#Free Windows Utilities

[guyrcook]

5 Free GUI Tools to Free Up Space on Your Windows Hard Drive

Is your Windows computer running slower than usual? Are you constantly getting “low disk space” warnings? A cluttered hard drive not only affects performance but can also shorten your device’s lifespan. Fortunately, there are several free graphical user interface (GUI) tools that can help you reclaim valuable disk space without having to navigate complex command lines. 1. WinDirStat WinDirStat…

[ralfmaximus]

Are you running Windows?

Ever delete a file, empty your recycling bin, and go WELL SHIT and wish you hadn't done that?

..want to snoop around an NTFS file system and see what's been deleted then possibly recover that information?

You need Kickass Undelete!

It recovers deleted files! Usually! For free! Stupidly easy!

[novelistparty]

my ideal number of computers at home is perhaps three one for professional work, one for general life and household things, one for fun projects I'd prefer only two but the demands and timescales of professional work mean it doesn't mix well with the other domains

[filehulk]

Unlocker

Unlocker is a free software designed to help you unlock and delete files that your Windows system won’t let you remove. It can also terminate processes that contribute to the issue. Additionally, the program allows users to delete index.dat files, modify locked folder statuses, and unload specific DLLs. It has a straightforward interface with a minimal set of functions. What is…

[glitch-but-ya]

SILKEN CHAINS.

| AO3 | PAIRING: Yandere!Caleb x Psychotherapist!Reader CW: SFW but MATURE, manipulation, yandere, obsessive/possessive/controlling behaviour, grotesque descriptions, descriptions of gore, suicide, implied murder, stalking, trauma, mental illness, just a heavy fic in general, mild swearing, Fem!Reader. SUMMARY: When her childhood friend spirals into a paradox of obsession and madness, who could mend his fractured mind better than her? Utilizing her years of expertise, she is determined to bring him back. But can one play with fire without scorching their skin? Can she unravel his mind before he devours hers? WORD COUNT: 31k words. DISCLAIMER: Although you are free to view this as dead dove or dark romance, I am not romanticising such behaviour. I'm simply telling a dark story for the sake of telling a dark story. This is merely a psychological thriller written for the fun of it. Heavy content ahead, be warned. A/N: Helloo!! Sorry for being super inactive!! I hit a writing slump and when I’d recovered from it, I started this fic (or, more accurately, I started writing this fic in order to flee from writer’s block.) I wanted to work on my other sylus fic but I kept mixing the character’s personalities up. I’m usually great at multitasking but not when it comes to writing it seems. I had exams, my mother got sick halfway through ramadan, I was fasting and constantly exhausted, and yeah. (Yes, I am Muslim!) Anyways, the idea for this fic was something akin to a shower thought. I changed my writing style a bit. Basically went from uhh poetic(?) to more mordern. So I don’t know how I did. Any criticism or feedback is appreciated!!

He was always like this, wasn’t he?

You twirled your pen between your fingers as you glared out the open window into the faces of buildings looming high. A warm westerly breeze wafted through the opening, swirling the bittersweet scent of coffee throughout the room. A long, white couch sat at the other end of yours, bearing a small, fresh dent on its right corner—left by the last patient of the day. That decade-old piece of furniture had been in your office for as long as you could recall. It had shouldered the weight of various troubled souls who would rush to you at the first hint of distress. They would barge in, plop themselves down on the exact same side of the sofa, and pour their worries out.

For hours, you would sit still with a notebook in your hands, gazing out that very same window as if your ears had not caught a word. And once they’d stop, you would turn to them with a smile.

“I see. Well, let’s start from the beginning.”

Many came with a burdened frown, and all left with their heads lifted high. That was the quality of your service—the merit of having abandoned the role of a renowned criminologist to settle for a mere clinical psychotherapist. It was a far more peaceful life, where you only needed to contend with the usual afflictions of mental health. You’d say it suited you better. It was far kinder to your body and soul to study the boundaries of the mind rather than the savagery of crime. Because if you were truly competent enough to retain your position as a criminologist, you would have noticed sooner, wouldn’t you?

Your pen stilled in your hand.

You had studied the faces of many. Cheaters, narcissists, the apathetic, the antisocial—you had seen it all and more. During your brief tenure as a criminologist, you had worked with the most wretched criminals. A deranged, delusional son who had donned the skin of his mother shortly after gutting her alive, a schizophrenic woman who had splattered her husband’s brains across her grotesque painting, and countless men and women who displayed heightened symptoms of obsessive and abusive behaviour towards their partners.

And yet, you missed it.

There was a saying that we normalise the odd behaviour of those closest to us to such an extent that their misdoings and concerning actions fly off our radar without a hitch. Our paths were so intertwined with theirs that we saw no reason to stop and ponder—Hey, could this be a sign of mental illness?

You supposed you had fallen into the same dilemma. He had sat before you your entire life—from adolescence to the moment higher education set you apart, he had always been there. Even as you pursued your double majors, Caleb’s botched mental evaluation exam had not raised any red flags in your mind.

“Oh, it’s a flawed test. You of all people should know that someone’s mental health can’t be determined by a simple questionnaire.”

And regrettably, you believed him. He made a good point, after all. A simple questionnaire said nothing about someone’s true psyche.

But still, you regretted not questioning—Is it even possible to fail so miserably?

You should have checked his answers. Such an oversight had cost you the surprise of finding out in... such a way. And now that you looked back and reevaluated your interactions with him, the markers became clear.

“The people that want to hurt you? They should all just—” his gaze burned through your skull, “—disappear.”

“I don’t need your protection. I’m fine on my own.”

He scoffed, eyes brimming with betrayal.

“You don’t need me? Is that what you think?”

Your lips trembled as you sank deeper into the plush of the couch, forced down by his presence. With one arm, he caged you between his body and the cushions.

“Alright, what do you want? You can tell me.”

You knocked his forearm weakly. “Caleb, calm down—”

“We can return to Linkon if that’s what you want. We’ll rebuild our old house. And if one house isn’t enough, I’ll build you a whole maze.”

Like a fish out of water, you thrashed about, only to still once realisation dawned on you—

He was speaking to you with unfiltered, bare words. There would not be another chance like this. Now was the perfect time to capitalise on his raw and vulnerable state.

You pursed your lips. Caleb’s finger trailed across your jaw.

“I’ll decorate it with whatever you want. It will be the most stunning garden you’ve ever seen.”

You emptied your gaze, donning the familiar facade of a professional, objective psychotherapist. You scrutinised him as he spoke. You picked up on the subtle crack of his voice, the tears threatening to form, the gentle firmness of his grip. This was him—the true, raw him. How could you not have noticed sooner?

In hindsight, the signs were present. Possessiveness, obsession, strategic control—traits you would have easily identified in a client. He thought of himself as clever. And he was right. To the general public, Caleb was beyond cunning. A force to be reckoned with.

But you had seen worse. You had dissected minds far more twisted than his. You were confident in your abilities—you could unravel him, strip him bare once more, and deliver the final blow with cautious precision. Patients often believed themselves to be indecipherable, an enigma buried in the sands of time.

Yet they forgot that doctors such as yourself had wasted half their lives preparing for them. No matter how savage or twisted one may be, you were trained to make people collapse at the slightest pull of their heartstrings.

The only reason behind your incompetence had been simple—familiarity breeds blind spots, and Caleb was all too familiar to you. You regretted not having picked up on it sooner. Now, all your analyses pointed to the same result. He was severely disturbed and in urgent need of therapeutic intervention.

And who was more qualified to deliver just that than you?

This was what you had studied for, was it not? With your combined expertise in both psychology and criminology, you could corner Caleb into spilling his woes. You could fix him. He thought himself untouchable, but you had spent years preparing for men like him.

You tilted your head and glanced at the brightly coloured strip of paper sitting atop your desk. Tickets. To Skyhaven. You could finally see him.

You smiled. How long had it been? A couple of months, perhaps? Since your last visit to Skyhaven, Caleb had not hesitated to check up on you daily. As if unbothered by your reluctance to respond, he left small texts floating in your inbox. Simple formalities—How are you feeling? Have you eaten well?—all left on read. You could practically see the fireworks erupt in his violet eyes the moment you finally responded—

“I’m coming over tomorrow. Do you mind?”

Like an overjoyed pup granted his favourite treat, he swarmed your chat with various emoticons. ‘Are you on vacation? :0’ ‘When are you coming?’ ‘Should I make dinner?’

Despite your best efforts at denial, you couldn’t shake the flutter in your chest at his care and enthusiasm.

If only he had remained the same.

If only he were the boy you once knew, you wouldn’t have to resort to such measures.

Your pulse quickened as your fingers brushed across the ticket’s surface.

You were really doing this, weren’t you? Playing with fire, confident in your eventual triumph. In your field, patience was key.

You would untangle him thread by thread. And when he collapsed, you could embrace him once more. Not as a cruel, restrictive monster, but as the warm boy you had always known.

It was only a matter of time.

“Please stand clear of the doors,” a robotic female voice buzzed. “Next stop, Skyhaven.”

You planted yourself against the hard plastic chairs, clutching a phone that idled on a conversation.

“I’m on the train.” “I’ll be there to pick you up :D”

You stuffed your phone back into your bag. With a loud whir, the train began to move. Your body swayed to the side as it accelerated, pressing you against a metal pole. In just a few hours, you would reach Skyhaven. And he would be there, waiting for you with that big grin plastered across his face—the grin that once lifted you off your feet, whose irony you had now begun to despise. It was the very same expression that would trick the masses.

Girls lined up against high school lockers would swoon over it. But what they didn’t know was that his radiant smile was merely a distraction meant to deter them from the way his eyes, no matter what obstruction emerged before him, would always be locked on you. His warm violet hues would burn through your skull as you led him through the hallways, chatting away obliviously. Back then, you had shrugged it off. He was just expressing care, you thought. You were afraid of crowds back then. He was just looking out for you. It was in your best interest, right? If only you had known.

You should have questioned. You should have known better.

But your high school days were well behind you. What stood now were two matured adults with a strained relationship, engaged in a ruthless game of chess—a game he did not yet realise he was a participant in.

But that only gave you the upper hand. When dealing with patients who would exploit your vulnerability and love for them, having a head start was almost a necessity. Sure, you were certain you’d come out on top eventually. But your work had taught you to tread gingerly nonetheless. When navigating the confines of a person’s mind, every micromovement of yours could cause the whole structure to crumble. No matter how accomplished a psychotherapist is, they are bound to experience massive turbulence in the field of their work.

And you had come prepared accordingly.

You reached into your bag to retrieve a worn, leather-backed journal. It had no labels. Only a brown, thick covering with a matching strap. A blue strip with a metal piece on its end hung loosely from the bottom. It was a bookmark. Old, worn—the fabric of the strip had gone dirty. It was stained with splotches of brown, with an array of torn threads poking out from a corner.

You turned to the first page. It was dated three years ago.

You swiftly flipped through the rest of the pages until you landed on nothing. Somewhere around the middle of the journal, there was a cluster of blank pages stapled together. With a moment of reconciliation, you thumbed through the stapled pages.

Harrison Roan.

A small smile graced your lips. You had, in fact, snatched the correct one before departing.

You traced your hurried handwriting, skimming over the words. You stopped at the small paragraph below the margin—the ‘final comment’.

Patient remains evasive and reluctant to engage in cooperative dialogue. He exhibits obsessive tendencies when discussing his partner, demonstrating patterns of control consistent with Machiavellian protection. His behaviour suggests a state of limerence, accompanied by coercive control over his loved ones. Obsessive-compulsive personality traits are observed, raising suspicion of OCPD. Therapy is recommended for further evaluation and intervention.

Back during your time at the Linkon Criminal Psychiatric Facility, you were assigned as Harrison’s primary psychotherapist. He was accused of abducting and imprisoning his lover, Anne Lotte. Anne underwent severe emotional abuse and manipulation. For a short period of three months, you were assigned to her as well. But before you could make any progress, she had thrown herself off the facility’s roof.

It was devastating, the state you found her in. Anne’s mind was completely mangled. There was a dark fog clouding her conscience. You doubted even a piercing sharp beam of light could pass through to her. She was unresponsive, silent, rendered dead; almost as if her mind had gone senile. Her situation filled you with revulsion. Ten years of imprisonment and psychological torture could destroy one’s psyche so brutally that even after they had regained their freedom, the light of hope would fail to reach their eyes.

You refused to be a victim of the same tragedy, and you refused to let Caleb walk the same path of insanity. Beyond all, you loved him. You wouldn’t leave him be and watch as he slowly abolished himself. You would not let the same tragedy occur once more. And perhaps Harrison’s case was the key. Maybe you could learn a thing or two from here.

“Skyhaven. Doors will open from the left.”

You shut your journal and lazily shoved it back into the depths of your bag. A flock of passengers stood, ready to hurl themselves out the moment the door slid open. You recoiled in your seat with a sigh. You’d just go once the crowd had dimmed.

Placing your chin in your hand, you looked out the window and peered through the crowds, fishing for Caleb. Your pulse fluttered as you saw him stare back at you with that signature smile of his—boyish, handsome… eerie. A chill shot up your spine. There was something about this ‘new’ him you could not explain. Something you couldn’t wrap your head around.

Something that frightened you.

You beamed through the glass, the brightest smile you could muster, and raised your palm to wave at him feverishly. Collecting your belongings in a frenzy, you rushed out the door, only to be met by the solid wall of his chest.

“Oof—” You rubbed your forehead. The man before you broke into a fit of gentle laughter and ruffled the top of your head. “Were you that excited to see me?”

You shot him a sheepish smile. He returned your gesture.

“Here, let me help with those.” He hoisted one of your bags over his shoulder and beckoned for you to follow. You took after him shortly after, skipping over to him with glee.

“Soo… why the sudden visit?” Caleb mused. You raised your head to look him in the eye. “I got a vacation, and…”

He cocked an eyebrow. “And?”

“There are… never mind. Can I tell you once we’re alone?” You could feel the way his heartbeat hastened without needing to touch him. It made your stomach knot in retaliation.

“Alright. Sounds good.”

The two of you hauled your way to the car. Before you could nestle yourself in the spacious backseat, he rushed in front of you to swing open the door to the passenger seat. He gestured for you.

Your eyes glinted with mischief. “Oh?”

“The finest service from yours truly.”

Damnit, that smooth imbecile.

Defeated (yet not yielding), you slid into the passenger seat and waited as he loaded your luggage into the trunk of the car. Once sure nobody was looking, you pried open your bag and inspected the journal inside. Phew. You hadn’t abandoned it on the train.

“Forget something?” You jumped. Your head whipped to the head peeking in from the crack of the car door. A shudder crept up your spine at the empty expression plastered on his face and the way his eyes gave away nothing. The grin was absent from his lips. With lingering unease, you forced your muscles to relax. “I just thought I left my phone behind.”

The warmth returned to his gaze. “Sorry for scarin’ ya.” He ruffled your hair affectionately. You shook your head. “No, it’s fine.”

The drive was quiet, with you engulfed in your paranoia regarding whether or not you should say what you’d sworn to tell Caleb, and him consumed by God-knows-what. The way he fixed his gaze on the road up ahead, not once looking back or giving you a sliver of his attention, perplexed you. What was he so invested in?

“So,” Caleb started, snapping you out of your domain of thought, “What were you gonna say?”

You bit the inside of your cheek and forced yourself to don a neutral tone. “I wanted to…” Fingers deftly played with the hem of your shirt. “Fix things.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Between us. Because, you know.”

The world stilled. You subconsciously hugged your bag tighter against yourself, anticipating all sorts of responses he could give. Would he stay silent? No. Not his style. He would…

Caleb smiled. “So, you want to start over?” He glanced at you from the corner of his eye. “Can’t say for sure whether I can be the Caleb you want.”

An opening.

You mustered the kindest simper you could and shook your head. “I was thinking… rather than rebuilding our past, we try and make peace with the new versions of each other.”

There was silence. And then, a glint in his eye. His shoulders slumped against the leather seat. The weight dimmed from the air, leaving only a soothing quietude—the calm after the storm had passed. It was almost like the old days.

Almost.

“Sounds good to me.” His mask returned. Contrary to his words, this version of Caleb was unfeeling. Even now, he refused to let you in. He blocked you out with that fire—that crackling lukewarm grin, that blazing radiance he bore. Warm like the sun, and just as deadly as it, and almost impenetrable.

But you could see the cracks that ran through that frigid surface. Earth crumbles fast. And no matter how sturdy the soil, the right amount of water could dampen it just enough for you to dig through.

You would reach him. You were sure. And you would save him just as you should’ve saved yourself.

Caleb helped you unload in front of his house, reaching the bags faster than you could and hauling them over his shoulder before you could protest. Admittedly, it was these small gestures of fondness that allured you to him in the first place. A trap, you thought. Only a front to mask his true twisted nature.

“Are you gonna conquer my room again?” he teased. You stopped in your tracks, turning to scrutinize all the barren rooms. A thought arose, one you desperately tried to shove to the back of your brain. Had you let your fear of him affect you so much that you would begin to lose your mind over the simple choice of rooms?

You took a deep breath and raised your finger, pointing at his room. You looked at him and grinned. “Why not? Your bed is the comfiest.”

Caleb would fall for it, wouldn’t he? The thought of you inhaling his scent, residing where he did—it was far too intimate for his mind to fathom. And the privilege of having your scent rubbed all across his bedsheets, in his balcony, in the mugs you used and the plates you discarded; you were making an offer a lovesick mind like his could not refuse.

You rejoiced internally at the sight of his face. The widening of his eyes, the contraction of his pupils, the subtle twitch of his lips—something awoke in him. Something fearful—a horned monster with gleaming red eyes clutched his heart. It was your indication that you’d won.

“Alright, alright,” Caleb mused. “Whatever the lady wants, she shall get.”

And with that, you successfully seized his room.

They say that one’s room is a reflection of one’s mind. They being you, of course, alongside a few other studies that emerged following the publication of your own. A great deal can be discerned from the mere face of a room—the way its occupant arranges their bedsheets, the colours they favour, the state everything is in, the organisation of furniture and possessions, the things they treasure enough to keep within these walls. From mental state to relationship status, all could be dissected from a single glance at a room and its arrangement.

You didn’t believe Caleb foolish enough to leave incriminating evidence strewn about. If anything had been there, he would have tidied up days before you set foot in Skyhaven. He preferred to keep details of his field of work discreet. You assumed it stemmed from an unwillingness to "corrupt" what he held sacred—sacralisation, perhaps? Disturbing when done to a human, yet not uncommon. You had encountered such cases before, and no matter how many you worked on, each left a familiar sinking feeling in your gut.

Knowing that, you never expected to find anything concrete in his room. But that wasn’t your intention.

You unpacked, arranging your belongings on the bed. Your journal rested on his desk. Of course, there was a risk in choosing to stay here. If you left your journal lying about and he happened to enter on a whim (which he had every right to; it was his room, after all), you would be exposed almost instantly. What excuse could you offer for analysing patients from three years ago, especially while on holiday? Worse, if his eyes caught the blue thread marking the pages where you had written about Harrison, he would connect the dots at once. What would he do then? Banish you? Grow cold? Or something worse?

You didn’t want to think about it.

Regardless, it was a risk you were willing to take. Consequences only existed if you faltered first. You were far more interested in what his room revealed about his mental state. Was it irrefutable evidence? No. But you weren’t on duty. This was a personal investigation—here, proof could be as subjective as you pleased. The only jury was yourself.

The bed was impeccably made, yet a thin layer of dust coated the duvet—a symptom of neglect. Still, there were signs that he had attempted to prepare. The neatly arranged cosmetics on the vanity, the dusted balcony with its watered plants, the stocked bird feeder swaying gently from the ceiling, the polished bathroom with its dry, tiled floors. They spoke of the care he had taken to render the space habitable for you.

It was your belief that people tidied before the arrival of guests to mask the unguarded fragments of themselves, those revealed in the dim solitude of their rooms. You could sense the effort he had poured into creating an illusion of warmth. His room practically welcomed you. Little hints of life were scattered throughout, almost as if to weave a mirage of normalcy.

"When we move in together in the future, what kind of room do you want?"

You lifted your chin, humming in thought. "Oh! I know! I want a lively room!"

"You mean colourful and vibrant?"

You shook your head. "No, dummy. A warm room! One that looks lived in."

Had he remembered your words? Back then, you had merely been a child. You had no true grasp of what you were saying, lacked the linguistic skills to articulate your thoughts. And yet, he remembered. Or perhaps it was simply instinct—after all, any normal person would feel more comfortable in a space that had been occupied before.

Despite his meticulous efforts, something betrayed it all.

You ran a fingertip across the duvet, picking up dirt. He had forgotten to tend to the bed. You could see it now—the bed, untouched for so long, had appeared so pristine that it had entirely slipped his notice. That very perfection had made him overlook it. And you might have as well, had it not been for the red welts that bloomed upon contact.

That told you more than you had expected. So consumed with work, he had dehumanised himself. Yet, instead of confronting it, instead of seeking help, he had merely painted over the cracks and prayed you would not notice.

Caleb was underestimating you. And that would be his undoing.

As both a therapist and a friend, it was your duty to halt his descent before it could begin.

Breakfast was served a bit late, around the time you’d usually make it for yourself back at home. Flatbread stuffed with meat and cheese—slightly indulgent, you’d say, but filling and undeniably delicious. Especially when put together by his hands. The savoury aroma wafted through the kitchen. You sat near the counter, devouring the bread in bites that left your mouth stuffed and puffy. Caleb laughed at the sight. But what could you do? After all, you were obsessed with his culinary prowess.

Although, you would admit, it was hard to focus on the food when his eyes were practically glued to you, unmoving and unwavering. A chill crept through your limbs but was quickly swallowed by the sudden burst of flavour in your mouth.

“How is it?”

You mumbled incoherent words through your full cheeks.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

No matter how vastly he changed, one thing remained constant—his food. It hadn’t changed a bit. The taste carried the same warmth it once had, the same lingering aftertaste of his signature seasoning. A silly thought popped into your mind—what if that were to change as well? A ridiculous notion. But then again, art changes as the artist does.

“Do you eat well while you’re on duty?”

Caleb looked out the window and hummed. His gaze averted yours. “Does cafeteria food count as ‘eating well’?”

“…Not really.” You smiled. Why did he look away?

You pinched his arm. “Look at you—you’re going to grow frail and weak!”

Caleb flinched before wincing dramatically, forcing a chuckle. “Really? Guess I gotta start eating well, huh?” He paused, glancing at his arm. “Or else someone’s gonna be breathing down my neck even when we’re apart.”

With a tilt of your head, you nodded. “I’ll scold you every time I’m back.”

“If it means seeing you more ofte—ow!” You pinched a thin layer of his flesh and twisted it.

“I can see those evil schemes swirling around in your brain. Cut it out! Or do you want me to punch you?”

Caleb pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. “Oh, whatever am I to do?”

Despite the playful spark in his eyes, you couldn’t ignore the way his gaze flickered toward the compartment beneath the counter. He shifted, positioning his body over the gap so you were unable to steal a glance even if you tried.

You tilted your head and hummed. Interesting. It was best not to let him know you’d caught on.

You swallowed the last bits of your food with a mug of icy water. “Once you’re weak, I’ll craft a ploy to seize your position. The fleet’s going to have a new Colonel soon!” Smirking slyly, you puffed out your chest with mock confidence.

An unexpected tension settled in the air. You noted the way his shoulders tensed, the way his jaw clenched at the word Colonel. A fleeting, alien emotion flickered behind his violet eyes, only to be swiftly dimmed by his sudden grin. That same, insufferable grin that guarded the entrance before you could step into his mind. His way of shutting you out.

He poked your arm and chuckled. “I’ll be looking forward to it, Colonel.” A palm rose to his head in an exaggerated salute.

Why was he so jumpy today?

Later, sometime during the afternoon, you dragged Caleb out for a casual tour of Skyhaven. “Show me your favourite places to relax!” you’d said with a beam. That was all it took for him to crumble to his knees.

He led you to a sky-based retreat (well, you were already in the sky, but still) situated atop a towering skyscraper that dwarfed all others of its kind. It was a behemoth of a building—a monolithic structure plated with heavily tinted, floor-to-ceiling windows on all four faces. The epitome of a modern yet intimidating corporate monolith. A lake surrounded it on three sides, and the only way in was via a vast bridge, sturdy enough to withstand the heaviest of cargo-bearing trucks, looping around the entire strip of land.

The apex was swallowed by cotton-white clouds. The last few floors vanished into the fog, dissolving from view. Despite the presence of splendid and meticulously maintained gardens throughout, only a few workers strolled about. Even with the meticulously architected bridges, barely any cars were to be seen. Only the distant rattle of golf buggies echoed in the air. Save for the occasional chirps and the gentle woosh of water below, it was eerily quiet.

You contemplated asking Caleb about it, but for some reason, your inability to piece it together on your own gnawed at you, filling you with a bitter pride. It should be easier than a murder case. Why were you fumbling? This was supposed to be your first real move. How could you falter before even setting your plan into motion?

None of the workers paid any real attention to the two of you as you stepped through the main entrance. Only a few odd glances followed. Caleb seemed to be a regular here. They all seemed at ease with his presence.

The elevator ride was a gruelling one. You could swear it took five whole minutes just to exceed the twentieth floor. Caleb argued it had only been forty seconds. It felt longer, nonetheless. Normally, a crowded elevator would have preoccupied you. You would have found yourself enthralled by the faces and mannerisms of the passers-by—the twenty-something man in a black suit, the unusually silent boy with bruises on his arms, the seemingly unfazed elderly woman with a deep-set frown. Insignificant to most, yet to you, endlessly fascinating.

For instance, the furrow on the businessman’s brow suggested he was late for work. The bruises on the boy’s body spoke of a heartwarming heroism, evident in the little girl beside him who thanked him ceaselessly (though, judging by his expression, he had definitely received an earful from his guardian). And the irritable old woman—well, she was quite clearly the one who had placed a zipper on the boy’s mouth.

What seemed forgettable to others was precious to you, and as long as there was company, you found solace.

But here, there wasn’t. Other than Caleb, of course. And unfortunately, you couldn’t exactly stare at him for the entire ride. You’d rather not resemble a mad doctor dissecting a newly discovered organism. Still, you couldn’t deny it—he was far more interesting than any stranger.

So, you stared at him anyway. Luckily for you, he didn’t seem to mind. Perhaps because he was too preoccupied, gazing out the transparent sheet of glass with a small smile on his lips. He seemed to be in a good state of mind. That was good. Otherwise, things had a slim chance of escalating into an argument. Nothing you couldn’t handle, just something you’d rather avoid. Or else, he’d pierce through your façade faster than you intended.

The doors slid open with a hiss. Beams of warm light spilled through, hitting your face and causing you to squint. The entryway, constructed of flimsy straw structures, was adorned with threads of vines creeping up and down the walls. Sunlight dripped through the holes in the patchwork roof, glinting cruelly beyond the tapestry, shining down with all its might—an act of savagery against your poor eyes. Thankfully, the vines shielded you from its full assault.

You tilted your head. A woman—uniformed, with a strict look on her face—stood beside the entrance with an immaculate posture. A familiar hat sat low on her head, guarding her eyes from both the intense heat and light. The utter lack of emotion in her gaze sent an involuntary shiver down your spine.

You glanced up at Caleb. He was unfazed by her presence, as if she were a mere colleague or a guard standing by. But she wasn’t the latter. You could tell by the uniform.

With your hand in his, he strode up to the woman. She offered a curt salute in response. “Colonel.”

“We would like to enter.” His voice was cold, a stark contrast to the way his thumb tenderly grazed over yours.

The woman turned to you. Her head tilted as she scrutinised you with a wary gaze. Then, she nodded. “Right this way.”

You were sure of it now. This was a private building, accessible only to high-ranking members of the Farspace fleet. You supposed such an arduous job had its benefits. Well, this was the least they could offer to those who put their lives on the line each day, fighting for yet more senseless bloodshed. This place was built upon a mixture of blood and sweat.

You grimaced. It felt wrong to stand upon this ground. If you squinted, you could see them—corpses strewn across the floor, brain matter splattered across the walls. Your stomach coiled. What a pathetic way to live—to be crowned in blood and sit upon a throne of bloodied cash, chest brimming with pride, belly full of greed, smirking down upon the famished.

You turned to face Caleb. You supposed he wasn’t too different from those people. And yet, you had forgotten all about it until now. He was truly a master at forging a harmless appearance, a welcoming front. Even now, a part of you refused to see him that way.

You supposed you were guilty as well. You had accepted your position as his plus-one without hesitation and accompanied him to such a place. It was hypocritical to persecute him while standing upon the faces of corpses, declaring yourself the selfless hero.

Such was the nature of humans.

The woman led you through the delicate gate. Caleb dragged you along. The first time you laid your eyes on the garden, your world stilled.

Words could not describe how breathtaking yet melancholic the sight before you was. If you were to attempt to jot it down on a piece of paper, you would be stuck on the first word. Unlike your initial beliefs, the botanical garden was not encased in glass. It should’ve been obvious from the torture you’d endured—the perpetrator being the sadistic, open sun. Maybe it was the awe of it all that heightened your perplexity.

The flowering meadows, the perfectly trimmed patches of fresh, green grass, the symmetrical, square-shaped ponds, the pair of birds feeding from the birdbath, the cascading artificial waterfalls—you didn’t know which one of them struck you the deepest. Or maybe it was the overly maintained religious sculptures—the one depicting a winged woman, angel or devil, with a honeycomb for her face—or the concerningly clean walkways, or the flawlessly aligned roses in the rose gardens that seemed a little too well-kept, stealing away the ‘wild’ and ‘natural’ vibe of your typical botanical garden.

The sky above was a whirlwind of blues, whites, subtle purples, and a dominant yellow-white. A soft breeze cascaded past, threading through the strands of your hair and dancing along your skin. It was cool and pleasant—perfectly so. Like the soft spring breeze that blows in February, or the afternoon wind at the shore of a river. It was just right. The perfect temperature to lull you to sleep.

Your mind winded back to the afternoons you spent with Caleb under your backyard’s willow tree. The breeze there would blow just as strikingly as it did here. Leaves would flutter down onto your face, only to be brushed aside by Caleb’s warm fingers. You would spend several hours lying there with him. Whether it was to complete your homework (of course, you slacked off and lured him into an endless chat instead) or flip through a book, he would always be there, brimming with that brotherly tenderness of his. It made up for your lack of a father figure in your life—Grandma Josephine being your only guardian.

Your heart ached at the memory. Maybe he hadn’t changed at all. Even then, Caleb harboured one major purpose—to protect what he loved, you, and to cherish it to the fullest. You had a hunch—what if that mysterious chip in his brain did not alter him entirely, but only heightened his preexisting instincts? But still. You found it hard to believe that the chip could truly rewire his brain so severely. You refused to believe such contraband existed. The mind is a fragile thing. It’s not so easy to suppress its power. Although all factual data pointed towards only a little portion of his brain remaining untouched, you firmly believed it was a front.

