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rokiibrok · 3 days ago

Text

Gentle Scratches

Smut with a plot.

Caleb x you

synap: After getting bruised in a fight with wanderers, Caleb offers to clean you up, leading to undeniable sexual tension.

The phone in your back pocket vibrated repeatedly. When you finally took it out, a very enthusiastic voice greeted you.

“Hey, pipsqueak, what are you up to?” You could almost imagine him twirling his hair like some excited teenage girl.

“Running a few errands, I hope you’re still free after,”

“I already cleared the rest of my schedule for you,” which wasn’t as easy as he made it sound.

“What are you doing?” You mumbled, tucking the phone between your shoulder and ear.

He let out a slow, exaggerated sigh. " Boring colonel paperwork," His pen now twirling in his fingers.

"I would have thought you'd always be on your feet, stressing about something," you replied with a teasing tone.

“No, most of the time-” He paused. You could hear a faint knock before another voice started speaking. They sounded almost panicked as they rushed their words out. But you couldn’t make out a single sentence. “Sorry, pipsqueak, I have to go. Make sure to call me when you get to Skyhaven,”

You responded with a quick will do before ending the line.

You finally finished all your errands, but unfortunately, a hunter never gets a day off. Shortly after your watch pinged, Wanderers appeared. You quickly pulled out your gun, keeping an eye out for the fleeing people while also trying to contain the Wanderers and protect the rest of the city. The fight ended quickly, but you didn’t come away unscathed. Keeping people safe while fighting wasn’t easy; you had bruises, scratches, and some minor bleeding, but nothing life-threatening. An ambulance arrived and offered to take you to the hospital, but you declined; you were used to a few bruises by now. Finally, after everything, you arrived in Skyhaven, feeling relieved to have made it.

You didn’t even have enough time to click Caleb’s name on your phone before your name was called. The excitement in his voice cut off immediately.

“Are you okay? What happened?” He rushed towards you. His hand was hovering slightly above your face. His voice was stern.

“Just a bit exhausted,” You looked up at him, his brows furrowed. His hand finally cupped your cheeks ever so gently. He turned your face left, then right, slowly. “I’m fine, I swear,” you smiled, hoping it would ease the tension a bit.

“Was it Wanderers?” The way he spoke, moments when his voice lost all playfulness, all emotion. It reminded you he wasn’t the boy you grew up with. Not anymore. You nodded a bit, grabbing his hands.

“Let’s just forget about it. I’m not hurt, just a few cuts,” he didn’t respond right away.

“Can I at least check on you when we get home?” he said softly, almost as if he were begging. His violet puppy eyes looked down at you, and no matter how many times he gazed at you with that almost hurt expression, you always fell helplessly for it.

“Of course you can,”

——————-

——————

Caleb's thumb held your chin as he turned your face. Y'all were now at his place.

“Does that hurt?” His free hand gently running down your neck then stopped at the edge of your shoulder. You almost shudder at the touch.

“No-tickles,” you giggled a bit, which earned a small smile from him

“You have dirt in your hair,” he said, backing away and ruffling your hair. His voice was tinged with a hint of sorrow. He spoke softly, his brows pointing upwards. Lips pouted so slightly, if you hadn't known him so well, you would've missed it.

“Offering to wash it?” It was almost a joke. You felt kind of icky after the fight. After all, you had rolled around in dirt. Dried blood and sweat still stuck to your skin.

“I-,” he paused before smiling. “I haven’t washed your hair since we were kids,” you hummed, smiling.

“Because you'd pull my hair,” you teased, walking to the bathroom.

“Mayyybe because you couldn’t sit still.” He followed behind you, and you didn't notice when his gaze quickly flickered across your body.

You now sat in the tub. Bubbles sitting right above your chest. With Caleb, you never felt uncomfortable. Not even while you sat naked in the tub. Bubbles covering your most intimate parts. After all, you’d sat like this time after time with Caleb.

“Little Miss Hunter,” He spoke lowly. His fingers gently rub your scalp. “Always rushing head first into danger,” His fingers somehow massaged your scalp like an expert. Gently soaking the bubbles deeper. You almost hummed at the soothing sensation. “Try not to squirm, I don’t want soap getting in your eyes,” His voice low, breathy. Heat from his mouth brushes against your neck, causing you to shiver. One hand traces the curves of your back. “Does this hurt?”

It took you a moment to respond, not because of the question, but because you were worried you'd let out a moan for an answer. “No,” the words slowly fell from your lips, hesitant yet firm.

“Look up,”

You did as told without a second thought, almost instinctively. You shifted slightly, closing your legs as a pressure began to build in your lower stomach. It was something you were somewhat used to; after all, Caleb was a handsome man. It would be strange if he didn’t make your heart race once or twice, right? Especially when he spoke so low it should’ve been a whisper. It didn’t help when one hand ran water through my hair. You took a deep breath before slowly letting it out. Your chest, wavering. Your body reacting in ways you wish it didn’t. Goosebumps covering your skin.

