#lads Xia Yizhou

[shaiyasstuff]

always & forever | zayne | sequel

synopsis : Zayne has loved you, from the day he met you in high school when he was seventeen, all the way to the present where he finds that you are still the person he silently fell for through stolen glances in the hallway, and laughter between study sessions. content : FLUFF, zayne x non-mc!reader, non-cannon!au, just fluff, and fluff, and more fluff

A year later, almost to the day, the airport was just as busy as he remembered—people rushing past in every direction, voices overlapping, luggage wheels humming against the floor.

But Zayne stood still, right by the same glass panel where he’d last seen you disappear.

His hands were in his coat pockets, heart steady but fast. Not nervous. Just ready.

The arrival gate opened.

Passengers trickled through—some alone, some greeted with flowers, laughter, open arms.

And then, there you were.

You stepped out, scanning the crowd with that same quiet, searching look.

Your scarf was the same soft white, your hair pulled back loosely, strands escaping from the travel. A tired smile touched your lips—until your eyes found him.

And then, it bloomed.

You dropped your carry-on without a second thought, feet moving before your mind could catch up.

Zayne was already stepping forward, meeting you halfway, his composure unraveling with every stride.

You crashed into him without hesitation, arms winding around his waist as his own wrapped tightly around your shoulders. You didn’t speak at first. You didn’t have to.

But when you finally pulled back, you were breathless, eyes shining.

“You waited,” you whispered, smiling like you already knew the answer.

Zayne cupped your cheek, gaze soft, full.

“I told you I would.”

—•

The car ride home was quiet in the way soft rain is quiet—gentle, soothing, filled with everything unsaid that didn’t need to be spoken yet.

Zayne glanced over at you from the driver’s seat now and then, as if still making sure you were real.

You sat with your legs tucked slightly toward him, one hand resting on the folded edge of your coat, the other fidgeting with a piece of paper in your lap.

There was a faint glow in your cheeks, maybe from the excitement, or the cold that still clung to your skin.

He couldn’t tell.

He just knew it made you look radiant.

You turned to him, smile already tugging at your lips as you unfolded the paper in your hands.

“I have something to show you,” you said, barely containing your grin.

Zayne raised a brow, amused. “You didn’t smuggle Swiss chocolate through customs, did you?”

You laughed, the sound light and familiar, before holding out the document toward him. “Better.”

When he looked over, a pause stretched between you. In your hands was a crisp certificate, the seal shining faintly in the light from the dashboard.

At the top, his eyes caught the words, Swiss National Board of Nursing – International Qualification Approval.

Below that, in bold letters, your name.

“I can officially work as a nurse in Akso Hospital,” you said, eyes sparkling as you watched him for his reaction. “I got the approval two weeks ago. I didn’t want to tell you until I was here.”

Zayne blinked, then looked over at you again, expression unreadable—at first.

Then slowly, his lips curved into the softest smile, the kind that reached his eyes.

“You’re serious?”

You nodded eagerly. “Completely.”

For a long moment, he didn’t say anything.

He just looked at you like you were something he never thought he’d be allowed to have again—something he was terrified to blink away.

Then, still gripping the steering wheel, he exhaled a quiet breath and let it out, slow and steady.

“I’m proud of you,” he murmured, his voice thick with something deeper than surprise. “But I’m also really glad I don’t have to wait another year.”

You laughed again, eyes misty now, pressing your hand lightly over his on the gearshift.

“You don’t,” you said. “I’m home, Zayne. For good.”

The words hit him harder than he expected. He didn’t say anything for a second, just stared at your hand over his, the way your fingers curled against his like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And in that moment—in the hush of the car, in the warm glow between heartbeats—he realized he wouldn’t have to keep waiting anymore.

You were home.

And everything was finally beginning.

When you reached your apartment, the evening light was spilling in through the windows, soft and golden, casting everything in a warm glow.

Zayne helped carry your suitcase inside, the wheels bumping gently over the threshold like a welcome back.

You slipped off your coat and stretched with a quiet sigh, looking around the space that had waited patiently for you—dustless, untouched, still exactly the way you’d left it.

Zayne watched you from the doorway, then wordlessly moved to help unpack.

He opened your suitcase and began folding your clothes into the drawers, careful, methodical, like he’d done it before—like he’d been waiting for the chance to do it again.

“You didn’t have to,” you said with a soft smile, leaning against the kitchen counter.

“I wanted to,” he replied simply, glancing at you over his shoulder.

When the last item was put away, he stood beside you, taking in the room as if it were his first time seeing it all over again—with you in it.

You nudged his shoulder gently. “Feels like I never left.”

Zayne looked at you, something unspoken lingering in his gaze.

“Maybe now,” he said quietly, “you never will.”

—•

Dinner was at a quiet bistro tucked into the corner of the city—intimate, with low lighting and soft jazz humming in the background.

Zayne had chosen it carefully, remembering how you once mentioned liking places that felt hidden from the world.

You were seated across from him, chin propped in your palm as you browsed the menu, eyes scanning lazily.

The candlelight flickered between you, casting golden highlights in your hair and soft shadows across your cheeks.

Zayne smiled behind the rim of his glass. “You’re stalling. You always take forever to choose.”

You grinned, not looking up. “It’s not stalling. It’s called savoring the options.”

He chuckled. “You say that every time. And every time, you still order mushroom risotto.”

You laughed at that, eyes crinkling. “Well, some things never change.”

He shook his head with a fond smile. “Apparently not.”

As the food arrived and the plates were set down between you, conversation flowed easily—like it hadn’t been a year apart, like time hadn’t dared to touch whatever had always existed between the two of you.

You told him about your internship in Switzerland, the long shifts, the mountain views, the nights when you felt a little too far from everything familiar.

He listened intently, quietly, never interrupting—just absorbing.

“I missed this,” you said softly at one point, pushing your plate aside as you sat back. “Talking like this. Being with you.”

His gaze lingered on you for a second longer than necessary, fingers resting lightly on the base of his glass.

The lighting kissed your skin, your laughter still echoing faintly in his mind.

“You’re… breathtaking,” he murmured, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

Your brows lifted, surprised—but then you smiled, slow and radiant, before you giggled.

It wasn’t just any laugh. It was your laugh—bright and musical, bubbling up like it had been waiting for the right moment.

Zayne blinked, stunned for a beat. Then, embarrassed, he glanced away, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I didn’t mean to say that out loud,” he muttered under his breath.

You leaned forward slightly, still smiling. “No, but I’m glad you did.”

He looked back at you, his composure settling again, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Guess I’m out of practice.”

“With compliments?” you teased.

“With pretending I’m not completely in love with you,” he returned, so smoothly you almost missed the weight of it.

Your eyes softened, your laughter quieting into something gentler.

And in that moment, with the city humming just outside the windows, Zayne reached across the table and laced his fingers through yours—solid, steady, sure.

It wasn’t a beginning.

It was a continuation.

Of everything he had waited for.

Of everything you were ready to give.

—•

The night air greeted you both as you stepped out of the bistro, the hush of the city settling gently around you.

Streetlights cast soft pools of gold on the pavement, and distant car horns echoed faintly through the quiet.

You slipped your arm through Zayne’s without a word, still feeling the warmth of his hand lingering from when he’d held yours across the dinner table.

The world felt slower, like time had folded just for the two of you.

Your laugh from earlier—when he’d called you breathtaking without meaning to—still echoed faintly between you, sweet and unforgettable.

Zayne hadn’t said much after that, but you could feel something in him stirring, waiting.

He was quieter now, thoughtful, the kind of quiet that meant his mind was full of something he hadn’t yet said.

The two of you walked slowly, the city lights flickering in reflections on puddles, your boots crunching softly in the snow with each step.

“Y/N,” he said suddenly, voice low, eyes focused ahead before turning to you.

You looked at him, brows lifting slightly at the change in his tone.

He slowed, then stopped, and you followed, standing beneath the golden halo of a streetlamp. His hands slid into his pockets, shoulders rising with a breath before he turned to face you fully.

“I want to be yours,” he said simply. “Officially. Not just in the way I look at you when you’re not watching, or the way I remember every little thing you love. I want to be your boyfriend—not just someone from your past, but your now. Your future.”

Your breath hitched, lips parting slightly. The night felt still around you, like even the wind was waiting.

Then slowly, you smiled.

Soft and sure.

“I thought you’d never ask,” you whispered, the emotion in your voice barely contained.

Zayne smiled, finally, like the weight he’d carried for years had lifted all at once.

“Then let me ask properly,” he said, reaching for your hand, holding it with both of his like it was something fragile and precious. “Will you be mine, Y/N?”

You nodded, eyes glistening as you stepped into him, wrapping your arms gently around his waist.

“I’ve always been yours,” you murmured.

And there, under the streetlamp’s soft glow and the quiet hush of a city that suddenly felt a little smaller, Zayne leaned down and kissed you—slowly, reverently—as if he was finally claiming something he had long ago given his heart to.

—•

The morning you started at Akso Hospital, the halls buzzed with the usual energy—doctors in white coats moving with precision, nurses shuffling charts, the faint beeping of monitors creating a familiar rhythm.

But for Zayne, everything felt a little different.

He stood by the reception desk, flipping absently through a clipboard, though his mind wasn’t on the files.

He looked up just as the elevator doors opened—and there you were.

Dressed in soft blue scrubs, hair pulled back neatly, your ID badge clipped just below your shoulder.

You looked slightly nervous, but when your eyes met his, you smiled—and the nerves seemed to melt away.

“You showed up,” he teased gently, stepping toward you.

“I said I would,” you replied with a playful tilt of your head. “Besides, someone important vouched for me.”

Zayne smirked. “That someone must have good taste.”

You rolled your eyes, but the fondness in your expression was undeniable. He handed you your orientation packet, brushing his fingers briefly over yours.

“You’ll be shadowing in the cardiac wing,” he said, his voice softening. “I may or may not have requested that.”

Your eyes widened slightly. “So I’ll be working with you?”

He gave a small, almost shy nod. “If you’re okay with that.”

You smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

And just like that, the two of you walked side by side down the hallway—this time not as a doctor and a new nurse, but as two hearts finally beating in sync, ready to start this next chapter together.