Maybe, among his emotions lay one that would be easy to utilise, to take control of and provoke so that he abided by their rules. And the only emotion so easy to manoeuvre—his only weakness—was his love for you. If you hadn’t been born…

“It’s… wow,” you let out an audible gasp. Your eyes twinkled with stars. On your heels, you spun around, imprinting every inch of the garden in your memory. Caleb didn’t need to be a genius to know that bringing you here was the best choice he had made in a long time. His grin mimicked yours. There was no use in asking whether you were enjoying the view or not—the way you frantically hopped about the place, skipping from pond to pond and observing the exotic birds from afar, told him everything.

With small, unhurried steps, Caleb approached you as you peeked at the pair of colourful birds drinking from the birdbath. “They’re raised here. I feed ’em sometimes.” He tucked a strand of loose hair behind your ear. “They’re friendly towards humans. Watch.”

He held out his right hand and approached the birds gingerly. The blue jay tilted its head to scan Caleb as he neared. As if recognising him immediately, it leapt onto his arm.

Using his other hand, he gestured for you to come. You approached with silent and hesitant steps. Once close enough, you reached up to touch the blue jay perched on his arm. You nearly jumped into a pond when the bird took off. Your cheeks flushed red, to which Caleb burst out guffawing.

“I forgot to mention—they don’t like being touched. Sorry, Pip!” he uttered between chuckles.

You gave him the meanest glare you could muster. “How very forgetful of you.” You brought an accusatory finger to point at his chest. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you?”

“Did I?”

“Yes, you did!”

The woman watching from afar could not help but smile at your meaningless banter.

You and Caleb lingered until the sun began to dip below the horizon, until the once-blue skies were replaced with a bright orange-red and purple. The clouds began to darken—the battle cry of an impending tempest. Or was it the coming of night? You didn’t know. Nonetheless, both of you refused to leave.

“The world looks so tiny from here.” You compared the size of the structures afar with your fingers. Your other hand gripped the railing for support. “I’m almost jealous. You get to come here every day.”

You mumbled, turning to face Caleb, who appeared entranced by the hues of the setting sun. A smile adorned your face. He looked so peaceful, so content. As if nothing had occurred in the past few months, as if it was still the two of you against the world. You yearned to breathe in his embrace once more, just like old times. You swallowed. You couldn’t afford that. The past was gone. Now, only the future awaited—a future that depended on your actions, your choices, and your diligence. You couldn’t back out now. You were too far in.

“Don’t you miss that Willow tree?” you started. “The big one in our backyard. We used to rest against the trunk on the grass.”

“Once, I had to save you from a grasshopper. It lunged at you from the grass, and you screamed like a child,” he laughed. “And afterwards, you ended up avoiding that place for two weeks.”

“I only went after you got rid of them.”

He nodded. “I sprayed the whole area with bug repellent—it killed some of the vegetation as well.”

You smiled at the memory. “Grandma was so mad at us.”

A comfortable quietude ensued, submerging you both into a peaceful state of mind. Then, Caleb spoke solemnly.

“I have patrol tomorrow.” The sun began to disappear below the horizon, leaving swipes of purple behind on the sky. Dark clouds converged. “I won’t be there for you, pip.”

“Truth be told…” You gazed up at the vanishing sun. “I have some work to do. I came here for a more peaceful and friendly working environment.”

“Then you can busy yourself with that. Just… don’t burn down my kitchen, yeah?”

You shot him a scheming grin, yet it held no bite. “When will you be back?”

“The day after. Not too long.”

You bit your lip. Couldn’t he have stayed for a day longer? You had to be quick on your feet, then.

“Did you think about it?” Caleb suddenly interrupted. The gears turned in your head. Your mind was brought back to the offer he’d made before you departed from Skyhaven the last time—“Why not live here? You have nothing left in Linkon city to return to. I can get you a position somewhere as a criminologist. You can return to doing what you loved.”

Your gaze returned to him. You hadn’t decided yet. Sure, it gave you quite a handful of opportunities to inspect his brain a little closer. But if your plan failed? You’d be stuck in Skyhaven. You were sure it wouldn’t, but…

You took the flesh of your mouth into your teeth. It wasn’t the time to doubt yourself. But that wasn’t the only concern in your mind. The thought of him bearing so much power over your life and your job put you at unease. It was risky. Terribly so. It made your advantages over him feel insignificant. No matter how passionate you were about your work, and no matter your love for him, you preferred your sanity and wellbeing over all.

You turned to Caleb with an apologetic smile. His eyebrows furrowed, and a flicker of disappointment crossed his face. “Sorry, Caleb. I’ve made some friends, and I’m happy with the quiet life I’ve managed to build for myself.”

You could sense his thoughts—“What life? That poor, miserable one devoid of my presence and protection?”—you were sure that was what’d crossed his mind at that moment. You could tell by the way his jaw was clenched and his muscles tightened. But at once, the solicitous façade returned, washing away every hint of dissatisfaction that’d dared to cross his face. “That’s all right. You’re free to change your mind whenever you wish.” You forced your lips into a tight smile in return. “I appreciate it.” A part of you winced at the sudden formality in your tones. For some reason, you loathed whenever he got serious. It frightened you somewhat.

“You know, pip-squeak,” Caleb mused, his voice light, casual. Unnervingly so. Something in your stomach coiled—that familiar feeling of dread and anticipation. “Something tells me you’re not here for relaxation.”

You stilled, only for a little while. But it was enough. His gaze sharpened. “Tell me.” His eyes bore into yours—calculating, scrutinising, leaving no stone unturned. As if you were the experiment, and he, the mad scientist. Something venomous swirled in his violet hues. Like a dagger, or like the teeth of a snake—sharp, ready to pierce skin, waiting.

Unreadable.

Bolts of lightning ripped through the skies, illuminating a part of Caleb’s face to highlight the utter insanity brewing beneath his irises. A strong, dusty wind blew, sending shivers down your spine—though, you were unaware whether they were from fear or the cold. So, it was an oncoming storm.

Your fingers curled against the railing. Your sweat seeped onto its surface. You hesitated.

“Caleb, that’s—” A soft voice murmured. You let out a breathless laugh, flustered. “You’re not wrong.”

The air between you stretched taut. He remained silent, unmoving. Once again, silence had engulfed you, but this time, it wasn’t pleasant. Like a watchful eagle, Caleb waited.

You brushed strands of hair away from your eyes and glued your eyes to the birds instead. “You know, lately, I’ve just—I’ve been thinking,” you let your words tremble, “I—I’m sorry…” You gripped your chest. “I’ve been thinking that, maybe…” You swallowed, lowering your gaze. Perfect.

You inhaled sharply. “You were right.”

His brow raised. He seemed hooked.

“I thought about what you said—about my security. And you’re right. Although I’ve trained in the police, my combat knowledge is minimal. Linkon city is becoming less safe by the second, especially for me.” You closed your eyes. “Assuming what you said was true, about several corporations being after my head—well, my heart, I just can’t help but feel unsafe. Even when surrounded by my friends, even in my own home.” Your lips quivered. He listened with immaculate patience, as if he were picking apart your words, searching for a hidden subtext. “And now, everybody seems like hollow, empty beings. I can’t resonate with my patients; I can’t have fun with my friends. I feel so… isolated. So alone. And I realised,” you continued, “that despite all, you on the other hand? You were always there for me. In my heart, by my side. I could truly only be safe and happy when with you.”

Silence. The only sound in the air was the crackling of thunder.

You chanced a glance at him, watching how his eye twitched. Had he caught on? Were you in trouble? Was he mad? Your anxiety peaked at the slow inhale as he prepared to speak.

But then, his eyes softened.

“You should’ve just said so.” His voice was gentle, lacking the malice it once had. “You know you can always turn to me for help, right?”

Bingo.

Inside, you smirked. It worked. He fell for it. How could he not? You had been preparing for ages.

You’d won your first challenge. Arguably, it was the toughest one. If you’d failed—if he’d caught on, or noticed even the smallest hint of it having been a lie, your entire world would’ve crumbled. All that you’d worked for, gone. Rendered meaningless by your incompetence. You didn’t know what you would do afterward if that were to happen.

You let yourself appear small and vulnerable when you looked back at Caleb, attempting to highlight the anxiety in your eyes. “I know. I was planning to say it, but a perfect moment never came. Until now, that is.”

Caleb brought his palm to your cheek and cradled your face in his arms. “You don’t need an excuse to be honest with me. Whenever you feel like it, just lay your heart bare.”

“But you seemed so happy. Like you were enjoying yourself. I didn’t want to ruin it with my embarrassing thoughts.” You argued, forcing a frown on your face. He shook his head. “Once you’re done, we can go straight back to having fun if that’s what you want. Besides,” he averted his gaze, “It’s been on my mind all day—why you could be pretendin’ when you could’ve just told me. I was wondering how bad it was for you to be hidin’ it from me so desperately.”

You assumed as much. Explains why he seemed so jumpy earlier during breakfast, and why he kept zoning out the entire way here. It was what gave you the idea of using such deceit in the first place. You were sure if there was a perfect place to confront you about it, it would be here; under the witness of the setting sun, in a place you were bound to feel sentimental and thus, vulnerable and ready to spill it all out.

Unfortunately, you were not willing to fall for such a clear trap.

By the time you had left, the downpour had begun. Weighted beads of water stormed down on you viciously. The two of you rushed out before the storm could catch you. Well, one of you did. Caleb, who so valiantly used himself to shield you against the relentless tempest, had been completely drenched. Blobs of water dragged along the floor as he walked. You swore, if you squeezed him then, a whole waterfall would erupt. It was almost sweet—the way he so earnestly utilised his behemoth of a body to block out the storm’s ceaseless assault. It was something straight out of a romantic drama, or some sort of cliché film. But for some reason, you couldn’t cringe. You only laughed it off, paying no mind to the gentle flutter in your stomach.

The drive home was thrilling—abundant with giggles and snarky remarks thrown around. Perhaps you were in a better mood because your stomach was full—Caleb had been kind enough to treat you to supper in a small café situated on the middlemost floor of that building. The chef’s culinary expertise overflowed from the arrangement of exquisitely prepared Skyhaven delicacies. And the best part? They were quite cheap. Had you received a discount in honour of his presence? You didn’t know. But at the very least, you didn’t go broke after insisting that you split the bill 50/50. Despite having dried off, however, Caleb somehow wetted the seats.

Once home, both of you almost immediately collapsed onto the couch (you threw him off, of course, for soaking the furniture with the remnants of his heroism). He scrambled out of his clothes and cooked you both a warm plate of braised chicken wings shortly after. Dinner ensued normally this time, with a dearth of odd flinches or averted gazes. The two of you simply chatted to your heart’s content, both putting in equal effort to make it seem as if old times had returned.

Of course, it hadn’t. You were thrust back into reality when Caleb’s phone began to ring.

With a sidelong glance, he excused himself, making haste to his room and shutting the door behind him. You eyed the door, moving only when you were sure it’d clicked shut. Tip-toeing over to the kitchen, you bent down to eye the compartments underneath. There it was. Unmistakable, concrete—a file of unknown origin adorned with a sleek grey cover. You glanced over the counter. He wasn’t done yet. Your attention travelled back to the file.

But you paused. Tremors rippled through you as you slipped the ring off your finger and dropped it to the floor. With a measured kick, you pushed it further beneath the counter. Just to be safe. In case you were caught.

You reached into the compartment. Your entire arm was swallowed by darkness before finally, your fingers met the file. Cautiously, you pulled it out. The layer of dust coating its surface sprang up to your face as you dusted it. You made an effort not to cough.

The file’s edges were worn. Yet the pages inside appeared to be relatively new and untouched, perhaps even well-kept. A plastic sleeve shielded the grey manila folder from all sorts of debris. The pages inside were laminated and contained bundles of new words and information foreign to you. The file’s contents overwhelmed you. They appeared to be gibberish, nonsensical.

You deftly skimmed through the first few pages. None of the information contained within them seemed worthy of noting. Not to you, at least. There didn’t appear to be anything you didn’t know and was not known by the public. Then why was he reacting so oddly back then? Why had he flinched? Why had his gaze travelled back to his lap—or more specifically, to this file, as he anxiously fiddled with his fingers? You’d lured him away on purpose—dragging him outside the moment he could’ve gotten a chance to remove the file before you could grasp it. Was it all for nothing, then? Were you mistaken?

You stilled.

You weren’t mistaken after all.

Your fingers hovered over the fifth page.

There, in big, bold letters, was your name.

Inscribed upon the laminated page. And beside that lay your picture, alongside a list of unremarkable data, such as your date of birth, full name, affiliation, and so on.

Before you could investigate further, a voice called out your name. You hadn’t heard the door creak open.

You peered up from beneath the counter. Caleb’s face was contorted with horror—his pupils contracted; his body frozen. The hand holding his phone to his ear dropped to his side. He began to stride toward you.

You shoved the folder lazily into the compartment once more, ensuring no sound was emitted in the process. Adopting the most nonchalant expression you could, you lifted your head to face him. “Caleb,” you called out, a small pout gracing your lips, “I can’t reach the ring.”

He stopped. The act seemed to have taken effect. He cocked his head, eyes bearing into yours, as if ripping apart your soul itself for a trace of a lie. But you weren’t intimidated by his silent interrogation. You held your resolve, maintaining the façade with determined accuracy. Gradually, Caleb’s impishness returned.

“Dropped it?”

He fell for it so flawlessly, it almost irked you that he hadn’t put up a bigger fight. You pouted internally. Could he not have pretended not to buy it? For the sake of the thrill? Oh, well. A win’s a win.

You nodded. “I can’t reach it. Can you help me?”

He hurried to your side and hunched over. You noted the way his eyes skimmed over the document tucked away in the depths of the compartment, right where he’d left it, before it went to the gap underneath the counter. The subtle glint of your ring confirmed your honesty. He raised his hand and twirled his fingers in the air. As if a gust of wind had carried it here, the ring smoothly levitated out of the darkness and onto the countertop. You shot him a sheepish smile before returning to your feet to collect the ring.

Just as you slipped it onto your finger, Caleb grasped your chin between his fingers and turned you to face him. His eyes bore an unnerving intensity as they skimmed over your face. Were you busted? Had he caught on? You didn’t let the quiver reach your lips. Instead, you donned a perplexed complexion as he whisked your head around.

Once satisfied, he released you from his grip and ruffled your hair. “Just checking if you’d gotten dust on you.” You rolled your eyes in response. “I’m not a child anymore!”

“Anyway, anything wrong? That call seemed important.” You caught him zoning out, staring into the distance. You waved your hand before his face. “Earth to Caleb?”

He straightened himself. “Not really. I just… might return home a little late tomorrow. And I gotta leave tonight.”

You frowned. He had the audacity to lie to your face, knowing you were skilled enough to penetrate through whatever front he puts up. Pushing it would only add to the uncomfortableness of it all, so you sealed your lips instead.

You whined, although it came out a bit prolonged, before swatting his arm weakly. “But you said…”

“I know,” he sighed, “But duty calls.”

“Tell you what?” He brushed a stray strand away and cradled your cheek. For a moment, he glanced to the side, lost in thought, before he looked back at you and continued, “I’ll make it up to ya once I’m back. But with that being said, don’t stay up too late tomorrow, yeah?” You pretended to be unmoved, but a part of you jumped at the mention of recuperation. You wondered what it would be. Food, perhaps? Or maybe tickets to that movie you’d been dying to watch? Whatever it was, you couldn’t deny it enlivened you.

Caleb seemed to have noticed the somersaults you did, and the way you skipped around with joy behind those eyes. He smirked. “I’ll be leaving now. Get some rest. I’m sure you’re tire—achoo!” He hastily covered his mouth with his arm. Another sneeze. And another.

You narrowed your eyes and folded your arms over your chest. “Are you sure you won’t catch a cold? Although you probably already have…” you muttered the last part under your breath.

Caleb waved his arm dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll be—” And another. “Yeah. Anyways, as I was saying, go to bed on time, alright?”

You shook your head, as if disheartened by his juvenile behaviour. “Alright. But, at least take some medicine or something. It’ll probably be one long night.”

When Caleb had left, the tempest roared at its prime. Despite having handed him two umbrellas, a string of worry coiled in your chest. Could he fend off against the raging winds that thumped against the sliding glass doors of the balcony and threatened to knock them over? No matter how strong a man, he was deemed fragile and brittle against the forces of nature. What if an uninvited bolt of electricity had happened to fall upon him as he walked? Was he even walking? You hoped not. At least vehicles were designed to protect people from lightning.

In the end, the quietude proved to be quite pleasant. You could immerse yourself in re-studying Harrison’s case without the fear of Caleb barging in and catching you red-handed.

You managed to skim over quite a lot of pages before hunger struck. Glancing up at the clock, the realisation dawned upon you that you had been at it for more than two hours. But it was a productive two-hour session with yourself, you’d say. But there were obstacles, nonetheless. As you’d suspected, Roan’s problematic behaviour had a completely different source from what you’d suspected Caleb’s to be. He acted on paranoia and insecurity, whereas Caleb seemed more insistent on the idea of protection. Roan’s obsession blinded his wit and caused him to act on impulse.

The kidnapping of Anne Lotte, although seemingly flawless, was conducted on a whim. Harrison executed his plan with merely a gun, a bundle of ropes, and some chloroform to sedate her. The alley Anne happened to be crossing through had no cameras, and as it was a secluded shortcut few were aware of, there were no passers-by to witness the crime. Nobody had gotten injured, thanks to Harrison’s prior police training, so there was no blood or evidence to be picked up. All other proof happened to be washed away by the rain shortly after.

From this timeline of events, it was clear that Harrison had gotten away with Anne’s kidnapping simply because of luck. If the stars hadn’t aligned during his sudden state of paranoia, Anne would be alive and well now. What an unlucky girl she was. It was almost as if fate had abandoned her.

Harrison had strength, but he was dim. That was what caused the inevitable discovery of Anne stashed away in his basement. Caleb, on the other hand, possessed both. Throughout high school, he had topped you almost constantly. No matter how hard you studied, no matter how many all-nighters you’d pulled, he would somehow manage to top you with a mere four or five hours of study before an examination.

You admit, you were envious of him throughout most of your teenage years, and you were appalled when he’d decided to tread a completely different academic path from yours. But nowadays, looking back, you realise that the only reason he’d made such an effort to conquer you was to be a reliable pillar of support if you were to falter. Which, inevitably due to the gallons of caffeine and hours’ worth of lost sleep, you did. Another irksome consequence of his undying affection that you had to suffer.

Even now, his wits and manipulation are clear. You were sure nobody rose to the rank of Colonel so swiftly without possessing immense intelligence. Caleb’s puppy eyes weren’t going to fool anyone. Not you, at least. They couldn’t hide the terrifyingly adept brain that lay beyond them.

Anne’s decline in mental well-being was predetermined. It was part of Harrison’s flawed plan all along. His insecurity left little room for actual care and affection to be expressed towards her, and as a result, he determined that breaking her resolve would be the surest way of ensuring submission. Of course, that did backfire for him. It led to her malnutrition, forecasted miscarriages, and her eventual suicide. Although you had no sure way of knowing what Caleb would’ve done, you were sure it wasn’t this.

Someone like him could predict such an outcome from a mile away. Breaking somebody’s mind, in this case, would be a reckless decision. And most importantly, his fatal flaw is that he loves too dearly and cares too much to be able to leave someone he admires to fend for themselves as he relentlessly shatters their psyche. He is too infatuated for that. His obsession stemmed from a desire to protect, not meaningless paranoia like Harrison’s. That explains why he would be unwilling to lay a finger on them.

And, of course, Caleb was a “manipulation>direct action” type of man. He had expressed his twisted desires to keep you confined and unable to flee once before, as he had been bandaging up your injured leg. But you were confident that his idea of confinement exists in a psychological state. He would bind your mind and heart to him, maneuver you to fall deeper into a psychical trap you could not escape. He would never directly imprison or confine. He would rewire your brain so that you willingly stuck yourself to him. It was a legal way to get what he wanted. And you didn’t doubt he could pull it off.

However, one thing to note was that he needed motive—proof that you were slipping from his grasp. As long as you remained on good terms, or pretended to, he would not need to resort to such methods.

Maybe.

Despite the dissimilarities, you were sure you could learn more to be able to counter his blows if he were to ever make some. But your main priority was still to cleanse his mind, to provide him with an opening to redeem himself and return to his normal life once more. Never mind your intentions. The contrast between their insanities led you to notice some peculiar things.

You turned to one of the back pages of your book and began scribbling down your thoughts.

Harrison and Caleb were merely two sides of the same coin. A cerberus with two heads. One who is impulsive, led on by rage and desire, and the other that is intelligent, driven by his loyalty to his master. But in the end, the cerberus is one complete being. If you split it in half, it will not regenerate like dividing cells. It will simply perish together. After all, both are two extremes.

Meaning if a lack of foresight could tackle one, then the other would fall for his over-calculation of things. They were both arrogant and full of themselves, believing only themselves and their strategies to be correct. In the end, they couldn’t see the 48 other heads lodged between the two—48 other ways to be “correct”.

The impulsive head aches to swallow his prey, to make incisions within his heart and stash them away in one of its chambers. And the cunning head too cuts, not his heart, but his lover’s brain, and detangles the strands only to twist them again, only this time in a way that would make them willing to stay. Resorting to such cruel yet more humane tactics implies that the fear of losing their treasure was rooted far more deeply in the intelligent cerberus rather than the dim one.

And what if fear is not another vulnerability to control?

Whereas Harrison is abundant in paranoia and insecurity, Caleb is almost wholly dominated by the extremity of positive emotions like love, care, and an overwhelming desire to protect. His unwillingness to hurt means that if you were to show even a single crack in your mind, the fear of you crumbling would force him to loosen his grip almost entirely, given that his side of the mind games had already begun. That would create the perfect opening for you to slip past and dash out to meet your freedom.

All you had to do was put on one more act.

Harrison’s impulsiveness, contrasting Caleb’s preparedness, also let you peer into another opening. If you continued to think of them as two sides of the same coin, then you could come upon this conclusion—if Harrison had a breaking point, so did he.

Harrison’s inevitable downfall and his psychological abuse of Anne was set into motion when the thought bit into his brain, whispering—“If you don’t tighten the leash, she will run away.” It was safe to assume that Caleb too had a breaking point. It was simply harder to reach. One side of the coin was made of bronze, whereas the other was constructed of tungsten. Both could melt, just at different speeds.

If you could provoke him up to that point, Caleb would be forced to reveal his hand. But, admittedly, picturing what could happen if he snapped was… unsettling. Precisely because you couldn’t picture it at all.

And thus, that would remain something you would try if you couldn’t get him to falter at all. A last resort, to be more specific.

And now, with your acquired information, you could weave your final plan: if he tried something anyway, you could paint a front of danger, as if his ‘advances’ and whatnot had thrown you into a state of endangerment, and if he didn’t back away immediately, it may cost him (and you) something precious. Whether it be your life, blood, or sanity, he cared too much not to abort instantaneously. Unlike Harrison, he wouldn’t act blindly—he’d justify his actions. If you could provide real consequences (consequences that mattered to him), you could alter his idea of justifications and compel him to rationalise his actions differently.

And how, exactly, would you achieve that? Well, that was something to figure out along the way. That was your motto—have a vague, surface-level plan, and build upon it as you go. If you had a solid, fool-proof plan, you wouldn’t have searched for information after arriving in Skyhaven.

To be honest with yourself, your knowledge on Caleb’s behaviour and your predictions on what may have happened next were minimal; certainly not enough to conclude that you were in any real danger, and certainly not enough to deduce that your initial assumptions could be utilised to orchestrate a surefire way of taking him down. You suppose you had to spend more time with him to come to a real conclusion. Of course, that wouldn’t be too easy, considering that you’d purposefully invaded at a time where he’d be busy juggling you and his duties simultaneously. You had your reasons. The perfect time to strike was when a man’s back was faced to you, and he was too busy with the happenings before him to notice the footsteps creeping up on him from behind. In short, right now, he was vulnerable. If he found out you were up to something, he would be too exhausted to think straight and thus he would falter. If you face an enemy far stronger than you, wear them down first, and then strike when they are on the verge of tears.

The real problem right now was how you could feign being endangered. For now, you’d come up with a few ways. Perhaps a more logical approach would be best for a start.

Skyhaven’s weather seemed mostly untouched. Save for yesterday’s storm, it remained relatively stable. With clear, cloudless skies, splashed with a unique blue, it was perfect weather—perfect air. Too perfect. Maybe the storm from yesterday lingered somewhere beneath the blues. It had to be. Nothing is truly calm—especially not here.

“Beautiful, isn’t it, Rhys?” you hummed. A flock of black ravens flitted past your window. The bitter scent of unbrewed coffee beans drifted in the café’s air. It was a scent you’d grown to admire. The perfect place to work, really. It opened your mind (and mouth) wide enough to effectively scribble away at one of your flimsy journals, analysing some patients’ consciousnesses or just gathering your thoughts. But today, you weren’t here for work.

“Probably because we’re so high up,” Rhys grinned, flashing his braced teeth. He was a tall man of dark complexion with thin brown hair kissing his shoulders. Rhys Vaughn—one of the few patients you’d reviewed in Skyhaven, involved with your limited history here. He used to be a drug addict and had nearly run over a child while stoned. To his luck, the child managed to escape mostly unscathed save for a broken limb, and thus, he got off with a relatively lighter charge. He was placed under your care while serving time in prison. Eventually, after a period of two years, you’d managed to lure him into making a full recovery. Now, he appeared before you, a new, clean man with a loving wife. But, above all, working with Rhys had one sure advantage—he was quite talented in the art of gathering information.

In his line of work as a technician, Rhys was required to have some basic computing skills. As a result, he’d undergone several computer science courses online, and he completely aced them. The coding shenanigans that couldn’t penetrate through your thick skull passed through his as if tearing through paper. He was skilled in what you were not; practical work. If there was anyone to call for some ethical hacking and information digging, it would be him. To Rhys, asking him to dig up information was the same as asking him to pass you the remote from across the room. You could put those skills to use.

“How’s your wife?” you gingerly sipped your coffee.

“She’s good. Hit a milestone in her art.”

“And you? How are you feeling?”

Rhys chuckled. “Still playing psychotherapist, miss?”

You shook your head with a sheepish smile. “Force of habit, you know? Can’t take my mind off work.” You waved your hand dismissively. “Really, though, how are you? Answer the question viewing me as… a friend.”

“I’m doin’ great!” He raised his hands dramatically in a gesture of joy. “Not delirious all day, actually sane and stable, able to keep relationships and eat something other than scrawny prison food. Yeah, couldn’t have been better.”

You smiled. Genuinely. “Good to know.”

Knowing your patient had achieved happiness fulfilled your purpose as both a psychotherapist and a human. Your mind recalled a skinnier Rhys sitting across from you on a long, white couch, lacking the sun in his eyes, which he now had multiple of, swirling about in his pools of bronze. His eyes back then; they were empty. He appeared a lifeless man with mould growing out of the pores of his skin. And now, he was here, sitting across from you, helping you just as you had helped him two years ago. It was a motherly pride that filled your chest, cascading through your nerves like a warm, sweet liquid. You couldn’t be happier.

“Anyway, what ya here for?”

You placed your hand under your chin and turned to look out the window.

“I remembered what you said, Rhys.”

He cocked an eyebrow and peered at you from over his cup as he sipped. You took it as a sign to continue. “You mentioned once that you owe me one, and that if I ever find myself in a stump in Skyhaven, I could call for you.”

“So,” he added a packet of sweetener into his coffee, “You want to take me up on that offer now? I thought you’d forgotten about me.” His countenance twisted to display mock hurt. “All right. I’m just playing. What’s it about?”

“I recently managed to earn myself a boyfriend,” you started, although cringing internally, “And I happen to doubt his mental well-being.”

Rhys kicked back on the plush of the chair. He’d figured it out already, you were sure, but you went on anyway.

“We just got together about 6 months ago. So, it’ll be hard to know enough to be able to help him.”

“So you want me to dig up some information about him?” He leaned closer. “What kind?”

“He’s an orphan. Doesn’t have family, pretends with his friends. But there are a few people he seemed close to. Some workers, mailmen, plumbers, you know. Those types of people I can never seem to get a hold of.”

“Should I fetch their contacts?”

“No.” You winced at the finality of your words. “I mean, yes, but not just that.”

Rhys cocked an eyebrow. An amused smirk crossed his face. Had he caught your lies?

“It’d be convenient if you could search for his transactions with them. Their backgrounds, history, et cetera. I have some… other doubts as well.”

With a large gulp, Rhys slurped up his coffee and wiped his face with a napkin. Only silence swayed between you two as he took his time to reply. He wasn’t thinking. Certainly not. But he lingered, nonetheless.

He knew, for sure.

“You know, little miss, I don’t know why you feel the need to fabricate when you know I don’t hesitate to dirty my hands.”

You glued your eyes to your lap.

“I owe you. And even if you asked me to kill a man, I’d do it.”

You let out a shaky exhale. “If I were still your therapist, I’d be scribbling on my notebook right now. But, considering I’m in a pinch, I’ll let it slide.” You smiled. “I appreciate your help, Rhys, and your respect for my privacy. I will forever be indebted to you.”

He swatted his hand about mindlessly. “Yeah, yeah. A name, please.” He slid you a slip of paper.

You plucked a pen from your coat and jotted down Caleb’s name before passing it across the table. Taking it between his fingers, Rhys eyed the name. He lingered there for a beat too long. Something was up. Your suspicions only spiked with the subtle twitch of his finger. A light of recognition crossed his bronze irises before fading just as swiftly. In a flash, his grin returned, and he pocketed the slip of paper before springing to his feet. “All right. Tomorrow, I’ll text you with whatever I find.”

You lowered your head. “Again, thank you.”

That night, Caleb returned late. Uninjured, thankfully, but acting odd nonetheless. In his hands, a small bag was clutched. You recalled his words—“I’ll make it up to you.”—and it took a lot for you to resist leaping from the couch and snatching the bag from his hands. What stopped you, aside from the fear of appearing awfully juvenile, was the exhaustion etched into his face.

When his eyes met yours, however, his complexion brightened immediately. Still clad in his uniform, Caleb kicked off his boots and strode towards you. A weariness weighed his movements. The strongest man you’d ever seen, both physically and mentally—your pillar of strength—stumbled across the room like a golden puppy dragging its injured leg along the floor, wagging its tail and paying no mind to its pain. You felt stabbed in the chest. For a man of such power, he could be absolutely endearing at times.

“Miss me, pip?” Caleb leaned down to ruffle your hair affectionately. You shut off your phone to smile at him. Your eyes enlarged as his familiar face appeared before you, but a frown tugged at your lips at the dark stains under his eyes. You reached your hand out to caress the blackened bags of flesh.

“You didn’t sleep.”

He cradled your face in turn. “Neither did you.” A flick to your forehead caused a pout to form on your face.

