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erwindotrecs · 5 days ago

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between us ໒꒱ིྀ ˚. ᵎᵎ ᢉ𐭩

caleb x fem!reader x xavier

summary: the three of you, best friends, are at your place for a bit. as the edibles you took kick in, playful conversation turns into playful banter, which turns into a common ground realization. one that sets the tone for the rest of the night.

contents: nsfw, smut! lots of kissing, threesome. xav x reader, caleb x reader, xav x caleb. thigh riding. handjob, oral m!receiving. slight dom x dom x sub! tone. caleb fucks xavier. multiple orgasms. creampie. some fluff. implied romantic tension between reader and caleb but xav also likes reader.

words: 6.2k

pic creds: getoswifeyyy on pinterest!!

— ʚɞ

It was a warm friday night in Linkon. The breeze was a perfect contrast to the mid-summer air. It was like any other friday, where you usually ended up doing everything and nothing with your two best friends, Xavier and Caleb.

This particular Friday was calmer than most. The three of you laid on your bed after a day out. You’d each popped a badly-made, oily weed gummy. “Supposed to be strong.” Caleb mentioned after he got it a few days ago.

You lay with your face to the ceiling, your head resting on Xaviers stomach while your legs draped over Calebs thighs. Unconventional, but comfortable.

The light was warm-toned and dim, the atmosphere was quiet. There was something in the air, in the silence that Xavier now broke.

“Who were your first kisses?” He asked. Silence. You smiled.

“Her,” Caleb answered, after a second, turning his head to gesture.

“Really?” Xavier said, looking down at you.

You smiled to yourself, “Yeah. Before he went off to the aerospace academy.”

The memory was sweet, but mostly an inside joke with Caleb. You were friends that way.

“He was complaining over all his friends having their first kisses so I…kissed him.”

“I didn’t complain,” Caleb replied sheepishly, relaying it back to himself, “But y’know, it wasn’t awkward. It was kind of good.” He chuckled.

“That’s because I had experience in that field already.” You smiled wider, a playful confidence to your voice, turning your head back toward Xavier.

Xavier held his hands out flat to the air, “You’re saying Caleb here, THE Caleb Xia wasn’t kissed until the end of school? He wasn’t getting babes his whole life?”

Xavier was using the word ‘babe’ ironically (now), after a conversation you three had yesterday about pet names to call women.

While you laughed, you heard Caleb let out a breath of mock-hurt, air passing through his lips, blowing the hair that rested on his forehead. You fought the full-set grin that threatened to spread up your face.

“He was not getting babes his whole life. Are you calling me a babe?”

“Sure,” Xavier shrugged from where he was. You blew your hair out of your face.

“What about you, Xavie? Your first kiss?”

Xavier looked upward, “Do we get a first kiss for guys and girls, or is it just one?”

“Mmm—it’s whoever came first out of everyone,” you replied. “Ooh my girl first kiss…that was with Simone” You gasped, recalling when it happened.

Caleb, remembering the girl, laughed too. “Hellspawn.”

“So bad. Probably because she wasn’t out yet,” you theorized. “Does it count as a first kiss if it’s another gender?”

“Hell yeah,” Caleb replied as if it was common sense. Probably should’ve been. “I think there should be one for both, but a technical first.”

Xavier nodded in agreement slowly, eyes trained on the wood-panelled wall, lips pressed together in thought.

“Xaviers realizing I was his first.” Caleb noted.

“Once.” Xavier rebutted, not truly all into discussing this matter. It wasn’t like it was bad or anything, just fresh. And in front of you…

“Are you saying it meant nothing?” Caleb pretended to be offended, hitting himself in the chest and going limp. It seemed to break Xavier out of that protective little shell when you laughed at it.

Xavier reached over and grabbed Calebs arm in return, leaning into the bit. “It was everything to me. Come home, the kids miss you.”

“Oh, Xavier…” Caleb pretended to swoon. You couldn’t breathe, you were laughing so hard. Your loss of breath worsened when the two continued the bit, both moving in for a kiss, but swerving last second. Soon all three of you were laughing pretty hard. Now that you thought about it, the edibles you three took earlier were probably kicking in. That explained the mad giggling.

Xavier tried to speak through his dying laugh, “My first kiss—was the summer before grade 10. She thought kissing was only tongue.”

“Yeah, I remember you saying that,” Caleb responded. “Reminds me of—”

“Gideon and Tara” Xavier finished with a knowing clap. The boys had a longtime joke about the couple most known at their gaming club for the most revolting PDA, you’d frankly heard more than enough. The mutual giggle filled the room again. Your body was starting to feel a bit airy.

You tried to breathe through it, “Oh that’s not fun,” your nose crinkled as you moved to lay between the men, your hand resting on Xaviers chest for a moment before you sat up, just a little bit suddenly. Both boys sat up just because you did.

“What about virginities?” You grinned.

“Oh fuck,” Caleb deadpanned. “Yikes Pips. You go first this time.” His smile couldn’t stay at bay, his dimples creeping up on him.

You chuckled, thinking about it. “God, it was terrible, I broke up with him a few weeks after, before he tried it again. It was…one of my biggest regrets honestly.”

“That guy was a douche anyways.” Xavier snorted. “Not like I have a say, though. I lost mine to Amber.”

“No fucking way, which one?” Caleb actually sat up. “I lost mine to Amber B.”

“I don’t know, blonde, kind of nice,” your eyes flickered between Caleb and Xavier.

“Had this birthmark on her-“

“Hip? Yeah, that’s her.”

Silence for a second. “You lost your virginities to the same girl and didn’t talk about it?” You asked, stifling a laugh. “Holy fuck.” There was a burning in the pit of your stomach. Odd. New. Familiar?

“When?” Caleb asked.

“Around the same time our girl did.” Xavier said nodding his head to you. “We weren’t dating or anything either.” He added.

“Wow,” Caleb laughed, putting his hands against his face. “That would be the same time Amber did me.” The same burning, stronger. Xavier sat up, so you took the cue to sit up as well. You sat cross-legged, taking in this information.

“We fucked the same girl. How did we not talk about it?”

“I shut it out, honestly. I told you about the second girl, though.”

You tried to stop yourself from laughing. “I’ve never known you two to have the same taste.” You felt Calebs hand loosely fall on your thigh. Casual. Like it was said before, there was something in the air that night. Calebs hand should not have made you feel the way you were beginning to feel.

“That’s so crazy. I mean, the club is small but not that small. She was visiting for a tournament?”

“Co-op games,” Caleb said. “Same girl same time period. Do you think it could have been the same day?”

“Definitely not, definitely not,” Xavier replied. “Would be funny if we fucked the same girl on the same day though.”

You looked at Calebs hand for a second, then at Xavier to see that he was looking at the same thing. Calebs hand on your thigh. Calebs fingertips pressed lightly into the pillow of your skin—just a little, and you watched Xaviers lips part. It was almost in reaction…your body rose higher.

It fell silent. All you could hear were the sounds of the city outside. And in another beat, the air was hotter than it had been before.

You made eye contact with Caleb for a moment. Being friends for so long, there were boundaries, ones you knew. But tonight was different in an unspoken way. And he looked at your lips, eyelashes perfect as his eyes settled on your mouth. He looked soft, sweet. You were all sitting so close, it was made easy. Or it was made hard to ignore.

Xavier had his eyes on Caleb, but he slowly moved his head first, then his gaze onto you, before smirking a little bit knowingly. He glanced back at Caleb, who was still very focused on you. The closeness. It dawned on them too. The slow hush of the edible was kicking in.

You moved a little closer, unnoticeable to Xaviers eyes looking at Caleb, “Hey Xavie,” you said, voice quiet. And the moment—the second—he turned his head toward you, you grabbed the back of his head and you kissed him.

His lips were plump. It took him only a moment to realize what was happening and kiss you back. Oh, he was good. Your hands travelled his neck, coming down to hold his jaw. His hands found your chest, your waist, strong, pulling you close to him.

Your other hand snuck down his chest, finding Calebs hand with ease, his fingertips digging deeper as he watched. Your fingers interlocked, then unlocked, your gentle pull luring him closer as your lips continued to lock with Xaviers. It slowed naturally, your lower lip released from his teeth as you pulled away. It was only seconds before your lips met Calebs.

His lips were always soft. He was minty, and his lips seemed to melt against yours. It was the easiest thing, but you felt it in your fingertips? You’d kissed Caleb a few times since your first kiss. Spin the bottle, drunk, truth or dare, whenever you were bored—however, this kiss was different.

“Fuck,” you heard Xavier whisper from beside you. You smiled into the kiss with Caleb, mouths in sync, his hands gently cupping your face while your hands knotted in his t-shirt. Xavier was good, Caleb was better. Funny, you were just kissing all your best friends today.

And your best friends were doing the same.

Caleb pulled away this time, both boys not wasting a single second. Kissing, touching, pulling hair, clothes. You pushed your hair over your shoulders, watching them. So this is what’s happening now.

Caleb looked to you, your hand still holding a fistful of your own hair upon your head. Xavier looked a little dazed, kissing two people in the span of 80 seconds.

“What are we doing?” He asked, looking between you and Caleb, expression soft. A little doe-eyed.

“Not sure.” Caleb breathed, a smirk at play on his upper lip, tugging, twitching. You could see in his eyes he seemed to know what was about to happen. Xavier looked at you, almost embarrassed, peeking through his eyelashes.

You let your hair fall as you said your words. “Fucking the same girl. On the same day.”

You watched both Xavier and Caleb react to your words as if they were physical. Caleb slumped down a little bit, smiling a small smile, and Xavier looked like if he didn’t hear those words in time, he might’ve ceased to exist, breathing out like he was saved by the bell. Your heart was beating out of your chest, determined. On fire.

Both reactions were positive and so with force, you kissed Caleb again, harder, hard enough to push him onto his back again, letting yourself fall over him. His hands snaked around your waist and pulled your lower half against him, while your bent knees allowed for you to push against him where he wanted. He was already hard.

You pressed against him again, giggling as he groaned lightly into your mouth. It was satisfying, the sound of his approval, the feel of it underneath you. Hot, heavy, tongues allowing light dips, your head curling to tip his back.

He made a noise like a hum, breaking the kiss to breathe hard. You giggled again, trailing your hand down his chest as Xavier pulled you toward him. You happily followed his direction, kissing him again. Soft, yet starved. You rolled onto your side, kissing him as he kissed your mouth, then your jaw, then your neck…trailing…

His gentle hand cupped your left breast, then softly traced down your chest, your stomach. Xavier was a boob guy, this was a known fact because of the many unserious debates you all had. He pulled your shirt up over your head and tossed it across the room, you swore your heart accelerated tenfold. The sound of the fabric hitting the wall sent chills down your spine.

With a grin, Caleb filled the empty time by tilting Xaviers head up, kissing him over your nearly-bare upper body.

You couldn’t believe this was happening, maybe it was the weed. This was kind of fun. But then again, you’d always had sexual tension, so it wasn’t any surprise that it was fun. Anyone who knew the three of you knew it was only a matter of time before one of you fucked the other. It just happened to be now. Together.

Caleb fingers found the hem of Xaviers shirt and pulled it up, off. God, he was gorgeous, smooth, insane muscle definition. You tilted your head just slightly, watching as the boys kissed, tongues visible as they tried each other’s mouths. Xavier was so pretty like this…you knew exactly where this was going.

Caleb had Xavier by the back of his neck, holding him in a kiss that made you bite your lip. You had really hot best friends, there wasn’t any other way to put it. And lucky you, Xavier pulled away to put his focus back on your chest. He kissed your collarbone, his hand grazing over your chest with gentle fingers. You inhaled sharply, reacting, taking each movement in with your own motion. It was easy to melt into, but you were met with Calebs lips, hungry. He kept you busy while Xavier kissed down onto your breasts, nipping a little to make you hum. This was happening.

It was silent, aside from small breaths and the moving of the comforter beneath you all. You lightly pulled Calebs hair and in return, his lips also strayed from your mouth, leaving along with his body, leaving that gap. Unwanted. Unneeded. You grabbed him by his belt before he could go any further and while Xavier kissed down to your stomach, you began to undo Calebs buckle.

Belt open, you undid his zipper with a blind eye as you pulled Xavier up to your mouth by his hair. He moaned into your mouth as you pulled him over you, using both your hands to undo the loop of his jeans. Goosebumps spread your body at the sound. It was somewhere between a whine and a soft moan. He sounded so pretty, too pretty. His body pressed against yours, propped up on his arms.

You could feel his bicep flex as your hands travelled his body. The sounds he made when your leg wrapped around him played over and over in your head as Caleb pulled Xavier back to him. And you let the boys kiss again, both of them discarding their pants, leaving you the most dressed in the room. You couldn’t help but laugh to yourself.

They kissed until Caleb pushed Xavier onto his back. You didn’t think Xavier was all that into guys, but it was Caleb, so…

You took the time to take off your shorts, now equal to everyone else in a sense. Your whole body was hot, despite you complaining about the temperature and cold breeze through the open window not even thirty minutes ago. You couldn’t help but giggle softly.

Caleb then made the next move, and firmly cupped Xaviers dick through his boxers. Casual, almost, but Xavier squeaked and fuck, that was enough to set both you and Caleb off. You slid your hand down overtop the material of your underwear, pressing lightly just to tide yourself over as the two of them went into a new, more clothing-less state of being.

Caleb already had Xaviers dick in his hand, stroking up and down while he had his other hand on his own doing almost the same. You saw the opportunity. Xavier on his back, Caleb on his side you leaned over and looked Caleb in the eyes.

“I’ve got this part.” You told him. There was fire in the way he looked at you. Pleased, almost, by the collaboration and he took his hand off of his own erection, entrusting you to the activity.

Xavier couldn’t help the noise he made watching you go down on Caleb. The second you swirled your tongue around, both sounds from Caleb and Xavier intensified. You liked that chain reaction. All these things you thought you’d never witness…not at the same time.

Truthfully you knew Caleb was obsessed with you to a degree but you both never went any father than a heated makeout session before.

Your head bobbed and he groaned loudly while Xavier moaned. A chain reaction, as every time you did something to Caleb a certain way, he’d react by gripping or jerking Xavier off tighter, harder. It was really only a matter of time before Xavier finished, Caleb following suit just a moment or two later. Both of them were breathing hard as you wiped your mouth, slyly sucking your fingers.

“Fuck,” Xavier groaned, propped up on his forearms, his head tilted downwards, his hair in his face. He was so gorgeous like this. Calebs hand rested on your thigh as they both tried to recover. This was mostly your doing, and you loved it.

Calebs hand left your thigh just a moment later. He leaned over the bed to rustle with a bag of his.

You moved closer to Xavier, “You okay, Xavie?” He was still regaining his breath.

He nodded slightly, pushing his hair out of his face to look at you with those eyes that looked a mixture of pleading and devilish wanting. He moved against the wall, just for better support. Caleb continued digging through his bag, taking his time—so you swung your leg over Xaviers waist.

Your clothed cunt hit pressed against his now-sensitive tip and he took a sharp inhale. Like instinct, his hands found their spot around your waist. He looked up at you, half-confused, half lustful.

“We’re going to fuck,�� Xavier concluded, like the sentence was a foot on his chest. “The three of us.”

His hands gently pulled you down against him again. The fabric between made for friction and he tried his best to appear unaffected. You nodded.

“Mhm.”

“Can you treat me like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re going to fuck me.” He said, swallowing hard, eyes looking away like it’s almost something he’s too shy to say. That shift in both you and Caleb settled into a click. He looked over.

“I want you to talk to me like that, and act—” He doesn’t let himself say much more. You can feel his pulse hammering.

“I can do that.” You nodded again, slowly moving your hips back and forth.

His fingertips dug into the flesh of your waist. You want to do that. What he says is cryptic, but his eyes made it clear as day, he wants to be talked to, wants to be given everything you would give to another prospective partner. He wants to have it all done to him. Caleb read the room like it’s a picture book.

“You don’t look so good,” you grinned, moving from grinding on his dick to sitting on his thigh.

“What do you think, Caleb?” You asked, looking over at Caleb over your shoulder.

“Far gone.” Caleb said, moving over, closer. “All you.”

“I was about to.” You grinned, turning back to Xavier. And you let it come naturally

“Pretty boy. Already gone?” You wrapped your hand around his dick, gently, but firmly.

Xavier says your name, tilting his head up to look at you where you were perched with his leg between yours. “Please.”

“Mmmm, no.” You replied, slowly moving your hand up and down his length. You felt your hair move over, away from your neck, Calebs gentle, bare fingers making way, lips meeting your neck and shoulder. Gentle kisses, but the teeth following were what made it so electrifying. It sent shivers down your body.

Your hand moved up and down, faster as you pushed against his thigh with your clothed core. Calebs hands travelled down your shoulder, onto your back to the clasp of your bra.

Xavier groaned, “Please.” He said again. And you let him go, but that’s not what he wanted. Calebs hands that replaced your bra were too much. Squeezing as you ground down on Xaviers thigh. You moaned quietly as Xavier whined at loss of contact.

Caleb leaned over your shoulder again, “He’s getting kind of desperate.”

“So desperate,” you echoed.

The edible was making your head spin. You craved the friction as it slowed. Xavier looked at you with eyes that wanted you. And it only made sense after this long that you moved over him again.

“You want me, Xavie?”

“So badly,” he replied, gazing up at you like you were a star.

“How long have you wanted me?” You asked, removing your underwear.

“A while now.” He replied, a little too quickly. You watched him, eyes unsure of what to look at, overwhelmed.

“Fuck, just please-” And before he could finish speaking, you sank down onto him. He let out a moan that sent chills down your skin.

“Wow,” said Caleb. You smiled, slowly raising yourself up and down on Xaviers dick. Rising, sinking. Oh my god, he felt good. Thick, but not too much, filling you perfectly. Xavier grabbed the back of your thighs, holding on for what seemed to be dear life. You hummed a moan.

“Waiting for this one, hm? Get in line.” Caleb spoke.

“Fuck you,” Xavier said through his teeth, peering over at Caleb who was now stroking himself as he watched. You picked up pace and Xavier shut his eyes tight.

You shook your head, “What did you say? Sorry I can’t hear you through all the… moaning you’re doing.” You stifled your own sounds just to taunt him, giggling .

“Fuck you too,” Xavier said, trying to hide his slight smile.

“Other way around,” you said, bouncing harder, faster. Xavier was pink in the nose and cheeks, flushed and blushing, his hair falling in his face. That smile fell, lips parting.

“Jeez—fuck,” you heard Caleb beside you. Good to know the content wasn’t boring.

“Poor Xav,” You said, breathing out through pursed lips to keep control of yourself. “Seems like we’re ganging up against you, hm?” You kissed his partially open mouth. He whined. “So sorry.” You added.

Caleb groaned loudly. You had to finish Xavier off before Caleb finished himself off. You sped up, bouncing faster. Pushing yourself against Xavier as he managed to kiss your bare chest. It faltered your bouncing as you bit your lip to stay quieter. You needed to keep going, you pushed yourself entirely onto Xavier as you bounced, taking him in full every time. He was just slightly oversized for you, making it easy to feel good on him.

He pushed through you every time, fingers grasping at you, breathing hard, moaning and whining and squeezing what he could. His eyes shut tight some moments, gazing over your face. His eyes flickered over your entire body the next, eyes trailing over where you were connecting, watching your hip muscles grind as you went. His hand found the place between your stomach and thigh, slipping between, feeling it open and close as you moved against him. On him.

And you felt him spill into you. No warning, no anything. But that’s what happened when you fucked someone so senseless.

“God-you-“ he huffed- “That was-” You pushed yourself up and down him a few more times before getting off of him entirely. And he grabbed at your waist, but you pressed your finger to his lips.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes. Yes. You’re so-” he breathed, unable to find the words, to catch his breath. His dick was pink, hard, wet, and slowly getting less hard as he came down. “Perfect. That was perfect.”

You planted a kiss on his open mouth, then once more when he was ready. And he gestured toward Caleb, “Think he needs you.” He grinned. You turned, smiling playfully.

“Need some help?” You asked breathlessly, to a breathless Caleb.

“Please,” he said, smug, gesturing to his dick like a seat. Asshole. He kissed you first, before guiding your body down onto him.

“Fuck, you’re perfect.” He groaned. You grinned, pulling his bottom lip with your teeth.

He was slightly bigger than Xavier in girth, taking you longer to adjust to than before. You couldn’t take all of it at first, keeping slow, drawn out. Xaviers hand gently traced your upper thigh, where the muscle was tensing in order to raise yourself up and down on Caleb. You were aware of his eyes, settled kindly on you both.

Calebs hand cupped your breast, squeezing gently as you pushed yourself up and down on him. It helped you sink down on him further. You moaned into his mouth and he seemed to like that, repeating that motion every other time you went up and down on him. A few seconds passed before without warning, Caleb pushed himself upward and you back, so that you landed flat on your back on the bed and he was over you.

“You’re sure it’s okay that we don’t have protection?” Caleb asked. He was the most sensible one here, you and Xavier were already somewhat lost to the craze and heat.

“I’m sure. Xavier already finished in me,” you replied, humming as Caleb slowly pushed back into you. “You can too if you want, I don’t mind.” You joked. He smiled.

You looked over at Xavier, still against the wall. He was deflated now, but he looked well-over fucked out. Too bad it wasn’t over.

“You okay, Xav?” Caleb asked, slowly moving in and out of you at the same time.

“Mmm yeah, m’fine,” he replied. “I’m gonna get water, I’m high and my throat is-”

“You’re not staying?” Caleb replied, casual as ever. “Sure you don’t mind us in here?”

“No, no, go ahead. Fuck. I don’t wanna get hard again yet,” Xavier chuckled quietly as he left your room for a brief bit. He was genuine. He meant it.

“Might need you back,” Caleb said.

“I’ll come back,” Xavier replied, smiling, spinning, and walking out the door. He was totally gone. You laughed a little, but it turned into a moan as Caleb suddenly started thrusting into you, hard. Your hands found themselves around him, your eyes shut tight. The impact of skin on skin was suddenly very loud.

