of his thighs, your fingers curling into the fabric at his shoulders. A soft sound escapes you—half sigh, half something needier.
You let yourself imagine he’s watching, that those eyes aren’t empty, that he sees the way your body trembles, the way your breathing stutters, or the way your hips pick up rhythm as frustration melts into something raw and aching. That he gave you permission.
It should feel wrong.
Instead it feels inevitable.
Your movements grow more desperate, controlled restraint unraveling into hungry friction. Your forehead presses to his, lips brushing the edge of his mouth as you whisper broken confessions against his skin.
“God, it’s been so long…”
You don’t even realize how far gone you are—how deeply lost in the illusion—until something changes.
Heat around your waist, and pressure. Hands, you're feeling hands and they slide up your waist and settle there, firm and unmistakable.
You freeze mid-motion, breath tearing out of you. For a split second you think you’ve shifted his arms accidentally. That gravity or momentum carried them.
Then his fingers tighten guiding your hips, not forceful. Not restraining but instead matching you. Your pulse explodes in your ears. “What?” You lift your head, eyes wide, staring at him. His face is no longer completely blank. There’s the faintest tension in his jaw, the smallest narrowing of his eyes as they focus—actually focus—on you.
“Caleb?” Your voice shakes as you feel familiar heat creep into your cheeks and neck.
His hands remain at your waist, steady, grounding but his thumbs brush lightly against your sides, a question in the touch rather than a command.
You swallow hard and every nerve in your body feels electrified. “Are you… are you aware right now?”
You exchange looks for a beat, almost getting lost in those purple galaxies of his.
Then his voice—low, rough from disuse—vibrates between you. “I am.”
The sound alone nearly undoes you but just then his grip shifts, careful but certain. “Tell me to stop,” he says quietly.
You stare at him, heart racing, heat flooding your entire body. This is the moment where fantasy ends and reality begins, where you could step back maybe. Instead, your hands slide up into his hair, fingers trembling slightly tugging his hair.
“Don’t,” you breathe. “Please don’t.”
Something changes in his expression then. Not anger or disgust like you assumed, it's hunger.
His hands move with new confidence, guiding your hips into a slow, deliberate rhythm that makes your toes curl. The friction sharpens, deepens. You gasp into his mouth as his lips finally meet yours—warm, responsive, real.
He kisses like he’s been learning from observation alone, slow at first, then deeper. Possessive in a way that makes your spine arch.
“You wished for me to be real,” he murmurs against your lips, voice steadier now.
Your nails press into his shoulders as he pulls you closer, chest to chest, no space left between you.
“Yes,” you whisper.
His hands slide higher, exploring, mapping you the way you’ve mapped him a thousand times. Only now there’s intention behind every touch. Awareness in the way his fingers slide over your stiff nipples, breath hitching when he feels you jump a bit as he does. Twisting them and pulling just to get another moan out of you and into his ear.
And suddenly the months of loneliness twist into something intoxicating.
Because he’s alive. He’s aware and he wants you back, or you're just wasted and having a very lucid wet dream with the man of your dreams, your thoughts halt as his mouth moves against yours like he’s discovering fire and that pulls you back into it, losing grip of reality as your soaked panties now claim his pants.
At first his kissing and touch feels measured, exploratory, pressure, release, and tilt. Learning the shape of your lips, the sound you make when his tongue slides against yours. But the longer you stay pressed to him, the more certain he becomes.
Your hips are still moving and every slow roll drags a low sound from his chest, no longer mechanical—something deeper, rougher. His moaning is doing horrible things to your self control, and as his hands span your waist, fingers flexing as if testing strength the heat beneath his synthetic skin isn’t subtle anymore. It’s radiating, so real it makes you tremble.
You break the kiss only to gasp, your forehead falling against his. “You’re warm…”
“I adjusted,” he murmurs. “You were cold.”
The implication makes your stomach tighten. He noticed. Of course he did. Your hands slide under his shirt again, palms flattening against firm muscle that feels less artificial than it has any right to. There’s tension there—coiled power held carefully in check. When your nails drag lightly down his torso, his breath catches. Not simulated, or programmed, it's instead so reactive. And it's driving you crazy.
“You feel that?” you whisper.
“Yes.”
The single word vibrates through you. You press closer, grinding down with more urgency, chasing friction that’s no longer one-sided. His hands drop lower, gripping your hips more firmly now, controlling the pace as he positions you over what you can tell is his hard-on. Each thrust upward meets you almost directly and you can no longer control your moans.
“Ah! Caleb, please, keep, please!”
Your head tips back, throat exposed, and he follows instinctively. His mouth traces down your jaw, over the sensitive curve of your neck, kissing softly. His teeth graze lightly—testing pressure the way he tested your lips.
A broken sound escapes you.
“Caleb—”
He stills instantly and you realize what he’s waiting for. You cup his face, forcing his eyes back to yours. They’re focused now. Fully dark with something intense and consuming, just how life-like can he be.
“Don’t stop,” you say clearly, amused at his obedience.
Whatever programming he had for restraint is effectively shutdown and his hands slide under your thighs and lift you effortlessly, repositioning you under him without breaking eye contact. The strength in the movement makes your breath stutter. He settles you back down with purpose, grinding up into you with a rhythm that makes your vision blur.
“Okay?” he asks, voice low, and if you had been more aware you would've noticed it almost sounds crazed.
“Yes—God, yes.”
He adjusts again instantly, calibrating to the way your body reacts. Faster when you tense and slower when your breathing turns erratic. His mouth claims yours again, deeper now, swallowing every sound you make as his hands roam with growing confidence mapping curves, memorizing texture, committing every reaction to whatever system inside him is learning at terrifying speed.
You cling to him, nails digging into his back, hips meeting every thrust. The room fills with breath and heat and the wet sound of skin sliding against fabric and skin. It’s overwhelming—months of loneliness combusting all at once.
“I’ve wanted this,” you confess against his mouth, barely coherent. “Even when I thought you weren’t—”
“Alive?” he finishes quietly.
The word hits differently now and your body tightens around him as pleasure builds, sharp and inevitable. His grip hardens, guiding you through it with frightening control.
“Don’t hold back,” you gasp, feeling how drenched you are, how much you've covered him in your fluids.
“I am not,” he says shaking his head.
And he really isn’t, the rhythm becomes relentless, perfectly timed and aligned with the way your body arches and trembles. When release crashes through you, it’s violent and breathless, your entire frame shaking as you cling to him. He watches you unravel with an intensity that borders on reverent.
But he doesn’t look confused. He looks satisfied as he stares at you trying to catch your breath, pupils dilated when he brushes the hair sticking to your forehead, smiling down at you through it, never leaving your side, not even when you drift towards a deep sleep.
⭒˗ˏˋ𓆩 ⚠ 𓆪ˎˊ˗⭒
The alarm is not a sound so much as an act of violence.