“I wasn’t working my ass off.”

“And I was. I know. I’m sorry.” He set his colonel cap on your head. The accessory dwarfed your skull, sinking down until it obscured your vision. Caleb stifled a laugh at the sight.

He noted the way your eyes drifted to the bag in his hand—the bag that was coated with crimson and shiny gold accents, which gave away very little about its contents. Sensing your curiosity, he handed the bag to you.

“The lady asks, and I deliver.” He bowed curtly. You both broke into merry laughter.

Stashed away in the depths of the tiny bag was a rectangular velvety jewellery case, coloured similarly to the bag, down to the gold accents. The mere surface of the case seemed extravagant enough to satisfy your greed even in the absence of the jewellery itself. You stared in awe. Were you truly deserving of the real gem hidden inside? Your fingers traced the engraving on the case’s surface. A remarkable brand. There was a lump gathering in your throat. It felt sacred to hold something so precious, so expensive. You were no high priestess or beloved queen—not worthy enough to clutch a revered artifact. And yet, Caleb’s eyes bore into yours with a gentleness that could bring you to tears. And it did. You felt tears threatening to form. You were sure he noticed.

A sudden wave of guilt knocked the wind out of your lungs. Just hours before, you’d been conspiring against him, digging up information that could potentially be labelled as an invasion of one’s privacy, and threading together a plan that was catered to go against him, to take him down. You knew you weren’t doing anything wrong. You were helping him. Guiding him to a path of happiness, just as you did with your patients, just as you did with Rhys.

Just as you would have with Harrison and Anne.

If only your incompetence hadn’t gotten them killed, they could walk their own paths today. You closed your eyes. An image flashed before you. A flimsy blonde girl with scars littering her arms, crossing a bridge, heading towards a field of flowers with her dead child clutching her hand. And a battered older man going the opposite way—a path towards a blinding light, the path to redemption.

You wouldn’t let it happen again.

There was nothing to be guilty of. Your fingers curled tighter against the fabric of your pants. There was nothing to be guilty of. You weren’t in the wrong. This was for the greater good. They’d understand. They surely would, once they realised that the path you chose for them was a more tranquil one.

But did you risk losing yourself in the process?

“Not going to open it? Your head’s been stuck in the clouds for about thirty seconds now.” Caleb loosened his tie before seating himself next to you. “Something on your mind? Is the casing not to your liking?”

You shook your head. “I’m just… you’re exhausted beyond belief right now, and you went through all that trouble… I don’t deserve this.” You frowned. “I’m so sorry for making you ‘make up’ to me. I didn’t know you’d go that far, I—”

Strong arms coiled around you, drawing you in. You felt the steady, yet surprisingly slow beats of his heart from where you were nestled against his chest. Fingers wove through your hair, offering a sense of solace you hadn’t felt in a while. With a low, careful tone, he whispered. His lips brushed against your ear. “Don’t say anything.”

And you obeyed.

For a moment, you remained steady. Silent. Your lips were pursed, and your heart beat fast—a stark contrast to his. You sank deeper into his embrace. Your grip faltered, and you eventually gave in to his presence entirely. Your body slumped against his, but he seemed to have no trouble bearing your weight. For a moment, you considered letting the tears flow. But a part of you clawed against the muscular wall of your heart in retaliation, screeching in protest. Something screamed danger, despite you being the safest you’d ever been right now.

With steady arms, Caleb brought your palm, which was weakly clutching the jewellery case, to your chest. “I had this ordered for months. I was just waiting for the right moment to pick it up. So,” with his other hand, he tousled your hair, “Don’t think you were a bother. And honestly? I can’t name a single woman more deserving of this than you.”

A faint blush coated your cheeks. But you shook it off before he could see. Renewed courage surged through you, and your fingers made their way to the hook of the case.

Carefully, you slid it open.

A white gleam.

There, perched amidst the plush, was a delicate, thin bracelet made of what appeared to be sterling silver. The chain itself was of a unique geometric design consisting of circles, ovals, and a myriad of shapes you couldn’t name. The expert craftsmanship showed in the presence of the bracelet’s seamless links and its shiny, polished clasp. You ran your fingers over the chain. The material was smooth, devoid of bumps or rough edges—things you’d usually find in low-quality bracelets.

You remembered complaining to him once how half of your bracelets used to dig into your skin, to which he’d reply with a smile, “One day, you won’t have to wear uncomfortable jewellery.” Back then, you’d brush it off with a “Oh, that day better come soon!”. But now, considering the significant amount of effort put into smoothing the surface, you wondered if this was what he truly meant.

The primary point of attraction, however, lay not in the bracelet’s gleam or smoothness, but in the moderately sized white gemstone hanging from it—a gorgeous pendant.

You opened your mouth, but no words came. Caleb chuckled. “White sapphire.”

You pressed your lips into a thin line. What could you say? You were surprised your jaw wasn’t kissing the floor by now.

Speechless, you ran your fingers along the gemstone. It weighed a bit more than you’d expected—an insignificant difference, really, but notable nonetheless. Perhaps it was pure. If that was the case, then it didn’t help with your simmering guilt.

“Here,” Caleb snatched the jewellery from your fingers, “Let me help you with that.”

Deftly, he slid the bracelet down your wrist and clasped the hook. You raised your arm, watching as the white sapphire that dangled from the thin chain glittered beneath the pencils of light. Your lips parted in awe.

“Promise me,” your attention shifted to Caleb as he brought your jewelled wrist to his chest, “That you won’t take this off.”

“Like how you’re glued to that dog tag I gave you?” You giggled. His lips curled into a soft smile. “If that’s how you want to put it.”

“Okay.” You placed your free palm atop his. “I promise, I’ll cherish this forever.”

“If you don’t, I’ll be really hurt.” He feigned a pout. But the yearning in his eyes was real.

You shook your head. “You’re impossible.”

“I know.” Caleb brought your palm against his face, sinking into your warmth. You stilled for a moment. This was way too intimate. But the guilt glued you in place, restricting you from moving away. Or was it his endearing affection? Nonetheless, pulling away felt like a crime. He’d handed you such a priceless treasure; could you not indulge him for a moment and let him bask in your radiance?

You choked back the sinking feeling in your gut to let him have his way with your arm. He was acting like a starved puppy. Cute, yes, but a little overbearing and unsettling. Almost as if the puppy brushing up against you had blood smearing its teeth. Of course, it was just your paranoia, and nothing was really there.

Nothing visible, at least.

In spite of your passionate protests, Caleb insisted on whipping up a late-night snack for you. And so, you were practically forced into your seat on the counter as you were made to watch him scurry through the kitchen. The heated pot sizzled in objection to the cold oil poured onto it. You’d made up your mind to just observe as he worked, in case you could find an opening or an excuse to help, but you were distracted by a notification on your phone.

Rhys.

You looked up at Caleb. He appeared too deeply immersed in his cooking to notice the small ding of your phone. Bringing the device under the shade of the counter, you opened your chat with Rhys.

“Miss, this is important.”

Your brow furrowed. “Found anything?”

“Well, yes. A few things. But first, I think I really gotta come clean with this.”

You silently typed out a reply. “Go on.”

“That guy? Caleb Xia? I know him.”

You froze, fingers hovering over your keyboard. Rhys continued typing.

“I worked for him in the past. He needed something installed in his home. I was the one who took up the job.”

“Install what?”

“Cameras.”

A void formed in your stomach. A sudden chill enveloped the air. You shivered involuntarily. Cameras. He had cameras in his house. Your head whipped about the room, scouring every wall and every corner for a hint of something that could be labelled as a camera. Something prickled the skin on the back of your neck. Caleb’s back was turned to you. But still, you felt something watching you from the shadows.

Paranoia. You couldn’t let it consume you.

“I found it odd back then,” Rhys continued, “He had it installed in his rooms. The bedrooms,” You studied Harrison’s case in one of them, “The living room, the hallways.” Dread crippled into your being. It was as if someone had thrown a pebble across a calm pond, causing violent ripples to tear through the once-steady surface.

“And also,”

He paused.

“The kitchen.”

A clot. In your throat. Your lungs constricted.

He knew.

Caleb knew.

That you’d stumbled across that document.

Images of a collected Caleb smiling down at you as you knelt against the counter resurfaced in your brain. The way he so nonchalantly fetched the ring for you, the act he’d put on just now. The act you’d believed.

You gazed down at the white bracelet clasped around your wrist. What used to be a remarkable work of superior craftsmanship transformed into a heavy chain made to tether you to him. ”I promise, I will cherish this forever.” You really were going to throw up.

With shaky hands, you shut your phone. Your eyes returned to the bracelet.

It wasn’t a gift. It was an anchor to bind you to him. To trick you into forming a vow you couldn’t break.

Shit.

You walked right into a trap.

Blind and oblivious. A moth to a flame.

The circular kitchen lights buzzed overhead. A flicker of light flashed past the window—a ghastly apparition, watching. You whipped your head towards it in an attempt to catch it before it fled. There was nothing. Were you seeing things? Paranoia. It was simply your fear—your body preparing itself to become hyper-aware of its surroundings. A consequence of the natural fight or flight response. You were paranoid. You were aware. But that didn’t help how every shadow felt darker, how every corner untouched by the kitchen’s dim light seemed to host an entity.

Your whole time here, you were being watched. How much had he seen?

“You seen a ghost?”

It took every bit of your strength to not leap off your seat. You looked up at him, then eyed the plate nestled in his palm. It was hard to trust him right now.

Under the faint light, half of Caleb’s face remained shrouded in an ominous shadow. His violet hues gleamed from beneath the darkness menacingly as they peered down at you. Beyond the cloak of darkness, however, his countenance seemed normal.

But you couldn’t shake the dread off.

An invisible shiver tiptoed down your spine. You forced a smile. “I got startled by the flash of lightning.”

“It’s stormin’?”, he placed the plate down on the counter before turning to the large windows. “Again?” A bolt of electricity ripped through the sky. Caleb turned to you with a smirk. “Still afraid of thunder, pip-squeak?”

Afraid of you., you wanted to say, but you bit your lip. It was best you avoid giving him reasons to put a collar on you. For now, you had to stay low.

“I’m not.” You huffed, folding your arms over your chest. A forced blush crept up your neck. “I’m just… anyway, the food looks amazing!” You swiftly snatched the dish from his hands, leaving him slightly dumfounded as he lingered where the dish once was. With the help of his evol, Caleb pushed a pair of utensils your way. You were glad you suppressed the flinch that threatened to ripple through you. For the first time in your life, his evol terrified you.

The bed groaned under your weight as you suspended yourself entirely onto it. The mattress dipped beneath you. Even his bed, which, to you, had once been the comfiest bed in the anthropology of beds, felt like a cage. You could feel metallic tendrils crawling from beneath it, wrapping over your form as you slept, encasing you like a cocoon would. Perhaps that’s all you were to Caleb. A butterfly, useful only for its grace and the tranquility it brought. Meant to be wrapped away in a cocoon and let out only when it bloomed. The part of you bound to your profession begged to differ—clearly, that was not the case. Clearly, his feelings ran deeper than that. A complex tapestry of twisted adoration, infatuation, and perhaps even hatred or rage.

But that didn’t stop your feelings from thrashing about in a frenzy, did it?

It’s a simple truth. Many, if not all, of the patients you reviewed struggled with something similar to it. Their brains were aware of the truth, but their hearts refused to comply. It was a plague, killing them from the inside. Their loved ones resorted to presenting the truth before them. And their brains knew, lodging the processed data as it normally did. But the heart is a stubborn thing. Some things it refuses to accept.

At this point, you would become the patient.

A part of you urged yourself to bash your head against the wall for not predicting such a bold move on his end sooner. You were close to figuring it out. A part of the reason why you’d always gone to the bathroom to change included this subtle feeling of being watched. So, with your hands still gripping the ends of your shirt, you kicked open the bathroom door and changed there instead. You were glad you’d done that, of course, but you couldn’t hate yourself more for not pondering a second longer on the feeling of being watched. If you had, you were confident you’d have figured it out before he could notice. You were supposed to be ahead of him.

You were about to reopen the chat, but the sensation of a chilling pair of eyes drilling into your head halted your decision. The bedrooms also had cameras. But where? And how good was their image quality? Could he have read the contents of your journal, perchance? Could he see your chat even from up there? Your initial thought was to position yourself away from the camera. Find a blind spot, maybe. But all those ideas were rendered useless considering you were unaware of its position.

You could open your phone and check for any flashes of red or purple from infrared LEDs, which would most definitely be present assuming the cameras were equipped with night vision. But committing to such a dumb move would expose your knowledge of his ‘control’. You were sure twirling about the room in the dark with your phone’s camera on would leave no room for assumptions. What excuse would you bring? That you were so awe-struck by the lack of artistic interior design in Caleb’s room that you felt tempted to record it all and store it on your ‘top-10 things to not do while constructing a home’ list? Yeah, no. He would figure you out faster than Rhys had in the café.

You didn’t want to imagine what would happen next.

So, you resorted to the last thing you could think of.

You reached for a thin blanket and threw it over yourself. Protection. He couldn’t see what you were up to, even if he tried. And what excuse did one need to huddle up under a blanket?

You switched your phone open and scrolled through the messages you couldn’t read.

“I’d gotten it done a few days ago.” Right before your arrival at Skyhaven. He gauged your intentions so swiftly. A chill ran down your spine. You couldn’t tell whether it was from the storm’s frosty wind.

“Pretty high-tech stuff. With night vision and all. It was odd. I should’ve questioned it. But it wasn’t any of my business. So I left it.”

“I did some digging on his background. And, miss, I have to ask you—are you aware of his profession?”

You sighed, threading your hair through your fingers. You hadn’t asked him to dig up dirt on that matter.

“I’m not sure if I should be telling you, but—”

“I know,” you typed back. “I know about it very well.”

“I’m not sure if I should be getting involved in this. Surely, you understand?”

He knew too much. And for that, you had to let him go. Even if he hadn’t approached you first. You’d have to. Because honestly, you were scared of what that man could do. Scouring any further would prove risky for him. The last thing you wanted to do was put a man happily living his married life in inconceivable danger for the sake of your selfish desires. It was a cruel thing to do. Although you’d technically used him, it was your last wish to be selfish.

“I understand. I’m sorry for getting you caught up in this. Should I pay you for your troubles?”

“No need for that. I barely did anything. But, I will tell you this.”

You watched as the three small dots enlarged and shrank as he typed.

“Recently, some personnel were recruited under his command to be appointed to more general tasks. That’s the most I can tell you. Searching any further’s gonna cost me my head.”

You didn’t push Rhys any further. You thanked him for his service and were about to log off when he sent one last text message.

“Little miss, I know you’re determined in whatever you’re tryna do. But please. For your sake, leave Skyhaven and forget about this.” You gripped your phone a little tighter. Exhaling shaky breaths, you shuffled under the blanket. You knew Rhys was right, and that he only spoke from a place of genuine care and respect. You knew you should’ve taken his advice and ended your vacation here. But you couldn’t. Not when you’d gotten so far. You were too deep into this. You were sure that Caleb wouldn’t let you leave either—he was (most likely) aware that you’d stumbled upon that document. Whatever it was, it wasn’t something he wanted you to see. And he wasn’t going to let you flee so easily after unearthing such a disastrous secret of his.

But you had to say, he needed to practice being discreet more often.

“Protect yourself. If things go south, you can’t escape. The whole of Skyhaven is controlled by his fleet.”

You sighed. There was nothing to say to that. But you were sure it wouldn’t come to you having to physically run from the authorities and escape the land in secrecy. Physical restriction was something Caleb couldn’t bring himself to do, even if he was injected with all the liquid courage in the world. His care for you ran too deep, even if he had mentioned it in a fit of rage. You’d defend that belief with your life.

Why were you defending him again? Oh, well.

But if it came to mentally detaching yourself from him, well, that… you weren’t so sure. It just so happened that you’d been so full of yourself before arriving here that you’d completely forgotten to ponder the possibility of having to flee on short notice. Simply put, if worst came to worst, you had no plan to save yourself.

You agreed that Caleb did have influence. And, unfortunately, that could often overpower the authority over one’s mind and heart. After all, the realm we truly resided in was the physical realm, not the psychical one. If anything were to bind you in the physical world, you couldn’t escape from it even in your mind. In other words, you’d be trapped here, body and soul.

“Don’t worry,” you lied, “I have it under control.”

And with that, you ended your conversation with Rhys.

It was only a matter of awaiting the occurrences of tomorrow now. You wondered what the weather would be like the next day. Would it storm again? Or would Skyhaven finally see an endless period swarmed by the warm west breeze? The only thing you could do was close your eyes and wait and see.

Except, you couldn’t sleep.

Three hours had passed as you rolled about on the large contemporary bed, making a sleepless mess of yourself. You winced at the way your hair clung to your head, warm and sticky. Like lukewarm goo. You twirled a lock on your index, only to be surprised at the absence of the goo you were picturing. Were you imagining things? Nonetheless, your body ached for a good, cold shower. You switched your phone open to check the time. 4 AM. Oh, well. What better place was there to collect your thoughts than under the sprinkle of an artificial shower?

You hugged yourself a little tighter as the cold beads of water commenced their assault on your head and dripped down your sides. You trembled heavily, but you let yourself do so. It was the collection of your fear from the past few days bolting out of your body at once. Finally, you could let out the shaky breaths you’d been withholding. It was only within the confines of enclosed foggy glass and under a gentle spray that you could truly let yourself loose and breathe freely once more.

People underestimate how arduous it is to put up fronts. Acting wasn’t easy. Especially when your life practically depended on it. It was like waltzing through a stage, but instead of expectant guests and observers anticipating your fall, there were 500 archers and the world’s best snipers aiming for your head, all while you were bound not to break your dance. Put on a show and attempt to please your pursuers. The chance of failure was almost certain. Even the best of dancers and actors fail to escape such a scenario.

And that was the gamble you were willing to take—fighting; no, dancing for the nonexistent chance that you may save your head, all in the sake of helping somebody you found yourself caring for a lot more than you were willing to.

Your eyes trailed to the bracelet resting near the sink. When he had handed you that gift, you felt… truly happy. A feeling you hadn’t felt before. Like your heart had burst open, and a myriad of colours had strewn out in a frenzy. Like your skeleton had been immersed in warm pond water, and a flock of underwater lilies caressed your skin.

For the first time in a long while, you felt as if you were needed for a cause beyond that of your profession.

That you mattered to him as much as your patients did to you, or perhaps even more. In his eyes, you could see a care that extended beyond what you could comprehend. A desire to keep you close and by his side, basking in your warmth forever.

A long time ago, you’d frozen your heart.

All because you believed there was no place in this world for your emotions.

To be someone else’s haven, you had to forsake your own.

The moment Caleb had handed you that bag, you felt as if your life had gained a new meaning. In the end, you were just a girl like all others, and he had made you embrace that.

For a moment. Only for a moment.

Because now, the silver you once admired reminds you of the silver of a chain. The chain was thin and fine, for it was not made to restrain you, but to help you grow accustomed to the existence of a shackle on your mind. It was suffocating to wear it. But a part of you wondered—what if his affection is genuine? Then, would it be so bad to give in? Well, he was the only one who made you feel alive. Perhaps, if you just stayed…

No. You shook your head. Strings of water flew off your hair and hit the glass walls. This was exactly what he wanted, wasn’t it? To make you accustomed to his control. To silently persuade you into giving in out of your own volition.

Caleb wanted a reaction. Any hints that you were being sucked and molded in the black hole he set up for you. If that’s what he wanted, all you had to do was withhold it from him, no? Just stop reacting. Act normal, put some subtle distance between you two, and watch as he crumbled beneath your finger.

You shut off the shower and rolled your hair back on your head. That’s right. You had to submerge yourself back into your monochromatic world. Only then would he falter, knowing all his advances had failed.

You stepped out of the shower, bringing with you a trail of water as you walked. A small white towel was wrapped around your head, and a bigger one coiled around your torso. You snatched the bracelet off the sink after changing into your new clothes. No matter how you felt about it, you made a vow. And for the sake of your ideals, you would not stray from it.

The hardest part about experiencing your first loss was that you had to regain control afterwards. Fail this step, and watch as the spear cuts through your stomach inch by inch. And if you cannot truly regain control, form the illusion of it.

You eyed yourself in the mirror. A crease was present between your brows. Taking the cream off the vanity, you began applying it in long swipes across your skin. Caleb still used the same cream as before, huh?

Act as if nothing had happened. That was the best you could do for now. And to form a plan to actually reclaim your throne, you needed some alone time. Away from this house. Away from the prying eyes perched in every corner of every room, and away from him.

The cream melted into your skin.

It was about time you began searching for an excuse to get out of the house and stray from him. Perhaps you could look for work. A new patient. Something that came up urgently? Or was it better for you to be more subtle? Just whip up an excuse to go hang out with friends? Not that you had any friends in Skyhaven. And if he asked to tag along? What then?

You released yourself from the towel and reached for your shirt.

A sigh passed your lips. Seems it would just be best to find some work. But save for Rhys and a few others, barely any of your patients lived in Skyhaven. And even if they did, would you just go knocking on their doors and creating a new mental issue in their stead that somehow needed urgent fixing? That wouldn’t do. You required real work.

Perhaps it was a problem best saved for tomorrow. Right now, your starving stomach demanded some attention.

The kitchen lights flickered on with a buzz. One of them didn’t light. You’d better tell Caleb about it tomorrow.

The hum of the fridge increased in volume as you strode towards it with heavy steps. Inside, an arrangement of food lay: some in boxes, some bare, some bottled. Your eyes narrowed. They seemed to have been recently stocked. You bet his fridge had been empty up until your visit.

You snatched a plate of dinner’s leftovers and gathered a few utensils to accompany you. And with that, you plopped down on the couch, not bothering to turn on the lights. It risked waking him up, after all. You wouldn’t want that. Especially now.

Shuffle shuffle.

Something stirred beside you—a figure shrouded in darkness. You nearly launched your fork into its heart when a familiar arm reached out to wrap around your wrist. “It’s just me,” a groggy voice responded. You threw yourself off the couch and rushed to turn on the lights.

Caleb. It was just him.

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “You—” Your accusing finger pointed in his direction. “Why are you awake?”

His violet eyes skimmed over your form, stopping at your toweled hair. “Likewise.”

Sluggishly, you returned to your plate and picked up the fork. Caleb nestled himself by your side. “You took a shower? At 4:30 in the mornin’?”

“Why are you here? On the couch? I don’t recall seizing every single one of your rooms.”

He breathed a sigh. “I’ve made an enemy of insomnia, and it’s been chasin’ me ever since.” He turned to you. “Maybe you can help with that.”

“I don’t know what you take me for, but,” you stuffed a portion of food into your mouth, “I’m half-dead right now. Therapists are humans too.”

“But,” you wiped the corner of your mouth and finished up, “Still, I’m ready to listen.”

Caleb shook his head. “I was messin’ around, pip.”

“Such a tease, even when sleep-deprived.”

You pressed your fingers into his temple and soothed the area. Your fingers moved gingerly, as if the slightest slip-up could cost you one of them. The man under you gradually relaxed. His body sank deeper into the couch.

“Come on, Caleb. What’s the hold-up? I know you’re hiding something,” you cooed. His sealed eyes didn’t help with trying to see through him. But you pressed on nonetheless.

You leaned forward slightly, pinching his forehead a little harsher than you would have. Finally, he opened his eyes, only to glue them to the ceiling instead.

“I’m not going to force you into a 12-step rehabilitation programme.”

“I know, it’s just…” his eyes never left the ceiling, “You’re tired. I’m tired. We all need a break. You’re not entitled to help me.”

You hummed. “You’re right. I’m not.”

Caleb let out a small sigh of relief as you pressed down on that one spot on his forehead. You continued to massage the area for a while before moving on to the next.

“I’m doing this out of my own volition. I want to listen to you. And whether I’ll help, well, that depends on what it is.”

Picking up on the slightest droop of his lips, you continued, “But, unless it’s a tedious task like climbing a skyscraper with nothing but my bare hands, I won’t refuse you.”

Caleb’s eyes didn’t move from the ceiling lights as he contemplated. You could see the weight of decisions bearing down on his mind, and you worked your fingers accordingly to soothe him whenever he faced a mental obstruction. Your smile widened.

With one finger, you moved his gaze to you instead. “All right, mister. I know the ceiling’s looking quite lavish today, but I’m sitting right here, fighting for your attention.”

Caleb grinned. Subconsciously, his eyes travelled to your lips. You found yourself tensing up for a moment, but you swallowed it. Just how you were trained. But uneasiness overtook your nerves. Why was he looking at them like that? As if he yearned to devour them whole?

“You can’t outsmart me at this hour, Caleb. See?” You lifted your arms before placing them back on his temple. “I’m not writing any notes or anything.”

“It’s not that.”

“You make it seem like it is.” You sighed. “You don’t need to use big words. Just tell me what you need.”

“All right, then. Can I ask you for a favour?”

You hummed. “Depends on what it is.”

His eyes fluttered. You tensed as they lingered on your lips once more before they moved to meet your eyes. He seemed incredibly exhausted. “I have a friend,” he began, “And she’s been… off.”

“A fleet member?”

“Yes.” He let out a soft groan as your fingers continued to massage his temple. “You met her. She’s the guard at the garden we visited.”

Your mind recalled her stature. Tall, brooding, albeit intimidatingly, with curly ginger locks and tan skin. You remembered her.

“I’ve been worried about her mental well-being. She experienced a devastating divorce lately. And ever since, she’s been acting… you know. Distant. Violent. Is a little rougher with her underlings. I gave her a break, demoted her temporarily to the position of a guard. But she isn’t improving.”

Your brow furrowed. The behaviour he described seemed like the usual displays of pent-up anger and resentment following a horrid event. But what bothered you wasn’t the normalcy of her situation.

It was the fact that you’d failed to pick up even a sliver of negative emotions from her as your eyes landed on her face.

A therapist’s eyes were made to penetrate flesh and scour the soul with ease. Especially yours—considering your previous position. How come Caleb just happened to notice, whereas you entirely missed it? You were unsure whether his eyes were better than yours, or you were simply dozing off at that moment and unable to catch a glimpse, or…

Was it a hole in his story?

Still, the kindness and concern Caleb had shown towards his fellow colleague filled you with a sense of warmth you loathed. It felt genuine. But you couldn’t feel like this. Not with somebody like him.

“So, I guess you figured it out by now.”

Your fingers halted. Your eyes drifted in thought. “When should I visit her?”

“Tomorrow. I’ll give you the address. Should I tag along?”

“No,” you winced at the severity of your tone. In a frenzy, you reiterated, “She might be unwilling to open up if you tag along.”

He nodded in understanding. “Tomorrow, then. For now, let’s get some sleep.” In a swift motion, he pulled you onto him and buried your head into the crook of his neck. A red tint coated your cheeks, but you didn’t protest. Act normal.

You’d called for work, and work came to you. Sometimes, fate (and perhaps your luck) left you awe-struck.

But, this time, for some reason, you weren’t sure whether this was God’s plan or the Cerberus’.

No storm crackled through the air that day. Only an endless mass of grey clouds hovered over Skyhaven’s sky, still brewing, lingering, as if the storm were awaiting the right moment to unleash its shower. The air was damp, humid, but stiflingly hot. In spite of the absence of the sun, the heat rendered you as disgraceful as a panting dog. The metro was stuffed to the brim. People squeezed against you as you struggled to grip onto something. The heat radiating off the enraged passengers did not help in cooling you down. Quite a contrast to your initial thoughts that you could find a moment of respite in the metro’s air conditioning. Unfortunately for you, you couldn’t even manage to find a seat.

Luckily, trains moved fast. It was only a matter of five minutes before you pushed your way through and out of the suffocating swarm of people. Perhaps, you should’ve taken up Caleb’s offer for the car. But who knew what trick he had installed in there? Another camera? Or even a tracker? You were better off walking.

You fidgeted with the pendant of your bracelet. Caroline’s house was eerily quiet. Not a single beam of light peered out of her curtained windows. Only darkness emerged from underneath the front door. She lived in an isolated villa, something akin to a bungalow. Red-bricked, with mould growing off the walls, the small garden before the house was overgrown with ferns and invasive plants. Mushrooms grew off one side of the house. A foul stench permeated through the air.

She had a pool as well, somewhere near the back of the house that you could only catch a glimpse of as you arrived at the front gate. But that small glimpse was enough to know the state it was in—the water was rotting. Fallen leaves decayed on its surface, turning the once-blue waters into a murky yellow-green. If you weren’t any smarter, and if the decay had been any faster, you’d think it was a pond, not a pool. It smelled like wildlife as well—the damp, fungal musk of rot.

It surprised you how bad the smell near the house had accumulated, considering how large the bungalow’s verandas were, how abundant the number of windows, and how open the air around it was. Her house was isolated from the main roads. Only strips of vibrant green land stretched around it for acres. And to add to the advantages of the location, you were standing atop the windiest parts of the land. Knowing this, you wondered—where was the ammonia-like stench coming from? It was as if an entire crowd had relieved themselves across the garden and into the pool. If you hadn’t known better, you’d have believed it, if not for the large iron gates that were padlocked shut.

You rang the doorbell. No response. Your head craned to the top floors. The sliding glass doors near the veranda were open. The white curtains drifted in the air. Somebody was home.

You pressed your finger against the doorbell again. Once more, only silence greeted you. Something felt wrong. You’d imagined it to be a result of depression at first, but now, something felt off. Something lurked beneath the waters, threatening to erupt.

After a few more tries, you stepped away from the door. If she wasn’t going to let you in, you’d just leave.

Walking across the pavement, you pulled out your phone to quickly type a short apology message to Caleb. But that was when something caught your eye.

The back gate. It was open.

Your feet came to an abrupt halt. To get a closer look, you maneuvered your body and took a few steps. You weren’t mistaken. Alongside the gate, the back door was pried open as well.

You strode past the black pool until you were directly facing the looming red door. The stench was only increasing in intensity. But this time, you could smell something else. Something you couldn’t catch before.

Old blood and flesh.

You opened your phone’s camera and aimed it at the door. Just in case, you thought. With your free hand, you pushed it open.

The room inside was dark. Pots and various random clutter were littered on the ground. You made an effort not to step on them, but you found yourself stumbling nonetheless. In a hurry, your fingers worked to pry the curtains apart and swing the windows open one by one. You subconsciously breathed a sigh of relief at the sudden gust of fresh air passing through the openings. Finally, some ventilation.

The phone’s recorder blinked.

The little light from outside illuminated the room just enough for you to be able to spot the light switch. Hurrying over, you flicked it.

The lights flickered on with a static buzz. The back door led to the kitchen. Or, well, you assumed it was one. You couldn’t tell because of the ruckus. It appeared as if a fight had occurred here. Either that, or Caroline was one messy individual. You doubted the latter.

The kitchen sink was clogged. A broth of mould, discarded food, and fish bones lay inside. You stopped yourself from gagging and throwing up your breakfast. The kitchen didn’t need another mess. It was suffering enough.