His nose pressed to yours, "You're the only one who hasn't finished tonight," he said, gruff, low.

You couldn't find the words to agree, you just tried to nod as the pleasure built somewhere inside of you, picking up almost from where Xavier had left you. An advance.

“I’ve been waiting for this…for so long, Pips.” Caleb continued, breathing shallowly. “Took us long enough.”

“Mm—my thoughts exactly,” you said, breathing out hard, then smiling. “You’re so patient.”

“We both are.” He replied, moving a little faster, “I think about you too much when we’re apart.”

You feel your heart skip a beat, partially because of the sweet revelation but also because he’s fucking you so good. “I—Caleb!” You couldn’t finish your own sentence. Caleb was good. “It’s always been us.” You kept joking. The sweet banter as he fucked you was well-needed and gave you a fuzzy feeling inside. Your pleasure climbed, you were almost there and Caleb started slowing. Xavier came back.

“No, Caleb, don’t stop—“ you said. But he just kept getting slower. You tried to move your hips but the high was gone, unchaseable. You felt it pulse strong, then less, then less.

“Fuck, you guys…” you groaned. “Come on.”

“Main event,” Caleb said. Xavier looked at you for a moment, eyes still lustful and hungry.

“Xav, come help me out.” Caleb ordered.

He pulled Xavier in by his arm, kissing him roughly, hungrily. You stared at the ceiling, your hand migrating to help yourself but Caleb caught it before you could do anything.

“Hey-” he said, clicking his tongue. He looked back to Xavier.

“You wanna come back into this? I don’t think we’re done with you,” he said. And your dominant side slowly returned. Suddenly you didn’t care about your orgasm anymore. Who knew playing with your best friends was so fulfilling?

Xavier shut his eyes and you watched his dick rise back to action, pressing at his boxers.

“Really, I don’t know if I can-“

“Please?” You asked him, getting a little closer. “But tell us no and we’ll stop right here.”

“I-I want to, I want-but I don’t know if I can handle it,” he swallowed hard.

You got up onto your knees, understanding Calebs plan slowly through the look he gave you. You got closer to Xavier and his eyelids lowered as you held his face. You kissed him gently, slowly, softly, and leaned him forward until he was over you. He’d already finished twice, you were asking for a third.

Pulling away you murmured, “Make me feel good. I haven’t finished once tonight I want you to be the one to make me.”

He looked high and drunk. “I will—fuck..yes…”

Xavier guided himself to your entrance and slowly pushed in. “You fill me so nicely, Xavie.” He tantalizingly thrusted in and out. You moaned softly, fist tight around the hair at the back of his head. You knew things were about to get a lot crazier, like it hung in the air.

Caleb knew what he was doing.

“Xav,” he said, positioning himself behind Xavier as he fucked into you softly. Xavier ‘mmm’ed a response and you could feel Calebs smirk as if it was a tangible presence.

“Can I fuck you?”

Xavier stopped for a second. “Me?” He almost sounded embarrassed, as if he hadn’t been jerked off twice by both you and Caleb and fucked by you in front of Caleb in the past hour.

“It’ll take a second to get used to, but it’s nothing new to the world, I promise. I just put a condom on, extra lube.”

“New to me,” Xavier grumbled, slightly humiliated. You felt his dick pulse and twitch while he thought it over.

You whispered, “You don’t have to. It’s a lot. Whatever makes you feel comfy.”

He looked over your face. You kissed his jaw once, gently. Xavier inhaled sharply, admitting. “Yes. Yeah. Okay.” He took another deep breath, slower this time. “We can try.”

Caleb clicked his tongue. “Alright then.”

Bodies mingle above you, Calebs hands finding a place on Xaviers sides. You knew exactly when Caleb was in by the way Xaviers muscles tightened. Xavier let out a very pained and pleasured moan, head falling against your chest.

And it wasn’t Xavier that thrusted into you, it was Caleb thrusting into Xavier that started turning you to mush. Xavier was shaking, pink as ever and some movement was his own, but the rest was Caleb. Xavier was weak. You moaned loudly, gripping his hair with one hand and the bedsheets with the other. It mingled with his, choked out and broken noises.

“Fuck—It’s okay, Xavie?” you sighed, chest heaving.

“I—“ he broke, eyes shut, eyelashes fluttering. “Yes. Yes.” Drool dripped from Xaviers mouth onto your chest as he moaned and rocked into you. Not once in his life had he ever felt so good, so whole.

“God,” he groaned loudly. “Fffffuck me-” and he moaned openly, louder than before.

Caleb picked up the pace, panting at the top of the pile you three were practically in. Xavier kept himself up with one hand and he let the other slink down to rub circles on your clit. You almost screamed. In his state, fucked out and being fucked and actively ruined, he made an effort to make you feel better.

“Oh god,” you sighed. “God…” Your first orgasm, built up three times over was just around the corner.

“Ahh!” You pulled Xaviers hair hard, you were so close. Caleb fucked Xavier harder than ever, adding movement, friction, and both you and him came undone at the same time. He shot into you, more powerfully this time. Hot, heavy. And you cried out, letting the wave wash over you, take over all your senses.

But Caleb didn’t stop. He didn’t finish yet. He kept fucking Xavier, so Xavier kept fucking you and it was too much for him. His eyelids drooped, his eyes rolled back, and he moaned so loud you knew the neighbors heard. Drool pooled on your tits. Xavier was entirely gone, you watched as tears fell from his eyes. He was being fucked twice at the same time, his orgasm coming from two different places.

“Harder,” he groaned. Unexpected.

You weren’t sure if it was the edible, but you could feel every little thing as pleasure, even his words. Caleb obliged, thrusting harder, stronger.

“This is…I…fuck!” He groaned. You felt another orgasm kick into existence, building on itself. It would break you.

Xavier used the power he had to keep you going too. He moaned, you moaned, and you felt Calebs thrusts get sloppy. Like clockwork, you finished, then Xavier, and then Caleb. You felt Xavier gush again into you again, felt it as it pooled around the spot on the bed where you were.

Caleb hummed, slowly thrusting out the waves. Your whole body felt tingly. Full, even. You smiled, out of breath.

Caleb pulled out of Xavier causing him to collapse onto you, still inside. Caleb rolled onto the bed beside you.

“That was fun.” He breathed.

“Mhm,” you agreed, dazed.

“How are you feeling, Xav?” The poor boy was done for. He lifted his thumb and this thumb only. Caleb grabbed a tissue and wiped off your chest, making sure to touch everywhere he could, on purpose. You looked at him shyly. He shrugged with a wink.

“How was it for you?” Caleb asked you quietly, a chuckle on his breath. “How are you feeling?

“Good, so good.” You grinned. “And I’m feeling full. Really full.” You touched the side of your stomach, as Xavier covered most of your body. Xavier pulled out, moving next to you. You felt the gush of the excess pour onto the bed. You winced.

“Can we head into town for a plan b tomorrow?” You joked, but it was probably needed.

“We’ll grab lunch too,” Caleb laughed, starting to pull the sheets off the bed. Your hand rubbed gently up and down Xaviers upper arm, soothingly.

“Yeah.” Sighing, you were content. You looked over at Xavier, lying silently on his back. You rubbed up and down his arm.

“I need help with him,” you followed. Then you nudged Xavier. “Hey, Xavieeee, I need to get up.”

Xavier only made an ‘mmm’ sound. Caleb nudged him too. “I’m okay, I’m just—wow.” He sighed, eyes not even opening. “I never…“

“You did so well,” you smiled, kissing him on the forehead. “So good.”

“Took it so well,” Caleb agreed, ruffling Xaviers hair. “Didn’t think you had it in you, bro.”

He huffed, “I did.” And it took Caleb a second to piece together the joke. “Have it in me. Shut up.”

You couldn’t help but giggle. “Wow.” Rolling away you excused yourself. “Be right back.”

You fucked your best friends. That was your one thought as you went to the bathroom and rinsed yourself off and cleaned yourself out. You, high, let the absurdity of the situation sink in. You fucked your best friends, both of therm. They fucked each other. You chuckled quietly, who knew that would happen?

When you were done and dressed, Caleb had already fixed himself and Xavier up. The bed had been remade with clean sheets. Xavier sat against the wall in just his boxers again and Caleb stayed shirtless, but put the sweatpants he’d always leave at your place on—he was messing with your guitar in the corner.

“So do we speak of this again?” Xavier asked, looking at you.

“Only when we need to,” Caleb replied. “Keep this just between friends.”

You and Xavier chuckled. He looked at you a little differently now. Maybe it was because you couldn’t wash him off of you entirely.

“You okay?” You asked him.

“Oh, yeah, I’m good. Very…good. I was just fucked dumb.” He answered, a little blunt, grinning. “By two different people-and one of them was a guy.” And Caleb laughed at that. “—was good but I’m not doing that again…”

“Pleasure,” Caleb nodded. You walked over to Caleb, and let your head fall on his shoulder comfortably. His hand moved just gently, coming to rest on your thigh. Not grab or anything, just rest. Your heart picked up a little. Hm.

“It was good though.” Xavier admitted. “Surprisingly. Unsurprisingly.”

“You’re welcome.” You replied, cheekily. “Let’s not do that again though.”

“Agreed.” Caleb and Xavier responded in unison. Different reasons. Xavier chuckled heartily.

“You guys are hot though. Just for the record.” Xavier added, pointing between you and Caleb. “Especially together.”

You giggled, turning your head to look at Caleb, who was already looking down at you, a sheepish smile on his face. Xavier laughed. Caleb looked away out the window eyeing the night sky. His fingertips lightly pressed, one after the other, into the flesh of your thigh. He squeezed just once, in affirmation.

— ʚɞ

first lads fic. idk why i waited so long to start writing for this game. 😭

xx <3

#xavier #caleb #lads #smut #xavier taking it up the ass healed something in me

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erwindotrecs · 10 days ago

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Zayne

Summary: Zayne's daughter comes to him with a surprise

Warnings: Fluff

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi - Bluesky

“Daddy.” A loud whisper interrupts Zayne’s focus, tearing his eyes away from his book. He furrows his brows as he looks at his little girl, walking to him with a closed fist. He’ll try to remain confident as she walks over. It almost feels like a threat.

“Jasmine, if that’s a bug, throw it out.” He warns her, feeling as if his heart is about to beat out of his chest. Zayne isn’t particularly scared of bugs, but Jasmine just happens to find the biggest ones– At least she won’t need anyone to save her from them.

“Mommy’s asleep.” She answers, walking over to him and opening her hand. She reveals two pieces of candy that she had managed to steal from your purse. The strawberry bon bons that her grandma usually gives her when she visits; the same ones that you hold for safekeeping.

“My love, we shouldn’t.” Zayne shakes his head as she walks over to him, crawling onto his lap. You’d be so upset right now if you saw them. Jasmine is taking candy from your purse, and Zayne is enabling it.

“It’s okay, she has a lot.” She reassures him, but that’s not his issue. Twenty years into the future, this will be something that they’ll be able to tell and laugh about, but right now he sweats.

“You can’t do this, my love. It’s stealing.” He reprimands her as he takes the wrapped candy. It won’t be the last one this happens, especially not when Zayne unwraps the candy and pops it into his mouth.

“It won’t.” She nods, a serious look on her face as she affirms her understanding. She still follows her father’s lead, and unwraps the candy.

“And after you finish, brush your teeth, okay? You can’t leave a trace behind.” Zayne tells her, and she nods once again, taking his words very seriously. He lets out a low chuckle before kissing her temple. At least she’s considerate enough to think of him.

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erwindotrecs · 10 days ago

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You and Zayne nuzzle each other… a lot.

It’s something you didn’t realize until Yvonne pointed it out shortly after Zayne had rushed off for an emergency operation. “You two are very reminiscent of cats.”

“Huh?” You only turned to look at her after Zayne had disappeared from your sight. Cheeks a little warm as she smiled at you. “You two said goodbye, but when Dr. Zayne kissed your cheek, he nuzzled you with his nose… you nuzzled him right back. It was pretty cute.”

You can't even say anything in response, your mind slightly malfunctioning as you think back on all the times you and Zayne have subconsciously nuzzled into each other.

You mean to tell Zayne about it when he gets home, just to see his ears grow red and his cheeks pink as he realizes his own habit.

Except, you forget about it when he gets hime. It's not until he's on top of you, his face buried in your neck, that it dawns on you. "You're like a kitten, Z." His body weight is settled snuggly on top of you, a slight hum sounding from his mouth as he processes your words.

"So are you." It vibrates your skin, makes you giggle a little harder and your nails scratch his scalp a little harder. "Yvonne pointed it out today, y'know. I couldn't even come up with a response."

Now, Zayne is chuckling too. The warmth of his face against your neck growing a little hotter. "You've softened me, my love. Ruined me, even. Now I can't help myself when my colleagues are present." The kiss that lands on the top of his head only ruins him further.

"Good, I like the Zayne you've become."

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erwindotrecs · 27 days ago

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You're playing with Idia's hair. Letting the flames flit between your fingers and dance in your hand as you decide whether he should get a braid or a bun or something else entirely.

He's on his phone, and his tablet, playing a game on one and scrolling socials on the other while trying not to think about what you're doing to his head. It feels nice, if a bit ticklish and very unfamiliar, to have someone so close.

You pretend not to notice when Idia steals peeks at your reflection in the dark screen edges. He does it out of anxiety more than anything. You begin tying things in place where you want them. A ponytail or two could suit him well, you think. He's in his own little otaku world and surely won't mind.

Except, they just announced the new Herculean Heroes game figure is limited to 50 sales. It can only be obtained via lottery, one entry per person. When Idia read that, his hair erupted into a violent flaming red mess.

It was just for a second. Just when he leaned forward and gasped and felt desperation run through his veins at potentially missing out on such a pristine piece of merch.

It was just enough to snap the elastics you managed to finagle around his hair. Now you're left with a blank canvas, a messy cascade of blue flames in an unending tangle. You grab a big handful and bunch it up in retaliation. He sheepishly glances at you again in the reflection of his tablet. A wisp of pink trails between your fingers.

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erwindotrecs · 1 month ago

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Caffeine, chemistry and Caleb XII

Synopsis: The café was supposed to be just another coffee shop. For a law student who enjoys her morning coffee and a shy newbie still learning the ropes, it should have been nothing more than part of the daily routine… But then there’s Caleb.

Details: 3000 words. Non-MC!Reader as the law student. The movie’s over. The verdict has been delivered in your own mind. But… is it really the end? This piece is 3000 words of complicated, emotionally tangled romance. It’s not an easy love story, but it is one I hope you’ll enjoy.

Parts: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11

Tags: @gavin3469 @unstablemiss @i-messed-up-big-time @mipov101 @zukini-01 @ariakamil @zaynessdarling @gojosballsack69 @moon-cakei

Sunk costs | Pt. 12

The credits roll over a final blood-slicked frame, orchestral stabs still echoing in your bones.

You survived.

You didn’t scream. You didn’t hide. You didn’t flinch (that much). Your expression stayed somewhere between unimpressed and emotionally dead inside. If Caleb’s sandwich theory had any hope, it had been dismantled by your steel-spined, murder-montage endurance.

Still. You’re a little rattled. Maybe a lot.

There are only so many artfully executed decapitations a person can watch before they start reevaluating their life choices.

And speaking of life choices.

You’ve spent the last 120 minutes deciding—very calmly, very rationally—that this isn’t it. That you’re not going to accept mixed signals and chaos masquerading as charm. That you’ll do the mature thing: ask him to walk you home, say something breezy and dignified like we should obviously just be friends, casually revoke the kiss like a refund request, and file the whole night under emotional learning experience.

You’ll stop coming to the café, of course—because you know how to read a room. You won’t make it weird. Just find a new café without emotional landmines. Somewhere quiet, with reliable wi-fi and zero baristas who make your pulse spike. Clean break. Good boundaries.

You’ll overthink every hypothetical. Spend too long reviewing the same four lines of a contracts case brief. Argue internally with fictional judges about tort reform. Highlight entire pages out of spite.

Totally fine. You know how to write off sunk costs.

(You only have to survive the next ten minutes without crying. Or raging. Or going full unstable-litigator-in-a-drama. Just keep the lawyer face on. That’s all.)

The lights come on. The aisle fills with murmurs and the crackle of candy wrappers. You follow the others out, blinking like you’ve just returned from war.

Outside the theater, the air feels too bright. Too normal. Like the last two hours hadn’t been a cinematic bloodbath and an emotional obstacle course.

Gideon stretches like he just finished a casual jog, arms up, back cracking. “Hey,” he says, glancing your way. “I—. Uh, sorry again for the door ambush earlier. Didn’t break anything important, right?”

You blink, glancing down at your arm like it’s just now reporting back. “I think I’m still in one piece.”

“Good.” He pauses, then adds with mock solemnity, “Also, thanks for not suing me. Caleb said you were the type to bring legal fire.”

Caleb coughs behind you—too quickly. Too obviously.

Gideon’s grin widens, eyes gleaming. “What? I’m just being polite.”

You raise an eyebrow.

He shrugs. “Anyway. I’m heading out—bike’s around the corner. Wanna swap numbers?”

You don’t even get a second to answer��

Because Caleb, smooth as ever, slides in with: “Give her a break. You can just get it from me later.” Easy. Light. But the subtext is glaring. Gideon just lifts his eyebrows, all too amused.

“Oh. Sure. I guess that works.” Then, with a lopsided grin, he adds, “Nice to actually get a movie night in again. You bailed on the last one, remember?”

Apple girl hums her agreement. “You said you were working late, but we all know that’s code for ghosting us.”

Caleb just waves them off, all mock innocence. “Had to make sure someone got back to campus in one piece. You know—priorities.”

A beat. Not long, but long enough to feel the weirdness.

Then Caleb’s already moving, catching your wrist like it’s just something he does now. “I’ll walk Golden Girl back home,” he says, glancing toward the others. “It’s on the way.”

You open your mouth.

Gideon beats you to it.

“Wait—aren’t you headed the wrong way? Thought you were staying over at—uh—”

He nods toward Apple girl. Doesn’t finish the sentence. Because Caleb’s already walking. Already pulling.

“Night, guys,” he tosses over his shoulder, casual as anything.

Behind you, Gideon lingers near the sidewalk, phone in hand. “Sure. Uh… I’ll walk her home,” he says, nodding toward Apple girl again. “Catch you guys later.”

Caleb gives him a quick chin-lift of thanks, but doesn’t speak. Instead, his hand slides down, until it settles over yours.

Then—

“Caleb!”

Light footsteps. A flutter of laughter.

You both turn as she jogs up, sleeves bunched at her wrists, steps light on the pavement. She pulls Caleb into a quick hug, then does the same to you—brief but warm.

“Goodnight,” she says, voice all syrup and sleep. Her smile is aimed at you now. “And seriously, thanks for coming. I’m glad I got to meet you.” Then, turning back to Caleb with an easy familiarity that still tugs at something under your ribs: “Get home safe.”

It’s instinct, the way your stomach drops. Silly, indeed. But it doesn’t matter—because it only confirms what you already decided. This? Is exactly why your plan makes sense. Clean break. Emotional firewall. No more gray areas.

She turns back to you, eyes glinting as they catch the charm at your collarbone.

“Oh! There it is! That necklace’s cute on you,” she says, tilting her head with a grin. “But… isn’t it his?”

Your hand jumps to the charm, fingertips brushing the silver.

She’s still smiling. “You can’t just re-gift a gift, Caleb. You should get her her own necklace.”

He doesn’t look at her.

He’s already looking at you.

And then, without a beat, he says, “I should,” soft and certain. His hand is still in yours. And the way his thumb presses into your knuckles—slow, sure, lingering—it doesn’t feel like a joke. Doesn’t feel like he’s trying to prove something.

It just feels like him.

“Gideon’s waiting,” he tells her over his shoulder, not unkind. And she pouts dramatically, but spins toward Gideon without another word.

Yeah—he obviously has history with apple girl. The kind that runs deep. The kind that doesn’t need words. It’s in the way she said “get home safe,” like it’s always been her line. Like she’s said it a hundred times before. But your brain’s too crowded to ask. Too full of slasher film flashbacks, a heart pulling in three directions, and a chain at your neck that suddenly feels heavier than it should.

You already know where this is going.

It’s the same kind of walk that happened outside campus. The same warm-cold weirdness that settles between you like fog. The same strange ache that crept in just before he said he wouldn’t know how to stop kissing you.

Only difference now?

His hand is in yours.

You shift your grip in his hand, trying to find your footing.

You glance down.

Then up at him.

And you stop walking.

Right there, mid-sidewalk.

The chain catches between your fingers before you even know what you’re doing. You pull the necklace over your head and hold it out to him, palm open.

His brows knit. “What—?”

“I don’t want it anymore,” you say. Not loud. Not biting. Just… honest.

He takes it slowly, fingers brushing yours, eyes unreadable.

“I— I gave it to you,” he says, voice quieter now. “I wanted you to have it.”

“I know,” you murmur. “But I can’t wear it if we’re just—if this is just…”

You trail off. The word friends is nowhere in reach. You don’t even know what this is.

Something flickers in his eyes. Violet and wounded. And then, too fast to track, it’s gone—swallowed by that familiar lopsided smile.

“Nope,” he says, suddenly lazy again. “Not getting rid of it that easy.”

Before you can protest, he’s stepping forward, slipping the chain back around your neck. The charm settles over your shirt again, warm from his hands. His fingers linger against the metal, then trail down—just barely brushing the fabric.

“Hm… Yup. Definitely a nice necklace,” he says, eyes dipping to where the charm rests against your shirt. “And it looks better there.”

You stare up at him, throat suddenly too dry.

“You said this was a friend thing,” you manage, soft but steady.

“I told them,” he says, not missing a beat, “that they were meeting my girlfriend.”

Your breath stops. The world doesn’t—but your thoughts screech to a halt like someone objected in your brain.

You blink. Once. Twice.

He grins—small, a little crooked, like he’s waiting for impact.

“You—you just said that? You said what—?!” you ask, voice catching.

