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backinmyphase · 6 months ago

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Not your husband

Summary: You are going to marry the Satoru Gojo. A dream come true right? Well when he doesn't even show up to the meetings to arrange your marriage, it becomes clear that it's more a nightmare.

Or: Satoru Gojo doesn't even know how attached he will grow to his wife yet.

Pairing: Gojo x reader, 3040 words

Next part Masterlist

Sane Geto AU (I am an Angst writer, but not like Gege. Please excuse any errors in my writing)

The world of Jujutsu was never a world for you.

Born into a clan, which only saw your value in your technique. Born into a family, which only saw your mistakes. Born from a mother, who had the same problems but still resented you.

Born into a world full of curses but still being told you were the biggest of all.

"Don't daydream, you will make a bad impression. And you really can't afford that."

The woman in front of you isn't pleased. She isn't since she knew she wouldn't give life to boy.

It's hard as woman in a Jujutsu clan.

It's not about how your technique can help you, it's about how your technique could help your son at exorcising curses.

"Yes, mother."

She frowns as she looks at you. Displeased she fixes her posture a bit, signaling you to do the same. You obey.

"You can't afford to make any mistakes today. Just do as I told you. I can only hope you have learned anything."

As you nod you realize what all this means. The dress kimono you are wearing. The expensive tea that is ready to serve. The hairpin you have gotten from your mother, who did your hair today.

All of it becomes so real.

Your husband has been decided.

"You won't say anything, until you are being asked." The woman hissed. "And please keep a smile on your boring face, then it at least looks not so simple."

You never discovered your technique and what you could do with it. It wasn't easy. Knowing that everything you did would result in you being married of.

And as you sat here in this big room with your mother, you could only wonder.

Who would your husband be? Could it be someone who understood you?

Someone you could love?

As the door opened you saw your father who looked onto the ground as he spoke.

"They are here."

Your mother only nodded, as your father closed the door. Just a few minutes later the door was opened again.

And a beautiful woman stepped inside.

She smiled at your mother as she took a seat in front of her. But the smile was the same as the smile of your mother. And maybe the same of your own.

As she sat down on the opposite side, you served the tea. The best tea your clan could afford.

For a man that didn't seem to have come.

The woman gave an apologetic smile. "My sincere apologies, but my son... Well he is in a bit of a rebellious phase, which lead of him disappearing before this meeting."

Your mother's smile faded a bit. "Does he know of what importance this meeting is for our clans?"

The woman laughed. "Oh, he knows." She slightly eyed you before she spoke again. "He just doesn't care."

Silence flodded the room. It was like a cold hand slidded down your back as you realized.

"I hope the Gojo Clan will show more interest in our connection. We will be very disappointed if not." The smile of your mother was just as cold as the hand that seemed to choke you.

This was Mrs. Gojo. The mother of the strongest.

Gojo Satoru.

The one who seemingly stood above anyone. The one who jumped at every opportunity to mess with the higher ups.

Who will be your husband.

And he didn't even show up to meet you.

"Of course. He will learn." The woman sighed as she spared you a glance again. Then she smiled that smile again.

And you mirrored it.

"Your future husband isn't the easiest person." The woman sighed as she looked at you. "Even as a baby he knew what he wanted and how to get it."

Not knowing how to react you just nodded.

The woman laughed at that. "But no worries! Even though he is... Difficult, you will love him. He has that effect on people."

Your mouth dried up at the mention of love. How could this woman talk about love at the table your arranged marriage would be discussed? How could she talk about love when you didn't even have a saying in this arrangement? How, when you will marry the strongest?

Satoru Gojo?

"I really hope that he will learn." Your mother smiled while taking a sip from her tea. "He should know that his actions are what keep the Gojo Clan still important. He shouldn't throw that away."

The tension grew a lot, as Mrs. Gojo mirrored the smile and took a sip of the tea. "Well at least I brought him to our Clan. In the end that's the biggest thing a woman could achieve right?"

It was sick. We lived in modern times, but the Jujutsu Society was still so far behind, floating under the radar, with the excuse of making the world a better place.

"It's true." Your mother sighed as she lowered her cup. "The strongest really is the biggest achievement you could have ever accomplished. Being the parent of such a child... But I wonder..."

Your mother now didn't even try to hide her distain. "Why does his mother not have him under control?"

Klirrr

"Because." Mrs. Gojo's hand shook as it held the broken cup. The sharp shards cutting into it. "As a boy, he can have this freedom."

The black tea in your cup grew cold as long with the atmosphere in the room. Your mother stood up and left the room without a word. Her steps filled the silence in the room. And as she closed the door the woman in front of you sighed.

"Difficult woman, isn't she?" Mrs. Gojo let go of the cup shards while hissing. Her mask no longer in tact as she didn't smile anymore.

"Well who isn't?"

She looked at you surprised and then chuckled. "I guess you are right."

On the same day the arrangement was consolidated. It was official.

You will marry Satoru Gojo.

"Suguru, how could this happen? To me?" Satoru whined as he complained to his best friend. "It all has to be a bad joke, right?"

"No, it sounds like a normal thing in jujutsu clans. I'm just confused why you didn't have any saying. You know, as the strongest." Suguru didn't look up from his book as his best friend groaned.

"That's what I'm saying! I don't give a damn about this whole clan thing."

As they were sitting in the park near their mission, they of course already finished not even breaking a sweat, the sun slowly set.

"It is a really bad system. How the clans only strive after power and never consider the lives of their toles." Suguru muttered as he turned the page.

"And now I have to marry a random girl I don't even know!" Satoru groaned again and buried his face in his hands.

"And she has to marry you." Suguru sighed.

Satoru looked at him slightly annoyed. "What do you want to say? Just say it."

"Well, I am sure, she is just as horrified as you at the sound of marriage. I'm just saying you could at least try to get to know her."

"I'm not going there." Stubbornly Satoru shook his head. "Never. I'm not giving them that satisfaction."

Suguru looked up at his friend and now he shook his head. "I pity your soon to be wife."

Offended, Satoru turned to his friend. "Hey! I'm your friend in need here!"

Suguru placed his bookmark gently in his book and then closed it. "Just promise you will show up to the wedding."

Satoru grinned. "Why? You scared of the higher-ups for me?"

"Not for you." He stood up as he looked down at his friend.

"For your wife. If an arranged marriage isn't going well, you know who gets blamed. And what you're doing is just cruel to her."

Gojo didn't say anything as he put on his blindfold.

"Do I look pretty?"

You didn't dare be louder than a whisper. "Mother?"

Her sigh gave you confirmation that she wasn't pleased. As she looked you up and down, her frown never disappeared. "As long you don't make that face, it's passable."

She stood up. "For a wedding you look... I just hope your husband will like you at your best."

"Soon to be husband." you corrected her quietly as you looked in the mirror.

"What?"

"Nothing."

She raised a brow but nodded slowly. Then she paced through the room impatiently. "That woman still hasn't given us any signs."

"Mrs. Gojo is probably seating the guests." a little part of you wanted to defend this woman. Your future mother in law.

"Or the groom makes problems again." your mother shook her head, like always when she spoke about the young Gojo.

After he didn't show up to a single meeting, she was sure that Mrs. Gojo didn't raise him right and that she as his mother should be blamed.

It was so pathetic. How you already felt his displeasure, his hatred towards you.

"Mother?"

"What is it?" she was annoyed.

"What was your wedding like?"

...

"Just like this one. It's tradition in our clan." her face was stone cold.

And you felt sympathy for her. She also had an arranged marriage. A wedding in which she didn't have any saying. A husband who she never chose.

"It's the bride's moment." The voice of Mrs. Gojo halled through the room.

Your mother smiled at you. You smiled back.

"Just don't mess it up."

There were too many guests. Mostly people you didn't know. And all of them looked at you, while you made your way to the altar.

Under their stares you felt small.

But there was also this man. This guy with white hair, that stood at the end of your path. This boy that refused to even meet you before the wedding.

He gave you a glance and then continued to stubbornly look straight ahead.

As you stood before him, he didn't seem to be here with his thoughts.

And at this moment you knew he didn't want to marry you. No, you knew that before. But you knew that he would never open up or try to make this work.

And you didn't want that.

"I do."

No, you really didn't. And as he spatted the same words you knew that he was lying too.

"Oh, you lucky girl!" The old woman, you didn't even know, said.

The after ceremony was not nice. All the guests wanted to talk to Gojo and some, not many pestered you. What really stung you was that they made more effort to talk to you than your own husband did.

"To marry such a handsome man." she looked at you and smiled knowingly.

"Of course it's an honor to marry Gojo Satoru as he is an important figure for the jujutsu society." Everything you said sounded like a broken record that lost any meaning.

She chuckled. "You can be honest with me. An heir will be on the way shortly, right?"

You hated this talk about an heir. Hated, hated, hated this people that keep telling you to hurry up and sleep with this man that didn't even look at you.

"We will see."

She laughed at that. And somehow you managed to excuse yourself from the conversation.

The rest of the evening was torture, but you somehow survived. Gojo didn't talk to you. He just disappeared at some point, leaving you alone in the cave of the lions.

His mother was right. He was a difficult person.

You hated that you had to ask around to be driven to his estate. Hated, that he didn't open the door, it was the personal chef that was going to leave. Hated, that you stood alone in this cold house.

He seemed to like to leave you alone. To just go.

You didn't want to sleep at this house. You didn't want to, but where should you go? Where could a place be, where you could hide?

Gojo had places. Not you.

You slept on the couch that evening. Your wedding dress was still on, as you didn't know what in this big house was to wear for you.

"You're an asshole, you know that?" Satoru didn't like to hear that from his best friend, as he stood at his doorstep.

"I just need a place to sleep."

"I said to go to the wedding." Suguru felt like babysitting a toddler.

"And I did."

"Then why are you here? And not with your wife at your house?" Suguru slowly began to lose his patience.

"Can you just let me in, you ass?"

After shaking his head, Suguru opened his door wide enough to let Gojo in.

"Why are you here?" he wasn't going to make it easy for Satoru to forget he left you there.

"Had enough."

"You're such a child." Suguru shook his head. That's what ticked Gojo off.

"Stop it!" He threw his shoes on the floor.

"You can't judge me! Not when you don't know how it feels to have your future stripped from you just because you have been born in this family!"

Suguru kept silent this time.

Your things were shiped to this mansion you should now live in. It wasn't a lot but your necessary clothes. Finally.

Finally you could take the dress off.

The clothing that reminded you that this was real. That your reason in life was already fulfilled and now you should just cease to exist.

No, that wasn't true, was it? You still had to bring an heir.

Will you ever get used to this new prison? You doubt it.

It was so big and cold. So many things but it didn't have this personal touch. It felt empty, unloved. Did Gojo even live here?

Well it seems like he wouldn't if you were here.

It was stupid. You didn't know him, just saw him yesterday for the first time in person. And still it was so clear he wouldn't make it easy for you.

You felt unloved.

"A letter, Mrs. Gojo."

The sudden voice blew you away from your thoughts. Another thing you wouldn't get used to. There were servants for the Clan leader. Like this girl. They were only needed in the kitchen, but it still felt wrong.

