Go away

+25

[lukie17]

Masterlist

Welcome to my blog! You are free to wander and look at my works! Thank you for the support! Currently my Requests are OPEN.

Rules:

I do not write NSFW

I do not write for Rafayel. I do not feel comfortable with him due to his background.

I also make SMAU, if you want one of them please specify, otherwise it could become a fanfic.

Xavier

Lumiere

Alpha! Xavier

Colonel! Xavier

Myxed Myths

Zayne

Onychinus Leader! Zayne

Myxed Myths

Caleb

Desesperation

The next morning

Prey

Alpha Caleb

Older! Caleb

Myth Theory

Myxed Myths

Silly headcanon

Sylus

Alpha Sylus

Hunter! Sylus

Myxed Myths

Wanna cry?

Everyone

Carena asada

Lipstick

Exercising with the boys

Another love interest answers the phone

MC with Caleb's Child

Eloping with them

Baby Fever

They have baby fever

Weight

Ordering a body pillow of them

Another Lover

[lukie17]

Found my husband in Japan

[womshame]

Rules for Surviving a Yandere Webtoon

Summary: When Y/N wakes up in the world of a yandere webtoon—not as the main character, but as the protagonist’s best friend—she knows exactly how the story ends. Determined to avoid becoming collateral damage, she writes survival rules. But as her friendships deepen and new faces begin to circle, Y/N realizes that obsession doesn’t always start with stalking and threats. Sometimes, it begins with kindness. With three dangerous hearts drawn to her for different reasons, Y/N must follow her own rules… or rewrite them to stay alive.

Trigger Warnings: This story contains themes of emotional manipulation, possessiveness, psychological obsession, unhealthy relationships, and implied emotional trauma. Reader discretion is advised.

Total Word Count: 11,026 words

When I opened my eyes, I was standing in front of a school gate so perfectly symmetrical and romanticized that I knew I wasn’t in my world anymore.

It hit me all at once.

The tall iron gate with polished brass handles, the cherry blossom trees fluttering despite no wind, the sound of faint violin music from nowhere in particular—this wasn’t reality.

This was “My Crimson Summer.”

A popular webtoon I’d binge-read out of boredom. A webtoon where sweet, naïve Ayla Min attracted dangerously possessive suitors like flies to honey. Where betrayal was met with blood. And where the best friend? She didn’t survive past chapter fifteen.

That best friend… was now me.

“Y/N!” a voice chirped behind me. I turned. There she was—Ayla Min, all sunshine and glitter and the smell of strawberry shampoo. Her honey-brown hair bounced as she ran toward me, her smile wide and unguarded.

“I was waiting for you! You always space out before school. It’s your thing,” she laughed, looping her arm with mine.

My heart dropped. I knew this scene. This was the first chapter of the comic.

Only this time, I was inside it.

⸻

That night, I scribbled in the back of my school planner—now mine in this universe—my first rule.

Rule One: Don’t Betray Your Friend.

It was how the original best friend died. She sold Ayla out to one of the male leads, thinking she could win him over. She didn’t realize how dangerous love could become in this world.

I wasn’t making that mistake.

Ayla was too kind. Too trusting. It made her glow, but it also made her a magnet for yanderes in disguise. Still, she looked at me like I was her anchor, and honestly, that scared me more than the looming love interests.

⸻

“Hey, Y/N,” Ayla hummed over lunch, “Are you free after school? I need help with calculus.”

I blinked. “Me?”

“You’re the smartest person I know,” she said easily. “Also, the student council VP sits next to me in math, and I think he’s silently judging me.”

I choked. Elias Hwan. The first yandere. Cold, logical, terrifyingly silent.

“Yeah,” I said slowly. “Sure.”

⸻

I met Elias after school in the library. Not intentionally—he just appeared.

He wore the school uniform like it was designed for him, blazer neat, tie straight, black hair perfectly in place. His dark eyes flicked toward Ayla briefly, then settled on me.

“You’re tutoring her?” His voice was low, smooth, quiet.

“Just helping a friend,” I replied, trying to sound casual.

“Then help her.” His tone wasn’t condescending. It was just… unreadable. Like he didn’t see people as individuals, just as functions.

⸻

For the first few weeks, nothing happened. Elias barely interacted with me beyond a few polite nods. He seemed focused on Ayla, which made sense. That’s how it went in the webtoon—until the story twisted.

I kept my distance. I stuck to Ayla’s side. We studied, shared lunches, gossiped about teachers. I started to laugh more, relax a little. Maybe—just maybe—I could survive this.

Then one day, everything shifted.

⸻

We were walking through the corridor when a teacher stopped us.

“You. Hwan,” the man barked. “Why are your grades slipping?”

Elias stood still, expressionless.

“They’re not,” I interjected. “He ranked second on the last exam.”

The teacher frowned, surprised. “And how would you know that?”

“Because I read the ranking board. And because I sit near him in calculus.”

Elias turned his head slowly toward me. It wasn’t dramatic—no music swelled—but I felt something shift. Like the air itself paused.

After the teacher left, Elias lingered.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he said. There was no gratitude in his voice. Just curiosity.

I shrugged. “You didn’t deserve to be called out for nothing.”

He nodded once. “You’re… different.”

Then he walked away.

⸻

Later that night, I stared at my planner.

Rule One: Don’t Betray Your Friend.

I added something beneath it.

Rule Two: Don’t Die.

I didn’t think Elias had noticed me until that moment.

And something in the way he said “different” made my skin crawl.

⸻

At lunch the next day, Ayla nudged me. “Did you do something to Elias?”

I blinked. “What?”

“He kept staring at you in math class. It was kind of intense.”

I forced a smile. “Maybe he’s still mad I embarrassed the teacher.”

Ayla giggled, blissfully unaware. “That sounds like you.”

She offered me half of her strawberry mochi, and I took it, biting down to stop myself from asking the question echoing in my head.

In the original story… when did he start changing?

Because something told me, this time, it would be sooner.

And this time, I might be the one he turned to.

⸻

I once thought that surviving in a yandere world meant avoiding danger entirely.

But that was wrong.

Survival meant knowing where the danger was—and not making eye contact with it.

Unfortunately, danger had a name.

Elias Hwan.