“I mean,” Caleb shrugs, all casual confidence, “it came up. They both asked when I booked four seats, and I got excited and said, ‘my girlfriend’s coming.’” His eyes find yours, a familiar smirk playing at the edge of his mouth. “Didn’t know I had to file paperwork for it.”

Then, with a little tilt of his head—teasing, but not unserious: “Or should I have said… what did you call it? Exclusive flirting partners in crime?”

His smile deepens like he’s proud of himself for remembering. Like that label meant more to him than he let on.

You part your lips to say something—

But he keeps going, like he can’t stop now. Like the words have a hold on him.

“And. Uh—T—” He catches himself, shifts gears without missing a beat. “Apple girl screeched when she saw your fit check pic. And she wouldn’t stop going on about how pretty you were.” A beat. “Whole block probably heard her.” Then, quieter—just for you—

“I told her to relax, act normal. But yeah… then it hit me—I was kinda scared to actually see you in person. Just—suddenly.”

You scowl, which is the only thing keeping your knees from buckling. “Wait. Hold on. You didn’t think you needed to mention that to me?”

“I figured showing up and staying was your way of signing the weirdness contract,” he deadpans. “You came. You suffered through at least four graphic deaths. You survived a seating chart nightmare. That’s commitment.”

You narrow your eyes. “You thought throwing me into your group chaos with a side of gore counted as wooing?”

Caleb lifts his brows, all mock-thoughtful. “Well… there was popcorn. Physical proximity. And I shared my Sour Patch.”

“Sour Patch isn’t exactly a winning argument,” you mutter.

“But offering them,” he says, gently tapping your jacket pocket, “in the dark? In public? That’s intimacy.”

You shake your head, but it’s not just a shake. It’s a full-body exhale, hand half-lifted in disbelief. “This is probably the weirdest shit I’ve ever been exposed to,” you mutter. “And I’ve taken property law. I don’t appreciate it.”

Caleb just blinks, startled—half-laughing, half-bracing.

“Listen. You’re impossible,” you add, jabbing a finger at him. “Absolutely communication-bankrupt. I swear to God, I have a crash course printout somewhere—old contracts material. ‘How to establish dialogue with clients who actively resist clarity.’ I will staple it to your forehead.”

He grins, infuriatingly unbothered. “And yet, somehow, still your problem.”

“Oh my god.”

But you don’t walk away.

Because yeah. He is your problem.

And that’s the problem.

‘Cause there’s something new in his voice—lighter, but grounded. Like he’s still figuring out how to say what he means. But he’s saying it anyway.

You can see it—behind the bangs falling into his eyes, behind the smug smirk that’s barely hiding real hope.

“Caleb. Be honest,” you say, folding your arms to cover your heart’s entire meltdown, “was this whole group chaos supposed to charm me?”

“I panicked,” he admits, no hesitation. “It was either introduce you to my friends or lose my mind not introducing you to my friends. I compromised.”

“And dragged me into a social Rubik’s Cube situation without warning?”

Caleb smiles. “Well… you survived.”

“You’re lucky I’m into emotionally confusing cases.”

His grin breaks wider. “That’s why you’re my favorite lawyer.”

“Your only lawyer.”

“Still counts.”

And just like that, something in your chest starts to unclench. Because he’s being real. Messy. Thoughtless. Thoughtful. All at once.

But real.

Then—because of course—he leans in close, breath brushing your cheek, warm and maddeningly casual, as his hand slips into your jacket pocket like it belongs there. Fingers search with practiced ease until they find the Sour Patch Kids hiding in your pocket. He pulls out a red one.

He holds the candy between his teeth, grinning around it like it’s part of the performance.

“Mood candy,” he mumbles around the gummy, voice low and a little shy. Then—quietly—he reaches for your hands, gently trying to uncross your arms like he’s unwrapping a closed-off moment.

“Please… cheer up,” he says. “And… If you let me… I’ll take you on solo dates from now on. Just you and me. No interruptions, no weird dynamics. Just… us. Like I should’ve done from the start.”

A breath slips past your lips—soft, reluctant—as your fingers uncurl from your crossed arms, and you let him take your hand.

You don’t say anything.

Because you’re still trying to find the words. The break-it-off words. The let’s-just-be-friends words that have been drafting themselves in your head for the past two hours.

But also—damn it—you still want to understand what this is, what he’s doing. Because something about the way he said it—makes you hold back. Just for a second.

And just as you start walking, slow steps down the quiet sidewalk, shoulders brushing every third one—he adds, voice low, almost like he’s not sure you’re meant to hear it,

“I… honestly just wanted you to meet them. See how it felt. I know it’s weird.” A pause. “But mostly, I just wanted you there.”

A breath.

“I’m… not really good at this,” he says. A little laugh under his breath, self-deprecating. “Like, dating. Or whatever this is. I don’t know the rules. I keep trying to act normal around you and then my brain just—” He bites the gummy. “—stops cooperating.”

You slow slightly. He does too. Glancing up, you catch the side of his face. The way his bangs fall over his brow. The way he’s not looking at you now.

“I want to be around you,” he says. “But I also don’t want to screw it up by being… too much. Or not enough. Or making you uncomfortable… with everything that comes with me.”

He nudges your shoulder with his.

“I’m not used to… caring this much about how I come off.”

There’s a pause—quiet and crackling—and the words slip out before you can stop them.

“You—… Do you live with her?”

He stops. Just briefly. Like he didn’t expect you to say it out loud.

Then he nods. Looks down at your joined hands. “Yeah. I used to.” A pause. Then—almost offhand, but not quite: “I live closer to campus now. I just come back some weekends… or… when I can.”

Your stomach flips, but he’s already rushing to fill the silence.

“It’s not—look,” he starts, fingers brushing his bangs like he’s trying to reset something in his brain. “We’ve known each other forever. Grew up together, same everything. She’s been my best friend since we were kids.”

His brow furrows, like the words are harder to pin down than he expected. “It’s always just been… us. I didn’t know how to bring that up without making it sound weird. Or like I was hiding something.”

There’s a beat. A breath.

His voice dips, careful now, like he’s balancing something fragile. “And… ugh… For the longest time, I thought maybe that was all I’d ever need. Like, that kind of bond would be enough.”

His gaze lifts, and lands squarely on you.

“But then you happened,” he says, dragging a hand through his hair, like the words are heavier than he expected. “And I realized I might’ve been wrong. I told you before… Being around you feels… light,” he says, almost like it surprises him. “Like—for once—I’m not dragging chains behind me. Like I can actually breathe, and not brace for the weight that usually follows.”

You watch his brow knit, lips parting like he’s still trying to explain it right. Like he’s bracing for impact again.

But instead of pulling away, your fingers tighten around his.

“You… should’ve told me. But I’m not completely weirded out,” you say, soft and steady. Then, with a small shrug and a lie bold enough to count as perjury, “I’ve done mock trials messier than this.”

(It’s not true. Not even close. This is the weirdest case study in personal chaos you’ve ever lived through—like someone ripped off a band-aid and then asked you to hold hands about it. But it’s Caleb. And somehow, that’s starting to feel like a valid legal defense.)

His shoulders relax. Just a little. And under the streetlight glow, he looks at you like he’s seeing a lifeline he didn’t know he needed.

“Thanks for… being patient with me,” he says, voice softer now. “I’m sorry if I made this weird.” His thumb brushes over your knuckles—barely there.

“I’ll talk to her,” he adds after a beat. “She’s used to us being a certain way, but… that can’t be the same anymore. I don’t want you to feel like… there’s no space for you.”

He glances at you, bangs falling into his eyes.

“I’m figuring it out. But I want to get it right.”

You stop at a crosswalk, the red hand blinking overhead. He looks at you finally, like maybe he thinks that was too much.

“Pretty sure I’ve said more in the past twenty minutes than I have all year. Must be the law student charisma,” he mutters.

“But yeah,” he finishes, a little quieter now. “That’s where I’m at. Stupid candy and all.”

Then he turns slightly, hand brushing yours—fingertips catching the edge of your jacket pocket like he’s grounding himself.

“Hey. I—I’m sorry,” he says, real now. Not teasing. Not dodging. “For the mess. For not explaining things right away. For… being kind of a dumbass about all of this.”

His thumb brushes over your hand again, slow, uncertain. Then his other hand shifts—tightening just slightly where his fingers still rest near your pocket. Like he’s bracing for whatever you’ll say next.

“If you want space after this—if you don’t want to deal with… whatever this is—I’d get it.” His voice drops, a little tighter now. “I wouldn’t like it. But I’d get it.” Then, quieter—almost like it slips out:

“But… can I still make your pre-lecture coffee?”

The walk sign flashes.

He goes for another candy.

You don’t let him get there.

You don’t think. You rise up on your toes and kiss him.

Right there at the crosswalk.

Hands gripping the front of his jacket. Mouth pressed to the smug curve of that sentence he was about to say. And for once—finally—he doesn’t say anything back.

Just kisses you like he’s been waiting to.

Like the world narrowed down to this exact crosswalk. To you.

To this.

And yeah.

You’re still kind of mad.

But you’re also kind of gone.

——————————————————————————

My insecurities surround me like lions in the den

And I feel like I'm losing touch with what I am again

So won't you fall for me?

Won't you fall for me?

——————————————————————————

Part 13

——————————————————————————

Writer’s note: So. Sunk costs; costs that have already been incurred and cannot be recovered, regardless of future outcomes or decisions. They cannot be changed and should not factor into future investment decisions. Only future costs and benefits should influence decisions. Will you still accept Caleb, knowing he’s carrying this? Will you trust him? Will you accept the bond he shares with apple girl? Will it be worth it if you do? Thank you for reading. I’m a bit on the fence about continuing right now—the arc I felt good about is suddenly making me second-guess everything. But I’m so grateful you’re here. Seriously, thank you 🫶🏻

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erwindotrecs · 1 month ago

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...spending the night with Alhaitham for the first time and discovering the worn sumpter beast plushie stuffed between several pillows at the foot of his bed. You don't make any comment, why would you when you could be focused on him undressing instead, but the image sticks in your mind.

It's not before a few months later that you learn the truth. Having waited outside the door for at least ten minutes, you let yourself in only to find him busy grumbling to himself while cleaning a bit of blood from his hands. He quietly explains that he'd been trying to learn how to sew (it was a fair bit harder to do well than expected). When you ask what exactly he needed made, he hesitates for a moment before pulling out the stuffed animal, one of its legs dangling precariously and stuffing spilling out.

His grandmother made it, and although he doesn't exactly need it to sleep any longer, the thought of it falling apart isn't one he wants to face.

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erwindotrecs · 1 month ago

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they are so strangers by ethel cain omg

THE COLONEL'S SAINT.

in wartime, there are no saints. only broken souls, like yours and his, both scarred by battles fought in a world that has forgotten mercy. but perhaps peace was simply never meant for everyone. perhaps it only ever comes at a cost—freedom paid for by the ruin of another.

➤ pairings. caleb, fem!reader

➤ genre. heavy angst, smut, historical au, 18+

➤ tags. colonel!caleb, nurse!reader, non mc!reader, ooc, wartime, unrequited love, profanity, violence, explicit smut, depression, PTSD, recollection of extremely traumatic events, references to past sexual assault (not from caleb), obsession, possessiveness, jealousy, injuries, blood, killings, morally gray dynamics, grief, death. themes contain material that are heavy and disturbing—reader discretion is strongly advised.

➤ notes. 9.8k wc. divider by thecutestgrotto. all i can say is i enjoyed writing this au so much :)) reblogs and comments are highly appreciated!

➤ previous. 001 the colonel’s keeper | colonel caleb playlist

“I’m sorry. I’m here. I’m here now. I’ve killed every single one of ‘em for you,” he said in a tone so affectionate you almost wondered if it was a dream. “I’ll take you home. No one’s gonna touch you ever again.”

The irony, however, presented itself the moment Caleb touched you. Because rather than feeling a sense of relief in his own way of apologizing, a deep, all-consuming dread wrapped around your bones instead.

Because this wasn’t salvation. This wasn’t a rescue. This was a return to a different kind of prison.

Your battered body trembled in his grip as his presence, something you once ached for, now loomed over you like a final, cruel joke. You thought being here—being dragged through hell, used, and discarded—was the worst fate imaginable.

But, no.

The true horror was returning to Caleb.

Because you knew now. You finally understood. There was no future for you. Not in his arms. Not in this world. And the look in his eyes, that dangerous, unhinged gleam that he would never let you go. Not now. Not ever.

So before he could react, before he could drag you back into the nightmare of his possessive grasp, your trembling fingers wrapped around his gun.

His own gun. His own weapon.

For the first time, his cold, calculating gaze faltered, widening in shock as you tore it from his holster with the last of your strength. “Y/N—”

The barrel was already pressed to your temple.

…

But you couldn’t pull the trigger.

You thought you could. You had rehearsed it in your mind over and over again—how the metal would feel in your hands, how your fingers would squeeze the trigger with defiance instead of hesitation. In the fantasy, it was clean. Controlled. Almost poetic as you would have told him he deserved to be left by the women he loved.

Reality wasn’t like that, however.

Because the moment Caleb dropped to his knees before you, his face contorted into something grotesque, something desperate, something inhuman, and you froze. Not out of fear. Not exactly. It was something deeper. You lay there, your heart thudding like a drum as your trembling fingers closed around his gun. You could still feel the warmth of his hand on the grip, still smell the gunpowder and oil. The heavy weight of the weapon wasn’t just from the metal, it was the amount of men he killed with it. With an obsession for power and control.

In another life, maybe you did it.

In another life, you imagined yourself pulling the trigger without flinching. In another life, maybe you were brave enough—or broken enough—to leave like that. To end the story on your own terms.

But in this one?

You couldn’t. God, you just couldn’t. You were a coward. And when Caleb whispered your name—his voice cracked, soft, pleading. It shattered the illusion completely. “Don’t do this, baby,” he begged. “I’m taking you home.”

And you didn’t run. You didn’t scream. You didn’t even look away. You just let him. You let him take your hand, let him lift you to your feet as if your bones hadn’t turned to ash. You let him wrap his coat around your shoulders and murmur something unintelligible against your hair, his breath warm, his touch careful.

“I’ll protect you, Y/N.”

You didn’t believe him, of course. But you let him.

You let Caleb bring you back to the base—not because you forgave him, not because you trusted him, and certainly not because you still loved him, but because you were done fighting. Because your body moved without you, like something detached from soul and will. You weren’t a woman anymore. Not in that moment.

You were something to be carried. Something to be watched and managed and contained. You were no longer a person. You were property of a war, of a man worse than the devil.

And still, you walked beside him.

Because sometimes survival doesn’t feel like victory.

Sometimes, it just feels like surrender.

Back at base, the atmosphere was more chilling than you remembered. Or maybe you were just too far gone to feel warmth. Maybe you’d become so detached, so hollowed out, that even warmth refused to settle in your bones anymore. The world moved around you like normal. People walked, spoke, ate, lived—but you? You couldn’t feel a part of it. You were merely a presence.

Yet, everyone stared. They always did. In passing, in the corridors, during drills, in the infirmary. Some in pity, others with quiet contempt. A few just looked because they could. Because even bruised and broken, you were a spectacle. Like you always were.

“Has she gone crazy?” “Is it the PTSD kicking in?”

You didn’t meet their eyes. You stopped meeting even your own in the mirror. And as the days passed, Caleb didn’t leave your side. He was always hovering, always watching you in silence, always studying the catatonic expression on your face as you moved with listless effort. Perhaps he was watching you out of guilt, or perhaps out of something sinister. Did he enjoy the look of desolation in your eyes? Did he think he’d won this war, now that you no longer fought him?

The whispers followed you even into the mess hall, the one place people pretended to be too busy to gossip. Except now, they didn’t pretend at all. Not when it was you sitting there, quietly picking at your food like a prisoner fed only to stay alive. Today’s rationed meals were stale bread and bland starchy soup—a probable reason why they’d rather channel their energy towards you than their food.

“She brought it on herself.”

“Should’ve stayed in her place.”

“He only wants her because she reminds him of the wife.”

The spoon in your hand paused midair, with your eyes fixed on the dull metal surface, seeing your reflection warped and small in the curve. You set it down slowly, and let out a short, broken laugh. There was nothing funny, of course. But for you, the humor was in the hell you returned to. Did they think the worst had already happened? They were wrong. The worst was this. Coming back. Living.

And while in your hysteria, silence suddenly filled the hall. A strange stillness swept through like a cold wind, and you didn’t even need to look to know why. As boots stomped across the tiled floor, you already knew what caused the sudden silence within the slate grey walls.

Caleb, stern as ever.

Surely, he never came here before. High-ranking officers often ate in private rooms or their quarters, never with the rest of the unit and the civilians. But here he was now, his commanding presence turning heads and stiffening spines. No one dared look your way anymore. Not when he was near.

And as for him, he approached you slowly like how he would to a skittish animal. Yet you kept your gaze on your tray, eyes glazed over, expression unreadable. The frenzied smile left your face the moment he was near. It was as if he didn’t exist.

He stood there for a moment. Then, to everyone’s quiet horror, he sat beside you. No, he lowered himself beside you, crouching so his face was nearly level with yours.

“What are you doing eating here?” he asked softly. “You know the food’s better in my quarters.”

You didn’t answer. You never really spoke to him. You hadn’t even opened your mouth to say anything at all since the day he ‘rescued’ you, and simply because words had abandoned you. Everything had. And the odd part about this was the fact that Caleb was openly speaking to you like this. Because before everything fell apart, he never acknowledged you in public. Not once did he show everyone that you were someone he cared for. So, what cruel actor was crouching down next to you now?

You stared forward like he wasn’t even there.

And you could hear him sigh, at least before his voice dropped even lower, gentle enough that only you could hear it. “Let me take care of you,” he murmured. “Let me nurse you back to health. I’ll give you anything you want. Anything. Just stop tuning me out.”

And still, you said nothing.

Because what could you want from a man who said he wanted you, but only knew how to possess? From a world where the only safety you were offered came in the shape of your captor’s hands, life was absolutely brutal. You sat in silence, surrounded by soldiers, nurses, and civilians who couldn’t even look at you anymore. And yet, the only person who truly saw you—saw the hollow, broken wreck you’d become—was the very man who helped destroy you.

Night flight was always the quietest kind of hell.

The sky was an endless stretch before him, a black void littered with stars he no longer believed in. Inside the cockpit of the FY-29, the most advanced multirole fighter in their fleet, the world shrank down to the hum of electronics and the flickering glow of digital readouts. HUD projection blinked green against his helmet visor. Altitude holding steady. Speed: Mach 1.4. Engine thrust calibrated to optimal efficiency.

“Colonel, enemy radar ping detected. Recon drone at ten o’clock, altitude three hundred feet below,” came the voice in his comms.

“Visual confirmed,” Caleb replied flatly, adjusting his yoke with one hand. “Engage radar dampeners. Veer five degrees north. Let the bastard scan a ghost trail.”

“Yes, sir.”

The sharp tilt of the aircraft rolled the horizon sideways. Caleb barely noticed.

He’d done this too many times—cutting through foreign airspace like a silent reaper, completely invisible in the dark. His hands moved with muscle memory, flipping switches, adjusting trajectory. But his mind…

His mind drifted.

To you.

To the way your voice once sounded when you still spoke to him with warmth. The way your eyes used to light up when he returned from missions. Now, they were empty. Now, they didn’t even flinch when he entered the room.

Guilt had lodged itself into the pit of his stomach and made a home there. He told himself he had brought you back to protect you. He told himself you needed someone to hold you up. But lately, he couldn’t tell who was holding whom hostage.

You had begged him once, asked him to love you, asked him to forget about his dead wife and just be with you. Now, with the way you were acting, it felt as though he was no better than the monsters who took you.

The truth was—he knew he had made a grave miscalculation. He never truly meant for the punishment to go that far. It had been anger, impulse, the heat of a moment he should’ve controlled. He should’ve gone to the frontlines sooner. He should’ve been there before the enemy got to you… before they shattered the sanctity of your body and stole the softness that once defined you.

Goddamn it.

A flicker on the monitor snapped him back. One of the secondary comms flashed: High Priority Incoming – Ground Squad Gamma 4. He tapped it.

“Colonel,” came the crackling report, “we’ve captured a batch of civilians—all women, army wives. Enemy ranks. Found hiding in one of the ravaged villages, just outside Sector 11. Orders?”

Caleb didn’t answer at first.

Instead, his jaw clenched. He closed his eyes briefly, long enough to picture your face contorted in sleep; how you cried out some nights from dreams you never remembered, or maybe remembered too well. How sometimes you whispered “Please don’t touch me,” to a room that was empty but for him. How you devastatingly screamed, “No more! No more!” as the memories of traumatizing hands touching you over and over, flooded back to you in a form of a nightmare.

His voice, when it came, was cold steel.

“Do what you want with them,” he said in full conviction. “Leave none behind.”

There was a pause on the other end. Hesitation.

“Sir…?” the voice wavered.

“You heard me,” was Caleb’s firm response. “Whatever they did to ours—we’ll repay it in kind.”

He didn’t wait for confirmation. He cut the channel, flipped the frequency, and angled the jet into descent mode.

Everything you do is morally justified during war, Caleb.

Lights flickered overhead as he walked through the empty corridor of the officers wing, the soles of his boots bouncing too loud against concrete. He didn’t bother knocking the second he arrived at his quarters, seeing that his room was dark, and you lay curled under the thin blanket, hair stuck to your face from cold sweat. Seeing you like that made his chest ache in a way that had nothing to do with exhaustion.

And then the screaming started.

You thrashed—kicking off the sheet, twisting against invisible restraints. Your cries weren’t words but whimpers, pleading, raw sounds from your throat like you were being torn apart all over again. Caleb froze in the doorway. For a second, his legs wouldn’t move. The war inside his chest, the storm he unleashed with just a single order—it all paled in comparison to the agony carved into your sleep. When he finally stepped forward, his hand twitched as it reached out.

“Hey,” he whispered, kneeling beside you. “You’re safe. I’ve got you. You’re not there anymore.”