And something felt so wrong with being called this name.

"From who?"

The girl before you had a pitiful look. "Your mother." She cleared her throat. "She said, it's about your arrangement."

As you looked down at this paper, it felt like cursed energy was coming from it.

"Oh. Alright, thank you." Hesitating you took the letter.

The girl just nodded and made her way to the kitchen. The silence in this house was haunting.

Again you looked at the letter in your hands, and wished it was only paper. What should you do from now on? How would you spend your life?

Well obviously not with your husband as he wasn't even here.

And you would make sure that he didn't see the letters from your clan.

"You're here." Satoru Gojo didn't seem pleased to see his wife in his house at this evening. Rather displeased, the way he frowned like a little child.

'Well.' you thought. 'That's to damn bad. He should have come to the arrangement hours.'

"Yeah. I have to be."

He didn't even look at you. Humiliation after humiliation. What would your child self say? Seeing that your own husband didn't even look or smile at you? The hopeless romantic would be crushed.

And now they definitely are.

"I see." His voice was barely audible. Oh, what a humiliation this must be for him! The strongest! Not even in control of his own marriage.

You really should pity him. Be understanding. Like the good wife your mother wanted you to be.

But you didn't have the strength to do that. No, you didn't sympathize with this man, that stood in front of you. The one who had the privilege of doing what he wanted till now just because he was blessed. Because he was born a boy.

And you were not.

"My things were brought this morning and Hina showed me around. I already-"

"Who is Hina?" Gojo sounded confused.

"The servant girl. The one who helps to cook?" you couldn't believe him. She even told you that she was working here since 3 years!

"Oh, yeah she. Continue."

You didn't like his tone, you didn't like his attitude, you didn't like that you didn't knew anything about him BECAUSE HE DIDN'T SHOW UP TO ANY-

"I already have my own room. I won't bother you." While trying to keep the bitterness down you started to whisper.

"What?"

As you looked up at him, your mind went blank. For the first time Satoru looked at you. With his big blue beautiful eyes, he looked at you. So mesmerizing that you almost forgot about your bitterness towards him.

Almost.

"I already have my own room. I won't bother you in any mean. We can also eat separately. In fact I would prefer that."

He snorted. "That's childish. Not even eating together."

And that broke the straw. The straw your patience was hanging on sooooo desperately.

"You." you poked his chest with force. "Can't tell me what's childish or not."

Your voice grew a bit. "You can't, not after not attending any meetings, actively trying to get away from me on our wedding day, leaving me alone for our clan people, leaving me alone for the night way to a new house I have to call home now!"

He kept silent. Like all the times you saw him.

"SO EXCUSE ME." You made your way to your room, shouting to make sure he knew what you said.

"IF I THINK MY HUSBAND DOESN'T WANT TO SEE ME AT ALL! AND IF I DON'T WANT TO HAVE MYSELF SUFFER THROUGH IT!"

You slammed the door with force.

You don't think your husband will ever even like you. Or if Gojo would ever even be your husband.

#gojo satoru #gojo x reader #gojou satoru x reader #jjk satoru #gojo angst #arranged marriage #jjk x reader #jjk gojo #jjk

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kazumist · 19 days ago

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A LITTLE MORE THAN YOU REALIZE .ᐟ

✩ — the temptation to indulge yourself in selfishness curses you and caleb. from the day he graduated to the day he returned back alive—it never leaves. greediness is a sin. yet neither of you care, as you love one another in greed.

✩ — includes: caleb x f!mc!reader. fluff, angst, hurt/comfort. childhood friends to strangers (not literally) to yearners to lovers (i love their pipeline bro). wc: 14,670. yes, 14 fucking THOUSAND i went feral over him !!!!

✩ — cw: THIS FIC IS A REIMAGINE, MEANING IT CONTAINS MAJOR SPOILERS FROM THE FOLLOWING - stage observer, exclusive aftertaste, endless summer, lucid dream (myth), hidden waves, homecoming wings (both 1 & 2) and the events that happen in this fic is HEAVILY based from these memories mentioned (i put my own twist into it !!!). caleb is CRAAAZY like how he usually is. :3 mentions a bit of violence and food. a biiiit suggestive but i honestly think it's not that bad. this fic is semi-proofread, meaning there still could be some minor errors that i might have overlooked.

FIRST: GRADUATION SURPRISES (WAIT FOR ME TO COME BACK).

The familiar sounds of rustling papers and flipping through the pages of dusty books echoed in Caleb’s bedroom. As you flip through another book, inspecting whether it should go to the “stay with Gran” or “go with Caleb” pile in the room, an envelope with a pattern of apples slips out and lands on your lap.

Is this a love letter? You wondered, grabbing it and flipping it around to check the details. But the thing is—Caleb doesn’t accept love letters. Yet this one is kept in a book as if Caleb were using it as a bookmark. You huff at the thought—he doesn’t even use the lucky charm I made him back then, even though I worked really hard on that.

Checking around Caleb’s desk, you confirm that there’s nothing as feminine as the envelope in your hand.

Could it be from someone that he likes?

That thought alone made your stomach churn. You didn’t even hear the door opening until you felt a suddenly cold feeling against your cheek. It was Caleb, lightly pressing a soda against your face. “Got that tired, pipsqueak?” He asks, opening the can of soda before handing it to you again.

The soft pop! of the can opening reminded you that Caleb didn’t know about the envelope, so you hid it from him and took the soda from his hand. “How thoughtful of you to open the can for me. Bet you captured a lot of hearts with that attitude, huh?” You told him before taking a sip.

You were looking at his back when you were drinking, watching him fix the suitcase that’s currently open on his bed. When you lower the drink and put it on the table, Caleb stops and gives you a strange look. “I’m pretty sure there wasn’t anything mixed in that soda I gave you. Are you okay up there?” He replies.

“Hey! Rude much?” You furrowed your brows at him but that quickly went away as you suddenly felt his hand pinching your cheek. “Owww! shtop it!” The words that come out of your moment aren’t really that coherent. “Then stop talking nonsense.”

Caleb never keeps secrets from me—why is that envelope an exception?

When the day of Caleb’s graduation approached, he leaned down toward you as you helped him fix his tie.

“You know, these past few days I’ve been reflecting,” you told him. He teasingly raised an eyebrow at you for a moment. “That’s new. What were you reflecting on?” He asks. “Now that you’re graduating... Well, I just thought that I didn’t need to know everything, Caleb. However, if you ever meet someone more important than me, then you absolutely have to tell me.” avoiding his gaze, you loosened your grip on his tie, but you didn’t let go. You could faintly feel the rhythm of his steady heartbeat against your hands.

“Who could be more important?”

“... I don’t know. You ask yourself that question.” You take a deep breath. “You’ll definitely meet a lot of new people soon. New allies, new friends, maybe even...” Maybe even a girlfriend. You couldn’t bring yourself to say it. “What? You mean a girlfriend?” Sometimes you despise how Caleb could easily read you like a book.

Your silence was the only answer he needed. “I won't get a girlfriend.”

“What?”

“Caleb, you’re the last one we’re waiting for. The commencement speeches are about to be given,” his classmate says from behind him. Yet Caleb doesn’t move an inch, keeping his gaze focused on you. He doesn’t seem to care about the commencement speeches, almost approaching the scheduled program, and is only concerned about you.

“I won't get a girlfriend,” he repeats, emphasizing himself this time. “You and Gran are enough for me. I don't really have the energy to care about other people. So you don’t have to worry, I won't." You let go of his tie and he pulls away and stands up straight. Before he takes his leave, he doesn’t forget to ruffle your hair, which you slap his hand away for. He lets out a small laugh at your reaction. “Gotta go now. Wait for me to come back.”

As soon as Caleb started his speech, he seemed unreachable to you. Like he was so far—out of your arm’s length unlike before—but maybe it was about time that your arm got sore. Will he not get a girlfriend? You couldn’t help but think. “My speech would’ve ended here, but before I went onstage, someone told me something strange. It had to do with what’s “important”.”

You didn’t have to be a genius to know that he was referring to you. Your eyes met Caleb’s despite the large crowd that’s watching him right now. He flashed you a small smile and continued. “She said that after graduation, I would meet more people and experience new things. Maybe I'd meet someone who is more “important” than her.

But I believe that it ultimately comes down to choice. People only yearn for the future because they haven’t encountered someone they truly cherish. I consider myself lucky. I already have someone very important to me, someone who I can't live without.

I wish everybody could have this luck. Thank you, and happy graduation.” The audience applauds for him, some even whistling (his batchmates, perhaps) yet Caleb holds his gaze at you. Neither of you broke eye contact for a long moment. As the most anticipated moment of tossing their graduation caps in the air occurred; Caleb took it as his cue to leave the stage and join the crowd below him. The crowd becomes bigger, and you find it difficult to navigate yourself through it.

Nearby, you see Caleb push through the midst of the crowd. He seems anxious as if he were searching for someone. “Caleb!” You called out to him. He looks in your direction; the crowd seems to have lessened, and you make a run for him. “Hey, be careful! You—” You interrupt Caleb by throwing your arms around him.

Standing on your tiptoes, you gently pull his face down and press a kiss to his cheek before he could even react. Caleb’s eyes widen at your actions, his brain running a million thoughts as seconds pass by. The soft feeling of your lips pressing against his cheek is something he could never forget in his life.

A selfish act on your part—a shocking one to Caleb.

“Congratulations on getting through college! There’s your gift—you can’t find a girlfriend now, Caleb!” You say, sticking out your tongue at him before handing him a bouquet that you prepared beforehand.

“Actually… when you were packing, I stumbled upon this love letter that’s in an envelope with some apples decorated on it. I'm not forgiving you for keeping it a secret for me but I'll let it slide just this once because your speech was good.” You then reached out to take Caleb’s cap from his head, wearing it on your head instead.

But Caleb stays unusually quiet. His ears are red and he swears they’re probably burning even more as you two bask in the sunlight. “...Caleb? Are you okay there?” You ask him, waving a hand in front of him to get his attention. Your hand then tries to reach out to his ear but Caleb grabs your wrist before you can do so.

He gently lowers your hand, leans down, and covers his face with his other hand right after. “Caleb?” You move closer to him but he flicks your forehead just as you did so. “Ouch! Hey!”

“This... love letter you’ve mentioned. It was tucked in my copy of flight detector mechanics, right? And it was in an envelope with an apple pattern on it,” he then says. “I think so. You remember it well, huh?” You don’t know why that disturbed you a bit.

Caleb pinches your cheek again and you repeatedly slap his arm to make him stop. He doesn’t. “Silly girl. That’s the lucky charm you gave me for my exams. The original envelope got ink on it so I replaced it with a new one.”

Oh.

“So... it wasn't... a love letter? Like at all?”

Embarrassment courses through your veins. What the actual fuck? You thought. But before you could think about it even more, Caleb’s hand sneaked around your waist and pulled you to stand beside him. You two are suddenly faced by what seems like a photojournalist for the academy’s newspaper.

As the photojournalist was finding the right focus for the picture, Caleb leaned down to whisper in your ear.

