Yandere Scientist!Caleb based off of tanner from scrutinized for obvious reasons
cw. a slightly darker one than the others, needles, sedation, breaking and entering, freaky man
i think some ppl on the taglist are mainly expecting jjk content (bc the last two weekends have been that) but im switching it up since yansats are for any fandom im a part of and i want to make it semi even! but feel free to comment what you guys want to see more of :D
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“C’mon, baby, just open the door,” the relentless croon persists through your worryingly thin bedroom door, metal handle wobbling between your sweaty palm as you attempt to keep it from turning downwards.
“Go away!” You cry, leaning your whole body weight against a door.
It happens fast. The handle slips through your fingers, and you barely get a chance to avoid bumping into the door that slams open. You inhale a trembling breath, slowly backing away from the looming, broad figure in the doorway.
“I’m warning you,” you blurt, heart pounding against your ribcage. “I’ve c-called the police! They’re on the way!”
They’re not. Your phone is somewhere in the living room, left there in your rush to hide in the bedroom when you’d heard the heart-dropping crash of your window smashing.
You should’ve kept it on you. Should’ve known, with the brunette man you’ve caught lurking for weeks outside the house on your security cameras, that you’re in danger.
You take another stumbling step back. The pale lab coat Caleb dons is visible even in your dimmed room as he steps forward, a wide smile spreading across his handsome face.
“Hey,” he hums as if he’s ecstatic to see you, “you don’t have to lie. I mean, I’ve been watching you long enough to know your mannerisms.”
“Why?” you stammer out. “What do you want from me?”
He clicks his tongue, tilting his head. “You’re so cute when you’re scared. I just want to talk, honey.”
You’re cornered. There’s nowhere to go, and all you can do is glance around the room for something, anything to defend yourself with.
“You’re hurting my feelings,” he mock pouts, violet eyes glimmering cruelly. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
The daunting needle he raises says otherwise.
“It’s just a prick.” And you’re knocked to the floor, his body pinning you down. You cringe and squirm as a warm, damp sensation drags over your cheek— he’s licking you.
There’s a painful poke into the side of your neck, and you can only gasp out as your vision blurs, and you go slack as strong arms embrace you.
“Don’t worry, the pain will go away soon.”
wait this is lowk giving ideas of yandere scientist gojo now 😺
taglist for yansaturdays (open): @catladythoughts @suckerforhimbos @almondhippie @suguruscumswallower @wmelonlord
Yandere superhero!gojo who just won’t leave the reader alone! wc~ 900
heavily inspired by the manga: Village Girl Stalked by the World-Saving Hero (title gives the plot away, in typical manga fashion)
Your parent’s diner is fairly busy tonight, so you’re already on edge attempting to balance too many circular trays without tipping yourself over. At least there are plenty of regulars here tonight, like usual— you can lose yourself in chatting with them for a while, and they give generous tips that’ll go straight into your ever-growing savings. Just a few more days, and you can finally use the money to escape this small village and venture into the city to start your life.
You’re carrying another tray to a table when you hear the whispers. Even the table you’re serving is turned around in their seats, necks craning to steal a glance at something behind you. You don’t have to search for it. The source practically finds you.
“Hi,” Gojo Satoru beams, and he’s looking far too happy to be sitting alone, hand propped up on his chin as he just looks at you. And stares.
You let out a startled little yelp, bowl nearly slipping off your tray.
This was about the seventh time he’s visited you, and yet he never failed to send chills down your spine every time. Despite your protests, the hero insisted on visiting often, claiming he needed to “check up” on you. Everyone else saw it as noble and generous. You wonder how he’s so comfortable about being an obvious perv, and why nobody else can see him for what he is.
It started months back. You would call it the worst mistake of your life, but you can’t find it in yourself to regret helping someone. Even if that someone happened to be him.
You’d found him slumped against a tree just near the diner. He looked pale and was unshaven, like a drunkard who happened to wander to your village in a stupor. But one look at his sculpted body should’ve told you he was definitely not so insignificant.
“Sir, what are you doing here?” You’d approached, concerned.
His head had only lolled to the side in confirmation that he could hear you. He began muttering something absurd about dragons and how he hadn’t eaten in weeks, and you only rushed to the diner to bring back some stew and bread.
“Say ah, open your mouth,” you’d cupped his chin with your warm, soft hand, waving a spoonful in front of his mouth, and his lips instantly parted at your heavenly touch.
“You need to eat to regain your strength. Goodness, hadn’t your mother ever warned you against drinking so much?”
And Satoru’s been following you around ever since.
He just won’t stop. He shows up to the diner as you work, freakishly blue eyes tracking your every move. When you snap your head in his direction, he only smiles sweetly and waves, perfectly content to sit there as you ignore him if it just means he gets to see you. Your brief strolls in the wilderness have been interrupted too many times by him suddenly appearing beside you. Your screams of shock are enough to send flocks of birds startling out of the treetops. Even during your outings with friends, you’ve seen a flash of his silver hair in a crowd, and though you can’t pinpoint his exact location, you know he’s around, watching.
Getting stalked by a hero who has teleportation powers and has the world convinced he’s a saint? Yeah, it’s hard.
You take a few deep breaths to calm your nerves before heading over to Satoru’s table. A few girls at a table nearby eye him and giggle. Why you? Practically the whole world worships him, and yet he’d rather nag you, the awkward village girl who’s terrified by him?
“Hello,” you nod as you approach, hyperaware of the way Satoru’s gaze drags up your body. Not in a leering way, but you’d almost prefer that to the lovesick look in his eyes. The way he watches you like he already has you, like you’re already his. “What would you like today?”
He greets you by your name, then leans in close, pretty lips curving into a grin. “You.”
You reel back a bit, mouth agape with mortification. This, this is why you hate when Gojo Satoru shows his face here.
Satoru tilts his head back and lets out a melodic laugh so charming people nearby pause their conversations to swoon. You repress a shiver. “Kidding! My regular, please.”
“Alright,” you squeak. Satoru watches you scurry away, a dopey grin on his face.
He just found you so cute.
Your big eyes made you look like a mouse. A fearful, little mouse, completely powerless against his crushing claws. He just wants to cradle you between them, fawn over how weak you are compared to him.
Everyone already worshipped him to boredom, their devotion a welcomed yet tiring development in his life. After all, none of them bothered to look his way when he was without power. When the world turned on him, labeled him as a dangerous monster, before he became a hero in their eyes after a successful battle.
All except you.
When he was at his weakness, you nursed him back to health without even knowing who he was, simply offering the kindness you’d give to any stranger like it’s second nature. Little did you know it, it wasn’t just the food you gave him that day that brought him back from the near dead. It was the glimpse into your pure, gentle soul that instantly gave him a reason for living.
And he’d be damned if he let you go. You two would just have to keep playing this little game until he catches you.
yansat #2 is here ayayay
@catladythoughts @suckerforhimbos
comment to join the growing taglist for yandere saturdays!
guys im so freaking close to finishing that hockey gojo PR reader fic omg im FORCING myself to post it tonight let this be an unofficial taglist for it
oh this is cute um so im cutely going to request an extension bc i ned to edit it to make sure its not hot crap so uummmmm BUT LILAC YAN SATURDAY IS UP
guys im so freaking close to finishing that hockey gojo PR reader fic omg im FORCING myself to post it tonight let this be an unofficial taglist for it
Warnings: MDNI, NONCON -> DUBCON (coerced), F!Reader, noncon face sitting, forced orgasm, edging, cunnilingus, captivity, yandere themes, obsession, possessiveness, oral f. receiving, clit play, teasing, block me if uncomfortable + not proofread.
do not romanticize or normalize dark content irl.
Yandere!Captor who forces you to sit on his face, he absolutely loves it, being smothered by your cunt is an absolute dream for him.
Your hands are tied behind your back as he tightens his grip on your thighs, holding you down, pressing his lips against the fleshy pads of your cunt before he makes contact with your clit, giving it a few smooches that make you visibly flinch before he captures it into his mouth.