You didn’t wake, and neither did you calm. You just screamed harder, fingers digging into the mattress like it was the only thing keeping you shackled to this world. Caleb embraced you in his arms like a fragile object he was protecting, but nothing comforted you at this point. Not his storm-violet eyes nor his saintly face.

Even when he wiped your sweat, brought you tea, and sat in silence.

And perhaps, he finally understood. The reason for your silence hadn’t been just the trauma. It wasn’t just the violence or the bruises or the way your voice cracked when you said nothing at all. No, it was simpler than that. More human. It was because he had never actually said sorry.

Sure, he remembered whispering it in a shattered breath when he pulled you out of the enemy’s grasp—covered in bruises, half-alive, delirious. But that wasn’t the kind of apology you needed. That had been panic. Guilt. A bandage over a wound that needed surgery. And you, you deserved something slower, softer, and more honest. Something earned.

And so he found himself sitting at the edge of your bed now, studying the glazed look in your eyes. You weren’t with him. You were locked somewhere far inside yourself, behind doors he had helped bolt shut.

“You feel hot,” Caleb murmured as he reached for your forehead, calloused fingers brushing your clammy skin with an unexpected tenderness. “Should I call one of the nurses? They can wipe you down with a cold towel.”

Ordinarily, he wouldn’t have allowed anyone near you. His protectiveness knew no bounds, especially not after what happened. But tonight, he understood. You didn’t want his touch. Maybe you couldn’t bear it. Maybe the thought of his skin on yours only reminded you of everything you had survived.

So he offered space, even if it killed him.

But you didn’t respond. You just quietly rose from the bed like a graceful ghost. Your bare feet padded across the cold floor, not a sound made with every step. The moonlight slashed across your face as you entered the bathroom, and then you undressed slowly, wordlessly, under its silver glow.

He knew better than to follow. But he still did. Only to make sure you were safe. Only to watch over you, because watching was all he could do now. From the doorway, he saw your silhouette curled under the cascade of water. You weren’t washing. You were scrubbing. Frantically. Desperately. Your fingernails dug into your own skin as you scrubbed, over and over, rubbing raw the places where their hands had once been. You weren’t trying to get clean. You were trying to disappear. As if your skin still remembered the hands that touched you. As if water could erase what the world had done to you.

You sobbed without sound, and that was somehow worse. Because your pain had learned to stay quiet.

Without thinking, Caleb stepped inside. His boots soaked instantly, and the water darkened the fabric of his uniform in seconds, but he didn’t care. He grabbed a towel from the rack and walked toward you slowly.

“Y/N,” he said quietly. “You’re going to make yourself bleed.”

You didn’t flinch when he wrapped it around you. You kept scrubbing even when he gently pulled you into his arms and let yourself cry like someone who had run out of ways to survive.

He just held you in silence. In stillness. And in that moment, something in his gentleness made you snap. Your hands shook violently and your voice cracked into a shriek. “You m-monster!” you sobbed, your throat raw from disuse and despair. It was the first time you spoke to him again since… “Y-You animal!”

“Y/N—”

“You let me—” your voice choked on grief. “You let them do that to me! You left me! And now you act like y-you… like you care—?”

Caleb took every word, every blow, and let it tear through him. He didn’t know how to fix something so broken. It was like a shattered glass that can never be repaired. The cracks would always show, no matter how hard he tried to put them all back together.

You collapsed against him, the towel sliding loose. “Why n-now?” you whispered, tears flooding your eyes. “Why are you pretending like I still matter? Isn’t this w-what you wanted?”

“I’m not pretending,” he said hoarsely, barely able to speak past the guilt in his throat. “And no, I didn’t want this, Y/N. I didn’t.”

You shook your head violently, water flinging from your hair. “No. No, I’m dead, Caleb. You won. This is what you wanted me to become—someone who’s been passed around like a rag. I’ll never be like your wife!”

While he held his breath, you must have expected him to deny it. To recoil. To offer some hollow line about how you were still you and that he didn’t care about his dead wife anymore. Instead, Caleb wrapped your body again with the towel, tighter this time around, before he carried you out of the bathroom.

“I still grieve for her every day,” he said. “But I’m not leaving you again.”

You shut your eyes and refused to meet his again. His words seemingly have no effect on you anymore.

I should’ve gone sooner, he thought to himself. I should’ve lowered my pride and reached you faster. I should’ve said sorry when it still mattered.

“I can’t take back what happened,” Caleb said, chest rising and falling raggedly. “But if there’s a version of hell where I can stay with you, then I’ll take it. I’ll live there. With you.”

He would learn how to love you gently, if you’d let him.

He would speak with actions now: the soft blankets, the untouched side of the bed he never crossed, the way he learned the names of every nurse you trusted, the way he installed new locks on your door so you would feel safe again, the way he trained the soldiers himself—brutally—so no one would ever think of hurting you again.

And when he wasn’t looking, when you were too tired to keep your eyes open, he would sit at your bedside every night and whisper a prayer. Not for redemption.

But for your peace.

A YEAR AGO — INFIRMARY

“This might sting a little, sir.”

A gentle furrow settled between your brows as you dabbed at Caleb’s shoulder, cleaning the angry gash that sliced through his skin. He sat still, shirt peeled halfway down, and his jaw tense, but not from pain. He wasn’t even looking at the wound. His gaze, all of it, was fixed on you like he was considering a thought.

Your hand paused.

“…What?” you asked, a nervous laugh escaping.

“Nothing,” he murmured. “You’re just… very good at what you do.”

You smiled faintly. “You say that every time you come in here half-dead.”

“I like repeating things that are true.”

You rolled your eyes, but your cheeks were warm. He saw that, too. You tried to turn your back to his shoulder, resuming your task, or rather, to hide the heat that suffused your cheeks. “Do you ever get tired of coming back here wounded?” you asked. “I know you're high-ranking and invincible and all, but maybe don't catch bullets with your body next time.”

He chuckled. “But didn’t you say you wanted to see me a lot?”

“Well…” You looked away, blushing. He knew about your silly little crush on him, that’s for sure. “Not in this way, sir.”

There was a long pause. Comfortable, almost. So comfortable that you could almost hear Caleb’s breathing. And then, like it had been on his mind the whole time, he asked, “Do you want to move in with me?”

Your hand froze again, gauze hovering just above the wound. “…I’m sorry?”

He turned slightly to face you, wincing only a little. His voice was calmer than you expected. “It’s cold in my quarters. Too quiet. And I keep thinking how I’d rather have you there.”

You stared at him, stunned. You knew what he wanted. You knew why he asked for it.

“You barely know me,” you whispered, heart racing in your chest.

“I know enough,” Caleb replied, eyes searching yours. “I know you care more than most people do. I know you’re smart, and patient, and you smell like peppermint and laundry soap.”

Your lips parted, caught between surprise and disbelief.

“And I know,” he added, softer, “that I feel a lot less lonely when I’m around you.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was warm. Tense, but not in fear. And when your eyes flickered to his lips, just for a second, he noticed. He took that as a sign to lean in slowly. Like a man trained to read danger, but still willing to take the risk. His hand, still rough and bloodied, hovered at your cheek, asking without words.

You didn’t stop him.

The kiss was soft and hesitant at first. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt as his lips pressed gently to yours and moved with perfect sync. For a moment, you forgot the war. Forgot who he was and what you were. You just remembered what it felt like to be wanted.

When you pulled away, both of you breathless, he rested his forehead to yours before pecking your lips once more.

“I’ll look forward to your answer, Nurse Y/N,” Caleb whispered through your lips. “You’ll live a more comfortable life if you’re with me.”

INT. CALEB’S PRIVATE QUARTERS – NIGHT

The storm outside was brewing with anger, but it didn’t reflect in the way he kissed you.

He was right, sleeping in the private quarters was much better than the bunkers, but that wasn’t the main prize. It was him, Caleb, the man you offered your heart and yourself to, knowing full well that he wanted you just the same.

“Mmh—Caleb!”

The room only carried the flicker of an old lamp forming shadows over military-issued sheets and disheveled clothes strewn across the floor. Your bodies were tangled in the warmth of each other, breathless, bare. Caleb had you laying sideways, and him positioned at your back, lifting your leg so he could get better access. His skin was slick with sweat, his hand moving to squeeze your mound, anchoring you close like he couldn’t stand a single inch of distance.

It wasn’t rushed this time. Neither desperate.

He moved with reverence. As if he wanted to memorize the exact shape of your body, the slope of your waist, the sound you made when his member hit your sweetest spot. And you, you let yourself melt into him, allowing him to fill you in for as many times as you both wanted, so long as you still had the strength.

“Caleb,” you whispered, fingers threading through his hair.

His grip tightened on your hip. This time, he was increasing his pace. Ramming into you sideways might be his new favorite thing, because whenever he was near, he would usually go for the traditional missionary. Not this time, however.

“Fuck. You’re so tight for me, baby.” And just when you were at the peak of your pleasure, he suddenly whispered another woman’s name.

His wife’s name.

You froze.

He didn’t notice. Or maybe he did—and just kept kissing your neck, as if saying her name didn’t gut the room into silence.

You didn’t say anything. Not that night.

Even when it was over. You cuddled deeper into his chest, heart twisting, the back of your throat stinging. Maybe he didn’t mean it. Maybe he wasn’t even fully awake. You told yourself it didn’t matter. You told yourself his body was warm, his arms wrapped around you, his breath even and calm—and that should be enough.

You told yourself you were alive, and she wasn’t.

INT. CALEB’S PRIVATE QUARTERS – AFTERNOON

Supper was quiet. Too quiet.

You sat across from Caleb at the small table he rarely ever used—usually preferring to eat on the go, or not at all. But tonight, he had insisted you two start dining together so you didn’t have to leave the room. The portions were modest: military rations dressed up with a little too much seasoning, but it was so much better than MRE, or even the ones served at the mess hall. And you could ask for seconds if you wanted to.

Yet, no matter how abundant your table was, the silence was what was making you full. Your fork scraped softly against the plate, wondering why Caleb wasn’t eating much. He was just pushing food around with the edge of his fork, his eyebrows furrowed after what appeared to be a terrible day in the skies.

You cut into the silence with the question that had been gnawing at you since dawn. “Do you think you’ll ever remarry?”

Caleb’s body stiffened. His fork stilled mid-motion. His features were blank, but something behind his eyes tightened, like he wasn’t sure he had heard you right that he even had to repeat it. “Remarry?”

You nodded, keeping your tone as casual as possible, though your hand trembled just slightly where it gripped the stem of the water glass. “I mean, the war can’t last forever. Things might calm down someday. You’re still young. Still capable of—”

“Stop.” He cut you off, voice low and firm.

You swallowed. “It’s just a question, darling.”

“No, it’s not,” he muttered, dropping his fork with a quiet clatter. “You’re tryin’ to make me say something I’m not ready to say.”

“I’m not trying to do anything,” you replied, your voice soft. “I just want to know where I stand.”

His expression hardened, the muscle in his jaw twitching. “Don’t turn this into some kind of—what, a proposal? A plea for commitment? Because if that’s what this is—”

“No, Caleb… I just,” you paused, looking away and exhaling through your nose. “I don’t want to feel like I’m competing with a dead person.”

Silence.

He didn’t like it. Your words, how callously you called his wife a dead person. The sharpness of his eyes seemed to have considered ways of killing you. But Caleb stood abruptly, and his chair scraped back with an ugly screech.

“Lost my appetite.” He didn’t look at you as he said it. He just turned, grabbed his coat from the hook near the door, and walked out—quiet, controlled steps, like if he didn’t leave now, he might say something he couldn’t take back. “Watch your fuckin’ mouth and don’t talk about this bullshit with me ever again.”

You were staring at the ceiling again.

Stiff sheets under your back. The sharp antiseptic sting of alcohol soaked into gauze. Somewhere far off, a nurse was whispering instructions—Claire. You recognized her voice all too well.

She never liked you before. She loathed you even more now.

“She’s acting like some kind of war princess,” she scoffed not even a meter away. “Wouldn’t be surprised if she’s carrying every disease known to man. After what she’s been through? God, Colonel should’ve left her to rot.”

You didn’t react. You simply shut your eyes, allowing her words to come and go without making an impact. Empathy was a luxury no one could afford in wartime, and you’d long stopped expecting it from anyone, least of all her.

“She lost a lot of blood. The glass… it was lodged deep—”

“She’s lucky she didn’t hit an artery. If she wants to kill herself, at least do it right.”

Lucky.

You almost laughed.

Because it wasn’t your first time trying.

They thought Caleb had it all figured out. They thought that locking you away in his quarters, removing every shard of metal, every sliver of risk, every ounce of danger would be enough to keep you alive. You were a silent prisoner under the guise of protection. Doors locked from the outside. Soldiers who shadowed your every step when you were allowed to walk beyond four walls. They even took your combs, your mirror, your goddamn belt—anything that could snap or slice or wrap around your throat.

They watched you like you were sacred.

But no one realized that glass, when cracked the right way, could become a weapon, too.

It had started with something so small, during the time when Caleb had to leave base for a few days. It was from a small picture frame that had Caleb’s formal military photo inside. During an intense, heavy bombing outside, you were alone, unsupervised for the first time in days. The entire base shook with a violent thud, and the picture frame fell on the floor. You tried to pick it up and aimed to put it back.

Only to see that the glass had shattered.

And you had just… stared. At the jagged edge sticking out of the frame. At the glittering fragments on the floor.

You didn’t hesitate.

You grabbed a shard like it was salvation, and before your brain could catch up, your arm was already bleeding. The kind of bleeding you don’t come back from if you were left alone long enough. You slumped against the wall. Felt the warmth of it leaking down your skin, soaking into your lap. You welcomed the numbness, the strong smell of iron gushing out of your open wound.

But someone found you too soon.

You remembered the soldier’s face as he stumbled into the room—young, horrified, hands shaking as he shouted for help. “She’s cut—fuck, she’s bleeding bad! Get the medics! Get the fucking medics—!”

Now, back in the present, one of the guards paced at the edge of your hospital bed, too afraid to look you in the eye. “The Colonel might kill us for letting it happen. For not watching you close enough.”

You blinked slowly, eyes unfocused, lips cracked.

“Then he should kill himself, too,” you whispered.

The room fell silent. You turned your head slightly toward the door—the new one they’d installed. Reinforced. Bulletproof. No cracks this time. Just a clear view of the world you weren’t allowed to be part of anymore.

“We can’t reach Colonel Caleb—he’s at the outposts, but he’ll be back soon,” was the last thing you heard from him before the medicine took over. “As for what happened to you in enemy territory, miss… don’t worry about it. The Colonel made sure to return the favor.”

Caleb stepped into the room, the heavy door creaking as it closed behind him. His footsteps were deliberate, yet silent, as he made his way toward the bed where you sat, eyes cast downward and clearly avoiding his gaze. The silence between you two was suffocating, so much so that he forgot he had ears for a second.

He didn’t say anything at first. His gaze swept across the room, lingering on the bandages wrapped around your arm to look at the remnants of your self-inflicted wounds that he had heard about during the day. His jaw tightened, but he remained silent, studying the way the white bandages were stained with a deep red. Finally, eventually, his voice cut through the thick air. “When are you going to stop hurting yourself?”

Your heart clenched, and without lifting your eyes to meet his, you muttered, “When you die.”

The grudge had been simmering inside you for so long. Now, spoken aloud, you couldn’t look at him. You didn’t want to see the effect it had on him. But you also couldn’t stop yourself from continuing.

“Every time you’re out there, I pray…” you paused, closing your eyes. “I pray that a bullet finds its way to you or that your jet crashes somewhere far from here.”

Even if it was the darkest part of your soul that had spoken, it felt true. The thought of him gone, of being free from the torment, it made your chest ache and flutter at the same time.

Caleb’s lips, on the other hand, pressed into a hard line. His gaze narrowed ever so slightly, though the pain in his eyes was undeniable. He didn’t speak right away. His hand moved toward the bandage on your arm, fingers brushing over the rough cloth. “You really want me dead?”

“I do.” You met his gaze then, your eyes bloodshot, heart raw. “I want you dead and forgotten.”

Strangely, Caleb’s fingers lingered on your skin, a tender touch that felt out of place given everything that had happened between you. His thumb brushed over your bandaged arm, then gently cupped your face, tilting your chin up so that you had no choice but to meet his eyes. The distance between you two felt like a chasm, a vast emptiness, and yet, somehow, his touch still grounded you. It made your heart race, and you hated it.

“You hate me that much?” His hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer to him. You closed your eyes, and for a good minute, it was almost peaceful. The quiet of the room, the warmth of his hand on your skin. But then you remembered the things he had done, the way he’d broken you down and built you up again, only to crush you once more. You pulled away slightly, but Caleb wouldn’t let you. He pulled you closer, his forehead resting against yours. “I’ve killed everyone who touched you. And will continue to do so for as long as I’m alive.”

You didn’t say anything. The words were stuck in your throat, the ones that you really wanted to say. The ones that would’ve made it easier to break away, to cut the ties that had bound you together for so long.

But out of everything he could have done, he chose to kiss you. Not like the first time. Not passionate or filled with fire. This kiss was different. It was filled with regret, with longing, with all the things you couldn’t bring yourself to say. It was slow, gentle, like he was afraid to break you even more than he already had.

When he pulled away, his eyes were filled with something more than guilt. “I’m sorry,” Caleb whispered, but the words didn’t fix anything. Nothing could. Even if your tears were falling freely now. You didn’t even know what you were crying for—him, or the person you used to be. The one you had lost along the way. Still, he wrapped his arms around you, pressing you to his chest like you were something fragile he wanted to protect, even if he’d been the one to break you. You could feel the slow, steady thud of his heartbeat beneath your cheek. At least, until he pulled away, tucked the blankets around you with care, and planted a soft kiss to your forehead.

“I have business in the morning,” he murmured, like you were a wife he needed to give an update to. “I might not come home for a few days.”

When he said he wouldn’t be home for a few days, you welcomed it as a small mercy. A pocket of peace. Because his absence was like hell quieting down, as if the demon retreated to its shadows. And yet, despite the relief, you couldn’t help but feel a strange unease curling in your stomach. A gut feeling whispering that maybe he was up to something far more than he let on.

And just as you suspected, the muffled sound of soldiers’ voices filtered through the door carried everything you ought to know. Their words were barely distinguishable as they spoke in low tones. But something—an instinct, maybe—had your heart racing, and you could swear you caught bits and pieces of their conversation.

“The medical convoy has been rerouted. New order,” one of them said, his voice hoarse. “No explanation. A few nurses, including one named Claire..."

The fragments of the conversation hit you like a punch to the gut. Then and there, every muscle in your body tensed. Claire. Claire was one of the nurses that had been tormenting you ever since you had been back at the base. And then there was Caleb whose orders were law. It all clicked into place.

You could feel the edges of your mind unraveling as the pieces fell together. Caleb wasn’t just holding you hostage here. He was controlling everything. Manipulating the people around you like pieces on a chessboard. The convoy rerouting wasn’t some minor shift—it was a move. A dangerous one. And you weren’t sure if you were ready to know what it meant, but you had to.

Swallowing down the nausea rising in your throat, you took a deep breath and turned toward the guards outside your door. You didn’t have time to waste. Whatever Caleb was planning, whatever he thought he was going to do, you had to stop him.

“I want to see Caleb,” you demanded sharply, a command that left no room for argument. The guards didn’t even flinch. They just stood there, their backs rigid, as if they were expecting you to say something like that.

“You know we can’t do that, miss,” one of them said. “Orders.”

“Then, I’ll tell you what,” you snapped, narrowing your eyes, “I’ll tell him that you touched me. I’ll tell him that you hurt me, and forced yourself into me.”

The look in their eyes was one of pure terror and scandal. It was as if you just sentenced them to death. One of them even shifted uncomfortably, but neither of them moved toward you. They were afraid—afraid of Caleb and everything that had to do with him. But you knew something they didn’t. They were afraid of losing their position, of Caleb’s wrath, but you? You had nothing left to lose.

“He had ordered to burn a traitor alive once,” you threatened, your voice dangerously calm now. “And had the remains be fed to the dogs.”

They hesitated, glancing at each other. You could see the way their eyes flickered, like they were torn between their orders and the realization that you meant what you said. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the taller of the two guards stepped forward.

“Fine,” he hissed, the words practically escaping his lips against his will. “But if this gets out of hand, it’s on you.”

You didn’t care. You were past caring about the consequences.

They led you down the dimly lit corridors, their footsteps echoing ominously as you moved deeper into the compound. You could feel it, the sickening feeling of being trapped, and for the first time since everything had gone to hell, you felt a spark of clarity. This was your chance to stop him, to put a stop to whatever Caleb was planning.

The guards led you into the central area of the base, a sterile, almost mechanical hall, and you could see the tension in their faces as they approached the place where their colonel was. In the shadows of a hangar they thought no one would check, Caleb stood with his pistol raised, and the muzzle? It was pointed directly at Claire’s quivering skull.

She was on her knees, sobbing, shaking, the usual scorn from her lips long gone. “Colonel, I never meant it, please—I didn’t mean it! I won’t be n-near her ever again!”

“Do I shoot you in the mouth instead?” For Caleb, it wasn’t a question. It was mockery wrapped in death, even though his face remained cold and terrifyingly composed. “You certainly had a lot to say before. But has anyone ever told you that I’d kill every single soul that dared insult my woman?”

Even though Claire had never treated you with decency, never once acknowledged you as anything but filth—the issue wasn’t about defending her. It was about stopping Caleb before he added another life to his ledger. Not for you. Not because of you. You’d already seen too much blood spilled in your name.

You couldn’t bear to be the reason again.

And you were tired of bleeding for a man who only knew how to destroy.

So you ran. You ignored the pain screaming through your body, ignored the way your knees buckled with every step. You ran until you were standing between his gun and its target. “Caleb.” Your voice cracked. “That’s enough.”

His eyes flicked to you, and for the first time in weeks, he looked startled. “Why are you here? Go back to your room,” he ordered, sternly. “I don’t want you interfering with this.”