“Try not to squirm I don’t want soap getting in your eyes,” He laughed slowly, a teasing, low laugh that made your head spin and your eyes roll back. Both of his hands rested on your shoulders. His left hand remained still while his right hand trailed down your arm, moving only with his fingertips.

“Your entire arm is bruised.” His voice was soft and slow, like it hurt to say. That quiet worry made your thighs press tighter together. God, he cared. And that did something to you.

“I’m okay,” A breathy moan escaped your lips involuntarily. “Promise,” you added quickly. Hoping to brush past the sound. Whether he noticed, he didn’t respond. You glanced over your shoulder and took in his disheveled hair, with a few strands sticking to his forehead, likely from the stream. Then, your gaze fell on the sleeves of his shirt, which were rolled up to his forearms. You noticed the bare skin of his arms, the visible veins, faint scars, and the contours of his fingers. His hand rested on the side of the tub for support.

“Distracted?” That boyish grin drove your imagination wild. Your eyes rolled as you looked away. The teasing lit in his voice caused you to smile. You couldn’t stop it if you tried.

“You done?” Maybe if you got him out of the bathroom, the heat consuming your body would slow down.

He smiled and tilted his head a bit before pushing himself up. “Yea yea,” that smile never leaving his lips. His eyes not quite leaving you either.

The moment he left, you let out a sigh of relief. The heat in your face slowly going down. You rinsed off the soap, feeling the water trickle down your body. Your mind wanders to the memory of Caleb's slender fingers against your bare back. Imagine the feel of his hand on other parts of your body. You quickly shook your head and got dressed. Which was unsurprisingly his shirt and shorts. They almost hung on you like a blanket.

“We aren’t playing doctor all night, are we?” You teased walking out of the bathroom. Caleb is already holding a few Band-Aids.

“Not much longer, promise,” He patted the open space on the couch. “We can do whatever you want after,” his smile didn’t fully reach his eyes.

“Whatever?” you echoed with a grin, your voice lilting just enough to let him know you were poking fun.

“Anything,”

“What if you regret saying that?” You sit down next to him. He scoots a little closer. You were only teasing-or at least it’s supposed to come off as that way. He paused a little, then smiled wider this time.

“Turn your head, pipsqueak.” The Gentle tone he used affected you more than you wish. As you did so, you could feel his hands on your jaw as he laid down a band-aid. He started covering the rest of the open wounds on your body. His hand gentle around your waist. You had to look away so you wouldn’t stare.

Especially when he dropped to his knees. Settling between your legs. Putting a Band-Aid around your ankle, with all his attention focused on that one leg. His eyes looked up. Those soft violet eyes made your heart jump. Just one glance from him could make your body shudder. Not to mention the feeling between your legs returned tenfold. His fingers spread as they slowly moved up your leg, inspecting every inch.

“Relax,” His voice was soothing and intoxicating all at once.

“I... am just," You paused, taking a quick breath. “Stings,” the words sounded more like a question. You shook your head, a bit embarrassed with yourself. It felt silly-the sexual tension building had to be your imagination. Caleb's eyebrows tilted ever so slightly. He glanced back at your leg before placing one more band-aid on your upper thigh.

“When we were kids you’d always get hurt doing the silliest things,”

He sat up, still on his knees between your legs. His ruffled hair covered his face as he looked down. His attention was on the same leg. Seemingly lost in thought as his fingers ran down. Stopping right above your ankle. He let a low, breathy chuckle.

“Then you’d come crying -Caleb, oh Caleb, I think I broke my leg,” he mocked. Then, slowly, he glanced up. His hair was still blocking his face. His eyebrows raised as he looked up at you, passing his lashes and strands of brown hair. “And I’d take care of you,” his thumb caressed the middle of your leg. “Until you felt better,” His tone steady and low. A moment passed, yet you couldn’t look away. Especially when you caught glimpses of his eyes.

“Caleb,” The words came out slower and softer than you expected. He didn’t respond right away, his head dropping to your leg once more. His fingers slowly trailed up your leg. One hand around your calf while the other on top. Both hands moving in sync. Then he said your name. So low you could’ve missed it if the outside world wasn’t so quiet. His hands stopped below your knee. He seemed almost hesitant.

“Is this okay?” The question seemed simple. But in reality, he was asking, Is it okay to cross this silent boundary? The one that kept us friends? Would it be okay if we went passed the point of no return? Slowly, you nodded, holding his eye contact. It took a moment before he stood up. One hand remains on your leg. Slowly moving up until it reached the outer side of your thigh. His other arm reached out beside your head. As he places his hand on the back of the couch. You followed his movements, then stopped back at his face. Your eye darted from his lips to his eyes. The dog tag you had gifted him was dangling from his neck. Slowly swinging back and forth. Him now standing between your legs.