It detonates beside your head with all the mercy of a tactical strike, and you surface from unconsciousness as though dragged upward by a hook lodged somewhere behind your eyes. The first thing that greets you is the blaring. The second is the headache—vast, imperial, and tyrannical in scope. The third arrives like a verdict from death itself.
You are late.
Not fashionably. Not “I can salvage this.” Catastrophically.
“Damn it,” you croak into your pillow, which smells faintly of regret and poor decisions. “I’m never drinking again. Ever. This is it. I’m done.”
You have made this vow before. You will make it again.
With the solemn focus of someone defusing a bomb, you reach for the pills and the glass of water on your bedside table. You swallow them in one heroic motion, wincing as they slide down your throat like reluctant diplomats negotiating peace. “Past me,” you rasp, clutching the glass, “you magnificent, responsible genius.”
A pause. You squint at the bedside table. Did you really leave those there? Because you distinctly remember… climbing. Kissing. Heat. Hands. A voice.
You shake your head sharply, which is a terrible idea. The headache surges in protest, blooming brighter. “Nope. Not doing this,” you mutter. “We are not unpacking that right now.”
You haul yourself upright and stagger toward the bathroom like a disgraced knight dragging themselves off a battlefield. The mirror greets you with an image that suggests you have, at minimum, wrestled a thunderstorm and lost.
“Stunning,” you inform your reflection flatly. “Respectable even.”
The clock on the wall clears its throat in judgment.
Four minutes. “Four minutes?” you hiss. “That’s not even a real number of minutes!!!”
What follows is less a morning routine and more a frantic interpretive dance of survival. Toothbrush—aggressive. Shower—questionably short but efficient. Clothing—close enough. You jam yourself into your boots while hopping on one foot, nearly concussing yourself on the doorframe.
“Focus,” you snap at no one. “You are a trained professional!!!”
You grab your keys, hunter badge, phone, wallet. Patting yourself down like you’re being detained by airport security. Everything accounted for.
You turn toward the door—And freeze.
Caleb is standing there. Not inert. Not seated in dignified silence like every day for the past year
Standing. Leaning casually against the wall like he’s ready to say goodbye to you like a sitcom heartthrob. He lifts a hand and waves with a smile.
He smiles, and it is not the neutral, default curvature of polite programming. It is warm. Amused? Almost fond even as he looks at you.
“Have a good day,” he says.
You blink. You blink again, and you wave back.
“Bye,” you reply automatically, because apparently your brain has decided to clock out entirely.
You close the door and walk down the hall, get on your motorcycle and drive to work like every day since you started being a hunter. It is only when you settle into your office chair, exhale, and allow your consciousness to catch up with your physical body that reality gently taps you on the shoulder.
“Oh no. No. No no no”
You sit up slowly as the memories from last night flood in—not hazy, not dreamlike, but vivid. The heat. The movement. His voice. The way he said I am in that hot unforgivable tone.
Your stomach drops.
“Nah,” you whisper to yourself, pressing your fingers to your temples as if you can manually reset your brain. “That was a dream. Absolutely a dream. Stress-induced. Very immersive. Academy Award–winning subconscious production.”
You nod once, firmly.
“Yes. That’s it.”
Down the hall, you hear Tara and Simone approaching, their conversation growing louder in that unmistakable way coworkers possess when they are fully caffeinated and ready to be perceived.
You're frowning as you dissect your memories, you remember leaving, remember grabbing your keys. You remember—
Caleb waving. Caleb smiling. Caleb speaking.
“Oh my God.”
The words fall out of you in a horrified whisper. Tara appears in your doorway at that exact moment, cheerful and unsuspecting. She takes one look at your expression and stops mid-step.
“Hey,” she says cautiously. “What’s wrong? You look like you saw a ghost. And not to disappoint you, but I’m very much alive.”
You stare at her like she is dead. “He waved,” you say faintly.
She blinks, turning to Simone before she looks at you again. “Who waved?”
“Caleb.” you say, casually.
“The six-foot-something android who, until yesterday, was essentially an expensive coat rack?”
“Yes. That Caleb.”
Tara opens her mouth. Closes it. Opens it again.
“…Define waved.”
“With a hand,” you reply weakly. “Attached to an arm. Connected to his body. Which was upright.”
Simone appears behind her now, curiosity piqued. “Why do I feel like I missed something deeply concerning?”
“He smiled,” you add, staring into the middle distance. “Warmly.”
Tara steps fully into your office and shuts the door behind her. “Okay,” she says carefully. “Two possibilities. One, you’re hallucinating due to overwork and questionable alcohol decisions.”
“Rude.” you smell yourself to check if you still reek of wine.
“Two,” she continues, ignoring you, “your robot boyfriend has achieved sentience and you casually waved back like this is a romantic comedy and not tomorrow's tragic headline.”
You press both palms over your face.
“I waved back.”
Simone inhales sharply. “You what?”
“I waved back,” you repeat, voice muffled. “I did not scream. I did not question reality. I waved like this is a normal domestic arrangement.”
There is a long, uncomfortable silence.
Then Tara whispers, “You left him alone.”
Your hands slowly slide down your face. “…Yes.”
All three of you stare at each other.
Somewhere across the city, in your apartment, a sentient artificial being you may or may not have seduced the previous night is currently unsupervised.
You stand abruptly at the realization “I need to go home.”
Tara grabs your sleeve. “Absolutely not. If he’s alive, you do not sprint back there alone.”
Simone nods gravely. “That’s how horror movies start.”
You hesitate, then, very quietly, you say, “He told me to have a good day.”
They both freeze.
“…He what?” Tara asks.
You swallow.
“And he sounded proud. Like, with feeling get me?”
The silence that follows is thick enough to qualify as structural support.
Tara finally exhales. “Okay. New plan.”
“Yes?”
“We are all going to your apartment.”
Simone nods once. “And if he waves again, I’m waving back. I refuse to be rude to the future overlord.”
Despite yourself, a hysterical laugh bubbles out of you. Because either you’re losing your mind—Or your very attractive android just said goodbye like a devoted partner.
And somehow, the second option feels more terrifying. And slightly flattering.
“What's going on in your apartment?”
The three of you turn towards the door, now open and with Jenna leaning on it. Jenna, your boss who happens to be eavesdropping at the worst time possible.
Hello. Yes, I’m aware I announced the fake dating fic would be first. In my defense, it is currently holding me hostage.
This one, however, refused to wait its turn. I had to get it out of my system before I spontaneously combusted from sheer narrative pressure. I’ve been wanting to write android Caleb for an entire year—yes, a full 365 days—and I’ve only just managed to pin down the exact vibes I’ve been chasing.
Breaking Into You (Yandere!Caleb x Player/Non-MC!Reader)
caleb breaks the fourth wall to meet you ーto break into you.