“No more killing!” you shouted, your voice louder than you thought you still possessed. “Not for me. Not because of me!”

“I’m doing this for you,” he said flatly. As if it were a universal truth. As if murder could be dressed up as love. “These people will never respect you, not until I give them all a lesson.”

You laughed. Respect? How ironic of him to say.

But you weren’t listening anymore. You were done with being his puppet. You were done with the pain, the manipulation, and the suffocating control he had over everything in your life. “I don’t want your protection. I don’t want anything from you anymore!” you spat. “I’m done chasing your love. I’m disgusted with you and things you’ve done! They’re not love, Caleb. Do us all a favor and go to hell!”

For the first time in what felt like lifetimes, he faltered. He stood in the crossroads of his own making: one path paved in control and power, and the other, threatened by the woman who once shivered under his icy stare.

And to everyone’s surprise, he lowered the gun.

Just as you asked.

Everyone knew and could feel that the war was winding down. Slowly, like an old machine losing steam. Gunfire no longer echoed through the mountains. Missives came in with fewer red marks. Still and all, the air around Caleb remained tense, as if he was standing at the eye of a storm.

You hadn’t seen much of him in recent weeks. At least, not as much as he let you. He came and went in silence, never bothering you or speaking to you since the day you asked him to go to hell. But the good outcome from that last interaction led to no more outbursts in the days that followed, no heated arguments. Just long hours spent in the shadows of the base, pouring over confidential papers, taking hushed calls with unnamed officials, signing things he didn’t let you see.

What you didn’t know was that he had spent the last few weeks building you a way out.

An escape plan masked as a gift: forged new identity papers with your maiden name, a secluded property far from the wreckage of war, monthly financial deposits that would keep you fed for decades, and official documents that ensured no one, not even the government, could drag you back into this life.

He was sealing off every door behind you. Quietly, meticulously.

And you? You were doing your best to pretend you still belonged to the world of the living.

You volunteered at the children’s infirmary more often. Spent time folding clean sheets and organizing medicine cabinets just to feel useful. You didn’t talk much. You weren’t trying to heal—you were just trying not to rot.

That night, you were in your shared quarters, folding the same shirt three times over just to get the sleeves right, when the door creaked open. You didn’t bother turning around. Caleb had been in and out, never staying long. Most days he’d never even greet you. Some days, he would come home and take a shower, slipping into his side of the bed without a word, his back turned to you as he tried to get a wink of sleep. There wasn’t even any eye contact to be shared.

But this time was different.

Although he still didn’t say anything. He walked in, closed the door behind him with a soft click, let you feel his presence before you saw him. He was closing the distance, sure. But what surprised you was how he wrapped his arms around you from behind. Tightly. With his face buried in your shoulder. You froze at first as his embrace was firm, almost desperate. One hand gripped your waist, the other pressed flat against your stomach like he was anchoring himself. His breath was warm against your neck, but his voice never came.

“Let me go,” you murmured, not moving.

“Just five minutes,” he whispered at last. “Just… stay still. That’s all I ask.”

You did. Your fingers uncurled from the fabric in your hand, and for once, you let your body rest against his without resistance, while he held you like a man trying to memorize the shape of something he could never return to. Time stretched between you like a slow heartbeat. An extremely, dangerously slow heartbeat.

When he finally pulled back, he didn’t let go entirely. He just placed a kiss on your cheek. No explanation. No apology.

“I’ll make it right, Y/N,” he simply said, holding your face with a gentle hand and running his thumb across your cheek. His stare was earnest as he looked into your eyes. “I’ll make sure you never have to think of me again.”

And just as quietly as he came, he turned and left the room. You knew something in your chest tightened, the way it does when you sense someone saying goodbye without actually saying the words. But you didn’t run after him. You stood there for a long time after the door closed… wondering what, exactly, he was leaving behind. And what you were about to lose.

Caleb had always preferred solitude during these moments before a mission—just him, the whirr of his jet’s engines, and the distant thrum of his thoughts. And tonight, a rare calm and quiet night, was exactly what he wanted. The sky was unusually clear for wartime. There were no anti-air guns firing in the distance, no buzz of enemy drones, just the cold serenity of the atmosphere wrapping around him, welcoming him.

He sat in the cockpit, surrounded by the soft blue glow of the control panel. His gloved fingers adjusted the dials with precision, movements rehearsed a thousand times over. Everything was ready. Everything had been planned.

And yet, his thoughts couldn’t stay present. They drifted, inevitably, to you. You had been on his mind constantly, every minute of every day. The hatred in your eyes when you told him to go to hell, when you told him you wanted him dead. He couldn’t blame you. After all, he had stolen your peace, your happiness, and maybe even your will to live.

The comms in his ear cut him from his trance. “Specter-01, this is base command,” came a low voice. “Caleb, what’s your heading? You’re a few degrees off course.”

He tapped a switch, cleared his throat. “Still en route. Just adjusting for wind drift.”

There was a pause before the voice returned—Gideon. One of the few people Caleb could stand to have at his side. Loyal to a fault. And too sharp for his own good. “Don’t bullshit me, Colonel. You’re not following protocol.” There was tension in his voice now, the kind that could only come from fear. “This isn’t like you.”

Caleb exhaled slowly, the breath fogging inside his helmet. “I’m fine, Gideon,” he replied, voice calm, almost detached. “Just needed some air. That’s all.”

“But you're flying into a dead zone. No support, no backup, no exit route. If something goes wrong—”

“I know,” he cut in softly.

Another long silence stretched between them.

“...Don’t do this.”

Caleb didn’t answer right away. His eyes flicked to the radar, the blinking dots, the calculated trajectory. Everything had been mapped out—every lie, every angle, every detail to make it look accidental. So that no one would question. So that no one would stop you from moving on.

“Take care of ‘em, Gideon,” he said at last, and his voice made it clear—this wasn’t just a briefing anymore. “Take care of the team. And… her. Make sure she gets what I left behind. All of it.”

“Caleb—” Gideon’s voice was sharper this time. “Caleb, don’t do this. You pull that throttle one more degree and you’re not coming back. You hear me?”

Caleb didn’t respond immediately.

He stared ahead, the horizon fading into black. Then he glanced down at the radar, his destination marked in red, blinking faintly like a dying heartbeat. His fingers danced across the console with quiet certainty. There was no trembling now. Only resolve.

He flicked the comms one last time, the channel still open to Gideon.

“This is Colonel Caleb Xia,” he began, voice steady, almost ceremonial. “Serial Number X-02. Former DAA Fighter Pilot. 5th Skyborne Division. Head of Tactical Recon. Shadow Commander of the Ninth Flight. Loyal son of the war.”

While Gideon was holding his breath on the other line, Caleb exhaled on his.

“Signing off.”

“Wait—Caleb, don’t you fucking dare—!”

Then he switched the comms off.

Silence flooded the cockpit again, but it was a cruel relief. The kind that felt like surrender. He gripped the joystick and pushed the throttle forward, feeling the jet surge under his hands. The roar of the engines was deafening now. He wasn’t afraid. In fact, the familiar vibrations of the jet beneath him felt oddly soothing. The plane climbed higher, slicing through clouds like paper. The city below looked small now, insignificant—like all the things he used to care about. A dot among dots. A place where people still hoped, still dreamed.

And you were somewhere down there. Breathing. Alive.

He closed his eyes for a moment, as if he could picture your face one last time. As if he could imprint it onto whatever eternity waited for him. Then, his fingers hovered over the control panel, the slightest tremor in them now. He entered the override, veered sharply, and… the jet dipped lower.

There would be no mayday. No beacon.

Just one last act of penance.

With a faint smile—equal parts grief and relief—Caleb let go.

1 MONTH AFTER

The somber grey clouds had a mission today. Not stormy, not weeping—just still. And heavy.

Unlike the usual stark white uniform you donned as a war nurse, you stood in an all-black attire before a modest grave now, staring at the name etched into the headstone that was so clean it could’ve been carved yesterday.

(MC) Xia

Beloved Wife. Devoted Friend. A Soul That Endured the War.

A month had passed since the ceasefire, since the war gasped its last violent breath, since the tower’s red lights blinked for the last time. They no longer raised the war ensign, and instead, replaced it with a regular flag. It was a month full of hope, of joy, of good news. A month of normalcy. Of peace.

It had also been a month since Caleb’s jet spiraled off the radar, only to never land again.

You were in his quarters when the news arrived—delivered not with ceremony, but in a voice worn thin by grief. It was his closest friend Gideon who told you, his eyes bloodshot and hollow, aged more by sorrow than war. Caleb’s jet had gone down, he said. It was too late to save him. His jet turned into a comet over the mountains, and that was the last anyone saw of him. They told you the wreckage was scattered beyond recognition. That there were no remains to bury. No bones to hold the ceremony over, not even fragments for a grave. Only soot, swallowed by wind, vanishing like vapor.

At first, there was no reaction. Just silence. An unbearable stillness. You stood motionless, eyes dazed, like everything was just a part of a cruel dream. Isn’t this what I wanted? you asked yourself, again and again, trying to summon a feeling—relief, peace, something. But nothing came. Not even the tears.

Instead, your legs gave out. You collapsed to the floor with trembling hands and an aching heart, but remained dry-eyed for most of it. Grief had not yet found its shape. It simply throbbed inside your chest, like something inside you shattered so loud you thought the world could hear it.

Moving on didn’t come easily, either. A month may have passed, but it wasn’t enough. It was too soon, too early to even expect yourself to be fine again. And how could you begin to accept death, when it had left no trace behind?

So, you came here instead. To her grave. To return him to her.

Caleb’s first love. His wife. The woman who haunted the corners of his mind like a fading photograph and whose memory bled into everything you had shared with him. This was the only place that felt honest. The only place where both your griefs could sit side by side without judgement.

The wind danced with the soft rustling of leaves as you stood still beneath the shadow of a tree, the kind that had lived through more seasons than any of the soldiers buried here ever would. The grave in front of you was well-cared for, and the flowers beside it were fresh—carefully arranged lilies and white chrysanthemums, the ones Caleb always said reminded him of peace. Maybe he brought them. Surely, he did. Your hand rested gently on the headstone, fingers tracing the grooves of her name as if they were familiar and sacred.

“Please take care of him.” You spoke softly, too softly as if she was one with the wind. “I’m sure he’s with you now. That’s where he always belonged.” Glancing down, you blinked past the sting behind your eyes. “I used to wonder why he never looked at me the same. Why he always held me like I was glass but never gold. But I understand now. You were his home. And when you died, he lost the only map he ever followed.”

A small, bitter smile flickered across your lips.

“He loved you. So fiercely. So painfully.” A pause, only for you to swallow the weakness forcing its way up your throat. “If only you had survived the war… he wouldn’t have turned into what he became. I was just the aftermath. I was the damage. But still, I hope you can forgive him. And I hope you can forgive me, too.”

As you took a deep, cathartic exhale, footsteps broke the silence behind you.

“Still raining,” said Dr. Zayne, holding the umbrella over your head. You let the drizzle kiss your cheeks like tears from the sky. “She was our childhood,” he added quietly. “Mine and Caleb’s.”

“I know.”

“I wasn’t on good terms with him,” he admitted. “I loved her, too. But I set it aside because I wanted to be happy for them.”

You finally looked up at him. His expression was solemn as he reached into his coat.

“Before he left… he asked me to give you this.”

A letter. Plain. Folded like an airplane. Your name written in his unmistakable, sharp script. You took it with trembling hands.

Zayne didn’t say more. He simply nodded at the grave, and then at you. “We should go. The roads are closing soon.”

You nodded, lips parting but no words falling. The letter simply grew heavier in your hands, and your fingers itched to open them. You knew this wasn’t closure exactly.

But it was something close enough to carry forward.

To my sweetest girl, If you’re reading this, I probably don’t exist anymore. I don’t know what state you’ll be in when this reaches your hands—if you’ll cry, if you’ll laugh, or if you’ll crumple this letter and curse my name like I deserve. I don’t expect forgiveness. I never did. But I need you to know what I’ve done. Not to earn your love, but to settle a debt that I created the moment I took your life and bent it into something unrecognizable. Inside the envelope I left with my friend, Zayne, you’ll find everything you need to start over. A full civilian identity under your maiden name—clean records, a background, even a fabricated work history. There’s a house registered to that name in a quiet part of the world where no one will know you, where the war won’t reach, and neither will I. I’ve transferred assets to accounts only accessible by you and under your new credentials. The funds should last you a lifetime, or maybe two. You’ll find documents for land ownership, health coverage, and immunity against any wartime tribunal trying to drag your name through the dirt. You won’t owe anyone anything. Not even me. It’s not enough. I know it’s not enough. There is no currency in the world that can pay back the things I did to you—directly or by consequence. But this… this is the only form of apology I know how to give. My death is not redemption. But I know it’s your freedom. You once told me you prayed for the war to end and for me to vanish with it. So here I am, granting your prayer. A little too late. A little too broken. But still yours, in whatever way this bitter world will allow. I don’t want you to mourn me. I just want you to live. Live like the girl who smiled before she met me. Live like the woman I watched patch bullet wounds and hold broken men together with shaking hands. And if you ever look up to the sky and wonder where I went, I hope the stars lie to you. I hope they tell you I made it somewhere better. That way, you won’t carry the burden of my passing. Only the start of your beginning. Don’t look back. Don’t come searching for ghosts. Just go. And never stop going. Yours in another life, Caleb

#caleb #lads #angst #i love it!!!!!#super angsty made me cry

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erwindotrecs · 1 month ago

Text

THE COLONEL'S KEEPER.

in a war-torn world where survival is a privilege, you never expected to become the object of a feared colonel’s obsession. but as whispers of his lost love haunt your every moment and bullets become the least of your worries, you realize that falling for him might be the most dangerous battle of all.

➤ pairings. caleb, fem!reader

➤ genre. heavy angst, smut, historical au, 18+

➤ tags. colonel!caleb, nurse!reader, non mc!reader, ooc, war times, unrequited love, profanity, violence, loveless sex, explicit smut, mentions of sexual assault (not from caleb), obsession, possessiveness, jealousy, injuries, blood, killings, morally gray dynamics, death. themes contain material that are heavy and disturbing—reader discretion is strongly advised.

➤ notes. 8.3k wc. divider by thecutestgrotto. this is heavily inspired by my other gojo fic s.o.s and the manhwa my beloved oppressor :) couldn’t stop thinking about this au for caleb that i had to just write it :’D reblogs and comments are highly appreciated!

➤ next. 002 the colonel’s saint | colonel caleb playlist

The world above was long dead. Ruins of cities stood as monuments to a past civilization, swallowed by the aftermath of World War VI. Beneath the surface, buried in a labyrinth of steel and stone, was where the remaining humanity clung to survival. Here, Colonel Caleb was both a savior and a nightmare—a man whose presence alone sent shivers down the spines of even the most battle-hardened soldiers.

But he was not just any soldier—he was the fleet’s best fighter pilot, a legend in the skies before the war even forced them underground. Even now, when the remnants of humanity relied on aerial supremacy to hold off their enemies, Caleb was the one they turned to. The one who led the most dangerous missions, who never failed, who returned even when others didn’t.

You have loved him for as long as you could remember.

You were a humble nurse, stitching together broken bodies, whispering soft reassurances to the wounded. Your duty was simple yet relentless, saving as many lives as you could with the limited resources and skill at your disposal. You weren’t the best, nor did you claim to be, but you were one of the few who refused to surrender to despair, even as the war bled your world dry. While others faltered under the gravity of endless suffering, you endured. And after a year of tending to fallen soldiers and civilians, you remained steadfast. You were the only one among your female colleagues who hadn’t lost herself to the horrors of war.

That was how you met him.

Caleb was the fleet’s toughest and most formidable leader. He was unyielding and merciless to those who dared cross him. Even with his own people, he remained strict, and his resolve never wavered even in the face of devastating losses. But the night he staggered into the private ward, wounded and bleeding out, you were the first to reach him. You ensured he was cared for, your hands steady as you fought to keep him alive.

“You’ll make it through the night, sir.” You could still remember the desperation in your voice as you tightened the tourniquet around his broken arm, fighting to stop the bleeding. “I’ll make sure of it.”

He lay there, teeth clenched, body tense with pain, every breath labored. “If I die, I die.”

“No!” you shot back, your grip firm with determination. “Not tonight. You will live. We’re rooting for you, sir. The people need you.”

They said falling in love during wartime was a surefire path to heartbreak. Yet, meeting Caleb, seeing beyond his striking exterior, and loving him despite the battles—both on the field and within—was a fight you willingly embraced. You surrendered yourself to him without hesitation, and in return, the hardened soldier who was weary from war found solace in you. He called you the prettiest nurse in the ward, but to him, you were far more than that. You were the one thing he never saw coming.

You were the apple of his eyes.

But, of course, the other nurses didn’t take kindly to that. They resented how you had unknowingly ruined their chances with him, and even more so, how an undeniable favoritism began to surface. While they were left to sleep in rusty bunk beds, you were the one Caleb brought to his private quarters, where the sheets were soft, the air was warm, and food was abundant.

It was easy for them to judge. After all, rumors spread like wildfire about the nurse who shared the colonel’s bed. The gossip wasn’t confined to just the nurses; it reached the soldiers who eyed you whenever you passed, their gazes lingering with knowing smirks as if fantasizing what their colonel saw at night. Even the older civilians bore disapproving glances whenever they saw you. Their silent verdict was clear as day. You were seen as a woman who had traded her virtue for privilege. A harlot draped in a white uniform. A disgrace hiding behind the pretense of care.

You weren’t sure if Caleb knew about it, but it was impossible not to. He simply didn’t care because he had an entire nation to think about. Clearing your name was the least of his concerns. And you knew it. After two years of serving as a war nurse, when night fell, you were simply the woman Caleb claimed as his. A common-law partner, nothing more. He never made promises, never told you that you were the only one in his heart. Because you weren’t. That space belonged to another—the woman he had truly loved. The woman he had lost to war.

His wife.

You tried. You tried to live with the ghost between you, tried to endure the way his fingers sometimes trembled against your skin, as if remembering someone else. You tried to pretend that when he held you, it was because he wanted you, not because he needed something to numb the ache inside him.

But love, when unreciprocated, was a slow and agonizing death.

And all you could do was live with it for as long as you were with him.

Because one day, you knew he could love you the same. And one day, when the war ends, you would be in his arms, building your life together with your kids playing freely and no longer living in fear.

For now, you had to endure what came your way. There are no saints in war times, and patience was a virtue at times like these.

The sharp scent of antiseptic filled your nose as you moved swiftly through the underground ward, checking pulses, changing dressings, and murmuring reassurances to the wounded who groaned in pain one after another. It was just another day in the relentless cycle of war, patching up soldiers only to send them back out to die.

Then you heard him.

Colonel Caleb’s commanding voice felt like an alarm to everyone in the ward as he strode down the hall, flanked by his army of men. You weren’t even looking, but you could picture the way they walked, with Caleb at the front, exuding effortless authority, and the others keeping pace just slightly behind him.

“The turbine failed mid-air,” one of his officers reported. “Preliminary analysis suggests a mechanical fault. Possibly a lubrication issue in the main rotor bearings.”

“Or sabotage,” another interjected grimly.

Caleb didn’t slow his steps. “Has the wreckage been recovered?”

“Scouts are en route, sir. We should have an assessment within the hour.”

“Too late,” Caleb muttered. “If they hit us now, we’ll have one less bird in the sky. Reassign Squadron Echo to cover the eastern perimeter. Deploy anti-air artillery in sector four, and keep the missile launchers primed.”

“Yes, sir.”

Just then, a distant explosion rumbled aboveground, rattling the dim lights overhead. You even had to hold onto one of the cabinet doors to steady yourself. A fighter jet had gone down.

“Damn it.” One of the officers pulled out a small tablet, scanning over the mission logs. “Pilot’s confirmed dead. They’re already moving in on the wreckage. We need reinforcements at the north trench.”

Caleb barely hesitated. “Send Private Halloway to the front lines.”

“Roger that.”

His words were sharp and clinical. No emotion. Just another name spoken into a void, another body to be thrown into the fray.

Your hands stilled over a soldier’s bandages. Halloway. You recognized that name.

The same Halloway who had leaned a little too close when you handed him his rations. The one who had brushed a stray lock of hair from your face and smirked, murmuring something about how the battlefield could use more beauty like yours. The kind of beauty that he fantasized at night.

And now he was being sent to die.

A strange thrill coiled in your stomach. Caleb had heard about it. Or he might even have seen. It was a foolish and delusional thought, dangerous even, but you clung to the fact that this was surely his way of claiming you.

As his group passed, your pulse quickened. You turned slightly, letting your gaze linger on him. Tall. Unshaken. Unreachable. This was your man. He was yours and you were his.

You smiled as soon as he saw you, just a little, as if sharing a secret only the two of you understood.

But Caleb didn’t stop. He simply looked away. His eyes remained fixed ahead, his expression unreadable, and in a matter of seconds, he was gone. Nothing more than the cold air that he often carried.

Steam curled in the dimly lit room as you stepped out of the shower, water forming in rivulets against your skin. The underground base was always cold, but in Caleb’s quarters, the warmth always stayed. Not just because he had his own luxury of a fireplace, but because the warmth also included faint traces of him in the air, in the sheets, and in the ghost of his presence.

Not that it mattered. You were just emotional because he hadn’t been here in three days.

Sighing, you wrapped a towel around yourself, already resigning to another night alone. But just as you reached for your comb, the door swung open with a slow and deliberate creak.

You froze.

Caleb stood in the doorway, his uniform dusted with dirt and gunpowder. His sleeves were rolled up, veins prominent on his forearms and tension coiling in his stance. His gaze flicked over your damp skin, bare shoulders, the towel barely clinging to your body.

You let a small smile play on your lips. “You finally remembered where your bed is?” you teased, stepping closer. “I was starting to think you found another.”

He didn’t respond. Just shut the door behind him with a quiet click.