⸻

It began with small things.

At first, he lingered a little too long near our desk when dropping off materials. Then he started showing up during tutoring sessions even when Ayla wasn’t struggling.

“I figured I’d sit in,” he said one afternoon, placing his notebook beside hers. “To compare methods.”

Ayla, ever trusting, had smiled and scooted closer to me. “Great! You two are the smart ones.”

I laughed, but my shoulders tensed.

He didn’t look at Ayla when she spoke.

He looked at me.

⸻

That same week, during lunch, Ayla waved at someone behind me.

“Oh—Y/N, have you met Soren Yue?”

I turned.

The boy walking toward us was tall and sun-kissed, with his uniform a little undone and a lazy smile playing on his lips. His hair was a soft mess of golden brown curls, and his ears were pierced unevenly—one star, one moon.

He looked like trouble. The flirtatious, charming, probably-punched-a-wall-before kind of trouble.

“I know who he is,” I muttered.

In the original comic, Soren was the classic “bad boy” who got rejected early on. But he had a tragic backstory and a possessive streak buried under his sarcasm. His arc had gone unfinished when I stopped reading.

And now he was standing in front of me, smirking.

“Didn’t think Ayla’s friend could actually talk,” he said, extending a hand.

I shook it briefly. “I can. I just choose not to.”

That made him grin wider. “Nice. I like mysterious girls.”

Oh, no.

Ayla tilted her head. “Soren’s in our art class, remember?”

I forced a nod, trying to recall if this was the scene where he started developing feelings for Ayla. But if I remembered right, he was rejected before anything ever began.

Still, I added a new line to my rulebook that night.

Rule Three: Don’t Fall in Love.

Not with anyone.

⸻

“You’re quiet today,” Elias remarked during a library study session. Ayla had gone home early with a sore throat, leaving the two of us alone.

“I’m always quiet,” I said, not looking up.

“But you speak differently to other people.”

I stopped writing. “I treat people the way they treat me.”

He hummed. “Then you must think I’m tolerable.”

“I don’t tolerate people. I assess them.”

He leaned back in his chair, studying me. “And your assessment of me?”

“That you’re very good at pretending not to care.”

A pause.

Then: “You see more than you should.”

His voice was so calm, so even, that I shivered. He stood up, slowly closing his book.

“You shouldn’t be so kind to people like me, Y/N.”

“Why?”

He leaned in just slightly, his shadow casting across the table.

“Because it’ll make them think you belong to them.”

He left without another word.

⸻

That night, I sat at my desk with my planner open, staring at my own rules like they could save me.

Rule Two: Don’t Die.

I hadn’t thought kindness could be a trigger.

But it was. Here, everything was a trigger.

A kind word. A glance. Defending someone once.

I was walking through a field of landmines.

And I’d just stepped on one.

⸻

POV: Elias

Y/N wasn’t supposed to notice him.

That wasn’t how this was meant to go.

He had spent years observing Ayla Min. Protecting her from behind the scenes. Calculating her behavior, memorizing her patterns, tolerating the shallow people who orbited her.

She was lovely. Kind. Predictable.

But Y/N…

She was sharp. Quiet, but not passive. She noticed things no one else did. She had teeth beneath her politeness.

And worst of all, she had looked at him.

Not the way Ayla did, like a teacher looking at a student. Y/N looked like she was evaluating him. Seeing through him.

It thrilled him.

It terrified him.

It consumed him.

Elias had always prided himself on control. He didn’t feel things the way others did. Didn’t form attachments easily.

But now, her presence carved through the logic like a knife. And it was hers—the kindness she gave so freely—that made it unbearable.

She thought he was dangerous.

She was right.

And he found himself wanting to be even more dangerous if it meant she would never stop looking at him like that.

⸻

Back to Y/N’s POV

The next day, I kept my head down.

But fate had other plans.

“Hey, Y/N,” a voice called during art class. I turned to find Soren lounging beside an empty seat next to mine.

“Partner project. Lucky you.”

I exhaled. “Of course.”

We worked in silence for a while. Then he said, “You ever smile?”

“I’m smiling right now.”

“That’s terrifying.”

Despite myself, I snorted.

He grinned. “There it is. You should do that more.”

“Why?”

“Because,” he said, “I think it’s the first real thing anyone’s done in this school.”

That stopped me.

I glanced at him. There was something underneath the charm—something raw and hungry. Something aching.

“I like you,” he added casually. “Not just the mysterious act. You’re… real.”

I looked away. “You don’t know me.”

“I want to.”

No.

Not you too.

Not now.

⸻

That night, I opened my rulebook again.

Rule Four: Don’t Trust Them.

Because even the ones who smile like golden retrievers?

They still have teeth.

Falling in love in a yandere webtoon is the same as walking into a bear trap.

Only the bear wears a school uniform and calls you “cute” while snapping your bones.

That’s why I made the third rule.

Don’t fall in love.

Not with Elias, who now watched me like I was a math equation he couldn’t solve.

And definitely not with Soren, whose smile had begun to feel like a warning.

⸻

The art project was due in a week. And Soren—unsurprisingly—suggested we meet outside of school to finish it.

“Meet me at Studio 6 downtown,” he said. “It’s quiet. I used to work there.”

“You had a job?” I raised a brow.

He leaned back against the lockers, arms crossed. “What, I don’t look responsible?”

“You look like you’ve punched at least three teachers.”

He grinned. “Only two.”

⸻

I debated going. I could lie. Say I was busy. Say Ayla needed me.

But I was already in too deep.

If I refused, he’d know something was off.

So I met him.

⸻

Studio 6 was small and tucked between a bookstore and a florist. It smelled like turpentine and lavender. The walls were lined with unfinished canvases, and in the back was a space with two easels and a sunbeam cutting across the wooden floor.

Soren was already there, sketching something.

“Hey,” he said, without looking up. “You came.”

“Of course. It’s our grade on the line.”

He gave me a look. “Sure. Just the grade.”

I ignored it and set up my materials.

We worked in silence for a while. Then he asked, “Why are you always so careful?”

I blinked. “What do you mean?”

“You’re always calculating. Like you’re waiting for something to go wrong.”

I hesitated.

“Bad things happen when you get too comfortable,” I said.