On the floor lay dirt tracks. Footprints—messily removed by rubbing more mud on top. Somebody was here. Could they still be here?

Dread finally seized you. Your foot stilled, and you found yourself unable to move any further. As if fate itself urged you to leave. To turn and leave out the back door as swiftly as you’d entered. But you couldn’t. Something was up, and a greater scandal could’ve been at play. You couldn’t leave. Not now. Not when you’d sunk one foot in already.

You dragged yourself along the battered tiles, entering room after room and flicking the lights on before swinging the windows open each time. Downstairs was empty. You’d checked everywhere—in the two living rooms, dining, and across all the hallways. You even made sure to check under the sofas. The static in your mind grew louder. It pierced through your ears painfully from the inside out, busting your eardrums until your head throbbed so violently you thought it would implode. The nothingness told you to not go.

You pushed yourself back onto your feet and bolted up the stairs. You searched all the rooms, throwing the doors open and spinning about the entire area before moving on to the next. Eventually, you’d scoured all the rooms. Save for one.

The demon gurgling inside you moved as your eyes landed on the door. The master bedroom door.

You held the camera up to your face and placed your hand on the doorknob.

With a sickening and loud creak, the door crept open.

You held your palm against your nose. The scent of ammonia was strong, paired with the decaying flesh you’d picked up from outside the bungalow. And to fuel the disgusting stench, your nose could also pick up the faint scent of bleach. Your face contorted. Bleach?

The bile rose, threatening to spill out of your throat. You swallowed it down. Bitter. You were really about to throw up. Everything inside was dark. But thanks to the light in the hallway, you could make out the debris scattered across the floors. Cigarette boxes, open and sealed, were present among most of the junk. Other than that, empty beer bottles and discarded laundry could be seen. From the ceiling, large decorations hung. Decorations or more clothing, you couldn’t tell. The scent of bleach engulfed your lungs.

Hesitantly, you reached for the lights.

Your phone fell to the floor with a thud. Your fingers curled into your palm. A tremble rippled through you. You couldn’t move.

They weren’t decorations at all.

A step.

Nor were they more ugly clothing.

Your hand met skin. Cold, lifeless skin.

There, from the ceiling, hung a ginger-haired woman, ghastly and pale.

A corpse.

Caroline.

Thunder drummed through the clouds. A flash illuminated behind you. But you were too still to be afraid. Your body shivered, even under the cloak of the warmest, fuzziest blanket Caleb owned. Your numb hands clutched a mug of hot cocoa. Its bittersweet aroma rose from the cup, entering your nostrils. But your mouth didn’t water at the scent. You only sat still, as lifeless as a corpse, as the wide-screen television played on, broadcasting the news of Caroline’s death.

Suddenly, a pair of strong arms wrapped around you from behind. “Drink up, pip. It’s going to get cold.”

He was right. The fingers curled around the mug only felt cold—a sign of the drink’s dissipating warmth. But how could you eat? Your teeth had tasted flesh not long ago.

The figure behind you sighed. “I shouldn’t have sent you there.”

“I went too late.” You curled against yourself. “If I had been faster, I—”

“She’s been dead ever since that day at the garden. It was inevitable. We didn’t know.”

Your body slumped in his embrace, threatening to give in.

“She was my patient. I’m still responsible.”

“I’m so stupid.” Caleb’s arms left your torso, leaving you cold once more. A part of you ached to reach out, to grab him and bury yourself into him and just—disappear. Vanish from existence. It was what you deserved. What you’d brought upon yourself. “I shouldn’t have sent you on a job. I ruined your vacation.”

“Caleb, I can’t.” You buried your face in your palms. “We were having fun. We were laughing, joking around, all while she…” You couldn’t finish the sentence. You didn’t have to. Caleb empathised, nonetheless.

Coming to your side, he gently pried the mug from your hands and cradled your face. “Let me warm it up for you.” He switched off the television and returned to the kitchen.

You curled up on the couch. This wasn’t meant to happen. Someone wasn’t supposed to die. Unrelated to your mission or not, experiencing a death head-on was not part of your predictions. This was supposed to be executed flawlessly. You were supposed to be in charge.

Nonetheless, you felt more of the control slipping from between your fingers with each passing second. You were losing. Devastatingly. You’d prepared for various outcomes—losing because of yourself, losing because of him, but you’d completely forgotten to consider that you could lose to independent external factors as well.

In short, you thought you were invincible.

You thought none grasped the situation better than yourself.

But alas, it was indeed the devil himself who’d intervened in your fate. The opening for a temporary escape from him was timed too perfectly. It was too good to be true.

And it wasn’t. What you’d thought would be a normal, perhaps exhausting, session with a new patient, morphed into a traumatic, arduous twist of fate that would throw you entirely off course, flicking you so far from your path that crawling back was rendered both physically and mentally impossible. How could this have happened? You just lost twice in a row. Fate had abandoned you, just how it had abandoned Anne.

You gritted your teeth.

None of this was fair. Caroline shouldn’t have had to die. Nobody deserved death. Images of her intimidating visage flashed across your mind. Just a few days ago, you heard her speak. Just a few days ago, she was blinking, moving, talking, eating, breathing. And now, she was off to God-knows-where. Perhaps her body was stored in some cold machine, or she was placed in a stretcher as the morgue worked with her body. In a blink, the life was sucked out of her. And she was rendered nothing.

You eyed your arm. Everything felt so surreal. What if this was all just a dream? An alternate reality, or a sick nightmare you couldn’t wake up from. You shut your eyes and attempted to drift off into another land. It was too taxing to process this overload. It was better just to sleep it off, or just disassociate so you didn’t have to make peace with the truth.

You pressed your lips into a thin line. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t get a moment of shut-eye. The sight of the corpse flashed before your eyes. A noose was tied around Caroline’s neck as she hung from the ceiling fan; dead, lifeless, gone. So close yet so out of your reach. Her once-vibrant ginger locks were tainted a sickly orange. Her once-intimidating eyes were sealed eternally shut. The lips she’d spoken with that day were dry, blue. Blood had stopped circulating inside them. Her heart had stopped beating long ago. You knew you couldn’t have saved her even if you’d tried.

Counterfactual thinking. You sighed. At this point, you really were turning into the patient.

You wrapped the blanket tighter around yourself, paying no mind to the way its soft edges cut into your skin. Countless what-ifs pried into your brain. You covered your ears with both hands, attempting to shut it off. If only your brain could shut up.

A familiar pang resonated in your temples. Your head began to throb violently—just as it had before you went up the stairs of Caroline’s bungalow. Those thoughts weren’t as evil as you’d made them up to be. If only you hadn’t looked. If only you’d stopped and messaged Caleb instead. Then, you wouldn’t have to be involved in such a complex scandal. Paired with the recent discovery—your recent loss—the whole situation, you were afraid, was going to render you completely mentally senile. Just like Anne.

Anne. The moment you’d gazed upon her—all shrivelled up and curled into a ball at the side of the black couch you’d owned in your previous office—you felt a sense of sympathy you’d never felt before. Something about her resonated with you. Her whimpering eyes, her clammy hands, her knitted brows, or the dimming fire that had blued years ago crackling in her eyes. You didn’t know which of those had piqued your curiosity. Something about that woman, so gorgeously broken, sparked something within you.

Perhaps, it was her eyes. Those dread-filled eyes that bore into yours. The spark that ignited when she saw you. The hope she’d regained upon your visage. Like she’d been starved of a true friend for millennia, and you were the one meant to be the ailment to her wounds. She’d looked at you like a newborn gazing upon its mother—its protector, saviour from the cruelty of the world. She looked at you with… hope. And in your heart, you swore to protect her. To be the one to show her the beauties of life, and to guide her onto a path of bliss and tranquility so she could return to the life she once had.

And what did you do?

You failed her.

The dread that tingled your limbs that day was the same one that numbed it now. That horrid purple, fanged beast. When the detective knocked on your office door in a delirious state, and had brought to you the news of Anne’s attempt, you couldn’t move. The air lumped in your trachea, refusing to release, as if your body itself had decided you were unworthy of life, and your fingers went cold. You almost fell to your knees, unable to rush to Anne’s side immediately. She was not dead yet. She was alive, blinking, here. And that only made it worse—how would you face her? You couldn’t bear to see the look in her eyes deform from hope to animosity as she looked at you one last time. You couldn’t let the one who abandoned her be the last person she saw, felt, and breathed.

So, you didn’t go.

Shortly after, a messenger knocked on your door. His knocks were calm, unhurried, as if the weight of everything had already settled into his heart. He brought the news, low and steady, that Anne Lotte had breathed her last.

The first tear fell from your eye. You’d cried for her before, and you would do it again. The first time, you wept silently because she couldn’t. And the next time, you wept out of your own free will. Because nobody was there to mourn her death.

Anne had an empty funeral. Abandoned by all, loved by none.

Caroline’s death was only a reminder of your past shortcomings, a visceral punch to the gut, the reality that life and death were beyond your control, and that even you couldn’t shoo the poison away from eating at your patient’s brain.

You couldn’t even save yourself.

You failed as a psychotherapist, as a human, as an organism.

A type of survivor’s guilt. You bit your bottom lip, tearing at the dry skin coating it. The migraines worsened. Drowning in your thoughts, you failed to process the shift in weight beside you as another figure seated himself on the couch.

“I re-heated the cocoa. Come. You have to eat.” With unnerving gentleness, Caleb lifted your body off the couch and brought the mug to your lips. Defeated, you gently sipped. You winced as the hot liquid seared your tongue. “Too hot?” he cooed before setting it down on the glass coffee table. Even then, his arms never left you. Cautiously, as if to not scare you away, he positioned you on his lap and began to run soft circles on your back. You melted into his touch. As much as you hated to admit, he knew exactly what to do to help you feel at ease and lift your mood just enough.

You rested your chin on his shoulder, and suddenly, the world reverted 15 years back. A young girl sat atop a boy’s lap, whimpering, sniffling as she rubbed her tears and snot onto the boy’s shirt. But he didn’t seem to mind. He only hummed a soothing tune and cradled her head tenderly. “They said the cat deserved to die,” the girl choked a sob, “Tell me it didn’t, Caleb, tell me!”

A small smile graced your lips at the memory. Back then, and even now, only to him could you lift the dam and let your tears flow free. Only in his embrace could you breathe once more, and only here did you truly feel at home.

If you’d lost your memories, you’d just want to stay here forever. By his side. In his arms.

But you couldn’t forget. A part of you wished you could.

Rain pattered against the windows—its sound being the only one besides your breaths intertwined with his. His fingers found their way to your wrist, pressing down gently on your pulse point and watching as the fragile vein beat. A content sigh passed his lips. But something about it irked you. How could he be so calm when the colleague he’d shown so much care for yesterday night wound up dead? You suppressed your anger. Blowing up on him wouldn’t fix anything. In fact, you’d only end up pushing away the ones who cared for you. You knew you couldn’t cope without him.

A warm, smooth object pressed against your lips. The scent of chocolate filled your senses, and for the first time, your mouth watered. Your stomach growled in response, as if it had awoken from a long slumber—empty and unfulfilled.

"Drink up," Caleb hummed. "And then, I'll tuck you in."

You opened your mouth and slowly sipped the hot cocoa. The warm, fudgy liquid enveloped your tongue. Saccharine bursts of flavour erupted in your mouth. Steadily, his hands guided you to slurp up the entire mug, granting you occasional breaks to collect yourself in between. His demeanour was gentle, unhurried.

The butterflies in your stomach stirred from their dormancy, flitting about once more. It was an odd sensation—the serenity of butterflies mingled with the bitterness of guilt, resentment, and anger. A combination never meant to exist.

The next thunderclap sent a jolt of pain through your skull. You gripped your head and winced. Taking note of your discomfort, Caleb pressed his fingers against your aching temples.

"You should really get some rest."

"I tried. I can't sleep."

"I'll get you a sleeping pill."

Your brows furrowed. How could you trust him with medicine after that? Nonetheless, he had a point—if you didn’t sleep now, the weight of your burden would end up crushing you into smithereens. Sighing, you nodded.

Caleb disappeared into the darkness before returning with a bottle of medicine. He scurried over to the kitchen to fetch a glass of water and was back at your side shortly after. You plucked the bottle from his hands and inspected the label. Ibuprofen. You eyed him warily.

"Your head’s killing you, right?"

"And the sleep medicine?"

He opened his palm to reveal a relatively large pill. You cocked an eyebrow. Since when were sleeping pills that large? Maybe it was a stronger dosage.

You swallowed the ibuprofen before turning to the pill resting in his palm. Your eyes narrowed. Carefully, as if handling a radioactive sample, you pinched the pill between your fingers and brought it to your nose. You sniffed. A strong medicinal scent.

This wasn’t a sleeping pill.

A sharp breath. Your shoulders slumped. Suddenly relaxed, you calmly returned the pill to Caleb’s hand. He stared at you with half-lidded eyes.

"A predetermined provocation. You knew I’d catch on." An empty smile graced your lips. A breathless laugh followed. "You know I know a lot about medicine. This was no attempt to drug me." Your sharp glare met his violet hues. "You deliberately planned this."

Caleb curled his fist and placed the pill on the glass table alongside the water. "I was tired," he mused, "of dancing along as we played this stupid game."

"Oh," you lifted your head and smirked. "No, you were enjoying every part of this. Playing with me, driving me to the edge."

"I had to." His fists curled. "You were being a brat. You thought I wouldn’t catch on, right? But your relaxed composure gave it away."

Crossing your arms, you let out a huff. "I—"

Before you could finish, Caleb pressed on. "You were conspiring against me. Treating me like some damn lab experiment. Is that all I am to you? A deranged patient in need of saving? Another victim of the fleet?" He looked up at you, genuine hurt lacing his eyes. You gulped.

"You were studying that case all day in my bedroom while I was away, you—"

"You spied on me," you retorted. "Twice. First, with my personal information, and again, with your damn cameras!"

Caleb’s teeth sank into the plush of his bottom lip.

With eyes blazing with unrestrained emotion, you went on. "Last time, you actually drugged me. Kept me captive for three days. Threatened me. Terrified me out of my mind! And you try to insist you're above a deranged patient? You’re delusional and in need of help. I wanted to help you. I wanted to bring you back."

If Caleb had ears, they’d be lying flat against his head right now.

Your heart withered with guilt. You knew you shouldn’t have called him a deranged patient. But even then, his reaction wasn’t a response to that insult—it was something deeper. It emerged from the darkest recesses of his mind, the parts even you could never access.

Had you gone too far?

"Was it," his lips trembled, "was it all a lie? What you said in the car? That you were willing to make peace with the new versions of ourselves?"

"You know that to be a lie very well."

"You’re wrong." He lifted himself onto his feet. "I trusted you. I trusted in us."

"There was no us!" You lashed out, overwhelmed by the sheer force of emotions that inevitably laced your tone. "I’ve been alone ever since you left me—us—for the DAA! Ever since you blew yourself up with Grandma!"

You watched as Caleb clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms. You’d struck a nerve. It was enough. You got the reaction you wanted, but you couldn’t stop. Not when he was finally listening to you, looking at you—truly looking. For the first time in years, you could tell him how you felt.

And so, the words kept tumbling out of your mouth like an unstoppable avalanche—cold, all-consuming, and doomed to self-annihilate.

"I didn’t talk to anyone. For years after you left, I shut myself off. I found solace in my patients’ despair because you were never there!"

You looked up. His eyes were glued to his feet, his clenched fists trembling. Darkness overcast his face. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking, much less how he felt. You searched his face for a sign—anything. Anger, resentment, agony, indifference, tears, or a smile. But you found nothing. It was all hidden away behind that invisible veil. Another mask.

You gritted your teeth. It only fuelled your rage further. At that moment, you wished you could tear open his skull and peer inside his mind.

"And you know what? I was such a fool. When I saw you again, I was willing to forgive your every flaw! I was willing to forget and move on with you. But guess what? The man I was madly in love with since high school had become so intoxicated by his newfound power and authority," you spat the last words with venom, "that he’d forgotten of my existence entirely! And still, I trusted you nonetheless! I thought it was my shortcomings when you were the insane one!"

"You…" Caleb lifted his head. The darkness dissipated from his face, only to be replaced with a flicker of hope. "You loved me?"

You slapped your palm against your face and threw yourself onto the couch, oblivious to how painfully you'd bumped your leg. You couldn’t believe you’d said that. Stupid, stupid.

"Why else would I be so obsessed with bringing you back?"

In a flash, Caleb was on his knees before you, bringing your palms together and pressing them against his chest. His heart pounded with fervour. His eyes gleamed with something raw, something terrifyingly close to unraveling. This was no act.

"Caleb…" You spoke his name with such softness, he gulped. "What are you doing? Get up—"

"You loved me." His grip tightened. "Do you still feel that way? Do we have a chance?"

The loudest bolt of lightning ripped through the stormy clouds. You turned your gaze to the tempest outside.

"I don’t think so, Caleb."

"I’ll make this right. Let’s live together."

"Caleb…"

"I’ll return your position as a criminologist. You can work under the fleet. You’ll have a better salary and a better working environment. And if you don’t want that, I’ll move the whole clinic here."

"Ca—"

"You like lively atmospheres, right? We’ll decorate this house. Or we can move to a new one. It’ll have the largest windows and the warmest winds. I’ll build you a garden full of your most treasured flowers, in a place far away where nobody will find us."

You tensed. A tremor rippled through you, but Caleb didn’t seem to notice. And if he did, he didn’t care. His eyes gleamed with desperation, restraint, and a love-fuelled mania that terrified you. Yearning. Could a mere emotion become so haunting? So intense?

"Let’s rebuild our life. We can be married. Have a bunch of kids, or not. If it’s what you want, we can take it slow. One step at a time. Just…" He nuzzled both your hands, his eyes lingering on the bracelet. "Just be by my side. You’ll never have to be alone again."

"Caleb."

You affirmed firmly, making him halt mid-sentence. His brows furrowed noticeably. A flicker of anger ignited in his eyes.

"You’ve gone too far. I can’t be with you."

You retracted your hands. The frown deepened on his lips as the absence of your warmth settled in. Gone was the adoration. Only wrath remained where it once was. He acted as if you’d stabbed him in the back, as if you’d plucked the feathers from his bionic wings and crushed them before his eyes. Faster than he’d knelt by your side, Caleb sprang to his feet and caged you within the couch. A familiar scenario. Your mind raced.

"You just don’t understand, do you?"

You averted your eyes. He forced your head parallel to his with a firm grip, ensuring your gaze remained locked onto his. You squirmed under the inferno alight within them. Whatever swirled inside was darker, crueler, and far more monstrous than anything you’d faced in the past few days. It was far more ruthless than what had lurked the last time you found yourself pinned to the couch. Honestly, it truly terrified you. Even in Harrison’s frantic eyes, you hadn’t spotted such ferocity.

"I’ve given up my life, my heart, and a limb for your sake. You breathe today because I sacrificed my breaths in your stead."

You thrashed against him, trying to pry your face from his grasp, but nothing worked. He loomed over you with monstrous strength.

"What? Weren’t you wondering what happened after the explosion? I’ll tell you, alright? If you give me something of yours."

Mustering all the strength you could, you barely managed to knock the behemoth of a man off you. As if regaining his self-control, Caleb eyed his hands before turning to you. The mania in his gaze dissipated, leaving only that desperate yearning.

But it was too late. The damage had been done.

"Pip—"

"I’m leaving Skyhaven." You picked yourself up and stormed off into your—well, his room. "Try to stop me, and I’ll show you hell."

And with that, you slammed the door shut.

That night, while Caleb had (not so) blissfully stashed himself away in his temporary room, you gathered your things and silently fled the estate.

Before walking out the front door, you spared one last glance at the empty house. You eyed the barren shelves, devoid of colour or antiques, the dim lights that were rarely granted the opportunity to welcome any host, and the uninspiring grey paint coating his solid walls.

Perhaps these walls were meant to imprison him, not you. Beyond any shadow of a doubt, Caleb had suffered—immensely. But you couldn’t let him drag you into the sizzling depths with him. He may have abandoned joy, but you would not. You would return to Linkon, maybe flee to another city nearby, and leave your past behind in pursuit of a joyous future—a future where, this time, you would be in control, not your listless feelings from decades ago.

You yearned to take another look, to glimpse his slumbering, pained face one more time before departing. But a saying from a precious individual circled in your mind: Don’t look back at me. If you do, it’ll be more difficult to leave.

Or, in other words, do not look back before leaving. If you do, you will be bound to them eternally—heart and soul. That was what he meant back then, wasn’t it?

With a relieved smile, you stepped out the door and into a new beginning.

“Goodbye, Caleb,” you murmured under your breath. “I love you.”

But in actions, I always look back.

There were only a few trains active at night. As a result, the station was relatively quiet, save for the occasional sweep sweep of the cleaning lady’s brush or the robotic echo of the AI announcing the next rides. The aged cleaning lady eyed you suspiciously. Perhaps you were suspicious—a woman sitting all by herself at a station at eleven at night, with barely any luggage to accompany her. You clearly weren’t mourning or panicked, so it likely wasn’t an emergency you had to return to.

Even then, the way her gaze kept returning to you was… odd.

Ding!

You fished through your pockets and retrieved your phone. Had Caleb caught wind of your absence? No. Odd. It wasn’t Caleb.

It was Rhys.

You quickly opened his chat and skimmed through his messages. A sinking feeling settled in your gut.

"Miss," he hastily followed, "you’re on the news."

You stilled. Why would you be on the news? Surely, a woman alone at a train station at night wasn’t such a revolutionary event that it had lured in the mass media?

"?" you typed back. "I’m famous now?"

"It’s no joke. Look."

A video file popped up. The thumbnail appeared to be Rhys’ TV. You could spot a snippet of his wife from one of the corners.

The throbbing ache in your head returned, begging you not to click on the file. Alas, your curiosity took hold of you, and your fingers hovered above the play button.

Hesitantly, it met the screen.

The woman announcing the news spoke your name. You immediately lowered the volume.

Your name. Your full name. Something was wrong.

"A suspect has been found." She said your name again. "Skyhaven authorities are actively searching for the suspect in connection with Caroline Mayday’s death. According to local reports, the individual was seen near the estate a day prior to the incident."

You slapped your clammy palm onto your mouth to silence the gasp that was about to escape your lips. The only person you had met that day was Rhys. Surely, there had been some sort of mistake. Surely, you hadn’t murdered a woman whose address you weren’t even aware of.

"Evidence, including fingerprint analysis and multiple witness testimonies, has linked the suspect to the scene."

Testimonies? Witnesses? Had people perceived a ghost? How could they have witnessed a woman who wasn’t even there?

Your hand stilled. Suddenly, the thoughts in your brain quieted, leaving nothing but unnerving, unmoving silence. The gears turned in your head. And then, it all made sense.

Caleb. Utilising his authority.

That bastard.

"A search warrant has been issued, and officials confirm that she will soon be taken in for questioning before the court of law."

Shit.

Shit.

You turned off the video and returned to the chat. Rhys had sent another message.

"Miss, you have to leave. I’ll get you tickets to Linkon."

"No need," you typed back. "I’m at the station. I was just about to leave anyway."

After a brief pause, you asked, "Rhys, do you believe I’m guilty?"

For a moment, he didn’t reply, leaving you on seen. Your body stiffened. If he didn’t believe you…

"No. We were at the café right about the time the witnesses claimed to have spotted you. And even if you weren’t, well, how do I put this nicely? Miss, you don’t have the balls."

Despite his half-insult, you couldn’t help but smile. At the very least, there was somebody who trusted you.

"I know it was that colonel’s doing. He isn’t to be trusted. Please, for your sake, never get involved with him ever again."

"I won’t."

And this time, you were being honest. You couldn’t return to him. Not after this.

"Stay safe, Rhys. If I’m not caught and executed, I promise you, we will meet again."

The train rolled into the station. Its wheels hissed against the cold metal rails.

You had to leave, now.

A handful of people lined up against the entrance. Some of them had their faces glued to their phones. Could they be watching the news? You hoped not. It was safer to go last.

You fished through your luggage and pulled out a cap you happened to bring along, placing it low on your head, shielding half your face from the gazes of passers-by.

Donning the calmest demeanour you could muster, you stepped into the train’s carriage and seated yourself far away from all. Sort of counterintuitive, now that you thought about it. Attempting to appear normal whilst actively isolating yourself from the crowd like a child who had shoplifted a candy bar. It made little sense. But how could you think logically when danger was quite literally breathing down your neck each second? Half of Skyhaven’s forces were after you, and you were practically tethered to a determined fate.

With a slow rattle and a monotonous announcement, the train began to move.

Your eyes trailed to the bracelet clasped around your wrist. Your promise to Caleb. But what did that matter now? It was merely a chain. A bad-luck charm, even. Ever since you had put it on, misfortunes followed close behind. You kept experiencing losses ceaselessly.

You contemplated tossing it away, but it would be such a waste of a valuable item.

You peered from below the cap’s shade to eye the modern tablet displaying the train’s destinations. The last stop wasn’t Linkon. It was a town two cities apart—Nimbura. The land of storms and tempests. Perhaps the storm that had been looming over Skyhaven for the past few days originated from there.

Nonetheless, Nimbura was a town of little population. Due to the never-ending downpour, most citizens had moved to greater cities. It was the perfect place for an escape. You could sell your bracelet to a local broker for a small fortune. You reckoned it would get you enough to kickstart your new life there. Perhaps open another clinic or begin to achieve the dreams you had long since abandoned.

This time, you would live your new life the way you wanted to.

With Caleb manipulating the press from behind the scenes, any chance of achieving justice and clearing your name was lost to the wind. Though a cowardly move, fleeing was your only choice.

You shut your eyes. Oh, Caroline. If only she knew how her death had been exploited by her higher-ups for such selfish purposes.

Of course, starting anew was easier said than done. You still had to fetch yourself a new identity, a house, and somehow evade the authorities for the rest of your life. It was fun to dream, but you knew you had to embrace reality soon.

Or else, you would be caught in the dumbest way.

At the very least, you could put up one hell of a fight before being whisked away in shackles. Enjoy your last remaining days of freedom before he caught up.

Your breath hitched. Caleb wouldn’t give up, would he? He’d comb through each city and town, overturning even the smallest villages in search of you.

You couldn’t picture what drastic measures he’d take.

Perhaps he’d even drain the oceans and pluck you from the seabed if you decided to live freely as a sea turtle.

Wherever you were, he would find you.

Some things were only possible in the presence of power. No matter how intelligent you were, your helplessness was undeniable. You bore not even a sliver of authority and thus were incapable of turning the tide against him. You could run from a man, but you couldn’t escape a whole fleet of deranged, cybernetic militants.

You chuckled at the inevitability of your fate. In time, he would find you. The government wouldn’t protect you. Not when you were a wanted criminal on the loose. If anything, they would hand you over—to him—on a silver platter. Nobody wanted to make an enemy of the farspace fleet. They were a ruthless bunch. What would one insignificant sacrifice mean when it had been made for the greater good? For eternal peace?

Just like Anne, the world had abandoned you as well.

And this time, you truly had no home to return to.

An unfamiliar feeling coiled in your chest—a yearning for home. A yearning to sit across the white couch of your clinic, listing away your patient’s traits on a clipboard as a frigid wind drifted in from the window. A coveting for the warmth of your bed, the bitterness of the coffee you brewed each morning, and the intimacy of your workspace.

This was all a mistake. You should never have embarked on this journey in the first place.

So much for bringing someone back. Someone who had lost their heart long ago.

If only you hadn’t let your emotions blind you. If only you had moved on from him.

You squeezed your eyes shut. A single tear slipped down your cheek. This was no place to cry. What you should have been focusing on was a plan—a means of saving yourself. You barely had any money. Would it even be enough to buy you transport to the nearest broker?

You didn’t have any weapons on you either. Nothing to defend yourself with. Just you, yourself, and a lightweight bag with nothing valuable inside.

You should have stolen a few bucks from Caleb. His position surely paid well, so what would a hundred dollars mean to him? You really should have. And the worst part was that you knew he would have handed it all to you without a second thought. Something churned in your chest.

"I don’t know what to be when I grow up, Caleb. What should I do?"

You kicked your feet on the bed, lying on your back as you watched Caleb’s attentive gaze remain glued to his homework.

"Why are you askin’ me?" A young voice replied. "It’ll come to ya, pip-squeak. You’re only ten."

"But," you pushed yourself off the bed and nudged his shoulder, "the teacher asked us to write an essay on our dream careers. Help me, please? You’re really smart!"

"Why worry about that? I’m here, aren’t I? I’m smart enough for us both."

"Really?" You grinned stupidly. "That means your money is my money?"

He reached over without averting his eyes from the textbook to flick your forehead softly. You whined in response.

"Hasn’t it always been like that? But still. You’re good with people, right?"

You hummed. "I don’t have many friends other than you."

"But you understand people."

You nodded.

"Then why don’t you become a psychologist?"

"A… what?"

He sighed. "Never mind. You’re too young to think about that." And with that, he ruffled your hair and sent you off.

Little did he know you would cling to that word for the rest of your life.

The train whirred along the tracks, speeding readily through the various stations. One by one, the passengers departed, until you and an old man were the only ones remaining.

Before long, the train passed by Linkon. You watched with a solemn gaze as the doors slid shut. A part of you imagined yourself stepping out—happy, grinning from ear to ear, returning home. This cap wouldn’t be on your head, and your face would be devoid of worries. You would be free. On your way to a new life in the absence of Caleb. Into a new normalcy—a reality you could embrace this time.

You shut your eyes and rested your head against the window. Two fresh tears slipped past your lashes. Home. The word called to you from amidst the darkness. You envisioned two gentle arms cradling your form. The ghosts in your bed would welcome you home. They’d open their arms and tuck you in.

Just yesterday, the ‘ghost’ would have been none other than Caleb. But now, you wanted nothing to do with him.

Now, they had become two fleeting, ghastly apparitions—echoes of the past, lingering somewhere in your psyche.

The flesh may forget the sting of steel, but our minds will know.

You didn’t recall where you had heard that line. Perhaps it was a lyric from a melodious choir, or maybe a fragment of dialogue from a show you once treasured. You couldn’t recall the exact words either. At first, you had only nodded at its proclamation. It was right. There was nothing to refute.

As the new you emerged from the epicentre of a vicious battle, wounded by the likes of steel, its choir rang within your heart.

The mind never forgets. It is a being of its own. A tranquil entity, a lifeless organism so equally abundant with life. It may not respire, but it bears the authority to decide whether you do so.

And sometimes, it chooses for you not to be able to breathe.

Caleb would never vanish. He might perish while executing his unethical duties, or he might fade from your life altogether. He might even heal and reform. But that wounded man lived in a hollow within your heart, a cavity carved out with a knife—an unhealing wound, a permanent abyss.

A dark, bottomless pit you could never truly move on from.