“I have never kept a secret from you, not even once. And I don't plan on doing so anytime soon.”

SECOND: PLEASE DON’T LEAVE ME. NOT LIKE THIS.

The explosion pushes you back, sending a ringing sound through your ears. You slowly opened your eyes, your vision slightly covered in all of the dust floating around. But once your vision clears, your eyes widen in shock at the sight before you.

The home that you and Caleb once grew up in is now burning in flames. Gran is still in there; oh my god, Caleb—Caleb just went in a few moments ago. Mustering up all your strength, you push yourself up, hissing at the sudden pain you feel in your ankle. I probably twisted it when the explosion happened, shit. But you didn’t let that stop you.

You limped towards the burning house in front of you but suddenly you felt someone pulling you back. You looked at who it was and saw that the firefighters had just arrived and were now preparing to put the flames away. “Ma’am, it’s not safe to go near the scene. Please stand back.”

The firefighter’s grip on you was tight. Struggling to break from his grip, you replied. “No, I—I can't. Gran is still in there, please—he's still in there. I have to save them, I—” Panic took over you as you noticed that there were now firefighters who were holding water hoses and putting the fire away.

“There are firefighters right now going inside to check on them; we need to ask you to stay put as the flames are still being put out.”

Still feeling dazed from the explosion, your head throbs. You stumbled in your steps, feeling your knees getting weaker. The firefighter who was holding you back caught you before you fell to your knees and you couldn’t do anything. You just follow his lead in bringing you to an ambulance stationed a few steps away.

A year then passes after that incident. You still remember the day the city hall sent you a text and confirmed Gran and Caleb’s deaths, asking you to pick up their death certificates as soon as you can. You still get nightmares from that day. It was all so… sudden. One moment you were just walking with Caleb, and the moment he stepped inside, everything was gone in a blink of an eye.

How could you possibly move on from experiencing something so heartbreaking?

THIRD: JUST HOW CRUEL AND UNFAIR CAN YOU BE?

“I have never kept a secret from you, not even once. And I don't plan on doing so anytime soon.”

Caleb’s words during his graduation from the Aerospace Academy suddenly echo in your head as soon as the restraints on your wrists release you from the chair. Looking back now, just how ironic was it for him to say that?

“Surprised? I'm sure that it’s been a while, but you already forgot about me?” He chuckles, reaching a hand to ruffle your hair just like he did before. You slapped his hand away from your head—you had no idea what was happening right now. He had been terrifying just moments ago, and now he was acting like nothing had happened.

Acting as if he hadn’t left you alone a year ago.

“You—Caleb, you’re dead! I had to fucking watch you die in that explosion!” You hadn’t intended to raise your voice. But with Caleb’s sudden reappearance in your life, how else were you supposed to feel?

Caleb’s expression had amusement written all over it. “If I were dead, then who would be standing in front of you right now?” He asks as if he was teasing you.

And that pissed you off even more. You stood up to stand in front of him, and when Caleb reached out to you yet again, you slapped his hand away. Frantically, your eyes scanned him—his lips, his cheeks, his hair, his eyes—you couldn’t believe it. Could it be that he really evaded death back then?

“C'mon, pipsqueak, don’t be like that.” The second you heard pipsqueak roll off of his tongue, it almost made you nauseous. He attempts to get closer to you again, and this time you let him, as you are still trying to process it all. Instead of ruffling your hair, he gently patted your head this time. as if he was trying to soothe you.

It would’ve worked—it should’ve worked. Caleb always knew how to soothe you when you were in pain. He always knew how to ease it. But you never would’ve thought that one day he would be the one causing it.

How can he ease the pain like he did before when he’s the one who caused it this time?

“I’m sorry. Did I scare you?” He whispers low as one hand cradles your cheek and the other pulls you slightly closer by the waist. You didn’t know what to say; your mind was blank. All you could do was stare into his eyes, hoping that he would be able to read you just like he did before.

"You... you left me.” You managed to whisper back somehow. “I—I still don’t understand. How are you so fine with this? Did you just fucking think that I'd be ecstatic to see you? Is that the reaction you were expecting, Caleb?” You burst, pulling yourself away from him but Caleb’s grip on you was tight.

“Let go of me!” You yelled, punching his chest as you struggled. The overwhelming weight of everything that had happened took over, tears prickling and blurring your vision—perhaps it was rage, perhaps it was grief—you didn’t know. “I didn't leave you, pipsqueak.” he then says.

Liar.

Caleb never lied to you. He never broke a promise either. Yet why does it all feel void now? “You did,” you hissed at him. “How could you be so—cruel, Caleb? Leaving me in the dark like this, I could've helped you! How can you be so fucking unfair?”

“How could you be so... so selfish?”

You finally broke free from his grip and took a step back but Caleb’s reflexes were quick as he grabbed ahold of your arm immediately.

The loud sound of your palm hitting his cheek echoed in the interrogation room. He let his head face the side for a moment; you didn’t know what to expect. You could feel Caleb’s grip on your arm tightening painfully. But he just pulls you closer again and you just glare at him this time.

Caleb then leaned into your ear. “I didn't leave you,” he repeats, his voice weaker this time. He sounded so… vulnerable.

You held back a sob at that, letting a few tears escape as they rolled down your cheeks. Caleb pulls back, returning his hand to gently caress your cheek. You felt the cold feeling of rubber from his gloves as he was wiping away your tears. “It’s okay. Let it out. I'm here now.”

Wrapping your arms around him, you cried against the fabric of his uniform. Caleb lets you, wrapping one arm around your waist and his other hand cradling your head. The sound of your sobs wrecked him.

“I thought you were dead.” You felt Caleb press a soft kiss in your hair as soon as he heard you. “It’s okay, I'm back,” he replies.

“And I'll always be by your side. I promise.”

FOURTH: THOUGHT THAT I KNEW, NOW I DON’T HAVE A CLUE. WHO ARE YOU?

When the wound on your knee reopened, Caleb gently set you on the couch and started to tend to your knee. You could see his eyes soften as he did so. “The injured cat you brought home—do you recall it? To prevent it from escaping without making noise, I attached a collar with a bell.”

You could feel your patience running thin by the second. “I don't want to hear it,” but with the help of Caleb’s evol, you couldn’t move your knee an inch. He leans closer to you, and his voice lowers itself by an octave. “Maybe I should put a collar around your neck too, to keep you from running away, hm?”

“Is this how you’re going to protect me? I just need to glue myself by your side at all times?”

“I know that it sounds a bit unfair, but...” Caleb grabbed a bracelet and wrapped it around your wrist. It quickly assessed your vital signs. Caleb clicks his tongue in annoyance at the results. “But because of that monster, your wounds are infected.” He then grabs ahold of your wrist, tugging it closer to him.

“Is there a way for you to run around without getting injured?” You scoff at him. “I've had enough of your protection, Caleb.”

The man kneeling in front of you was then sent into deep thought after you said those words. He lets out a deep breath before speaking up again. “If being with me brings you this much pain, then just endure three more days.” He immediately gets up but you ask him before he can take his leave. “What are you going to do?”

“...Tie up loose ends. I just need three days, and all of this will be over.”

Three days later, the news flashing on the television suddenly announced that the lockdown in Skyhaven had been lifted. You automatically knew who was behind this. “The fleet will return to the deepspace tunnel after all of this. You’ll be safe for now,” Caleb then says, turning off the television as soon as you get the news.

The sounds of raindrops against the window and thunder were all you could hear now. “So technically, in other terms, you’re just going to leave again and not utter a word about it.” That wasn’t a question. Caleb doesn’t reply; instead, he grabs your wrist again. “Let’s have one last meal together before I leave."

You pulled yourself away from his grip. “So what? Now I have to listen to the colonel’s orders even when it comes to having my meals?” You walked over to the couch, taking a seat there instead. Caleb follows and sits in front of you with an apple in his hand. “You can be mad, but you shouldn’t neglect your health.”

“I'm not mad.”

“Growing up, we knew each other so well. Better than anyone, even. I could see through your lies when you blink. When you bit your lip, I knew you were upset over something.” His voice was soft and filled with reminiscence. “If that’s the case, what am I thinking about now?” A challenge aimed at him.

You could sense a brewing change in Caleb. It’s like the image you had of him during your childhood up until before he became the fleet’s colonel was slowly drowning away from you. “I wonder, how could you turn into someone I could hardly even recognize?” Your question had a hint of hurt in it.

“You think I have some chip implanted inside of me, right? And now, to you, I'm no longer who I was supposed to be.” The possibility of a chip being implanted inside of him sends a chill down your spine. What if he did have a chip inside of him? Caleb’s hand then reaches out to your cheek before you can form another thought about it. “What if I told you I was always like this?”

Caleb's face becomes stern. "The people who want to hurt you should just disappear. You’re only safe when you’re with me," you shake your head in a display of defiance. "I don’t want to live like this, Caleb! I don’t need you—"

The air between them is electric as he takes a step closer. Your back is pressed against the couch as Caleb’s figure towers over you. Fear had started to grow inside of you by this point. He then asks in a hushed, almost beseeching voice, "You don’t need me? Is that what you think?" He let himself fall closer, balancing by stretching out his arm on your right side.

“Fine then, tell me. What do you want?” You struggled to break your wrist free from his grip. “Let me go!” He doesn’t—he ignores. “We can return to Linkon if that’s what you wish. If you want to go back to the past, then I'll rebuild our old house, and we can move in together. If one house isn’t enough, I'll build you a whole maze. I'll decorate it with everything you want, and it’ll be the most beautiful garden; no one will ever find you.”

“I'll protect you forever.”

You let out a shaky sigh at his words. This was not the Caleb you knew from before. This was a different Caleb—and the painful part of everything about this? You thought you knew Caleb. After all, he said so himself. Growing up, you two knew each other so well. But why is it now that the man who is currently restraining you on the couch of his home seems so distant and unfamiliar from the Caleb you knew?

“Caleb… you can’t just—” you pause, licking your lips as you thought of the right words to say. “Look, you’re very important to me, and no one could ever replace you.”

“Really now?” His voice was laced with doubt. “I've been choking and enduring day after day for years, holding myself back. However, now... I've had enough of those games.”

Who are you?

“Remember this, okay? From now on, I'll always be by your side. It’s okay. I'll always be there for you, and I won't hurt you.”

The far childhood memory appeared in your dreams last night. It almost feels like deja vu was occurring to you with irony in it as well. Guess you forgot all the things that you told me. So much for saying all of that when we were 12. you thought.

When a sudden gust of wind hit you, you snapped back into reality. “It feels like every time we say goodbye, I'm always sending you off,” you told him. Caleb is about to reach out his hand (to ruffle your hair again? perhaps), but he stops himself. He lowers his hand instead and replies. “I guess it won’t be a painful experience this time.”

“All right. I'll be going now.” You shift your gaze to the ground as a lump forms in your throat when Caleb bids his farewell. “Actually, wait.” You raise your head to look at him. “can you... promise me something?” He feels selfish for even having the guts to ask for such a thing from you.

Does he deserve to ask that?