He was quiet for a moment.

Then: “Yeah. I know that feeling.”

His voice was different. Lower. Sadder.

“You ever been to the orphanage across town?” he asked.

I looked up, surprised.

“My mom left when I was six. My dad… didn’t leave, but I wished he had. I got out when I turned sixteen. Bought art supplies instead of groceries for a month.”

“I didn’t know,” I said quietly.

“No one does. They just see a delinquent.”

He turned toward me, eyes suddenly sharper.

“But you didn’t flinch when I said it.”

“I don’t flinch easily.”

He smiled again. But this time, it didn’t reach his eyes.

“You’re either the strongest person I’ve met… or the dumbest.”

I shrugged. “Maybe both.”

He stared at me like I’d just confessed a sin.

“I meant what I said earlier,” he murmured. “About liking you.”

“Soren—”

“I know,” he interrupted. “I know you’re not looking for that. But I’m not asking you to love me back.”

He stepped closer.

“I just want to be someone you don’t pretend around.”

⸻

Later that night, I couldn’t sleep.

I opened my planner and stared at the rules again.

Don’t fall in love.

But what if someone fell in love with you?

And what if—against all logic, despite every rule—you wanted to believe they meant it?

⸻

Elias noticed something was off the next day.

He cornered me after class, eyes dark and unblinking.

“You were out late yesterday,” he said.

I blinked. “How do you know that?”

“You didn’t reply to Ayla’s messages until 10:43 p.m.”

“You’re tracking me now?”

“No,” he said softly. “Just noticing patterns.”

He stepped closer.

“You’re changing, Y/N.”

“No,” I said firmly. “I’m adapting.”

“That’s worse.”

I stared up at him. “Do you want me to fail?”

“I want you to survive.”

He sounded almost desperate, though his face remained unreadable.

“And if I say Soren’s just a classmate?”

Elias’ eyes sharpened like broken glass.

“Then I’ll say you’re wrong.”

⸻

POV: Soren

He wasn’t supposed to care again.

Feelings were weaknesses. Attachments, anchors. And anchors drowned people.

But she’d listened. She didn’t look at him with pity or disgust. She didn’t pretend he was someone better.

She saw him as he was—and didn’t look away.

That kind of person? That kind of connection?

You didn’t find it twice.

He wasn’t going to lose it.

⸻

Back to Y/N’s POV

The hallway felt colder the next morning.

People stepped aside as Elias walked down the corridor with quiet purpose, his eyes trained ahead.

When he passed by Soren, the tension in the air sharpened like a blade.

Neither said a word.

But I saw it—unspoken warning in Elias’ gaze, silent challenge in Soren’s grin.

And I stood between them, heart pounding, realizing the game had changed.

They weren’t just interested in Ayla anymore.

They weren’t even fighting over love.

They were fighting over me.

There’s this moment in every horror story where the protagonist realizes they’re not safe anywhere.

For me, that moment came in a supply closet.

More specifically, locked inside a supply closet—with Elias.

⸻

It had started with a simple task. The teacher sent me to get extra materials from the art wing. I was used to being the responsible one.

But when I pushed open the door, someone was already there.

“Y/N,” Elias said.

He was standing near the shelves, reading a worn notebook.

“I didn’t know you’d be here,” I said.

He didn’t look up. “You avoid me lately.”

“I avoid everyone.”

He finally glanced at me, eyes cold. “Not Soren.”

I exhaled. “You’re not entitled to know who I spend time with.”

“I’m not entitled,” he said. “I’m concerned.”

He took a step forward.

I stepped back.

Wrong move.

The door clicked shut behind me.

Locked.

I turned the knob. Nothing.

“Elias.”

“I didn’t do it,” he said flatly. “But I’m not unlocking it either.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I want to talk.”

“Trapping me isn’t talking.”

He raised a brow. “You’re not afraid of me.”

“I’m not afraid of many things. Doesn’t mean I enjoy being cornered.”

“Then tell me the truth.” His voice dropped. “Do you trust him?”

“Soren?”

“Yes.”

I met his gaze. “More than I trust you.”

That hurt him.

It flashed in his eyes like a crack across glass.

“Why?”

“Because he’s honest about what he wants.”

Elias stared at me.

And then, in a whisper that chilled my spine—

“So am I.”

⸻

We were freed five minutes later when a janitor walked by. I didn’t say a word to Elias as I left.

But the rules were ringing in my head.

Rule Four: Don’t Trust Them.

Because even the ones who sound calm while hurting you…

Are still hurting you.

⸻

That week, Ayla asked me if I wanted to walk home together.

I almost said yes.

But the universe, apparently, had other plans.

Because that’s when he appeared.

⸻

“Hey—watch it,” Ayla said, bumping into a tall figure as we turned a corner.

I looked up.

He was wearing a dark hoodie, his hands tucked into his pockets, with tousled ink-black hair and sharp eyes that didn’t belong in a school uniform.

Something about him made me freeze.

Not fear. Not recognition.

Something worse.

Familiarity.

“Oh, sorry,” he said smoothly, brushing past us.

His voice was velvet. Cold. Measured.

He glanced back at me—just once.

And smiled.

I knew that smile.

I had seen it in panels I thought I’d forgotten.

“Ciel.”

In the webtoon, Ciel appeared late. He wasn’t a student. He was a dropout. A quiet obsession who didn’t stalk — but waited. He inserted himself into the protagonist’s world through proximity.

He always made her feel like she’d approached him.

And now…

He was here.

⸻

That night, I added a new section to my notebook.

Not a rule.

A threat list.

• Elias Hwan: intelligent, possessive, calculating. Emotional volatility rising.

• Soren Yue: emotionally reactive, trauma-bound attachment forming. Possibly redeemable.

• Ciel: unknown variable. Delayed obsession trigger. Possibly watching already.

The more I tried to stay out of the story… the deeper I sank.

⸻

POV: Elias

He wasn’t losing.

He wasn’t allowed to lose.

He had spent years mastering himself, controlling his urges. Being the version of himself people could accept.

But Y/N had cracked him open.

And now, every look she gave Soren was a blade in his side.

And this new player?

Ciel?

No.

He wouldn’t allow it.