No matter how achingly you worked to normalise his absence, his ghost would linger.

And so would the ghost of your former self.

For that wounded man didn’t just win,

He devoured you. He plucked your ribcage open and fused with your heart.

The burden of exhaustion weighed on your bones, dragging your body down against the train’s plastic seat. Your mind kept drifting home—to the warm lighting of your kitchen, the abomination stashed away under your bed, the mess coating your desk that you never quite found time to clean up. Their images flashed before your eyes, like a boat drifting back to the seas it had departed from, pushed there by a storm.

Now, it was up to you to decide what home meant.

You would make sure that this time, home wouldn’t be a place that breathed Caleb’s name.

“Nimbura. Doors will open from the right.”

You hauled your luggage alongside you as you exited with the old man. From beneath his drooping eyebrows, he shot you a wary glance before inching forward. A flimsy brown cane supported his weight as he walked. You hoped you would never again encounter a situation where you’d need to rely on someone else—not until you reached seventy, at least.

A cool gust of wind sent flyers fluttering through the air before your face. You shivered, hugging yourself a little tighter. An earthy scent lingered—damp soil, the kind you could always smell before an impending downpour.

Of course, the town hadn’t bought its name with cash.

It bought it with its perpetual rain.

“Excuse me,” you called out to the old man. “Do you know where the nearest broker’s is?”

“They’re all closed by now,” he croaked. “Get some sleep, girl. Go tomorrow.”

You let out an audible sigh before returning to your pocket to count your cash. Just enough for a night’s stay, but beyond that? You weren’t so sure.

To your surprise, the man turned back. “Need a place to stay, child?”

You eyed the money on your palm before returning to his face. He appeared wise. From the way his brows were furrowed, you could tell he had seen much in his long life. A part of you secretly loathed these types of people. Those who had seen it all were especially hard to deceive. They could spot any hint of trickery, no matter how ethical, from a mile away.

Your gut told you he probably knew you were on the run.

You needed a place to stay, but your instincts flared up. You didn’t know him. Anything could happen to you in a town this small, and it would go unreported for the most part. This was a matter of survival. Although your expertise insisted this man was no threat, your wariness begged to differ. So, with a polite smile, you turned down his offer.

Defeated, the man showed you the way to the nearest inn.

You followed his directions only to end up at a run-down inn around the corner. Its sign hung loosely, threatening to fall at any second. But clearly, the owner hadn’t cared enough to fix it. On top of that, the place stank. It reeked of alcohol, vomit, and cigars. You’d rather sleep out on the streets than stay here.

Thunder flashed in the sky behind you. You jumped.

Okay, maybe sleeping under a storm’s embrace wasn’t the best idea.

You were on the run, after all. Now wasn’t the time to be picky.

A short, blonde-haired woman sat on the other side of the counter, chewing gum as she scrolled mindlessly through her phone. The electric bell above the door chimed as you pushed it open. In a few swift movements, she spat out her gum and shoved the phone into the cavity under her desk.

“Hello, how may I help you?” She flashed the brightest grin she could muster.

She appeared young. Most likely still in high school. Your gaze travelled to the photo frame behind her—a clean picture of a family with a mix of blondes and brunettes. So, her parents owned the place, huh? A lucky child with a stable future. You envied her.

“How much for one night?”

“Oh, uhm—” She fished through something under her desk. You could hear the faint crumple of paper as she moved. That agility… was she in hunter’s school?

She named the price. You reopened your wallet and counted the bills. Just enough for one night, plus transportation.

“Is the food free?”

“No, ma’am. Only water.”

A deflated sigh passed your lips. You hadn’t eaten dinner, and you were practically starving. If you wasted money on food now, you doubted you’d make it through tomorrow.

Oh, well. A day’s fast wouldn’t kill you.

“All right. Can I have a room?” You smiled, placing the cash on the desk.

She opened her register and quickly handed you the change before fetching a pair of keys from the shelves behind her. Tossing you the keys, she showed you to your room. Despite her persistent offers, you ended up carrying your bags yourself.

Your room was relatively cleaner than expected. Initially, you’d envisioned a room as run-down as the front of the inn, with broken beds and a toilet that didn’t flush. Of course, the room was nothing like the average hotel rooms you could rent in Linkon, but it would do.

At least you discovered where most of the inn’s funds went.

You fetched one of the sealed bottles of water from the desk and buried yourself in bed. Having finally achieved a moment of respite, you whipped out your phone and began scrolling through your messages.

Oddly enough, there were no texts from Caleb. He was offline on all his socials.

Perhaps he hadn’t caught wind of your absence yet? That would suggest the idea of framing you for murder was something he had planned beforehand. Possibly after the argument.

You were about to head to bed when suddenly, your phone lit up with a notification.

You guessed it was Rhys again before even looking at the screen. He was the only one you’d been texting (or, more accurately, who’d been texting you) over the past few days.

If he was texting you, it could only mean trouble.

With numb fingers, you opened his chat.

“Miss, run.”

“You’re in Nimbura, right? They know your location.”

You froze as he kept bombarding you with short, panicked, back-to-back messages.

“He discovered our relationship. My wife’s dealing with the fleet.”

“They’re at our door.”

“Please, run.”

“Forget about us. Leave Nimbura. Immediately.”

“The police know where you are.”

The adrenaline was so deeply coded into your DNA that you’d gotten used to it by now. Only a deafening numbness lingered where anxiety once resided.

But, more importantly, how did he know where you were?

Your eyes trailed to the bracelet. The pendant gleamed under the light.

Now that you thought about it, the pendant’s size was oddly convenient, was it not?

And it was quite a bit heavier than you had expected.

Could it be…?

Caleb had revealed his final card. The ace up his sleeve.

Blood drained from your face. You paled.

A tracker.

You jolted up to the sound of police sirens slicing through the air. They were already here.

In a hurry, you snatched the bag you hadn’t yet opened and rushed to the door. Your other hand fidgeted with the bracelet coiled around your wrist. You hissed. Why were these things so hard to unclasp with one hand?

Pushing through your body’s sheer exhaustion and numbness, you bolted down the stairs, tripping over some of the steps. A knock resounded at the inn’s front gate.

“Skyhaven authorities. Open up.”

The perplexed blonde girl eyed you awkwardly. Tearing the bracelet forcefully off your wrist, you tossed the jewellery to her and muttered an apology.

“Gotta run. Take this as an apology.”

And with that, you stormed out the back door. Rain poured from above, thumping against your bare head relentlessly. No time to equip an umbrella. Just run.

With trembling legs, you skidded across the empty alleyways. Multiple pairs of footsteps slapped against the damp pavement close by. They were closing in. Fast. You had nowhere to go.

But perhaps you could make it to the train station before it closed. There was one last train heading to Linkon soon. If you could make it, maybe you could throw them off your trail for a while?

You bit your lip. You weren’t so sure. Chances were the authorities had already surrounded Linkon—your home and clinic were under their jurisdiction.

But that was a problem for future you. Right now, you had to run.

Mustering up all your strength, you pushed yourself forward, darting through the desolate streets. The commanding voices of the officers pierced through the rain, declaring how they would use force, how resisting would only worsen your case. You paid no mind to their warnings. Only the worst would happen if you were arrested—you’d be thrown into jail, executed by the fleet, or sent straight into Caleb’s arms. And he would definitely rather skin himself bit by bit than let you go once more.

How much worse could it get?

The walls of the world seemed to shrink in on you, confining you within Nimbura’s insignificantly sized territory. All sounds blurred together, contorting into one singular noise that thudded violently against your eardrums—the pulse of your own quickening heartbeat. The heart that once beat in love for a man now pounded in terror of the very same one. You no longer flinched at the bolts of lightning, no longer cared for the heavy droplets of rain smashing through your skull.

At that moment, you were reduced to a cowardly mess of a woman who knew only how to run. She ran from her life, her job, her stability, her friends, her problems, her mistakes. And now, that woman realised she had spent her entire existence fleeing. She buried her troubles in the desolation of her patients, abandoned the life that had given her everything, and flung herself into the arms of a stranger. A stranger who, due to her naïveté, received her love as she foolishly gave herself away.

Hot tears streamed down your cheeks. Or was it rain? You didn’t know. Didn’t care. And for the first time, you let the tears fall freely. You sobbed—your face contorted in despair. Your lips curled into an unsightly frown, your brows knitted dramatically. Vision blurred. Your pace faltered.

Your legs begged for respite. To stop, to collapse onto the wet asphalt, to simply wail to your heart’s content. But the footsteps behind you suddenly grew louder. Your brief moment of weakness had allowed them to close in. You were screwed.

Forcing yourself forward, you pushed through the pain. Your shoes stretched against your feet, groaning under the pressure. The soles were likely torn by now—perhaps even left behind a few metres ago. You didn’t know. There was no time to stop and check.

Then, through the curtain of rain, the silhouette of a tall stranger emerged. He walked parallel to you, treading calmly beneath the shelter of a large, black umbrella. Your heart lurched. You couldn’t stop now. You were bound to collide.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you braced for impact.

You crashed into a solid chest and, from the sheer force, went stumbling back. Before you could hit the ground, a firm hand seized your waist, steadying you.

“I’m sorry,” you gasped, lifting your head to catch a glimpse of his face. “I—”

Your body froze. As if your entire being had shut down, every gear in your mind clogged at once. The pitter-patter of rain and the approaching footsteps of the police faded, drowned by the roaring static in your head.

That long, black uniform. Those leather gloves. That sleek cap.

And, most importantly, those innocent violet hues scrutinising your face.

For a long while, there was only silence.

You parted your lips, but no words came. Finally, you choked out, “How—”

A chuckle. One you recognised all too well.

“Are you hurt?” A familiar voice cooed.

Caleb.

You turned on your heels and bolted in the opposite direction.

A flight of uniformed personnel obstructed your path, caging you in against Caleb’s form. In tiny, panicked steps, you inched backwards.

The leader announced your name. “You are under arrest on suspicion of the murder of Sergeant Caroline Mayday. You—���

“I’ll take it from here,” the figure behind you commanded firmly. “I’ll escort our criminal personally.”

Hesitantly, the officer backed away with a curt tilt of his head, signalling for his troop to stand down. You watched helplessly as they retreated.

A part of you wanted to reach out. To beg them to throw you into jail instead. An axe to your neck would be far kinder.

But no. They tossed you right into the vicious, merciless jaws of the beast, leaving you to a fate you couldn’t determine.

The world stilled. The patter of rain against the road was all you could hear, aside from his steady breathing contrasting with your short, quick spasms of breath. In that moment, it felt as if it were only the two of you in the world. As if only you both truly mattered.

But those weren’t your feelings, were they?

They were his.

You gulped. Unhurried footsteps inched from behind. “You look tired. Have you eaten?” Caleb’s fingers interlocked with yours. Gently, he spun you around. The cap hung low on his head, obscuring half of his eyes. If only you’d spotted it from afar. Maybe if you’d picked up on his presence earlier, you could bolt in the opposite direction and avoid clashing into him.

He appeared from seemingly nowhere. Perhaps his appearance was also a calculated move that slipped past your radar.

Your final, most fatal loss.

Your reckoning.

You snatched your hand away. “You,” you cocked your head to meet his gaze, “What did you do to Rhys?”

You endured a long, deafening silence. The weight of it all pressed against your chest, squashing you against the mud. Like an insignificant, pesky bug meeting its end under the sole of one’s shoe.

A cold, frosty wind wafted through the atmosphere. Goosebumps prickled as frostbitten air slipped beneath your skin. The chill gnawed deep within your bones, causing painful pangs to crackle through you. Your knees buckled, unable to bear your weight any longer.

Expectedly, an arm wrapped itself around your waist and hoisted you up, pressing your body against his own.

Strings of water slid down from leaves nearby, splashing onto the pavement. Your forehead pulsated—that familiar sensation of dread that emerged each time you found yourself caught up in a complex, seemingly inescapable web. Usually, you’d bear the scissors to free yourself. But this time?

The webs cut into your skin, threading through your nerves. Every fibre of your being was tangled. The slightest movement would cause the intertwined nerves to be ripped out of your skin. A violent flash of lightning illuminated half of Caleb’s face.

“Who?” He lifted his chin, gazing at the sky as if buried deep in thought. When he looked down at you, he did so with a familiar darkness in his eyes. Envy. “Oh. Him.” His frown curled deeper as he uttered the last word.

“Why would that matter? It’s about us now.”

You locked your jaw. “What did you do?” Tears threatened to fall from your eyes.

As if able to distinguish between the rain and the remnants of your despair, Caleb brought his gloved hand and cradled your face. His thumb brushed against the tears, tossing them away as though they didn’t belong on your cheeks, and didn’t deserve to be shed from your eyes.

Not regarding another man, that is.

You flinched at his touch. A new, unsettling calm dawned over his countenance. And in a flick, all emotion dissipated from his eyes. His lips relaxed into a neutral line.

“I got rid of him.”

Your lips parted, but no words were uttered. A lump of saliva knotted in your throat. Your tongue was overcome with foreign saltiness.

“What do you mean…?”

No response.

“Caleb…” you stuttered, placing your palm on his hand, more to comfort yourself than to coerce him, “What did you do?”

His fingers trailed over your own. A tremor ran down your spine at the sheer tenderness he displayed, treating you as if you were a precious glass ornament ready to shatter at the slightest prick. “You don’t have to worry about him anymore.”

Your arm dropped to your side. “You… did you hurt him?” Caleb didn’t reply. He only leered down at your trembling lips with an impenetrable mask. Or perhaps it seemed as such to you because you couldn’t be bothered enough to pick him apart.

You sucked in a breath and exhaled audibly. Your head lowered until you were staring at the surface of your mud-coated shoes. Think. What could get you out of this situation? Your eyes lingered on your feet for a while. The cogs whirred in your brain, working, but producing no reliable output.

A flock of thoughts flooded you—irrelevant, unimpressive, shrill, and horrid thoughts. What would he do to you once he’s got you in his grasp? You swallowed the saltiness, nearly gagging at the taste of your own bodily fluids.

But then, a thought emerged.

Bodily fluids. Bodily gases. You smelled ammonia—a common gas released upon the decay of a corpse. But amidst the urine-like stench, you smelled something else.

A strong stench of bleach—something you only picked up once you’d ventured inside the room. Meaning it was present nowhere else. The corpse crime scene hadn’t been cleaned. There was no need to tidy up after a corpse that hadn’t bled. And there was no residue of liquid bleach anywhere within the room. If there was, you certainly would’ve noticed.

“Chlorine.” You lifted your head to meet his gaze.

Finally, Caleb’s eyes flashed with a hint of emotion.

“I smelled chlorine in Caroline’s room.”

With an amused tilt of his head, Caleb wordlessly challenged your wits.

“She didn’t commit suicide. She was murdered with chlorine gas.” You glared up at him. “In gas form, chlorine is extremely noxious. Seventh grade chemistry stuff. You made it too easy.” You shook your head. “Once she expired, you didn’t hesitate to take her out.”

His lips curled to form a smirk you couldn’t shake off. It felt so out-of-place. So visceral. As if it didn’t belong on his pretty face.

It’s an expression he’d donned countless times in the past. But each time, it was a playful, giddy smirk. A boyish grin, more so. The one you’d flash before committing a silly act.

But this one conquered your nerves with an uneasy rattle.

Eyebrows slightly curved, his eyes subtly squinted, a feral glint alight in his gorgeous violets, and with his lips angled oddly. Your stomach churned. It felt as if you were being preyed upon and tested.

Nonetheless, you stood your ground. You ensured that every bit of you would exude defiance, from your visage to your body and to the hairs of your neck. But your insolence only seemed to rile him up. The lunatic look in his eyes deepened alongside his uncomfortable smirk. Your fire exhilarated him, as if watching you ablaze with passionate rebellion was the prettiest you could be.

Like it was one of the many things he absolutely adored about you.

In spite of his admiration, he wouldn’t let you have your way, though, would he?

“A harsh accusation. But,” his hand returned to your face, as if it was unable to keep itself from it, as if it belonged glued to its side, “The world knows you to be the killer.”

“You weren’t raised to be a monster.”

Caleb cocked his head to the side. He hummed.

“Sure it wasn’t you? Don’t worry, you can tell me.”

Your balled fists trembled. “So,” you drooped your head, letting your hair fall before your eyes, “I was right.”

“Then, tell me,” you continued, “How do you know the fleet won’t turn on you next?”

“Once you reach a certain rank, you’re free from those risks. She was merely a sergeant.” His shoulders jerked to a casual shrug. “The media needed a culprit. The law doesn’t care who it is, they just need a scapegoat. A person to throw into a cell.”

“Which was me.” You eyed him in disbelief.

In a sharp movement, Caleb squeezed your chin and brought your face to his, forcing you onto your tiptoes. “But,” an alien, hoarse voice rasped, “I wouldn’t let them have you. They wouldn’t take you from me. Not again. Not after…” You could see fragments of a memory flash in the reflection in his eyes—a memory you seemed to share with him, but one that wasn’t yours.

Normally, you’d pry further. Coerce him, utilise his vulnerable emotions to spill the truth from his lips without having to properly ask. But by now, you’d given up on his rehabilitation. Now, your most vital priority was survival.

“You put a tracker in that bracelet.” A proud grin spread across his face. He had the audacity to silently congratulate you after all that.

“This?” He held up something near his face. A shiny, silver chain with a sparkling white sapphire pendant dangled from his fingers. “You forgot it at the inn. Here.”

Gentle fingers grasped your arm. He slid the chain onto your wrist before hooking it shut. “You were made to be clad in jewels. A Goddess.” You shuddered at the abrupt softness of his voice. Sincerity was engraved into his movements.

For a moment, it felt as if he were simply a man in love, and nothing more. A man awarding his partner with a treasure purchased by hours of his hard work, made only for the one he loved so dearly. You yearned to close your eyes, to let your world sink into darkness so you could paint a picture of your own—one where the two of you were simply a happy, normal couple, living a humble, free life. But dreams were merely dreams. In the end, you had to wake up.

A frown graced your lips. Your bad luck charm had followed you into your doom. And once more, the shackle was clasped to your wrist.

“Did they touch you anywhere?” He gripped your arm. His eyes poured over your body.

“What?”

“The authorities.” He affirmed. “Did they—”

You pried your form away. A visible tick emerged in his forehead. “No, they didn’t.”

“Why…” his eyeballs quaked, rolling about in his head with fervour, “Why can’t you just…” His teeth sank into his bottom lip viciously, drawing blood. “Are you afraid of me? Of what I’ve become?”

If it were just this morning, when he’d sourced you with the warmest form of solace as he cradled you on his lap, you would’ve denied that claim. You would’ve fought back with all your heart, with passionate proclamations on how you feel the safest when with him, and how nobody feels like home other than him.

Just a few days ago, you’d approached him out of fascination. Love, yes. But above all things, you were intrigued. Lured by his mystical, webbed, and broken mind. Eager to pick apart the strands of his brain tissue and see for yourself how they operated.

But now?

You weren’t just afraid.

You were terrified of him. Of whom he had become. And who he could transform into in the near future.

So, you simply let your head hang as you pursed your lips into silence.

The man didn’t move. He didn’t shift, whimper, nor shout. He simply stood there with you. Beneath the cloak of the large, black umbrella. A gentle thunder ruptured the air. The gale softened. The tempest was nearing its end. The grey storm clouds were returning home.

“If you love something, you should work hard to earn it.” You wiped a few stray droplets off your eyes. “If you love me, you should work hard to be a better person for me. You can’t just… do this.”

With slow, sincere motions, Caleb lifted your arm and slotted it with his.

“Let’s go home, then. I’ll work hard for you this time. We can make things right.”

But you didn’t move. You simply stood, pulling back your arm ever so slightly. Not desperately, not angrily, just… subtly. As if your own games had tired you out. Because they had. What use was there in fighting back? You had already lost.

“There is no home to return to, Caleb.” A soft voice spoke. His lips twisted into a frown. Brief anger flashed in his eyes, but he didn’t speak. What was there to say? He knew you were right.

“Let’s go build one, then. We’ll begin from nothing.” His fingers tightened around yours. “One step at a time.”

“My home,” you averted your gaze, hesitant to continue, “doesn’t include you.”

The wrath returned, spreading through his visage like poison dipped onto a pond’s still surface. His grip tautened painfully. “What? Don’t you love me?” There was a scoff in his voice, a forced friendliness. “All right. I get it. You’re shy, is that it?” he grinned. But his smile didn’t reach his eyes. Much like a lot of his smiles nowadays.

You stared back at him with a worn countenance, unresponsive to his tease. But something subtly stirred in your chest. Nothing pleasant. Fear. He was at it again. He was walking a fine line between mania and sanity, and he threatened to topple over and fall into the clutches of psychosis at any moment.

Knowing what it was scared you more. Most would mistake it for hurt, for desperation or any other normal feeling in the book. But you knew all too well it wasn’t that.

He was losing himself. You were, both physically and psychically, driving him mad.

Caleb’s smile slackened. “Pip-squeak.” He shut his eyes in an attempt at self-restraint. When he opened them, your nerves screamed. “You don’t have a choice.”

“Either,” a step forward, “you come with me, help me fix what I broke, or…” he stopped. His lips neared yours. His hot breath fanned over your eyes. The knot in your stomach tightened. Tears rose to your eyes.

You should move away, display the last bits of your dimming defiance. But what was the point? It was all over. He’d caught you, and now, the victor would claim his prize. Your soaked clothes clung uncomfortably to your torso, moulding to your shape. It pressed against your chest. Suffocating, revealing, vulnerable—the words raced in your mind. Bile rose to your throat. The weight of the clothes dripping down irked you, but not more than how you felt practically revealed under his gaze.

You gulped.

“Ya know, killing an important member of the fleet is a serious offence.” His eyes skimmed over your body. You tensed right as he caught himself and deflected his gaze.

You understood what he implied. Granting you a swift, painless execution was the kindest decision the fleet could come upon.

“But,” the coldness in your eyes matched his, “you wouldn’t let that happen to me, would you?”

“Smart girl.” He ruffled your wet hair. “Either you come with me, or I drag you home kicking and screamin’.”

The lack of reluctance in his voice startled you, paired with the sheer casualness of his tone. You could tell he wasn’t lying.

“I don’t have a choice.”

“You don’t,” he confirmed. “So, shall we go home?”

You don’t respond. You only look at him. With empty, broken eyes, with a dimming spark of defiance still lingering in them.

And in his eyes, you spotted emotion. His brow furrowed, curled. His lips threatened to drag into a frown. He was recollecting. Zoning out on the image of your face, drifting away into the land of memories. Your patients often entered this semi-delirious state, so you’d naturally learned to pick up on it. During those times, you’d simply offer silence. Because for most, the memories they recalled whilst vulnerable and overwhelmed were the ones they hid from themselves the most. If you were to interrupt his thoughts, he’d never confront himself again.

You didn’t know what burdens his heart bore. You didn’t know how many times his flesh tasted the bite of steel. And you certainly didn’t know whether what he felt had justifications. But one thing you knew for sure was that Caleb had to confront his past soon. If he didn’t, he’d lose himself to his obsession.

But you knew it was a matter you couldn’t manipulate. It was not something you could push and pull behind the scenes to manoeuvre them the way they should be moved. There were parts of the human mind that even the most talented psychologists couldn’t access, and if they could, they were not to interfere.

And because of that, most patients embraced a similar decision each time.

He tilted his head. The onslaught of broken memories fragmented before disappearing entirely amidst the purple voids. Just like most, Caleb had chosen to run. And then, without hesitation, he took your arm and pulled.

“Atta girl,” he cooed.

The faltering rain drowned everything—the drum of your heartbeat softly thumping against your ribcage, slowed by the exhaustion biting your limbs. In the distance, the last train to Linkon rattled past.

With a crestfallen gaze, you stepped towards him. Caleb wrapped his arm around your waist and gently lugged you close. The cage you couldn’t see before clamped shut. And so did any possibility of his rehabilitation that you’d initially planned on.

And then, together, you stepped into a new beginning—a future that was no longer yours.

[retrosabers]

𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐚𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬.

*relationship hcs written with fem!reader in mind*

contains: a little bit of everything. some relationship fluff, a bit of angst (mentions of death and past trauma), very flirty and filthy logan, 18+ CONTENT AT THE BOTTOM. MINORS DNI (body worship, praise kink, pain kink, dirty talk to the nines.)

word count: 1.5k

a/n: not me posting something for the first time in a) over a month and b) in 2025 😍😍

it’s been ROUGH in the brain and writing department for me, and this is the best i could come up with right now. i hope i can get back in my real groove soon, i miss writing real bad.

in the mean time, please enjoy my wolvie brain dump. feel free to share any of your own personal hcs in the comments or reblogs!!

GENERAL/PERSONALITY:

he’s secret tea drinker. always drinks coffee (no cream no sugar; nasty ass) in the morning but also drinks tea at night. though nothing can fully calm him down in the evening, the tea does relax him in some capacity, and logan takes whatever reprieve he can get. plus it was one of the first things you started doing together, so it’s become a part of his routine he can’t be without.

typically the first person up, and the last person in bed. you’d think logan wouldn’t be a morning person, but he’s surprisingly at ease in the early hours. as relaxed as someone like him could get, anyways.

likes to read a lot. he was in complete awe of the mansion’s library the first time he saw it. will often sneak in when no one’s around and read for an hour or two by the window if he’s got the time. when you discover he’s a secret bookworm, you start to leave a book on his desk that you think he’ll enjoy every once in a while. it’s a small gesture logan holds very near and dear to his heart.

can’t remember people’s birthdays or important dates to save his life BUT can recall something minor in a fleeting conversation from a long time ago. also remembers very random useless facts that have actually come in handy on more than one occasion.

if and when logan sleeps, he snores. so. fucking. LOUD, to the point where it can wake people up depending on how close quarters are. he denies it constantly.

likes to make sure his deodorant and cologne have the same general scent (i just know he smells like a sexy ass manly man URGH).

a lot of people hc him as a history professor but i have a hot take: gym teacher logan. not in the typical “let’s run laps and play dodgeball” way, but in the sense that he teaches the kids how to control and utilize their mutations to their advantage (with help from the rest of the xmen of course), and maybe even some light sparring to practice self defense. i personally just don’t see the history teacher thing working out because i fear he would subconsciously be reliving a LOT of trauma.

gets really anxious whenever someone is sick or injured. he’s been gravely reminded before that not everyone is indestructible like he is, and it scares him to see others get hurt in any capacity, because he’s terrified of losing them. the first time you get seriously wounded on a mission? logan damn near wears his boots down to the sole from pacing back and forth outside the medbay so much. he can’t eat, he can’t sleep, he can’t focus on anything other than you. time stops for him; and won’t resume until he’s certain you’re going to be okay.

legitimately purrs like a cat if you scratch his head just the right way. he will once again deny this until the end of time, but with less resistance and a much more flushed complexion.

“whatever,” he mumbles into your stomach, while guiding your nails back to his scalp.

hates ANY music made after the year 2000, but anything before that he’s pretty keen on. he’s got his preferences for sure (a little country, some rock, and maybe a bit of bluegrass), but isn’t above admitting that a pop tune is a little catchy from time to time.

IN A RELATIONSHIP:

you better not even THINK about ever opening a door for yourself ever again because if you do he’s taking personal offense to it.

he may be a slut in the sheets but he’s a near perfect gentlemen in the streets. i’m talking walking on the outside of the sidewalk at all times, always helping you out of the car even if you don’t need it, carrying your jacket or shoes after a night out, making sure you’re obscured from view if you need to adjust a revealing top; any chivalrous boyfriend thing you can think of, and he’s done it. with suaveness, might i add.

“here honey, gimme that, i got it.”

“hold on a second sweetheart, your strap’s all twisted.”

the definition of “you fell first but he fell harder.”

makes it a point to take you on a “real date” outside the mansion once or twice a month because he knows how much you enjoy getting dressed up for different occasions. whether that be dinner, dancing (yes, if you beg hard enough he’ll go dancing with you), and maybe even a trip to the museum or planetarium.

both the big and little spoon, it depends on the day, but he’s an insane cuddler either way. a human teddy bear for you and only you. this? he won’t deny, not for a second. and he’ll tell anyone who cares to tease him about it to fuck off.

always touching you in some capacity. a gentle caress on the back of your neck, or cold palms sliding underneath your sweater, logan has no qualms about being a bit handsy.

“if your girl looked like this, you wouldn’t be able to keep your hands off her either.”

his favorite (and yours too secretly) is a hand in the back pocket of your jeans. there’s something equally sweet and sultry about it that makes your stomach flutter every time. a slightly possessive gesture, that when coupled with a cocky smirk and a shameless squeeze, never fails to drive you wild.

you thought he was a worry wart about your safety before you were dating? it amplifies by a million when you’re together, almost to the point of annoyance because he’s adamant on not letting you out of his sight. eventually after a few arguments and a scolding from charles, you remind him that you’re perfectly capable of handling things on your own, and yes, sometimes he does need to look out for you, just in case.

SMUT:

handsy logan = body worship logan. this man will make it his life mission to appreciate every single inch of your body. he doesn’t care if you’re tangled in between sheets for hours on end. you’re not leaving the bed until you know just how much he’s smitten with every part of you.

pain kink king who will cum significantly faster if you break skin with your nails raking down arms or back. gets an immediate hard on when you slap him in the middle of a dangerously intense argument, and implores you to do it again in a dark, lust driven tone.

to make up for the fact that you can’t mark your territory, with logan’s regenerative capabilities and all, he goes above and beyond to mark his. this man leaves hickies everywhere, and i mean everywhere. your hip bones, your navel, damn near the entirety of your sternum, your neck essentially a human canvas that he gladly paints in brilliant hues of lavender.

he may be a man of few words with most, but with you? logan can never shut the fuck up about how good you make him feel.

“look at you. doin’ so good for me honey.” “y’feel like fuckin’ heaven, you know that?” “my perfect girl. made just for me.”

cannot handle when you return the favor. immediately shoves his flushed face into whatever part of your body he can find and picks up the pace. praise is another surefire way to get logan to blow his load in record time. he thinks it’s a little embarrassing but you think it’s SO HOT.

loves a good tummy bulge OOP who said that

really enjoys sex in the shower or bath. there’s an additional layer of intimacy with it that makes logan particularly warm in the chest. will often suggest round two in the bathroom so he not only has the pleasure of ruining you again, but helping gently put you back together with a tenderness reserved only for you.

the ceo of teasing. loves to watch you get all flustered and squirmy so you best believe he’s teasing the fuck out of you any chance he gets. logan’s got wandering hands and a filthy mouth and that he uses to his advantage both in and out of the bedroom.

“what if i bent you over this desk, right here right now, hm? would you like that?”

“your skirt’s real pretty baby. think it would look a lot better on the floor of my room.”

“been thinkin’ about you all day. gonna let me fuck you real good later?”

aftercare is a learning curve. he’s not completely careless the first time you have sex, but he’s not as caring and attentive as he knows he probably should be. logan was used to quick one night stands, not getting intimate with someone he had romantic feelings for. once he realizes how in-deep he is with you, he takes the time to learn the ins and outs of true aftercare.