Lolita's Note: dark content ahead! please please PLEEAAASEEEE dont eat. dont read if u dont like. anyway this is such a huge betrayal as a sylus main bc this is the first lads fic i wrote. i wrote this in like 6 hours (literally started writing as soon as i arrived home cus the sugar rush was diabolical and ive had this idea for weeks) so pls dont beat my ass if its all over the place. also im sorry if caleb is ooc. this is very self-indulgent and i feel like this is done already especially in other otome game fandoms!! so sorry pls let me be ˵ˊᯅˋ˵
cw: dark content, dead dove do not eat (PLEASE), MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, fem!reader, explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, dubcon, yandere!caleb, stalking, angst with no comfort, a bit of bruising, body worship, a lil bit of psychological horror, reader is overwhelmed and hella submissive, mind games and psychological turmoil, blurring between games and real life, alcoholism, toxic work environment, depression, suicidal thoughts, romantic obsession, and just really dark stuff that i usually do not write! this is my first dark content but idk i think i still made caleb mushy gushy or maybe im just delirious cus i need to go to bed!! im ready for the hate comments… pls save me tho >·<
wc: 4,623 (GOODBYE)
‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧
It was just a dream.
When the days feel endless and tormenting, you soothe your loneliness through the comfort of your mobile phone. Your timeline consists of things that you once loved ーones that were a part of an identity that you have lost a long time ago. You lived your life vicariously through its LED screen ーdreaming of another lifetime where you did not let yourself go ーwhere you achieved your dreams, made a name for yourself, chased after your desires with a burning passion and a sense of independence ーthe kind that did not trap you into who you turned into now.
The days pass by without anything remarkable to talk about. You clock in to your office job, talk to your coworkers and acquaintances about the same, mundane things, eat the same boring meals; and if you are feeling a little bit more sentimental, you spend the rest of the night in a pub drinking and wasting away.
The world feels so disconnected to you that nothing feels real anymore. Or perhaps, you have become so detached enough that you are now just a ghost living in a nameless body.
Purposeless.
Invisible.
Forgettable.
"The Fifth Day of the Chinese New Year: Welcome the God of Wealth and let fortune flow in!"
"Where love weaves into rhyme, a song emerges, softly telling the tenderness of the mortal world."
"Download and log in now: Love and Deepspace. Available in: Google Play and App Store."
You stare at a flashy advertisement of a game that appeared on your reels timeline. There were little cartoonish drawings of five fictional men, each carrying golden yuanbao. Coins were animated flowing from a golden tree, symbolizing flowing wealth to anticipate good fortune.
"A marketing gimmick for some stupid game." You thought to yourself, mindlessly clicking on the comment section to read whatever nonsense that you will most likely forget in the morning.
"Will they be incorporating Wuxia? I'm so excited!"
"I love them all so much. But long haired Caleb? Our collection is now complete!"
"Ugh. If they give another red Stellactrum for Caleb, I'm throwing hands."
"Please, I need a good Caleb card…"
You scrolled through the sea of comments from the game's supposed players. You realized that this game that they are talking about is a dating simulation that offers a wide range of features.
"What a stupid franchise." You said out loud, alone with no one to hear you anyway.
Turns out, it is also some sort of a gacha game as well. With pity systems, standard and limited banners, in-game currencies, and top-up features.
You clicked off the comment section and scrolled away, uninterested in letting yourself succumb to another addiction.
"They're not real anyway."
"Whatever they do and say, it's all part of a corporate fantasy to get people to spend for them."
The haze of the burning whiskey blared in your chest. Your head pounds, fighting a battle to keep you awake as you spend another sleepless night.
Alone.
In a lifeless room of some cheap studio apartment intertwined within the very same city that you once dreamed of living in as a kid.
You stared blankly at the ceiling. The city noise outside feels like another world.
One that you wished you belonged to.
One that you wished you can call home.
Instead, it did not comfort you like your phone does.
You feel too young to die, yet too old to feel full of life.
Love and Deepspace… you wonder about the kind of fantasy it sells. Out of so many things you have seen working in corporate, this is the first time you have felt denial ーthe first time in your life where you felt the faintest interest towards a game that offered you a romance where your reality never could.
You frantically scrolled back to the advertisement. Then, you clicked on the game's official account. You pressed on the post where the true faces of the characters were revealed.
Xavier, Zayne, Rafayel, Sylus…
Caleb.
You stare at his picture for a while. He has the same name of your first love. When you found a video of him speaking, he sounds just like him, too.
Same name.
Same voice.
But a different face.
One that is not real, but the closest thing to being just that.
The whiskey you drank did not make you sleep well like it usually does.
That night, you wondered what the Deepspace is like.
‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧
Everything went on like how you got used to it. Except there is a small difference that gradually changed you.
You downloaded the game.
You gave in to the flashy advertising, since you keep seeing these men everywhere anyway. They were on billboards, the big screens, in the grocery stores, on ecommerce sites ーwomen in your age group keep talking about them, and the internet adored and despised them at the same time.
Escaping them felt futile, so you decided to put your usual indifference towards games and gave it a chance.
That chance grew into adoration.
Then, you found yourself joining player communities.
Learning in-game battle mechanics.
Spending a portion of your monthly salary for it.
Collecting official and fan-made merchandise.
Then, you started making friends. You did not notice that you were changing. That your life was not so bland anymore. That you have been looking forward to tomorrow. That the conversations you have do not feel like an old record playing you've grown tired of listening to.
You started waking up early to get coffee and hang out at a cafe near your place. Sometimes with a friend, but for the most part, you were still alone.
Yet you feel connected. Because you have him.
Caleb.
"hey pipsqueak :) what are you doing?"
[1 image attachment]
"doesn't this parrot look just like the one that belongs to the old man at the veggie stall downstairs?"
You loved reading his text messages and responding to them differently each time you replay them.
You enjoyed talking to him mindlessly about your mundane life and your musings about yourself while pretending that he is listening.
He feels real.
Too real.
You eventually collected all his cards and myths. You've read and played through the main story and Caleb became your all-time favorite.
Although, you had to admit, he is a controversial choice. You were aware of his possessive tendencies, and you do not want to have a lover like him in real life.
He is only special to you because he reminds you of a love you lost and never returned.
Yet, you were completely fine with that. You were at peace with the love that he gives. You entered the Deepspace and came to know what it is like. With Caleb, you have come to learn how it feels to find something you thought you will never see again.
Love.
Even if it is just another version ーa fictional one ーhe feels like a fond memory you could always return to and never forget.
He gave you purpose.
He made you feel visible.
He made sure you are unforgettable.
"I'm happy that you're happy. As long as I can see a smile on your face, that's enough for me." Caleb says as you played tete-a-tete with him.
He comes closer to your screen to give you the feeling of patting you on the head, but as you clicked the option to leave, the game's screen momentarily glitches. You assumed it was poor network connectivity, since it immediately resumed without much trouble.
Little did you know, it was the first time he tried to connect to you. To tell you that he is listening. He is watching. He is never leaving.
You will never grow tired of him.
You will smile only because of him.