He would become everything she needed—before someone else gave her something twisted and called it “love.”

⸻

POV: Ciel

He noticed her long before she noticed him.

It was always the same with people like her. Girls who smiled but never too wide. Who thought two steps ahead. Who watched the world with a kind of sorrow in their eyes.

She wasn’t the protagonist.

But she’d survived long enough to be more.

He liked that.

He didn’t stalk.

He didn’t chase.

He waited.

Because eventually, they always came to him.

⸻

Back to Y/N’s POV

The next day, Ciel was sitting alone on the school rooftop.

He didn’t look surprised when I showed up.

“Curious?” he asked, not looking at me.

“I don’t remember seeing you around before.”

“Because you weren’t looking.”

I sat down, carefully distant. “You’re not a student here.”

“No.”

“Then why are you on school property?”

“I’m good at not being seen.”

That wasn’t comforting.

“Why are you talking to me?” I asked.

He smiled faintly. “Because you’re the only one who didn’t look away.”

I stared at him.

And then I remembered: in the webtoon, Ciel never forced himself into the protagonist’s life.

He waited for her to open the door.

And I had just cracked it.

⸻

When I got home, I wrote the last rule in ink, bold and permanent.

Rule Five: Don’t open the door.

Because they won’t come in unless you let them.

People think surviving means being smart.

But survival isn’t about strategy.

It’s about remembering who you are when the world tries to make you forget.

⸻

I stopped going to the rooftop.

I stopped staying late after school.

And I definitely stopped being alone with Elias.

The walls were closing in — three voices, three versions of “affection,” all whispering louder by the day.

I had followed every rule.

But the rules weren’t saving me anymore.

⸻

Soren tried first.

It was after class. Everyone had left, and I was packing my bag when he appeared at the door.

“You’re ignoring me,” he said quietly.

“I’ve been busy.”

“You always make time for people you care about.”

“Soren—”

“I just need to know,” he said, stepping inside, “what I did wrong.”

His voice cracked.

I turned to face him.

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Then why are you pulling away?”

“Because this isn’t healthy. You think I’m the only person who’s ever seen you, and that’s not fair—to me or to you.”

He flinched, like I’d hit him.

“You said I could trust you.”

“You can.”

“But you don’t trust me.”

I swallowed hard.

And told the truth.

“I don’t feel safe around any of you anymore.”

He stared at me for a long time.

And then—

“I’ll wait,” he whispered. “Even if you hate me. Even if you never come back.”

And he walked out.

⸻

Elias wasn’t so gracious.

He cornered me two days later behind the library.

“You’re spiraling,” he said.

“I’m surviving.”

“You think pushing us away makes you strong?”

“I think pretending this is normal makes me insane.”

He looked at me like I’d betrayed him.

“I wanted to protect you.”

“By controlling me?”

“By saving you from them.”

“You’re just like them.”

Silence.

Then, softly: “No. I’m worse.”

He stepped back.

“I wanted you to need me. I didn’t care if you loved me. Just that you couldn’t leave.”

And then he smiled.

“I’m not smiling because I won. I’m smiling because I lost… and you still looked at me like I mattered.”

⸻

Ciel came to me last.

At dusk.

He waited on the steps of the art building, arms resting on his knees.

“I figured you’d show.”

I sat beside him. Not too close.

“I don’t get you,” I said honestly.

“You’re not supposed to.”

“You knew me before I met you.”

“No,” he said. “I recognized you. That’s different.”

I looked at him.

“Why me?”

“Because you don’t flinch. Because you don’t beg. Because you’re still kind, even when you’re afraid.”

“And what do you want from me?”

He smiled.

“Nothing. That’s why it works.”

I stared at him for a long time.

“You scare me,” I said.

“I know.”

“And yet I’m here.”

“I know.”

⸻

POV: Y/N

They didn’t stop loving me.

They didn’t stop watching me.

But they heard me.

And somehow, that was enough.

Soren gave me space.

Elias gave me distance.

Ciel gave me silence.

I stayed close to Ayla, kept to routines. I didn’t fall in love.

Not with any of them.

But I didn’t forget them either.

I couldn’t.

⸻

I still keep the notebook.

The rules are smudged now, some crossed out, others rewritten.

Rule One: Don’t betray your friend.

✓ Ayla is still by my side. I never let her down.

Rule Two: Don’t die.

✓ Still here.

Rule Three: Don’t fall in love.

✓ Close call. But I made it.

Rule Four: Don’t trust them.

✓ And yet… I trusted enough to be heard.

Final Rule: Don’t forget who you are.

✓ I didn’t.

Not when they stared too long.

Not when they waited too patiently.

Not when they loved me too much.

I remembered who I was.

Not the protagonist.

Not the prize.

But the girl who made the rules… and survived them.

[humanjarvis]

piece of you

synopsis: with his good looks, talent, and intellect, caleb is the aerospace academy’s golden boy. but he was yours first, and he’ll stay that way.

tags: possessive clingy spoiled reader manipulates caleb, college party, reader handles their jealousy in an unhinged way, crocodile tears, caleb is attentive and sweet and unsuspecting, inspired by “piece of you” by shawn mendes

word count: 1.3k

a/n: i’ve been holding onto this mental music video for years and now i finally get to bring it to life :3 was originally going to write this from his perspective but i was like wait a second. he's the "you" that everybody wants a piece of

Beer, music, and sweat. The typical college party.

To celebrate the end of the semester, one of the student groups at Skyhaven’s Aerospace Academy had rented out a club for the night. And Caleb, ever the giver, had thoughtfully invited you to tag along.

A chance to visit him, to have fun together, to make sure everyone around him kept their hands to themselves—who were you to refuse?

There was only one problem: he was running uncharacteristically late, held up by a final flight assessment that’d been postponed due to weather. Which meant that you were here alone.

His friends, Gideon and Patrick, had spotted you and called you over, but while they drone on about school and flit watchful eyes at you from time to time, it seems more like they’re babysitting. You’re sure he put them up to it.

“Professor docked me on the last turn. I nailed it over and over in practice, but I totally choked on the real thing—couldn’t get it tight enough.”

“Same, man. I honestly think there was something wrong with the test aircraft. It’s so old, all the controls seemed laggy.”