And the thick, suffocating silence stretched as he began removing his shoes. You took this moment to clear your throat. “I heard about Halloway,” you murmured, tilting your head. “People are saying you sent him to a death sentence.” A pause, then a knowing smile. “Did you do that for me?”

The shift was instant. And it wasn’t what you pictured in your head.

Before you could react, Caleb was in front of you, his body pressing you back until your spine hit the cold wall. His hand gripped your jaw firmly, tilting your face up until you had no choice but to meet his eyes. They were dark, smoldering, and unreadable. This was the version of Caleb that everyone was afraid of.

“You worried ‘bout him?” His voice had a dangerous edge lacing each word.

While you, your breath hitched, fingers curling into the towel. “N-No.”

“You think I didn’t hear?” His grip on your jaw tightened just enough to make you gasp. “The way he talked to you? The way you smiled at him? Handsome guy, isn’t he?”

You denied everything he was saying. You knew one of his officers had been feeding him information, but they seemed twisted to make you out as someone you weren’t. Were they trying to turn him against you? “No, darling. That’s not true. In fact, I can’t even stand him.”

His lips curled, but there was no humor in it. “I have eyes and ears everywhere, Y/N.” He leaned in, his breath warm against your cheek. “And if I catch you entertaining anyone else again, I won’t just send them to die.”

A shiver ran down your spine—fear, thrill, or perhaps something darker twisting deep inside you. His warning did what it was supposed to do: to scare the hell out of you. But the most dangerous part was how much you enjoyed it all.

And then, before you could even form a response, he pushed you towards the bed.

By the time you looked back at him in surprise, he was already unbuttoning his shirt, looking at you merely as an object of his desire. “Strip off,” he growled, face rigid as ever. “The past few days were damn stressful. Been thinkin’ of you naked all day.”

And so, your nightly duties began. Caleb demanded his reward, and you were too foolishly in love that you surrendered to him without hesitation.

Because as unhinged as his obsession seemed, it ignited something deep within you. The thought of Caleb claiming you as his prize, something he craved at the end of each brutal day, sent the most passionate fire through your veins. That the same man who barely spared you a glance in daylight was the one who burned with desperation to have you all to himself at nighttime.

“I missed you,” you whispered as you slowly unraveled your bare body in front of him, dropping the damp towel on the floor. Not once did you break eye contact, and it was the sexiest thing you had ever experienced in your life.

As for him, he had already rid himself of his clothes. They were a pile on the floor, discarded lazily as he pinned you down. First, he went for your lips. Completely devouring, savoring your taste, and dominating every inch of your mouth. The moment his tongue connected with yours, he deepened the kiss—a little too rough, too desperate that you could barely breathe.

“M-My love,” you gasped, the only time he allowed you to catch your breath was when he was positioning himself between your legs. And then he crashed his lips onto yours once more, enjoying how you moaned against his lips, exchanging warm breaths as he explored your mouth. The kiss was so intense that you barely noticed the feeling of his hardened member pressing against your leg. It felt huge and hard as a rock, a clear sign that he had been wanting a good release for the past few days. And you? You were crazy about it. You had seen his member plenty of times before, but nothing excited you more than feeling it inside.

That wasn’t his agenda for now, though. He took his sweet time trailing kisses along your collarbone, leaving purple marks around your neck, before he feasted on the same breast he had been kneading for more than a minute. You could feel your back arching as your body naturally responded to his touch, with your own hand guiding him to massage your other mound. He nibbled on the nipple, sucking and licking around the nub, then moving to give the other the same amount of attention.

He was like a hungry beast that hadn’t eaten for weeks. With the way he squeezed your tits together and running his tongue along the cleavage, you could already feel yourself dripping down there.

“C-Caleb.”

“Hm?” He didn’t pull away. Instead, he crawled down, spreading your legs apart, and eyeing the swollen lips that he was about to demolish. “Wet already?”

You nodded, looking down at him and watching as he pressed his fingers along the slit, sliding and circling his digits on your entrance. “Mmh—that’s…”

“Be patient now,” he mocked, “Aren’t you so needy?”

That was true, but how could you help it? How could you not want him inside if you could see him stroking his pulsing cock while he was using his other hand to play with your clit? Just when you thought you couldn’t go crazier, he eventually sucked his digits to taste your slick, then he returned them back to your entrance, only this time, entering without warning.

“A-Aah!”

His fingers alone could make your legs shake, and whatever he was reaching for inside you was making you weaker by the second. You were a moaning mess under him, hands clenching on his sheets for dear life as he fingered your cunt like there was no tomorrow. It was only a matter of seconds until you disintegrated in front of him—your legs trembling as your fluid released itself in a series of squirts.

Embarrassed as you may be, it was what Caleb wanted to see.

And he didn’t let you rest before he was already positioning his crotch on your face, his hand holding his cock in place as he slapped his swollen tip against your lips. “My turn,” he spoke in a low voice, smirking as you wrapped your shaky hand around his shaft and let your tongue swirl around his bulging pink head. You could taste the precum on his tip, licking every corner and every ridge under, from his balls back to his tip before you swallowed him entirely.

“Fuck,” he cursed under his breath, pulling your hair as you bobbed your head on his cock, enveloping the warm walls of your mouth around his member as if you were milking him of his cum. Your eyes welled with tears as you fought the urge to gag despite feeling the tip of his cock repeatedly hitting your throat. Each and every moan he released made you more determined to please him, to be called a good girl, to be wanted.

You could feel it. With how his cock was twitching inside your mouth, he was about to explode. But he didn’t let it happen. Everything happened in a span of a second when he pulled his member from your mouth before opening your core and slamming his cock into your pussy.

His thick, hard cock stretched you open without mercy. And he didn’t slow down or savor the time. He was ramming into you, hands holding your hips in place while your tits bounced wildly. Caleb’s sweat was starting to trickle along his toned upper body, his abs now glistening as he continued to pound into you endlessly.

“I’d fuck you everyday like this if I can,” he grunted, each word came out raspy. “You like that?”

“Y-Yes! A-Aaah!” You struggled to form coherent words as he hit your sweetest spot at each hard thrust. “C-Caleb.”

The walls were thin. But surely, the colonel’s private quarters would have some sort of soundproofing, otherwise it would be embarrassing how loud the skin-slapping and squelching noises you two were making. It didn’t help that you were practically screaming as Caleb started increasing his speed as he chased his climax. Your walls were clenching around his girth, milking him of his load that he soon spurted inside of you.

You were in a battle of catching each other’s breaths as he pulled out, watching his cum seep out of your cunt before he plopped on the bed next to you.

“Take the pill as soon as you wake up,” he ordered, laying on his back as he closed his eyes. His chest rose up and down as he eventually caught his breath.

But you remained a ragdoll beside him, your lower body still twitching from the intense orgasm and muscle memory. “O-Okay.”

The night was supposed to end romantically. It was supposed to be you and him cuddling and declaring your love for each other, but the thought of him only using your body to relieve himself was torture to your mind. You convinced yourself it meant something more, something deeper.

But the hard truth was, you were only there to fill the silence.

You traced lazy circles over his bare chest, your voice soft yet full of devotion. “I’m all yours, Caleb. Only yours.”

“Yeah,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “I know.”

The next morning, the bed beside you was cold.

You reached out instinctively, your fingers brushing against the empty sheets where Caleb should have been. But there was nothing—no warmth, no lingering presence, just the stark reality that he hadn’t even stayed.

But you told yourself you just had to get used to it and that Caleb would come wanting you again at night. Like he always did. And so, biting back the hollow ache in your chest, you forced yourself up, got dressed, and headed to the mess hall for breakfast.

The moment you stepped in, you felt it.

Eyes. Watching. Judging.

The low murmurs didn’t stop as you walked past the rows of civilians, soldiers, and nurses, pretending not to notice the whispers that followed you. You kept your chin up and sat down with your tray, forcing yourself to eat the stale bread despite the tightness in your throat.

You had no illusions about what they were saying. They all thought they knew what you were or what you did. Caleb’s woman. His plaything. And after last night, they had even more reason to talk.

But you had work to do.

By midday, you were back in the ward, slipping into your role as if nothing had changed. Patients needed tending to, and you weren’t about to let their petty gossip stop you.

At least there was something to occupy yourself with. They brought in a new soldier to the base, barely back from the front lines if you could add. His face was gaunt, sunken with pain, sweat beading on his forehead as he lay on the cot. His leg was in ruins—shattered bones, torn muscle, the kind of injury that didn’t fully heal in wartime.

You approached him carefully, offering a calm, practiced smile. “I’m here to help—”

His reaction was instant. It was as though you were the trigger to a ticking time bomb. His eyes, bloodshot and wild, snapped to you, and before you could blink, his hands already shot out, grabbing at you with a strength you didn’t expect.

“You—!” he snarled, his fingers digging into your arms, nails raking against your skin as he yanked you forward. “You whore—you whore!”

You gasped, struggling against his grip, but he was fueled by pain and rage, his voice hoarse with accusation. “Ow! P-Please!”

“You ruin men like us! You—you—get innocent soldiers sent to die!” His nails scratched at your cheek, his grip tightening as he shook you. “You’re the reason Halloway’s gone—!”

The words hit like a slap, but before he could do more, hands were on him. And on you. Other soldiers rushed in, prying him off you, restraining him as he thrashed against the cot.

“Stand down, soldier!” one barked.

You stumbled back, breath coming fast, your skin stinging where he had just scratched you.

But the worst part wasn’t the pain.

It was the way the nurses across the ward just watched. Their gazes were cold, as if saying you deserved it. Not a single one had moved to help.

You couldn’t understand the hostility. Couldn’t fathom why people looked at you with such disdain. If it had been another woman in your place, would they have treated her the same? All you had done was love a man—nothing more, nothing less. You weren’t trying to hurt anyone. You simply fell in love.

But as you locked yourself in the bathroom, staring at your reflection while washing the bloody scratches from your cheek, that was when the realization struck.

They didn’t respect you because Caleb never had.

Not once had he claimed you in public, never shown his affection where others could see. He had never treated you like someone worth honoring, never given you the respect you deserved. And if the leader of this war-torn world didn’t respect you—why would anyone else?

The thought alone made your eyes well with tears, but you quickly washed them away. No. You refused to doubt. He loves me. He’d even kill for me.

A sudden knock at the door pulled you from your thoughts. You opened it hesitantly, only to find Simone standing there. The only female soldier with a rank high enough to command real respect. At first, you assumed she was just waiting for the restroom, but the way she looked at you said otherwise.

“You got a minute?” she asked, her tone cool and unreadable.

You hesitated before nodding. “Yeah… sure.”

The storage room was cold and dimly lit by the single flickering bulb overhead. Dust clung to the forgotten crates, and the faint scent of metal and oil lingered in the air. Hardly anyone came here as it was a place for old supplies and broken equipment, not whispered conversations.

And yet, here you were, in the only room without surveillance.

Simone leaned against one of the crates, arms crossed as he narrowed her eyes at you. “You need to end things with Caleb.”

You stiffened instantly. “Excuse me?”

She sighed, rubbing her temples as if she had already anticipated your reaction. “This thing between you and him, you know it isn’t healthy. Not for you. Not for him.”

You scoffed. Who does she think she is? “You don’t know anything about us.”

“I know more than you think,” she shot back. “I know what kind of man Caleb is. What he’s become.”

You folded your arms, defensive. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. All I know is that he cares about me.”

“Cares about you?” Simone let out a humorless chuckle. “Do you even know what he’s done? How many men he’s killed just for looking at you?”

Your lips parted, but no words came out.

“Five soldiers. And counting,” she continued coldly. “Some he sent straight to the gas chambers. Others? He had them tortured in ways I wouldn’t even wish on our enemies. And all because they made the mistake of mentioning how beautiful you are.”

You felt the blood drain from your face. “B-But that’s because he wants to protect me. That’s just how he loves.”

Simone watched you carefully before she sighed again, her voice softening this time. “This isn’t love, Y/N. You don’t know Caleb… I don’t even know if he’s capable of loving again.”

What does she mean?

“He wasn’t always like this,” she continued, almost nostalgic as if he had seen another version of Caleb that you hadn’t. “Before the war. Before his wife died. He was kind. Gentle. A man who knew the difference between power and cruelty.” She hesitated, then admitted, “She was my colleague. And my friend. Caleb’s childhood sweetheart, his true love, and his whole life. He loved her sincerely, so much so that he was fighting to make the world better for her. Not destroy it. But seeing him right now, she would’ve hated what he’s become.”

Your hands clenched into fists at your sides. Everything she had just mentioned shot a bullet straight to your heart, but you refused to let it kill you. You refused, denied. No!

“You can’t replace her,” Simone added, her words cutting through you like a knife. “No matter how much you try. So I suggest you leave him before it destroys you.”

The door to Caleb’s private quarters slammed open as you stormed inside, your blood boiling, your mind a haze of rage and betrayal. You couldn’t stop Simone’s words from echoing in your head even if you tried hard enough. You can’t replace her. She’s his true love. His whole life.

“No.” Adamantly did you shake your head. “Stop.”

He loved her sincerely. And still does.

Your breath came in ragged gasps as you yanked at the blankets, overturned chairs, kicked over the table. The frustration inside you was begging to be released, and destruction was the only thing that made sense. How could you get extremely jealous over a dead person? You laughed in your head. She was dead. She was gone. Good for her. But despite the constant reminder to yourself that the woman you were jealous of didn’t exist anymore, you knew that you could never erase the fact that you would still never amount to her. And you hated it. You hated her!

In your rage, you didn’t even realize you had grabbed one of his jackets from the pile of discarded uniforms until something tumbled out of the pocket.

A necklace.

It landed with a soft metallic clink against the floor. It was a simple chain, worn with age, with two wedding bands strung together. Your stomach twisted as you picked it up, seeing the engraving was delicate but unmistakable. It had Caleb’s name and hers.

Your hands trembled.

She was still here. She had never left. Not in his heart, not in his mind. He carried her with him, even now, even after all the ways he had made you believe you were his.

Something inside you snapped, as though you were a madwoman who had finally lost her sanity. Like Caleb always said, that ‘there are no saints in wartimes’. So, what was stopping you from going all out? She needed to be destroyed. She needed to be forgotten. In your desperation to search for more pieces of her, you lurched toward his drawers, pulling them open and shoving things aside. Your promise to never touch his things? Forgotten.

That was when you saw a wooden box, hidden beneath neatly folded uniforms.

You yanked it out, prying it open with shaking hands—only to find it stuffed with letters. Some yellowed with time, others crisp as if he had reread them over and over. Her handwriting. Her words. Her love, immortalized in ink.

My Dearest Caleb, If I close my eyes, I can still see you standing on the shoreline, hands in your pockets, pretending you’re not waiting for me. But I always knew. You were never good at hiding how much you loved me. Are you eating well? Have you been sleeping? I know you’ll lie if I ask you in person, but in a letter, you can’t hide from me. And I worry, darling. I always do. I miss the way you hold me before you leave. I miss the way you kiss my hair, thinking I don’t notice how long you linger there. I miss the way you look at me like I’m the only thing in this world worth coming back to. Sometimes I wonder… do you know how much I love you? Do you feel it, even when we’re apart? I hope you do. I hope it’s enough to keep you warm when the nights are cold, to keep you safe when danger is near. Come back to me soon, my love. The house is too quiet without you. And when you do, I’ll be right here, waiting. Just like always. Forever yours, Your wife

A strangled sob tore from your throat.

You didn’t think. You couldn’t. You just couldn’t.

Through hot tears and reckless fury, you grabbed the box and flung it into the fireplace without regard. All her letters spilled out, each and every one of them catching flame within seconds. And you didn’t hesitate to throw the necklace soon after, letting it vanish into the fire with a dull shimmer.

You stood there, watching the flames devour every trace of her. Of them.

“You’re gone,” you let out a mirthless laugh, wiping the tears that followed after. “You’re gone! Leave him alone!”

Your entire body trembled at the thought, your chest undulating in heavy breaths. Then, as if realizing what you had done, you collapsed onto the floor, staring blankly at the fire.

The anger was gone.

Replaced by the terrifying thought of what Caleb would do when he came home.

The FY-26 cut through the sky like a phantom with its sleek titanium frame reflecting the nautical glow of the setting sun. It was the most powerful fighter jet in the fleet; faster, deadlier, a mechanical beast designed for war. And only one person from the DAA was given the honor to pilot it.

Caleb gripped the throttle, voice steady as he spoke into his comms. “Specter-01 to Specter-02, enemy reconnaissance spotted at 2 o’clock, altitude 15,000 feet. Adjust trajectory and prepare for engagement.”

“Copy that, Specter-01,” came the reply of his fellow fighter pilot. “Visual confirmed. Awaiting further orders.”

Caleb’s gaze flicked to the horizon, where a lone aircraft hovered in the distance. He could hear the chatter of enemy comms scrambling to react, but for a moment, his focus drifted.

Below him, a small, crescent-shaped island came into view. His grip on the controls instantly tightened.

He knew this place.

The memory surfaced like a ghost from another life—of a time when war wasn’t all he knew. When he had taken her here, flying low so she could see the crystalline waves shimmering under the sun. He had told her to look down, to read the words he had carved into the sand earlier in the day.

"Will you marry me?"

He could still hear her laughter, the way it had crackled through the radio before she screamed yes over the comms, her excitement drowning out all other noise. His adorable pipsqueak. Her beautiful smile, her sparkling eyes…

Caleb exhaled sharply, forcing himself back into the present. “I miss you, my love.”

That was a lifetime ago. She was a lifetime ago.

His eyes darkened as he thought of his new reality—you. You weren’t her. Not in the way you spoke, the way you carried yourself, the way you looked at him with that foolish devotion. But maybe… maybe he should stop pretending that it mattered.

Maybe he should just settle with what he had left.

You were still there waiting for him. A woman who, despite all odds, loved him with reckless abandon. The same woman who cried on the night he was on his deathbed, doing everything in her might to make sure he lived. And though he could never give you what he once gave another, he knew you’d still smile, even just from the smallest things.

A glance. A touch. A mere kiss from him, and your entire world lit up.

His hands flexed against the controls.

“Specter-02, engage the target. I’m circling back to base.”

Because tonight, maybe he’d give you something to smile about.

The moment Caleb stepped into his quarters, he could tell something was wrong.

The air alone was thick with the acrid scent of smoke, an unusual warmth persisting as dying embers crackled weakly in the fireplace. His gaze swept over the room—furniture askew, drawers flung open, papers and personal belongings scattered across the floor. His gut twisted. It was like a crime scene. Like something vital had been gutted from this space.

Then, his eyes landed on you.

Curled up on the floor, body trembling, and your arms wrapped around yourself like a feeble shield. Your shoulders shook through stifled sobs, but the moment your tear-streaked face lifted to meet his gaze, everything inside him snapped.

His heart slammed against his ribs, a foreign pressure crushing his chest as his vision tunneled straight to the fireplace.

No. No, no, no, no!

It was as if his vision blurred, as if there was a deafening ringing overtaking his ears as he stormed forward, shoving past the mess to get to the source of his rage. The flames had long since died, leaving behind nothing but fragile wisps of ash. But even in its destruction, he recognized what it used to be.

Burned letters.

A melted necklace, the twisted remains of two rings fused together.

The last pieces of her.

His wife.

His breath left him in a sharp, ragged exhale, his lungs refusing to pull in air as scorching rage flooded every nerve in his body.

“You,” he seethed. Your name didn’t even make it past his lips. The word was a knife, laced with something lethal, something beyond fury. His boots pounded against the wooden floor as he closed the distance between you, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles went white. “I’d fucking kill you! What the fuck have you done?!”

You flinched, your body recoiling as if his voice had physically struck you. “Caleb—”

“Shut up!” His hand shot out, gripping your arm down to the bone, yanking you up with enough force that your legs nearly gave out beneath you. “Do you have any fucking idea what you just did?”

“I—I didn’t mean to… I wasn’t thinking straight—” you choked out, shaking your head frantically, eyes wide with panic.

“Didn’t mean to?” He let out a sharp, humorless laugh, the sound so devoid of warmth it sent chills down your spine. Before you could react, he was already shoving you back against the nearest wall, his arms caging you in, his breath hot with rage as it fanned against your skin. His eyes were cold, piercing, murderous, menacing.

“You burned her letters, our rings,” he said, each syllable aiming to intimidate you. “Destroyed the only damn thing I had left of her! And for what?!”

Tears spilled down your cheeks as you tried to shake your head, tried to explain, but your throat was too tight, your breath too uneven. Caleb’s gaze alone was enough to make your entire body tremble. But you had to try. “I was hurt, Caleb,” you finally sobbed, the words tumbling out like a plea. “I—I just wanted you to forget her. I wanted you to see me!”

“Forget her?” His jaw clenched. His grip tightened on your wrist, the pressure just shy of bruising. “You think you could ever replace her? You think you have any fuckin’ right to want anything from me? That you could be anything more than a pathetic substitute?”

The words sliced through you like a blade, carving through every delusion you had ever let yourself believe.

Yet… you had nothing left to lose.

“I love you,” you whispered, broken, desperate. “Caleb, I love you… Please. I’ll be everything you need. I’ll offer everything I have and more. Just… just forget about her.”

For a terrifying second, you thought he might actually hit you.

But then, just as fast as it came, he wrenched himself away from you, staggering back as though you were the thing poisoning him. It hurt. It hurt like hell to see the way he rid himself of you as he ran a hand through his hair, his fingers itching to wreck you.

“...Caleb.”

“...I’m sorry, Caleb.”

“...I love you, Caleb.”

No matter how desperately you fought to win his heart, his voice remained eerily calm when he finally spoke.

“Get the hell out of my sight.”

You stood frozen, barely able to process the words. “B-But—”

“I said GET THE FUCK OUT!” His roar thundered through the room, rattling your entire being like an insect in a heavy storm.

You swallowed down the sob threatening to rise up your throat, willing yourself to move—to breathe—as you staggered toward the door. Your fingers curled around the handle, and for a split second, you let yourself hope for him to stop you. To say something. Anything.

But all he did was stare at you with a gaze so cold, so hollow, it made your heart cave in on itself.