You let out a bunch of protests, struggling against his face as he holds you tight, he would forcefully drag you down whenever you'd lift your hips— breaking contact between your cunt and his lips. It earns a dissatisfactory groan from him, brows furrowed as he grips you tighter until his knuckles were turning white.
He connects his lips to your cunt again, dragging his tongue from your slit to your clit slowly before swirling it around the bud.
When he feels you trying to break away again— even though you can't— he'll use his teeth, clamping his teeth down onto your clit not too harsh that it'll hurt you, but just enough to cause pain which makes your thighs give up reflexively, causing you to lose balance and sit snuggly on his face.
You quickly try to lift yourself up, but you fail when he nibbles on your sensitive bud, making your thighs tremble and your hips move in an effort to soothe the jolts of pain travelling through your spine.
You could feel his smirk before he stops nibbling on it, giving it small flicks with his tongue before he presses it flat against your clit and closes his mouth around it, slowly licking up and down as he tries relieve the same pain he caused.
You let out a sigh of relief as the sharp pain slowly fades, involuntarily bucking your hips against his face without realisation as it feels very soothing.
The wetness seeps out of you in embarassing amounts, which only serves as a device to mock you later when he does this all over again.
“Oh fuck— she's soaking f'me.” You hear his muffled voice, his breath felt warm in between your thights.
You drop your head in shame, because you can hear how disgustingly wet you've gotten due to his actions, the slurrping noises echo in your ears like a mockery and a reminder of how your body chooses to betray you everytime.
All because of him.
He feels his cock twitch in his pants, getting harder and harder each and every second. But he stays focused, continuing to devour your cunt like a man starved.
He groans into it, causing vibrations to shoot up in your core, making you shiver in an unwelcomed satisfaction.
He drinks up all the juices you were leaking like it was nectar, letting out satisfactory noises as if he's eating a fancy meal. You're chest breaks out involuntary moans no matter how much you try to contain them, which only makes him feral knowing that he's the reason, it makes him feel very validated to and egoistic.
“Mhm? At least some part of you is honest with me.” He mutters, rubbing salt into your wound, adding more to the shame you were feeling.
He presses kisses all over it, sighing when he feels your clit flutter in his mouth when he traps it in his mouth.
“Fuck, you're so divine baby. I love you so so so so so much.” He adds breathlessly, face flustered as he dines on your cunt.
You swallow the lump in your throat, toes curling in pleasure when you feel a familiar knot tighten in your stomach. You start squirming again, not wanting the knot in your stomach to snap and betray you wholly.
But it was impossible not when he's below you, working his mouth like he's desperate.
You brace yourself for the impact.
Yet, nothing happens, in fact, you feel the absence of his mouth which makes you look down, he had pulled away right before you could cum.
The feeling in your stomach fades, but not in a way that you expected it to, it left behind a frustrating ache that gnawed in your gut, it made you irritated. You let out a huff in disappointment reflexively.
You thought maybe he'd stop, maybe he's had his fill? whatever that means.
You expect him to pull you off him, but he doesn't do that, he reattaches himself again, once again capturing your cunt wholly, tongue prodding at your entrance as he slowly tries shoving the wet muscles in.
You're left confused, wondering what he's planning, but nonetheless you feel the knot form in your stomach again.
You expect it to snap, but once again, it's abruptly interrupted, leaving a sense of frustration behind. You open your mouth to question— but you're quickly shut up when you feel his mouth on you again.
He repeats it everytime you're near a few more times.
It leaves you more frustrated than ever, overriding every other emotion. You whine in disappointment as your orgasm is abruptly stolen once again.
You let out a frustrated cry, brows furrowed as you feel tears welling up in your eyes, you press your hips down, pushing your cunt against his mouth involuntarily as the irritation of being denied your bliss was driving you insane.
“What is it baby? Wanna cum?” He asked, huffing against your bud. You looked down, staring into his eyes as he gave you a smirk.
He was doing this on purpose.
“If you don't use your voice, I'll just have to keep on doing this.” He mumbled, pressing a kiss to your bottom lips.
You stayed quiet, trying to break away from his grip, hands tugging against the rope to loosen it but it doesn't work.
He starts his shenanigan once again, maneuvering you down and pressing you flush to his face.
You gasp, feeling your high build up slowly, you squirm against his face, pressing your cunt flat against his mouth but he turns his head away, causing you to almost collapse forward in exasperation.
“Please...” You bite your lip, voice coming out meekly.
“Please what baby?” He asks, smooching your inner thigh. “You want to cum?” He adds.
You nod, head moving up and down as you look at him with a neediness you've never experienced before.
“Beg.” He comands, thumb drawing circles on your thigh.
He is so fucking mean, asking you to beg for something you didn't want in the first place— usually he'd make you cum without asking you for anything, but today, he shifted his plans, dead set on making you betray your own self.
You didn't want to, but you know that he'll torture you like this for hours if you didn't.
“P-please, I want to cum.” You murmer, voice shaky as he drags his tongue across your slit after hearing that.
“More.” He tuts.
“Please, I wanna cum, I want to cum so badly. Please let me cum.” You beg, humiliation churning in your gut. “Oh fuck—!” You choke on your words when he pushes his tongue inside you. You could feel the warm muscle invade your depths causing you to see stars, your cunt clenches around it, trying to grip it but it causes the soft muscle to be pushed out instead.
He continues working his mouth, soft pants leaving from him too as he makes out with your pussy.
“Tell me you love me.” He utters, fingers digging into your flesh, causing a little amount of pain.
You shut your eyes, feeling the same knot build up in your stomach for the nth time.
“I'll stop if you don't. I can play the long game.” He threatens, slowing down but you panic, shaking your head.
“No! Please, I love you, I love you.” You chant frantically, not wanting him to stop as the knot begins to feel like it's about to rip apart.
“I love you— I love you so much! please please please,” You repeat it over and over again, earning a satisfactory groan from him. “Ahh! oh!— fuck fuck—” You choke, letting out a loud moan as your high crashes down on you.
It hit harder than any other orgasm you've experienced before, you collapsed forward due to the sheer intensity, face landing into the soft mattress of the bed that you learnt to call your home.
Your body twitched as you collected yourself, hips bucking into his face, riding your orgasm out. Your thighs trembled, body shaking visibly due to the aftermath of your orgasm.
His hands slide up your waist gently before they come down, he lifts one of your thighs planted on the side of his head to pull himself away from beneath and sits up straight as he turns to look at you.
You collapse to your side, hands still behind your back as you gasp for air, chest back and forth.
He smiles cruelly, pushing you onto your back before undoing his pants and lining himself against your freshly abused cunt, he could see the way it was still swollen, still throbbing in desperation.
“I love you too.” He cooes before pushing himself inside without a warning.
— gojo satoru, geto suguru, yuta okkotsu, yuji itadori, tamsy caines, dabi, katuski bakugo, + feel free to imagine any character you like!
all characters mentioned are all obviously aged up.
caleb using his gravity evol to make you bounce on his dih (18+)
A/N. first smut of 2026 am i right (and first smut of this account i think)
tags. dom!caleb, smut obvi, consensual
Your thighs quake with each ruthless movement, slick skin meeting Caleb's over and over. A caress of violet evol skims your hips, warping the air around you until you're boneless as it pushes you down into repeated bounces and grinds.
"C-Cay," you mewl, breathless under the force of his gravity making you do all the work. The man beneath you just hums, one arm lazily resting under his head, the other hand lilting in the air to guide your motions. A sharp grin slips on his face at your whines.
"Yeeess?" He retorts, other hand coming up to tweak at your twitchy clit, head leaning forward to deliver a sharp nip to your tantalizing breasts swaying over him. You gasp and jerk, but your hands are still pinned to his chest, a purple shimmer keeping them there.
"Caleb, you're s-so mean!" you sniff,
"Yeah, I'm mean, baby?" Caleb mock pouts, and the air shifts around you in retaliation, making you move in an even more punishing pace. Your protests die on your lips as his kiss begins kissing that spongey spot inside you, white sparks exploding behind your eyelids. The schlik of your ridiculously wet pussy hugging his cock tightly accompanies your panting.