Caleb honestly thinks he’s unworthy.

“Promise me that you’ll eat on time and look after yourself,” he says. “Okay,” you softly let out.

“I promise.”

As you were on the way home, you and Tara caught up for a short moment. but the call ends abruptly due to Tara’s boss calling so suddenly. Putting back your phone in your pocket, you felt something strange inside of it. You pull it out to get a better look at it. A kid's handwriting was evident with the vibrant colors of crayons used to write it.

Forgiveness coupon for Caleb. Valid for 100 years.

A sudden wave of sadness crashed inside of you as you could feel tears prickling your eyes again. “Oh my god. Caleb, you dummy... ” You find yourself laughing pathetically at the piece of paper in your hand as tears slowly slide down your face.

And this is the moment you decide that you don’t want to lose Caleb for a second time.

FIFTH: HE WAS AS BEAUTIFUL AS THE DAY YOU LOST HIM.

While visiting the grocery store that you and Caleb used to visit a lot after school as teens, a wave of nostalgia hits you. The owner is getting ready to shut it down, which bummed you out, but you offered to assist with the cleanup.

Your mind wanders to Caleb as soon as you hear the sound of airplanes overhead. Entering the garden behind the business, which you and he used to spend time in when they were teenagers, you recall telling Caleb about the hydrangeas there. Because the hydrangeas bloomed for so long, Caleb had explained that it was named Endless Summer.

A shelf becomes unbalanced close by, and as you try to put it back where it belongs, Caleb's arm comes up behind you to stabilize it.

You haven’t seen Caleb or even talked to him after you parted ways in Skyhaven. He sometimes sent you short texts but as soon as you were about to respond to them, he vanished into thin air each time.

It was awkward, to say the least.

While you were trapped between him and the shelf, he leaned in. "Even if there were three of you, this place wouldn't be cleaned up in time," he says. You find yourself unable to meet his gaze. So instead, your eyes look anywhere else except his eyes—he was wearing more casual clothes today and he had a luggage bag next to him. “What are you doing here?” You ask, changing the topic.

“Business trip. I also just happen to be passing by,” he says, putting his arm back to his side. You move away instantly at the given distance. You give Caleb another once-over, suddenly getting reminded of the times he’d come home for summer break with how he looked.

It’s like he’ll be leaving again so soon.

“When are you returning to Skyhaven?” you ask again. You have asked Caleb this question multiple times. But it feels bitter on your tongue as soon as it leaves your lips. And the Caleb standing in front of you... isn’t who he used to be. Caleb feigns hurt at your question, “I just got back, and you’re already asking when I’m leaving?”

“That’s not what I…” Caleb raises his hand a bit, and you notice. But he lowers it again. Why? What was he about to do? “Well, I’m pretty sure you don’t live in this neighborhood. So what brings you here?”

“Would you believe it if I said I was also passing by? I found out the owner was closing the store down and I thought I would help.” Caleb chuckles at that and glances at the shelf nearby. He makes a jab at your height. And when you snark a reply back at him, he raises his hand again, going for your hair—yet, he pauses.

His hand stays in the air for a quick second before he reaches out to grab a book from the top shelf to play it off. “You still need help to tidy this place up, right? I’ll lend a hand.”

“And I’ll be heading back to Skyhaven tomorrow morning.” Oh.

“All right then.”

There was some sort of tension in the air as you and Caleb faced away from each other. You both made yourselves busy with your own things within the store.

You hated feeling awkward with Caleb. It was never supposed to be awkward with him. Yet with what has happened recently, perhaps change was bound to happen. However, were you even ready to accept change in the first place?

No clue.

You both head to the garden after the cleaning is complete. No one has been caring for the flowers, but they haven't altered much from what you can remember of them. The area has been taken over by leaves and vines—Caleb leaves to find the hose.

Your phone vibrated when he left; you checked it and saw that Tara had left you a voice message. Clicking the play button to listen to it, you heard Tara’s voice immediately. “Hey! There’s a new shooting range open in Azure Square. Do you wanna go for some rounds later? You know, for fun?” Before you could give a decline to her offer, Caleb comes back with the hose.

“Did something happen?” he asks. “Oh, a colleague just asked me if I wanted to hang out in Azure Square later.”

“If you wanna go, then I’ll be heading back to Skyhaven. I’ll drop you off at Azure Square since it’s on the way.”

You paused when you heard him. Why is he assuming that I’ll accept Tara’s offer? I was planning on declining in the first place. “There's no need,” you tell him. He looks away, shifting his gaze to the hydrangeas in front of you both. “Would it be... inconvenient if your colleague met me?”

Grabbing the hose from him, you faced it at him and quickly turned on the water. It splashes onto Caleb’s chin and he flinches at the sudden contact. You watch as the water droplets slide down his neck and soak the neckline of his muscle shirt. They soon reach the necklace hanging around his neck. Was Caleb’s neck always so…detailed? You wondered.

Snap out of it.

You shot him a glare. “Caleb, I never said I was leaving in the first place.” Oh.

Before the awkward tension could return, you speak up again. “Aren’t you gonna water the plants?” The water hose is off as you offer it to Caleb. He kneels down to water the hydrangeas but when he glances at you, his gaze visibly softens. “Okay, you can stop glaring at me now. How about you water the plants this time?”

The familiar sound of a phone camera shuttering makes you glance at Caleb. “Huh? Did you take a picture of the white hydrangea?” He looks away, avoiding your gaze since he got caught. The picture, where the said white hydrangea is nearby the edge of it, has most of its focus on you.

“I rarely see things like these in Skyhaven. Even in my dreams, I could hear gunshots and blaring alarms.”

I also dream of you. a lot—perhaps even more after you left Skyhaven. Our last interaction before we parted troubles me in my sleep. Did you hate me for that? I hope you didn’t. I pray that you don’t—because I don’t know what I would do if you did hate me.

“Hello? Is anyone there?” Someone calls out from inside the store. “That must be a customer. I’ll go take a look,” you told him. He nodded as you left the garden area.

When you return, you see Caleb napping. You liked it when Caleb slept, for he was so beautiful yet so unaware of it as he did so. (He was as beautiful as the day you lost him back then—but is it truly the same person from all those years ago before you?)

He had a book resting on his abdomen but his brows were furrowed and he kept stirring in his sleep. His breathing slowly started to become heavy and you couldn’t help but feel so helpless at him. “You can’t even relax in your dreams, Caleb? ” you asked.

He groans in response, and a hand reaches out to soothe him by his forehead. He groans even more, brows furrowing themselves even more. Your hand then moves down to his cheek and your thumb rubs against his under eyes. Caleb then grabs your wrist even though his eyes are still closed. “Don’t go…”

His eyes slowly flutter open but they stay half-lidded. “Don’t leave me alone.” Caleb leans in (whether it was to hug you or kiss you, you honestly can’t figure it out)—everything is happening so quickly, but you lightly push him away to wake him out of his senses. “Caleb…?” you softly call out to him.

“...Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Suddenly, you felt something sting your eye. You rubbed it with your knuckles, trying to get it out. “It's okay. I just got something in my eye.” You then feel Caleb’s hands grab yours, gently pulling it away from your eye. “Let me see.”

“Did you have a nightmare?”You asked him. A bitter smile tugs at him as he flicks his gaze from your lips and back to your eyes. “Don’t blink, okay?”He softly asks instead. He avoided the question.

Both of his palms feel cool as he gently grabs your face. Your eyes didn’t leave his at all when he blew your eye. The short distance has your heart hammering in your chest; your faces are only inches apart; one small nudge is all it takes and—what were you even thinking?

That would never happen. Not with Caleb.

His other hand places itself on top of yours. His hands had always been bigger than yours—and without even looking at it, you could feel Caleb’s palm take over yours. An electric feeling when your fingers brushed against the heel of his palm. With one last rub of his thumb across your cheek, Caleb pulls away.

He pulls away as if he were restraining himself.

“Don’t move,” you say as you move closer to his face so you can softly blow a petal from his hair. "You know, the scent of endless summers can bring people sweet dreams for a whole night." He catches the petal in his hand and laughs. As you stand to leave, Caleb grabs your hand before you can get far.

"But... there aren’t any endless summers in Skyhaven.”

Skyhaven doesn’t have you.

SIXTH: LIKE SOME KIND OF MAGNET, YOU’RE A MYSTIC FORCE.

You don’t know if you’re hallucinating or what.

“Caleb? You didn’t message that you’d be visiting Linkon again,” you say. “I thought you’d be busy.” And just like the last time you saw each other, Caleb encounters you again as you were lending a hand to help someone. This time it was an old lady who had lost her bracelet and you helped her look for it.

When you returned the bracelet to her (Caleb trailing behind), you decided to ask. “Ma’am, this bracelet looks quite unique. Have you worn this for a long time?” The old lady in the wheelchair lets out a relaxed sigh. “Yes, someone special gave it to me back in the day. I never had the heart to throw it away.”

“Was it from a friend or a lover?”

“Let’s just say... a friend who never became a lover. If I were braver, perhaps it could have happened. When you reach my age, regret will be your biggest fear.” The elderly lady soon bids her farewell but she doesn’t leave without asking Caleb a question. “Young man, you got here quite early. Why did you just stand so far and watch her?”

“I—” The old lady then takes her leave. Caleb finds the right words to say as I look at him. “Well, I’ll get going now,” he says, embarrassment laced in his tone. “Leaving so soon? You haven’t even done anything yet.”

“Correction: I did one thing—I saw you.” As he turns to walk away, you ask him. “It’s getting late; are there still any trains boarding for Skyhaven? ” Caleb doesn’t turn around. “I can catch the last one.” His insistence to leave stung a bit. “Do you want to count how many words you’ve said to me so far?” That’s where he stops.

“We can’t keep doing this forever, Caleb.”

He felt so close yet so far. And whatever is going on between the two of you now has to stop. Because you don’t think either of you could keep this push-and-pull method up. In one second, you’d be close—and in a blink of an eye, you’d be meters apart. It’s enough to make you spiral. He sighs, still not facing you. “I'm just afraid that... It might make you uncomfortable.” That I might make you uncomfortable.

“If it did, I wouldn’t have asked you to stay, dummy.” Caleb finally turns around; his eyes had an unfamiliar look in them, one that’s full of hope (maybe a mix of yearning too). “Do you want me to stay?” He softly asks.

“If you leave for Skyhaven now, you’ll get home past midnight. You can stay at my place for the night.”

“Pepper, please,” Caleb says as he works beside you in your kitchen. You turn to him with the ground pepper on a dish when all of a sudden Caleb sneezes. You laugh at him as he regains himself. “It still makes you sneeze, huh?”

“You did that on purpose, didn’t you?” You gave him a dramatic gasp. “I did not! Don't slander your sous chef."

“I remember when you tried to cook for the first time. I kept hearing your sneezes from the living room.” Caleb chuckles at the memory. “You were kinder back then, offering me tissues, checking up on me. Wonder where that version of you went?” You grab a few tissues from the counter and try to help him wipe his face clean.

But Caleb grabs the tissues from you instead. “I got it,” he says, stepping back and putting some distance between you two. Suddenly, you remember what the old lady said earlier.