It’s nice that they like planes. So nice. But you get enough of that sort of talk from your star pilot already. Where is he? you sigh in frustration as you unlock your phone yet again. 

Lucky for him, it chimes just before you can send a stream of angry faces.

special agent apple: Just pulled up :D I’m on my way.

Moments later, a beam of moonlight flickers by as the doors slide open. And when Caleb steps through, nodding casually at the bouncers, everyone’s chatter fizzles out into a hush. 

All eyes are on him. Because Caleb, still in his flight uniform, looks good.

Like, even better than normal.

With his unzipped jacket, windswept hair, and the leftover adrenaline boosting his confidence, he’s a fantasy come to life. And as the guests watch him like he hung the stars in the sky, you realize you’re not the only one who’s daydreaming. 

Neutral violet eyes scan the crowd and light up when they meet yours. Brushing off the people clambering for his attention, including a disgruntled student body president, Caleb heads straight toward you.

“Sorry I’m late, pip-squeak,” he greets as he leans down to ruffle your hair. “Aced the flight after the storm passed, though. Everything alright here?” he asks, squinting at his gossiping friends behind you.

“Yes,” you huff, folding your arms over your chest. “You have some world-class babysitters. You should give them a raise.”

Caleb’s eyes twinkle. “I should, huh? Maybe it’s not that they did a good job, but that someone was on their best behavior while they were waitin’ for me.”

“You wish. I have a list of crimes to commit tonight. I was just saving them for when you got here so I could blame it all on you.”

“Oh? You tryin’ to get me banned, pip-squeak?” he chuckles. “I guess it would be my fault for inviting you. But if I’m guilty, then you’re my accomplice. We’ll get kicked out together.” 

“Whatever,” you sigh, rolling your eyes in pretend annoyance. The air feels lighter, now that he’s here. “How was the rest of your—”

“Hey, Caleb!” a deep voice interrupts. Trying to find its owner, your eyes land on Caleb’s basketball friends, all huddled at a table in the corner of the room. When he spots them, he waves briefly before turning back to you. “Just a sec,” he says, ruffling your hair again. “I’ll be right back. Keep yourself out of trouble, okay?”

***

Ten minutes. Ten whole minutes.

You could be obnoxious at times. Childish, demanding. Spoiled.

But at no point, under any circumstance, should Caleb spend ten minutes away from you when you’re in the same room. 

The guys on his team are talking his ear off, and he’s letting them! Joining! As if you didn’t fly all the way to Skyhaven just to see him. 

You’re already glaring at him so hard you’re surprised you haven’t gotten heat vision yet. But as some tall brunette—the sports writer for the student newspaper, you recall—saunters over to him, you decide those powers would really come in handy right now.

She enters the conversation with an ease that makes your jaw clench.

And as she rests a coy hand dangerously close to Caleb’s dog tag, laughing at some dumb joke he should be telling you, the intermittent twitch in your eye becomes constant.

This won’t do. 

Your bloodshot eyes are nearly unrecognizable in the chipped bathroom mirror.

You had to be thorough tonight. Since you were kids, Caleb had taken care of you when you were sick—meaning he’d seen your attempts to fake sickness and knew your tells like the back of his hand. One overdramatic sniffle, one exaggerated groan, and he’d know something was off. 

In the fifteen minutes since you’d been holed up in the club’s bathroom, you’d smudged your makeup, mussed your hair, coughed until your voice was hoarse, and disheveled your outfit. Now, only the finishing touch was left. Recalling the ending of a sad romance you’d watched last week—the husband never remembered his poor wife after the accident—you shut your eyes for several seconds, and the tears roll down your cheeks like raindrops.

Perfect.

Pressing one hand to your temple and the other to your stomach, you stumble out of the bathroom in feigned dizziness, a pout on your face as you search through the crowd. 

Caleb is still with his teammates, chatting casually with the sports writer, but the way his eyes frantically scan the room betrays his nerves. Once his panicked gaze finds you hobbling toward him, he immediately rushes forward, wrapping an arm around you and cradling your head. “What’s wrong? What happened? I was keepin’ an eye on you, but I looked away for one second and you were gone.”

“Hurts,” you mumble, slumping into his arms and clinging to his jacket. “Think I drank something bad.” If plain ice water counts.

Caleb’s face darkens for a split second before he masks it with a soft frown. Previous conversation—and conversation partner—forgotten, he lifts you effortlessly and carries you through the sea of students. 

They part for him with the urgency of subjects making way for their king. And as your body jostles from the force of his hurried steps, you know you made the right decision tonight.

Caleb didn’t need that kind of admiration. Not from anyone but you.

Thanks to the path cleared for him, Caleb reaches the exit in seconds. And as you lie there limp in his arms, about to get your way once again, a boldness overtakes you. Smugly, you raise your head to lock eyes with the pouting sports writer, throwing her a shameless wink that Caleb would never think you capable of. Not when you were in dire need of his care. 

Her mouth dropping open in outrage is the last thing you see before the doors slide closed behind you. 

Satisfied, you nuzzle into Caleb’s neck as he carries you to his car and buckles you into the passenger seat. 

“You did the right thing, findin’ me right away,” he murmurs. “Just a few more minutes, and I'll get some medicine for you. I'll take care of you, just like I did back then.”

“Thank you,” you mumble feebly. “I didn't mean to ruin your night. I just don’t know what happened,” you whimper, using his short trip to the driver’s side to force fresh tears into your eyes.

“You didn’t ruin anything,” he says firmly, gaze fixed on yours as he switches on the ignition. “How could you have known you’d get sick? It’s not like you planned it.”

“I guess,” you sniffle, hiding your smile with your shirtsleeve. “Still, though, I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, pip-squeak. Now, let’s get you home.”

As his doting smile gives you butterflies, you can see why people like him so much. But unfortunately for them, you like him more.

[calebsdog]

Mc asks Caleb to buy chicken nuggets and he will ALWAYS get the dino nuggets. If he ever made them by hand he'd craft them into little dino shapes to the best of his ability. Though, they might look wonky once they've been cooked. He tried his best...

If you're the type of person who finds dino nuggets childish, Caleb will raise a brow at you.

"What's wrong with dino shaped nuggies?" He bites the head off of a T-Rex.