Your toes curl against the sheets, lips parting. It feels so good, especially as his hand comes down to rub at your clit again, and you can feel you're close.
Your body starts moving on its own volition; instead of remaining limp in his gravity's hold, you start actively bouncing down on his cock, clenching in anticipation. The evol aids your movements, making you take him deeper than ever before.
Caleb's taunting facade melts away at this; his eyebrows furrow in pleasure, lips parting. The hand lazily resting behind him scrambles up to rest on your hips, as if he's torn between making you slow or guiding you.
"F-fuck, honey, it's so good, I'm gonna cum," he blurts out in a rasp, strong hands gripping your waist now in overstimulation. "Slow down, I can't-"
You huff, not ceasing your movements. His evol doesn't stop rocking you back and forth either despite his protests, as if it's a separate entity itself.
"Cay, ngh!-" and you grind his tip hard one last time against your g-spot before you're coming, velvet walls releasing creamy spasms around his thick shaft. It drenches your thighs and his lap, dribbling down on the sheets.
Caleb follows suit immediately, whimpering your name as his seed floods inside you, evol immediately releasing its hold over you. You collapse against his chest at the sudden loss of support, cheek hitting his rising chest.
"Fuck," he shudders again, and you can hear his pounding heartbeat, as if he was the one who did all the work.
summary: breaking up with your ex-fiancé, caleb, is like trying to cancel your gym membership: unfortunately, you'll be locked in for a lifetime. but at least being his ex comes with some nice perks. period care on demand, cuddles whenever you like, and a solution to all of the problems that come with an old apartment. he's a constant in your busy life. a little crazy... maybe a lot crazy. but soon, you come to accept that rather than forsake him for it.
contents: nsfw (sexual themes but no actual sex), kinda crack and angst, implied death of minor character(s), implied that caleb drugs you, swearing (you know me), yandere and themes of possession and obsession, reader has a cat hence the header images, 9k words
original thought post + read on ao3
It's just after 9am when your doorbell rings. You glance up, eyes wide like a cat caught in the midst of pawing a glass over the edge of a table. Your breakfast sits in front of you, half-eaten. Grabbing a napkin, you hastily wipe your mouth before scurrying over to the front door. Swinging it open, you find a young delivery boy holding a beautiful bouquet of flowers.
"For Miss—"
You take them from him and sign his tablet, uttering a quiet, "Thanks," before closing the door. You've been receiving a fresh bunch every week for about a month now, ever since you separated from your long-time partner. The flowers from last week sit in a vase on your island bench, casting you a disapproving look as you set the fresh bouquet down nearby and go on a scavenger hunt for another vase. Finding an old pitcher instead, you undo the bouquet and arrange the flowers inside it, adding some water and the provided flower food afterwards.
With your breakfast growing colder by the second, you plop down in the opposite chair and finish it off, your bites rough like sandpaper and chewing menacing like it's not the right grit. Your brow heads inch toward each other, forehead creased and shoulders tight as you eat. He has to stop doing this, you think…
Finishing your breakfast, you wash up your plate and other dirty dishes. Drying yourself off, you dive for your phone and scroll through your contacts, searching for the name with the love hearts only to remember you removed them a few weeks ago. Pressing the call icon, your phone starts to ring. Almost instantly, the line connects.
A rather chirpy voice comes through the speakers, "Good morning, pipsqueak. How are you feeling today—?"
"I told you stop sending me flowers, Caleb," you ground out, your mood thoroughly soured by his unwanted generosity.
"Did you?" He chuckles awkwardly, definitely remembering your last phone call to him a week ago. "It must have slipped my mind. Whoopsies."
"Caleb," you grumble. There's no winning with him. His love is like the fresh air, fuelling your flame. But his warped ideals are the glass placed over the candle, snuffing it out until only grey tendrils and hardening wax are left behind. Your simmering heat dies. Ashes in your heart. You release a defeated sigh. "At least, send them every fornight, okay? They don't wilt that quickly…"
"You got it. Oh, and by the way, how are your cramps? Your period should start in a couple of—"
"Caleb, oh my god! You still track it?!" You exclaim, affronted. It's bad enough that you couldn't recover all of your panties from his abundant collection. Must he track your cycle as well? You suppose it's better for your lover to care more about your reproductive health then not care about it all. But that doesn't apply to exes.
"'Course I do. I can send you some chocolate if you're having cravings. Do you want dark or nutty? That brand you like also came out with an orange flavour if you wanted to try it." You pinch your brow, settling down on the couch as you feel this stabbing pain in your stomach, like some demon slipped out of hell, twisting your guts in its grotesque hand. You're rendered speechless.
"Do you have enough pads?" Caleb asks, continuing to obsess over you the way you wish he wouldn't. "Why don't you text me the ones you need and I'll pick them up for you? I was heading to Linkon this afternoon, anyways."
"No, you weren't, Caleb…" You mutter, growing more exhausted by the minute. "Just give it a rest, okay? I already have all of the chocolate and pads I could ever need. And you don't need to come over."
"Didn't you say your tap was leaking? I can fix it while I'm there. And I'm sure your cat misses me, too. I bought her some treats while I was at the pet store the other week. I should be there about three. Oh, and I can buy some groceries on the way. How about I make us some braised chicken wings for dinner? My treat." You don't even get a chance to respond as he continues on, "Alright, I've gotta get going. Fleet stuff. But I'll see you later, alright? And don't worry about cleaning your place up. Just take it easy."
"Fine. Bye," you utter, quickly hanging up and slamming your phone down on the coffee table. Leaning back, you clutch your abdomen. God, that guy is such a pain in the ass. Just barges in on your life whenever he wants. Giving and giving until you can't take anymore. That's the main reason things fell off between you two. The Fleet was stressing him out, and rather than keeping that stress at work, he'd let it out on those who threatened your relationship. Threatened as in offered to grab something from the top shelf for you, or even smiling at you just a little too much to the point where Caleb became worried they would try and take you away from him.
When he became like this, you can't say. But the man you walked away from most certainly wasn't the one you ran toward. He understands that you're not a possession that can be stolen, or a naive girl that can be misled by creepy older men. But despite his understanding, he still clings to this archaic idea of protection. Your radient light shouldn't be dimmed by the stains of humanity. It should be kept pure. In the palm of his hand.
Moving out and finding your own place was challenging enough. Of course, Caleb wouldn't let you carry any of the boxes or handle any of the white goods. Nor would he let you pay for the rent or utilities. But at least he let you decorate. Oh, and gave you this illusion of space with his recent absence. But your address is ingrained into his mind alongside bittersweet memories of your time together. Your laughter is sewn into his soul, your intellect the sparks that set his neurons alight. Your body is branded into his.
Quiet meows pull you from your daze. You cat, Mittens, stretches before you, paws spread and rear high before her spine curves into an arc. She must have heard Caleb's voice and grew curious. Brushing up against your leg, she meows again, her soft fur sticking to your lounge pants. You give her few head scratches, spouting utter gibberish in a baby voice about how Caleb will be coming over later today. She perks up at the mention of his name, a purr starting in her chest.
Unfortunately for you, your sweet kitty, Mittens, loves your ex-fiancé. She's never been as affectionate with you as she is with Caleb. And he spoils her rotten. The most expensive treats, the prettiest pink collar with her name embroidered into it. Her cat tower remained at his place in Skyhaven because of its size, but you brought along the numerous cat beds, scratching posts, dangly toys and other bizarre cat things Caleb bought for her to your new place; they fill an entire bedroom. And to say she loves them would be an understatement. But the little plushies and other items you've given her over the years? She couldn't be less disinterested.
Resigned to your fate, you fetch a heat pack and chuck it in the microwave, letting it get nice and toasty while you choose a movie to watch. Thankfully, it's your day off, so you have no objections to taking it easy. You end up picking a comfort film and settle back onto the couch, pouting as Mittens goes to sit on her fur-covered cushion that also has her name embroidered into it, but this time, with a crown (guess who bought it?).