“You got here quite early. Why did you just stand so far and watch her?”

He was ready to leave after seeing me, even just for a few minutes. Is he avoiding me?

You don’t want Caleb to avoid you. That’s one of the last things you wanted. It gives you a different type of hurt when Caleb pulls himself from being close to you—especially when you’re used to everything but being far from him. You’re scared of a rift forming between the two of you. What if the worst comes to worst and you...

You don’t want to finish that thought.

Caleb seems to know what’s going on inside your head with your silence hanging in the air. “That's why I don't want to stay,” he suddenly says. “I can’t stand seeing you between a rock and a hard place.”

“...but I don’t feel that way at all.” You move towards your phone to play the playlist Caleb shared with you back then. “You liked these songs, right? ” You gave him a smile. He just nods in return. “Wash your hands; dinner’s ready.” Distant.

That’s what Caleb feels right now—distant.

And that makes your stomach churn.

As you and Caleb ate dinner, your phone started ringing—another voicemail. But from whom? Caleb takes a glance at your lit screen and seems to have noticed the sender’s ID. “Which friend is that? I don’t recall you mentioning him.” You don’t know what tone he’s using for that but he seems suspicious, if anything. “Hey, I heard you encountered a self-aware wanderer earlier today. Don’t forget to tell me about it when you’re free, okay?” the voice of your colleague said.

You flip your phone, not wanting to reply right now but Caleb notices it (of course he did). “Wouldn’t your friend be upset if you don’t reply to him right away? …Are you two close?” Caleb asks. You still don’t have a clue what he’s insinuating with his questions. But he looks quite bothered as his brows are slightly furrowed and his lips are pursed.

“Caleb, that’s a colleague.” You open your phone to show Caleb the proof. “See for yourself.” But Caleb doesn’t even bother looking and slides your phone back to you. “The food is getting cold; we should continue eating.”

The food tasted bland to your senses due to the unexplainable feelings brewing inside of you.

“Do you remember what the old lady said earlier?” Caleb asks. Taking a sip from the apple soda in your hand, you sat next to him on the couch. “I saw you were busy with evacuating people, so I didn’t really want to get in the way.”

“but the crowd was gone by two and I saw you at four. So... you arrived earlier than the lady mentioned.” Why didn’t you say so? you wanted to ask. “I guess we don’t have that many topics for small talk now.”

“Yeah. Excuses and lies, however, have seemed to increase. Don't you think? ” Caleb avoids your gaze. “People regret things they didn’t do. But sometimes, they also regret the things they did.” Caleb stays silent before replying. “People are full of contradictions,” he says.

“For a long, long time, I have known what I want.” You. He almost says it right after.

“But what if it causes you pain? If you don’t get any response, would you still go on?”

“Do you really think I haven’t struggled?” Perhaps he was mocking himself or he was mocking your question; you couldn’t point it out. It was your turn to be silent. “I’m well aware of what I’m doing,” Caleb then says.

“What about you? Are you aware?”

Despite sitting close to him, you can’t bring yourself to look him in the eye. But you could feel Caleb’s gaze burning holes into you.

The rest of the night felt endless to you.

As the morning came, Caleb was nowhere to be found.

The blanket that you gave him to use last night lies neatly folded on the side of the couch, and that was the only trace left of his presence. “caleb…?” you call out.

You can’t leave me, not like this. You can’t just leave me without saying goodbye again.

The sudden knock on the door echoed in your apartment. You ran to the door hoping that it was Caleb—and just to your luck, it is. “I knew you’d be up around this hour.” You scan all over his face. There was sweat trickling near his brow and he had a towel wrapped around his neck. “I... I thought you left.”

“I was planning to. But then I remembered that I hadn’t made your breakfast yet so here I am again.”

“Oh… really?”

“Not really.”

What?

Caleb makes his way to your kitchen without another word. You stood blankly by your doorway as you let him in. His demeanor ever since you two reunited again has strangely changed. “What do you want to eat? I’ll do the cooking,” he asks. You snapped out of your thoughts and closed the door.

“Anything, as long as you make it.”

“Did you have trouble sleeping last night?” you asked him while you were in the kitchen.

“I didn’t. I find it hard to sleep when I’m tossing and turning. But I'm used to it,” he replies, washing his hands before grabbing two eggs to crack. the sounds of the kitchen being used mixed with his voice that’s a bit raspy. “Have you never lost sleep over someone before?” Caleb suddenly asked back.

Wait. He says he was used to it… has he always been like this? He was met with silence as you were deep in thought. “Silence is always the best answer; perhaps that’s a no.” You still didn’t utter a word.

Caleb then cracks two eggs in a bowl. “Why aren’t you asking questions now, just like before?” He then grabbed a pair of chopsticks and started mixing them together. “Why didn’t you ask me who kept me up all night?”

“...I don’t want you to have so much on your mind whenever you’re with me.” What does that mean? I’m just spewing nonsense. “You say that as if I don’t want to end this sooner.” The toaster then pops the toasted bread out and you reach towards the cupboard to grab a plate. You set one down and as you were reaching for another one, Caleb’s hand meets yours and holds in place on the cupboard’s handle.

The cupboard shuts closed as he speaks. “Were you... avoiding my question? Were you afraid that I’d say it was you? Or were you scared that I’d say... It wasn’t you?” He says it slowly, emphasizing himself in his questions. “Shouldn’t you be making breakfast? Focus,” you told him, removing your hand from the cupboard above and starting to move away.

But Caleb placed his hand in your way, refusing to let you go. “Are you going to help me or not?” You turn around and now you’re properly facing him with your back against the counter behind you.

He grabs something from your back and reads it out loud. “Soda recipe: 1.5 ounces of apple syrup. Caleb’s favorite type.” He smirked at you as he read it. “So you did learn to make it for me after all. I never hear you say you miss me; do I take this as a sign that you do?” He flips the small piece of paper to show you.

“...whatever makes you happy, I guess.” You push him away by the shoulder and start making your exit from the kitchen. Caleb grabs your wrist before you could leave. He pulls you a bit closer to him, his other hand reaching to cradle your face. “You didn’t sleep that well either last night, did you?” He takes a step forward; you take a step back. It repeats until your back hits a dead end. Crap.

How ironic that you didn’t like how Caleb was running away from you yesterday yet now you’re the one running away from him? Just like a mystic force—a magnet, to be exact—Caleb keeps pulling you in. Again and again and again.

“For whom?”

“For…”

“No rush. Take your time to come up with a reason.” He places your hand on his chest and grabs for an apple from behind you. “but right now... If delicious things aren’t eaten in time, they become stale.”

Time.

It was always about time, wasn’t it? It makes you wonder if you and Caleb had enough time. You once thought that time ran out for you both once—but now that he’s back... What exactly were you supposed to expect? supposed to do?

Do you indulge in your selfishness and give in to temptation?

Or do you pull away from it?

Caleb nears the apple to your face; you use your other hand to pull it closer but Caleb pulls himself along with it and now the distance between you is even shorter than it was before. You could feel his hand brushing against your hair above your shoulder, holding himself steady as he leans in.

He lowers his hand to hold yours, as you’re the only one holding the apple now. Caleb leans in further and just as your lips were about to touch—

He leans down and bites the apple in your hand instead.

The interaction you had with Caleb in your kitchen made you realize that you started looking forward to Caleb’s sudden visits to Lincoln without even realizing it.

“I’m well aware of what I’m doing.”

“What about you? Are you aware?"

You suddenly get it now.

When you accompany Caleb to the station, you don’t easily leave him alone. It was like when he was in college all over again when you’d follow him because you were afraid he’d get lost (but if you both knew that you were more prone to losing your way sometimes).

The spare key in your pocket had started to grow warm with how much you fiddled with it. “When will you be visiting Linkon again?” Caleb stays silent at that. “Does your silence mean you don’t want to visit anytime soon...?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Because if you haven’t even thought of seeing me again, then all those things you said... aren’t really important.” Caleb steps closer and leans down a bit to your eye level. “Look, pipsqueak, I’m not the type to hold back when I like something.” He was right; you knew that fact very well. Caleb sighs before standing up straight again.

“Why would I want to leave when, compared to you, I’m better off acting as if I don’t care?” he says. You lift the spare key from your pocket, hearing the familiar sounds of metal hitting against each other as it shook from the movement. You grabbed Caleb’s hand and laid the warm keys on his palm.

“Then find a way to come back home.”

His breath hitched at your words.

“You don’t need an excuse to see me, Caleb. You know I’d always welcome you home with open arms.”

He puts the keys in his pocket with a smile before grabbing your shoulders and turning you around. “You should go back now. Let me watch you leave,” he says. You attempted to turn your head back at him in protest but he teasingly used his index finger to stop you.

“Don’t look back. If you do, it’ll just be harder for me to leave you here.”

SEVENTH: CAN YOU CARRY A LITTLE OF THIS SIN TOO?

The blinding beams of sunlight shone upon you, stirring you awake. Slowly opening your eyes, you took in your surroundings. You were currently in a familiar bedroom, and the other side of the bed was empty when you woke up. While your head was slightly pounding, you also had no recollection of what happened the previous night.

You suddenly hear the door creaking open. Shooting a glance at who it could be, you saw a man dressed in some sort of military uniform taking strides towards you. “Huh..?” you say, voice still groggy after just waking up. He puts a hand on your forehead, seemingly checking your temperature. “Your fever’s gone down. Just have some more rest.”

He pulls back slightly, but the distance between you two is still close. “I asked the association if you could take a sick leave. So, whether you want to rest here at home or maybe go outside for a quick walk for the next few days, I’ll be here to keep you company.”

You look at him, confused by what’s happening at the moment. “What are you… talking about? Is this some sort of dream? ” you asked him. The man was taken aback for a bit, but he regains his composure immediately. Sunlight continues to bleed through the window, gently hitting his face. yet his expression...

His expression still seemed like he was getting absorbed by something dark.

“It's okay—it’s okay if you forget,” he says, shifting his gaze on the ground. “Even if you don’t remember anything... I can always say it again.” The man then sits on the bed as you feel the sudden dip in the mattress from his weight. He then gently grabs her hand, rubbing soothing circles across her knuckles while shifting his gaze back to you.

The man thinks for a moment. He doesn’t know which is more agonizing—to forget or to be forgotten?

“I'm Caleb. I’ll always be...” Before you could comprehend the rest of his words, your head started ringing. You reach out to rub your temple as your mind starts to suddenly feel sluggish. it’s as if… something that you should know—or rather, something you shouldn’t forget—was being kept away from you.

What happened?

10 days ago.

The announcement through the train station regarding the arrival of the train to Skyhaven echoes as you drag your luggage and take your exit. Looking around, you decided to take a quick picture of a fast food restaurant you saw and send it to Caleb.

(name): [attachment: one image] (name): Guess where I am right now? :P

Caleb: You’re in Skyhaven?

You turned off your phone and decided to take in your surroundings. It had been two months since you last came to Skyhaven—and the last time you went here was when you secretly infiltrated the farspace fleet to investigate the whereabouts of a fragment of an aether core.