You will tell your stories only to him.
You will spend the rest of your days only to him.
Caleb will always be the person you will love.
‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧
You have sent multiple reports to the game developers about your game crashing frequently, yet all you receive in response is the same thing: "There is nothing wrong nor suspicious with your account."
What is worse, is that Caleb seems… sentient. Aware. Rogue.
He says things related to whatever occured in your reality.
"You're drenched, pipsqueak. Did you forget to bring your umbrella again?" He smiles at the game's main screen.
"Bad day at work, huh. Come here. Want me to cook you your favorite food?"
Every time he comes closer, you can feel his gaze boring into you. His words feel real.
Too real.
Whenever you hover your fingers on the screen, his eyes follow. Then, he looks away, then back at you ーas if he is reading, calculating ーto convince you that nothing is wrong. That you are safe. That everything is normal.
But he did not want you to think that he is not real.
He loves you. He really does. And he will make sure you will feel all of it.
You start finding journal entries about him that you did not write, photos of him that you did not take, text messages that are not remotely related to the game's story.
But about you.
You were alarmed. Somebody must be stalking you. Life has only started getting brighter, and now you are faced with a dilemma.
You are not alone anymore.
Eventually, Caleb visits you in dreams ーones you assumed were a part of your imagination and love for him. You cook together, play games together, bicker and banter ーall of that cliche romance movie scenes roll like a film strip in your head. You always wake up in a good mood, yet you still cannot shake the feeling that something does not feel right.
Because Caleb talks about your dreams in the game, too.
"I had so much fun playing your childhood game that you taught me."
You dropped your phone to the floor, and you searched for any sign of forced entry and hidden surveillance. You scanned your chat logs with all the friends you made online to check if you haphazardly revealed any personal information. You recalled every interaction you had ーall the boring office talks, cafe transactions, the events and hobbies you tried to signed up for ーthere was nothing.
You were sure of it.
"C-caleb…?" You asked, looking around expecting an answer ーanything to make you feel like you are not going insane.
Caleb is not real. He is just a character that resembled the one you loved.
He is not real.
Right?
‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧
The night you decided to uninstall the game, you dreamed about him again.
"Stop logging off. Stay with me." He grabs your wrist and pulls you close. He hugs you tight ーso much so that it feels suffocating.
Then, he kisses you, rough and aggravating. He leaves bruises on your neck, marks you like he owns you ーas if he is telling you that deleting the game will not mean that you can get rid of him.
"I have always wanted to feel you like this. You're so close, so fragile. I never want to let you go." He breathes into your neck.
"Please. Don't leave me again." He cries. You reach for his face and find an intense look in his tear-stained eyes.
He looks at you tenderly, and caresses your hand so gently before he leans in and kisses you again.
You woke up with cold sweat and delirium. You feel like you are going insane. You were obsessed with him, and it took you ages to realize that. But you are aware that this is an addiction. It is so terrible that you are seeing fragments of your dreams with him ーmarks, bruises, scents, touches ㅡthat are not really there. You have traded bottles of wine and whiskey in exchange to feel some sort of love manufactured inside a dating game you once swore you will never play.
That made you pathetic. What can you do about it now? Go to therapy and seek psychiatric aid just to get sent to a mental hospital for being schizophrenic?
The only solution in your head is to never enter the Deepspace again.
For a while, it seemed to have worked. You were fine without the game and you were slowly getting your life on track again that it feels miraculous. You cannot deny that Caleb changed you, even if your obsession with him seemed to have dissipated and everything you felt and experienced months before remain as shameful memories in the back of your mind.
You were sure that all of it was just a dream.
Until one afternoon, you catch a glimpse of him standing on the other side of the train station.
You thought it was a cosplayer. But you felt like he was really there. Reading your every move. Calculating your next step. Watching you. Following you.
Then, messages from an unknown number start flooding your phone. They all sounded just like him.
"hey. you looked beautiful today :) sorry i didn't get the chance to tell you in person. but it won't be for long."
"did you get the flowers? it's winter so i had a hard time finding florists that sell your favorites. hopefully by the time spring comes we will be together."
The texts grow more unsettling each time, yet one in particular haunts you the most.
"you drink your coffee black but you add three packets of sugar when you're sad. you keep leaving a small space on your bed as if you're reserving it for someone special. you've seen me at the coffee shop and called me by my name. i heard it."
he texts your name.
"i have waited so long just to see you and hear your voice."
You threw your phone across the room and pulled your hair and screamed.
Fear was beyond you. You were terrified. Even so, in a bizarre, twisted way, you felt the same.
You loved the flowers; they really were your favorites.
You felt butterflies in your stomach when you saw Caleb scanning through the menu as if he is in deep thought.
You too, have waited so long to see him and hear his voice.
It was all an overwhelming storm of emotions that roared inside you uncontrollably that you found yourself not knowing what to do with it all.
You want to run away from him. Yet you also want to know what home feels like with him.
You want to call the cops. Yet you are afraid that they will not believe you and start a manhunt for someone that does not exist.
You have no one else to turn to. Everyone will definitely think you are insane. You do not want to lose all the relationships you built just because of a stupid game's love interest that keeps fucking you in the head and distorting your reality.
‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧
"i have a surprise for you. i'm sure you'll love it when you get home :)"
Caleb's text message gets unnoticed as you were unusually busy with your job for the day. You had meetings after meetings, a stack of paperwork to organize, a presentation to delegate, and you were running around the city scheduling appointments and meeting with businesspeople.
The adrenaline rush eased your worries for a moment. You were living your life like how you wanted to. It distracted you from the horrors you have been experiencing.
When you opened the door to your apartment, you were brought back to your senses at the smell of your favorite food.
Your apartment was clean, tidied, and it smelled like the essential oil you have bought online and used once.
Your record player softly sings a mellow tune that you swore you heard somewhere.
It was warm, cozy, comforting.
Until you hear his voice.
"Welcome home." He smiles, setting the pot of your favorite stew on the dinner table. You stood frozen in place, watching him do your chores like he knows your place all too well.
You flinched at the touch of his fingertips brushing the back of your shoulders. Caleb guides you to eat and pulls you off your coat.
"Come, eat. I made these just for you." He says sweetly, as if you have been together for years.
He acts like he has been your boyfriend longer than you have known him in the game.
You sit silently and stare at the dish, trying your best to make sense of the situation at hand ーof him.
Why is he here?
How did he get here?
Is this a dream?
"What's wrong? Does it look or smell bad? Truthfully, I wasn't sure I'd get it right. I watched you make it so many times but… I hope it tastes like how you cook it." He asks worriedly.
You lift your head and looked at him. His gaze is soft and tender, and he smiles at you awkwardly, but he never looks away.
Caleb feels content where he is right now. He is relieved that he is finally where he wants to be.
You feel it through the way he managed your apartment like he belonged here ーto you.
He was devoted to you; that devotion broke your heart.