The day moved quickly, as most days at Akso Hospital did—check-ins, rounds, paperwork, quiet emergencies brewing behind drawn curtains.

Yet somehow, in the rush of it all, there was always time for you and him.

Zayne found himself looking for you without even realizing it—glancing down the hallway as he scribbled notes, catching a glimpse of your ponytail disappearing around a corner.

He passed by the nurses’ station more often than necessary, lingering just long enough to see you smile at a patient or tuck a chart under your arm.

He told himself it was coincidence.

It wasn’t.

You caught him once—mid-stare, eyes soft, a faint smile curling at his lips before he quickly looked away, pretending to review something on his tablet.

You tried not to grin too obviously as you turned back to your tasks, but your cheeks were warm, and your heart beat just a little faster.

Later that day, you passed him in the hallway, brushing shoulders as you moved in opposite directions.

You didn’t speak—just exchanged a glance.

A brief flicker of something sweet and secret.

His fingers brushed yours in the narrow space between you.

Neither of you turned around.

But both of you smiled.

—•

The apartment was dim, lit only by the faint glow of the city bleeding in through the windows.

You let the door shut behind you with a quiet click, and for a moment, you stood still in the silence, allowing yourself the rare luxury of just being.

Then, with a soft sigh, you peeled off your coat, dropped your bag by the door, and walked straight to the couch, where you collapsed with a dramatic groan.

The cushions welcomed you like an old friend, swallowing your weight, and you sank in deeper, limbs stretching in every direction like a marionette finally cut from its strings.

Seven hours.

Seven hours of constant movement, of voices calling your name, of patient questions, medication charts, IV lines, and walking back and forth between rooms that all blurred together by the end of it.

It was your first real day shadowing in the cardiac wing, and while it had been fulfilling, it was also overwhelming.

There were moments when you’d doubted yourself, second-guessed the smallest things.

But through it all, you had stayed steady.

And now, you were bone-deep exhausted.

You let your head roll against the armrest, staring at the ceiling with unfocused eyes as the silence of your apartment wrapped around you like a heavy blanket.

You could still hear the beeping of monitors in the back of your mind, still feel the ache in your calves and the tight pull between your shoulders.

Just as your eyes began to drift shut, your phone buzzed on the coffee table.

You didn’t move at first, but then the screen lit up with a name that made your heart stir despite your exhaustion.

Zayne.

You reached for it with a tired arm and answered with a soft, “Hey.”

His voice came through the speaker, deep and warm, like something familiar and safe. “Hey. You sound half-asleep already.”

You let out a breathy laugh, eyes still closed. “Feels like I haven’t sat down in a year.”

“I figured.” There was a smile in his voice. “First full day in cardiac is no joke. I remember mine. I couldn’t feel my feet for two days.”

“I honestly don’t know how you do this every day,” you mumbled. “I’m impressed. And slightly concerned.”

Zayne chuckled. “It gets easier. Not lighter, but… you get stronger. You already looked like you belonged.”

You smiled, the corners of your mouth tugging upward despite the weariness clinging to your body. “Stalking me already, Dr. Zayne?”

“Just… making sure you were okay,” he said, not denying it.

You shifted onto your side, curling slightly into the couch, the phone cradled to your ear. “It was a lot today. But I’m glad I’m there. And I’m glad it’s with you.”

“I’m proud of you,” he said after a beat, his voice quieter now. “I know today was hard, but I also know how stubborn you are. You’re going to be incredible.”

Your throat tightened slightly, a warmth rising in your chest that had nothing to do with the blanket you hadn’t yet pulled over yourself. “Thank you… really. I didn’t know how much I needed to hear that until now.”

“I figured,” he murmured. “I could tell you were holding it together for everyone else.”

You let the silence stretch, comfortable now, as if the space between you was no longer just distance but something tender—shared.

“I wish you were here,” you admitted suddenly, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I wish I was too,” he replied without hesitation. “Do you want me to come over?”

You smiled, eyes fluttering shut once more. “Not tonight. You’ll make me forget I’m tired.”

He laughed softly, the sound like music. “Then I’ll be there tomorrow.”

You hummed in agreement, your voice already fading as sleep crept in. “Okay. Tomorrow.”

“Sleep well, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Zayne.”

And even though your body ached and your eyes were heavy, your heart felt light—as if somehow, with just a phone call, he’d reminded you of everything you were working toward. And that you wouldn’t have to face it alone.

—•

Soon, the two of you fell into an easy rhythm—one that felt so natural it was hard to believe it hadn’t always been this way.

Weeks passed like pages turning in a well-loved book.

Stolen glances in the hospital hallways, brief touches as you passed each other charts, knowing smiles shared across the nurses’ station when no one else was looking.

And on nights when your schedules aligned, Zayne would end up at your apartment, sleeves rolled up as he helped you cook something simple, or sitting beside you on the couch with your legs draped over his lap and his fingers absentmindedly tracing circles on your skin.

Though he never said it aloud, you knew—Zayne started requesting days off more often.

It was subtle, carefully spaced out to avoid suspicion, but you noticed.

He always seemed to be free when you were.

Always just… there.

You never teased him for it.

You liked that he never said it, that his affection came quietly, through gestures and presence instead of declarations.

Spring arrived gently, softening the sharp edges of the city.

And on one of your shared days off, you both sat outside a small café tucked into a quiet street, the kind of place with wooden chairs and ivy climbing the windows.

You sipped on something sweet, sunlight warming your skin as people passed by in soft murmurs and laughter.

Zayne sat across from you, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, flipping through the corner of the menu more out of habit than need.

You watched him for a moment, smiling to yourself, before asking softly, “Have you ever wondered what would’ve happened if we both confessed earlier?”

Zayne looked up at you, a faint, wistful smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

The sunlight filtered through the leaves above, casting soft patterns across his face.

“I suppose it would’ve saved me from the heartbreak of ten years,” he replied, his voice quiet, laced with a kind of gentle honesty that made your chest tighten.

You blinked, surprised by how easily he said it—not bitter, not dramatic, just… true.

Your fingers curled around your cup, warmth seeping into your palms as you held his gaze.

“I didn’t know,” you said softly. “Back then, I really didn’t.”

Zayne nodded, eyes drifting to the people passing by, as if watching the memories walk along with them. “I didn’t know how to say it. You always felt just out of reach.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then he looked at you again, something warmer in his gaze now. “But maybe… it had to happen this way. Maybe if I’d told you back then, we wouldn’t be here now.”

You smiled faintly, heart full. “And here feels right.”

He reached across the table, his fingers brushing yours, and for a long moment, neither of you said anything.

Because the past had been full of almosts.

But now?

Now was yours.

—•

It was summer when Zayne proposed.

The air was thick with warmth and golden light, cicadas humming in the distance, and the scent of freshly cut grass lingering in the breeze.

The kind of evening that made the world feel suspended—soft around the edges, slow with memory.

He’d asked his old friend—the same one who’d once nudged him forward on that chilly winter night, the one who’d smirked and said, “She’s single now, if you still wanna try”—to help him gather everyone from your old school.

The idea was simple, a casual get-together.

Nothing extravagant.

Just old classmates catching up.

You’d missed the last reunion, after all, and he knew how much a part of your heart still lived in those days.

The ones before life swept you both away.

You didn’t suspect a thing.

The gathering was held in the park near your old school—the same one you’d studied in, laughed in, grown up in. There were picnic blankets, folding tables, and the familiar echo of voices that had once filled locker-lined hallways.

Friends hugged you, shared stories, pulled you into conversations you didn’t know you’d missed so much.

Zayne stayed close, always watching, always smiling. Waiting.

Waiting for the moment.

And it was there, just as the sun dipped low and painted everything in gold, that he stood before you—nervous, but steady.

The air seemed to hush, the noise dimming like the world itself knew something important was about to happen.

You turned, confused at first when everyone grew quiet. And then you saw him.

Standing in the middle of the crowd, holding a small box, eyes full of everything he’d ever felt for you.

“Y/N,” he began, voice carrying despite the quiet. “I met you as a boy who couldn’t speak what he felt. And I’m standing here now, as a man who has never been more certain of anything in his life.”

The world fell still.

And your heart raced to meet his.

Tears gathered in your eyes before you could stop them, your breath catching as you looked at him—Zayne, standing there amidst a quiet summer crowd, the late sunlight cutting soft shadows across his face.

He wasn’t one for grand displays. He didn’t kneel.

He didn’t make a show of it.

He just stood there, steady and sure, holding the small box in one hand, his other loosely at his side.

Calm, as always—but his eyes gave him away.

There was something unguarded in them, something raw and real, just for you.

“Say yes?” he said quietly, his voice low, thoughtful, almost like a confession.

His head tilted slightly, his tone gentle, almost careful—as if asking for something precious he wasn’t sure he deserved.

And somehow, that made it hit even harder.

Because this wasn’t a performance.

It was him.

Stripped down to honesty.

The emotions swelled in your chest as you nodded, tears slipping silently down your cheeks. “Yes,” you whispered, your voice barely holding steady. “Of course.”

A cheer erupted behind you as your old classmates clapped and laughed, but you barely heard them.

Your world had narrowed to just him—Zayne, who was now stepping forward, slipping the ring onto your finger with hands that had once held so much back and now held nothing but love.

Then, quietly, he pulled you into his arms, his chin resting against your temple, his hold grounding—like he’d been waiting years to finally exhale.

“About time,” he murmured.

And you smiled through your tears, your heart full.

“Yes,” you whispered again. “You’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

[xfgpng]

control …

— [ nsfw ] kissing, dry humping, first kiss + they’re both virgins

— wc :: 1.2k

caleb likes to think he’s in control of everything that happens around him. he’s always been pretty good at controlling his emotions and schooling his expressions and he tries not to overreact.


that’s the problem with her, she throws him off balance in the best and worst ways and it leaves him feeling so unsettled.

the thing about college, it’s supposed to be the best years of your life and he doesn’t know if he agrees or disagrees with that. if he really thinks about it, it’s bullshit but he knows why he feels that way.

he keeps himself composed most days, he has no reason to act out of character but this is something new to him.

caleb wasn’t naive enough to think this would never happen, he just always thought he’d be able to handle it well but he cannot. his hands feel clammy and his hot around his neck. is this even normal? he doesn’t fucking know.

he wants to lie and say he’s completely normal about her having other guy friends but he’s definitely not. his skin crawls whenever they touch her shoulder, grab at her wrists even if it’s completely platonic and innocent.


he especially hates when they lean in to close to talk to her when they’re at a party and the music is too loud. those are the nights caleb avoids alcohol like it personally offended him.

he cannot trust himself to be sober in these situations, he doesn’t want to imagine what he’d do with his evol even if the thought sends a thrill through him. he knows he has a problem, he’s just not going to deal with it.

not in a healthy way at least.