And then, his final words were more merciless than you thought.

“You wanna play with fire?” he muttered. “Fine. I’ll throw you out into the front lines soon enough. See how much you really want to be a soldier’s whore.”

A strangled gasp left your lips, your vision blurring with fresh tears.

You couldn’t breathe.

You couldn’t think.

And for the first time since you met him, you realized that no matter how much love you poured into him, Caleb had none left to give.

He stayed true to his words.

The front lines were nothing short of hell. Explosions tore through the sky, painting it in hues of orange and black. The ground trembled beneath relentless bombardments, screams of the wounded and dying mixing with the fusillade of gunfire. It was chaos. It was pure, unfiltered war.

And you were in the heart of it.

Thrown into the battlefield as nothing more than a discarded afterthought, yet you worked tirelessly, tending to the broken, the dying, the ones who begged for mercy even when there was nothing left to give. Blood soaked your uniform, stained your hands, and for the first time since you had arrived at this forsaken place, you realized Caleb was never coming to rescue you. That this wasn’t as simple as temporary punishment where he could rescue you back to the base the moment he saw that you had already paid for your sins.

You had been foolish to think otherwise. Because the punishment was greater than the crime.

Day after day, you watched the planes soar overhead, wondering if one of them carried him. If maybe, just maybe, he’d glance down and remember you. That he’d order someone to retrieve you, to take you home.

But no one came.

Not even him.

And just when you thought it couldn’t get worse—the enemy arrived.

You barely had time to react before the camp was raided, soldiers storming in with brutal efficiency. Screams filled the air—nurses, wounded soldiers, no one was spared. You tried to run, but hands—so many hands—gripped you, dragging you with them.

“No, please!” you sobbed, thrashing, digging your heels into the dirt. “Someone, help me!”

But the only response was the harsh, guttural laughter of the men dragging you away. You didn’t understand their language, but you understood them. The way their dark, hungry eyes lusted over your trembling form. The mocking smiles curling their lips. The way they spoke to each other, like you weren’t even human.

Like you were property.

One of them cupped your chin, tilting your face up with a sickening grin. “She’ll do nicely,” he murmured in a thick accent.

Another joined in on the amusement. “A fitting pastime for the long nights ahead.”

A fresh wave of panic crashed over you, bile rising in your throat as you began to foresee your fate in their hands. Your fate as the enemy’s new plaything.

“No—NO!” you shrieked, thrashing harder, your nails clawing at their arms. “Caleb! S-Someone, please!”

But no one came.

No one ever came.

That was when your real nightmare began.

They dragged you to their camp, a place so desolate, so devoid of mercy, that it made your previous suffering look like a fleeting dream. There was no hope here. No salvation.

Just pain.

The foreign army passed you from one to the next like you were nothing more than a worn-out relic of war. Their touch was greedy, using your body at their convenience, their grip bruising as they took what they wanted. They stripped you off everything; clothes, dignity, sanity. Sanity. Where is God in all of this?

Your mind drifted, escaping to anywhere else but there. You imagined a different life, a different fate. But the pain kept pulling you back. The jeers, the mocking laughter, the cruel hands that touched every inch of your skin reminding you over and over again that there was no escaping this. You felt dirty, felt disgusted of your own flesh, felt sick that you had to wake up each day living for only one and one purpose alone.

You stopped counting the days.

Stopped screaming when they came for you.

You had nothing left.

Their cruelty settled deep within your bones, your spirit breaking piece by piece until all that remained was a hollow shell of who you used to be.

And the worst part?

He never came.

Caleb, the man who once whispered possessive threats in your ear, who swore no one else could have you, who claimed you as his prize—had abandoned you to this.

It was almost laughable. Truly spectacular.

As you lay on the cold, your body too battered to move, you allowed yourself to accept the truth.

He never loved you.

He never would.

Before you were a war nurse, you once interned as a nurse at Akso Hospital. Life was peaceful then. Even as whispers of an impending world war grew louder, there was an unshaken belief that your nation was too powerful to fall. No one dared to wage war on the strongest nation in the world.

That was the world you knew—quiet, bathed in golden light. You stood in the familiar white halls of the medical facility, the place where it all began. Where you trained. Where you dreamed of making a difference.

Dr. Zayne stood before you, his crisp uniform as pristine as ever, his silver-rimmed glasses reflecting the medical abstract he had on hand. He had always been composed and steady. A true professional that you looked up to. He was the best cardiac surgeon there was, and everyone in the same field dreamed of working with him. Of becoming like him.

“You're ready for this,” he said, adjusting his gloves. “The war will test you, but your hands—” he reached out, taking yours in his own, running his thumb across your palm—“were meant to heal.”

You gripped his hands a little tighter. “What if I can’t save everyone?”

He thought for a moment before letting out a quiet sigh. “You won’t,” he agreed. “But you will save someone. And that will always matter.”

You felt your chest tighten. “Thank you for being a good mentor, Dr. Zayne. I hope to see you again someday.”

The golden light around him began to fade, his figure growing distant, hazy, slipping through your fingers.

“Good luck, Y/N.”

It was the chilling air that woke you up from your dream. The icy breeze seeped into your bones, deeper than any wound, any bruise, any violation. Every inch of you ached, skin marred with purple and black, lips split and dry. Your body was no longer your own. It was something broken, something discarded.

You barely had the strength to keep your eyes open and every breath was a struggle as your ribs protested with each inhale. The faint scent of blood and sweat lingered around you, suffocating you. Killing you.

Somewhere in the distance, you heard voices—a noise.

A sharp crack split through the air, followed by a scream—short, cut off, wet. Then another. And another.

Gunfire.

Shouting.

The heavy thud of bodies hitting the ground.

You tried to move, but your limbs wouldn’t obey. The exhaustion of everything they had done to you pinned you down. Your pulse was sluggish, your vision swimming, but you could hear it—him. And the distinct roar of his rage. Perhaps it was your hallucination. After all, you had already lost your mind from this war.

But one of the soldiers outside, his voice barely rising before it was cut off—a sickening gurgle of a sound, as if something sharp had torn straight through his throat. Gunfire erupted in rapid succession, followed by panicked shouts, orders barked in a language you barely understood, only for them to be silenced just as quickly. A storm was tearing through the camp. A massacre.

Then, the door was kicked open. A figure stood in the doorway, silhouetted against the moonlight.

You held your breath.

The familiar combat boots. The bloodied gloves. The cold, murderous gleam of his eyes.

Caleb.

Your lips parted—half in disbelief, half in something uglier. Because now, after everything, after you had finally accepted that he was gone, he was here. His gaze was fixed on you, and something in his features cracked as he took in your state. Bruises. Cuts. The torn remains of your uniform that barely covered your violated body. His fingers twitched over the trigger of his gun.

Slowly, he took a step forward. And when he finally reached you, he knelt, his bloodstained hands brushing against your trembling form as if to confirm that you were real.

Why? Why now, Caleb?

You let out a broken sob, your body giving out as you collapsed into him, while his arms wrapped around you, holding you tightly and desperately.

It was for the first time since meeting him where he genuinely, unselfishly took you in his arms with fragile care. “I’m sorry. I’m here. I’m here now. I’ve killed every single one of ‘em for you,” he said in a tone so affectionate you almost wondered if it was a dream. “I’ll take you home. No one’s gonna touch you ever again. I promise.”

Because this wasn’t salvation. This wasn’t a rescue. This was a return to a different kind of prison.

Your battered body trembled in his grip as his presence, something you once ached for, now loomed over you like a cruel joke. You thought being here—being dragged through hell, used, and discarded—was the worst fate imaginable.

But, no.

The true horror was returning to Caleb.

So before he could react, before he could drag you back into the nightmare of his possessive grasp, your trembling fingers wrapped around his gun.

His own gun. His own weapon.

For the first time, his cold, calculating gaze faltered, widening in shock as you tore it from his holster with the last of your strength. “Y/N—”

The barrel was already pressed to your temple. His hands lunged for you, fast, too fast—

BANG!

The world stilled.

Your body swayed before a slow, almost gentle descent to the ground. Caleb caught you before you could hit the dirt, but warm blood seeped between his fingers. His hands, the same hands that had killed and destroyed, now shook as they cradled you. “No! NOOO! Y/N!”

But it was too late.

You smiled with your red-stained lips. “You deserve to live a life where the women you love—” you coughed, blood bubbling at the edges of your lips as you said your last words, “leave you.”

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erwindotrecs · 2 months ago

Text

Caleb and his love for Disney princess movies

Caleb grew up around mostly girls and that never bothered him, he never fell into that “toxic masculinity” trope and he had value for women in general but he quickly learned it wasn’t like that with most men…

His personal favorite was brave merida reminded him so much of you, a girl who was a little rough around the edges but strong and tough.

He still remembers how enamored you were by the movie, weeks later gran had sewn you a dress that looked just like Meridas in the movie. You and Caleb going outside and shooting arrows later that afternoon.

Caleb even learned to make the “ spell cake” from the movie for you. It took him many tries and lots of berries but he’d finally done it.. and he’d go through the trials and tribulations all over again to see the gleaming smile on your face.

“alright, you’re next Mr. Xia” the teacher called him forward

“A movie from my childhood that had the most impact on me was brave I was lucky enough to grow up in a household with a very strong and determined girl, and the movie showed how important it is to have representation for women that you don’t have to follow societal standards.”

As caleb goes back to sit down the boys around him slightly confused on how he didn’t pick Spider-Man or captain America. Caleb turns around to look at you. Comically shooting a bow and arrow as you copy the same motion back.

Reblogs, replies and notes are always appreciated but never expected 🤍

Check out my Masterlist while you’re here.

Taglist 🏷️ @calistaxoxo24 @mariojins

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@princessofenkanomiya @yeompei

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@theoceanisas0up @rosiesluv

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erwindotrecs · 2 months ago

Text

My strong girl

you were his baby first ⭑.ᐟ

Pairing - caleb x fem!reader

Your pregnancy had been pretty smooth sailing

Labor however, not so much it was an exhausting , grueling process stripping you of every ounce of energy you had.

Just as you welcomed your daughter into the world you ended up passing out, luckily enough your baby girl was healthy and the doctors amounted your fainting spell to sheer exhaustion although they did need to run some tests on you and etc , kicking Caleb out of the room while doing so .

Caleb’s foot taps nervously hands clenched waiting for the clear to go back in, as he sits he notices Jenna, Tara and a couple of your other friends searching around.

“ hey guys, rooms over here” Caleb waves.

“ excuse me sir , you’re clear to go back In” a nurse politely informs Caleb.

He nods nervously “ thanks so much”

As Caleb opens the door he sees you smiling from ear to ear, a masked exhaustion lingering under your eyes. a chunky baby in hand with the prettiest lavender eyes he had ever seen an exact copy and paste of his.

You’re waving her hand with yours , slightly chuckling, like the idea of the hour old baby waving is the funniest thing you’ve seen .

Your friends funnel quickly around him carefully but swiftly running over to coo , and ahh at the baby.

But Caleb notices you.

Memories flash quickly through his mind .

Like how when you were fifteen you’d found a stray puppy , picking it up and holding its paw fake waving at Caleb

“ Caleb look, isn’t she the cutest”

Or when you were 8 still playing with the plushy he had bought you for your birthday.

“ Mr sparkles introduce yourself to Caleb , don’t be rude !”

You’d said sternly grabbing the soft paw of the plush bunny and waving it around at him.

His eyes softened that little girl still lives inside you he sees glimpses of her in the little mundane things you do everyday, and she deserves to be seen loved cherished and cared for as well.

“ pips you okay honey , you did so good angel she’s perfect so proud of you”

He caresses your forehead, “ my strong girl”

Your eyes meet his , the words oh too familiar

Echoing in your head a vision of you with a scraped knee and Caleb applying a bandaid appears.

“ my strong girl”

Everyone had came to see the baby but your husband came to see you.

you were his baby first.

Every phase of your life he had been there for molded you into the person you are today the person in front of him right now, the mother of his child , the light of his life.

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erwindotrecs · 2 months ago

Text

MORE TOUCHIE!

character(s): Caleb Xia x f!reader (fluff)

touch starved best friend caleb~ (just lemme smooch this guy till he cant breathe pls)

wc: 1.6k

based on this request ~ have a lovely day my loveee <333

Caleb clenched a steaming bowl of honey sriracha wings & rice and shuffled his feet outside the locked door of your room.

“Pip-squeak?”

It had been days since you began your studython - days where you’d only dart out of the room to go to the bathroom and retreat before he could even get a glimpse of you. Days. DAYS since you reciprocated any kind of touch or attempt at a conversation.

“Pips, I brought you dinner,” he added, palm resting on the door.

More silence.

Caleb understood. He truly did - school was a priority for you - but he just missed you so badly. The slap of your feet against the floorboards. Your obnoxious chewing and delighted moans over his nailed dinners. He missed the poking, groping and ass-slapping you subjected him to on a daily basis. Missed the way you always scratched his back during a movie, crawled onto his lap to watch the sunset from the apartment's balcony, climbed inside his hoodie to take a nap.

He just felt so cold lately - no leech feeding off of him. He missed the lack of personal space - hands constantly in his hair or feet in his lap. God, he even missed massaging your feet!

Then - thudding. Footsteps on the other side of the door. He almost dropped the dinner.

The lock clicked, but the door remained closed. He took it as enough of an invitation to enter and slipped inside.

The air was as stuffy as if he opened a bomb shelter, RedBull mingling with something he couldn’t place and also wouldn’t dare to question. But under it all… you. The smell of you made him feel like an addict who just relapsed - sweet with a tinge of sweat and coffee. His head spun.

“-can leave it on the table. Thanks.”

He turned his eyes up from the paper-and-cans-littered floor to you on the other side of the room. Your voice was flat and back turned to him as you scribbled something on a whiteboard attached to the wall, swimming in sticky notes and booklets.

He set the bowl next to the one he left in front of your door for lunch. Barely touched.

“I was thinking… maybe we could watch a movie later? So you take a break?”

“Can’t.”

He pouted but didn’t say anything. Still, he made his way to you, carefully, not to step on any flashcards or disturb you from the flow. He tapped a pile of books as he passed them, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

He only stopped when he was almost pressed to your back and leaned over your shoulder, humming at the diagram you were annotating.

But the moment his chin made contact with your shoulder to rest there, you shrugged him off with a low whine. His heart dropped to his stomach.

He looked around, trying to preoccupy himself with something, but it soon got the better of him…

“You’re slouching again,” he mumbled and pressed a palm to your back in an attempt to straighten you up. You tensed up and it sent prickles up his arm.

You side-stepped away from him to write on a new spot on the board…

Your hair was barely tied and a few strands slipped loose and hung in your eyes. You blew them away but they fell right back where they were annoying you.

Caleb reached out before he even registered it - tucked some behind your ears and smoothed the others down against your scalp. He ran his palm over the strands, over and over, to make sure they wouldn’t disturb your focus again. Oh, how he missed-

“Stop petting me.”

His hand froze mid-stroke. He moved behind you with a hard swallow and pretended not to see the stinging glare you threw over your shoulder.

Still, he couldn’t stop. He reached for the limp band that held your hair together and gave it a tug so it spilled down your back.

“Caleb-”

“Your neck is boiling,” he said quickly, “I’ll just fix it. Tie it up better, I promise.”

You ran him down with a pointed look but nodded. His heart did a flip at the achievement.

He gathered the strands and peeled them off your damp neck, fingers brushing over skin he missed so bloody much. He threaded through them and scratched your scalp as he smoothed the uneven sections out.

“You’ll kick this exam’s ass,” he whispered. “You’re doing so good-”

“It’ll kick mine if you don’t let me focus.”

…

He ducked his head with a tiny nod but stayed close. Secured the bun in place. His shoulders brushed yours as he picked up one of your markers and scribbled something at the edge of your notes.

“u got this, nerd!” Underneath it, a wobbly doodle of an apple with a pencil and a graduates cap.

You didn’t react, but he swore the corners of your lips twitched.

When you lifted your arm to write higher up, your shirt rose slightly and exposed the small of your back.

Caleb tucked the fabric down.

“You should be careful so your kidneys-"

“Not. Now. Caleb.”

He reached for your hand anyway, frowning at a smudge of ink on your knuckles. “You’ve got marker on you. Let me help you.” He started to sweep his thumb over the stain with a pleased smile.

You ripped your hand away. “Jesus Christ, Caleb! Can you stop clinging for one fucking second?!”

The words hit worse than a slap. His eyes widened and his hands dropped like they burnt you.

“O-okay.” His voice cracked. “Yeah. Sorry.”

He stepped back. “Sorry, pips.” He ran a hand through his hair and blinked back the wet edges of his vision, hoping you didn’t catch the wobble in his throat. He hastily gathered some of the plates on your desk with shaky hands and rushed out the door, tripping slightly over the divider.

The door clicked neatly shut and you turned back to the board.

The marker’s screech halted mid-word and you stared at the unfinished word. You dropped your face in your palms.

The silence wasn’t peaceful - it crawled up your calves and bound your throat.

The laptop hummed. The timer clicked. The dread engulfed you.

God. It was just an exam. One, single, stupid exam.

You rubbed your eyebags.

The boy simply missed you... And you-

The cap clicked back on the marker.

You creeped through the apartment like it was a walk of shame and found him in the kitchen, hunched over the sink. His hoodie sagged a little off one shoulder, the sleeves were pushed up unevenly, revealing his forearms as he scrubbed at your plates.

You stepped closer as if testing the waters. Then closer.

Your arms circled his waist, slipping under his hoodie and tugging him against you.

He tensed.

Your cheek pressed between his shoulder blades. “Caleb…”

His grip loosened on the sponge and hands went limp in the dishwater. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you-”

“Shut up.” You squeezed tighter. “I was being an ass. A mean ass. I’m so sorry.”

He let out a long breath and you nuzzled closer, rubbing your nose into his back. “I missed you too.”

His hands braced on the counter. “You did?”

You nodded against him and he let you hold him like that for a moment later.

When you eased the hold and tugged at his hand, he followed without a question, water droplets trailing you both to the couch.

You plopped down on it and opened your arms. “C’mere.”

He stared at your figure laying there for a second. Then he was sandwiching you between him and the cushions in an instant.

Arms around your waist and legs tangled with yours like a human pretzel, he buried his face into your chest.

You chuckled and wrapped one arm around his neck, traced the shell of his ear with the other. “You’re heavy," you spoke into his hair - it smelled of your shampoo. You took another curious, deeper inhale and... yep... You smelled your body wash on him too.

His voice was muffled. “Missed you.”

He made a strangled noise when your nails scratched behind his ear.

“I was going insane, Pips.” He brushed his lips over your collarbone.

“I know. I know, bab-” You bit down on your tongue. “I know, Caleb... You should yell at me sometimes.”

He raised his head, hair sticking out in weird angles. “I’d never yell at you,” he sneered. “Not like that.”

You cupped his face and brushed the hair back from his forehead.

His freckled face turned a rosy shade and his lips parted. “Could you…” he averted his eyes from you for a moment. “Could you scratch my back?”

You squeezed his yummy cheeks between your palms. “Of course."

He raised to his knees to pull the hoodie and shirt over his head. He threw them on the floor and sank down on you like a weighted, heated blanket.

Your nails dragged over the muscle and he groaned into your neck. “Can we stay like this today?”

“We’d need snacks.”

The cupboards flew open and bags of Doritos and dried fruits with nuts blasted past your heads. You instinctively shielded his with your arms. It all landed on the table, faint traces of Caleb’s evol lingering on it and making the air buzz.

“Needy,” you grinned and scratched closer to his ribs. He melted against you, humming under his breath.

"Never denied it..."

An hour later, you still hadn’t changed positions once. Caleb was half-asleep, twitching every time you scratched just the right spot on his back or behind his ears. One arm under your shirt. The other gripping your thigh, tucked in between your legs.

“I need to piss,” you kissed his hair.

“No, you don’t.”

“... Alright.”

caleb's radio: Isn’t it Love - Patrick McHale

The morning was quiet. Slow.

No rushing. No alarms. Just the smell of scrambled eggs and toasted bread. A clink of a mug against the table.

You blinked up as Caleb placed your favourite tea beside your notes, steam curling upward in the morning breeze sneaking in through the window. He didn't say anything - just smiled and tucked a blanket tighter around your shoulders, before padding back to the stove.

There was music playing softly, something quite old and instrumental.

He wasn’t hovering this time. He moved around you with ease. He leaned down at one point to press a gentle kiss to the crown of your head, and whispered: “Got your bag packed. Put some fruits in there. Nothing heavy so the blood goes straight up to the brains.”

Before he could straighten back up, you caught his hand. Held it in both of yours. Rubbed your thumbs over his knuckles.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured.

He shook his head before you could even continue. “No, you were stressed. I get it.” He curled his pinky around yours. “Just… thank you for coming back for me.”

When it was time to leave, he helped you into your coat and carried your bag all the way to the exam hall. Not a single word the whole way - just pinkies loosely interlaced.

At the door, he cupped your cheeks and lowered his voice. “I’ll be right here when you come out, okay?” You nodded. “No matter how it goes. Always. But you’re going to crush it. You always do.”

And you did crush it. Of course you did.

When you walked back out, squinting against the afternoon sun, he was there. Arms wide open. Standing exactly where you left him, waiting with bags from your favourite takeout place by his feet.

You didn’t walk - you ran.

And this time, you were the one melting into him when he caught you.

He rocked you excitedly side to side. “You absolute genius!” His breath was warm in your hair. “I’m so, so proud of you, honey.”

You pulled back just enough to kiss your fingers and tap them against his nose. He blinked, dazed and rosy.

“Let’s go home,” you grinned.