The time flies by, 3pm steadily approaching between films and grabbing snacks. There's no knock on the door when Caleb arrives, just the jangle of keys and shameless thud behind him before he removes his work boots. You don't even turn around. He's still in his colonel uniform, you can smell it. Guns, sweat, and unreported violence. The rustle of grocery bags overpower your senes.
Caleb leaves them in the kitchen before stalking into the living room, a big grin on his face as he comes over to you. "Hey, honey." He wraps you in his arms, your face smushed against his shoulder as he squeezes you tight. "I missed you." Drawing back, he cups your face, the heat of his hands soaking through his gloves, into your cheeks. "Where's my kiss?"
"Ca-leb," you groan. "We're separated. Sep-ah-rated. I'm not kissing you."
"Oh, come on, baby. I've had a long day. And besides, it'll make you feel better." His boyish charm is difficult to resist. But you must. As you're about to say no— "Please." Your ancestors must be looking down upon you with disdain as you begrudingly lean in and give him a peck.
"One more?"
"Oh, fuck off."
"Fine, fine. But I expect something a little more generous after dinner." Releasing you, Caleb retreats to the kitchen, going through his overnight bag you knew he'd end up packing.
"I'm not sleeping with you, fuck wit!" You call out to him, remaining on the couch to sulk. His laughter rings off the walls, geniune amusement. You bet Mittens has her tail curled around his calf right now, seeing as she's disappeared from her cushion.
He doesn't shout back. He knew you never liked it when he shouted. And his voice is loud enough, unmistakeable in the quiet of your apartment as he says, "I never implied you should. All I meant was that you're being a little curt. Breaks my heart, you know?" You can envision his sad pout, those cunning, puppy eyes staring at you.
Every retort dies on your tongue. Pushing off the couch, you head to the kitchen and see Caleb feeding Mittens a pureed treat. She laps at it happily, excited every time he pinches the packet and sends another meaty curl springing up from the opening.
"Can you get changed, please? Don't tell me you're gonna fix my tap in that." Your eyes roam over his uniform, noticing the small splatter of blood on his sleeve. The sight causes you to gulp.
"Why not? I thought you liked it when I wear my uniform," he teases, squeezing out the last of the treat for Mittens. Once she finishes eating, he pats her head and cooes gently, "There we go. That's my good girl."
"Caleb." You fold your arms across your chest, your patience wearing thin. He should be saying that to you. "Just hurry up and get changed, okay? You can use my shower or whatever. But don't use all of my body wash. I don't have much left."
"Don't worry. I bought you another bottle just in case." Caleb stands up, Mittens pawing at his leg while he unveils an extra large pharmacy-exclusive bottle of your go-to body wash. Of course, he had time to go to the pharmacy and buy that for you. No! Of course, he made time to go to the pharmacy and buy that for you.
Without another word, your ex-fiancé begins unpacking the groceries he bought, putting them away without any difficulty (he has pictures of your kitchen on his phone, all of the drawers and cupboards labelled accordingly). You help him with maybe one of the bags. He's awfully fast. Sunlight streams in through the windows, illuminating his dark locks. It feels like old times. Noon grocery shopping or after work convenience store runs. Delicious home cooked meals. Lazy Sunday morning sex with breakfast to follow. You miss those times. You miss who Caleb was back then. Who he never stopped being. But not who he ended up becoming.
Your kitchen is spotless by the time he ducks off to your bathroom. You rest against the coutertop, your fingers pressed to your lips, mind off in the clouds. There's a weight that's missing. He kept your engagement ring. You remember that conversation like it was yesterday, though the wound is but a scar left behind.
"I'm not taking it back. It's yours." Caleb huffed, incredulous as to how you could offer up your ring to him like that, the ring he gave you to symbolise the lifetime you'd spend together.
"Caleb! I'm serious. We're over!" You held out the ring to him, inching it closer despite his obvious hesitation. All he had to do was take it from you, and then your soul would finally be freed. You'd be finished with him. For good—or so you thought.
"I told you, I'm not taking it back. I don't care if we're over. I don't care if you pawn it off or throw it in the ocean. It's yours."
"Then keep it safe for me, will you?" You countered, grabbing his wrist and placing the ring in his palm. All your love, in his hand. His to protect. Forever more.
You wonder what happened to it—the ring, that is. If he still has it. He definitely still has it. Probably keeps it in his bedside drawer and stares at it longingly before bed each night like the pathetic loser he is. Your loser… (un)fortunately.
A traitorous grin stretches across your lips, concealed by your hand. You immediately scowl at yourself, mumbling like a mad woman about getting your head in the game. But it's difficult to when you see a fluffy tail swaying until its out of your sight, obscured by the wall. You bet Mittens has wandered down the hall to sit outside bathroom… Yep, you can hear her scratching at the door.
Sighing, you trudge down the hallway, eyeing your precious little baby who must get inside that steamy room with Caleb. Oh, how you wish that was you—! Stop it! You shake your head, intent on banishing those thoughts before they take root and fester. Reaching the bathroom, you go to open the door when the handle turns. The door opens. Not just a little ajar thing, no. Like some freak of nature Caleb opens the door wide, chilly air flooding his soaking wet body, your towel haphazardly slung around his hips.
"Hi ba… by." His voice drops from high-pitched to his familiar resonance, expression turning from over-excited to bewildered in seconds.
"I was. Getting the door." You glance down at Mittens who happens to be licking the water droplets off Caleb's ankle, your cheeks heating up at the speed of light.
"Riiiiight." He quirks a brow at you, mischievous smile on his lips.
You gesture to his (or rather, your) towel. "You couldn't grab a clean one?"
"There were none left in the linen cupboard." He shrugs, quickly catching the edges of the towel as it begins to slip. All you can see is wet, rippling contours. Taut skin. Veins running up his hands and forearms, those on his hips disappearing beneath the pink, Egyptian cotton. It's been a little while…
"You're such a liar, Caleb," you mutter. "You didn't even look! I put fresh ones in there the other day."
"Really?" He says as if he's surprised. His hand comes to his chin. Everyone talks about ovulation cravings, but none dare speak of the beast you become as your period approaches. "Hm… I can't remember seeing any—"
"Because you didn't look—"
"But you don't have many, right? Isn't it better to save them, anyway? We might need them for later tonight." You gasp at his insinuation.
"Caleb!"
"What? You're thinkin' about it, too. There's no need to be shy about it. I thought we got over that a long time ago—"
"Oh my god, shut up!" You groan, your frustration palpable as you stomp away from him, fingers pressed to your temples. You've got a headache coming on. And Mittens will be all damp by the time she and him emerge from the bathroom. You'll have to dry her off while Caleb works on your kitchen tap. The agony that persists. Must life only bring suffering?
Only once the sun kisses the horizon is Caleb finally fiddling with your kitchen tap, twisting it, unscrewing it, examining it while you struggle to keep Mittens away from him. Since you dried her off, she's been strutting through his legs, flopping over and demanding belly rubs almost every minute he works on your tap.
As she does it again, you slide her across the floor and scoop her up in your arms, bouncing her like a restless baby as Caleb flashes you a grin.
"She's really missed me, huh?"
"Yeah. She used to start meowing at like 2am when we first moved in here. And she wouldn't stop until I got up to feed her. But now, she's calmed down a lot." You release her on the ground, watching as she inevitably bounds over to Caleb.
"That's good to hear. But I wish you told me she was giving you trouble. I would have visited if I knew she was keeping you up at night." Caleb dismantles your tap with ease, laying each part out on your sink so he can assess them one at a time.
"That's why I didn't tell you, dummy. I needed some space. I still need some space, actually," you remark.
"I've given you plenty of space, honey."
"You still track my cycle," you grouch.
"Okay, yeah." He picks up one of the parts, sniffing it like that rusty scent will tell him something other than that your apartment is overdue for a reno. "But it's not like I'm reviewing your discharge nightly."
"Anymore," you quip. "I bet you miss doing that, freak."