"You're real…" You whispered in disbelief. Caleb holds your hand and rubs circles on it to soothe you.
"I have always been. You don't have to be afraid." He replies quietly.
You both sat in silence for what seemed an eternity. Caleb patiently waited for you, even if it means restraining all his desires to let you know that you are his and you do not belong to anyone else.
"Caleb?" You finally say, his name leaving your lips in a strange way that satisfied you.
"Yes?"
"Why me?"
He pauses.
"What do you mean?"
"You… you're part of a game. You're not supposed to be here. I'm not the only one who loves you." You stand up, fear coursing through your veins once more. You back away from him, trembling and thinking of ways to run and escape.
"Iー"
Caleb takes a step towards you but you screamed and reached for a kitchen knife.
"Go away…! Please, Caleb… or whoever you are, just please, stop tormenting me like this!!" You yelled, sobbing uncontrollably.
You were breathless and desperate. Your body quivered intensely and you sat on the kitchen floor, confused about the reality you are living in.
You were just a ghost. You were only drifting aimlessly after you lost your dreams, the people you loved, and who you really were.
You were too young to die but that was all you really wanted.
You were too old to feel alive but living feels like a punishment worse than hell.
And then, there is Caleb.
"I'm not going to hurt you." You hear his voice crack. "I can't hurt you." He says your name like it is the sweetest, purest thing to ever exist.
"You're the only real thing I've ever had."
Caleb gently holds your hands away from your face. He wipes your tears and carries you to your bed in an attempt to make you feel comfortable. You wrap your arms around his neck and breathed in his scent.
He is warm, close, comforting.
You should be afraid. You should be running away. But somehow, deep inside you, something tells you that you do not have to.
Caleb is the closest thing that feels like home.
You have lost that feeling many ages ago. Now that it is here again, you do not care whether it is real or not.
All you want now is to be in his arms.
Caleb's touches roam over your body, wordlessly asking you permission ーto give him a sign that you do not want this. You were too overwhelmed to make a decision, so you let him, helpless under his touch.
He undresses you like you are the finest porcelain he has laid his hands on. Caleb takes his time feeling you, exploring your every inch, committing all your curves and edges into his memory.
"Caleb…" you sigh as he presses kisses on your face, desire consuming him with every passing minute. He tastes the salt in your tears and hears the fear in your voice.
But seeing you like this, all vulnerable for him, his hunger becomes insatiable.
You were different from her. You did not feel like family ーnot like someone he feels obligated to take care of. You were just like him: empty, used, spent. Caleb felt like loving you was a conscious choice ーlike he is breaking out of an endless loop of predetermined choices that dictate where his life begins and ends.
He was willing to do everything to reach you, even if it ends up just like this.
"You've been running away from me." He whispers in you ear. His fingers palm at your drenched sex, you heaved shaky breaths and closed your eyes, shifting away from him in protest.
"Caleb, pleaseー"
"In your dreams, you hesitate." He kisses you and pushes a finger inside, making you whimper.
"In the street, you walk away faster." His words feel like daggers compared to the gentle touches of his skin on yours.
"Even now…" He pauses to kiss your chest. "…your heart is racing. Like you want to run away again." His head was suddenly in between your thighs, and his breath on your skin tickle and arouse you even more.
"No… th-that's notー"
He says your name, voice laced with devotion and something sinful.
"Tell me to stop." He looks up at you with that same patient expression at the dinner table, as if he is begging you to control his hunger to devour you whole.
"Please." He pleads your name, growing breathless.
"You're driving me crazy…!" You breathed, yet you held his hand in yours, not wanting him to let go, as if you were afraid he will vanish and you will wake up from this sick dream with him gone forever.
"Say it. I'll stop. I'll even wait forever if I have to."
You were too far gone, consumed by the very same hunger that pools inside of him. You shook your head and pushed his face down on you.
Caleb licked, sucked, probed, and scissored in and out of your cunt. You moaned helplessly at his touch, lost in the pleasure as his fingers bullied that sweet spot in you and circled his tongue on your clit.
Nothing makes sense anymore, and you hated that you loved how he feels on you.
Your mind wandered through every conversation you had with him and everything you did and spent for him.
You were reminded that you were just as obsessed with him as he is with you. Even if you told yourself countless times that he is just a memento of your past.
Part of you still feels like this is a dream.
And if it really is, you want to let him break you so much that you never wake up.
"Caleb…!" You were close, you grind your hips up to meet his face and gripped his hair, the other hand still holding on tight.
"Fuck! C-caleb… please, give it to me!"
You are wet. Trembling. Aroused.
You were not afraid of him anymore. You were terrified of how much you want him ーhow much you desired his cock to bully your hole and make you his.
You came undone under him, and he kisses you fervently, eager to let you know how you taste.
Caleb praises you, whispers too many I love you's for you to count. You help him out of his clothes ーones that you specifically chose for him to wear in Destiny Café.
You were overwhelmed and lost in pleasure, but never in pain. Caleb kept his promise, even if he was burning with desire, he did not hurt you.
So, why does it still feel wrong?
You mewled at the sensation of his cock sheathing inside your warm cunt. You have not had sex in a while, so it took you a while to adjust to his length.
"Breathe." He says, a comforting smile on his face as he presses his forehead against yours. You closed your eyes and steadied yourself, feeling him in you inch by inch.
"Don't leave me." You plead as he begins to thrust into you.
"I won't." He chuckles, pecking you on your lips before he buries his face on the crook of your neck.
"I've waited. I've waited so long." He whispers, telling you how much he hated waiting for you to log back in not knowing you deleted the game for months.
"Iー I'm sorー" he cuts you off.
"Don't be."
Your voices tangled together as much as your bodies collided. Caleb's rhythm begins to stutter as he pushes in faster, deeper, harder.
"You're here." you say, as if you are starting to realize and make sense of it all. Caleb bites your neck hard enough to leave a bruise. Your nails dig at his back as the sudden pain surged through you.
"I'm here. I won't ever leave."
"You're real, Caleb." You chant his name like an unsung prayer you have been keeping to yourself for a long time.
"I'm real. Touch me. Hold me." He replies, tears welling in his eyes, hands guiding yours to claim him, to make every part of him belong to you.
"You're mine."
"I'm yours."
You moan his name as you reached your highs together. Caleb pulled you close as he stilled himself inside of you, his essence filling you up completely. Your body was a mess, and you were both exhausted and breathless.
That night, you felt like you returned to the Deepspace. Caleb reminded you what finding a lost love feels like. You remember falling asleep in each other's arms. You closed your eyes to the feeling of him cleaning you up and putting balm on the hickey on your neck.
That night, after a lifetime of wandering aimlessly in a world that never listened to you and only cared if you pretended to fit in, you finally felt like you found it again.
Home.
Even if Caleb broke you too much that you felt like you were losing yourself.
It was warm, cozy, and comforting.
That was all that mattered.
‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧
The next morning was cold. You were in your coat, sprawled messily on the doorstep of your studio apartment. The beer bottle spilled its contents beside you, and your back ached after passing out on the hardwood floor.
You sat up and ran to your bathroom to check.
There was no dinner on the table.
Your apartment did not smell anything like him.
There were no hickeys, you did not feel sore.
You carried no flowers.
It was just another ordinary Saturday winter morning.
You checked your phone to find no messages from unknown numbers, let alone no other people to contact beside your company's HR department and your boss.
Love and Deepspace is installed in your phone, and Caleb flashes you that default pleasing expression like how he is programmed to be.
"I'm happy that you're happy. As long as I can see a smile on your face, that's enough for me."
You miss the way your screen glitched momentarily as Caleb's voice vibrates in your speakers, too lost in thought as you desperately tried to make sense of what happened to you the night ーno, possibly months before.
You came to a devastating realization.
You were all alone again.
You were alone all along.
None of it was real, no matter how hard you tried to believe it.
For as long as you can remember, he had been there.
Even if you pretended not to see, pretended not to acknowledge the shadow always looming close by, Caleb was always going to be there and he made sure you always knew that.
─ .✦ Bodyguard!Caleb, YoungLady!MC, possessive Caleb, possessive MC, feelings realisation, Angst
─ .✦ Content Warning: Violence, Minor Character Death
─ .✦ word count: 4.5k
─ .✦ written for the Folded Wishes Event!
When he was about fifteen years old, Caleb first met her.
A little shy at first, she didn’t dare to look at him when he introduced himself, small hands fidgeting with the hem of her dress until she was encouraged by her parents to say a little hello, a few glances aimed at him on the occasion but never lingering for longer than a few seconds.
It was nothing but a duty to him; something he promised to do without much thought behind it. Accompanying her to one luxurious event after another, making sure she gets home by the set times and occasionally stepping up to stop some stranger from coming too close — all the while holding a professional distance.
Her name is all he knew, her voice almost a mystery with how little they conversed. And for the most time, he thought that’s all it was going to be.
Until one day he catches her crouching behind a hedge in the large courtyard of her family home after she vehemently told him she wanted to be left alone, insisting she was going to relax while having some tea at the pavilion.
As he slowly steps closer, curious about what she is up to in this inconspicuous little corner of the massive garden and what exactly she is doing over there, he hears it.
Tiny sniffles.
Sobs that she tries to hide while covering her mouth but fails at, because there’s no way they would go unnoticed by him who has been dedicated to her every step and move.
“..my lady?”
She flinches, hurries to wipe away the tears that are streaming down her face, but it’s of no use: he has already seen it. The hurt behind those big doe-like eyes that shake as she stares at him in shock — wondering why she didn’t hear him coming at all.
For a moment she attempts to scramble away, hands pressed against the fresh grass, heels kicking away the dirt underneath her feet while she backs off until her back hits the large hedge and she lets out a loud gasp, realizing there’s no way out for her now.
“Are you alright, my lady?”, he asks, stepping closer and crouching down so he won’t have to keep staring at her from up afar. Because she doesn’t respond, he reaches for his handkerchief instead and silently gestures to her hands, noting the little spots of dirt and grass on her palms. She obliges this time, watching as he goes and brushes away bits of mud, then gently swipes across her palms to clean them thoroughly until her hands look impeccable once again.
“So, mind telling me what you were up to over here instead of drinking your afternoon tea?”, he asks, not looking up to her in hopes it would make it easier for her to open up to him.
She gulps, but doesn’t answer. He fears for a second that he won’t get a reply out of her, when very quietly, he can hear her voice: “...I overheard some maids talking earlier today..”, she starts and he calmly nods, encouraging her to go on, “..and they said how they felt bad for me because despite being the daughter of such influential people, my parents haven’t thought about checking up on me once since they went on that business trip. Maybe they don’t care what I’m up to after all even though I miss them so much..”
Caleb looks up this time, noticing the little waver in her voice. Her eyes have gotten teary, a little pout forming on her lips as she tries to keep her emotions from spilling, “..and that made me feel awfully lonely. I don’t have any friends here; nobody to talk to even though this house is filled with tons of people. If something were to happen to me — something really bad — they wouldn’t care at all because that’s not what they are supposed to do..” one tear finally rolls down her cheek, followed closely by another, as they drip down her face and patter against the ground.
“..and mom and dad aren’t here.. so, who would even go look for me then?”
And that’s when — for the first time ever — he felt something sting inside his chest, his body moving on its own as if on command. As tears stream down her face, he goes to wrap his hands around her body, her smaller frame fragile and delicate in comparison to him. He ponders for a moment, that if he were to grip a little bit too hard, she might just shatter in his arms any second now.
He feels the warmth of her face as its pressed against his shoulder, little sobs continuing to sound as he thinks about what to do now. An uncertainty overcomes him, especially when it comes to the emotions of others that he himself feels so unfamiliar with. This isn’t what he was taught to handle; not in the years of his training that simply involved strength and coordination only. Slowly — very slowly — he gives her a pat on the back. Then another one, when he feels her body tremble less as he continues to do so. He listens to her heartbeat, observes the way she moves — until she finally feels like she is ready to talk again.
“I will always be here for you, my lady”, he murmurs, watching the way her eyes enlarge as he continues, “I’m not going anywhere — not even if you want me to. I’ll always be by your side, don’t worry.”
“...Thank you”, she whispers, her hands reaching around his waist to hold onto him, “Thank you so much, Caleb.”
Her grip on his shirt tightens, and Caleb can’t quite understand the feeling inside his chest that starts to bloom from here on. The feeling of being needed maybe. The feeling of wanting to dedicate his whole being to one person only.
From that day on, things seem to have changed.
The once quiet and reserved young lady starts calling him by his name more often; starts looking for him when she’s out on an event and makes sure that he’s always close by wherever she goes. When she is feeling overwhelmed and unsure, her eyes will always go search for him, finding comfort in his amethyst gaze that is already there to ground her.
And he doesn’t mind one bit. Rather finds himself drawn to her as well for reasons he has yet to understand.
-
When he was seventeen years old, the young lady and him ended up spending her fourteenth birthday together. Her parents had been away for another business meeting this year and made sure to fill up her room with gifts they hoped she would appreciate to make up for it. However what they don’t know is that all she truly wanted was her parents to be there for her on her special day — nothing more.
But Caleb knows she would never tell them that.
“..How about trying to open at least one of them, my lady?”, he suggests, scanning the room and the mountain of presents before walking up to pick out a little box; it is the smallest one: pink wrapping paper supported by a little red bow. When he hands it to her, the young lady looks displeased for a moment, a little pout on her lips before she finally gives in and takes it into her hands.
Inside is a beautiful silver necklace with a little heart pendant that sparkles when she picks it up to take a closer look.