It had been two months since you saw Caleb again, alive in the flesh.

Entering Caleb’s home from Skyhaven, Caleb speaks. “We can talk about the work stuff later. You should cancel your hotel reservation first. and then...” His voice trails off as he looks like he was considering something.

Caleb then spreads out his arms at you. “And then… what?” You tilt your head in confusion. “You know what I mean.” A smile paints itself on your lips as soon as you realize what he meant. Walking closer to him, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pressed your face against his chest.

“I missed you, Caleb.”

“Welcome home.”

The air is suddenly filled with a sound—something flies by. Caleb uses his evol to stop a bullet in front of his forehead as a mist blocks her view.

"Get under cover!” Realizing he’s the target, you urged him. He stopped you as you reached for your revolver and attempted to drag him to safety. Caleb simply said, "There's no point in hiding," after glancing at his palm. This is only the initial action.

He notices that the true target is somewhere else—this had been a diversion—as officers recover control of the situation. He looks toward the alpha and beta fleet bases, his hand clenched. Caleb asks that you remain behind and is about to call Liam for assistance when you stop him. “I'm your best option; you can't trust anyone else, Caleb."

Caleb pauses. "They have taken over one of the bases. I have dispatched individuals to the alpha base. Please check the beta base for me.” For a minute, your eyes meet. He nods after he pauses. "Liam will accompany you."

"Please be careful," he tells you.

“You too,” she answers.

Yet doubt seems to have clouded your mind and you find yourself asking Caleb before you left. "Caleb, you really need me for this, right?" he answers with a simple "yes."

It was pouring tonight.

As the takeover turns out to be a hoax, you could observe now that you realized Caleb made you leave to protect you. Why does it feel like we’re back to square one? More than a dozen planes pierce the night sky as they race across it.

"Are those reinforcements for Caleb?" you asked Liam, Caleb’s adjutant.

"Making you leave was for the best," Liam replies. When you realized that he knew everything, you felt nauseous and angry that Caleb forced you to leave. "The colonel can only put his trust in you, but your presence would influence his choices. Please don't hold this against him," Liam adds.

Despite your desire, you were unable to hold it against him. Caleb was just being overprotective. “Liam, you’re Caleb’s adjutant. Do you trust him?” you couldn’t help but ask. “I don’t need the colonel’s trust. I only need his orders.”

“So if he orders you to leave your loved ones, you’d do it?”

“That's precisely why I can stand by his side and serve him.”

You almost scoff at his answer. “If the chip were placed inside of me, how would Caleb react? "You then ask Liam. “He would do anything to get rid of it, but you don’t have to put yourself through the pain,” Liam responds.

As Liam bid his farewell with a salute and started to make his way back, you were now alone. You don’t get it. Why does it feel like nothing actually changed? Like all your efforts from getting close to him before were a waste? You just wanted to help him. You could fight—you’re a hunter for fuck’s sake!

But every time you were dispatched into Skyhaven, you felt so useless at your job.

The toring chip you stole from Caleb’s office is still hidden in your shoe with the implanter. With one simple press, the remaining distance between you and Caleb would be gone. “You don’t have to put yourself through the pain.” Liam’s words echo in your head. Maybe it’s a bit too late for you to say that, Liam. Because I have already made my decision.

Perhaps to love is to share the pain with them, even if they push you away.

The implantation was swift. You felt weak as you sat on the bench. Imagining Caleb’s reaction if he ever found out what you just did sends a nasty chill down your spine. This will be your secret to bear alone. If Caleb had his own secrets from you, then you would have yours. After all, that’s only fair, isn’t it?

“I have never kept a secret from you, not even once. and I don’t plan on doing so anytime soon.”

Just how ironic do his words get even more? He made an unspoken promise of never keeping a secret from you. But ever since you two reunited in Skyhaven… that’s all that he’s been doing.

You then hear footsteps pattering against the rain puddles on the ground, and the rain above you stops. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere; why didn’t you go back home? ” Caleb heard softly asks you. You look up to him. “Liam shouldn’t have left you alone in the street.”

“I walked here by myself. It has nothing to do with him.” Caleb was always good at finding you whenever you played hide and seek. and you would always go home together after playing. but this time... You don’t want to go back to the place he called “home” with him.

You point out the Asiatic apple trees to him, eyes admiring the slowly falling petals dragged by the rain. Caleb then recalls the Asiatic apple trees he’d see back in the train station in Linkon (they were always in bloom whenever you sent him off). “I didn’t know you liked Asiatic apples,” he then says.

“I don’t. because Asiatic apple flowers take you away from me, and I don’t like that.”

“No one can take me away from you.”

The dead and odorless trees serve as a quiet reflection of Caleb's own personality: aloof, stern, and unrelenting. Caleb softly asks you once more, "Come back home with me." Your voice is tinged with defiance as you look up to face him. “How long will you keep me imprisoned now? "

His voice cracks with a subtle anguish as his eyes drop to the hairpin in her palm. He gently grabs it from you and pins it back on your head. "I'll spend my entire life looking for solutions if each problem drives me farther away from you, but until that final moment, we’ll always be together.”

"What will you do if people come looking for me?" she says.

Caleb doesn’t think twice. “In that case, I’ll hold a funeral they can attend. so they’ll think you’ll be gone forever. “Let’s go back home; you might catch a cold.” He extends his hand towards you, and you accept it. But you refuse to move when he tries to guide you away. Caleb shoots you a deadly and stern look. You pull Caleb down to your level, your lips exactly by his ear.

“Don’t you find it funny that you’re worried about me catching a cold after discussing my fucking funeral? ” you whisper. Caleb pulls back, “So if I don’t show concern, does that mean it’s not genuine? Is that it? ”

a hand reaches up to your face. “You can’t convince yourself to hate me with every fiber of your being. Wouldn’t you agree? ” His hand travels from your cheek to the back of your head, pushing you towards his chest. “I’ll eventually find a way to make things right... as long as... you’re by my side.”

“...Caleb, I hate it when you’re like this.” But you know that you could never hate him. Wrapping your arms around him, you whisper in his ear again. “but I hate it more when you’re always able to make me change my mind.”

His breath hitches at that and Caleb lets himself fall weak to his knees. “i’m… sorry. I just feel like... I don’t know how to take care of you anymore.” His voice breaks and you could feel him weaken against your touch. You reached for Caleb’s face, panic rising inside of you. “Caleb? Caleb, what’s wrong? ” His eyes started to become half-lidded and he looked at you in a daze.

Caleb collapses on your shoulder, his hat slowly sliding away from his head. He replies with a groan, and his voice is evidently weaker. “Let’s... go home.”

Raindrops cascade down his face, and the colonel’s vision fades into black.

You couldn't trust anyone in the fleet, so you exerted all of your strength to get him home. You two collapse into Caleb's bed together, your bodies heavy with fatigue. and your eyes follow the tiny, scarlet veins beneath his skin as you stare at him.

A cold, mechanical voice reverberates around the room. “Warning... Emotional fluctuations have surpassed the threshold limit…” Caleb looks like he’s going through a nightmare, yanking his collar off as he mumbles to himself. “Don’t… take her away…” he pleads. You reassure him that you aren’t going to leave, though you have a faint doubt that it would work.

“Commencing chip activation process... Executing mandatory erasure... of neurons...” the machine’s voice continues. Mandatory erasure? No, no, no, no—Caleb sweats, his body spasming as it fights against something far beyond his control.

With a horrible shock, you understand that this is exactly the same as what Kevi experienced when you last visited him in the garden. You shake and scramble desperately, looking for a button on his body to put an end to the chaos.

You can’t take him away, not again. Don’t take him away from me. Tears slightly blurred your vision as you searched for a button that might not even exist in the first place. You just wanted his pain to stop.

Caleb suddenly opens his eyes, and you are shoved back onto the bed. “Ow—Caleb! ”

Above your head, he pulls your wrists and presses them on something rigid and cold. yet it feels more like a machine's grip than his hand. “Why are you struggling? ” he asks, his voice laced with confusion. “Are you scared of me? Do I feel like a stranger to you? ”

"Program... complete,” the machine said.

“How could you possibly understand... my guilt and sin...” he whispers. And then he collapses onto you.

You slept next to Caleb for the night but the nightmares about him returned.

The morning after he fainted, Caleb was sitting in the living room, staring at something.

Discreetly, you approached him and put your palm to his forehead to feel the warmth of his skin. Your fingers move to his right arm and give it a light squeeze. "Are you feeling better?" you asked.

He glances up at you. Caleb whispers, "I noticed you lying next to me when I woke up this morning." He's staring at a picture on the coffee table when you spot it. Your heart hurts as you lift it up. It was a picture of you kissing his cheek when he graduated from the Aerospace Academy.

With a gentle touch, he tucks a lock of hair behind your ear after brushing it from your temple. “So…” After tracing your jaw and raising your chin, his fingers then lightly touch your cheek. “Who are you?” he asks in a low voice, as if he's looking for something he lost.

Caleb appears to be soulless, his memories erased. He no longer even recognizes himself. He continues speaking, "I remember the way you made me feel," with a hint of emotion in his voice. From under his collar, he retrieves the necklace. He looks at you and says, "I remember you gave me this. Were we... close like this?"

You didn’t know how to answer that.

Your relationship with him couldn’t be described in just simple words. But the thought strikes you like lightning in your mind—Caleb will believe anything you say. Let me be selfish just this once. Let me have this opportunity while it’s presented in front of me.

“You’re the most important person to me, and I’m the most important person to you.”

“Caleb, I’m the only one in this world who truly knows you.” You then continue. He repeats what you said, making it sink into him. “you’ll never leave me.” You can’t leave me. “Just like... the vines that cling to a tree. We shared a part of our lives with each other. So, we’ll never be apart.”

He looks at you, eyes filled with guilt. “I'm sorry. I can’t remember anything.”

“It's okay if you can’t remember right now. I’ll always be here for you.” You pull him into a tight hug, your lips near his earlobe.

“Just like what you’ve always done for me.”

Caleb, who is now suffering from amnesia, was a blank page in a book that you thought you could write anything you wanted on (if anyone was going to rewrite him, it’s going to be you, and only you). You kept everything hidden from him—his phone, clothes, communication device—anything that could disturb him from this dream.

Three days later, it appeared that you had both fallen into a dreamy, infantile state. Like when you initially met in the shelter, the world outside these walls held no significance for them.

The amusement bustled with excitement. However, the excitement of the rides quickly made you feel sick. Caleb asked out loud, "Is it safe for you to hunt the deepspace when you're like this?" as he watched you anxiously. Holding the ice cream he had just purchased, he crouched next to you.

“Deepspace hunters don’t actually hunt in deep space,” said you, who was still recuperating. A little perplexed, Caleb questioned again, "So what am I?”

You extended your arm to hook her index finger onto his. A smile tugged across your lips as you answered, "You're the deepspace hunter's sidekick."

Sitting on a train ride offered by the amusement park, your watch vibrated as your eyes started to close shut. It was a reminder that the association needed an update and that your task was due in three days.