“I need to hear you say it.” The usual teasing edge in his voice was gone, replaced by a quiet firmness that made your breath catch

“Yes,” you paused and glanced away. Only for a second. “It’s okay,”

The hand on your leg that was hesitating before now continued to roam over your thigh. You could feel the faint warmth of his body. He tilted his head and leaned in but stopped halfway. His unsteady breath hits your bottom lip. His eye was glued to your lips. Then they slowly trailed back to your eyes. He waited like a quiet invitation. As if he were asking, “Are you sure,” one last time. Wrapping your hand around his neck, you pulled him in. His lips immediately moved once they connected. His hand on your thigh roaming up passed your ass then stopping at you lower waist. He pulled you closer to him. It was slow and passionate. Like two flickering flames slowly connecting. His free hand on your neck. He slowly tilted your head down to follow his movements. His knees were back on the ground. His pelvis was on the edge of the couch. You could feel his chest against your lower stomach.

He was the first to pull back. You could see his eyes moving around your face. His lips slightly parted, his breathing irritated. Both his hands on your waist now.

“I want you.” Your eyes wandered to his chest. “I need you Caleb.” It wasn’t long until his lips were back on yours. His fingers tightened slightly. Not hurting, just firm. You go to take off his shirt. He pulls back for a second to slide his shirt over his head. His chest was firm. His torso was bare beneath the light. Lean muscle shifted with every subtle movement, each line of his abdomen carved like stone, sharp and defined, the kind of abs that made it impossible not to stare. the taper of his waist draws the eye lower.

“You have me,” he went back into the kiss. Tongues connecting, His slight groans muffled by your lips. Both of his hands now cupping your cheeks. He leaned into the kiss. Pushing your back against the plush couch. His hips moving between your legs. Your slight groans muffled with each kiss. “You’ve always had me,” He murmured against your lips. Not fully pulling back as if he wasn't ready- wasn't capable of breaking the kiss. You pulled back to slip your shirt off. A trail of saliva follows you. Now leaving you in just his shorts. He watched your every movement. Caleb's eyes seemed awestruck. Especially when he leaned back in with a smile. “You’re beautiful,” he said, kissing the side of your neck. His hands following the curve of your waist.

“Every part of you,” His lips trailed down your neck. Leaving small kisses in a slow trail. Finally stopping at your collarbone. He paused for a moment before continuing to kiss down your body, stopping just above your chest.

“Caleb,” The way you said his name was almost whiny. Showing him how impatient you were growing by the second. It didn’t make him move any faster. In fact, all he did in response was hum a little as he started kissing up your neck. Stopping right below your ear. His hum was almost a mocking "yeah"

He kisses your jawline, then pulls you back into his chest, before scooping you off the couch. You could feel his muscles as he carried you like nothing. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him into another hot and heavy kiss. One arm wrapped around his neck. Your other hand was tangled in his hair, gripping slightly. You moaned into the kiss. His hand gripping under side of your thigh. He gently pushed your back against a wall. You leaned back, looking at him. His cheeks a slight shade of red. His head tilted ever so slightly. One of your hands rubbed down his bare chest. Keeping a slow, tantalizing speed. Feeling each ab on your fingertips while holding eye contact. He groaned at your touch. You could feel him grow tense. His eyes followed your touch. He squirmed as your fingers slid down. Without moving his head, he locked eyes with you. He was smiling. Your hand stopped at his waistband. You gently pulled at the front, making sure not to break eye contact. He whined just at your touch alone.

Putting his hands on your lower back, he pulled you into his chest before backing off the wall. He kissed you once more, like a starving man. He wasn't ashamed to be vocal, that's for sure. Using his foot, he kicked his bedroom door open. He dropped you onto his bed, your legs spreading as you looked up at him.

You leaned in, grabbing his dog tag and pulling him on top of you. He followed along, crawling over you, his arms resting on either side of your head. The tip of the tag rested on your bottom lip. You pulled at it, dragging him closer. His tongue tangled with yours. He slowly lowered himself onto you, his hands finding your waist. He moaned into your mouth as you both felt each other’s most intimate parts. The print in his pants rubbed against your clothed cunt.

He took the first initiative to take off your pants, sliding the oversized shorts off and dropping them to the floor. He paused for a moment, looking up at you. His lips spread into a slow smile as he looked down at your panties.

"You're wet," he said — almost like he couldn't believe it, like it was a dream. He leaned down, kissing your lower abdomen.

You tensed up a bit. You head rolling back on the soft pillow, one hand in his hair. Not pulling, just holding. The other holding the side of the bed. "Relax," He mumbled into your stomach. A low vibration followed his words. He trailed down, leaving kisses. One hand sneaking from your waist to your lower stomach. His fingers spread out. "I read you better than anyone,' The last word sounded venomous. Whilst the rest were low yet comforting. "I'll know if you start second-guessing," He said, kissing the lace on your panties. "I'll know," he kissed again. "So," he pushed your leg open, placing a kiss above the crease between your thigh. "Trust me,' He spoke slowly, his words sounding like a whine. Like he was silently begging.

"Of course, I trust you," the hand in his hair falling to his cheek for a moment. The way his brows rose, his red cheeks. His slightly parted lips. It made your heart rate rise. He kissed the space between your legs. Earning a low whine from you. A silent approval as he slowly slid your panties off. His eyes trailed down your legs, then back to the middle. He leaned in, not quite doing anything. Not yet, at least. His arm lying on the top of your upper thigh. Slowly he ran his thumb down your clit. you squeezed the side of the bed and looked away.