“caleb?”

he snaps out his thoughts, smiling down at where she’s laying on the floor in his dorm room. she’s supposed to be studying but she’s distracted and he shouldn’t enable her but he always does. she’s just too pretty, she has a face you cannot say no to and you’d be insane to disagree.


he’d like someone to disagree, that would be a fun day for him and a very unfortunate one for them.

“i’m listening” he lies. if he had been, he would’ve heard what she asked him and understand why she’s being all shy right now.

“wait.. what?” he sits up, looking at her properly. he definitely has a problem if he’s thinking about her so much and she’s right next to him.

“.. it’s stupid” she frowns

“it’s not” he reassures. he means it sincerely because he is willing to do whatever she wants. he hopes she doesn’t know that.

“i just .. i haven’t had my first kiss yet and i know some people think it’s a big deal and maybe it is but how will i know?” she looks up at him and she looks so upset by this so he tries not to panic.


was she seeing someone? did she like someone and that’s why she was thinking about kissing?

caleb could tell her it’s too early to worry about that and maybe she could just focus on college but that would be selfish of him. so selfish.

“i could teach you” he says and it’s out before his brain can even process any of that shit but it’s too late now because her eyes widen and she sits up so fast.

“what?” she asks because even he can’t believe what he just said.

“i just mean if you’re that curious” he smiles, playing it cool.

“you’d do that for me?” she stands now, moving to sit on his bed right in front of him and he will kill his roommate if the fucker comes back now.

“you know i would” he shrugs like it’s nothing even though his heart his beating so fast.

and that’s the thing about control, he always believed he was in control of everything in his life but the moment their lips touch, he feels his entire world shift and he doesn’t know if he’s breathing but she trusts him.

he has his hands on the side of her face before he can stop himself and she gasps softly into the kiss that he can’t help but lightly bite her bottom lip. she likes that, or so it seems because she doesn’t push him away.

her lips taste like the peach flavoured lipgloss she likes to wear and her skin is soft beneath his fingertips.

“is this okay?” he asks, running his thumb across her lower lip. she’s so beautiful, it hurts.

“yes…” she nods, “… can we do more?”

“more?” he tries not to show how excited that makes him.

“with tongue” she whispers

he doesn’t need to be told twice and her moan makes it hard to focus on anything other than her lips against his and how hard he suddenly is.

he slips his tongue into her mouth and she learns pretty quickly, he hasn’t even kissed anyone either but he’s seen enough videos and he’s always been a pretty fast learner himself and he would be damned if she had this experience with anyone that wasn’t him.

she moves closer, her arms around his neck and he can’t pull her onto his lap. if he’s being honest, he’s been hard since she said yes to the kiss but he would never want to overwhelm her. her first kiss is special because it’s them, he wouldn’t rush this.


that is something he can control.

“does that feel good?” he asks because her comfort is the most important thing to him.

“yes” she sounds less shy now, more like herself and she’s smiling so sweetly he can’t help but lean back in and this time she takes the lead and he likes how she lightly pulls at his hair. he didn’t know he’d be into that but he’s learning a lot about himself since being in college.

she climbs onto his lap on her own and if she feels how hard he is, she doesn’t comment on it which he appreciates. she’s always been considerate and just so perfect he thinks he might combust.

“put your hands .. on my waist” she tells him and he nods, as if he’s in some sort of trance now.

he’s not embarrassed about the grinding or the fact that he cums in his pants 10 minutes later. he’s still a fucking virgin and she doesn’t seem to care because she moans loud enough for him that he knows everyone down the hall heard her and only a small part of him hates that, he knows when he’s alone he’s going to be pissed that they heard how pretty she sounds but right now he wants to keep kissing her.

[faemurmur]

-> caleb ‘jealous’ of a vibrator colonel:

jealousy, thy name is caleb. caleb crosses his arms, glaring at the bedside table like it’s personally offended him. or, more accurately, at the small, traitorous piece of technology sitting on top of it. his eyes narrow.

“so that’s the competition.”

you stifle a laugh, adjusting your position on the bed as you watch him go through the five stages of grief over a vibrator. “competition?”

He scoffs. gestures at it. “i mean, what else would you call it?”

“a necessity.”

his jaw drops. “necessity?”

you shrug, feigning innocence. “it doesn’t tease. doesn’t make me beg. doesn’t get all cocky when i—”

caleb lunges, pinning you under him in a second. his hand wraps around your chin, tilting your face up so you’re looking right at him. the usual mischief in his golden eyes darkens, something possessive creeping into his expression.

“you think i don’t give you what you need, pipsqueak?” his voice is low, slow, tracing fire down your spine. you bite your lip, letting your lashes flutter just to provoke him. “…maybe i like the consistency.”

his smile is dangerous.

“alright then,” he murmurs, fingers ghosting down your stomach. “let’s see if you still think that when i’m done with you.”

guess you shouldn’t have challenged caleb like this, you’ve realized it long ago. the way his evol pins you down, vibrator smudged between your folds against your clit, pulsating, throbbing— for what feels like a long time. Your legs are pressed together, hands tied behind your back, “caleb-“ you mumble, mewling at the ache. Your scalp is sweaty, like you’ve done a rigorous workout. guess three orgasms is all it took to make your voice sound so tired and sexy.

you loved the first orgasm, the way the vibratore tore through your walls of pleasure and dropped you from that delicious high. Then… when it didn’t stop, when you could feel your nerves fry up, that you realized that caleb isn’t playing around. “caleb, please —“ you whimper and whine, feet moving like a caterpillar because of how closely your ankles are tied. It only adds to the torturous pleasure.

“caleb!” you exclaim, you beg, and when the third orgasm comes in…. Forcing you to see god. You break down. “caleb—“ sobs and sniffles echo through the room. “My name isn’t a safeword, honey.” Caleb soothes your back, kissing it softly, peppering tender lovings.

“do you think the vibrator is all you need pips?” Caleb asks once more, and you shake your head no frivolously and adamantly. “no no no caleb— please s’ too much!” your breath is ragged and bated, nerve endings hurting from every corner of your body.

it feels like caleb wants to associate discomfort with the vibrator so you only come to him and him alone… when you need pleasure. When you need anything really… “can’t— no more.” you struggle against his evol, feeling your begs and moans subside into something submissive, something broken.

it’s okay though, you know caleb would piece you back together. He carefully removes the vibrator, looking at your disheaveled body, your eyes drenched in tears. the warmth of his hugs feel like a necessity right now. you sob & cry in his arms, and he holds you through it, telling you how good you are, telling you how amazing you are and just how much he loves and adores you. until you finally calm down, body shaking every few minutes from post orgasm bliss, curled up in fetal position against him as he runs his hands through your hair.

“Gonna fucking get back at you.” You scowl, pouting when you feel your senses powerful enough to move again, to speak again.

“sure pips, but i don’t use anything apart from your delicious cunt to help me… you got nothing to be mad about.” Caleb smiles, kissing your forehead.

hmph…. That jerk.

[tsuyalovebot]

watch you entertain.

pairing: xia yi zhou / caleb x reader (love and deepspace)

synopsis: caleb comes to a few conclusions when you give him a blowjob for the first time.

cw: NSFW and explicit sexual content, mdni. established relationship. mentions of intercourse. oral sex (blowjob). mentions of reader receiving oral sex. hair pulling. imaginative violence (not to reader). petnames (pretty, pipsqueak). mention of oral sex (receiving). he slaps his dick on your face (not sorry). mention of spanking and watching porn. caleb-typical warnings.

wc: 1.7k (drabble....ish????)

author's note: i can't defend myself since 90% of this is word vomit. i'm working on another caleb piece right now, but i needed to get this out of my system. think of it as a precursor piece, like an hors d'oeuvres. also, please disregard any typos. (— - —)|||

The first time Caleb felt your lips on his was magical. The second, third, fourth, and succeeding times were all but surreal.

He had all but convinced himself that your mouth, pressed to his in a flurry of tender touches or desirous cravings, was something he conjured up in the blurry moments of his delusions. You always manage to kiss them away, though.

Later on, you admitted that he was your first kiss.

"When I visited you after you moved out," you said. Hands wrung, your gaze averted downward as you were perched on his lap one evening.

He knows what you're talking about. Remembers its vividness with a startling clarity that would have embarrassed him otherwise, if you didn't share the same sentiments.

By now, you've already kissed and made out in the intimacy of his place beyond finite counting. Had sex with him on whatever surface the two of you could get your hands on. You've long since spoiled him with your presence, both physical and mental. There's a key tucked away in his headspace with your name engraved into the metal. Magnetic and the signification of a special place for you in his heart.

He spoiled you, and now, you spoil him. Neither of you complain about this mutually beneficial arrangement. Why would you?

Though, he can't say he's exactly pleased at the current moment.

"That's it, mmm. You're being so sweet today."

He's watching you, as he always is. You're on your knees before him—you insisted, said it added to the atmosphere despite his crows of indignance at the possibility of them bruising—and your mouth impossibly full of his cock.

You're bare before him, towel discarded on the coffee table with your body damp and he's barely presentable in his uniform. Disheveled and pants undone, he wasn't sure if he was exactly living up to the honorable nature of the clothes he donned. He tried to undress, but you'd been pawing at him the second he walked through the doorstep in nothing but one of the towels he bought you, so his resistance was doomed from the start.

His arms spread on the top of the couch, he tilts his head back and sighs slowly. Hot breath escapes him in time with his Adam's apple bobbing, swallowing a heavy moan that threatens to break free. It takes him a few moments before he peers at your kneeling form once more.