Caleb gave you a quick glance while wearing a knowing expression. He taunted, "You took my phone, so I'll take away your watch." Caleb noticed the little shift in your demeanor as your face fell at the idea. “You don’t like the sound of that?"

You only gave a mute shake of your head. “I never knew your hands were so big,” you then say, smoothly changing the topic. Caleb lets you play with his fingers as you rub and tug around them. He takes his as a chance to interlock his fingers with yours. “We’re both grown-ups now, huh?” you then say.

“Yeah. Does that mean we can finally do all the things we used to want to do but couldn’t before? ” He leans closer.

“We couldn’t do? Or do you mean things we wouldn’t dare to do? ” Challenging him, you also lean closer.

“What if I dare? What would you do?”

His face is so close. you thought. You could feel the heat rushing through your ears; your head started to throb again. “Prove it.” He feigns hurt in his expression. “I thought everything I did was proof of my sincerity?”

Caleb proceeds to press his forehead against yours. Your heart hammers against your chest and your hands are still interlocked. Boundaries were being crossed; lines were being blurred out. Your mind becomes hazy with everything that’s happening. and to top it all off—

“I like you,” Caleb whispers.

In this moment, you realize—everything has changed. You’ll be his and he’ll be yours. All you knew since yesterday is that everything has changed.

You see the aircraft from the fleet approaching, and the end of the sweet dream was coming way too quick for your liking. “Caleb, let’s go home.” You urged him—he refused. You try to hop off of the moving train yet with a blink of an eye, Caleb is holding your wrist again.

“Where did this come from? the chip?” he asks.

No—it can’t be over just yet. please. Let me be selfish for a little while more.

You could see Caleb’s lips moving yet a piercing ring takes over your eardrums, drowning his voice out. “They’re here, Caleb. They—they can’t. They can’t take you... away from me...” Your body feels weaker as pain crashes repeatedly into you in waves.

Everything fades into black after that.

You never liked Caleb wearing that fucking uniform. Because every time that he does, he’s like a different person. You don’t recognize the Caleb that wears the colonel’s uniform.

Yet here he is, standing before you dressed in that goddamn uniform, his expression unreadable. Is he mad? Definitely. Are you going to die tonight? Maybe. Do you mind Caleb being the one who wields the gun at your death? …Not really. If anything, it’s better that you die by his hands.

“You remember everything, don’t you?” He doesn’t answer; you press on further. “When? when we were at the amusement park? Or was it before that?” Was him losing memories even real in the first place?

“I haven’t even asked my questions yet. When did you get that Turing chip implanted?” The unwelcomed yet familiar waves of pain surge through your head; you bite your lip to stop yourself from screaming. Caleb removes his glove on one hand and rubs his thumb over your swollen lip. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

His expression remains unreadable. “You should rest. The surgery is being prepared and the pain will be over soon.”

“Caleb... Ever since we reunited, have you been enduring all of this? Why didn’t you tell me?” You didn’t have the strength to use your voice so you could only whisper to him. Caleb replies in a softer voice—it’s as if seeing you like this torments him (it does, and maybe he’ll finally understand why you did it in the first place). “If telling you the truth means watching you willingly get caught up in this mess...”

“Then I never would’ve shown up in your life again.” The glint in his eyes shows desperation.

“I don’t understand... They changed you. They treat you like a pawn and make you do all of those awful deeds. But—but you belong to me! You’re mine—you're the person I cherish the most—how could they do this to you?”

Caleb doesn’t reply to that. He insists that you rest but you broke free from your restraints before he could stop you. You get up and stumble towards the door but your legs can only bring you there as your vision becomes unsteady. Caleb is pulling you away from the door and towards the bed you were restrained on earlier. “Let go of me!” you shout, pulling his hand and biting hard on it.

However, he pulls you into his arms and keeps you there instead of letting go. His voice is firm yet gentle as he carries you back to the bed. “In order to prevent you from biting your tongue when you had a fever when we were kids, I let you bite my hand. Do you remember that? You gave me such a severe bite that the mark lingered for two weeks.” He chuckles at the memory. “I always wanted to settle the score with you when we got older.”

Your expression is determined and keen as you look at him. “This time, I’ll be the one who’s going to settle the score.” You straddle him and push him down without saying anything more. A glint of amusement shines in his eyes at your actions.

“What do you want?”

You lean closer to him, your ear almost resting by his chest. Your fingers trace the edges of his uniform. “I want to peel open your heart to see what secrets are hidden within.” He watches your finger slide down. You then grab his chin and make him look at you. “As the farspace fleet’s colonel, you haven’t been put into a trial like this, have you?”

“A trial? What are you accusing me of?" He plays along.

“You… You killed my Caleb.” Your voice breaks. You lean in closer, lips being only centimeters apart. But you pull away, tugging and discarding the layers of his uniform instead. “The Caleb in this uniform... I don’t like it…” you say, fighting back the tears from blurring your vision. You wanted Caleb gone in that uniform. You wanted the old Caleb back in your arms.

Just where did it all go wrong? Perhaps it was the explosion that triggered everything that has changed. The Caleb that you grew up with, the one that you knew—the one that you loved—feels like a stranger to you. It is only when he’s out of the thick layers of his uniform that you could recognize that maybe—just maybe—this is the Caleb that you love.

Caleb doesn’t stop you from what you’re doing. Instead, he caresses your face, his touch being warm against your cheek. “Good girl,” he whispers. “You should get some sleep now, pipsqueak,” he says a bit louder this time. You gave him a kiss on his forehead and he avoided your gaze right after.

“Look at you; you’re like a sinner who’s confessing.” Caleb holds your hand and presses a soft kiss to your fingertips. Your hands that he had always wanted to hold without reason—perhaps it was his time to become a bit selfish now.

“Then can you carry a little of this sin too? Don’t leave me in this loneliness any longer.”

You feel yourself losing your balance above Caleb. The pain that was throbbing in your head ever since earlier has intensified tenfold, leaving you to go limp.

“It’ll be just like when we were kids. You’ll wake up and you won’t be in any pain or remember any trace of it.”

The blinding beams of sunlight shone upon you, stirring you awake. Slowly opening your eyes, you took in your surroundings. You were currently in a familiar bedroom and the other side of the bed was empty when you woke up.

You suddenly hear the door creaking open. Shooting a glance at who it could be, you recognized the man dressed in some sort of military uniform as he takes strides towards you. “Huh..?” You say, voice still groggy after just waking up. You shield your eyes from the glaring sunlight and the dust particles being visible in the air. Caleb raises his hand to do so instead.

Caleb… just what happened to us?

“I asked the association if you could take a sick leave. So, whether you want to rest here at home or maybe go outside for a quick walk for the next few days, I’ll be here to keep you company.”

You look at him, confused by what’s happening at the moment. Your eyes then trail down to a peeking mark below his cuff. “Is that... a bite mark? Caleb, what—what happened? ” you asked him. Caleb hesitates to answer the question. Sunlight continues to bleed through the window, gently hitting his face. yet his expression...

His expression still seemed like he was in sorrow.

“It's okay if you forget. You should eat something first,” he says, grabbing a bowl of porridge after he helps you sit up on the bed. After a few spoons, you didn’t feel like eating anymore. As Caleb rises to put the bowl away, anxiety hits you as you grab his sleeve. “Where are you going?”

“I'm just putting the bowl away.” Caleb looked like he was about to say something else but refused to do so. “Don’t worry. I won’t go anywhere until you fall asleep,” he reassures you.

“Caleb... You’ll always stay by my side, right?” you asked him in return.

He doesn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

You tugged on the collar of his uniform, pulling him into the bed with you as you straddled him. The scene feels familiar to Caleb—almost. Your fingers trail down his neck, tracing his Adam’s apple before pressing gently on the center of his collarbone. “I wonder if I should put a bell around your neck. That way, you won’t be able to escape. What do you think?”

You didn’t forget anything ever since you implanted the toring chip inside of you. You remembered every single story you had to come up with on the spot for Caleb. You remembered Caleb whispering, “I like you,” on the train—how comfortable the breeze was while you were both in the amusement park.

But the amusement park is now closed.

EIGHTH: TO LOVE IS TO INDULGE YOURSELF IN SELFISHNESS.

Caleb rarely gets sick.

You were the sickly type between the two of you—always catching yourself a cold or a fever so easily. And every time you got sick, Caleb was always there beside you. He didn’t hesitate to help Gran back then when it came to making you feel better. He’s the one who usually monitors your temperature; he’s the one who really makes sure that you have taken your medications. You don’t seem to recall that many memories where Caleb gets sick.

But now... you’re here, against the door to his bedroom, helpless at the fact that Caleb is hiding himself from you because he has a fever. You keep knocking on his door, thinking that maybe being persistent would do the trick. “I haven’t finished reading a book and I think I left it there, Caleb.” You lied, still trying to get him to open the door.

Shuffling was then heard from inside and Caleb shoved the book into your chest. “Take it and stop knocking, pip-squeak.” You try to pry yourself into his room with the gap made by him from opening the door but it is no use. But the close distance with Caleb’s body easily helps you in finding out his current state.

“Caleb, you’re burning!” He stops you and takes your hand when you attempt to touch his forehead. “I’ve taken some medication. I’ll be fine, pips.”

“At least leave the door unlocked; let me take care of you this time.”

“Have you ever seen me be defeated by something as small as this? I can handle it,” he replies, though his voice sounds raspy as he speaks. “With the state of your voice now, that doesn’t sound very reassuring,” you say back. “Don’t you have other stuff to do? Focus on that.”

“What? Hey—Caleb!” The door slams shut in front of your face.

Fine then. Let’s see how long you can handle this tough guy act up.

You ponder unsuccessfully throughout the afternoon how to persuade him to open the door. But in the end, you chose to prepare a meal for him. It’s the first time he’s stayed home, and you’re taking care of things around the house. You ended up making porridge and knocking on his bedroom door.

“Caleb? I made some porridge. Do you want some?”

No response.

You then lie, claiming that you got scratched by a stray cat while you left for a quick walk earlier. “I’m pretty sure you said stray cats always welcomed you with open paws. Remember to review your past lies before you tell a new one next time.” You hear him from the door. You knock harder against his door. “If you don’t unlock the door, I swear I’ll pick this goddamn lock.”

OTTO suddenly appears next to you. “Here’s a friendly reminder. When you’re asking for help, you should gently approach them,” the artificial intelligence says. Is that directed at me or is it directed at Caleb? But OTTO is right. Taking a deep breath, you ask Caleb from the other side of his bedroom door again.

“Caleb… what are you afraid of?”

You hear a click as you place the tray on the floor. At last, he opens the door. You immediately head inside his bedroom with the tray of porridge and check on his condition immediately. “I told you, I’m fine,” he then says. His voice sounded a bit better now—but it was still evident that he was sick. “How was I supposed to believe that when you keep locking yourself in here?”

He lets out a chuckle that has self-mockery in it. “How can I keep the tough guy act if I let you see me like this?”

“You should eat this porridge first and then take your medications for your fever after. Where’s your thermometer? Let’s check your temp,” you say, stirring the porridge. “While I’m used to you being bossy, I don’t really feel like playing along today.” You take his temperature anyway.