"Well, I'm older than you. So I get the final say. And they're definitely not childish."

[lukie17]

I believe in MC and Caleb matching energy. So MC is the ones who always insists on getting dino nuggets or everything in the form of an animal. Her lunches were packed with animal figures because she wanted them and her loyal dog, I mean Caleb, did it for her. She would probably take full meals to fild trips or something like that.

And if MC is feeling down, then Caleb will put the ketchup down and said: "What is wrong with your dinonuggets, babe?

[lukie17]

I called! Imagine Caleb knowing that you held on to Sylus while he was driving and you were shooting. Caleb will have the most rabid look at walk in to the N109 zone to fight Sylus. Not with his evol nor his weapons, he would do a fist-fight because he wants to break Sylus's nose for putting you in to danger! Caleb WILL hate seeing you with Sylus.

Also did you look at Zayne? He used to be my main before The Colonel came home, and a girl is weak, specially if she doesn't have a ringer on her finger 👀 👀 👀 

[lukie17]

Zayne in the trailer be like

[starmocha]

cocked and loaded

[brattysiren]

MEOW MEOW MEOWWWWW

[lukie17]

Mama, I am in love with a criminal!!!!!

[lukie17]

Xavier begrudgingly dressed as Lumiere: Is Mister XīngHuí gonna be home late?

MC: He could be home at any minute...

Xavier as Lumiere: I can hear him now! *teleports out of the room*

MC: ?????

Xaviers walks in with his sword in has and wearing his hunter uniform: Where is he? *looks through the room* I can smell his cologne

MC facepalming: I shouldn't have made you roleplay

[lukie17]

Wedding Night with Caleb

I think about the first time with Caleb.

I imagine the wedding night being awkward at first. Both of you year for each other, but crossing the line between friends to lovers is a big jump. The man who is above you is no longer the child who locked you in the attic but your husband. A man in the real sense of the word. Broad shoulders, a firm torso, and a gaze full of adoration and love.

Your insecurities hit you like an avalanche when he takes your clothes off. You cover yourself, but Caleb is not having any of that. He watches you in awe, as if the most beautiful creature of the planet had appeared in front of him, and for him you are the most beautiful being that had ever existed.

His hands trace your body, he knows it like a map, for years he had been familiar with your body. He knew what spot to touch to make you laugh, the ones that made you scream like a duck, and one time he was lucky enough to know the one that made you moan. But Caleb had never seen the body under the clothes, your skin was covered in scars here and there. He did not like that you had been close to danger where you had scars but he loved those because they were a part of you.

In a sense, your body was also new, he didn't know the mole that you had under your clothes. Private parts he was not allowed to see, parts that now were only meant to be for him to see. He took his time exploring your body. Liking the way you trembled under his touch, how you turned redder and redder, only for him.

Our dear Colonel doesn't know much about sex, but he knows you. In his endeavour of memorizing your body, he made sure to give you pleasure. No part of your body was left untouched by him, he made sure to remember every spot and the sounds you made under him. The awkwardness fading away as the lust you initially have became tenderness, your whole beings connecting in a new way.

[lukie17]

Can u do caleb growing up with an arab mc :)

I do not know much Arab. Could you share more details? So I can know what to write. Maybe you want something specific. I do not want to end up saying something wrong.

[lukie17]

"If you wanna get to him, you get through me"

Caleb

You had seen the trend recently and wanted to try it with Caleb. So, you put the camara right in front of where he was sitting and jumped right into his lap. Out of habit, Caleb grabbed you by your hip, steading you. He looked at the camara and smiled, lately you have been doing a look of reels with him, so he wondered what you would come with.

"If you wanna get to him" you leaned closer to him trying to not break character "you gonna get through me"

Caleb chuckled as you kissed him on the cheek. Even though he never acknowledges other females, it was really sweet to know that his pipsqueak had the same possessiveness he had with you. What a fool he had been, as soon as you delivered his next line, he turned pale.

"Because he is the biggest brother ever!!!" you yelled before hiding in his neck.

There was a silence that clung heavily in the room. Maybe you did not think this through. Caleb was sensitive when it came people calling him your brother. As you thought about what you had done, Caleb pinned you under him, his evol holding you in place as he leaned closer.

"What did you call me pipsqueak?" his ice voice made you tremble, but no words came from you "I don't remember even being your brother..." his hand getting closer to the end of your skirt "Last time I checked, I was your husband"

"Wait! It was a joke!" you trembled under him "You are not my brother! Never though as you like that!"

“Seems like you need a little lesson in jokes, pipsqueak” he turned you around, his evol disappearing. Instead, his hands hold you in please “Seems like I need to remind you that I am your husband”

Your excuses travel down your throat as his lips find yours. It was the kind of kiss he gave you whenever he was jealous or he was frustrated with you for doing something stupid. Darling, you were in for a long night. Maybe you need to think more about what kind of jokes you want to make on him.  

[lukie17]

How do your rooms look like? These are the ones I made for Xavier, Zayne, Sylus and Caleb. You can. Notice who is my favorite by looking at them.

[lukie17]

I have a big brother and I can tell you that in no way Caleb actually acts like a big brother should do. A big brother will hit you without hestation, yes he would also kill for you, but for the sole reason that a big brother can only mess with you. A big brother will never see you as a woman and you are a effeminate boy to them. My brother loves me but he would never give me the same treatment as Caleb does with MC. Though MC has some childish tendecies with Caleb, I do not think she sees Caleb as a brother, more like her best friend.

Now that I have said that I present you: MC falling for Caleb.

Imagine Caleb being confused because MC is now starting to avoid his touch. MC now wears more conservative clothing with him and keeps his distance. Caleb is no longer Caleb, the best friend, but is now Caleb your CRUSH. MC does no longer see a boyish face but a man. Someone she cannot hide her feelings from.

Caleb is no longer hidding his feelings so he will pin you down and will ask you what the heck is the problem. Imagine, his reaction at the sudden realization that you are not avoiding him because you hate him, but because you know see him as man. This man will use that for his favor. Will tease you endeasly, and will make sure that you no longer think as Caleb your childhood friend, but Caleb the man that will move mountains for you.