One of his hands cups your cheek, the cool leather swiping over your cheekbone and pushing some of your hair back. Rapt attention on you, whispering soft words of, "that's how you do it" and "a biiit wider, pipsqueak— yeah, like that" with so much appreciation in his tone. Because that's what he feels toward you right now; so much appreciation in his heart belongs to you.

Your tongue was doing sinful licks along the underside of his cock's curve, the girth hefty in your two hands, and your eyes stayed closed in a quiet pleasure. It's expertly done, and the creation of human response as you wrap those pretty pink lips around the tip of him and suckle on it, strings of your saliva leaving sticky wefts along the shaft.

Alternating between peppering his length in kisses and taking a couple inches into your mouth, he's fighting for his fucking life trying to not bust a nut. He's sort of ashamed to have dreamt of this moment for years. You would never let him live it down.

As if the deities couldn't get enough of his suffering, his mind had made the fatal mistake of noting the visible difference of the size of him and your hands and your mouth. It gets him going, that stark contrast and how gently you were treating him.

It's a sight reserved for his eyes alone. Something he wants to pocket and immortalize because it's his and only his. That's the only reason for the powerful plethora of emotions boiling over in his gut. Truly, the only reason.

That's what he tells himself as he observes you with a progressively darkening, clinical, dead-eyed stare that you weren't aware of. A little voice in him nagging at his conscience, spitting words of venom that feeds into the slowly, slowly expanding green-eyed monster rising onto its feet.

"I got a question for you, pretty," he says calmly, deceptively so. Making sure to sound as casual as possible, his gloved hand coming to stroke over your damp, silky hair. You really just couldn't wait to please him, immediately pawing at him when he arrived home and you were fresh out the bath.

You murmur something in reply, lips suctioned to his shaft. Those gorgeous eyes, ones that beheld him with such reverence and adoration in round shape flicker up to his. The vibrations and sight hit him like a freight train and he groans, low and deep. He lets the pleasure settle into his bones.

"You have to answer honestly, 'kay?" He croons down at you, assuring. His facial expression had finally relaxed from its initial, contemplative one. You're happy with this, he notes as you eagerly bob your head, careful to remain quiet.

Good. It'll make hearing your voice all the more worth it. When you said he was your first kiss, he was beyond ecstatic.

Hopefully, you can echo the same thing now.

With an easygoing air betraying that of his positively threatening smile, he asks, "Where'd you learn how to do this?"

There's a sick sense of pleasure in watching you process his words a second too lats. Because you're such an open book with him, aren't you? The way your eyes widen and your lips halt, as if your heart stopped even beating. Even if makes his own blackened heart speed up, its thudding resembling a rabbit's stomping.

Your blinks were a linguistic of their own, and he was the expert in unraveling the lexicology of your existence.

You don't answer fast enough. Or, you don't answer at all. Because now, you're staring him like a child chastised for having their hand in a candy jar—where they weren't supposed to be.

Unfortunately for you, that was more than telling for him.

Caleb doesn't speak. The air is several degrees colder now, like the air circulation was suddenlt cut off, and he drinks in the way anticipation tenses your muscles and your uneven breaths smooth over his skin when you pop your lips off his cock. Those sinful lips that he stole away as his were now glistening in a mix of your spittle and his pre-cum.

He could almost forgive you right now. But, you make the crucial mistake of looking away from him.

"Oh?" It's inquisitive—his tone, yet it has the power of a knife being drawn.

The hand on your head loses its comforting, encouraging air and instead becomes a weight.

A threat.

The visual that's formulating in his head isn't a pleasant one. An image of stained glass shards, blurry yet clear in the vision of you on your knees for another guy. The scattered light capturing your mouth wrapped around the faceless stranger, servicing him the same way you're handling Caleb, seeking that same, sickly sweet tang of validation.

Could it have been that Xavier guy he sees on your phone notifications from time to time? Or is it someone closer to you, from your Association? There's a chance someone else from your childhood reached out to you, maybe after his disappearance. Did they hold you in ways he's been craving to hold you for years?

That's not fair, now, is it? He's worn your hairtie around his wrist for years, disregarded countless scribbled love letters from bystanders, based his little trinkets around those apples you love so much, and spoiled you countless times in his misplaced desire for playing the role of your protector. It simply isn't fair that you sought gratification from a source that wasn't him—because for him, it was always you.

Is it too selfish of him to want your everything?

You don't say anything even as your mouth opens and closes. You're either searching for an excuse, weighing the costs of lying to him at the moment, or you're genuinely floundering for words at the sudden blankness in your head.

He hums again, and it's lower than before. Full of thought and contemplation as his amethyst eyes bore holes into your speechless state. It's full of disappointment and he sees the worry creep into your eyes like a leaking faucet.

Threading his gloved fingers into the tresses of your hair, its smooth leather massaging your scalp, his face softens.

"I guess I did say you should be honest, not fast," he murmurs, laughing to himself quietly.

His lips tilt into a boyish sort of grin, and it's so full of mirth and entertainment that it's easy to process as him diffusing the situation. It works like so, and you're soon tilting your head into his palm and seeking his touch.

In the distance, the kettle in the kitchen screeches like an alarm of what's to come.

Disconcertingly relaxed, his smile seems absolutely sarcastic. A bit sharp at the edges.

"I should make it easier to understand. Let me rephrase it, then."

He pulls your hair. It's one harsh motion and it jerks your head up. A gasp torn from your lips as they fall open, the slight sting shooting through your body with an charged breeze.

"Who did you learn this from?"

He's so used to tasting you before fucking; your sex and his tongue are practically best friends in his eyes. It never once occurred to him to have you suck him off.

He should've been suspicious the second you offered to begin with.

The blood drains from your face some more and he relishes the blank yet alert state your eyes reflect. He's sure your mind is in disarray right now. The feeling is mutual, though you're aware of that too, most likely.

"I have a right to know. I always said that you could come to me if you needed help with anything, right?" It's a rhetorical question. You both know that. You're doomed either way.

You make another breathless noise, and he wants to explore your vocality. Now, how would you sound gagging on him?

"Caleb—"

He shushes you softly and you quiet down in an instant.

"I don't need an answer that isn't related to my question, don't you agree?"

Another rhetorical question as he cocks his head, the gesture mocking.

"You're always tellin' me to be honest and share my thoughts with you. I'm bein' honest now. Everything should be mutual, so, answer my question. I might even go easy on you."

You're totally panicking now, aren't you?

His other hand wraps around the base of his cock and he slaps the shaft onto your cheek, then smearing his leaking tip over your glistening lips, a thoughtful smile playing on his own as if he were offering you candy.

"And depending on how you answer, I'm either taking you over my knee while you spell their name out, or you'll be showing me exactly what pornos you've been watching without my knowledge. So, what's it gonna be?"

[hitoshitoshi]

Caleb's tip color?

Caleb's Cock Colors [CCC]

Well... here you go. Ft. me cupping his balls in photo studio.

Also color theory or smthn idfk why I put the colors against a dark background bc they look light but against a white bkg they dont LMAO

TWITTER | MASTERLIST

[remireee]

Caleb is the type to reluctantly willingly keep yours and his relationship a secret if you request it—of course, he ain't going down without a bit of a fight but you know how eager he is to please you.

But so help him if anyone asks him about it when you ain't around or god forbid vaguely hinting at their interest in you; 'cause like a waterfall; this man would spill so much that it's so clear it ain't just a slip of the mind.

It's only when words get to you does he start trailing behind you like the puppy he is, sweetly begging for your forgiveness, trying so desperately to hide that shit-eating grin on that stupid face of his ('cause both you and he knows that your guys' secret was bound to be found anyways).

Caleb: "Ohh come on, pipsqueak. I really didn't mean to, it just slipped my mind, I promise it won't happen again. Pleaseee, I'm sorry!"

You: "…you and I both know you aren't sorry."

…

Caleb: "Yeah, you're right~"

[4-the-l0ve-0f-art]

Paper Planes: My Letter To You.

Caleb x GN!Reader oneshot

Genre: Angst

TW: Human experimentation

Word count: 722

Ao3 Link

Caleb's early days in the “care” of Ever after the explosion were reminiscent of his days in an orphanage when he was a child. Except this time, you were nowhere in sight, and he was all on his own.

Staring at his reflection in the glass panel across the room, he wondered who might be observing him from the other side. How many might be observing him from the other side.

His body convulsed rapidly for a few seconds as the laser ropes binding his arms and legs to the machines on the wall kept him in place. He cried out from mind-numbing pain. Images of you flashed through his mind.

You call out to him.

“Caleb! Look at this paper plane I made!” You hand over a palm sized light blue paper plane.

“Heyyy, pip-squeak, where did you learn how to make this?” He lifted the delicate paper up to his eyes.

“That's a secret.” You smiled at him. He noticed how the sunlight shone just right on your face.

“You keepin’ secrets from me now?” He smiled, seeing the mischievous glint in your eye.

“Nope! You just wait and see.”

“Pip-squeak planning a surprise? Should I be worried for my safety?” There it was. The teasing tone alot of your conversations with him ended up in.

“Hey! You little--”

The memories of laughter rang in his ears. Another wave of pain shot through his nerves. He pictured you again, handing him a gift box this time.

“What's this?”

“Open it!” You put your hands behind your back, looking pleased with yourself.

He unwrapped the packaging and found a book inside.

“How to make: 35 different plane models using origami” He read out loud, feeling his heart skip a beat.

He looked at you, feeling a smile he couldn't suppress form on his face.

“For me, Pip-squeak?”

“For you.” You looked down, kicking your feet nonchalantly. “.. Make one everytime you miss me, Caleb.”

You looked back up at him.

“I'll be waiting for you.”

This time, the pain didn't stop after a few seconds. His nerves were on fire. His focus on his reflection on the glass blurred and the world turned black.

-

Caleb woke up in a cold sweat. His head hurt as he felt all his muscles scream from exertion. He stared at the ceiling of his room. Moonlight passed through the tiny window high up from one side of the room.

He sat up slowly. The mattress under his weight felt hard as it pressed into the floor. He picked up a medical report on his left next to the mattress.