He smiled, picked up the bags, and outstretched the pinkie on his free hand to you.

if u enjoyed here are some moree <333 #get in loser we're repressing feelings - ft. bestie caleb yayyyy <333

if u have any other requests or are interested in a pure cuddles snuggles one pleseeeee ~ my mailbox is always open for suggestions ~

a.n. might have been all of the exams anxieties sublimating into this one upsie daisy ~ imagine having a caleb to pick u up from that hell with takeout *bites into her tear-soaked pillow and screams my psyche found a soft place to land this fine evening ~ and i shall disappear into the black hole that are my notes again... kisses to u allll <333

tag list for my lovessss (if u wanna be added just leave a comment, shoot me a message, or literally anything <333): @cordidy, @midiplier, @mariojins

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erwindotrecs · 3 months ago

Text

A love story told through voicelines (Alhaitham ver.) IV

C/W: alhaitham x gn!reader, not that slow of a burn, characters find the other annoying, reader is a teacher at the akademiya, they have history (iykyk), angst no comfort, not proofread

Note: final part!

Part 3

—

(You) About Alhaitham: Other ways

Avoiding him is easier said than done.

I tell myself I’m just too busy—too caught up in work, too preoccupied to engage. But I know better. This isn’t about work. It’s about him. It’s about the way he looks at me, the way he always seems to be two steps ahead, the way I feel like I’m losing control of something I never meant to start in the first place.

So I take a different approach. I keep my responses short, my tone indifferent. I take the long way around Akademiya halls, conveniently slip out of rooms the moment he enters.

But knowing Alhaitham… I doubt he’ll let me go that easily.

(Alhaitham) About you: Other ways

Avoidance is a predictable tactic—one that requires effort. Which begs the question: why go through all that trouble for something they claim is insignificant? If they think distance will put an end to this, they clearly haven’t thought it through.

(You) About Alhaitham: Persistence

You would think he’d give up by now, but he hasn’t. I’m giving him a clear answer, aren’t I? He mentioned that if I found him insignificant or something, I would’ve gotten rid of him by now; so here I am—getting rid of him. Yet he still mingles around me like a fruit fly!

Do I really want him gone? Oh, of course I do! I could finally go back to minding my own business, and he can do the same. It’s for the best.

(Alhaitham) About you: Persistence

I do it for the sake of the experiment—which now includes a new variable: me. As unbecoming as it may seem, I find myself affected by their behavior. I still haven’t found a solid reason for that—why they’re avoiding me; but I have found a senseless supposition why my emotions are influenced by it.

According to Kaveh, my attention has been titled in their direction lately, and he teased that I had feelings for them. How ridiculous.

This is an experiment—analyzing their reactions, testing their limits. And yet… their absence is noticeable. Their avoidance, intentional.

If I didn’t care, I wouldn’t be thinking about it. If they truly wanted distance, they would’ve said so instead of running around all day trying hard to keep me at arm’s length.

Hmph. I’ll adjust my approach. See how long they can keep running.

(You) About Alhaitham: Honest opinions

We have a history that I partly regret. If I could do it all over again… I don’t know if I would. It was a good experience, but if that’s the reason why he keeps pursuing me, I would have to decline. I have so much to lose now—my job, my peers’ respect, my dignity. I’m not the same person I was back then. I’ve grown, changed, become more cautious. And yet, every time I think I have it all under control, he does something that rattles me. A look, a comment, a gesture that makes it impossible to forget the past—and somehow pulls me back into something I thought I’d left behind.

I’m not sure if I can trust him. He’s too calculating, too deliberate in his actions. I can’t tell if he’s genuinely interested or just trying to prove a point. Either way, I know better than to fall for whatever game he’s playing.

(Alhaitham) About you: Honest opinions

They occupy more of my thoughts than I care to admit. Not in any sentimental way, of course. It’s simply that their behavior is… intriguing. Inconsistent. At odds with the image they project. They claim disinterest, yet every reaction—every calculated silence or clipped remark—suggests otherwise.

And perhaps what unsettles me most is how easily they affect me. I’ve never cared to seek out another’s company. Yet I’ve found myself adjusting my schedule, taking detours through certain halls, lingering in conversations just a little longer. All for what? To observe? To test a theory?

Kaveh seems to think this is “obvious”—that I’m interested. Emotionally. Romantically. Irrational. I dismissed him, of course… but the thought stayed with me longer than it should have.

If this were truly about research, I wouldn’t feel this frustration when they avoid me. I wouldn’t notice the absence in the room before I even look.

…No, this isn’t research anymore.

But I haven’t decided what it is either.

(You) Character story: What can’t become

After classes, the Akademiya courtyard shimmered under the late afternoon sun, golden light bleeding over the marble and spilling between the arches. Laughter echoed in faint bursts, students scattering in clumps—papers in hand, minds half-elsewhere. You slipped past the gates with quick, practiced steps, hoping to disappear before—

“Hey… hey!”

You flinched.

His voice was unmistakable—calm yet commanding, always too close even when it came from behind.

“You know,” Alhaitham called out, “avoiding me won’t make this situation any easier. It won’t resolve anything either.”

You stopped halfway down the steps and turned, arms folding instinctively across your chest. “Really?” The word left your mouth sharper than you intended—more telling. “And what is this ‘situation’ exactly?”

Alhaitham closed the distance between you with his usual measured ease, his gaze steady, unreadable. “Don’t pretend you don’t know,” he said. “I’ve seen the way you react—even the slightest brush of our shoulders. The way your eyes brighten with every snarky remark we exchange—”

You rolled your eyes, the gesture sharp enough to cut the tension for half a breath. You turned again, walking off, heart pounding faster than your feet would allow.

He followed, undeterred. Of course he did.

“You’re only delaying what we both know is bound to happen.”

You spun around before he could take another step, breath pushing past your lips in a rush of frustration. “‘Both,’ ‘our,’ ‘us’—Archons above, Alhaitham! What even are we?! You talk about us like we’re some academic constant—as if you already solved the equation, and I’m just catching up. But I don’t even know what this is! What you want.”

You paused, the next words freezing on your tongue. You would not—could not—bring up that night. Not now. Not when the memory of his breath ghosting against your skin still lingered like a sunburn you couldn’t soothe.

His voice came softer this time. “I’ve never claimed to be simple,” he said. “But I’ve never lied either. You felt it too, didn’t you?”

Your stomach twisted.

You hated how easy it was for his words to find the sore parts of you. You hated even more how much truth you found in them.

“That’s exactly the problem,” you said, voice quieter now, raw at the edges. “You know what you’re doing—how easily you get under my skin. You corner me in crowded halls, you leave me thinking about words you didn’t even say… and then you walk off like none of it matters.”

He stayed silent. That silence—never awkward with him—was somehow worse than any rebuttal.

You took a breath, letting your shoulders fall slightly. “And the Akademiya?” you continued. “They see it—the glances, the whispers. Even the other professors have started asking questions.”

Alhaitham frowned, a faint crease between his brows. “That’s absurd—”

“Maybe for you,” you cut in, “but for me, perception is everything. I don’t have your title or your immunity. One wrong assumption, and I’m no longer the professor who earned their place—I’m just a rumor with a name.”

The weight of it all settled between you—words spoken not in anger, but necessity. The breeze passed again, brushing between you like a boundary neither of you could step over.

Alhaitham looked at you then—not with irritation, not even disappointment, but something quieter. Contained. Perhaps even regret.

“…Then what do you want me to do?” he asked, voice barely above the breeze. “Pretend none of it was real? That I didn’t feel something when I looked at you?”

You closed your eyes for a moment, forcing the ache back down. His words lodged themselves deeper than you wanted them to.

“I want you to understand,” you said, carefully. “This isn’t about what I feel. It’s about what I have to protect.”

A pause. You looked up and met his eyes—clear, unwavering, resolved.

“I can’t risk everything for something that might not survive the scrutiny. My reputation, my work… I’ve fought too hard to be seen for my mind, not whispered about for who I might be seen with. Even if that someone is you.”

For the first time, Alhaitham looked away. His jaw tightened slightly. The silence between you wasn’t cruel—it simply was. Like gravity or time. Unforgiving, but fair.

He nodded once. No protest. No plea. Just a flicker of something behind his eyes—acknowledgement, perhaps. Or acceptance.

“I won’t stand in your way,” he said. “Not now. Not ever.”

You let out a breath that trembled at the edges, the ache blooming somewhere deep beneath your ribs.

“…Thank you,” you said, voice steady at last. “For not making it harder than it already is.”

You turned before he could say anything else. The sun dipped beneath the buildings as you walked away, shadows spilling across the marble in your wake. Behind you, Alhaitham stayed where he was—still, composed, watching.

He didn’t call after you.

Not this time.

(Alhaitham) Character story: What won’t become

Alhaitham had never been fond of hypotheticals.

They were inefficient—rooted in speculation, mired in abstraction. What-ifs served little use in the real world, where causality and consequence reigned. A scholar deals in truth, not fantasy.

And yet, lately, he found himself entertaining one particular what-if more than he’d like to admit.

What if they hadn’t walked away?

He can still recall the look in their eyes—clear, unflinching, and devastatingly resolute. They had chosen themselves. And Alhaitham, for all his conviction, could do nothing but step aside.

Perhaps that’s why he respected them so deeply.

They were precise in their logic, unwavering in their principles. Not unlike him. But where he wielded detachment as armor, they wielded choice. They understood sacrifice—and made it anyway.

He remembers their words as clearly as any scholarly quote.

“This isn’t about what I feel. It’s about what I have to protect.”

There had been no malice in their voice, only truth. It was never a question of affection—of course they had felt it. That tension, the friction of minds colliding like flint, the conversations that lingered long after the echo faded. No one else challenged him quite like they did. No one else made silence feel that loud.

Still, affection alone was never going to be enough. Not when the Akademiya, with all its scrutiny and hierarchy, watched them more closely than it ever watched him.

They were right.

He was the Scribe. Acting Grand Sage, even. He could afford to be indifferent to perception. But they? A young professor, barely past their appointment, climbing uphill in a world built to doubt them.

Their choice made sense.

And so, he said nothing. Didn’t argue. Didn’t ask them to stay. What good would persuasion do, when they had already done the calculus themselves?

Alhaitham never believed in fate. But he believed in outcomes—inevitable, weighted, measurable. And this? This was an outcome both of them saw coming from the moment things began to blur.

He still sees them sometimes. In lectures. Passing through the colonnades. Sitting alone in the House of Daena, pen tapping lightly against a page. The world spins as it always does.

They do not look away.

Neither does he.

And that is the truth of what won’t become: not a tragedy, not a regret.

Just a possibility… acknowledged and left behind.

(You) About Alhaitham II

He never asked me to stay, and I suppose I should thank him for that. It made walking away cleaner—easier, even. But sometimes I wonder… if he had just said one thing differently. If I had turned back just once…

Still, I made my choice. And I’ll live with it, even if part of me still hears his voice when the halls go quiet.

(Alhaitham) About you II

They made the right choice. Personal feelings should never outweigh one’s principles—especially in a place like the Akademiya. I respect that… deeply. Though, if I find myself walking a little slower near their classes… it’s purely coincidental. Obviously.

Or so I keep telling myself.

—the end—

#alhaitham #angst #ooooh let me sit down rq #this is so nice and realistic i love it #i also love this type of story telling its quite unique

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erwindotrecs · 3 months ago

Text

another night where you fight, another night of silence. another night where miya osamu sleeps with his back to you.

the realization that there is not much more you can do to save your relationship clutches at your chest with an iron grip.

the gravity of it makes you whimper. pressing your lips together, you shakily push yourself up to sit blinking back tears while blindly stepping around for your slippers, willing yourself not to sob—not here, not where he can hear. your toes touch the fluff of them, and you hurry to slip them on. you need to get out of here.

as quiet as possible, you leave your boyfriend in your shared bedroom.

you stumble to the couch and kick off your shoes, blindly searching until your fingers catch the lampshade switch. you yank it to provide some light, rattling as it flings back into place.

you pull your knees to your chest and press your forehead against your kneecaps. a numb part of your brain thinks oh, so this is where this was, when you think of the misery that quieted itself, replaced with a numbness that overtook you during the fight you had with him earlier.

the numbness that made your limbs feel like ice when he clicked off the phone call without even hearing you out.

you wanted to tell him so much, but in the face of his blank gaze and dismissive demeanor, you shut off. you have more fight in you, you know that. but tonight you just couldn’t. couldn’t listen to him tell you that he needed more from you—more support, more time, more patience.

you’ve given him that, right? your brain runs with thoughts you can't keep up with. you gave him yourself. you have, for months, for years. you did what you could. you’ve withstood lonely anniversaries, forgotten birthdays, broken promises. you’ve done everything you could. you gave what you could. you gave everything you could.

i want you to come home, you wanted to tell him eatlier tonight. come home. you’re never home. i know you’re busy at work and you’re doing what you love but please, ‘samu. please.

love me, too.

your body wracks with a sob, the hurt fresh, as if the words that you never got to say wounded your insides instead. you wanted to tell him that, you wanted to beg for it, beg for his time, beg for his attention, beg for him to love you back. but time and time again he just turns and says he’s tired, he doesn't want to hear it, and the moment is gone, and now the fear of knowing that leaving things unsaid will destroy you, will destroy him. will destroy both of you.

you huddle closer into yourself and sob, a sharp sound in your ears making your head pound.

“babe?” you hear through the ringing in your ears, and suddenly warm hands are on your arms. “babe, what’s wrong?” his voice is calm against your turmoil. “are you having a panic attack?”

“’samu, i’m—” you shudder and he leaves for a moment, flitting to the kitchen to grab you some water.

“drink, please,” he tells you, gently unfurling you to sit. you comply with shaky limbs, taking the water he’d given you in your delicate grip. a few sips are enough to calm you down, but the fear is still there.

he gingerly takes the glass and sets it aside. he kneels in front of you, taking your hands and soothingly rubbing his thumbs against your skin. his fingers are hot, almost like a furnace, but when you realize that he's not, he's fine, your hands are freezing, you resist the urge to pull away as he warms your palm.

when he looks up to smile at you, you see the exhaustion on his face, and, instantly, you hate yourself for it. for this.

"i'm sorry," you blurt out, a fresh wave of tears threatening to spill over.

his hand leaves yours and cups your cheek. "for what, baby?"

“i love you so much, osamu,” you tell him without thinking, voice thick and wet and miserable. you press the palm of the hand he let go of against his cheek, hiccuping when he closes his eyes to lean into your touch.

“i love you, too,” he says, ready to apologize for the fight, but it's not about that.

not anymore.

you pull away. the confusion and hurt on his face is making everything worse.

“i love you so much,” you tell him, desperately wishing that he could understand. “but i—” you sob, “but, osamu, i can’t anymore.”

osamu presses his lips together, saying nothing. you hear him sniffle, and his fingers come forward to brush at the tears on your cheeks and tuck a lock of hair behind your ear.

“i love you so much,” you confess. “i would do anything for you. and i have, i have for years. i’ve tried my best, but osamu, i’m so tired,” you sob. your voice feels like its giving out but the desperation makes the words claw themselves out of your mouth. “i’m so tired, i'm so tired and i'm so lonely, and—and—and i love you so much, but i have nothing left to give.”

you pull your hands away to hunch over and cry into your palms unable to face him. messily, you wipe at your face and push your hair back. you give him the most apologetic smile you can muster, but you're unable to see his face through your tears. “i’m so sorry i can’t give you more, osamu.”

you hear him sniffle and when you wipe your tears away with the backs of your hands, his eyes are glassy. then he closes his eyes.

the pain that washes over his face is absolutely unbearable. the furrow of his brow and the wrinkle of his chin, the lines by his scowl that you know is him trying his best to keep it together.

when he opens his eyes to look at you, his eyes are no longer glassy. your heart breaks for the pain he refuses to show. “what’s next?”

your smile is sad and wet with tears. “i think you know.” you brush his hair back and cradle his face with your hands. “let’s… let’s do this in the morning, okay?”

he nods, looking away. he licks his lips and shakes his head, and he turns to face you with a furrowed brow and a little more composure despite his watery gaze. but it doesn’t take long before his face crumples and he rushes to hide his face against your legs. his quiet sobs are pained and miserable, his chest shaking as he cries.

you press your face against his hair and cry with him.

—

the morning greets you kindly, the soft sunlight bathing your room in a sweet glow. it’s early, but you can’t keep sleeping. there’s a lot to pack.

your eyes feel hot and swollen, and bones feel heavy beneath your skin, weighing you down from getting up from the bed. still, you fight. you push yourself up to sit and notice that you’re alone. unsurprising, really; osamu has been leaving earlier and coming home later. onigiri miya needs care, needs nurturing, so it’ll blossom and grow. you need to stop begrudging him for it.

you finish your morning ablutions in the bathroom and head out to the kitchen, but when you open your bedroom door, the smell of food hits your nose like a smack to the face. your stomach twists when you see a familiar broad back—osamu didn’t leave—and your fingers turn cold.

the door slides shut behind you and he turns. “good mornin’,” he says quietly, shutting off the stove.

“good morning,” you say, walking to your kitchenette. when you see the spread on the table, you gape despite yourself. “osamu. what is—what.”

he flushes, sliding a delicious looking steak unto a plate and setting it alongside the other plates—nearly every single plate you own, you note—and your dining table is bursting with food. “cooked breakfast.”

“for how many people?” you ask, incredulous. “i tried t'remember everythin’ you liked,” he said with a sniff, and your heart crinkles at the edges, because that means something.

“thank you,” you whisper, and you quietly take a seat while sets aside the dishware he used.

when he finishes, he turns to look at you, leaning on the counter. it takes him a while. “when you leave,” he says, “i’m going to try again.”

you stare at him, confused. you say nothing and wait for him to continue.

“i don’t want you to leave,” he says, and he rubs his face in frustration. “but i know i’ve—i know i fucked up. i love you, and i never should’ve hurt you.” he inhales through his nose. “but i did, and i can’t change that.

“but i’m not giving up on you. not on us. you—” he clears his throat, and the dark circles beneath his eyes makes your heart feel tight. “i’ll… if i have to start all over again, i’ll do it,” he whispers, walking closer and taking your chin in his hand, tilting your face up to meet his eyes. “i’ll win you back.”

“osamu,” you whisper, and his face crumples again.

“i love you too much to let you go,” he says, voice breaking as he fights back tears. “and i know that makes me a jerk. but i’m… i love you, so much—so fucking much, and i hate myself for not making you feel that. for hurting you.”

he gets on his knees and tears are streaming down your face. “leave me if you have to,” he says brokenly.

“if you need space, i’ll understand. but please,” he begs. “please don’t give up on me.”

he does the unthinkable. he curls over and bows, back curved and forehead pressed against the backs of his hands, pressed against the floor.

the horror that overtakes you is beyond words.

you drop to the floor to pull him upright, not letting him do this. he won’t do this to himself, you won’t let him. not for anyone, not for you. you pull his face against yours and kiss him as hard as you can, crying as you do.

you won't let him do this.

later, you sit on the couch, arms around osamu’s middle as you lie on his chest. the idea that this could be the last time you held him like this made you want to burst into tears again.

“i’ll make it up to you,” he promises, pushing your hair out of your face, gently guiding your chin up. “please, just… give me another chance.”

you look up at him, and your eyes meet.

—

“hey!” atsumu greets warmly as soon as you enter the restaurant, spreading his arms wide to engulf you in a hug. “it’s so good t’see you!“

“hi, ‘tsumu,” you greet, returning the hug.

he motions for you to sit as he picks up the menu. “know what you want?”

you nod, not even bothering to pick up the menu. “how are you? how’s training?”

“’m good! training’s good. teammates are pretty good, too.”

"yeah? like who?"

atsumu makes a show of looking at the menu. "oh, i don't you know them."

you roll your eyes at his obvious ploy to get you to start talking. “fine. ask me.”

atsumu instantly leans in, conspiratorially covering his mouth with the menu and whispering, “how are you two? it’s been over a month now, right?”

“oi.” you twist your head to smile up at the newcomer. “stop bothering them, ‘tsumu.”

atsumu glares at his twin. “i’m the one who invited ‘em to lunch!”

osamu rolls his eyes and lays down a platter of onigiri in front of you. he snatches the menu and smacks his brother’s wandering hands with it before they get to close. “these are not for you.”

“but that’s a lot!" atsumu whines. "can’t i have any?”

“no,” osamu says resolutely, then turns to you and gives you the softest smile he can muster, pinning the menu by his side and arm.

"i haven't even ordered yet!" atsumu complains.

osamu ignores him. “let me know what you think.”

“okay,” you say with a smile.

“and let me know if you need to take out anything,” he continues, “i’ll wrap it up for you.” he leans forward and presses a kiss to your temple. “enjoy.”

“thank you, ‘samu,” you tell him before he turns to leave.

he smiles back at you and heads back behind the bar.

atsumu has evidently forgotten about ordering, because his eyes shuttle back and forth between you two before nodding considerably. “so i take it things are going well?”

“yeah,” you admit, picking up an onigiri. “going really well, actually.”

“you’ve been…” atsumu searches for the word, “is it still called ‘dating’? you broke up. but… entertaining each other…?”

“don’t hurt yourself,” you joke. “but yeah. let’s call it dating. and it’s going well, thanks for asking.” you take a bite of the onigiri.

“does he still have a chance?” atsumu asks, genuine curiosity on his face.

you chew thoughtfully as you look back at osamu, who’s smiling at a customer. you remember that bright morning, when he helped you pack, helped you move into your friend’s apartment. when he cooked all that food, and you found it neatly packed away in a thermal bag that had a handwritten note, reminding you to eat well.

you remember the next day, when he showed up at your friend’s door, holding flowers and inviting you out to get some ice cream. you remember his messages, his calls, his check ins on you, littered across the days, asking you how you are or if you’re eating or if you need any food.

you could call him if you needed any help, if you needed anything at all.

but reality sets in when you think of how one phone call could be a mistake, it stops you from searching his name each time you pick up the phone.

in your mind, you see his bent form, his begging, his tears. you remember his smiles and his hugs and his ‘see you later’s, his gradually growing list of unbroken promises. you remember the effort, the time he’s putting into you, putting aside for you. you remember how hard he tries for you.

it's like everything is new again.

his eyes catch yours and he gives you a small wave, and you wave back, your stomach fluttering.

it's not new, you think. it's better.

you swallow your food. it's delicious.

“yeah,” you say softly, “he does.”

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