"You don't have to be so mean, you know? Especially not to the person who's doing you a favour right now." That shuts you up. You glare at him as Mittens begins to meow, anxious for an ounce of that handsome man's attention. As she stretches up, paws on his shorts, hind legs and torso elongated, he bends down and lifts her beneath the underarms. His fingertips overlap. You forgot just how large his hands are. Merely seeing them is different to seeing them wrapped around something. You gulp.
Caleb places her arms over his shoulder, one hand beneath her rear as he continues going through each part of your tap. You don't say anything else as he works, intent on watching her drift off to sleep with her little furry head on his shoulder. Your chest pangs. Everything you've tried to convince yourself you don't need is before you… It's times like these that make you forget those moments when you were curled up in bed, crying as Caleb just had to put another innocent person in their place for 'flirting' with you (showing basic kindness). If he would just change—
You stop yourself. There's no use relying on someone else to change. For someone cannot change unless they truly wish to. And Caleb, you're sure, feels justified in his actions. He can't see his wrongdoings, only how his 'righteous' actions upset you. What he does is not the problem, but he himself is. Or at least, that's how you understand him to be. If his perceptions have changed in the short time you've been apart, then you'd welcome that with open arms. But…
"Looks like it's your o-rings," Caleb says, holding up four little rubber rings.
"My what rings?" Your brow furrows. They really need to rename those to something else.
"Your o-rings. They create a seal between parts, so water doesn't leak out of places it shouldn't. It looks like one of them was loose. But to be safe, I'll replace all four." He sets them down and stalks off, returning with a packet of assorted replacement rings. It doesn't take him long to find the perfect match, and it's all too soon before he's re-assembling your tap, attaching it back to the sink like it hadn't been touched in the first place. He turns it on then off, waiting for any leaks. But there are none.
"Thanks, Cay," you murmur, gracing him with a sweet smile. A high unlike any substance can give him. He beams back at you, attempting nonchalance and thoroughly failing at it.
"It's alright. Wasn't too complicated or anything. But if you have anymore trouble with it, let me know. I can try replacing the washers next time to see if that'll do it." He packs up his few tools and leaves the kitchen, likely heading to his bag which he undoubtably left in your bedroom. You scoff. There's no way he's sleeping in your bed tonight. The couch is calling his name.
It's a little early for dinner, but seeing as Caleb hasn't returned for a minute longer than he ought to, you start pulling out the ingredients he meticulousy packed away earlier in the afternoon. He's probably going through your dirty laundry basket. If you're missing a pair(s) of panties, you'll know who the culprit is that's for sure.
By the time he waltzes back into the kitchen, Mittens trailing behind him, you're already measuring out the ingredients for the sauce.
"Hold on there. Are you starting without me?" Caleb pouts, clasping his heart like it hurts. You roll your eyes at him, snapping the lid back on the soy sauce.
"What does it look like I'm doing, dummy?" Now where is that darn hand grater when you need it? You start pulling open drawers, a bulb of ginger in your other hand as you frantically skim through knives and spoons. It's not long before Caleb is by your side, magically retrieving the grater you swear wasn't there a second ago.
"Looking for this?" He can barely contain his smirk.
"Thanks," you mutter, your eyes narrowed as you take the grater from him. Returning to your array of little bowls, you grate the ginger into one before mincing garlic into another. Meanwhile, Caleb soaks the chicken wings in water and a pinch of salt. But of course, braised chicken wings simply aren't enough for dinner. He also bought your favourite noodles, bean sprouts, and other yummy ingredients to make stir-fry noodles.
Easily, you and Caleb slip into a familiar routine, him at the stove while you man the chopping board. Mittens is off rubbing her scent all over Caleb's work boots. All that's missing is oldies jazz playing in the background. You wonder where you put your speaker as you chop the spring onions. A bit of music wouldn't hurt, right?
The onion slips, but your clouded mind doesn't react fast enough. The blade comes down and pierces your skin. A thin red line appears. A whimper escapes you. Caleb is beside you within a second, prying your hand off the knife and setting it down so he can examine your finger.
"You alright?" He asks, his voice slightly gruff.
"Mhm," you hum, trying to pull your hand back, but he won't let you. His grip is like a vice, clamped up in concern.
"Go sit down." He finally relents, releasing your hand. "I'll grab the first aid kit."
"I'm fine, Cay—" He's already stormed off, en route to your bathroom to grab the bandaids and disenfectant. Petulently, you throw yourself into one of chairs at the island bench, groaning about how he's making a big deal out of nothing (even though he can't hear you right now).
When he comes back, he sits beside you and diligently patches up your finger, chastising you lightly for not being more careful. After all, it's not the first time you've done this when cooking with him. His presence can be so distracting… But it's not like there's anything else for you to do in the kitchen other than chop. There's no way he'll let you near the stove when he's around. Maybe he'll put you on dish duty next time. How exciting.
You're banished to the couch while Caleb finishes up with dinner, your sweet kitty oblivious to your indignation as she finds a way to sit inside of your ex's boots. To leave her scent all over them simply isn't enough. She must infuse herself with the lining, coat the insole with her fur until he's forced to recall her every time he gets dressed for work.
Once Caleb finishes cooking, you help to set the table, watching with keen eyes as he plates everything. It looks delicious, steam rolling off crunchy fried noodles and tender chicken wings sparkling beneath the overhead light. Before digging in, you set out a bowl for Mittens, the clang of the metal on the floorboards enough to rouse her from her cosy spot.
Caleb's shoulder brushes against yours as you sit down, the cotton fabric of his t-shirt catching on yours. You can feel his heat, fabric sliding over skin. An ephemeral touch, replaced by hairs on edge as you yearn to close that small gap between you. He loads up your plate first, giving you the best looking chicken wings before dishing himself out a couple.
You start with the noodles, and oh boy are they divine. Perfectly crisp. The bean sprouts go so well with the salty flavour. Picking up a chicken wing, you bite into it and find that Caleb's cooking has only improved since you last saw him. Taking another bite, it dawns upon you that you forfeited a man who's good both in bed and in the kitchen. You should be ashamed of yourself!
As the silence stretches on, you decide to break it with, "How's therapy going?" Caleb nearly chokes on his chicken wing's bones.
"The-rapy?" He coughs out, clearing his throat before chugging half a glass of water.
"Yeah. Remember? I said that if you wanted to get back together, then you'd have to start going to therapy."
"I know, but I… didn't think you were being serious." Caleb's brow puckers in thought, his hand on his chin as he recalls that fight you two had in the days leading up to your separation.
You sigh dramatically. "Of course, you didn't."
"Hey…" He turns to face you, expression slightly pouty yet undeniably serious. "Look, pips, I don't need to go to therapy—"
"Princess, you're deranged." You twirl your chopsticks in your noodles, gathering them up in a bundle. "You need to go to therapy."
"I'll have you know I'm not deranged." He says, defensively.
"Yes, you are, Caleb. And even if you weren't, I'd still want you to go to therapy or at least maintain a journal or something."
"I have a journal." You cast him an 'oh, really?' look, which he nods at. "I'm serious. I have a journal. I write in it nightly."
"What do you write about?" You ask, pointing your noodle-ladden chopsticks at him antagonistically.
He chuckles in awkwardly. "Uh, it's a secret. There's no point having a journal if I tell you everything I write in it."
"I didn't ask you what you wrote, dummy. I asked what you write about. Work stuff, airplane model stuff, daily life stuff. What? What goes in there?" He scratches the back of his neck sheepishly, suddenly avoiding your gaze. You've got a bad feeling about this.
"Don't tell me it's a log of my discharge." His eyes widen. Caught red-handed. "Caleb!" You nearly shriek.
"What?" He winces, acting as if his unspoken admission is competely normal and natural.
"At least tell me it's in a physical journal." You silently pray his answer is 'yes'.
"Of course, not. I can't visualise patterns and trends in a physical book," Caleb says like that's painfully obvious and absolutely essential to the nature of his journaling. "I've got it on a spreadsheet. I can show you sometime, if you'd like. Actually, I noticed as I was going through your laundry that your recent discharge was slightly yellowish. Has that been happening for long or—?"