He tried tearing a page out of the staples using his right hand. The mechanical arm, having a mind of its own, tore through the middle of the page.

He tried again on the next page, this time using his left hand to tear it out and his right to keep the report in place. It tore out cleanly, a little corner left behind on the staple.

He flexed the mechanical hand, opening and closing his fingers, before slowly folding the paper in half and unfolding it, forming a long rectangle on both sides. The metal fingers twitched under his control.

Then he took the corner on top, folding it to meet the crease in the middle, forming a triangle. As he tried to open his hand again, it got stuck and tore the corner out.

He tried with the other corner. It got stuck and tore out again.

He took another page from the report, going through the same steps, his mechanical arm not willing to cooperate with him.

He took out another.

And another.

And another.

Until he was on the last page of the report. Or what was left of it.

Torn paper was scattered around him, and sunlight was starting to shine through the tiny window, but his sole focus was on the paper in front of him.

His head hurt and his body ached. Protested for him to sleep.

But it didn't matter to him. None of it did. Not the pain, not the stares, not the beeping of endless foreign machines ringing in his head.

Not when he was finally staring at the simple paper plane held between the metal fingers.

None of it mattered when you were waiting for him.

[sinnabarmoth]

(I just want some in-law content so) In a universe where Yizhou/Caleb is fine and his relationship with MC is completely platonic, what LIs would he approve of? For those he doesn’t, what would they have to do to prove themselves? Would they be like brothers or would they only get along for MC’s sake?

Oh this is a fun one!! Yes!

Zayne: Zayne is one of the guys that Yizhou completely approves of, has the gold star seal of acceptance. The three of them were childhood friends and Yizhou knows Zayne and knows he's a good egg and will treat MC right. That being said, it is a little weird in that way of your friend told you that they have a crush on your sister kinda way. I just imagine the conversation kinda went something like this:

"I'm taking MC out on a date this weekend."

"Ok. Happy for you two but I kinda hate you right now."

"What did I do?"

"You're dating! I'm gonna end up the 3rd wheel to your relationship! We went from a three person friend group to a couple and their one single friend. Thanks a lot, you two!"

"...I knew you were going to take this well."

Xavier: Yizhou and Xavier hit things off right away. They get along well, talk easily when the three of them are together. Yizhou sees how much MC likes Xavier and how happy he makes her. It also relieves him a bit that they live in the same building so she always has someone nearby to check in on her in case of an emergency. I imagine that at one point they get left alone in MC's apartment while she runs out to pick up food and when she comes back they are in a full video game tournament and in a full sibling rivalry mode.

"Hey guys I got dinner--"

"You are cheating!"

"No. You're just bad at this game."

"MC! Tell your boyfriend to stop cheating!"

"MC, tell Yizhou to stop being a sore loser."

"Letting you two become friends was a mistake."

Rafayel: Yizhou is actually kinda iffy on Rafayel when MC first introduced them. Something about him just rubbed him the wrong way and Raf didn't really like him either. They're kinda quietly not engaging with each other but when they're left alone it's just a long painful silence. The longer the relationship goes on the more they get used to each other but they do not function well when left alone together.

"So...see any good movies lately?"

"No. Been busy finishing my latest painting."

"Ah..."

"Yeah..."

"Quick question, if you're technically part fish does that mean eating seafood is sorta like cannibalism?"

"...You and MC definitely grew up together."

Sylus: Yizhou does NOT like Sylus. At all. These two have the thinnest shroud of tolerance and it is strictly for MC's sake. If they don't have to be around each other they won't be. Yizhou has asked MC if she is sure about this relationship more than once. The fact that Sylus is basically a Mafia Don doesn't help but he makes MC happy and seems to treat her well so he keeps his distaste low. Personally I just imagine their first meeting was when Yizhou came over to MC's apartment to drop off something and unbeknownst to him MC and Sylus were having some spicy time. So when he keeps knocking on the door to be let in Sylus ends up answering and clearly looks like he was interrupted in the middle of sex and is pissed.

"If you're selling something we're not interested."

"No I'm here to drop this off-- Wait. Who the hell are you? You don't live here."

"But my girlfriend does. Now who the hell are you and why are you interrupting us?"

"I'm her oldest friend and she's never mentioned you."

"Probably because it isn't any of your business."

"Can I just talk to MC, please?"

"She's a little tied up right now and can't come to the door so I'll take that and you can leave. Goodbye." Slams door in face.

"What the hell just happened?"

[shaiyasstuff]

a dance of ice and fire | zayne | finale

synopsis : Betrothed to the Crown Prince for the sake of peace, you are seen as a weapon to be wielded, not a queen to rule. But it is not your arrogant, power-hungry fiancé you fear—it is his brother, Zayne. As alliances shift and tensions rise, one truth becomes clear: he never wanted the crown, but for you, he will take it content : medieval!au, strategist/advisor!zayne x princess!reader, loads of eye-fucking, savage reader and zayne, political intrigue

parts | one | two | three | four | five | six | finale

The fire crackled low, painting flickering gold along the stone walls of the chamber. Outside, the night pressed in—thick with uncertainty, heavy with what was to come.

But here, inside the quiet, Zayne was watching you.

Not as a strategist. Not as a prince.

Just as you.

The silver threading of his tunic had caught on the edge of your cloak when he stepped too close, but neither of you moved to fix it.

His black hair was slightly tousled, damp at the ends from the late storm rolling through the mountains.

Moonlight bled through the window behind him, carving out the edge of his jaw, the shadow of his cheekbone, the steady dark of his eyes.

Your palm brushed against his chest. Not with purpose. Just to feel the shape of him beneath your hand.

“You’ve been quiet,” you said softly.

Zayne’s gaze flicked down to your mouth. Then returned to your eyes. “I’m thinking.”

“About?”

“How you still smell like smoke after all these years.”

You arched a brow, and he smiled, faint and crooked. “It’s not a complaint.”

The air between you shifted—too fragile for words, too loaded for silence. You reached up, fingers brushing the line of his collarbone, just beneath the edge of fabric.

Zayne inhaled, slow and steady.

“You’ve always burned too brightly,” he said, his voice low, almost reverent. “Even before you knew what to do with it.”

“And you’ve always stood too close.”

“I never minded the heat.”

The space between you closed without fanfare.

No declarations. No hesitation.

Just the natural gravity of two people who had carried each other through fire and frost and every word left unsaid.

Your lips met his.

Soft at first. Then sure. Anchored.

Zayne’s hands rose to your waist, grounding you, pulling you closer as if he couldn’t trust the world to keep you near unless he did it himself.

When he kissed you again, it was slower. Deeper.

Like he had all the time in the world.

Like this moment was the only one he wanted to remember, should everything fall apart.

Your hands slid into his hair—dark and damp and familiar—and he made a sound in the back of his throat, low and quiet, like the sound of something unraveling.

You pulled back just enough to look at him.

His breathing was uneven. His eyes, dark and gleaming in the firelight, were full of something unspoken.

“What is it?” you asked.

Zayne reached up, brushing a thumb across your cheek. His voice was rough. “I don’t know how to lose you.”

You swallowed. “You won’t.”

He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he pressed his forehead to yours, breathing you in.

“If the world burns tomorrow,” he whispered, “I want to remember this.”

You let your fingers slide down the line of his spine, memorizing the shape of him. “Then let it burn.”

And when you kissed him again, it wasn’t desperation. It was defiance.

You were fire. He was ice.

But in this moment, there was no war.

Only warmth.

And the kind of stillness that comes before the storm breaks wide open.

The fire had burned low by the time either of you moved again.

Zayne lay beside you, the curve of his arm draped loosely around your waist, his breath steady against your temple. The quiet wasn’t cold—it was full.

Heavy in a way that comforted rather than pressed. Your head rested on his chest, the beat of his heart anchoring you to the present like a thread that refused to break.

Your fingers traced slow, aimless patterns over the soft fabric of his shirt.

He didn’t stop you. Just breathed.

“Will you miss this?” you asked quietly.

Zayne was silent for a moment. Then, “I’ll remember it. That’s better.”

You turned your head, resting your chin lightly against him so you could look up.

His eyes were already on you.

Dark, unreadable, but softer than usual—like the sharpness had dulled just enough to let the truth through.

“I would’ve chosen you,” he said, his voice low. “Even if none of this had happened. Even if the court never turned. Even if the empire didn’t need saving.”

You blinked. Slowly. “You already did.”

Zayne reached for your hand, bringing it to his lips. He kissed your knuckles, just once, and held it there.

The heat between you wasn’t urgent now. It had settled into something steadier. Deeper. The kind of warmth that didn’t blaze—it stayed.

You shifted closer, burying your face in the crook of his neck.

“I wish it didn’t have to end like this,” you murmured.

“It hasn’t ended yet.”

“But it will.”

Zayne’s fingers trailed lightly through your hair. “Then let’s not waste what’s left.”

You nodded, barely. “Just… stay here. For a little while longer.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

His arms tightened around you.

You could feel the slow inhale beneath your cheek, the rise and fall of him, the steady rhythm that had always calmed you—even when the world was shaking.

Outside, the wind stirred the banners along the outer walls.

The empire was turning.

But inside this room, for a little longer, you were only two people.

Not heirs. Not symbols.

Just a girl who burned too bright.

And a boy who never backed away from the flame.

—•

The morning came quietly.

Not with fanfare or flames, but with a hush that blanketed the palace like snowfall. Pale light spilled across the marbled floors, casting long, blurred shadows through the high arched windows.

Somewhere far below, the bells of the outer towers rang once—low and slow.

A warning.

A beginning.

You rose before the sun finished climbing the horizon. The room was still dim, the embers in the hearth no longer glowing.

You dressed in silence—layer by layer, breath by breath. The ceremonial cloak was heavier than usual, its crimson folds lined with gold, stitched with the sigils of fire and frost, rebellion and loyalty.

Behind you, Zayne sat at the edge of the bed, running a hand through his black hair, eyes fixed on the floor like the weight of the day was already pressing between his shoulders.

Neither of you spoke at first.

But then, softly, “You always wear red before the storm.”

You looked at him in the mirror, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. “Because I want them to remember.”