* for more smut headcanons, check out my logan nsfw alphabet here*

thanks for reading! <3

[deansbestfriend]

to grow old in. 𐙚 dean winchester

dean winchester x gn!reader

tags and warnings: late series!Dean, fluff, happy ending if you don’t think about the last episode of the series

summary: after cleaning dean up from a rough hunt, he realizes just how much you really mean to him. for the first time, dean admits he can look farther than the next hunt,

The impala engine hummed softly,

like a heart beat you had grown so familiar with. The backgrounds of Kansas twisted and turned in front of you. Your head rested on the window, your fingers idly tracing portions of the car nearest to you: the handle, the window trim, the edge of the leather seat. Meanwhile the day you had flickered behind your eyes.

Hours ago, Dean had come back to the bunker in worse shape than he had left. Had it not been for Sam you believed he would’ve been dead, the thought made your stomach churn and twist in knots.

Dean glances over at you, his side profile outlined perfectly by the setting sun. Even with its bruises, you found it perfect—him perfect.

“You okay?” He asks, voice rough and tired. You asked him to rest but he persisted you come on the ride to escape from the bunker’s air tight walls.

Truth was, you weren’t. Your fingers still trembled, because earlier you had to have the stillest of hands when stitching an open wound on his forehead closed and another on his arm—and the daintiest of touches when cleaning his multiple gashes and scrapes with antiseptic.

“It’s nothing fatal, he’ll live.” Sam had tried to reassure you, while he placed him in front of you in the makeshift infirmary that use to be your room—until you began sleeping in Dean’s.

“I’m fine.” You lie, despite knowing he knew you well enough to catch every curve in the words you spoke.

Baby purrs underneath you both. Like a shared pet that longs to bring its parents together, in a peaceful harmony. Dean’s knuckles graze the gear shift, one hand on the wheel as he takes a slower approach to an upcoming turn.

You hadn’t noticed how far out you two had gotten. It was a secluded neighborhood. Houses with neat lawns and wrap around porches. Enough space from one another to feel alone but not lonely.

The streetlights start flickering on, as if they’re welcoming the two of you. Yet, you weren’t sure what exactly you were looking at. Suddenly, the purring you found comfort in stops. Dean cut the engine in front of an empty plot of land at edge of the neighborhood.

“I’m sorry—if I gave ya’ a scare earlier.” He had a hint of nonchalant speckled between his words but that didn’t make them any less sincere. You remember when he told you for the first time, “I know how my story ends.” You cried in his arms that night.

He hadn’t said it again since then.

Your eyes meet his green ones. He’s searching for something in yours, whatever it was, he found it. His lips pressed into a smile. “Here.” He pressed a kiss against your forehead then slipped from the front seat of the car.

Before you knew it, your door was being flung open, and now you both were standing in front of the grassy, empty, plot of land. The night air began to settle between the two of you.

“I’ve been thinkin’” He starts, both of his hands now shoved in his utility jacket, he leans against the impala’s frame—something you’ve seen him do a million times.

“Oh you have—should I alert the media?” You tease, which brings a smile to his bruised visage.

“No, seriously, Y/N.” He tries to ground himself. You watch his chest rise and fall, as if they’re words he’s building up to say keep catching in his diaphragm. “Someday, you’re gonna want a life off the road.”

He sighed. He was right. Hunting had always been something you felt like something you had to do—not wanted to do. Saving people from their untimely demise, losing friends and family to unnatural causes—it was weighing on you and Dean saw it clearer than anyone.

Yet you kept your longing to be free from this life from him. Masked it with smiles, half-hearted jokes and brash actions. Every day you lived like you had something to lose. You did, him.

You knew had you stepped away you were running the risk of losing the feeling of his skin against yours. Hearing the sound of his laughter. The way he smelled when he’d clean up nice for you.

So you settled. Not for him—because of him.

“Dean..” you trailed off, not sure where his speech was headed but feared it was to push you away.

“I know what you’re gonna say, that you’re fine—ready for the next case or world savin’ hunt—but you deserve better than that. I want you to have better than that.”

His words were carefully articulated but they came as natural as the summer breeze that brushed between the two of you. The same breeze that made the blades of grass in front of you gently sway.

Then you notice his hand sifting in his jacket pocket for something. No longer resting casually, he was searching. He found it with ease. Out came a tan colored paper. It was folded carefully at least four times you guessed.

He handed it to you, and you hesitated to take it from him. But you did. You went to speak as you unfolded each careful crease but your voice betrayed you, cracking before you could utter a word.

Your eyes scanned the paper, over and over again.

PROPERTY DEED.

The top of the page read. Loosely drawn floor plans in the center. The plot of lands dimensions on the sides. Plans for two stories, a wide porch that runs the length of the front, three bedrooms, a spacious kitchen and a living room the size of dreams.

Your fingers traced the paper the same way you had done the impala moments ago. Tears welled in your eyes, you looked to him for the answers to the questions you had.

“Dean? What is this?” You asked, your voice thin like if you spoke to loud you’d wake up.

“I told you I’ve been thinkin’.” He grinned. “I know we could do this whole—stayin’ in the bunker, hunting forever but a couple months ago I couldn’t shake the feeling that there’s something more than this. We deserve more than this. And I don’t think I can see you look at me the way you did earlier again.”

He reflected, his eyes falling off of yours towards the end. You could tell he was replaying the same events you had in the car. Your shaky voice, your worried eyes.

You inhale the idea. It’s not abstract or outlandish—it’s possible. That’s what you tell yourself at least. You feel a couple stray tears falling down your cheeks, quickly you shift the paper at the irrational fearing that it’ll dissolve at the slightest imperfection.

“We could grow old here.” He swallows.

He turns to you now, a thumb clearing at the falling tears. “And besides, Sam told me he doesn’t want to hear us through the wall anymore.”

The smile on his face brings one to yours. You even giggle.

“I want that.” You say. “With you.”

He exhales, relief washing over his body language. You take a moment, taking it all in. Your eyes darting from him, to the paper, to the land before you. Your imagination does leaps and bounds. Painting the interior, laughing over pancakes that you probably overcooked, struggling to build a porch swing together—imaging not having to worry about the end of the world.

Up until now any time you had discussed the future with him, it felt as if he created an ocean of distance. If it were more so to protect you than hurt himself by the disappointment of not delivering to your every need.

But this was different.

You hadn’t noticed Dean had moved behind you now, arms around your waist as your back pressed into his torso. He admired the same thing you did, you were sure he was lost in his romanticization of the future himself. Though, he would never admit it.

[belovedgyu]

FASHION SHOW || Kim Mingyu

pt 1

part 2

⚬ pairing: uni au! kim mingyu x fem!reader ⚬ word count: 2.9k (part 1), 5.2k part 2 , 14.5k part 3 ⚬ warnings: alcohol, drinking, mentions of food, insecure reader, body dysmorphia in subsequent parts, spice/nsfw mentions and smut in subsequent parts, size kink, MDNI ⚬ genres: slowburn if you squint, jealousy, established relationship, uni!au ft. jun, soonyoung, dokyeom, giselle and yunjin

⚬ recommended songs for this chapter: - cherry wine by grentperez - all of the girls you loved before by taylor swift - no song without you by honne

⚬ author's note: wrote this while high on this brief idea on a whim and though I have tried smoothening it around the edges by two rounds of editing, there might still be errors to fix or improvements to make. a bit unsure about my writing because i have never had the guts to post it, so i wholeheartedly welcome your suggestions and criticisms.

though there is no explicit smut in this particular chapter, there will be in the ones to follow (hence the slowburn and smut tags).

an unplanned, self indulgent drabble at best, hope you enjoy it!

Considering just how vast the college campus was, it was truly an enigma how 80% of the total of its population, professors and TAs included, could be spotted at the campus’s tiny cafe “The Cold Brew” at 2 pm everyday. 

But no matter how muggy and crowded it got, the orange booth tucked in the far corner, next to the breezy windows was always occupied by you and your friends like you guys were living in a sitcom revolving around your lives.

Someone from your squad would always ensure to make it here on time, slap their bags and jackets all over the booth, marking their territory. 

A practiced polite smile and a “sorry, my friends are on the way” would turn down anyone who wished to share the booth.

Today, it was Yunjin and Giselle who got free from their fashion photography club meeting well before noon and came here to reserve the spot. Stretching over each opposite seat like unimpressed cats with mean eyes and laptops. 

Your phone pinged with Yunjin’s text on the group chat during your Microeconomics lecture:

Yunjin 🪼: Gigi and I got the booth today, no need for anyone else to rush here!!

You sighed in relief, pushing your phone back inside your bag and thanking the universe for having such a harmoniously (dys)functional friend group. You could study better now that your mind was burdened by one less worry of having to either stand awkwardly in the cafe or sit under the scorching sun in the quad to eat.

You wanted to shift your focus back on what Professor Moss was saying about marginal utilities but it was hard to do so when your stomach kept on grumbling thinking about the luscious cheese and corn sandwich from “The cold brew” that you would be ordering today. 

Also equally distracting was the grip on your thigh by the large calloused palm of your boyfriend—who was asleep with his cheek pressed on the cold table, the hood of his sweatshirt shielding his face from the unnecessarily bright lights of the lecture hall. 

The same thigh that he had left several marks and bites on just this morning. 

The lecture was about to end in about ten minutes and the overworked TA kept on glancing towards the secluded spot where you were seated since it would be the farthest she’d have to walk to collect the assignments. 

“Mingyu!” You shook him, as the TA began approaching each desk for the worksheet assigned the week before. 

“Mingyu, wake up, you're drooling all over my work!” You panicked, shaking him with more vigor. Not even a budge. 

It was only when you managed to unclasp his iron grip from over the soft flesh of your thigh just as the TA reached the person two seats ahead of you that Kim Mingyu did stir. 

Rubbing his forehead on the smooth, hard surface, he grumbled some complaints about you taking away his favorite plush toys, your thighs, away from him like a bothered little boy before pulling up. 

You didn’t pay much attention to his whines because the TA was hovering above you now, blocking the overhead light and casting a sinister shadow over you. 

Meekly, you mumbled an incoherent apology and offered your worksheet to her. She nodded once, eyeing the wet patch on the corner of your paper with immense disdain and disgust before stretching her palm towards Mingyu, expecting him to hand over his work as well.

Mingyu was too busy turning his laptop off and rearranging his architectural blueprints into a neat stack to notice it. 

“Gyu!” You nudged him with your elbow, cocking your head towards the slumped shoulders of the TA.

“Wha–” His eyes, glossy and full of sleep like two metallic coins polished with vinegar, flickered from you to the girl standing next to you before it registered to him. 

“Oh yeah, no, I am not supposed to be here.” he concluded with a disarming smile, one which made it seem like his middle name was something like ‘irresistable’ or ‘charming’. 

The TA blinked, twice, waiting for him to elaborate. 

With one hand, Mingyu scratched the top of his head where his luscious long hair had ruffled up while shutting his laptop with the other as he looked at her apologetically. 

“I am not enrolled in this class.” His nose scrunched as he explained with an awkward grin. 

The TA’s jaw slacked. 

“My girlfriend is, though.” He pointed towards you, “I just wanted to be with her while I finished my architecture assignments.”

Your face was flushed hot at this point. 

It wasn’t that students lounging in lecture halls they had no business being in was something new. Everyone did it once in a while — sometimes just to kill time, sometimes to see if the course was worth opting for in subsequent semesters. 

But a sleep deprived boyfriend with an architecture major accompanying their girlfriends to the business building on a random Wednesday afternoon, just to “be with her” while they finished their work was something unheard of.

You could feel the TA’s confusion transforming into judgement until it finally matured into pure disbelief and acceptance as she cleared her throat.

Dropping her hand, she remarked, “Wow, you’re…you’re quite clingy, I see.” 

She tore her eyes away from you both, stacking the worksheets before nodding to herself, like she was making peace with the fact that boyfriends like him existed. 

Mingyu just shrugged with a boyish grin, running a palm over his long, tousled hair. Maybe your eyes didn’t adjust to the light properly when she looked over her shoulder, the bundle of worksheets tucked under her arm, but you think you saw a pinch of pink spreading over her usually pale face. 

“You should have gone back to your apartment and slept like I asked you to.” You sighed, trying your best to pull out your rebuking voice and failing miserably at it.

He slumped back, his taut posture breaking as he pouted, “But then I wouldn’t have been able to spend time with you.”

He wasn’t always this clingy. But on occasions like this one, where the two of you had hardly any time to see each other due to the thick walls of deadlines, assignments and quizzes, he would try to squeeze into your schedule like a giant golden retriever wriggling to get in through a pup-door. 

You had barely shoved your wired earphones in your tote bag when Mingyu’s fingers slotted over your criminally smaller palm and he pulled you with him. 

“Come on pumpkin, let's put some food in your tummy.” He said, hovering above almost the entire departing class with his tallness. 

You tried to retain balance in your large, flowy summer skirt, adjusting the tote on one shoulder while almost falling down. 

He noticed and waited for you to catch your breath, slowing down on the steps of the lecture hall as students kept filtering out around you. 

“Your stomach was grumbling so much while I was asleep.” He laughed, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you tighter to himself. 

“It did not!” You swatted him on the chest once, slightly flushing about the ugly dinosaur roar your stomach would make when you were hungry. 

“Gonna record it the next time and set it as my alarm tone.”

“Yunjin and Gigi are already at the cafe.” You informed him. 

“Awesome.” He replied, taking advantage of his height by effortlessly placing a kiss on top of your head. 

“I thought the honeymoon phase would be over by two semesters tops.” Giselle's voice caused Mingyu's lips to flutter for a brief second before he ignored her and continued to place feathery kisses on your fingertips.

Giselle scoffed and pulled her leather jacket onto her lap to make space for Dokyeom. He had just walked in nursing the paper straw of his iced americano like it was singlehandedly fighting all his neurons from succumbing to the inevitable college afternoon crash. 

“Who’s going on honeymoon?” The newcomer asked, eyes wide staring straight at Mingyu and you – the certified squad couple. “Pre wedding hone–”

Yunjin offtracked Dokyeom’s wildly incorrect interpretation by placing a steaming order of large fries right under his nose. 

“Mingyu and Y/N’s honeymoon phase. Not the actual thing.” Yunjin clarified, “More than two whole years and it's still raging strong.”

Everyone at your booth tapped the table, mumbling ‘touchwood’ under their breaths. 

You laughed, relaxing more while being nestled under Mingyu’s strong arm. 

“I can’t help it, okay?” Mingyu stabbed his salad with the flimsy plastic fork, “She’s just so cute and warm.”

Giselle made a gagging sound like she always did every time the two of you…well, Mingyu, to be more specific, acted so publicly affectionate towards you.

“Dude, stop love bombing her already.” She grumbled, shooting him a disgusted look as she reapplied her lipgloss. 

“Lovebombing?” Jun quipped, finally looking up from his laptop to contribute to the conversation, “What’s that?”

Giselle slotted her gloss shut, placing it on your open palm as you silently demanded her to share it from across the table. 

“Just look at what Gyu does to Y/N, that’s lovebombing.” she answered.

“Taking away a girl’s ability to walk and giving her those mysterious ‘mosquito bites’ all over her neck?” Soonyoung trailed before he could control his words. 

He slapped his palm over his mouth as the disgruntled exclaims echoed around him, “Dude!” 

“Ewww”

“That's just disgusting!” 

Yunjin, who was sitting the nearest to Soonyoung, shoved him lightly. 

“You can’t just say that.” Mingyu murmured, shaking his head sternly. But you all saw the smug, self satisfied wink he sent Soonyoung’s way. 

Giselle just rolled her eyes, turning around to face Jun. “Lovebombing is when a guy goes above and beyond, putting excessive efforts in a relationship, being clingy and all lovey dovey–”

“Giving excessive flattery.” You offered, helping her definition and earning a betrayed look from your boyfriend.

“Overcommunication and overgifting.” Yunjin added. 

“Basically overwhelming you with love until he has you convinced that he is sooo head over heels for you and that he’s the only one for you.” Dokyeom expanded.

“Its sort of an emotional manipulation, you know?” Giselle finished, eyeing Mingyu with suspicion. 

Jun looked unconvinced and confused, “So, only guys do that? Doesn’t make much sense.”

“Mostly.” Giselle shrugged, “Rich, good looking guys like Kim Mingyu.”

“Can’t even love my girlfriend because of TikTok woke anymore.” Mingyu complained with a pout, evidently growing tired of all the teasing. 

As much as you felt bad about him getting cornered by his friends for every little thing he did, you couldn’t help but snicker. 

This was a win-win situation for you. 

On one hand, you absolutely reveled in being spoiled with Mingyu’s love and care, his attention and affection always focused solely on you. On the other hand, witnessing him getting taunted by your friends was fun…it was like watching a twitter drama unfold in real time. 

And just like a random twitter discourse, a tangent was thrown. 

“So are y’all up for Friday?” Soonyoung asked, albeit with a cautious gaze directed at you.

“I mean, I got nothing better to do.” Dokyeom shrugged. “Besides, I never say no to free drinks.”

“I’ll go if either Yunjin or Y/N are going, can’t stand you boys or Suri on my own.” Giselle said.

Suri, Mingyu’s oldest friend and confidante, who harbored a bitter taste towards you ever since you began dating her childhood best friend in sophomore year. 

She had invited every one of her friends, old or new, to her 22nd birthday bash and what her glittery, animated, e-invitation cards claimed to be, her last and most iconic one on this campus. 

Mingyu had discussed it with you as soon as you both received her invite in mail. 

“We don’t have to go, you know?” He had offered.

It would be a lie to say that  you weren’t threatened by Suri when you began dating Mingyu. 

She had this territorial possessiveness over Mingyu, not anything sexual or romantic, but the type which made her correct you when you accidentally added enoki mushrooms to his hotpot, unaware of his severe allergy to them. 

Suri’s presence was an indigestible roadblock in the initial few months of your relationship. 

And Mingyu was determined to make it work with you, even if it meant distancing himself from the girl whom he had shared all his birthdays, his dreams, his wins, his heartbreaks with. 

He didn’t push her right away, though. Initially, he tried his best to prevent any further tension or escalations.

At first, it was his assurances to you. Assurance that Suri’s “special bear hugs reserved only for my gyugyu” didn’t mean much and that her smacking him on the butt was just a silly little habit she had developed over the years. 

Then, when he observed that Suri went out of her way to correct you by speaking over your much softer voice, sometimes even cutting you off mid speech with an anecdote from their childhood, he tried schooling her about her borderline toxic mannerisms. 

“Suri, let Y/N finish.” became a phrase which was repeated at least six times during hangouts. 

Ultimately, he realized that even the one-on-one conversations he had with Suri in private about how they should reconsider and alter the way they interacted now that he was dating someone had no effect on her. 

She had just shrugged your discomfort off when he brought it up again for the third time calling you “an insecure and jealous girl who should work on her self esteem.”

That was Mingyu’s last straw. 

He knew he was being forced to make a choice in this situation — he could either continue his juvenile ways with his friends, not paying much mind to the emotional distress it might cause to the ones around him. 

Or, he could finally be mature and set his priorities straight for once and for all. He couldn’t just keep on meeting things halfway, balancing everyone’s contentment on a tightrope.

And at the moment, with the intention to carve a career out in architecture pretty clear in his mind, he knew his relationship with you was something he should divert his attention to. 

Things were real with you, they just felt right. And he’d be damned if he messed it all up just because Suri continued treating him like he was still eleven, shivering in the tree house built by his dad as she continued telling him horror stories from the lands faraway while sharing a cookie. 

It took him some time and a lot of thinking to arrive at the decision that severing old ties that no longer served him beyond nostalgia, comfort and a good laugh would be for the best.

Mingyu began bailing out on plans every time Suri was involved, purposefully ignoring her calls most times, remarking that it was nothing important. 

Whenever she caught him on campus with you during his free time, Suri would demanded to “talk to him alone”.

Mingyu had given Suri many chances to smooth the bumpy situations and changing dynamics out in private before following up with his decision to disallow her the intimacy and authority of pulling him in a corner to talk. But she had taken all those invitations for an adult conversation for granted. And while Kim Mingyu was a lot of things, he wasn’t a pushover. 

So every time she would saunter in his life, demanding him to come with her to discuss his recent behavior towards her, he’d simply wrap an arm over your stiff shoulders, relaxing in his seat and asserting that there was nothing which couldn’t be talked about in front of you. 

Suri’s surrender over Kim Mingyu came in meticulously curated waves. Each move of hers loaded with an intent to hurt. 

First, her twenty seven odd posts with Mingyu, stretching over years from their high school till now, disappeared from her Instagram. 

Her calls and texts stopped coming next, and so did she, during group hangouts. 

She eventually found newer people to spend her time with. People who would roll their eyes at Mingyu at parties or warn their girl friends from talking to Soonyoung or Dokyeom, whispering “they’re his friends.”

Even though it was weird and uncalled for, the group felt like they could finally breathe without a jasmine scented serpent grip around their necks. 

But that was over a year ago. 

Now, every time you came across Suri on the campus, she was nothing but diplomatic towards you. Your interactions were limited to civil nods and polite smiles which were reserved if only she could see Mingyu around you. 

Yet, she was back and hopeful for her friends to join her big celebration of life. 

It was evident that no one in the group, leave for you and Mingyu, had any issues attending her birthday. 

They had all made peace with whatever had happened more than a year ago and looked at it as just another campus party for them to have fun and get wasted. Yet, ever considerate, they waited for your and Mingyu’s response. 

“I mean, I don’t think it's that big of a deal.” You announced, fidgeting with the now soggy paper straw of Dokyeom’s drink that you had hogged away from him. 

Mingyu could hear the uncertainty in your voice when you turned your head over his shoulder a little to look up at him with those soft brown eyes. “She is the first friend you’ve ever had. And this birthday seems like an important milestone for her…she got special invites made and mailed out and everything.”

“Are you sure?” Mingyu spoke, low enough for just you to hear.

“I think you should go.” You nodded. 

“Only if you tag along.” He smiled. 

“K…so Friday night’s plan is all set,” Jun announced, already setting a reminder for the same on his phone. “Pregame at my place?”

PART 2 <33

[rebelfell]

Welcome to your appointment, @wolfqueenxxx we do so hope you find it to your liking!

18+, MDNI┃1.5k

cw: workplace romance, older!eddie (implied age gap), friends to lovers, modern au (real modern, as in like…last month)

Eddie wasn’t used to having you at his place yet.

He loved you being there, don’t get him wrong, he still just sort of couldn’t believe you were?

For so long he’d only gotten to see you for fleeting moments around the office, flitting about in your professional wear or appearing at his office door sheepishly holding up your laptop for him to fix.

You had steadily given up the pretense of needing his expertise in IT as your excuse to drop in, until you were appearing before him nearly on a daily basis. Sometimes twice, if he was lucky.

Whether you were just stopping by to chat, or to let him know when there were doughnuts in the communal kitchen, or to bring him a cup of coffee from the fresh pot you just made, the times when he got to see you and share a few words quickly became the brightest spots in his day.

And yes, in the beginning, he maybe might have (definitely) had the faintest inkling of a crush. 

How could he not, you know? Just look at you.

Still, he didn’t dare entertain the notion you had any intentions beyond pure friendship. He’d been around long enough by now to know the pretty, young administrative assistant wasn’t going to be making eyes at the prehistoric barely-rockstar turned corporate computer monkey.

He wasn’t that much older than you, but he’d always been a sort of crotchety and cranky sort. Older in spirit than in actual years. Except now his age was truly showing—extra creaks and clicks in his joints, deepening lines on his face, a dusting of salt and pepper in the scruff under his jaw.

Not to mention the streaks in his dark curls that flashed silver when they caught the light.

He really was thinking about dying it one of these days. He never expected to go so gray so fast.

He was barely forty for chrissake.

It didn’t matter, though. The very idea was a non-starter. You were just being friendly. End of.

The kind of friendly where you noticed the pens he liked and ordered them regularly; where you’d switched the coffee to one he recommended, and kept his favorite flavor of creamer stocked; where you brought in potted plants to put in his window because he had the nicest, biggest one in the office and didn’t utilize in the slightest.

And he in turn was friendly back. The kind of friendly where he had upgraded the RAM on your laptop just because you mentioned it was running a little slower than usual; where he only attended the Happy Hour gatherings you organized; where he set up an automatic back-up of all your files after one hard drive failure that nearly had you crying underneath the conference table.

Friendliness. That was all it was.

And that’s all it would ever be.

He loved it best, though, when you were watching the same show. That guaranteed at least a twenty minute convo of swapping theories and analysis, excitedly talking over one another you were so eager to share your thoughts.

Shows he might never have watched or maybe abandoned after one or two episodes, he found himself watching religiously just to be able to talk with you about it the next day. And the stuff he’d seen a million times felt fresh again seeing it through your eyes.

Then you started talking about the shows you were looking forward to coming back on.

You told him how pumped you were for White Lotus to start back up, but lamented that you’d let your Max subscription lapse, so you’d have to avoid spoilers until the season was over and you could binge it with a free trial or something. Eddie commiserated, telling you how he burned through Severance on an Apple TV trial and totally screwed himself over for season two.

He laughed. Said it was funny the way you both had what the other needed. At best, he thought a simple password exchange might be in order.

But you suggested a different sort of trade.

If he came over to your place on Thursday nights for Severance, you could come over to his on Sunday nights for White Lotus.

“It’s perfect, right?” you’d asked with your head tilted sweetly, so unaware what it did to him.

Eddie coughed and sputtered like he’d swallowed one of the thumbtacks on his desk.

You in his house? Him in yours? You seeing all his tour posters and records and the weird art pieces he’s collected over the years? Him getting to look at your books and your geode collection that he’s heard so much about? Meeting the pet he’s only ever seen in the framed photos on your desk?

He tried to at least act as though his head wasn’t full-on exploding at the thought.

“Yeah, definitely,” he said, voice cracking like he was going through a second puberty at 42.

From that point on, Thursday nights were reserved for emotional devastation while your Sundays were taken up by bemusement at rich people’s antics and giggling over increasingly silly imitations of Parker Posey’s southern accent.

The visits grew longer each time, both of you getting more comfortable in the other’s space. Often you traded off making dinner and bringing a bottle of wine or the makings for a cocktail to share. He quickly learned your preferences for food and drink, filing it away in his head.

You know, just in case he ever needed to know.

But as both the shows drew to an end, he found himself despising the modern model of television. What genius decided to cut whole seasons down to a measly eight or ten episodes, anyway? 

For months, he had gotten to spend at least one night a week with you (as it turned out the shows only overlapped for a total of four episodes) and now, what? He was supposed to give it all up?

Eddie sighed as the credits rolled for the White Lotus finale, and not just because the ending had left him slightly unsatisfied. Truth was, he’d only halfway been paying attention from the moment your eyes had begun to droop and he felt the weight of your head drop onto his shoulder.

His heart pounded and his body froze, his spine as straight as if someone had jammed a steel rod down the back of his shirt. Your head was close enough for him to smell your shampoo and he could feel the warmth of your body seeping through the cotton of his paper thin shirt.

For one brain splitting second, Eddie wondered if this was some kind of move you were making. At least he did until he heard your steady, rhythmic breathing and the soft rasp of you snoring.

You didn’t stir until he reached for the remote and tried to lower the volume as the post-season interview with the creator started playing. Oddly enough, the absence of noise rousing you faster.

“Oh, shit. Did I miss it?” you mumbled sleepily as you rubbed one of your still-closed eyes.

“Yeah, kind of,” Eddie chuckled, regretting how it made his shoulders shake, thinking how it might have made you move your head.

Thankfully, you didn’t. You kept it right where it was, not making any kind of shift to get up.

“Well, I guess that’s it,” he said as he clicked off the TV, his voice laced with disappointment.

Disappointment he let himself believe he saw mirrored in your eyes as you nodded and worried your bottom lip with your teeth. Was he crazy?

Or did you not want this to be the end either?

“You know,” you started, twisting your fingers in your lap, “The Last of Us starts back in a couple weeks. Maybe we can keep it going?”

“We could…” he answered slowly and rubbed the flat side of his palm against his pant leg, trying to alleviate the sweat starting to accumulate. “Or…you could let me take you out on a real date?”

All the air in his apartment whooshed out, leaving nothing but a deafening silence in its wake. More sweat collected in the center of his palm and he swore you could see how his heart thumped.

“Is that you asking me out?” you asked, your even and nonchalant tone debilitatingly hard to read.

If you were horrified, if you felt totally violated, if you were extraordinarily creeped out—it was just about impossible for him to tell. If you were filing a report with HR in your head, he wouldn’t have the faintest idea until the pink slip hit his desk.

But he took some solace in the fact that you never lifted your head off his shoulder.

“Uh…yes,” he answered after a long pause. A long pause followed by an even longer one; a long and silent one from you during which Eddie debated defecting to the company’s Canadian office.

And then he heard it—the soft, yet unmistakable sound of you chuckling sweetly.

“About fuckin’ time, old man,” you murmured in your half-sleep, the hint of a smile curling up the corners of your mouth as you draped an arm over him and nestled fully into his embrace.

Eddie’s own arm slipped around your back, hand landing on your shoulder like he’s been dreaming of it doing since January. He pulled you into him, wrapping you up tightly and exhaling in relief.

Shit. He had to tweet Mike White now.

Thank you so much for visiting the spa, we hope your services were satisfactory 🌿

[clairewritesfanfics]

Villain Creation System Chapter 8

Pairing/s: Invincible x Reader x Invincible Variants

Warning: mild suggestive themes

CHAPTER 7: My Mama Done Tol' Me a Man… Series Masterlist <<read the synopsis and trigger warnings first>>

This was your first time leaving campus grounds since you entered this universe.

Your schedule was open today. No classes, no tutoring, and thank God, no parties.  You were free to get on a bus and go anywhere you wanted.

You were in no mood to speak with anybody who even remotely knew you, so you did something you always wanted to do but couldn’t when you were alive: you shut off your phone.

It was liberating. 

As much as you appreciated your phone’s many utilities, you never did enjoy how easy it was to be found.

The system was in no position to protest. A perfect affinity score was not a requirement in completing your mission, only the darkening, and it was happy with the increase to Mark Grayson’s corruption. It was also too terrified to incur your wrath, so it sequestered itself in a corner to read romance novels.

Without the system’s intrusive voice, the soft whirring of the bus AC was the only thing you could hear. You were alone with your thoughts, and for the first time ever, you hated that.

You haven’t spoken with Mark since the cafeteria incident. It took you several showers to get rid of the stench of meat and grease from your hair, but no amount of cold water could soothe your frayed nerves.

Mark’s guilt-ridden face haunted you, appearing behind your eyelids every time you tried to sleep. The image flashed in and out of your mind, constantly tagging with the memory of the night he aired out his grievances towards you and your alleged coldheartedness.