"Do you like it when I do that?" He asked, rubbing a small circle in the same area. A simple yes wouldn't be enough. It took you a moment before you nodded a meek yes, leaving your lips. Quickly followed by a soft moan. He played with your clit, enjoying your reactions. He'd been yearning for so long that he'd never want to rush this moment. Especially not with you. "I want to hear you," it took a few seconds before he continued, "Baby." His voice is enrichingly deep.

"Yes," Your words came out in a single breath.

"Okay' He leaned in. The tip of his nose on your bare pussy. "okay" He mumbled into you before leaving a kiss. Then he stuck out his tongue. Staring from the bottom and stopping a you clit. It was slow and long. Your body involuntarily jolted. Your back lifted off the bed for a second. One hand was squeezing his hair. His moans vibrating off the walls of your cunt.

"Please," you moaned, looking down at him. His eyes appeared between your legs. "Caleb." Whether it was your tone, his name, or the way you begged. Something made him snap. He ran his tongue over your soaked core one last time before finally slipping it inside you. Your breathing became ragged, your throat dry, as involuntary whines left you. Both Caleb's hands are on your thighs. You could feel the faint pressure of his Evol keeping your legs open. Your eyes rolled back. The heat in the room prickles your skin with sweat. You moaned louder when you felt a finger enter. His tongue still ravishing your pussy as he fingered you. You moaned his name. His tongue now lapping at your clit. His fingers kept a steady, slow pace. Finally, he lifted his head. The area around his mouth glistened. He watched looking at your chest rise and fall quickly. His fingers were still moving. He watched as you tried to hold eye contact. But failed as you continued to whimper. Your head falling back on the bed. His fingers wiggling inside of you. His evol letting up so he could watch you squirm in his grasp. Your legs shaking with every pump of his fingers. Then, as you reached your peak, he stopped. You heaved as your chest lifted and fell, struggling to catch your breath. After a moment you spoke.

"You’re such a tease," you said, not directing your comment at him specifically. Eyes glued to the ceiling.

"I can't help it," He sat up. "it's not my fault you sound-" He paused as you sat up and jabbed his chest gently.

"shut up," You pulled him back on top of you, pulling him into a kiss.

"So bossy," He spoke against your lips. Your hands found the buckle of his pants. He helped you slip them off alongside his drawers. Finally letting his cock spring to action.

"Oh," you leaned back on your arms. He was huge—realistically huge. It jumped as you stared, eyes tracing the curving veins. You sat up on your knees, taking a moment before gently pushing him down on the bed.

"Okay," you whispered next to his ear, your finger trailing slowly down his chest, giving him the same kind of slow torture he gave you.

You watched him whine, eyes locked on yours like he'd do anything you asked in that moment, no matter how ridiculous. He tensed when your fingers traveled back up his chest. He moaned your name and grabbed your wrist, not to stop you, just to feel you. You kept stroking his chest, and he jolted at your touch. Your fingers spread as you trailed down his chest. Feeling his chest and the ripple of his abs.

You hadn’t even touched his cock yet, and still it jumped like you did Pre-cum dripping down. "Do you... like this?" You asked hand lowering. Finally touching the tip if his cock. Cum sticking to the palm of your hand. He moaned, his fingers pulling at his hair.

"can-" He took a sharp breath as you ran your hand down his cock. "I want to feel you, baby." His voice wavered. You paused, looking up at him. His soft voice, almost a pleading tone. It made you ache to feel him. You leaned over him, catching his lips. You straddled his hips. His hands found your waist as you fervently made out. You moaned against his lips. Your hands on his bare chest holding yourself up.

"Is this okay?" You whispered, looking down at him. He took a moment before speaking.

"I want to make you feel good," he whispered softly, reaching up to caress your cheeks. His thumb rubbed small circles as he continued, "I want you to feel how much I love you."

His words were all you needed as you hovered over cock. Before slowly sitting on top of him, you stopped at his tip. It stretched you open. He sucked in a deep breath his fingers tightening on your waist.

"Are you okay?" He asked with a husky tone. You nodded, giving yourself a moment to adjust to his size. Your hands are still on his chest most of your weight focused there. You slowly dropped yourself lower. A gasp left Caleb as you clenched around him.

You moaned his name when his cock twitched inside of you. His eyes still glued to you. Occasionally, trailing over your body. Taking in the sight of you on his penis. He stuttered as he said your name, head rolling back. "do you like that," His voice low.

You nodded, moving your waist. His penis moving against your walls. He whimpered, hands once again tightening.

"good job, baby," His voice was high. His breath was heavy with every word. Your hips bounced once more until you found the perfect rhythm. You moaned a bit, stifled as you covered your mouth. "let-" He interrupted himself moaning. "l-let it out," You clenched around his cock. His voice was low, husky, ragged, like each word was dragged from the back of his throat. “Just like that…” It rumbled out of him, breathless and broken, the sound heavy with want. Every syllable felt earned, like he was speaking through clenched teeth, trying to hold himself together while you moved on top of him.