He rose, moved toward you. His fingers fastened the last clasp at your shoulder, slow and steady. When he was done, he didn’t let go. His hand lingered there—firm, grounding.

“They will,” he said.

You turned to face him fully. His expression was unreadable in the half-light, but you knew him too well to be fooled.

He was preparing.

Not for battle. For consequence.

For the final weight of everything he had risked in silence.

Your hand found his, threading your fingers through his. “Do you regret it?”

Zayne didn’t look away. “Not even for a moment.”

He leaned in, his forehead resting against yours, and for a breath—just one—you allowed yourself to close your eyes.

To remember the garden. The willow. The boy who once waited by the pool and told you to stop hiding.

And who had never left since.

When you pulled away, his hand slid from yours, but the warmth remained.

“Ready?” he asked.

You exhaled. “No.”

“But you will be.”

A quiet knock came at the chamber doors.

Varyn’s voice, muffled through the wood. “It’s time.”

You stepped back, shoulders squaring. The weight of the cloak felt right now. Heavy with meaning, not burden.

Zayne opened the door.

The corridor beyond was full of silence and steel.

The empire waited.

And you would meet it, flame in your veins and frost at your side.

—•

The palace felt different that morning.

Not quieter—no, silence had long since become a companion to strategy—but held. Like the walls themselves were bracing for what came next.

The kind of hush that came not from peace, but from anticipation.

The nobles had begun to arrive before dawn, their steps measured, cloaks drawn tight, voices held behind clenched teeth.

No heralds announced them. No pages escorted them.

They didn’t need pomp today.

Today was about power.

And survival.

The eastern strategy chamber had been stripped of formality.

Maps were rolled away. The long war table stood clear.

At its head, you and Zayne stood shoulder to shoulder, each glance exchanged between you a confirmation.

Of trust. Of timing. Of the edge they now walked.

Lord Varyn entered first, dressed not in his usual crimson regalia, but in a plain black doublet marked only with a sigil at the collar—his house crest, etched in iron.

He didn’t speak when he arrived. He only nodded once and stood near the hearth, arms folded, gaze sharp.

Darien Vellor followed soon after, silver-banded cuffs catching the weak morning light.

He carried himself like a man who’d already counted the losses. His voice was low when he spoke.

“My informants say Kael has doubled the guard at the inner corridors. And they’ve begun searching the servants’ quarters. Quietly.”

Zayne’s mouth tightened. “He’s scared.”

Darien met his gaze. “He should be.”

Then Lord Thalos arrived, his violet robes exchanged for deep navy, lined with silver thread. His movements were crisp.

Controlled.

The quiet calm of someone who’d played this game too many times and learned not to show when the blade pressed against his neck.

“The loyalists are watching the western gates,” he said, eyes sweeping the room. “But not the council wing.”

“Then that’s our entry point,” you said, voice measured.

The doors creaked again.

Aelric Draven sauntered in last, of course—wearing half his armor like a statement. The steel bracers on his forearms caught the firelight. His grin, as always, was too wide to be harmless.

“Lovely morning for a coup,” he drawled.

“Not a coup,” Zayne said evenly.

“Then what would you call it?” Aelric asked, resting one foot on the edge of a bench.

You stepped forward. “A reckoning.”

That, finally, wiped the smirk from his face.

The air in the chamber settled. Not with calm—but readiness.

Varyn moved to the center of the table, unrolling a fresh scroll.

“All couriers are in place. House Velithar has stationed scouts along the northern road. If Kael tries to send for outside aid, we’ll know.”

Darien nodded. “Our message will reach the northern lords by sundown. If Kael counters, he’ll have to do it in the open.”

Aelric lifted an eyebrow. “And the ones who haven’t chosen?”

“They’ll be forced to,” Zayne said. “Today.”

You moved to the table, laying your hand flat against the surface. The wood was old. Scored from decades of meetings, wars, compromises. It had held empires together—and watched them fracture.

“Let him try to hold the empire by threat and decree,” you said. “We’ll hold it by truth.”

Thalos stepped closer. “Then we take our places.”

One by one, the lords turned.

Darien moved toward the high council chamber to intercept the scribes.

Varyn strode toward the east wing, where the royal guards could be rerouted without alarm.

Thalos would wait in the antechamber where the undecided nobles gathered—his words like a scalpel, carving through doubt.

And Aelric—Aelric simply nodded, the smirk returning faintly. “Call when you need the storm.”

Soon, only you and Zayne remained.

He glanced sideways at you. “No turning back.”

You reached for his hand, let your fingers slide against his palm before pulling away.

“There never was.”

He offered a quiet breath of laughter. “Let’s go break a throne.”

And together, you stepped out into the corridors—

Where the court would rise.

And where Kael would finally fall.

—•

The throne room had never been this full.

Not even during coronations or imperial feasts. Not even in the golden years, when Kael had still been the boy crowned with hope instead of the man cloaked in fear.

Now, the air was tighter. Denser.

Nobles packed the marble hall shoulder to shoulder, draped in house colors, speaking only in glances and guarded tones. The stained glass above cast fractured light across the floor, painting even the cracks in color.

But there was no warmth in it. No grace.

Only the hush of expectation.

The throne sat empty.

But not for long.

You stood at the far end of the chamber, just beyond the entrance archway. Cloaked in court-black with your house sigil at your shoulder, you scanned the room.

Every noble, every vassal, every whisper seemed to tremble on a single question.

What comes next?

Zayne was beside you, his black hair neatly tied back, silver pin gleaming at his collar. He hadn’t spoken in minutes—not since you left the strategy chamber.

But the steadiness in him was like iron forged cold. Measured. Patient.

Waiting.

“They’re watching for the first move,” you murmured.

“They won’t have to wait long.”

Across the hall, Lord Thalos stood at the eastern arch, conversing in low tones with two undecided barons.

Darien had already vanished into the alcoves, making sure the scribes recorded everything accurately—and nothing Kael’s men could spin.

Aelric leaned against a pillar like he was bored out of his mind, one hand resting on the hilt of his ceremonial blade. He winked when he caught your eye.

And Varyn stood close to the dais, just beyond the sightline of the throne, arms crossed, ready to draw if needed.

Each of them had their part.

Now it was yours.

A hush rippled through the room as the chamber doors at the far end creaked open.

Kael entered alone.

His robes were heavier than usual, black edged in gold, the crown already settled on his brow. No guards flanked him. No advisors whispered at his side.

It should have made him look powerful.

Instead, he looked… isolated.

He walked the central aisle with slow, even steps, his expression carved from stone. A prince trying to look like a god.

But the court saw the cracks now.

They knew.

And when he reached the foot of the dais, Kael turned.

“My lords,” he began, “my ladies. You are here today not because I summoned you, but because you know what is at stake. You know the price of disloyalty. And you know the burden of rule.”

He scanned the room, gaze landing on yours for just a breath too long.

“We will not fracture. We will not bend to subterfuge or shadow alliances. There will be order.”

Zayne’s voice cut through the chamber, crisp and steady. “You mistake strategy for sedition.”

Kael didn’t turn. “And you mistake silence for loyalty.”

“I mistake nothing,” Zayne said, stepping forward now, his presence drawing a ripple of attention. “But I remember. I remember the vows we swore to protect this empire—not just the throne.”

A murmur stirred. Thalos turned, nodding once.

You stepped into the light beside Zayne, letting the room see you fully. The princess of fire. The voice they hadn’t yet heard speak in the chamber. Until now.

“You speak of loyalty, Kael,” you said. “But loyalty built on fear isn’t loyalty. It’s desperation. And the court has seen enough desperation to last a generation.”

He looked at you then.

Truly looked.

You saw the moment it landed.

Not your words.

Your stance.

The realization that the court was not behind him.

They were watching you.

The weight of it shifted.

And the war, though not yet declared aloud, began to truly breathe in that moment.

You turned to the nobles, your voice rising—not loud, but clear.

“Today, we choose not sides. But futures.”

And behind you, the first step forward echoed.

Darien.

Then Varyn.

Then Thalos.

The court began to move.

Not chaos.

Not rebellion.

Just the slow, inevitable tide of power.

Kael hadn’t lost yet.

But the tide had turned.

The court chamber was ready to burn.

Tension crackled in the air like a storm about to break, each noble caught between breath and silence.

Kael stood before the dais, his crown gripped tightly in one hand. His expression was carved from stone—cold, unflinching.

Zayne faced him from the other end of the room, still but resolute. The lines of his black tunic were sharp against the pale light filtering in from the high windows.

He didn’t raise his voice.

He didn’t need to.

“I don’t want your throne, Kael,” Zayne said. “I want to keep this empire from collapsing under your pride.”

Kael laughed, dry and bitter. “Then you’re too late. The court has already begun to turn. You think they’ll follow you because you speak softly and wear frost like armor?”

“I think they’re tired,” Zayne said, voice low. “Tired of being ruled by fear.”

Kael stepped closer, crown still clenched like a blade. “And you’d rule by what, then? Fire and idealism? The promises of a girl who knows nothing of sacrifice?”

Your body tensed, but you didn’t move. The room was listening.

Waiting.

You could see Lord Aelric at the edge of the court, his stance languid but his eyes glinting with barely-contained anticipation.

One hand rested on the hilt of his dagger, not from fear—but from hope.

Hope that someone would finally throw the first blow.

And then—

The great doors of the throne chamber burst open.

The sound echoed like thunder against the vaulted ceiling.

Every head turned.

The Emperor stepped through.

He wore no crown.

No cloak.

Only the black of mourning, lined with deep imperial crimson, and the steady weight of a legacy unraveling in front of him.

He did not speak at first.

He only walked—slowly, deliberately—his boots striking the marble like judgment incarnate.

Guards flanked the doors, frozen in place, as if stunned by his appearance.

He moved past the nobles who parted instinctively, past the steward, past Aelric who straightened slightly, as though the storm he’d hoped for had just arrived in a different form.

Kael took a step back. “Father—”

The Emperor raised a hand.

Silence fell like a blade.

He came to a stop between his sons, gaze sweeping first to Kael. Then to Zayne. Then to you.

And for a moment, it felt as if the whole court leaned forward, breath held in collective suspension.