You were too old to hold a grudge towards playground level insults. 

…that’s what you kept telling yourself, anyway.

In reality, remembering his expression and his looming frame as he said those horrible things scraped at your heart; pinched off small pieces every single time you relive the night.

Relationships tend to leave you discombobulated. 

You loved learning, but educating yourself in social interactions was done out of necessity rather than genuine interest. You like to think that you’ve gotten better over the years at reading the room and giving appropriate responses, a solemn nod, a polite smile; but it would seem that you still had room for improvement.

The bus slowed to a stop and you got off.

You were a five minute-walk away from the mall. It wasn’t technically your choice. You didn’t know where to go, only that you wanted to leave your dorm, so you spun a Wheel of Names containing random hangouts and it gave you the mall. 

Might as well. Maybe some good old window shopping can alleviate your mood.

Well, this was unexpected. 

You carried shopping bags in each hand. You saw a really cute jacket and while it was a little pricey you figured you deserved it, and you did need a new jacket.

One purchase. It’s okay, you told yourself. One expensive but practical jacket is an investment. 

But then you caught a glimpse of a shiny pair of cat ear noise-cancelling headphones. It was in your favorite color and its price would have been way beyond your savings in life, but it was on sale and your bank account here was surprisingly big and the ears were too cute to ignore.

This was also an investment, a steal even! You reasoned.

You were on your way to the food court when you passed by your biggest weakness: a stationery store. 

You spent way too much time inside and ended up buying way more than you could delude yourself into believing was pragmatic or reasonable.

On the bright side, you felt better, especially when you examined the notebooks, highlighters and pens you bought while sipping a fresh fruit smoothie. Nothing beats the feeling of unwrapping a present, even if it’s technically not a present or even wrapped. 

You held a notebook to your face, pressing the page to your nose and inhaling the scent of paper. 

“Mmmm…” No tablet or laptop can hope to replicate that scent or replace pen and paper in your heart. 

You overheard a child’s voice from the next table: “Mommy, that girl’s sniffing a book.”

“Shh, don’t point, don’t even look.”

Recovering from your drunken bliss, you closed the notebook and put it back inside the shopping bag. 

You were considering changing tables when someone called your name. It was Rick, dressed too fancily for a simple trip to the mall and holding a cup of bubble tea.

“Small world,” he laughed. 

Too small. “Hello.” You nodded. You chose this specific mall because it was quite far from the campus. The chances of running into someone who knew you was small, but lately, fate has been working against you. 

“Free day too, huh?”

“Yes.”

“Meeting someone?”

“No, I just did some shopping.” You put your purse over your lap. “You?”

“I was supposed to meet someone. Blind date. But he’s over thirty minutes late.” He sighed.

You wanted to sigh, too. He looked like a kicked puppy. “Did you eat already?”

“I was going to but it’s lunchtime and I couldn’t find any vacant tables. I was thinking of going home.”

“Do you want to sit with me?”

“You don’t mind?”

“Go ahead.”

“Thanks.” He put down his milk tea and shrugged off his suede jacket before taking a seat. “You know, I spent the entire night thinking of what to wear and I haven’t eaten anything and I’m pretty sure I already ran out of tapioca pearls.”

“I get that.”

“Someone stood you up before?”

You tilted your head. “No. I don’t know why I said that, actually.”

He laughed. 

“If it’s any form of comfort, I think you look nice today.”

“Thank you.” He scratched his jaw. “I hate that I have to ask this so soon, but are you okay?”

You grabbed your smoothie. Knowing exactly what he was referring to, you replied, “I am, thanks for asking. I’m much better now than I was yesterday.” You patted the shopping bags sitting next to you, a proud smile overtaking your face.  

“By the way,” he said, pointing at his own eye. “Your makeup’s kinda smudged.”

Gasping, you turned away from him and opened your phone’s front camera.

The concealer you applied to cover your black eye must have rubbed off and onto the paper. You reapplied until the shiner was barely noticeable.

“Are you–”

“I’m fine.” You threw the concealer stick back into your bag. “Can we change the subject?”

“Uh, sure thing.” Rick tapped the plastic cup. “...you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, but are you and Mark a thing?” 

You stopped sipping and looked at him. 

Rick raised his hands up. “I just, I've never seen him react that way before.”

“You know him?”

“I know of him. My ex-boyfriend used to be friends with him, not to mention he was Mister Popular back in our high school, and I’m not just talking about the students, the teachers loved him.”

“Really…”

“Uh-huh. He was part of a lot of orgs, he actually mellowed out a lot when we started college. I expected him to be part of the major–”

“Hold on.” You reached into your shopping bag and took out the notebook you sniffed and clicked an apple-scented pen. “Go on.”

“Are you planning to write his biography or something?” 

Rick meant it as a joke but you weren’t kidding when you informed him, “More like a research article.” You paused. “Also, can you keep this a secret between us?”

He thought for a moment, then he laughed. “All right. I’ll help you.” In his mind, he was convinced he was playing Cupid when he stuck up his pinkie finger and began counting, “Debate team, book club, wrote a few feature articles for the school paper, was a camp counselor for four consecutive summers, volunteered at homeless shelters and what else… he was always in the top five performing students and…for some reason, he never played any sports.”

Apple green ink filled the page as you wrote maniacally. “This is great. Do you know any long-term girlfriends?”

“Please, Mark Grayson and girlfriend? Long-term?” He chuckled, then he stopped and hurriedly added, “He was young, we all were, but maybe now he’s thinking of something more serious, people change. He’s a nice guy, I swear. I think. I don’t actually know him, know him–”

Your hand moved faster when it wrote “no serious relationships.” You then cut off Rick’s rambling about a man’s ability to change for the better, “How about his parents or family?”

He shifted in his booth uncomfortably. “I don’t think it’s my place to tell you that.”

You leaned over the table. “Please?”

“Sorry, but you’re going to have to ask him that. My lips are sealed.”

He was stubborn. You doubted that you could get him to talk about more, but his silence told you plenty. 

You jotted “bad home life” on the paper and then retreated into your seat. You stared at the words. You thought of Mark, confident and always smiling Mark. You then pictured a little Mark experiencing all sorts of horrible things that little boys shouldn’t go through, causing your good mood to plummet.

It didn’t take long for a new distraction to arrive though, and this one came in the form of a cutesy dog mascot holding a tray of bite-sized desserts. 

“Cake samples?” The voice was a forced higher pitch, meant to emulate a kids’ cartoon character, but you recognized it easily. You’ve been replaying that voice in your head and from the clip recordings in your phone. 

Rick didn’t though, and he reached for a mini cupcake. The dog smacked his hand away.

[Ding. Darkening: 26.4%]

“Hey!”

“The cakes are for the lady.”

“What?”

“Bakery policy. For today. If you want a taste you need to go visit the store.”

“I never heard of that kind of policy before.”

“Ever heard of ladies’ night? It’s the same, a promotional thing.” The dog turned its comically large head back to you and held out the tray. 

“What are the flavors?” You asked.

“Um… this one’s clearly chocolate, and this one is strawberry, er, raspberry I think–”

“I can’t really have any?” Rick interrupted. 

You heard the dog take a deep breath before answering, “I don’t know what to tell you, pal.”

You picked up an orange-colored cake. “What if I take two and give him one?”

“That’s–”

You were going to hand over the cupcake to Rick but the dog snatched it from your finger and forced it into Rick’s mouth.

“Whampf!” 

“What’re you doing? He’s going to choke!” 

“He’ll be fine,” remarked the dog as it gave Rick a not-so-gentle pat on the back.

Rick swallowed hard and coughed. He took big gulps of his milk tea, grateful that he didn’t have to worry about swallowing any sticky pearls.

When he recovered he glared at the mascot. “What is your problem, man?!”

“Don’t be dramatic.”

A young man wearing a sando shirt and sweatpants ran into the food court, a security guard right behind him. He glanced around and when he saw the dog he wailed, finger shaking, “There he is! That’s the thief!”

The mascot muttered, “Crap.”

Before anyone could move, the system dinged and a loud BOOM followed, shaking the whole mall and causing the ceiling behind you to collapse. Thick, black smoke crept into every space.

You and Rick were dragged from your booths by the mascot. “Get out of here.” 

Not wasting time, you grabbed Rick by the wrist and urged him to run.

“What was that?!” He yelled.

“No idea, but I know it’s something we can’t handle.”

You two were several steps away from the exit when another piece of the ceiling fell. 

You shoved Rick forward and stepped back before the debris could hit both of you.

He shouted your name.

“I’m fine! Just run!” You shouted back. “I’ll find another way out.”

You were about to sprint to a different route when a hulking man with a cybernetic arm was sent flying over you, hitting a nearby support beam. 

That was close. 

But before you could breathe in relief, the man groaned, pushing himself up by the elbows. He blinked and turned to you. He gave you an icky smile.

Double crap. 

Invincible shot like a bullet, slamming into the villain and sending a shockwave that had your knees collapsing beneath you.

The sound of rushing water multiplied as the two broke more and more pipes and triggered the sprinklers.

You put your hands on the corners of your lips and yelled for Invincible.

A blur of black made threw the man to the wall and made its way to you. 

“Are you hurt?”

His voice came out muffled because of the giant mascot head he wore. 

There was no time for any smart remarks as you pointed at a hole they created leading to the basement parking lot. “You gotta take the fight outside before you level the whole mall.”

“Good idea–” 

He pulled you into an embrace and spun around just as a red beam sliced the air and hit the chairs and tables behind you.

More thick smoke covered your forms.

Invincible held you by the waist. “I’m getting you out of here first.”

“If you get us out of here do you think he’ll follow you or destroy the building?” 

You didn’t wait for his reply and pushed against his chest and he reluctantly let you go. “Take the fight somewhere else, drop him in a pool or the river before he hurts more people.”

[Host, the miscreant’s about to fire another laser.]

You gestured again towards the basement. “Go.”

“But you–”

“Now!”

He flinched but was already in the air. “Okay. Promise me you’ll get out in one piece.”

You smiled wryly. “I’m tougher than I look.”

[Ding. Affection: 57%]

Once Invincible dragged the villain elsewhere, the rescue team arrived in no time. You didn’t even have the chance to get your purchases because the firefighter was already carrying you out the food court and to the mall entrance, where Rick was being interviewed by a cop.

When he saw you his shoulders rolled slumped when he sighed. You could tell he wanted to give you a hug but you raised your hand placatingly. “I’m fine.”

A paramedic sat you at the back of their ambulance and began taking your vitals. 

You obediently offered your arm for the blood pressure cuff and glanced at the mall.

There was more destruction than you anticipated. The windows of top floors were shattered and angry red flames licked the sky. Sirens screamed from everywhere, but even they couldn’t cover the cries of surviving loved ones.

***

You stepped out of the shower and changed into a pair of loose pajamas. 

There was a tapping on your window.

[Invincible is here.]

I can see that.

You walked over to unlatch the lock and push open the window.

The dog head was replaced with a pink motorcycle helmet with cat ears. He sheepishly lifted your soaked shopping bags. “They were like this when I found them.”

“You didn’t have to do that.” You took the bags from him and smiled. “But thank you.”

“Just part of the job, miss.”

You stared at each other for a while.

He cleared his throat. “Anyway, enjoy your night–”

“Do you want to come in?” 

“Seriously?”

“Yeah.” 

“You…”

“What’s wrong?” You asked, laying down your purchases over your bed to air them out.

“I just…don’t you, I mean, are you fine with letting strangers inside your room like this?”

“Not typically, but you saved my life and you did go out of your way to bring me my stuff. Come in, take a seat, let’s–” mhhhmmmhm “–chat.” You weren’t even going to bother asking how he, Invincible, could have located your current address as a so-called “stranger.” 

[Ding. Affection: 58%]

“Um, okay.” He floated inside and landed softly on a flower-shaped rug. The helmet glanced around. “Nice room,” he said, standing awkwardly and looking out of place in your tiny dorm. 

“Thanks. I didn’t design it though.” The credit goes to the World Consciousness.

“Roommate?” 

“Don’t have one.”

“You lucked out then. It’s really hard getting a compatible roommate, usually you get freaks.”

“You in college?”

“Ye–no, no, no.”

You chuckled. “Do you want something to drink? I can make you some tea or coffee. I’ll turn around so you don’t have to worry about the secret identity thing.”

“You’ll make me something?”

“I’m not actually going to make anything, I’ll just be putting a teabag or instant coffee in hot water.”

“That’s fine!” He jumped lightly and began levitating. “I’ll have some tea.”

“What–”

“Any flavor.”

You walked over to your kitchenette. Your fingers traced the drawer containing your collection of tea and then you realized something. 

“Sorry,” you said, moving towards the electric kettle instead. “I ran out of teabags, are you okay with coffee?”

“Sure!”

The comforting aroma of coffee filled the room in no time as you stirred the powder. You then searched your cupboard for any snacks and found two butterscotch bars.

When you turned around, Mark was still in the air, examining your bulletin board and desk. 

You returned to his side and handed him the mug and candies. “You can take a seat.”

“Does my flying bother you?”

“No, in fact, it fascinates me.” You held up the coffee mug and butterscotch bars. “I still can’t get over the fact that some people can fly here.”

“Here?”

“It’s weird.”

“Not really?”

“It is for me, for us regular folks, I mean.” You watched him stare at the mug and asked, “I have to ask, how do you fly?”

“I dunno the science behind it, I just do.”

“You never felt the need to find out how?”

He shrugged. 

Flight was relatively normal in their society so it made sense how blasé he was, but if it were up to you, you would cut him open and see which parts did what. 

Invincible rotated in the air, flipped open his helmet and took a sip of the coffee.

You crossed your arms. “I’m surprised caffeine even works on you.”

He laughed, sliding down his visor before facing you again. “It doesn’t, but I like the smell. Great coffee, by the way, what brand do you use?”

“Nothing special.”

He flew a little closer. “I doubt it, I–” He looked over your shoulder. “What’s that?”

You followed his gaze and saw that the pages of the notebooks you were airing out have flipped. Without hesitating, you made a swan dive towards your bed, but Mark was faster. He snatched the notebook with green stains.

[Ding. Affection: 40%. Darkening: 35%]

“What is this? Why do you have notes on Mark Grayson?”

You pushed against the bed and tried to shuffle to a stand, but he was right in front of you, pushing the pages towards your face.

The back of your head hit the mattress and Invincible seized your wrist. 

“Did Cecil send you?”

You can’t believe your beloved stationery would betray you like this. 

Stay calm, you told yourself. 

“Answer me,” he hissed, he dropped the notebook and grabbed your other wrist, pinning you down.

“Why do you care? Are you friends with him?”

“I-I don’t need to be friends with anyone to worry about a possible stalker.”

You were grateful for his helmet. You would’ve caved instantly if someone did this to you while making eye contact. Also–

“If you want to intimidate me, maybe lose the kitty helmet,” you said. This tactic would have worked better if you didn’t know who was Invincible. It was like watching a sheep cosplay a wolf. 

“They’re not cat ears.” 

“They’re triangular.” You were certain you saw this exact helmet on display in the mall between one in bubblegum pink and another colored sparkling blue. 

“Enough!” He was straddling you now. “Tell me the truth, are you part of Cecil’s team? You already know that I’m–”

“Fine, I will tell you.” You faux sighed. “The reason why I have notes on Mark Grayson is because he interests me.”

Half a beat passed before he said, “Are you trying to say that you…like him?”

“Yes.”

“That’s why you have those creepy notes?”

“Creepy is in the eye of the beholder. Love follows knowledge and vice versa.” If someone went out of their way to learn about you, you would be flattered. 

You turned your head and glanced at the pens and highlighters littered next to you and added quietly, “I’m good at studying.”

You could sense him thinking under those cat ears and opted to stay silent as you observed him. What was going through in his skull right now? You wanted to cleave it open and take a peek. 

You shifted under him, your knee accidentally brushed against his thigh and his breath hitched.

He pulled back and rose into the air. “Sorry,” he mumbled before vanishing out the window. 

[Ding. Affection: 65%]

You lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling. Was he being polite when he complimented the cup of joe you served? 

Or does his kind not register bitterness the same way human tongues do?

You got up from the bed, picked up the notebook he almost ripped apart and sat at your desk. 

You then wrote: “Doesn’t taste/unaffected by dishwashing liquid (?)”

Truly fascinating. Your blood heated up at the prospect of learning more. 

***

The tap squeaked when Mark turned it.

Hot water washed over his hair and back. It was a relief to be rid of that helmet, and that awful mascot head. The entire day he was reminded why he opted out of a mask for his costume.

Humans have a tendency to ignore what’s in front of them; that’s how he and Eve and so many other pros managed to keep their secret identities. 

Still, knowing you, he couldn’t risk showing his face.

Mark leaned his forehead on the wet tiles. 

That coffee was weird, but at least the butterscotch was sweet enough to cover the uber-bitter aftertaste. 

He closed his eyes.

Your room was more cluttered than he imagined. Books and printouts were on every surface, even the floor. There were a few posters of singers and bands and TV shows and movies, he even spotted one for Seance Dog. Clothes were haphazardly strewn over the furniture. He had to avert his gaze when he found a bra strap peeking from under your pillow.

He groaned, remembering how cold it was tonight, and how your nipples pressed against the fabric of your shirt.

His fingers twitched.

The lips of your ghost brushed his ear. “He interests me,” you whispered. 

He ran his right hand over his belly.

He tried to recall the feeling of your knee on his thigh and crotch, tried to picture you beneath him, but then he saw your face. Your pretty face was bare and he saw the bruise around your eye.

His knuckles turned white as he grasped the tap.

Ice-cold water rained over his hair and neck and down his chest and stomach. 

He thumped his head against the wall, cracking the tiles. “Shit.” 

taglist: @weponxwrites @ratkidcalledallie @qxuanii @lilacoaks @gluttonousriceflour @phisen @sleepyzzz3 @whaaaaaaaaat111 @ik33ponmakingc00ki3s @lonely-entity @noxus123

Author's Note: I feel like I missed something...mmm. Well, whatever, I need to grind for Skirk WAHAHAHA

Disclaimer: The images used in this post do not belong to writerclaire. They were lifted from the following sources:

Invincible flying

Alternate Invincibles

CHAPTER 9: Just Spit It Out! Series Masterlist

ദ്ദി(｡•̀ ,<)~✩‧₊

MAIN MASTERLIST

Any questions for the author? Ask here.

[pearynice]

Pre-Season 4 AU

We are now calling this: "I Want to Hold Your Hand"

Part 1 Part 2 (Complete)

Ao3 Link

“Sure, Stevie.” Eddie bites his lip. “But I walked here, man, so I could-” Eddie pauses, looks away, out to the expansive backyard before looking back, “I mean, I could walk you home. If you wanted. Can’t have you passing out on the street or something, can we?”

Steve wishes he was sober. He wants to utilize what got him Nancy, what got him every girl since her, usewhat made himsuave and charming and worthy so Eddie can keep looking at him the way he is. 

But he can’t. He doesn’t. And instead Steve ducks inside and drinks straight from the kitchen tap, the water tepid and metallic, chugging until there’s rivulets of water dripping down his chin, his head no longer feeling quite so stuffy. He stops to breathe, and when he looks up Eddie’s staring at him through the window, unapologetically snickering as the last of the water drips off Steve’s jaw.

(Steve’s pretty sure it’s worth it, though, because he realizes, through the glass, that Eddie has dimples.)

“I don’t drive when I’m dealing.” Eddie explains when they’re on the sidewalk, “too easy for cops to find-” he jangles his lunchbox, raising his eyebrows. “Lowered expectation of privacy, they call it.”

Steve just nods, because Eddie’s holding the lunchbox on his opposite side, his free hand so close to Steve’s own. Steve watches it, the slight sway of his hand as he walks, spots the chipped black polish on Eddie’s fingernails and thinks about how easy it would be to grab ahold. He wonders what Eddie’s hands feel like. If they’re calloused or smooth, soft or rough, how it would feel clasped against his own palm. The streetlights highlight a frizzy halo of curls around Eddie’s head, and Steve wonders if the strands are soft. If Eddie would let him touch. 

But Eddie’s walking a half step faster than him, Steve’s own tipsy legs unable to carry him as quickly.  So he reaches, and hooks two of his fingers through Eddie’s belt loop. 

Eddie starts, arms jerking, and Steve pulls him close, knocking them gently together. “You’re too fast.” Steve complains, softly, and the blush returns to Eddie’s cheeks at the words, his dimples, too, and Steve grins, the pop rocks in his chest fizzling at the sight.

“Sorry,” Eddie exhales, and they’re close, so close Steve can feel it, can feel Eddie’s breath against his cheeks, and he wants to pull him closer, feel his lips against his, but the water must’ve sobered him, at least a little, because he resists. Doesn’t completely trust that their deserted street is free from prying eyes.

So Steve pulls away, just a half step, just enough that they can walk without brushing against each other. But he keeps his fingers where they are, keeps Eddie by his side, gives him a little pull, now and then, when he wants to. 

Eddie talks about Hellfire, and Steve talks about Dustin and Lucas and Mike, and Eddie assures, again, that he’ll take them under his wing. 

It does more for him than he’d ever admit.

“You know,” Eddie starts, knocking their shoulders together, “you’re not who I expected you’d be.”

Steve pulls on his belt loop.

“I guess,” Eddie continues, kicking a rock down the street, echoey in the quiet night, “I didn’t expect for you to actually be a good dude. I mean, rich parents, popular, chicks love him, not a douche?” He looks back over, grinning, his face all scrunched, “no way, man.” Eddie kicks the rock again, sending it careening to the other side of the street. 

“Why’d you talk to me, then?” Steve asks. His cheeks feel warm. So do his hands. “If you thought I was a douche?”

Eddie’s quiet for a moment. He’s looking down, his face slightly hidden by his curtain of hair. 

Steve tugs on his belt loop, and he sees Eddie grin a little at that, sees his cheeks warm under the street lamps before he looks back up at Steve. “I wanted to be proven wrong.” And then his gaze flicks down to Steve’s lips. Just for a moment, but it was there, Steve saw it, is more than sober enough to know he saw it. “‘M glad I was.” Eddie adds.

They talk quietly the rest of the way back. Steve knows Eddie wants to wrap his arm around him. Has felt the touch of fingers more than once on the small of his back. Every time, though, Eddie stops, gives Steve a little smile, and pulls back away.

The walk is longer than it should be. Steve slows them down. He’s not drunk, anymore, but his steps are short. Languid. He doesn’t want to get back to his house. He wants to stay chatting with Eddie on these streets for the rest of the night- where it’s just the two of them- the two of them and no one and nothing else, but too soon they’re at the foot of Steve’s driveway, fingers still looped through Eddie’s jeans. 

He sees Eddie take it in, his eyebrows quirked as he gazes up at Steve’s house. “Got the rich parents part right, though, didn’t I?”

Steve tugs. “We’ve got a pretty big kitchen.” He offers, nodding towards his house. “I could make us something to eat.”

He wants to say please. 

Eddie chews on his bottom lip. “Don’t think Mr. and Mrs. Harrington would be too pleased to find me hanging out in their kitchen, Stevie.” He places a hand on Steve’s forearm. “Maybe next time.”

Steve tugs again, this time taking a step towards his house. “They’re not home,” he promises, and Eddie’s face softens. Steve grins. “C’mon. I’ll make you a sandwich.”

Steve’s abilities in the kitchen are nearly exclusively limited to stove-top endeavors, ever since his forays into whatever goes on in an oven ending primarily with the food somehow both raw and charred, but that also means that when he slides Eddie’s grilled cheese from the skillet and onto his plate, it’s perfectly golden brown, the cheese oozing from the sides.

Eddie whistles. “You sure know how to treat a guy, Steve.” He bites into it at once, his eyes closing as the cheese pulls away in strings. “God,” he moans, and Steve doesn’t pretend he isn’t staring as Eddie opens his eyes again, because that sound went straight through him, he’s pretty sure he felt it in his bones and he sort of- definitely- wants to get Eddie to make that noise again. 

Eddie flushes when he catches Steve looking. “’S really g’d.” He defends, through a mouthful, then coughs, coughs again, before swallowing, eyes watering. 

“I inhaled some of it.” He wheezes, and grabs for the water Steve had poured him. 

It’s not the alcohol. Steve’s more than halfway to sober, now, after their fifteen minute walk that was closer to thirty and the three slices of bread he’d eaten as he was waiting for their sandwiches to brown, and yet he thinks Eddie coughing around the sandwich Steve made him might be the most endearing thing he’s ever seen. 

He sees Eddie flush, though, and not the good kind, sees him hunch his shoulders under Steve’s gaze and pull a lock of hair in front of his face. 

So Steve sits down next to him. Pulls their chairs close so he can hook a leg around Eddie’s. “Glad you like it.” He bites into his own, the cheese pulling, and Eddie’s shoulders drop. Steve chews, and when he looks back over Eddie’s smiling, again, small and tentative, that lock of hair still pulled across his face. Steve wants to tuck it back, wants to see Eddie’s smile full on, but he runs his calf along Eddie’s shin instead, in a motion he hopes is reassuring.

They eat, and soon, Eddie drops his hair, and presses his leg back against Steve’s. 

Eventually, they migrate to the couch. 

“Thanks for walking me home.” Steve hums, pressing his thigh into Eddie’s. “For making sure I don’t pass out on a street corner.” 

Eddie grins, pulls that damn lock of hair across his lips again, but it’s softer, now, giddy, instead of anxious. “Thanks for making me dinner.”

And this is normally the point at which Steve leans in, where he winds his fingers through hair and pulls the girl into his lap, but Eddie still has that lock of hair pulled in front of his face, across his lips. So Steve goes for earnest, instead. 

“And… thank you.” He adds. Inching his hand that much closer to Eddie’s. “For checking on me. Tonight. It was-” he blinks, forcing away the memories that never stop biting at him, “you, uh, made it better.”

Because Eddie had. For the first night since it happened Steve realizes he hadn’t thought about the Russians. Hadn’t panicked on whether or not Robin and Dustin and Erica were safe. Hadn’t had to resist the urge to call, to hear their voices. To know. To be sure. Because here, with Eddie, it feels like his own slice of normal. Like here he is just Steve. He’s not the guy with the bat, the guy who can take a punch, he’s not even King Steve. He’s just Steve, and Eddie’s here, sitting on this couch with him, anyways.

Eddie drops his hand. Brushes his pinky up against Steve’s. “‘Course, Stevie.”

Steve dips his head forward, until he can feel Eddie’s breath again, shallow and warm, and Eddie doesn’t pull away. His pinky finger curls around Steve’s. Squeezes. 

Steve’s never kissed a boy. But he doesn’t think about that when he kisses Eddie. He thinks about how Eddie’s lips feel against his own, how Eddie turns their hands so they’re clasped together fully, how Eddie opens his mouth the moment he feels Steve’s tongue. He thinks about how Eddie moves closer, how all Steve has to do is place a hand on his waist for Eddie to move into Steve’s lap all on his own. He thinks about how right it feels. With Eddie pressed close. Thinks about how Eddie lets him touch his hair, and how soft it is when he threads his fingers through. He thinks about how Eddie’s hands, calloused and dry, are gentle. 

He squeezes Eddie’s hand. Presses his thumb against Eddie’s cheekbone and threads his fingers through soft curls, pulling Eddie further into his lap.

Eddie kisses slowly. Without urgency, a pace that Steve is fine to follow in the quiet stillness of the dim living room, the noise of their muffled shifting on the couch and the wet noises of their mouths filling the space. 

He doesn’t think about the Russians even when Eddie’s touch ghosts over skin, the same skin that weeks earlier was purpled and bruised and swollen, because Eddie’s touch houses nothing reminiscent of such, and when Eddie pulls away, just slightly, just enough to press their foreheads together, Steve has to bite back a whine. 

“Sorry,” Eddie whispers, and Steve can barely hear it, even in the quiet he can hardly hear Eddie’s voice, so he clings to his hand a little harder. “Just-” Eddie goes on, and Steve can feel how he tenses in his lap, “you were drunk. And I don’t want…” Eddie trails off.

He doesn’t want Steve to regret this. 

“I’m good, I promise.” Steve whispers. “I’m not doing anything I don’t want to do.” And then, because he’s feeling brave, because he thinks, maybe, possibly, Eddie feels the same, he adds, “nothing I won’t want to do tomorrow.”

He sees Eddie get it. Feels the tension leave his muscles as he sinks deeper onto Steve’s lap. “Okay.” He breathes. “Good.”

Steve kisses him again. Trails his mouth over Eddie’s jaw and down his throat, resists the urge to form bruises as he goes, not wanting to get Eddie in trouble, doesn’t know who Eddie’s going home to, how many questions they’ll ask, so instead he drops his hand from Eddie’s hair to slide under his shirt, his skin soft and warm, the fabric dark and heavy. 

Eddie exhales at Steve’s touch, his breathing hitching as Steve goes, Eddie’s own hand finding the hem of Steve’s shirt and teasing his fingers underneath. If he feels the scars there Eddie says nothing, doesn’t react, just keeps rubbing his hands across Steve’s skin like there’s nothing there he doesn’t want.

Steve begins to feel Eddie’s hardness, a press against his inner thigh that Steve is quickly matching, only encouraged by the soft sounds falling from Eddie’s lips. 

He starts slow, drops his hands from Eddie’s back to slide under his waistband. 

But Eddie freezes at once. His hands and mouth stilling and so Steve retreats, his hands leaving Eddie’s skin to rest over clothes.

“Sorry.” Eddie breathes, for the second time in nearly as many minutes, his face is reddening again, his shoulders hunching, “that’s just not-” he exhales heavily through his nose. “I can’t do this. Tonight. I can- I’m sorry, I can go. I can get out of your hair.” He moves, leans back and away, “I’m sorry,” he adds again, his hands dropping to curl in against his sides.

“Hey,” Steve murmurs, and he places his hands back on Eddie’s waist. Over clothes. A gentle press. “We don’t have to do any of that. Notif you don’t want to. I shouldn’t have-” it’s Steve’s turn to stumble over words, and Eddie’s shoulders drop, just a little, at his fumbling. “I’m sorry.” Steve emphasizes.

The last thing he’d wanted was this. Was sending Eddie back into the shell he’s so quick to retreat into.

But Eddie’s shoulders drop the rest of the way. “’S okay.” He assures, and his hands, tentative, come to rest on Steve’s forearms.

The touch is warm. Solid. And Steve doesn’t want it to leave. Not tonight. Definitely not so soon. He glances down at the exposed skin of Eddie’s forearm. He still doesn’t quite understand the tattoo. Even this close. It’s definitely creepy though. He thinks he likes it. 

“Stay?” Steve asks, his fingers curling just slightly tighter into the fabric of Eddie’s shirt. “I’ll make you breakfast tomorrow.”

Eddie stays. Because it’s closing in on two am, and Steve’s house is lonely and cold, even in August, and Eddie’s warm, like a furnace, as he climbs under Steve’s covers. For a moment Steve just looks at him, at his dark hair pooled around his head, at his cheek slightly smooshed against Steve’s pillow, the fabric of Steve’s sweatshirt just visible under the cover of blankets.