"Yeah,” your words came out as a whine. One of his hands rested on the back of your neck, holding your head still to maintain eye contact. Your stomach tightened as the pressure built. Using his hand on your neck, he pulled you in for a kiss. The other hand traveled from your cheek to your lower back. Slowly, he flipped you, positioning himself on top. You let out a small gasp as your back hit the bed. “You feel so good…” You gasped, the words tumbling out between moans. Caleb slowly moved in and out of your pussy. Make sure to leave the tip in before slowly pushing back in. A plethora of wet sounds with each thrust. Caleb nodded at your words. His dog tag dangled violently, swinging with each thrust. Sweat dripped down his toned arms with each hand on either side of your head. His moans were loud, unashamed, and unrestrained, echoing in the air between you. There was nothing held back, no control—just raw, desperate sound spilling from him with every roll of his hips.

Balancing himself on one arm, he touched your lower stomach. He could feel the tip of his cock when it entered. He pushed down softly and earned an abrupt, loud moan from you. It left your lips without shame, high and needy, the kind of sound that made him look at you like he was ready to ruin you all over again. The pleasure building inside of you. You could tell he was at his climax. His words came out strangled. His breathing was heavy and whiny.

"Caleb, I'm going to-" You couldn't even finish speaking. Caleb nodded, his fingers curling around the sheets. The moment you stopped speaking your walls clenched around his penis. He moaned your name as he leaned down, catching your lips. Your moans entangle with his tongue. The world blurred for a moment as you both came undone. Legs shaking as the high slowly subsided. Caleb slowly dropped on top of you. Rolling over a little, not to crush you. Your limbs still entangled.

He took a few heavy breaths before he spoke. "Are you okay?" He seemed to speak in one breath. You nodded before turning your head to look at him. Strands of his hair stuck to his forehead. The rest is messy. His eyelids were lowered like he'd fall asleep at any moment. Unable to restrain yourself, a smile crept onto your cheeks. The euphoric moment takes hold of you.

"are you okay?"

He nodded at your question, smiling. His eye widened slightly, sparked with new life. His hand once again found your cheek. His thumb caressing your face as he held eye contact. Neither of you could speak. The moment was filled with comfortable silence as he admired you. He leaned in pressing his head onto yours.

"I love you,' He whispered before closing his eyes.

"I love you, too, Caleb." Your eyes fluttered closed as well, listening to his soft breathing.

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This was my first time writing actual smut. So I hope you all enjoy, and if you have any requests or feedback please let me know :)

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xxsyluslittlecrowxx · 3 days ago

Text

chapter three of this chaotic little menace drops tomorrow so keep those notifs on babes 💋🖤

isekai and in over my head.

chapter one | congratulations, you've died again.

it starts with you waking up in what might be a coma, probably isn’t a otome game, and is definitely not your life. It ends with five dangerously attractive men forming an unofficial committee to keep you alive, loved, and under constant emotional surveillance.

ABOUT | 3.1k words. f!reader x 5 LI (non-romance so far). slice of life.

TAGS | isekai. for shits and giggles. flirting. banter. fluff. survivors guilt.

NOTE: i’ve been spiraling a bit—writing, life, family stuff. so i’m putting angst on pause for now. i just want to write something light, a little unhinged, maybe even fun. here’s a side of me you probably haven’t met. either way, let’s laugh a little.

INDEX | chapter one ✧ chapter two ✧

chapter one | congratulations, you've died again.

THE FIRST THING...I noticed was the light.

Not warm sunlight. Not even the dim, flickering sort that hums overhead in hospitals. This was harsher—clinical, fluorescent—like someone had screwed neon tubes directly into my skull. It sliced through my eyelids in angles too precise, too sharp, and far too awake for whatever this was.

I groaned.

My head didn’t hurt, not exactly. It just felt... full. Like someone had replaced my brain with a bag of cotton wool and static. My mouth was dry, my tongue unfamiliar, clumsy against my teeth. My hands twitched beneath me, brushing against something cold and unwelcoming—metal, maybe. Or concrete. Hard to say. My brain hadn’t quite caught up to the part where things had weight and texture.

For a long, uncertain moment, I just lay there. Staring.

The sky above me wasn’t blue.

It was a pale, silvery sheen, streaked with bright, swirling fractures—like someone had smashed a mirror and scattered the shards across the clouds. They hung there, glinting, suspended in air like pieces of broken glass refusing to fall.

Which, all things considered, wasn’t ideal.

Around me, the skyline stretched upward in angles that didn’t quite make sense—black spires, too smooth, too symmetrical, like a fever dream of the future. Buildings that shimmered with their own light. Towering structures that bent the laws of physics just enough to make my stomach turn.

And the ships.

They hovered midair, motionless yet humming. Too steady for helicopters, too sleek for jets. Like someone had redrawn the rules of flight while I wasn’t looking.

Okay.

I closed my eyes again.

Deep breath. In. Hold. Out.

This was fine. This was probably fine.