“You disgrace this chamber,” the Emperor said at last, his voice like distant thunder—slow and deep, and too steady to be anything but dangerous. “Turning power into spectacle. Turning this court into a battlefield.”

Kael’s jaw tensed. “They forced my hand.”

“No,” the Emperor replied coldly. “You lost your grip on it.”

The words landed with weight. The nobles stirred. A few lowered their eyes.

The Emperor turned now to Zayne.

“And you—always watching, always calculating. You stood in the shadows too long. Perhaps if you had stepped forward sooner, your brother would not have mistaken silence for consent.”

Zayne didn’t look away. “I stepped forward when the empire needed me.”

The Emperor’s gaze lingered. Then slowly, he turned to the assembled court.

“You came today expecting blood,” he said, voice rising just enough to reach the furthest wall. “Expecting a spectacle. You will have neither. There will be no coup. No rebellion. Only choice.”

He paused.

“The throne is no longer a birthright. It is a burden that must be earned.”

The Emperor moved past Kael without a second glance. “And Kael, my son, you have mistaken strength for entitlement.”

Then, turning to you and Zayne.

“You have my silence. You will not have my crown. If the empire will rise from this fracture, let it be because those who lead it deserve to.”

He stepped aside.

No blessing.

No name.

Only absence.

The nobles were stunned. Not by volume—but by finality.

The Emperor did not stay to see what followed. He walked back toward the doors, and they opened again without a word.

He did not look back.

He did not need to.

He had ended an age—and left the next one to you.

A long silence followed.

Aelric exhaled, slow and disappointed. “No steel. No blood. Just speeches.” His eyes flicked to Kael. “You’d think after all that buildup, someone would at least throw a punch.”

No one moved.

Kael stood there, the weight of everything crashing in, heavier than his crown.

He looked at you.

And for a moment, his expression flickered—shame, fury, grief.

But no redemption.

He turned and walked away, jaw tight, spine rigid.

This time, the court didn’t bow.

They watched.

Measured.

Waited.

You turned to Zayne.

He met your eyes with quiet strength.

And when you reached for his hand, the court saw something the throne never taught—

Not dominion.

But devotion.

The kind that could burn.

The kind that could rebuild.

And somewhere deep within the echo of the Emperor’s final words—

A new age began.

—•

It wasn’t the crown that made it real.

Not the robes. Not the ceremony.

It was the silence.

Not emptiness—but attention. Not fear—but reverence.

The throne room looked different now. No longer cold marble and weaponized grandeur, but something warmer.

The banners of the major houses remained, but they hung looser. Softer.

The emblems of the past, rethreaded with the color of tomorrow.

You stood in the center, alone beneath the arching light of the sun-drenched ceiling.

No one spoke.

Not even the nobles, who had spent years playing a game that was now crumbling under its own weight.

Not even Kael, who had not returned since the court’s fracture.

His absence hung like smoke—but no longer a shadow.

Only history.

Zayne stood by the steps of the dais, black coat tailored sharp, hands behind his back. He hadn’t moved in minutes.

But his eyes never left you.

The crown sat on the velvet cushion before you, untouched.

A circle of gold, lined in firesteel—red-gold veins running through it like molten lightning. It had once weighed down every ruler who wore it. A relic of control. A symbol of fear.

But you didn’t bow before it.

You stepped forward.

And lifted it.

It didn’t shake in your hands.

You didn’t flinch beneath its weight.

When you turned, the room held its breath.

Not for what you would say.

But for what you meant.

Zayne watched, expression unreadable but eyes burning with something you knew too well now.

Faith. Respect. Love.

And when you met his gaze, you saw more than a memory of gardens and firelight.

You saw the future standing with you.

You ascended the steps.

No fanfare followed. No drumbeat. No choir.

Only silence.

Only stillness.

Only the sound of your breath—and the knowledge that every step you took was not toward power, but purpose.

At the top, you turned back to the court.

The crown glinted in your hands.

But you didn’t place it on your head.

Not yet.

Your voice, when it came, was calm. Clear.

“There is no victory here. Only rebuilding. The empire fractured not from outside invasion—but from within. From pride. From tradition twisted into chains.”

The nobles stood straighter.

You let your eyes pass over each of them. Lord Varyn. Lord Thalos. Darien. Even Aelric, who looked—for once—almost solemn.

“We will not rebuild what broke us. We will create something new.”

You lowered your voice, but it only made it stronger.

“This court will no longer answer to a single crown. Power will not sit on one head. It will circle the realm—advised, chosen, shared.”

You turned slightly, eyes on Zayne.

“And I will stand at its center.”

A breath. Then you raised the crown—

—and placed it on your head.

Not with ceremony.

But with intention.

The firesteel caught the light.

And the court bowed.

First Thalos.

Then Varyn.

Then Darien, Aelric, and the rest—like dominos falling, not to power, but to truth.

Zayne did not bow.

He stepped forward.

And offered his hand.

You took it.

Together, you faced the room.

And the empire was no longer a thing you inherited.

It was a thing you chose.

—•

It had been a season since the court fell quiet.

Spring again. But this one felt real.

No pretense. No desperate sweetness. Just newness, carried in the scent of thawing earth and fresh rain.

The halls of the palace no longer echoed with tension. They breathed.

The throne room no longer guarded silence like a weapon. It listened.

And your name—once spoken like a question—was now a promise.

The Princess of Fire.

No longer waiting to be chosen.

You sat in the strategy chamber—now restored, refurnished, and no longer secret.

A meeting had just ended, but the air was still warm with conversation, the scent of ink and cooled tea lingering in the corners.

Lord Thalos had been the first to accept his role on the new council. Not ruler, not advisor, but anchor.

His neutrality had once kept him distant. Now, it made him steady.

He chaired the new judicial reforms, and even the most conservative noble houses had learned not to argue once he spoke.

Lord Varyn hadn’t changed much—still brash, still blunt. But he had become the court’s loudest voice when it came to defense and the rights of the provinces.

His ships patrolled the coast now—not as a show of power, but as a shield.

And he never once asked for praise.

Darien had proven the most valuable in diplomacy. No one moved through the cracks of court politics like he did.

It was his networks that rebuilt the fractured roads between inner cities and the border towns. His words soothed where swords had once cut.

He was more quiet than the others.

But he never missed a meeting.

And Aelric—well.

Aelric still strode through the palace like he was seconds from starting a duel.

But his loyalty had proven unwavering. He had taken charge of military reforms, restructuring the officer class to protect merit over lineage.

There were still rumors that he trained with new recruits just to scare them into competence.

Zayne had said he caught him sleeping under a war table once.

You believed it.

Together, they had become something the realm had never seen.

A court that didn’t orbit the throne—but moved with it.

You stood now at the window of your chambers, the same window Zayne had once waited beside in silence.

You’d spent the morning in council. The afternoon in reformation drafts.

Now, at dusk, you let yourself breathe.

Zayne stepped in behind you, just as he always had. Not as a shadow.

But as a constant.

He wrapped his arms around your waist, head resting lightly against your shoulder.

“They’re saying Varyn and Aelric nearly came to blows again,” he murmured. “Over the border tariffs.”

You laughed softly. “And who won?”

“I had to separate them. Again.”

You leaned back into him. “We built this.”

Zayne’s voice was quiet.

“You led them.”

You turned in his arms, looking up into eyes that still held that unreadable stillness—except now, it wasn’t hiding anything.

It just was.

A stillness you had come to rely on.

“Do you ever regret it?” you asked. “Not walking away. Not taking the easier road.”

He brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, fingers cool against your temple.

“There was never an easier road.”

You smiled faintly.

The fire flickered in the hearth, casting warm light across his face.

“I keep thinking about that day,” you said. “The one in spring. When I almost touched your hand in the garden.”

“You did,” Zayne said.

“No,” you replied, smile deepening. “Not really.”

Zayne took your hand now, threading your fingers together.

“There is no almost anymore.”

The room fell quiet again.

But it wasn’t heavy.

It was whole.

Outside, the empire stirred—not perfect, not peaceful, but alive.

There would always be conflict. Always be tides to shift, shadows to chase back with light.

But the court was no longer ruled by fear.

It was ruled by the ones who stood at the edge of fire and frost—and chose not to flinch.

Not to burn alone.

And that was enough.

—•

The wind tugged at the banners above the balcony, stirring the heavy gold-threaded fabric into restless motion.

Below, the city was beginning to stir—slowly, uncertainly—as if still unsure whether peace had truly arrived.

You leaned your forearms on the marble balustrade, eyes fixed on the horizon beyond the palace gates.

The sun had risen clean over the rooftops, spilling soft light across the streets that had once whispered with rumors of war.

Behind you, the door clicked shut.

You didn’t turn. You didn’t need to.

Zayne’s presence folded into the space beside you like a shadow finally returned to its shape.

He stood just behind your shoulder, close but not touching, the steady quiet of him grounding in the hush of morning.

You let the silence stretch, then said softly, “I expected bloodshed.”

Zayne’s head tilted slightly. “Hmm?”

“After everything we planned,” you murmured, watching a line of market stalls slowly open across the square, “the strategies, the alliances, the countermeasures. All those long nights with maps and names and contingency after contingency… I expected the empire to bleed for it.”

He was silent for a beat. Then, quietly, “So did I.”

You turned toward him, searching the cool stillness in his dark eyes. “And yet… the only thing that shattered was the illusion.”

Zayne’s expression was unreadable. “You made them see it. You broke the pattern. That was always more dangerous than war.”

You gave a faint smile, weary at the edges.

“I thought the nobles would rise in arms. That Kael would force us into open battle. That the city would turn to ash before it crowned another heir.”

Zayne stepped closer, his voice low. “You wanted a war?”

“No,” you said, gaze lifting to meet his. “I just didn’t believe we could win without one.”

His hand brushed yours, a fleeting, deliberate touch. “Maybe that’s what made you the better ruler.”

You looked away, the warmth of his words settling in your chest like something earned.

Behind you, the city exhaled again—slowly, cautiously. Like a wound not yet healed, but no longer bleeding.

And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself breathe with it.

Zayne’s hand slid gently along your arm, tracing the edge of your sleeve, until it found your fingers and held them.

When you turned back to him, he was already watching you—not with calculation, not with strategy.