So Steve hooks his leg over Eddie’s. Pulls himself close until his face is in Eddie’s chest. He hopes it isn’t too much. Hopes he hasn’t finally found the end Eddie’s patience, laying out all of the goopy feelings in his chest that have formed far too quickly, but Eddie wraps an arm around him. Around his back. Combs his fingers through Steve’s hair and gently twists the strands. 

Steve used to love when Nancy did this. He’d nearly forgotten. 

His eyes close, and something fierce settles into Steve’s bones. Because he’s not losing this. Won’t. As long as Eddie wants him Steve thinks he will stand between Eddie and Jason, Eddie and anyone, if he has to.

Eddie’s arm, protective and solid, curls just a little bit tighter around him.

Steve breathes. Settles into the feeling of Eddie wrapped around him, and knows, finally, what he wants.

✨✨✨

THIS FIC NOW HAS ART!!!!! You can find it here and please go shower it in all the love it deserves!!!!!

Thank you all so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed the second part just as much as the first! ❤️✨

Tag list (I tagged most who commented they would like a second part, I hope that's okay): @anne-bennett-cosplayer @gleek4twd @gothwifehotchner @eddies-temper-tantrum @xandriumbat @gaydrieeen @alycatavatar @nicememerino @rottenriku @shiftylinguini @ilovecupcakesandtea @steddiewithachance @estrellami-1 @silentiumdelirium @resident-gay-bitch @starlight-archer @cicciadoratz @breealtair @ithinkicouldloveher @silverkat1620@marklee-blackmore @autumnal-dawn @hallo-spaceb0y @j-mysticalien @dragondemon013-blog @askitwithflours @theoncelee @limpingpenguin @auwuli @angeldreamsoffanfic @hazeleyedwoman @ispyblu @m-owo-n @newtstabber @mrsdollardog @saramelaniemoon @icksam @i-amthepizzaman @blu3stars @tinypandabasketballfarm @skrzydlak @eddiethehunted @thefreakandthehair @starrystevie @transvampireboyfriend @junodarling @theheadlessphilosopher @devondespresso @tboyeddie @nburkhardt @racetrackthehiggins @finalmoondragon

(continued in the comments)

[zieisonline]

Okay I'm late to the party and have never really been a william nylander girl (or cockwarming really) but I am obsessed

Like I need so much more deets, like him waking you up with super slow tender sex and then just staying inside you for hours holding his cum in as you watch movies in bed, or him coming back from a road trip and just being all clingy and finding hugging you, you're still to far away 🥵🫠

I’m so happy your eyes have been open to the world of William 💗🫶🏼 and cockwarming

I think you’ve said it best honestly, but some more filthy Willy thoughts below!

Warnings: detailed descriptions of somno, free use, cockwarming, and unprotected sex

Some days, the early morning is the only time he gets to spend alone with you, so he has to utilize his time wisely, wanting to have something to think back on throughout the day when he inevitably starts to miss you.

You would look so beautiful resting against the pillows, slow, even breaths causing your bare chest to rise and fall rhythmically. He just couldn’t bring himself to wake you, and after all, you had the discussion long ago that he was free to use you whenever he needed, and he needed you often.

Utilizing his strength to maneuver you onto your side to face him, he would pull one of your legs up to hook around his waist, securing you close to him before placing a tender kiss to your forehead.

He works quickly, unwilling to waste any more of the morning without being inside you.

He’s gentle, making sure to warm you up with his hand, not wanting to hurt you.

Your unconscious body reacts to him easily, and soon your hips are unknowingly rolling slowly and lazily onto his hand.

He’s so enamored with you and how you can be so absolutely perfect for him even while you were asleep.

Once you are both appropriately prepped, he enters you happily, burying himself deep inside you, not wanting an inch of space between you.

He raises a hand to move your disheveled bed head from your face and takes a moment to savor the moment of being here with you, safe in the small world you have created within the walls of your apartment.

He debates wasting the rest of the morning exactly like this; cradling you in his arms in a tender embrace as the sun rises in the window behind him.

But then he feels you move. Your walls clenching tightly around him, a soft sigh escaping your lips as you react to something in your dream.

The feeling engulfs him, and he feels the heat stirring in his lower abdomen, making it hard to hold back any longer.

Slowly at first, he begins to thrust inside you, trying his hardest not to wake you.

He doesn’t last long like that, the feeling of your velvet walls wrapped snug around his dick too much to handle, his pace increasing.

It’s a delicious feeling to wake up to. Your eyes are bleary and your body is moving before you can register why or how, and a soft moan falls from you unconsciously.

All of your senses are surrounded by him. By William.

His scent, his heat, his skin, and the feeling of him hitting your sweet spot deep inside of you.

You wrap your arms around him in a feeble attempt to ground yourself, your mind still lost somewhere between awake and sleep, suddenly only focused on chasing the euphoric feeling building within you.

“Good morning.” He would hum, and you would become transfixed in his tender loving gaze, lost in his sweet baby blue eyes.

“M-morning.” You would attempt, but the prickling feeling of pleasure blanketing you proves to be too much to focus on anything else.

He showers you in praises, squeezing you so close that his lips are touching your skin, mumbling about how beautiful you were and how lucky he was to have you.

He would continue to press firmly into you, hitting that special soft spot that drove you crazy until you became a panting, sweaty mess.

After having been together for so long, he can pick up easily on your tells, knowing you are about to cum before you even register it yourself.

He kisses you passionately as you unravel around him, moaning and gasping into his mouth, hands digging deep into his skin as the feeling awakens you fully, pulling you violently down to earth.

He isn’t far behind, the sounds of your orgasm going straight through him, making his dick twitch in pleasure.

You feel as though your bones are rubber, your body a liquified mess beneath him, but you do your best to work him through his high, arching into him, kissing him with the same passion he provided you.

He releases inside you, making you so full you squirm around him.

He nuzzles his head into your skin and lets his satisfied smile spread across his face.

“What a way to wake up.”

He giggles that signature Willy laugh and begins tracing small circles across your skin, unable to spend a moment without touching you.

“I didn’t mean to get you all sweaty.” He admits, looking down at you with his soft gaze. “I’ll go run a bath for you.” He leans down to peck your lips, but your grip on him tightens as a pout appears on your face.

“You still have another hour before you have to go. Let’s just stay like this for a little longer.” You beg, holding onto him as though he may disappear. “Please.”

He blinks rapidly, and wonders when you became a mind reader. When his thoughts became yours.

He would never be the first to pull away, instead settling further into the bed. Playing with your hands, tracing kisses along your exposed skin

You would savor the feeling of him holding his release deep inside of you for so long, feeling so close that even after he eventually leaves for the day you have the feeling of him nestled inside you ghosting throughout your body, reminding you of the morning you experienced.

This feeling would follow you all the way until you tuck yourself into bed at night, naked, just how Willy likes it.

And you would sleep, dreaming of being awoken the same way once again.

[jooyeonsvape]

— candy kisses

genre; smut

w/c; 1.5k

pairings; student!yeonjun, female!reader

warnings; literally the entire thing. pure smut.

[masterlists]

a/n; i made a soobin angst yesterday and im excited to share this one to you <3 im doing beomgyu soon, so follow for the updates!!

one day you were a simple student, always stayed in line, and got good grades; the next, you were running to the utility room inbetween classes to visit yeonjun.

he was the complete opposite of you which intrigued you even more to him, he had piercings in his ears, with tattoos across his chest and arms but they were covered by his uniform.

you look at the wall clock and tap your foot impatiently which made your friend tap your shoulder from behind. “are you okay?” you just nod and turn your head with a comforting smile, “i just need to use the bathroom, i wish class would end already.”

the teacher tells the class everything he wants you to study for on the next test and you knew in 5 minutes yeonjun would be deep inside of you.

finally, the bell rings and you pull out the lip gloss yeonjun liked you to wear, applying it skillfully on your lips, “i’m going to the bathroom, bye.” you tell your group of friends as they crowd around your desk and leave quickly.

you go at a small jog down the hallway to avoid suspicion from others and look around when you make it to the closet, opening it slowly.

it was dark in the room from the window being covered with boards and you lock the door behind you.

“yeonjun?”

“over here, what took you so long?”

you follow the voice and a lamp turns on so you see the face of yeonjun. he was sculpted by the gods, his body proportions were perfect and he never had a bad hair day.

“i was trying to not get caught.” you smirk at him and sit down on his lap, looking down to show him you weren’t wearing underwear.

he smirks back at you and kisses your lips without saying anything about you going commando. yeonjun moves your hips slowly so you were rubbing against his growing dick and hums, pulling away from the kiss.

“you put on the lip gloss that tastes like candy.” you chuckle and nod, still grinding on him at a slow pace. “and you’re wearing the cologne i like.” his cheeks blush at being caught, “i didn’t put it on for you, i happen to like it as well.”

you roll your eyes and yeonjun bites his lip, giving your ass a slap under the skirt you’re wearing. “i have 20 minutes to do whatever i want with you.” he closes eyes slowly at your grinds and when he gets hard enough, he reaches down, rubbing your clit.

“did you come to school with no underwear for me? you aren’t showing your pussy to anyone else right?” yeonjun growls the last part in your ear while he rubs and you shake your head, “only for you.” he nods gently and slides two fingers inside your cunt.

you yelp loud at the feeling of your tightness being stretched by his long fingers and his free hand slaps across your mouth. “you know we have to be quiet baby girl.”

you nod quickly and whine against his hand as he fastens his pace, but it wasn’t enough. you were dreaming about him all weekend and you needed it rough.

yeonjun chuckles at your impatience when he notices you starting to bounce on his fingers, “needy today huh?” you nod again and he pulls his hand away from your mouth.

“take off your shirt please,” you breathlessly whimper, his tattoos being your biggest turn on and he abides, unbottoning the shirt until it fell off his shoulders.

his muscles flexed when he pulls his fingers out of you and admires the glistening wetness on them, while chuckling, “damn baby girl, you really are needy.” he takes the fingers that were just inside of you and licks them clean, making your pussy clench from the erotic sight.

“i think i just found a new turn on.” you whisper and kiss his mouth hungrily before sliding his dick out of his pants, “mmm, i guess i’m not the only needy one.” you admire his hard cock by jerking it a few times, wanting to see his reaction.

he tilts his head back against the chair and tried to focus on not moaning. you smirk to yourself and align his tip to your lips, dragging it back and forth to get him wet.

he groans lowly and grabbed your hips, pushing his dick deep inside of you. “i can’t wait any longer baby, it was such a long weekend.” you whine in his ear and kiss the skin softly while he thrusts his hips upwards.

yeonjun stopped his movements so he could take off your shirt until you were just left in your skirt and you start bouncing on his dick fast. “such a good girl.” he whispers in a groan, watching as your boobs bounced with your speed.

he leans in and takes your left nipple in his mouth, swirling his tongue around the sensitive bud while his hand gripped the other in his big hand. you moan softly and breathe hard from the feeling, “i love when you suck on my titties, thats all i think about during class.”

yeonjun looks up at you through his eyelashes while he still sucks on the nipple and pulls away. “i bet your pussy was soaked the entire day thinking about me huh?” he smirks and you nod with a moan.

he skillfully lifted you up while he was still inside of you and flips you over so your ass was facing him. “god, imagining your wet chair while you thought of my dick makes me want to do disgusting things to you.”

you lay your cheek against the desk he was just sitting at and turn to look at him, “then do it, i’m not scared. you could make me cum just by looking at your face.” you moan quietly and push your ass out so he would go deeper.

yeonjun lifts your skirt without saying anything and gives you a hard slap while pounding into your pussy from behind. “i’m already close, you have the best and worst effect on me.” he chuckles and slaps your ass hard again, making the skin turn red.

you hide your moans by biting on the shirt he just took off of you and squeeze your eyes tight from a mix of pain and pleasure. “harder.” you mumble in the shirt and yeonjun slaps your ass harder then rubs the area with his hand.

“you won’t be able to sit down in class if i do it more baby girl.”

you groan and look back at him again, “i don’t care.”

he slaps the already red skin and continues to pound into your pussy with a groan. “im about to cum,” his mouth hung open when he found his release, his cum shooting deep inside.

just as you were about to cum with him, the door handle starts jiggling and a sound of keys was heard.

yeonjun pulls out of you fast, and hides the both of you under the desk quickly, putting you ontop of him so you could both fit.

you bite your lip when you hear a class president entering the room looking for cleaning products and pray they don’t come to the desk.

yeonjun sighs in your ear when the student starts rummaging through the closet, and cursing to themselves because they couldn’t find it.

the light was turned on so yeonjun had a perfect view of your body he hasn’t seen before and he begins sliding a hand down your stomach. you give him a ‘don’t you dare’ look, but it was too late.

his fingers found your sensitive clit and starts rubbing slowly, making your body jolt. you didn’t trust yourself so you grabbed his other hand and put it over your mouth like before while the student searches.

yeonjun holds you close and rubs faster on your nub, kissing the side of your neck lovingly which made your orgasm approach fast.

you grab his arm and dig your nails in his skin while he wets his fingers, sliding them inbetween your pussy lips again. “rub” he says as low as possible and you obey, rubbing your clit fast while he stuffs his fingers deep inside.

it took less than 30 seconds before you were cumming and the student left the closet. yeonjun stayed in the same position even though the coast was clear and pulls his fingers out slowly while you still rub your sensitive clit.

“that was so fucking hot.” he chuckles and removes his hand from your mouth, then getting out from under the desk. you pant at the pleasure you just had and start getting dressed.

“i can’t wait for 4th period tomorrow now.” you chuckle and kiss his lips hard when he finishes getting dressed as well. “the bell is about to ring, i’m gonna head to class, leave 5 minutes after i do.”

he nods at your set rules and before leaving, you bend down slowly to pick up an earring you purposely dropped. “oops,” you tease while yeonjun focuses on your still wet pussy under your skirt and the red ass he gave you. “nope, we’re skipping next class, get over here now.”

my requests are open, check out my guidelines before requesting, just to make sure i do it!! thank you!

[spearminthe]

behold. a rather in-depth and extensive series of yumeship questions. minors DNI.

got tired of looking for ask games that cater to a more mature audience, so I slapped this together :] have others submit asks for you via sending in an emoji and its corresponding number (ex. 🫰3, 🏡6, ⛓️‍💥1), or feel free to use these questions for personal writing. be sure to reblog to give others a chance to participate!

many of these questions feature multiple parts, so feel free to pick and choose what pieces to answer based on preference! if your ship utilizes an OC rather than a self insert, or if your ship is a polycule, you're more than welcome to change the wording!

🫰

What initially drew you to your f/o? Are you a longtime fan of the source they originate from, or did you primarily gravitate towards their source out of an interest in them?

How long have you and your f/o been in a relationship in real-time? Do you keep track of your anniversary, and if so, do you like to do anything special to commemorate it?

In what ways do you like to participate in your ship? Do you have a favorite piece of merch/art/writing featuring your f/o? Do you engage with your ship IRL by taking a token of them along on outings?

Do you have only one f/o, or a select elite team built up of several f/o's? If you have multiple, do they interact at all with each other?

What are some things you associate with your f/o? Certain objects, sounds, smells etc.? Are there specific symbolisms behind them? What associations does your f/o form regarding you?

What quote comes to mind when thinking of your f/o — Be it from their source, a poem/lyric/passage, or something original you authored for them? What quote would they choose for you?

If you were to build a mini playlist to associate with your f/o, what 3 songs would you include? What songs would your f/o think to use for you?

What are some common tropes you could use to label your ship at a glance?

💌

What's the setting that your relationship takes place in? Did you bend a bit of canon to work in favor of you and your f/o, or did you throw canon out the window altogether to create an entirely separate AU?

How did you and your f/o come to know each other prior to your relationship? Was it an extended slowburn or a near-immediate whirlwind affair?

Who was the one to pursue the relationship? Was it even reciprocated at first? Was it a big deal, or did you instead forgo a "confession" and one day just quietly acknowledge that you're basically a couple?

How did things change, if at all, between you and your f/o upon becoming "official"? Business as usual, or a complete overhaul of your relationship?

If either of you have prior romantic history, what were your respective reactions to this information? Are either of you each other's first instances of becoming this close to somebody?

Did either of you enter into your relationship expecting something short-lived and no strings attached, or were you intending for things to be serious from the start?

How did the usual exciting "firsts" occur between you and your f/o? First date? First kiss? First time being intimate with each other, if this applies?

What about those more unpleasant "firsts"? First argument? First time seeing the other cry? First time breaking up if y'all are messy?

Who was the first to say "I love you", and what were the circumstances? Did it happen innocuously, or was it terrifying for the one to say it (maybe even the one to hear it)? Was the sentiment mutual?

🏡

Do you and your f/o share a home together? To whose tastes is it catered more towards? If you live separately, how often do you see each other?

Out of you and your f/o, who's the breadwinner and who's the homemaker? Are these kinds of duties shared equally between the two of you? Do you prefer to live modestly or extravagantly?

Are there any other inhabitants that you and your f/o share a space with? Pets? Roommates? Your children? Other members of a polycule?

What does the average workday look like for you as a couple? Unemployed activities at 2pm on a weekday, or are you maybe lucky (or unlucky) enough to be employed at the same establishment?

How do you both like to relax after a long day? Are either of you still bogged down with at-home errands or responsibilities that you have to be pulled away from, just to enjoy some downtime together?

What are the sleeping arrangements like if sharing a bed? Who's the big or little spoon? Who runs hot or cold? Is there even any room for you both to sleep in between an excess of pillows or plushies?

What are some of your daily routines? ex. Getting ready for bed, waking up on weekdays VS weekends, preparing for work VS preparing for an outing together?

Do you have any significant interactions with each other's friends or family? What are their opinions on your relationship?

📋

What are some of the basic highlights of either of your favorite things? ex. Foods, colors, seasons, animals, pieces of media, etc.? Are any of your favorites your f/o's least favorites, or vice versa?

What kinds of hobbies or talents do you each have? Do you engage in activities together that connect any of them, or do you have difficulties finding common ground with each other?

Do the both of your personalities overlap fairly closely, or do you operate on completely opposite temperaments?

How do you or your f/o make each other smile? Laugh? Is it out of genuine funniness, or more out of a polite obligation?

What are some points of contention between the two of you? Are they as simple as habits you find annoying, or are they more substantial such as idealogical differences?

What are some other general differences between you and your f/o physically? Age? Size/height? Aesthetics?

Which of you has a sense of rhythm and which is left floundering if asked to dance? Who can hold a note and who's more prone to breaking glass with their lack (or excess) of pitch?

Are either of you klutzy and accident-prone? Does the other act as a steadying force, or are they just as much of a walking disaster?

🌹

What terms of endearment do you and your f/o use for each other? Are there any particular nick/petnames that get used depending on specific contexts?

Are either of you partial to grand gestures of affection (gifts, PDA, love letters etc.), or is it preferred that you both keep things more low-key?

Who's the shier one between you and your f/o? The more flirtatious? Who's more prone to flustering the other, and through that means? Is it intentional or done completely by accident?

What are your favorite physical features and/or personality quirks belonging to each other? Do either of you have any particular ways of showing appreciation for them?

What sorts of dates do you like to go on together? Are they sweet and chaste, or do they have a tendency of devolving into mischief?

What outfits do you or your f/o break out for special occasions? Are either of you always dressed to the nines, or are there particular ensembles that either of you save to really make an impression?

What circumstances are cause for celebration between you and your f/o? ex. Birthdates, anniversaries, holidays, accomplishments etc.? How do you like to celebrate these occasions?

Do you and your f/o enjoy kissing? What circumstances do you most often share a kiss? What spots do either of you like to kiss the most? If kisses are a no, how else do you two show affection?

❤️‍🔥

What kind of dynamics do you engage in when it comes to intimacy? How important is it to your relationship? Is it intense, or kept lighthearted and fun?

Who's the most likely to initiate intimacy between you and your f/o? In what ways do either of you go about suggesting it? How often do you find yourselves partaking in each other?

In what ways do either of you set the mood? Is it usually a big to-do with meticulous ambiance, or is it more than often a spur of the moment coupling wherever it occurs?

What are some quirks you each have when getting intimate? ex. Who's the louder of the two? The less experienced? The more upfront about what they want? The more expressive with their face/body?

How sensitive is your f/o, and how do they react to being treated in certain ways? What things are the most susceptible to riling them up, be it physical or mental?

Do you or your f/o have favorite positions, acts, or items of play to fall back on? Are either of you particularly adventurous, or are you fairly certain of your preferences?

What's the mood like after everything is said and done? Any special routines to calm down with? Are either of you prone to cuddling or do you find that you need space after?

💍

What opinions do you and your f/o have towards the idea of marriage? Is it something you're actively gunning for, or are you ambivalent/disinterested? Are you already married?

Who is the one to propose, and what are the circumstances in which it occurs? Is it readily accepted, or declined?

In the event of choosing to marry, what is the reasoning? Genuine love? Obligation? Political or financial gain? Just looking for a break on taxes?

If a wedding is involved, how small or grand of an affair is it? Was everything to your liking or did things go awry during the process? What sort of honeymoon followed?

If you and your f/o prefer not to get married, is it more out of an interest in maintaining a long partnership without the whole rigamarole of marriage, or is there an ulterior motive at play?

Do you and your f/o start a family together, married or not? Does it consist of children either of you had prior, or children borne of your relationship? Do you forgo children for a gaggle of pets instead?

Once you've married, does the union stay strong or does it ultimately end in divorce? If you do end up divorcing, is it a permanent end to the relationship or the start to the on-and-off mess of a lifetime?

⛓️‍💥

Are you and your f/o subject to difficulties in your relationship? Does this angst take the form of interpersonal problems, or bigger circumstances happening around the two of you?

Do you or your f/o suffer some form of bodily harm? Be it from engaging in battle, ending up in an accident, maybe dealing with chronic pain? Is the other good at nursing the injured party?

What are some mental trials that plague you or your f/o? How are either of you able to help the other overcome, or at least cope with these sorts of issues?

If the issues surrounding you are more down to earth, what sorts of problems are you dealing with? Jealousy? Bad communication? Deception?

Between you and your f/o, who's usually the rescuer and the one in need of rescuing? Is it interchangable? Is the rescuer successful in saving the one who needs their help?

If your f/o suffers a terrible fate in their source, did you nyx the angst altogether to give them a happy story? Does your f/o come from an otherwise normal story and you chose to pile on the angst voluntarily?

How are you and your f/o ultimately able to rise above the problems happening within or around your relationship, if at all? Is there a good ending in store for you both, or are you doomed by the narrative?

[jealousmartini]

STUFF I CANT WAIT FOR IN MY MHA DR .𖥔˚🎀

   ── .✦  ┆  𖤐  ┆  ␥ 

⤷ a bit of FYI

Because I am shifting to my dr during the end of the 2nd school year, I will have already found vigilante Deku with the rest of class 1A, won the war arc against my own personal nemesis, and had my awesome quirk awakening. It's also 5 days before Bakugo's birthday in my dr AND it's the weekend (Friday) so I dont have to worry about patrolling or homework when i literally just got there! So it's free time!

«───────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ────────»

... Super stoked for!

ᨳ⊹ ˖ ࣪| Seeing my entire appearance!

Not even gonna lie to yall.. I am SO stupidly fine in all of my mha drs actually. But specifically talking about my main mha dr, I literally am so gorgeous. My body is so undoubtedly bomb, my face card is fire, my hair so tea.. no wonder so many people are down bad for me. I know for sure the first thing I'll do when I shift is stare at my reflection, tracing my curves and all.

ᨳ⊹ ˖ ࣪| Wearing my hero costume, using my quirks and my gadgets

My hero costume is so iconic. It's like a mecha space suit centered around a cunty corset with big ass chunky boots like uraraka, a pair of bug eye looking goggles and a mecha headset with antenna. The space theme is fitting for my for my quirk, and my Twilight sparkle ahh hair.

My magnetism quirk is so much fun dude. I can make anything attract, retract or rotate to or from me, and manipulate it to mimic telekinesis. Uraraka wannabe yeah yeah I know but it's unique enough for it to be it's own thing. Using it creatively is gonna be a blast too!

In my dr, I am a pro at creating gadgets, weapons, and upgrading preexisting gear. I work in both the hero and the support course so my class mates get the best of both worlds cus they've got a mini Tony stark in their class. I even got the spare keys to the utility support room.

ᨳ⊹ ˖ ࣪| Hanging out in my dorm room, the dormitory and my best friends rooms

I made slight tweaks to the design of the dormitory, the rooms are a bit bigger and it isn't just green and yellow ew. Also the class rooms in the UA building have big ass windows to the left, the tables can fit 2-3 students and the rooms aren't a cold blue hue anymore.

My room is perfectly customised to my personality, my likes, my needs and all that stuff. I've got my entire pinterest closet in my wardrobe, my makeup, my trinkets and my gadgets on my tables and shelves. The walls are decorated in anime, game and movie posters, drawings and sketches of my gadget plans and polaroid pictures of my family, friends and classmates. My room has a colour pallet of pinks, burgundys and cream with dimly lit off white and orange accent lights. It's very homly, very comforting.

I also have a mini fridge, a ceiling fan and a two screen computer in my room. Each floor has bathrooms and shower rooms of their own. I'm on the same level as Momo, Ochaco, Kirishima and Katsuki. My most visited rooms are Uraraka's, Mina's Katsuki's, Deku's and Kirishima's. I like to welcome myself and relax on their beds. Sometimes I bicker, most times I gossip with them and actually more than most times, they visit me more than I do them. I can't wait to casually hang out with them, go out to eat, go on trips with them, especially since I'm part of "Baku squad"

And btw he dormitory has robot maids and floor cleaners that do most of the cleaning around the building, including the washing in the kitchen.

ᨳ⊹ ˖ ࣪| The FOOOOOOD

See we've got some bomb ass cooks in our class already, me being one of them ironically enough. But we are actually allowed to order takeaway to the dorms. The house rules are that you shouldn't order food past curfew but most of the time, Aizawa doesn't notice so I do it anyway.

There is also a shopping center close to campus and some convenience stores with my fave foods and stuff I've always wanted to try like tteokbokki, pho, seafood boil, ramen stew all that good stuff🫠🫠

ᨳ⊹ ˖ ࣪| Seeing my crushes: Katsuki, Uraraka, Sero and Kirishima

Lord. I can't even say too much because I love these idiots so much UGHHHHH. I've got casual crushes of Uraraka, Sero and Kirishima but good GOD I am down bad for Katsuki.

I've scripted that me and Spikes end up together in the middle of the 3rd year but it's initiated by... ME. Yeah that's right bitch I scripted I grew a pair of balls and asked him out😝. I know it's pretty basic for an mha shifter to have cactsuki as their s/o but yall don't get him the way I do and I seriously don't care. I stood on business and pulled that bitch like my quirk was on. Period

I will admit tho Katsuki intimidates so bad but like in a good way. I love an intimidating, scary but funny, brash, stern babe. Like come here and kiss me but also don't cus ill run away.

ᨳ⊹ ˖ ࣪| THE FAN EDITS, FICTION, GIFTS AND ART

Yall already know as shifters how exciting fan stuff are. Not a day goes by when Im not daydraming about the edits especially. I can't wait to see what my fans are up to, react to their edits, fanfiction, gifts and art on live stream. I scripted my fans are super creative and most of them ship me with people I actually like🤭🤭

ᨳ⊹ ˖ ࣪| Going patrolling with my bbygirls

I'm so excited to use my quirk in action especially when I've already had my quirk awakening. I scripted I can formulate and act out plans perfectly and quickly. I also scripted most patrols are fun, relaxing, exciting or interesting. I'm always learning something new, meeting new people, going new places and growing bonds with my team mates.

ᨳ⊹ ˖ ࣪| Streaming and being featured on popular streams

One of my hobbies is streaming/vlogging/blogging. I have been recording my experiences as a student in UA and a hero since the beginning and I've got a big following that catch up with me every now and then. I use two different cameras; a high quality one and an early 2000s digital hand cam to make it look like I'm in 2006. I do a lot of eat with mes, I gossip, I do study with mes I draw and anime a lot and I also do gaming as well because I am the biggest game geek.

I'm also pretty siked to appear on popular Streamer lives like kai cenat and Speed. The interviewers are going to be so entertaining since I'm just a British girl talking about my experiences as a British student in Japan and the amount of culture shocks ive gotten.

ᨳ⊹ ˖ ࣪| Seeing me in Horikoshi's art

Fun thing I scripted. Horikoshi made a manga of class 1A which is literally MHA but I'm in it this time. Idk how this is going to work but I thought this would be sick.

Speaking of art I am an artist in my dr too. I've got stacks apon stacks of notebooks filled with me and my friends, even my hw has little doodles in the corner. I'm very excited to draw my friends, myself, my favourite medias in my many art styles onto tiktok and tumblr and they actually get views😩.

ᨳ⊹ ˖ ࣪| Exploring Japan

And lastly exploring Japan has been one of my biggest dreams since forever. To explore the country with my favourite friends or just by myself in the day or night is a dream come true. The peaceful nature of it all motivates me to go walking every now and then. It is such a beautiful place.

[sarahelizasims]

Clean lines, warm woods, and moody accents come together in this striking row of three contemporary townhouses. With a cohesive façade that balances symmetry and individuality, each unit offers an open-concept layout, oversized windows, and a calming neutral palette inside.

Think sun-drenched living spaces, sleek kitchens, and tranquil bedrooms, all wrapped in a design that feels equal parts sophisticated and soulful. Private courtyards add a touch of nature, making these homes the perfect blend of city edge and serene escape—tailored for Sims with taste.

40 x 30

Residential Rental Lot

Requirements:

Turn bb.moveobjects on before placing.  *optional* TwistedMexi has a script mod that does it for you automatically, so there is no reason to always have to type it in.

T.O.O.L by TwistedMexi.

Required CC - Please refer to the included PDF document for downloading items that were not included in the zip file, as some are still in early access.

The lush red hydrangeas are a recolor; download the mesh here.

FYI - For some reason, the stairs by the false bakery shop disappear whenever I mess around with the area, like changing wallpaper or adding walls. It is a weird glitch. Whenever it gets removed, just add it back again.

My game is DirectX11, so you may need to update your images to DX11 in the Sims 4 Studio.

And of course, if anything isn't right and you need help with something, please do not hesitate to message me! Feel free to comment, send a message to me on Tumblr, or utilize my community chat! I would like to use it more. ♡

Terms of Use:

Do not re-upload my lots and claim them as your own.

You're welcome to edit or modify my builds, but please remember to credit me as the original creator!

Do not put my builds behind a paywall.

I've included some of my recolors, please refer to those posts for their TOU.

Thank you to all CC Creators.

Please let me know if there's any problem with the build. Tag @sarahelizasims so I can see your gameplay and any personal touches you've made!

📥DOWNLOAD (Google Drive)