Because obviously, it wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. No version of reality I knew included silver skies or floating ships or buildings shaped like knives. Which left me with one of three options:

One: Dream.

Two: Coma.

Three: Hallucination.

I went with coma. It sounded marginally less embarrassing than hallucinating a sci-fi skyline. People fell into comas all the time and woke up in places their brains had cobbled together from memory, TV shows, and the occasional Reddit spiral. Right? It happened.

Because the alternative—the one brushing against the frayed edges of my thoughts—was just too absurd.

I swallowed.

The absurd thing had a name.

Love and Deepspace.

No. Absolutely not.

I shook my head. Or tried to. It was like moving through syrup. My body wasn’t quite mine yet.

This wasn’t that. This was just... brain noise. A side effect of too many sleepless nights and maybe a mildly enthusiastic mobile game phase. That was all. People dreamed about video games all the time. That didn’t mean I’d somehow ended up inside one. That would be ridiculous.

So ridiculous, in fact, that my heart was starting to beat a little too fast just thinking about it.

I sat up slowly. The ground beneath me tilted, a slow, nauseating see-saw. Balance wobbled, but held.

Somewhere in the distance, a siren wailed—sharp, synthetic bursts echoing against the skyline like a warning shot. I turned toward the sound.

Figures moved in careful formations, small as ants against the horizon. Uniformed, some of them. Black silhouettes flitting between metal towers, fast and focused, like they knew exactly what they were doing.

I squinted.

Pain bloomed behind my eyes, a quiet, steady throb—don’t look too hard.

Another breath. Shallower this time.

Dream. Coma. Hallucination.

Pick one.

The air tasted like metal.

That strange, sterile tang—part scorched wire, part hospital corridor. Somewhere nearby, something sizzled. A pulse of heat rolled through the street like an aftershock, brushing against my skin with the vague threat of combustion.

I pushed myself upright, limbs reluctant but intact. This time, my knees held. Small victories. I’d take them.

A voice rang out in the distance—male, sharp, cutting through the static of my thoughts.

“—Pipsqueak!”

I didn’t flinch.

It wasn’t for me. Obviously. Why would it be?

Another burst of static cracked above. A ripple of... something—energy? reality?—shimmered across the silver sky like heat on asphalt. My brain tried to explain it, failed, and quietly replaced the gaps with white noise. I moved forward. Or wandered, really—aiming vaguely for the direction that seemed least likely to kill me.

“Pipsqueak!”

There it was again. Closer this time.

A chill climbed my spine.

I slowed. My heart stuttered in its rhythm, and logic gave up entirely.

Just look. Not hard, not long—just enough to confirm this is all a mistake.

I turned.

And froze.

He was running toward me.

And by he, I mean him. The man. The myth. The military-grade mistake of my emotionally stunted dreams. The colonel. The fan edit. The character who had no business being that hot in a pixelated cutscene.

Caleb.

And—dear god—it was really him.

I couldn’t move. Couldn’t blink. I just stood there, limp and blinking and deeply malfunctioning, as he sprinted toward me across the broken street like the chaos was just backdrop and he’d been waiting for his cue.

His boots hit the ground like a metronome. His coat flared behind him like it had been programmed to. And that face—that face—wore the expression. The one he always had right before everything went to hell: intense, focused, softer than it had any right to be. Brow furrowed just enough to look concerned. Jaw set. Eyes sharp enough to slice through time itself.

And then—swear to god—I heard it.

That song.

The edit song. The one with the slow drum and the breathy vocals that every Caleb stan on the internet had synced to his most dramatic cutscenes. The one where the MC catches him mid-fall, wounded but weightless, the entire galaxy burning behind them.

Somewhere in the back of my brain, a full string section began to swell.

I actually shook my head. “Stop it,” I muttered, half out loud. “Get a grip.”

It didn’t help.

Because the way he was looking at me—as if the universe had cracked open and I was the only piece left that mattered—was exactly like the game.

He shouted something again. I didn’t catch the word. Just the sound of it: urgent. Certain.

I stumbled back a step.

Because this wasn’t some lookalike. This wasn’t some glitch of the coma-dream matrix. This wasn’t fan art or hallucination.

This was him.

Real. Undeniable. Breathtakingly—infuriatingly—three-dimensional.

Which meant… which meant…

I swallowed hard. My throat rebelled. My palms had gone slick.

He was almost close enough now that I could see the shift of his muscles beneath that damn coat. The way each step sent a ripple of motion through his body, grounded and graceful, like even gravity didn’t want to get in his way. His boots struck pavement with military certainty. His voice carried like a commandment.

He was real.

Too real.

This wasn’t a face cobbled together from bad lighting and wishful thinking. This wasn’t the result of scrolling too many fan pages at 2 a.m. He had weight. Presence. Light clung to his skin like it didn’t want to let go. His voice resonated. His gaze held.

And me?

I wanted to drool.

Right there. Mid-apocalypse. Mouth open. Brain buffering. One click away from falling flat on my face in front of an emotionally unavailable fictional war god.