Just with quiet, knowing affection.

“I told you,” he said, his voice barely more than breath, “I never left.”

You reached for him in the same moment he leaned in.

And when your lips met, it wasn’t urgent or desperate.

It was calm. Sure.

A seal pressed softly between everything you’d endured and everything still to come.

The city stretched out below. The banners stirred.

But here, in this quiet between heartbeats, there was only you and Zayne.

And the peace you’d both fought so hard to find.

[amliza]

Caleb wip.....🍎

Stinky apple

[xfgpng]

haunted ..

— it’s implied that there’s stalking but it’s more of a song fic so nothing too crazy..

— wc :: 628

my haunted lungs , ghost in the sheets ..

she feels a cold chill run down her back as she steps out the shower. it’s not even autumn or winter but it’s been weirdly cold lately.


she glances up and sighs in relief, she had forgotten to close her bathroom window after all and the apartment building was known to be colder some evenings.

she wraps a fluffy bathrobe around her body and heads into her kitchen. she needed to get her tap replaced because it was the third one in a month and the constant dripping was starting to annoy her more than she’d like to admit.

she knows it’s because she works odd hours as a hunter so she’s barely in her apartment long enough to notice everything that needed maintenance.

she’d have to ask xavier if he had issues in his own place or if she was just the unlucky one.

i know if i’m haunting you, you must be haunting me ..

she feels unsettled lately, unsure what’s causing her to feel on edge but she supposes anyone that has to hunt wanderers for a living won’t always get a good nights sleep.

finishing a cold glass of water, she heads to her bedroom. it’s cold in there too, unsurprising since she left the window open. she gives herself some grace on most days because of her job. windows are the last thing on her mind.

my wicked tongue, where will it be?

she shakes her head and closes it, turning off the lights but leaving the lamp on beside her bed. it’s childish and she knows it but ever since losing caleb, she struggles with the dark when she’s alone. when she closes her eyes, she can’t help but see his face and then the explosion.

zayne had given her something to help her sleep but even he didn’t appreciate her being doped up on pills, not when he could help her.

she closes her eyes, willing herself to sleep. she never had an issue before, especially with her job. she’d take any chance to nap she could get, it often annoyed rafayel when he would be rattling on and she’d be dozing off.

it’s what you see..

i know if i’m haunting you, you must be haunting me..

most nights she sleeps just fine knowing sylus is keeping an eye on her through mephisto but she couldn’t understand how even a mechanical crow could look so startled whenever she’d wake up the next morning.

she doesn’t think she looks that crazy in the mornings but she swears he looks spooked.

it’s where we go

it’s where we’ll be

i know if i’m onto you.. i’m onto you

onto you, i’m onto you

onto you, you must be onto me

that night her sleep is restless. she dreams on a familiar face, a haunting laughing and a voice she knows all to well sending a chill through her body.

his eyes are the same but so different, his grin menacing, as if it’s mocking her and she feels it.


a cold hand, mechanical if she tries to piece it together, pressed flat against her back. it draws her in close, another hand gripping her jaw softly. his eyes hold a promise but she isn’t sure she wants to know what for.


“mine …..”

she hears the voice and it’s cold and calculated but somehow fond.

when she wakes up in a shock, cold sweat clinging to her neck, she sees mephisto but her windowsill and he looks spooked once more..

and she remembers she had closed the window before she went to bed but now it’s wide open, even her curtains.

she sees a note next to caleb’s necklace

“there’s fresh apple juice in the fridge”

[sassyangelchild]

What do you mean it wasn't like this

[hitoshitoshi]

Teacher!Caleb would be an elementary teacher if he wasn't a pilot. He's just so patient with the kids, but he's also stern when he needs to be. Teacher!Caleb would teach kids in a way where they could all have fun so that way, they associate learning with fun, and not feel bored while learning. He would make it a competition for who can learn vocabulary the quickest, and have small prizes for them to enjoy.

Teacher!Caleb would make sure to learn each of the kid's likes and dislikes and incorporating it into the examples that he uses so it feels more personalized. "Mhm, you're right on track there, you have a team of 6 Pokemon, and 4 faints, how many Pokemon do you have on your team? [...] That's right, you have 2 Pokemon on your team! You're so smart. How about if you have 3 Pokemon, and you want to double your team—"

Teacher!Caleb would make sure that during lunch time, no kid would go hungry, so he always had a cabinet of snacks, filled with yummy but also nutritious things for them to eat. He was a kid once too, so he knew how much kids wouldn't eat something if he knew that they didn't like the taste of something, regardless of how hungry they were. Whenever a kid runs up to him with their little legs, he already knows the protocol and pulls out his drawer. "Pick any of 'em you want that you want to eat. The whole world — well, drawer — is yours to choose from."

Teacher!Caleb would make sure that no one gets left out and made fun of. He himself, was an empathetic indivudual, and if he was witnessing any bullying, he was going to stop it right then and there. No one gets put down in when he's around, much less in his classroom. Fun Teacher!Caleb was gone the second that there was disrespect going on. He would pull the kid to the side, and make them understand what empathy was, and how the kid wouldn't like it if someone was mean to the kid, so the kid shouldn't be mean to others. He would make sure the kid apologizes to whoever they were mean to — a proper apology: a sorry, the specifics of what they did and why they're sorry, and what they were going to do to change. Teacher!Caleb wasn't going to let these kids grow up to be people who didn't ever apologize or take accountability for their own actions. He took his job very seriously. Teacher!Caleb would make sure that no kids would associate any bad marks or failure with bad connotations. He knew how some kids depended on academic validation, or was stressing because of their parents, so he makes sure to change that mindset so it wouldn't become worse later on. "No, no, no, don't call yourself a failure for not passing a test. Think about it this way, you know what you got wrong and you know what type of studying doesn't work out for you. Instead of focusing on that, think about what you can do for the re-test. You know what you don't know, what you do know, and what form of studying doesn't work for you! That's called "failing forward". Always, move forward and don't stay in the past." Teacher!Caleb would be the type to use his own money to have end-of-the-year parties. It wouldn't be just pizza, but other food too! Pizza, fries, wings, cake, and more. He wanted the kids to celebrate and have a good time before ending the school year — to relax and hang out with eachother one last time before summer vacation started, where some of the kids would be separated from other kids when they move up a grade. He would play fun music and pull out pictures of his partner (you) and show you off to the kids. "Ahahah, yeah! This is my partner, aren't they super cool? I love them to bits and pieces. They're actually my childhood best friend—" Teacher!Caleb would want to make a difference; to actually help kids grow up. He wasn't just a teacher that taught kids schoolwork, he wanted to teach them the foundations of life through different ways of seeing things and learning. He wanted to be that teacher that made others excited to learn. He wanted to be that teacher that people can rely on. He wanted to be that teacher that helped change and guide people's lives in a positive way. He wanted to be that teacher that helped people discover things about themselves. He wanted to be that teacher that helped people to learn to love and respect other people and themselves. He wanted to be the teacher that he never got growing up. He wanted to be that teacher for others.

Masterlist | TWITTER

[justanotherobsessedjellyfish]

Yes HE IS!!! 🫡🍎

[sinnabarmoth]

what kind of deres r the guys (+ explain?)

This is where being an anime nerd is finally helpful! (BTW some of these dere types usually are associated strictly with only women but I feel that is limiting so everything is unisex!)

Zayne: The best fit I could think of for Zayne is a Rindere. Rinderes are described as being this really reserved, dignified, and mature person who has a kind of cool and distant attitude. People look up to them because they're super calm most of the time but they do act more outwardly loving when with their love interest. And if that does not perfectly describe Zayne I don't know what does! Zayne is a very mature personality and he is always trying to be very dignified when talking to people. The only person he ever seems to show a more emotional side to is MC, even if he starts treating her cooly at the beginning he opens up more as the story goes on and has a playful personality in memories.

Xavier: I was actually stuck between w for Xavier. My initial reaction was to classify him as a Nemuidere. Nemuidere are people who are just super sleepy and only care about sleeping, their love interest is like the only person that can wake them up and keep them awake. It was just too perfect not to at least mention it for our chronically sleep guy. But if I had to pick a more serious one I'd go with a Dandere who are said to be very quiet and stoic characters who only come out of their shells and act more talkative and cute when with their love interest. Which given how in Xavier's anecdotes and stuff he's described as not being very social and keeping to himself a lot of the time also works for him.

Rafayel: I feel like I'm shitting on him a little bit but Rafayel is a Shundere. A shundere is known for being very sad when their love interest does not pay attention to them. Full on pouty and lost baby boy. They do not want to be alone and will give their love interest a very sad cute face to guilt them into staying with them. That's Rafayel to a tee! This man got upset when you didn't come visit him in the hospital sooner to the point he pretended to have amnesia because of it. He checked himself into the hospital over a sprained ankle just for the drama of it. He's also been waiting hundreds of years to be with MC again so yeah, he's gonna be really sad when not with his love interest.

Sylus: Sylus was actually really hard to place but in the end I had to go with my gut. Sylus is a freaking Smugdere if there ever was one. Like the name suggests smugderes are super cocky, they love teasing their love interests, and they have a signature smirk that they flash at their love interest just to get a rise out of them. They act super composed while teasing them and are more joking and sarcastic about it than actually feeling some kind of superiority or entitlement. Look me in my eyes and tell me that isn't Sylus. Sylus loves teasing MC and keeps up his composure while doing so but I feel like it is done out of humor rather than any kind of actual malice.

Yizhou: I simply do not know enough about this man to give him anything other than Osadere. Osaderes are the childhood friend who either always loved their love interest or grew up and realized they were in love with them. Yizhou gives me big, they were always in love with MC vibes but didn't say anything because he didn't want to jeopardize their friendship in case she didn't return his feelings. I wish there was more for me to say but that's really all I got for the guy.

[lunar-opal]

Okay but I know for CERTAIN that Caleb has a picture of MC in the cockpit of his plane

It's beautiful, she's smiling at him in the sunshine and she's so happy... There are missions when he isn't sure he'll come home, missions that are so difficult and stressful that he doesn't know what to do next

But then he looks at her beaming smile and remembers what and who he's fighting for 😭