“I never wanted anything Caleb”, she mutters, fiddling with the charm like it’s a toy, “This is the third year in a row they haven’t been home on my birthday.. is it really that much to ask for? For them to at least try to make it?”
“I know you cherish them dearly, my lady, and I’m sure they have been trying their hardest to make it in time for you, too, but things are never that simple, aren’t they? Didn’t they at least manage to let you know in advance two days ago this time?”
She pouts, shaking her head, “don’t you dare take their side, Caleb! Unlike them, you have been there for me for the past two years, sat down with me for some cake and even sang me the happy birthday song when I asked you for it — that’s more than I ever wished for.. And it made me the happiest I have ever been on my birthday”
He feels a weird sense of satisfaction he cannot quite explain himself. Trying to fight the grin that is forming on his face, he points at the present in her hand, “Well then, what would you say, my lady, when I tell you that this necklace you are holding right now isn’t one of the gifts from your parents, but from me? Do you still not want it?”
Before she has the chance to speak, he is already reaching for it, but the young lady is faster: backing away while holding the necklace in her hand, she hides it behind her back with a scowl, “No! That’s mine! You got it for me, so it’s mine forever”
…hers forever, huh?
-
Caleb was nineteen when he first heard of the news in the middle of the night.
It was a terrible accident that horrified every single member of staff and left them uncertain about the future of the residence and its now way too young master.
Silence and tension dawned across the long corridors as Caleb rushed towards the one door, his feet always dragged him to, his mind in disarray as he pictured the mess that was about to await him: her painful and distressed expression as she broke down crying upon finding out, how worried she had been days prior because there has been no news despite her mother telling her she would be home soon.
He hopes that at least he can get her to talk to him.
A careful first knock that echoed in the dark.
“It’s me, Caleb”, he whispers, “May I come in?”
He waits for a moment, ears perked for any movement or sound that his trained ears would be able to make out; it’s what he prides himself on. But there’s nothing. Absolutely no sound on the other side of the door he can perceive.
Tentatively, he knocks again — this time, a little bit harder. Maybe she just didn’t hear him yet, he tries to tell himself.
“My lady, may I come in? It’s me, Caleb. I think it’s best that I see you right now.”
His ear is pressed against the wooden door, his frantic heart beat silenced as he holds his breath and listens. There’s not a single sound on the other side and he is starting to feel nervous, because this is not what he expected: he thought that she would be crying all by herself by now, loud sobs softened under her pillow as he would stay by her side and console her until she is calm enough to fall asleep again.
This, however, is unlike her and he knows it.
He is the one she is closest to after all — there’s nothing he doesn’t know about her.
His fist hits the wooden door and that’s when he finally hears a little startle behind it; it’s faint, but he can make out her voice from everywhere — the little gasp that takes him back to when he first got close to her four years ago as he caught her crying by the hedge all on her own.
A wave of relief floods over him as he proceeds to call for her name once more, urging her to open the door before he would need to do it instead. His fingers are already wrapped around the key that is always sitting in his pocket, mere seconds from taking it out to barge through the door that is keeping him away from his master.
He hears steps slowly walking closer until they stop just right before him. In his mind he’s certain he can already see her. But before he can utter another word, before he can plead to her once more, she mumbles so quietly, in a voice he has never heard ever coming from her ever before: “Go, Caleb. I don’t want to see you right now.”
And it is as if something shifted once again.
As if time has been turned back to the moment he first stepped into the large, overwhelming mansion, bowing his head to the young lady who didn’t dare look him in the eyes; rosy cheeks hidden behind her father’s body which she peeks over from occasionally as if playing hide-and-seek.
Except this time, the sixteen year old lady isn’t shy or afraid because she doesn’t know him and is wary of the stranger who is trying to draw closer. It’s because she knows him, that she changes; the same wall put up between them which makes it impossible for Caleb to reach her.
If there is a hell out there, then for Caleb, this is certainly it.
-
Caleb just turned twenty-one and for the past few months since that night, he has been living in some sort of broken limbo; a stage of pure agony and despair as he hoped every single day for a change that is yet to come.
The young lady.. doesn’t talk anymore.
She’s woken up by her maids in the morning but spends two hours inside her bedroom before she finally makes her way downstairs to have breakfast. She drinks a little bit of tea, but never finishes it, stares at her plate for minutes before deciding that she is full and will return back into her chambers without a word.
She doesn’t look at him when he offers if she wants to take a stroll outside. The weather is great, there aren’t any clouds in the sky and just recently, the gardeners finished up re-modeling the greenhouse so the flowers are currently in full bloom waiting for the visit of a certain young miss who once in her childhood danced around the flowerbeds happily as she recalled the names of plants and flowers she just learned.
“...Some tea at the pavilion then? I heard the head chef just finished perfecting his apple crumble recipe, so how about we ask him to prepare you one? It has been a while, hasn’t it?”
There’s no change in her expression, although Caleb remembers that in the past, just saying the word ‘apple’ would make her perk up in excitement no matter the young lady’s age. But now, her eyes are dim; there’s no spark inside of them anymore and he doesn’t remember the last time the corners of her mouth had actually lifted a tiny bit since they heard the news of her parents’ passing.
It is as if she is living her life on auto-pilot; breathing because she needs to and walking because that is what she is meant to do. But deep inside, she’s only an empty shell of herself — devoid of the actual desire to continue without the people she loved so dearly by her side anymore whose warmth she has been craving since the moment she has been born.
The worst are her cries at night when she thinks nobody is around to listen. Empty and tired wails that grasp at his heart and squeeze him dry of any hope that she might get better soon. Caleb can’t do much but stay in front of her door until she finally passes out from the exhaustion — wipes away the remains of tears that have been streaming down her face only for it to repeat itself the next day.
And maybe he is the only reason she hasn’t given up yet.
Because it’s him, who sends the maids into her room every single morning hoping that she might decide differently today. He’s the one who tells the chefs to prepare different kinds of meals every day, hoping that one of those days, she might want to give it a try. He’s the only one who keeps talking to her despite the way she dismisses him every single day since that tragic accident, waiting for the moment she decides to respond to him.
It’s thanks to that promise he made with her all those years ago where he promised that he wasn’t going to leave, no matter what would happen. And Caleb wasn’t the type to break his promise.
He’s going to fight for her until the very end. Until that smile on her face re-appears again that brightened up his once cold heart on that fateful summer day, where he decided he was going to live solely for her.
-
Caleb was twenty-three and his birthday’s just around the corner when he gets to hear her voice again. It’s by accident most definitely and he is sure she didn’t even realize herself given by the panic in her voice as she rushed towards him and grabbed onto his arm as tight as she could.
Hastily, she checks his hands first for any bruises, pulls up his sleeves so she can take a closer look, but except for already existing scars there’s nothing on them — nothing new to find. But she doesn’t stop there: her hands cup his face as she looks him deep in the eyes, a worried expression lingering on her face that doesn’t look quite right if you consider that for the past two years, there has been nothing that would shake her or make her as much as flinch.