Caleb who will show more skin on purpose, to get a reaction of you. Caleb who will tease you by working out in the living in room with nothing boxers because you are childhood best friends.

[a-hermit-pining]

LaDs Men Hexed to Their Kid Form

AN: ovaries are working overtime today.

Pairing: LaDS boys x gn reader (Platonic ish)

Genre: Hurt and shit ton of comfort

TW: children being sad

Ingredients: 60% angst , 40% comfort

My Fav: All of them.

Background: The battle had been close, too close. The Wanderers swarmed, overwhelming you both. You fought back-to-back, every breath a struggle. Then the blast hit him, filling the entire field with dense, choking smoke. You staggered forward, coughing, vision blurred, and found him...Or rather, a child swimming in his too-large clothes. He looked up at you, wide-eyed and confused, the face of a five-year-old where your partner should have been.

And so you are stuck with the toddler version of your partner for the week it takes for the spell to wear off.

Xavier:

The moment you pick him up, he melts against you, tiny fingers clutching your shirt as his eyes flutter shut. Within seconds, the Crown Prince Xavier of Philos is softly snoring in your arms, his head nestled against your shoulder, his breath warm against your neck.

He’s such a sweet kid. The kind who spends hours making flower potions, carefully plucking petals and crushing them into muddy brews in the garden.

He speaks in surprisingly proper sentences at the strangest times, his tiny frame somehow finding perfect, upright posture as he asks, “A sip of tea, if you please?” as if you have a silver tea set stashed in your cabinets.

He loves sparring with you, too. Will drag you out to the backyard, a twig clutched tightly in his little fist, his stance serious, his expression set. He takes his training so seriously, his tiny brows furrowed in concentration as he swipes at your legs, his feet shuffling through the grass clumsily.

You can’t bring yourself to break his little warrior heart, so you pretend to dodge his tiny, furious attacks, stumbling back dramatically as he strikes your shin with all the force of a gentle pat.

“Good form, Your Highness,” you say, clutching your side like you’ve been mortally wounded, and his eyes sparkle with pride.

He’s a model patient, too. Sits obediently through every check-up and magical test you arrange to break the curse, his little legs swinging off the edge of the examination table, his small hands gripping yours for comfort.

And when he finally turns back, the crown prince hesitates for a moment. He brushes his fingers over the dried flower petals still scattered on your windowsill, his expression distant, his posture just as straight and proper as ever.

“Thank you... for looking after me,” he says quietly, his voice softer, a little more vulnerable than you’ve ever heard it.

He also becomes the unabashed source of months of baby fever to follow, because now you can’t unsee the tiny, mud-streaked prince who once demanded you fetch him grape juice like it was royal wine.

Rafayel:

He’s the tantrum kid. The one you hear before you see, little feet stomping, high-pitched wails echoing through the halls. He’ll thrash on the floor over the smallest inconvenience, his tiny fists pounding the carpet as if it personally offended him.

Give him a set of paints or a shallow pool, though, and he’s content, for a while. He needs attention, craves it like a plant craves sunlight. He soaks it up, demands it, his bright eyes watching you to make sure you’re still looking, still clapping, still there.

He’s a prankster, too. No better than a fae changeling. He whispers to empty corners at 10 p.m., tilts his head as if listening to something only he can hear, then giggles when you whirl around, heart racing. He lives to catch you off guard, to see the startled, exasperated look on your face.

“Rafayel!” you shout, splashing into a flooded bathroom, the tide already creeping into the living room carpet. And... is that a starfish clinging to your couch cushion?

You scoop him out of the mess, his wet, squirming body deposited onto the couch as you dash to stop the flood. He grins up at you, eyes bright with mischief, water still dripping from his curls, and you can’t help the exasperated laugh that escapes you.

But for all his noise and chaos, there are nights when you find him curled up in a corner, his little shoulders shaking, cheeks wet with silent tears.

It’s always the same question, whispered between hiccups: “Why can’t I feel it? Why can’t I hear them?”

He’s too young to understand, to process the strange, aching emptiness in his heart. The absence of Lemuria’s call, the gentle hum of the ocean he was born to rule.

And all you have to offer is a soothing lullaby, your voice soft in the darkness as you rock him in your arms. He clings to you, tiny fingers curled into your shirt, his face buried in your shoulder, and you can feel the wet warmth of his tears soaking into your skin.

Eventually, he falls asleep, his breathing slow and heavy, but his cheeks stay streaked with salt, his grief lingering even in his dreams.

And so, you hug him tightly to sleep. Even after he does turn back to his former self.

Zayne:

You love trolling this kid.

“Yeah, you grew up to be the world’s greatest circus master,” you say with a perfectly straight face, flipping through an old album to a picture of his older self, his monkey brother clinging to his shoulder.

To your absolute delight, you walk into the living room one day to find little Zayne standing on a stool, waving a stick like a magician commanding the elements. His brows are furrowed, his lips pressed into a tight line, his tiny hands cutting through the air as if casting a powerful, world-altering spell.

Despite the devastation of not becoming a doctor, Zayne doesn’t seem entirely opposed to the idea of performing. He takes to it with a quiet, intense focus, folding napkins like they’re spell scrolls, lining up marbles like enchanted stones.

And he’s such a good kid, too. He helps you clean up after dinner, carefully setting the table by standing on a chair, each fork and spoon. You often find him perched on the counter, munching on apple slices, watching you cook with wide, attentive eyes.

But you notice things.

He’s too careful for a child. Always on guard, his small shoulders tight, his movements measured, as if afraid of brushing against something that might break. He pulls away from any touch, flinches when you reach for him too quickly.

And then one night, when he’s fast asleep, you notice the tiny, fading scars on his arms. Old, white lines, barely visible, but unmistakable. The kind that still mark his mark his arms as an adult.

It breaks your heart.

He’s not just afraid of the world, he’s afraid of himself, of his evol, of the power that lies dormant in his tiny, trembling hands. He knows, even now, that one wrong move, one slip of control, could hurt the people he cares about.

When he finally turns back, you make it a point to hug him a little tighter, to reach for his hand without hesitation, to ruffle his hair whenever he’s within arm’s reach. You pull him into half-hugs when he least expects it, sling your arm around his shoulders, and lean into him as if the years of self-restraint never happened.