I was about to be scooped up into the arms of a man who, for all intents and purposes, wasn’t supposed to exist—except with abs that could end world peace and a voice that sounded like safety and sin rolled into one muscular, tactical daydream.

He was nearly upon me when survival instincts kicked in—and promptly malfunctioned.

So I did the only thing that made sense.

I shut my eyes, slapped my face, and hoped I’d pass out.

I didn't.

The sting rang out louder than expected. My palm left a warm print across my cheek, and my dignity evaporated on contact.

When I opened my eyes again, he was there.

Right there.

Towering over me like a verdict.

“Pipsqueak.”

His voice was lower now, wrapped in something between relief and reprimand. Like someone who’d been holding his breath too long and only just remembered how to exhale.

I stared up at him, utterly silent.

Because what exactly do you say to a man who thinks he knows you better than anyone in the universe—when you’ve only ever known him through a screen?

“Are you hurt?” he asked, already reaching for me. “Did you hit your head?”

Yes. On the pavement of delusion.

“No,” I said quickly, even though my voice cracked like it had been in storage since 1998. “I mean—yes. Maybe. I don't know.”

His hands found me before I could back away.

One cupped the side of my face, angling it gently toward the light. The other hovered under my elbow, like I was something fragile—something that might fall apart if left unattended for too long.

Which wasn’t... inaccurate.

But his touch. God.

Warm. Grounded. Steady. So deliberate, like he’d done this before. Like this was muscle memory. Like he’d held this face in his hands a hundred times—knew it from the curve of the brow to the line of the jaw.

I couldn’t breathe.

And I couldn’t lie, either. Not well. Not under pressure. My face was a glitching disaster of emotions—shock, awe, guilt, and a flash of something primal I will not be taking questions on at this time.

He misread it, of course.

“Still in shock,” he murmured, brushing a thumb over my cheekbone.

I shivered. Not helpfully.

“You're freezing.”

No. I was combusting. Actively boiling inside my skin. My bones were sweating. If he touched me for one more second, I’d melt straight through the pavement.

“Pips, your vitals are all over the place,” he said, checking some kind of wrist scanner he’d unclipped with infuriating efficiency. “You must've been close when the second pulse from the rift hit.”

Second pulse? Rift hit? The hell was he talking about...

My brain could not compute. It was juggling too much: his nearness, his impossible voice, the nickname he kept using like it belonged to me.

“Stop calling me that,” I said.

Too sharp. Reflexive.

He blinked. His hands stilled, but didn’t fall away.

My breath caught.

And then, without thinking, I moved.

I pushed him.

It wasn’t dramatic. Not even forceful. Just a small, shaky shove to the chest—barely enough to make him step back. But he did. Instantly. Like the spell broke the second I touched it.

We stared at each other.

His face shifted. Only a little. A flicker of confusion, chased by something quieter. Something dangerously close to hurt.

“I'm sorry,” I blurted. “I just—don't touch me.”

It came out worse than it felt.

Inside, I was clawing at my own ribs, trying to make space to think. His closeness had short-circuited something critical.

He straightened slowly. Not offended. Just... recalibrating.

“Alright,” he said softly. “No touching.”

The way he said it—careful, like it hurt—made my stomach twist.

Like he'd done something wrong.

Like I had.

“I didn't mean—” I started, but the words tangled and fell apart in my mouth before they could reach air.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

He wasn’t supposed to exist. Not like this. Not with real muscles and real warmth and real concern folding into every breath. He was supposed to be code. Character art. A game.

And yet, somehow, he was looking at me like I’d just broken his heart with one uncertain step.

He stepped back. Half a pace. Just enough to give me room. Just enough to let the cold rush in.

“It's okay,” he said. “We can talk about it later...”

His voice was softer now. Like I was made of glass, and he’d already heard the first crack.

He turned his head, muttered something into a comm clipped to his collar. I caught fragments—medical, stabilized, containment zone—but none of it landed.

I stood there, adrift in my own body.

Because he thought I was her.

The real her. The MC.

And I... wasn’t.

Not the one who’d grown up with him, trained beside him, made him laugh, made him stay. Not the one who teased him into softening, or shattered him just enough to help him heal.

That was her story.

Not mine.

But he didn’t know that.

And I couldn’t tell him.

Because if I did, I might lose the look on his face.

This softness. This impossible tenderness—woven through ash and urgency and dust and dread.

So I said nothing.

Besides, I needed answers. How I got here. And—if it was even possible—how to get home.

Caleb turned his head again, murmuring into his comms, his voice clipped now—brisk, efficient, all that earlier warmth folded beneath military precision.

“Secure the perimeter. Prep evac. She's coming with me—yes, I'll bring her in for assessment. Zayne's on standby, right?”

I blinked.

Zayne?

The name hit like a spark to dry kindling.

My head whipped up. “Wait—did you just say—?”

But he was still talking, still barking words I couldn’t follow—containment, bio-signal, integrity, elevated charge—his mouth moving around the vocabulary of a world I wasn’t supposed to be in.

I took a step forward, breath lodged high in my throat.

Did he just say Zayne?

As in... ZAYNE?

As in Doctor Zayne?