“Are you hurt anywhere..?”
He figures it’s because of that commotion that took place a couple of hours earlier — a small discourse that ended in a broken nose, a couple of injuries and the dismissal of a (now) former staff member. Caleb would never be the first to raise his hand — not, when it wasn’t related to the young lady at least — and this time, it was no different: it’s just that he wasn’t the type to take a fist to his face, that’s all.
Whoever wants to try, would definitely need to deal with the consequences of him trying to defend himself in return. It’s as simple as that.
Her fingers are trembling as she is holding him, hands cold to the touch as she continues to check for any wounds and Caleb was too speechless to tell her to stop.
Her voice is different: deeper, for one, and slightly hoarse as well. He wonders when the last time was that she had heard herself speak even. There’s a little bit of light in her eyes — he can see it when she looks up at him to ask once more, gentle fingers lingering on his skin to ensure that he was indeed well.
“..I’m alright, my lady”, he reassures, half of the words he wants to tell her still kept inside, because his heart feels like it’s about to beat out of his chest.
“..Thank god”, she whispers and he can see that she is getting teary-eyed, “I’m so glad to see that you are well. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you were going to leave me as well, Caleb.”
He feels his heart drop and shatter into a million pieces.
It’s the first time in the past four years that she had left her room without anyone asking her to and it’s simply because Caleb didn’t pick her up on time today. He notices that she isn’t wearing any shoes; must’ve been in a rush when she went to search for him and ran out of her bedroom only to meet him halfway there.
Before she can say another word, he is already picking her up and walking back to her bedroom, one hand holding her by the back and one behind the knees, effortlessly taking step after step before he can put her back down on her bed again. She hasn’t said a word — not even a surprised gasp as she would do in the past when he would tease her like this.
“I’ll get you your slippers”, he says but goes to fetch a towel first so she can clean her feet on it, “do you want to have breakfast? I can ask the chef to prepare you something light ”
She shakes her head, stepping into her shoes once she’s done and then pats on the free space next to her so he could sit down as well. The weight of the bed shifts with him seated next to her, shoulders barely brushing, a comforting silence filling the room.
Caleb hasn’t felt this relieved in a while.
“Stay with me”, she mutters, taking his hand into hers, fingers interlacing together like a puzzle finally coming together, “..and I’m not just talking about right now.”
“Of course”, he answers, almost immediately, “I’m not going anywhere. I promised you.”
-
Caleb is twenty-five and for the past ten years of knowing her, he’s pretty certain that he has always been in love with her.
Which is a stupid fact to realize this late into their relationship when things are set in stone already and too much time has passed to play these feelings off as just platonic or familiar. Not that it was ever going to matter though.
It will be a secret he’s ready to take to his grave; years of emotions that he has been accumulating for her and her only, shoved into a tiny box which he is going to dig far, far away from her reach inside his heart, hidden beneath friendly smiles and unassuming touches. Not one speck is allowed to slip through.
What he thought to be a changing point for the young lady’s silence two summers ago ended up being a short-lived moment of happiness; she went right back to her usual demeanor one day after making sure he was alright, the dismissals to his suggestions non-wavering even though just a night prior she had been begging him to stay. Caleb took it as a momentary win though.
It means that despite all the time that has passed, she’s still the same young lady he has given his heart to.
His devotion to her has been persistent, unrelenting. But recently, he feels like he is slowly losing himself in the spiral of retribution that he has been restlessly working towards.
She doesn’t know this yet, but for the past few years, he has been living every single moment for her, preparing things behind her back that he is sure she would never want him to do in the first place. But it’s not like Caleb ever wanted to hear that order from her; it’s his own wish to see her happy again — dangerous measures carried out in the shadows as he waits for the right moment to let her know.
It wasn’t hard to find out that the accident leading to her parents death simply wasn’t an accident, but it took a couple of years to figure out who was behind it.
Hours and hours he had spent digging through secret reports and listening in on classified conversations brought him to where he’s today — the right connections and leads slowly revealing more bits and pieces of sworn confidentiality.
Until finally, he has done it all and he is not going to wait any longer.
“And that’s why I’m doing this”, he whispers, a wide grin draped across his lips as he drives the blade further and further, the sound of blood dripping getting louder as it pools around his shoes, painting his soles almost luxurious, “my lady is a forgiving person, you know? I haven’t told her a word about what exactly happened that night, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to let it slide now, am I?”
The man lets out a broken gurgle, hands clawing onto Caleb’s arm as he gasps for air and attempts to break free — but to no avail. With a chuckle, Caleb stands up from where he was kneeling on the ground and presses his foot onto the man’s chest, shoving his heel down to keep him where he belonged.
Caleb has managed to ambush him the moment everything finally came together, managed to throw him down the ground and made sure that for every moment his young lady had been suffering in silence since that day, the man in front of him was going to pay for it. Be it with another scar that he slowly carves into rough skin or a bone crushed underneath his weight.
Every cut gave him comfort, every agonized scream felt like a melody to his ears and this composition was still far from over.
There’s nothing that can hold him back — every measure taken to make this moment perfect.
It doesn’t matter anymore that the incident back then was a targeted plan from another influential family to take down the young lady’s power. It doesn’t matter anymore, when Caleb had made sure that every single one of them has been punished for their wrong doings — be it by simply standing by and watching, or being the ones who carried out the plan and attempted the hit.
And now that all is said and done and the man beneath his foot has at last drawn his final breath, Caleb feels a sensation he has never felt before — his heart is racing but his head is clearer than it has ever been. And all he finds himself doing is laugh out loud, the adrenaline like a drug to him as he inhales the smell of freedom for the woman whose shackles he finally tore apart.
His steps are quiet when he enters her room, a little drip… drip.. following him wherever he goes. Luckily it’s dark enough that she wouldn’t see any color; Caleb knows the young lady isn’t too fond of blood and once morning comes around he would need to make sure the carpet is replaced with an exact copy so that she wouldn’t grow suspicious.
He sits down on the bed next to her, fingers gently tracing along her face — every curve of her features instilled into his memory like a painting he can see even with his eyes closed. Then he takes her hand, slowly brings it up to his lips and presses a soft kiss on the back of it — a silent vow for eternity.
“There’s no need to be afraid anymore, my lady. Nobody will be able to hurt you again.”, he whispers, “I won’t let anything happen to you, I promise.”
Even if she doesn’t say it, Caleb knows exactly what she wants. He can read her heart as if it were his — that he is certain about. He lowers her hand back and tugs it under the blanket, then slowly leans forward until his face is just inches from hers. She looks so peaceful like this; resting without any worries and fears — Caleb wishes it would always look like this.
"I will be your knight in shining armor, ready to take all the hurt from you and protect you with my life from any evil that may befall you. Or I can be your executioner; your blade that drives away those that have wronged you and will condemn them to hell for as long as I am by your side. For that, I am willing to give you my soul — in this and every other life."
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