And though he huffs and grumbles, you notice he never pulls away. Not anymore.

Sylus:

He flinches. A lot.

It breaks your heart. Someone made him this way, turned this fierce, proud dragon into a child who startles at shadows and stiffens at loud noises. You don’t know who hurt him, who made him so wary, but the thought twists your chest with a slow, simmering anger.

You have to be so gentle with him. Move slowly, speak softly, give him space to retreat when he needs it. You learn to read his small, hesitant steps, the way his eyes dart to the door when voices get too loud, the way he freezes at sudden movements.

He befriends Mephisto first. The little mechanical crow hops around his feet, clicking and chirping in its strange, metallic voice, and Sylus’s eyes brighten, just a bit. You watch them from the doorway, relieved that this version of him has at least made a friend, even if it’s a tiny, clockwork bird.

You watch them talk for hours, Sylus’s small hands carefully cradling the crow, his head tilted as he whispers to it in a voice too soft for you to hear. You don’t interrupt. You wouldn’t dare.

One afternoon, you find him peeking into his grown self’s closet, wide eyes reflecting the glimmer of polished cufflinks, the dark sheen of leather, the sharp edges of perfectly pressed suits.

“Mine?” he asks, his voice trembling with a mixture of awe and disbelief.

You sink to the floor beside him, your heart aching as you hold up a pair of sapphire-studded cufflinks..

“Yes, darling,” you whisper, voice catching as he inches closer, his tiny fingers brushing the cool metal. “All yours.”

He looks at you then, his eyes wide and wet, and you feel something in your chest crack, the sharp, aching pressure of a dam breaking.

In the week you spend with little Sylus, you make it a point to create the warmth he seems to have never known. You cook diamond-shaped waffles for breakfast, topping them with strawberries and whipped cream, watching his eyes go wide with every bite. You sit around the dinner table, the twins leaning in to ruffle his hair, to tell him stories, to praise every brave word that slips from his lips.

You help him taste test every jar in his precious jam collection, each spoonful a hesitant experiment. His small face lights up at the burst of different flavors. He eats so little otherwise.

When the spell finally breaks, and he returns to his grown self, you don’t ask him. You don’t push. You don’t demand to know who hurt him, or what he was so afraid of as a child.

But one night, as you lie together in the darkness, his head resting on your shoulder, his breath warm against your neck, he whispers it to you. He tells you of a past so tragic, so twisted in grief and betrayal, that by the end of it, you’re both sobbing softly, clinging to each other in the dark.

And when he finally falls silent, his breathing slow and even against your chest, you press a kiss to his hair and whisper, “You’re safe now. I promise.”

Caleb:

He is numb.

Worse than any chip.

Unlike any kid you’ve ever met.

He sits on the couch, knees drawn to his chest, staring blankly at the flickering TV. His eyes are hollow, his small hands limp in his lap, his breaths shallow and mechanical, as if his body has forgotten how to feel anything at all.

“Caleb,” you murmur, sinking down beside him. You reach out, your fingers carding gently through his dark, messy hair. “Please eat something.” You set a tray of cut fruit in front of him. He doesn’t even blink.

It’s only when you bring out the album that something flickers behind his eyes.

“Look,” you whisper, flipping through the worn, crinkled pages. “Both of us... we made it.”

His head turns slowly, his dark eyes focusing on the images, two kids, standing side by side with basket full of Halloween candy. With him dressed as a T-Rex and you as Pooh bear.

“It wasn’t easy,” you say, holding the book open so he can see, “and we got hurt, but we have our life. We’re happy.”

You feel his small fingers twitch, his gaze lingering on a faded, slightly torn photo of the two of you, arms thrown over each other’s shoulders, chocolate stained cheeks.

You let him take it from your hands, his small fingers gripping the edges, the photo trembling slightly as he holds it close.

“You did good,” you whisper, gently patting his head.

For a long moment, his haunted eyes lock with yours, his small body trembling, caught between disbelief and desperate, aching hope. He doesn’t want to believe it, doesn’t want to let the warmth in, doesn’t want to be swayed.

But he’s a kid.

And then, like a dam breaking, he lunges into your arms, clutching you tightly, his tiny frame shuddering against yours as the weight of it all crashes over him.

“You did so good,” you repeat, rocking him gently in your arms. “You were so brave, Caleb. I’m so proud of you.” You pat his small, shaking back, your own eyes stinging with tears, unable to bear his pain.

And for the first time in days, you feel him breathe.

When he returns to his old self, you make it a point to frame every single one of those photos. You hang them in the hallway, tuck them into his desk, slip them into his office drawers. You take so many more, catching him off guard, dragging him to photobooths, and fancy dress parties.

Because if that little Caleb ever returns to you, you want him to have more. More memories, more proof, more warmth. You want him to know, without a doubt, that he did make it. That he did good.

[lukie17]

Caleb toodler is such a good concept because he was the one who is always protecting MC, imagine him being so afraid and confused. Caleb is pulled away from Toodler!MC and he is so afraid. Go and give kudos to @a-hermit-pining

[lukie17]

Masterlist

Welcome to my blog! You are free to wander and look at my works! Thank you for the support! Currently my Requests are OPEN.

Rules:

I do not write NSFW

I do not write for Rafayel. I do not feel comfortable with him due to his background.

I also make SMAU, if you want one of them please specify, otherwise it could become a fanfic.

Xavier

Lumiere

Alpha! Xavier

Colonel! Xavier

Myxed Myths

Zayne

Onychinus Leader! Zayne

Myxed Myths

Caleb

Desesperation

The next morning

Prey

Alpha Caleb

Older! Caleb

Myth Theory

Myxed Myths

Silly headcanon

Sylus

Alpha Sylus

Hunter! Sylus

Myxed Myths

Wanna cry?

Everyone

Carena asada

Lipstick

Exercising with the boys

Another love interest answers the phone

MC with Caleb's Child

Eloping with them

Baby Fever

They have baby fever

Weight

Ordering a body pillow of them

Another Lover

[littleapplestar]

🌸lemme see y’all’s mc and blobbus!!! here’s mine

daisy and daisyblobbu 🌸🌼🪷

[lukie17]

Lucille and Lukieblobbu