"Caleb!" You exclaim, almost dropping your chopsticks.
"If it persists, it could be a sign of an STI. Have you been having sex with other—?"
"No!" Your eyes are like those of a deer in headlights, heart pounding defeaningly loud in your ears, and chest heaving. When did you get so worked up? Quiet ensues, neither one of you sure what to say next. Eventually, you utter, "Okay, one, gross—"
"That's not gross—"
"Two, you don't even keep a journal. A journal is supposed to be for mindfulness, Caleb!"
"Well, I would say that tracking your cycle is pretty mindful, wouldn't you?"
You groan, clearly frustrated with his smart ass attitude right now. "You see, this is why you need to be going to therapy."
"You don't want me to track your cycle?" He pouts, ready to turn on the puppy eyes should your temper rise. Of course, that's all he got from what you just said.
"No, you fuck wit. Just listen to me," you grit out. "Yes, I want you to track my cycle. But also, we're not together anymore, so you can stop tracking it now. But even if you do track it, you can just use an app. You don't need to be going through my underwear on a daily basis to figure out where I'm at in my cycle. It's not normal, Cay."
"Well, dating is pretty rough these days." He shrugs, cupping his chin pensively. "I can't imagine many men going to the lengths I do to take care of their partners."
Setting your choptsticks on your plate, you run your hands down your face, exhausted by his antics. "What I'm saying is that it's weird, Caleb. God, you never listen to me."
"Don't say that, baby. You know I always listen to you." He leans over, palm on your shoulder to comfort you. But you push him off.
"No, you don't. You never listen to what I say. You always just do what you think is best for me without asking what I want." Your words hang in the air, floating atop wispy steam. The food's getting cold.
In a gentle voice, Caleb murmurs, "Let's not do this anymore, okay? This conversation isn't going anywhere, and it's only upsetting you."
"You're upsetting me!" You lash out, on the verge of tears. Unexpected, they crept up on you. Your appetite shrivels up and rots in your stomach. Sniffling, you grab your plate and take it to the kitchen counter, wrapping it in aluminium foil and turning on the oven. After placing it inside to keep your half-eaten dinner warm, you dash down the hall, making it to the bathroom to wash your greasy lips.
"Honey…" You hear Caleb coo. Why does it always have to end like this? You, balling your eyes out. Him, unwaveringly oblivious to the pain he's caused you. And your steadily approaching period doesn't help either. Your hormones are out of wack. But at least he doesn't tip toe around you. That would be worse. To be treated like some bomb about to explode any minute. At least respects you enough to argue with you like you're his equal. As if you could call that spat a true argument.
Ducking into your bedroom, you see that indeed, you were correct; his overnight bag rests at the foot of your bed. With tear-filled eyes, you grab it by the handle and drop it on the floor, climbing under the covers to cry in peace. But it doesn't last for long. You're only graced with five mintues before there's a knock on your bedroom door. Caleb doesn't bother to ask for permission to enter, he simply slips inside, sitting on the edge of your bed and stroking where your head is beneath the quilt and blankets.
"I'm sorry," he utters, regret in his voice.
"For what?" You grumble, muffled by the layers between you. But he hears you all the same.
"I'm sorry for making you feel you like I don't listen to you. And I'm sorry for making you cry. It was never my intention to do either of those things." He pauses for a moment, waiting for you to accept his apology. But those magical words never come. With a deep breath in, he concedes, "I know that I can be a little overbearing sometimes. But it's for your own good, I swear." You push the covers back, fresh air swarming your red, puffy face.
Sitting up, you wipe your snotty nose on your arm, swallowing thickly before mumbling, "If your overbearing nature is making me feel unheard and upset, then how is it good for me?" He opens his mouth, retort ready when it withers away. That look in your eyes—it's as if he's been thrust back in time to a month ago—broken. All he succeeded in doing by coming here (besides from fixing your tap) was to shatter your spirit. And even worse, up until this very moment, he felt justified in doing so. But now…
"I'll go to therapy, okay? If it's that simple to make you smile again, then I'll do it. I'm sorry I didn't start sooner." You shake your head. The perfect answer rejected.
"You have to go to threrapy because you want to. You have to want to change. You have to want to get better. It's not about me, Caleb. It's about what you want," you stress. He licks his lips, inredulous, tasting the metaphorical saltiness of your tears. Don't you understand? Caleb can't exist without you. Whatever you want—as long as it's good for you—Caleb wants, too.
"I want to. Go to therapy—"
"No, you don't—"
"Well, I'm going to go anyway, alright? Whatever helps get us back on track. I want you to know that I haven't given up on us. And I'm pretty sure you haven't either." Caleb grabs a tissue from your bedside table before inching closer to you, carefully patting away the wetness of your cheeks. Your lips are swollen, quivering slightly as you feel your tears renew from his sweet affection.
With his hands on either side of your face, tissue in his lap, Caleb leans down and plants a kiss on your forehead. He trails down your temple and cheekbone, coming across to the reddened tip of your nose and then dipping to your lips. His kiss is light and fleeting, nothing too overwhelming as your emotions spill over. Resting your head against his shoulder, you snake your arms around his torso and squish him like a teddy bear. A soft chuckle arises. He embraces you just as tightly if not more.
"You're the worst ex." You mumble into his shirt, a big sniffle following behind.
"Yeah?" He replies, teasing lilt to his tone.
"Yeah." You rub your face against him like a feline; Mittens doesn't deserve to have all the fun. Speaking of the devil, she jumps up onto the bed, nuzzling at Caleb's side in an attempt to make your sacred cuddle a group hug.
"Caleb."
"Mhm?"
"I love you," you murmur, squeezing him a fraction tighter. He chuckles quietly, big warm hands rubbing circles into your back soothingly.
"I love you, too."
That night, you reluctantly let him sleep in your bed, his warmth lulling you into the deepest sleep you've had since separating.
Your heart is racing, jitters crawling up your spine as you futz with your hair. You're supposed to be going on a date tonight in—you tap your phone screen. It lights up. 17:52—8 minutes. More precisely, it'll be your first official date with Caleb since you two separated. He's been good for the past six months, going to therapy and keeping his distance (thanks to the cameras he installed all over your place when he was minding Mittens (you were away on a short business trip)). Slowly, you've been growing closer, falling back into old patterns you never really shook off. He's taken care to listen to any problems you've raised, and learned to let you initiate (for the most part).
But of course, Caleb is still Caleb. You can hear him enter through the front door from where you stand in your bedroom, hunched over your vanity.
He coos to Mittens, "How's my favourite girl?" You hear the rustle of treats. Must he feed her? She just ate an hour ago… Huffing, you give up on your hair, resigned to accept the awkward curve of your fringe. Grabbing your perfume, you rip off the cap and douse yourself in that luxurious scent.
"Pipsqueak?" Caleb's footsteps grow louder. He opens your bedroom door. "There you are, honey." You gaze at him through the mirror, eyes roaming over his tailored suit with delight and settling on his orange striped tie. A smile breaks out across your face.
"I'll be done soon, okay?" You tell him, heading over to your wardrobe and unveiling your shoe collection, many of which, Caleb bought for you on a whim. 'I thought these would go with that cream dress you like.' 'The bow reminded me of you.' 'Weren't you searching for a pair of heels just like these?' Skimming through your options, you settle on a sleek pair. Thankfully, you taped your toes together in advance. Slipping the heels on, you wobble a bit when standing up. But Caleb's there to catch you. He grasps your forearms and holds you steady, leading you forward like a parent does to their toddler. That's what you feel like in these fuckers anyways. A wittle baby.
"You okay? You know, you don't have to wear these if they're too hard to walk in," Caleb reminds you. But you shake your head, intent on surviving the next few hours in these beautiful (tortuous) heels.
"I'll be fine, Cay. I wanna look pretty for our date tonight." You tell him. He chuckles lightly, halting and stepping closer to you. His hands trail across to your waist, gripping you firmly.