As in sweet-tooth, sharp-witted, god-tier-with-a-scalpel Zayne? The one with the voice like melted chocolate and hands that made the fandom lose structural integrity?

As in Dawnbreaker Daddy?

I stared at Caleb, genuinely unraveling.

Because that name wasn’t background noise. That name was legend. That name wore glasses and saved lives with one hand while tearing through enemies with the other. That name had a two-part origin myth, a drop rate lower than mercy, and an entire corner of the internet dedicated to his jawline.

And now he was apparently… on standby?

Like this was just a normal Thursday?

“What—”

A sharp beep cut through the air.

Then another. Then a rising whine, mechanical and shrill—like a futuristic kettle winding itself up to panic.

I looked down.

A device. Strapped to my wrist. Sleek and unfamiliar, pulsing blue at the edges. Numbers scrolled across the surface—fast, tight, cryptic. A countdown? Coordinates? Diagnostics?

“What the hell is that?” I muttered, mostly to myself.

Caleb turned.

No—snapped.

He crossed the space between us in two strides, wrapping one hand around my wrist and lifting it for a better look. His eyes scanned the display, jaw tightening.

“Shit,” he muttered. “Metaflux spike. Too soon.”

I wasn’t sure whether to be worried, terrified, or offended that metaflux wasn't just a word in a game, but a real thing in my current reality.

Before I could settle on a reaction, he looked at me again—different now. Sharper. Command-mode fully engaged.

“You still have your handgun?”

I blinked. “My what?”

“Your sidearm. On your thigh.”

“My gun?”

He gestured—two fingers, quick and precise—toward my leg like it was obvious.

I followed his gaze.

And choked.

Strapped to my thigh—like a casual accessory—was a matte black firearm. Sleek. Polished. Very real. It hugged the curve of my leg like it had always been there. Like I belonged with it.

My stomach flipped.

I hadn’t even noticed it. I had a gun. I had a gun.

I. Had. A. Gun.

“Okay,” I breathed. “Okay. That's... a lot.”

Caleb’s face didn’t shift, but something eased slightly around his eyes. Like he registered the rising panic and adjusted for it in real-time.

“I know your head's still scrambled,” he said, calm and even. “But we don't have time. Wanderers are breaking through the breach.”

Wanderers.

As in the actual nightmare fuel from the game?

The voidborn horrors with spindly limbs and glowing mouths and movement patterns that made your skin crawl?

I swallowed.

Hard.

This wasn’t funny anymore.

(Okay, it had stopped being funny about three hallucinations ago, but this was now fully entering run-screaming-into-the-sunset territory.)

Caleb saw it—the shallow breath, the inching step backward, the way my fingers curled like I could vanish into my own palms.

And to his credit, he didn’t flinch. Didn’t push. He just stood there—still, grounded. Like he’d wait forever if I needed him to.

“You're safe with me,” he said quietly.

And I hated—hated—that it helped.

That those four words landed somewhere deep and shaking. That they loosened something I hadn’t realized I was holding. That they made me want to believe him, even though everything in me screamed don't.

It wasn’t the words.

It was the way he said them.

Not we'll keep you safe. Not you'll be fine. But you're safe with me.

It was personal.

It was protective.

It was too much.

I didn’t say anything. Just nodded.

Once.

Because if I opened my mouth, I might scream.

Caleb shifted beside me, speaking into his comm again—voice low, clipped, all business.

But I wasn’t listening anymore.

The air had changed.

Not the temperature. Not the pressure. Something else. Something… off. Sharper. Thinner. Like reality itself had sucked in a breath—and forgotten how to exhale.

Then the light bent.

Not dramatically. Not with thunder or fanfare. Just a shimmer—subtle, glassy—like a mirage on hot pavement.

Except it moved against the breeze.

Wrong.

Wrong in a way that prickled across my skin like static. Like instinct. Like the deepest part of my brain had already decided we are not supposed to see this.

Caleb snapped to attention. “Get behind me.”

And then I saw it.

The tear opened twenty meters out—ripping clean through the air like a mouth mid-scream. A sickly blue glow spilled from the breach, curling around something moving.

No—emerging.

Limbs.

Not arms. Not legs. Limbs. Jointed too many times. Bent in ways bones should never bend. Skin like wax stretched over sinew, too smooth, too long. It pulled itself from the rift as if being born—and hating every second of it.

A Wanderer.

An actual, canon-accurate, Wanderer.

And up close?

It wasn’t just nightmare fuel. It was too real.

Flickering sigils twisted across its body, pulsing with something foul and alive. Its face—or whatever it had instead—turned toward us, blind but searching. It clicked.

Once. Twice.

Like bone tapping bone.

Caleb stepped in front of me.

I didn’t move.

I couldn’t.

Because my body had gone ice cold from the inside out.

This wasn’t a cutscene.

There was no turn order. No dodge button. No pull to restart.

The creature roared.

Sound cracked through the sky like a warning shot from hell itself. The ground shook. Caleb raised his weapon.

And me?

I just stared, lips parting, voice flat with disbelief as my nervous system gave up entirely.