"You look very pretty, honey, with or without heels." He grins at you, leaning in for a kiss, but stopping short of your lips. He wouldn't dare to ruin your lip combo before you've even reached the restaurant. "Tell you what, I'll keep a second pair of shoes for you in my car. How does that sound? You can change into those once you get tired of these."
"Mhm, yes, please." You nod, scampering off to retrieve your comfiest sneakers. Handing them to Caleb, you follow him out your bedroom door, grabbing your handbag on the way out. Mittens is happily munching on some gourmet treats as you two lock the apartment up. On the kitchen counter, you notice a small plate with a delicious looking slice on it.
Pointing to it, you say, "For me?"
Caleb whips around, a big grin on his face. "Yeah, I made some banana bread this morning. Thought you'd like to try it."
"I'm watching my weight—"
"I know, I know. That's why I only brought you a slice. Try it, won't you?" Staring at him for a few seconds, you eventually sigh.
"Fine. I'll try it later tonight." You abandon the treat and rejoin Caleb's side, ready to leave for your date. Mittens is oblivious to your departure, unperturbed by the lights going out as she finds the jacket Caleb left on the couch for her to sleep on.
The drive down town is short, accompanied by some nice jazz and light chatter. Caleb gets the door for you once he's parked the car and keeps an arm around your shoulders as you walk up to the restaurant's entrance. Heading inside, the hostess greets you both and leads you to a quiet table at the back Caleb specifically reserved. Ever the gentleman, he pulls out your chair for you and pushes it in before taking his seat opposite you.
"You don't have to be so chivalrous, you know?" You remark. Table water and two cups are placed in front of you. The hostess leaves you both to go through the menu.
"I wanna make a good impression." Caleb shrugs, a little shy. You chuckle at that.
"I think we're past that stage, don't you?" You flip the menu open, the insanely high prices jumping out at you. Gulping, you read through the offerings. Weird pairings. Beijing this, Parisan that. You remind yourself that Caleb can afford this kind of fine dining.
"Well, it never hurts, does it? And I've always been chivalrous, pipsqueak." You glance up. He hasn't even opened his menu.
"Aren't you going to read the menu?" You gesture to it, bemusement creeping into your voice. He graces you with a reassuring smile.
"I'll have what you're having."
"Cay-leb," you grumble. It's always these little bullshit games when it comes to him. You thought he got past that months ago. "What if I want a salad?" You challenge, the menu pressing awkwardly against the sides of your fingers. It's rigid. The binding is stiff. Perhaps, they were freshly printed? But these aged pages tell a different story.
"You're not having a salad, honey. We're at a nice place. Why don't you have the roast duck instead?"
"You been here before?" You ask, wondering if he's brought other girls here during the time you've been apart. But as soon as that thought enters your mind, you cast it out. Caleb wouldn't. He's not like that. And neither are you. But he doesn't have to be so smug about this all.
"Well, I had to make sure you'd like it," he replies off-handedly, signalling to a nearby waiter that you're ready to order. You expect Caleb to do the talking once the server arrives, but instead, he nods at you.
For a moment, you stare back at him, the gears slowly turning in your mind. And then—"Hi, um, I'll have the Beijing roast duck and my partner would like—" You glance down at the menu, saying the first dish you see, "The teriyaki glacier 51 toothfish, please." The waiter smiles at you and gathers up your menus.
"Any drinks?" You turn to Caleb and find him to be rather unhelpful. He's wearing this proud smirk, enjoying seeing you struggle like this.
You stutter, "U-uh, yes, please. Just a bottle of red wine."
"Which one, miss?"
"U-uh." You hadn't even gone through the drinks menu! Of course, a place like this has about 30 different varieties of red wine to choose from. "What. Do you recommend?" You ask, your words clunky like this is your first time speaking to a waiter.
Flipping open the extensive wine list, the server points to the reds section. "The 2017 Côte D'Or Bourgogne by Benjamin Leuroux is my personal favourite. The fruit fades into the background, allowing a lightness to take centre stage. Very refreshing and moderately affordable." You eye the $380 next to the wine's name. Very affordable, indeed. "But if you're looking for something premium." The waiter directs your attention to the next page. "I'd suggest the 2013 Chambertin Grand cru by David Duband. Only two barrels were produced from vines over 50 years old. It's beautifully balanced with a broad range of earthy notes complemented by florals and a wild berry that creates a smooth finish. A truly exquisite wine, I can assure you." For over $2,500, you'd be expecting a pretty exquisite fucking wine, yeah.
Again, you meet Caleb's eyes, figuratively on your knees and pleading for him to utter a few words. But now, he seems distracted. He looks at you without really looking at you, smiles at you without smiling.
"Um. We'll have the first one you suggested. Thank you." You grin at the waiter, watching as he retreats before facing Caleb. "Hello-oh? I could have really used your help back there, dummy." He seems to recover from his daze, blinking back to reality at the sound of your irritated tone.
"On the contrary, I think you did great. I should let you take the lead more often," he says playfully.
You roll your eyes at him. "Yeah, yeah. I never wanna do that again. You didn't even give me enough time to look at the menu! And now I just ordered a $400 wine—" His phone buzzes, promptly shutting you up. With a grimace, Caleb pulls out his phone and checks the notification.
"Sorry, honey. Work stuff. I'll be back in a minute, alright?" He pushes his chair out, rising to standing. Your eyes widen, your lips forming into a pout.
"Everything alright?"
"Yeah," he breathes out, quick to reassure you. "Let me handle this and then it'll just be you and me, okay? No more interruptions." You nod earnestly, watching with sinking shoulders as Caleb weaves through the tables to the exit. He's a busy man, you know. But it's hard to remember that when he always prioritises you. If he's not on a mission, then he'll be at your doorstep at the first sign of trouble, no hesitation, no 'Sorry, honey, I have a meeting' or other commitments coming between the two of you. You wonder what's so important that it could disturb him during your date. Maybe something went wrong at the HQ and he'll have to return right away. You sincerely hope not.
As you wait for him to return, you admire the patrons surrounding you. You see glittering pearls and shiny bald spots, beer bellies and opulent diamond rings. The overhead chandeliers are warm and cosy. A pianist in the corner plays, their fingertips agile and skilful. It isn't too long until Caleb sits before you once more, his phone out of sight.
"You okay?" You murmur, your brow puckered from concern.
"Yep. Everything's been taken care of. So where were we?" Caleb replies, sounding rather chipper. Your conversation comes easily, slipping into something comfortable. There's a push and pull, the two of you on the edge of your seats as you lap up the other's words like excited puppies. The food arrives all too soon, the wine poured by a different waiter to the one who took your orders. You have a sip, tasting the subtlety of the fruit. It really is quite refreshing and smooth on the way down.
"D'you like it?" You ask Caleb as he sets down his glass (he won't pick it up again for the remainder of the evening).
He shrugs. "It's a bit bland for my liking, but it's alright. How's the duck?" You pick up a tender slice with your fork and pop it into your mouth. Savoury-sweet bursts on your tongue. You can taste the onions it was roasted with. There's this slightly gamery undertone that you don't mind. Overall—
"It's pretty good. D'you wanna try it?" You hold out a slice to Caleb. Leaning forward, he bites it off your fork, sitting back and tasting the duck.
"Mhm. It's nice," he says, beginning to cut into his own meal. You sample the toothfish you ordered for him and find it to be similar to king crabs with a hint of cucumber and honey. It's a delicacy. But you end up preferring your own dish to his.
"Told you you'd like the roast duck." Caleb smirks. His plate is empty, save for any spilt sauce.
"Yeah, yeah," you sigh offhandledly, reluctant to admit that he was right all along. After finishing your meal, you head to the bathroom to clean up. In the meantime, Caleb pays for your date. When you emerge from the ladies room, certain your makeup still looks good, you find him waiting for you nearby with the bottle of wine in hand.
As soon as you make it out of the restaraunt, you're slung over his shoulders, laughing giddily and kicking your feet while he walks back to the car. He sets you down in the passenger seat and fetches a blanket he conveniently had on hand, wrapping you up in it as you giggle uncontrollably. You only had a couple of glasses of that wine, but there's a buzz in your system. Your body feels hot, and the world moves slowly. You slip off your heels and get cosy as Caleb settles into the driver's seat and gets the car going.
Back at home, you stumble inside, barefoot, while Caleb nurses your heels, back-up shoes, handbag, and the wine. You dash over to the couch and collapse on it, your cheeks aching from smiling the entire ride home.
"Cayyy-leb," you coo. Mittens jumps down from the couch and runs off, probably to greet your date.
"Coming, honey." Within a minute or so, Caleb comes into view, holding the plate of banana bread he left at your place earlier and a glass of water.
Sitting next to you, he hands you the water and says, "Let's sober you up, huh?" You take a sip from the glass, eyes following Caleb's movements as he undoes the cling wrap covering the banana bread and places the plate on his lap. Picking it up, he aeroplanes the slice to your mouth, feeding you a generous bite between your chortles.
"How is it?"
"Yum-myyy." You grin, happily accepting the next bite he offers you. "Mhmmm, Caleb."
"Yes, honey?" You cover your mouth with your fingertips, intent on delaying the next bite.
"Caleb. I love you." Not an odd thing to say. But something you haven't said since that night all those months ago. The liquor has loosened up your tongue. You can't stop yourself from admitting, "And sometimes, I wish I didn't break up with you. You're so handsome and kind to me. But you've got a few screws loose, you know? Like… I think you're a bit fucked in the head. But I still like you." Caleb stares at you for a moment, mouth half-open, unsure of how to react. And then, he chuckles, shaking his head lightly.
"Is that so? Well, I like you, too, pipsqueak. I love you."
"I love how you take care of me," you counter. "And I love your cooking. And I miss your homemade lunches. I miss having you around and waking up with you by my side. And I miss our intimacy. I really miss it... I wish that we could rewind or something, that we could… I don't know. Be together again? Even if you're a little crazy, I still want to be with you. I just don't want to you to hurt me again."
Another bite of banana bread down the hatch. Only one little piece to go.
"Honey…" Caleb grasps your jaw, thumb swiping a crumb past your parted lips and onto your tongue. You taste the tip of his finger before it flees, hand falling down to your knee. "We'll talk about in the morning, okay?" So much he wants to say, lodged in the back of his throat. He chokes on it, lips sealed in an attempt to contain his heartfelt feelings.
You accept the final bite of banana bread Caleb pops into your mouth, munching on it calmy as you stare at him. The only man who's ever loved you like you were the very thing that kept him alive. With reverence. With respect. But also at times, with obsession. Your eyelids begin to feel heavy. That wine must have been stronger than you thought.
Quietly, you say, "I love you, Cay. I want…" You sway a little, finding it hard to keep upright. Caleb wraps his arms around you, pouting at the sight of his precious girl trying to fend off sleep after a long day (or rather, a teeny-weeny dose of valium). "I want to elope with you. Let's just get married. Somewhere in the moutains. Or maybe on an island. Just the two of us, and maybe a few friends." You yawn like a lion cub, adorable in Caleb's eyes as you snuggle into his warmth.
"Honey…" His tone holds a warning. He can't let himself fall prey to your sweet temptation. His fingers card through your hair, feeling the soft strands with a hesitant, yet elated smile on his face. Slowly, you drift off, knocked out real good before Caleb carries you to your bedroom. In true chivalry, he removes your makeup and changes you into a comfy pair of pajamas.
Pressing a tender kiss to your forehead, he whispers, "'M sorry," before straightening up and booking it to your front door. He's out for the early hours of the morning, staining his hands and suit crimson with the blood of that friendly waiter. After ordering Liam to dispose of the body, Caleb returns to your apartment; orange burnishes the dark sky. The sun rises as he showers, burgundy like that damned wine trickling down your drain. Eventually, he joins you in bed, your bodies fitting seamlessly together; the underlying scent of body wash that clings to your skin are the same.
His therapist taught him a valuable lesson, probably because he wasn't a therapist but a cardiac surgeon instead. Rather than quitting an addiction, you should learn to hide it better (or at least, that's what Caleb heard during a 2am phone call with the esteemed doctor last week). He'll give you the perfect life and pick off anyone who dares to disrupt that one-by-one. That's what scared you away. But how can you be afraid of something that's hidden from your view, unknown until Caleb makes a silly mistake. But that won't happen, he's certain of it now. Your separation didn't teach him to let something breathe so that it may flourish. Rather, it taught him to keep something in a spacious cage so it believes it can flourish.
elle's notes: just in case you were confused, when caleb leaves the restaurant to take a phone call, he's actually arranging with liam to have the waiter that recommended you wine picked up. He also cooked the banana bread with valium (or diazepam), which calms your nervous system and induces drowsiness. thus, when you eat it later on, coupled with the alcohol in your system, you fall asleep relatively quickly after the valium takes effect.
@starkissedxav - it's been a while, but i hope you like this!
side header images from pinterest (not mine, obviously). but i did take the centre photo of caleb when playing his myth ages ago. sword divider at the end is from fairytopea, and pearl dividers by anitalenia.
ok to hold myself accountable for being a lazy bum im starting a new thing called yandere drabble saturdays
each saturday i miss i'll like spank myself or smth
tw. forced cuddling, creepy ahh gojo
thinking about yandere gojo during a zombie apocalypse...
He should be viewed as your savior.
It started when you were ransacking a local convenience store, tossing whatever junkfood you could find into your small bag. It's not nearly as safe as your own place, but you made the mistake of letting the four walls lull you into a sense of security.
It's how you missed the fact that the window was cracked open. The second the zombie had swung its arms through and dug its gruelly fingers into your jacket, you were sure you were screwed.
Until it dropped limp with a dull twack!
The man slung his blood-splattered baseball bat over his shoulder as you only stood there, blinking at the fact that you were still alive. He shook his white hair out of his eyes lazily and just grinned.
He was too casual and too smiley, like this was just another Sunday- is that what day it was? You stopped keeping track- evening for him, and not the literal end of the world.
"You can join my base. There are others there, and plenty of resources!"
It might've rung some alarm bells, if your stomach hadn't growled as you caught sight of his hefty, decent-sized backpack.
You agree to go along with him.
When you make the trek back to his apartment, it dawns on you as he leans down to croon at the two fluffy "others"- cats- that only you and this Satoru Gojo are the last survivors in this city.
That night the dinner is set for two, all champagne and roses. Like this is a honeymoon and not a companionship built off of necessity and survival. You think nothing of it. Even when he peers at you through pale lashes and purrs about how "it's been so long since he's spoken to another." It helps you chalk up his talkativeness and endless questions that you dully answer to just loneliness.
Quickly, you learn a few things about Satoru. He's always talking and joking. He rarely leaves you alone, and you find the few sparse moments he leaves to get supplies worryingly desirable.
At first you think his giddiness is just his way of coping through these times. But there's something in those gleaming eyes and wide smile that doesn't just come from pretending.
Mania.
And every night, like clockwork, he pushes the door to your bedroom open when he thinks you're sleeping. And stares.
You want to tell yourself it's because he's just checking up on your safety, or that he's just sleepwalking. You know better.
You always pointedly avoid reacting to his looming figure when you see it through your squinted eyes, forcing steady rises and falls of your chest. If he thinks you're asleep, he'll leave. And, if you call him out for it, well, who would ever be so inconsiderate to their generous host?
Satoru's always just as bubbly the next morning, like those silent hours in the dead of night never existed. But his bright gaze grows too watchful.
His clinginess gets out of hand one day. You're awoken by the mattress dipping with a sudden weight, and your eyes fly open in the dark, wide and unblinking. You feel someone slowly embrace you from behind, until you're uncomfortably flush to their body.
You want to shriek as Satoru buries his face in your hair and inhales. But you can't. You can't run, not unless you want to meet a more deadly fate your old life has to offer.
You force yourself to relax and snuggle into the arms of something much, much more sinister than any undead monster outside. Your captor savior rewards you with an affectionate nuzzle and kiss to the cheek.
tell me if this makes sense. should i make a taglist for lilac's yansaturdays 😺