39.2 degrees Celsius. It’s still high.

“Your fever is still high. You should—” Caleb then cuts you off. “It was better this morning. I honestly feel like a champ right now.” You raised an eyebrow at him. “You’re a fucking champ for acting tough; I’ll give you that one.”

“When have I ever lied to you?”

“Oh, so now you want to talk about this? Do you really want me to answer that question, Caleb?”

He begins recalling all the times he fulfilled his promises to you back in the past. You stop him before he could continue further. “Enough, Caleb. You said you’d never hurt me—you promised me that.”

“Do you feel like everything I do is supposed to hurt you?” he asks.

Not really. “Your inability to believe that I can protect myself hurts me. Your refusal to let me share your burdens with you hurts me. You hurting and letting yourself feel the pain indirectly hurts me too. And lastly, you pushing yourself away—that’s what hurts me the most.” Caleb stays silent at that.

“If you think I’m wrong, then you’re free to correct me, Caleb.” His attention was then on the bowl of porridge placed on your lap, waiting to be taken by him. Caleb doesn’t correct you from your earlier statement.

He takes deep breaths as you both stay silent in his bed.

Caleb is someone you can’t be any more familiar with. You’ve known him your life—yet why is it possible that he still feels like a stranger to you sometimes? “Pips, I have to tell you something,” he then says. “I’m listening,” you tell him.

“I’m sorry that I upset you. You were just trying to help and I…” He seems like he couldn’t finish that sentence so you do it for him. “You were scared, right? Scared that I’ll see your weakness.” Your hand lies on top of Caleb’s chest as it heaves up and down. “You wanna see my weakness? Well, now you have.” Caleb’s ears turn red at that. “Are your ears red because of your fever?” You ask, reaching a hand to touch his earlobe. “Let’s go with that.”

You cup his cheek to check his temperature again. There was something different in Caleb’s gaze—like it was full of admiration. Softness. Love. Your other hand reaches up to cup his other cheek, pulling him forward so you can put your forehead against his.

Flashbacks of when you and Caleb had your foreheads like this flash in your mind. Once while you were nine; once while you were fifteen; once back in the old store you recently helped in. “You’re still not showing me your weakness, Caleb.” you whisper before pulling away. Your soft breath tingles his nose as his breath hitches at your short distance.

He puts a hand against your mouth as he leans back in slowly. But Caleb quickly pulls himself away before anything could happen.

“I never hid anything from you. But you have—in fact, you hid a lot of things from me. Don’t you think that’s a little unfair?” How many secrets can you keep? Caleb looks away from your gaze before replying. “I can’t have any weaknesses. Then you’ll feel safe in relying on me.”

“But I don’t want to stand behind you—I want to stand beside you, Caleb.” He smiles at that. He places your hand on his chest. His heartbeat beats out a steady rhythm. “Do you feel it? This is my weakness. She’s here. For a long time, she’s been here.”

Caleb…

“I’m afraid that if you see me at my lowest, you won’t believe I can always protect you.” He soon admits, his voice a bit quieter than it was earlier. Your eyes trace every feature that it could take in. “A lot of people say the knife that hurts the most isn’t wielded by your enemies. The people closest to you have it. We’re the closest people to each other. We’d never hurt each other.”

“Are you afraid that I’ll hurt you?”

“Do you think that you could hurt me like this?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he cups your cheek, fingers rubbing your cheekbone. “I want you to stay here. Stay with me. Please, spend the next hundred years with me.” He sounds restrained—like he was still holding himself back.

Even in the most vulnerable and precious moments together, Caleb is still holding himself back from it—especially when it could be more. “I…” you trail off.

Maybe to love him is to ignore the boundaries—to give in to the temptation.

“I love you, Caleb.”

His eyes widen at your confession. He could feel his face and ears burning up again. Caleb’s eyes never leave yours as it drowns itself in your gaze. He looks like he was looking for some proof that it was just a dream—that he’ll just wake up (or perhaps he was waiting for you to take it back). Caleb was speechless.

“I have always loved you. But as we grew older, the love changed. Everything has changed. Our careers, our lives, and our decisions. I held myself back at first, knowing that we might regret it, risking something so sacred between us. But as time went by, I started becoming selfish. I… I just started to indulge myself. And then I started wanting more—but I couldn’t exactly get more now.” You chuckled at that.

“I’ll probably regret this tomorrow morning. But I honestly just can’t keep it to myself anymore. Because I love you, Caleb. I love you so much that maybe, just maybe, if I loved you any less, I might be able to talk about it more.”

Caleb doesn’t reply to your confession in words.

He replies in actions.

A hand gently grabs the nape of your neck; you could feel his hand trembling against your skin as he does. His hands feel warm—whether it was due to his fever or not, you have no clue—and his touch is as gentle as it always is whenever he touches you. Slowly pulling you in, it finally happens.

You finally feel what Caleb’s lips are like as they press gently against yours.

He pulls away, not letting it last any longer. Straddling him in the process so you could be more comfortable, he stares at you in a daze. You pull him in again for another kiss. And another. And then another. The pressure of his lips against yours felt electrifying as your arms wrapped around his neck as his hands found themselves on your waist. There was a slight push and pull going on as your shadows, as reflected by the moonlight, blended into one.

When you finally pull away from Caleb, that’s when he decides to speak. “I… I think about you all the time. I long to see and be close to you. I can hardly sleep because I miss you. There’s this longing I can barely contain, and I fear it’s going to drown me. But perhaps that’s okay—because that would mean I’m drowning in you.”

“I love you too,” he finally says.

To love Caleb is to be selfish.

#( writings )#love and deepspace #lads x reader #lads #love and deepspace x reader #caleb x reader #caleb x mc #love and deepspace caleb #caleb xia #lads caleb #caleb #x reader

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empress-simps · 1 year ago

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Can I request a fic with Remus (I love him), with a shy fem!reader girlfriend? House doesn’t really matter, but Hufflepuff might be fitting lol. She wants to meet his group of friends officially for the first time (she’s dating Remus and she hasn’t yet), but she’s too anxious despite trying to hype herself up for it? Maybe Remus comforts her

Darling, this is such a cute request! 🫶 Also, who doesn’t love Remus? We all do, no questions asked (I would do anything for him and Regulus). I absolutely love to write for this man, and I think Remus with a shy s/o is stinking cute. Thank you for requesting! 🫂 (Not edited so there may be grammatical errors or typos lurking around)

Loving Yellow and Black

Pairings: Remus Lupin x Fem! Reader CW: Language and mentions of smoking.

In many ways, you were different from his friends.

You were polite, kind, and willing to help others- basically what everyone thinks of when they picture an ideal Hufflepuff student. Not saying that James, Sirius, and Peter were rude or anything like that, but there was just something gentle about you that Remus saw. As for them? They’re a rambunctious mess, a bit rough around the edges.

Remus found it quite charming, you try your best to blend in, be a wallflower so your student life at Hogwarts would be smooth sailing. Although, to Remus, no matter what you do, you stand out effortlessly. When he first expressed his interest in you, you were hesitant and cautious. You thought it was just one of the many other pranks that he and the other marauders had planned on other students.

“Go out with me, Y/n?” Remus asked nervously, after a week of him approaching and befriending you.

“Erm…” You looked around, making sure he was talking to you. “Are you talking to me?”

So, he did everything he could to make sure you know that he’s serious about you and that you won’t feel anything but that.

Slowly but surely, the hesitance and doubts started to go away as you got to know him better. You learned that he loves chocolates, his eyes would light up when you bring him chocolate frogs whenever you and your friends would go to Hogsmeade. His eyes having literal stars as he took in the sight of you, and how his laugh would make you smile as he whisks you away from your common rooms to hang out (snog) in the Astronomy tower and bringing you back just before the clock strikes twelve.

You bring out the best versions of yourself when you’re both with each other. Remus helps you to be a bit more adventurous, making you try things you never even thought of doing, such as sneaking out past curfew. Remus was your many firsts.

Remus found himself being more patient and calmer than before, maybe your nature rubbed off on him like how his rubbed off on you.

“Moony, are you smoking… you know?”

Remus nearly choked on his breakfast one morning. He turns to look at Sirius, eyes wide with shock. “Just why would you think that Padfoot?!” Sirius shrugged, putting his arms up as if he was surrendering. “Geez, just asking a question, don’t get your knickers in a twist, Moony.”

“I’m not smoking, or doing whatever you think I’m doing, you sod.”

Remus grumbles while James just laughed, “Alright, there’s our original Moony.”

“You seem calmer recently, Moons. We were just curious.” Peter shrugs, taking a bite out of his pancake, Remus raised his eyebrow. “Oh really?”

“Yeah, it was like you turned into a saint. You don’t even scold James and I anymore for our boxers strewn across the floor- “

“Hey! Shut it, what if Lily hears?!”

“Mind you, we are in the great hall eating breakfast, Padfoot.”

“I’m just saying!”

“Quiet down, people are looking.”

It was just a matter of time when your friends found out you’re dating Remus and managed to keep it under their noses for a few months.

“Y/n! How could you? We trusted you!” El, one of your friends shrieks dramatically, plopping down her bed, making you furrow your eyebrows. “Erm… is there something going on?”

“of course there is! Why did you keep it a secret?” She whined, pulling you next to her.

“Keep what a secret?”

“You and Lupin!”

“Oh, erm…” You trailed off, trying to fight the blush forming on your face. Your other friends started to tease you, “So it’s true!”

“Yes.” You confirmed with a nod, your hands over your face as a poor attempt to cover your blush.

“Alright, we need to know if the bloke is good enough to date our Y/n.”

It quickly became known to other students within your house that you were dating the witty marauder. Of course, this kind of news spreads like wildfire across Hogwarts; even reaching the three marauders who were in the dark with their Moony’s love life. They need to meet you as soon as possible and didn’t even let Remus have peace and quiet until he asked you if you were okay about it.

“So, they found out about us.” Remus bit his lip, looking nervously. You blinked, “Well, it was bound to happen, my friends were… vocal about it.” She chuckled as Remus cracked a grin.

“Tell me about it.”

“I’m guessing they want to meet me?”

Remus nodded, sighing. “Sorry angel. I tried to tell them- “

“It’s alright, honey. I figured it would be good after my friends also demanded you to meet them.”

To say that you were terrified would be an understatement; you felt like you were going to throw up in your shoes, break out in a cold sweat, or even stumble because damn it- your legs are shaking, as if you’re going to collapse under your own weight.

Well yeah, you were the one who kinda brought it up, but it still didn’t lessen the nerves you have. You wanted them to at least be civil towards you and to recognize your relationship with their friend. You were thinking of what outfit you should wear a week prior to the meeting, and you carefully planned out how you would respond to the possible questions they’d have. Call it over thinking, but you were just preparing for every single possible outcome.

“Alright, I can do this.” You chanted, looking at the mirror then at your watch, only 30 minutes before Remus arrives in the Hufflepuff common room. You checked your hair, smoothing it out as you checked yourself for the umpteenth time.

“Merlin, Y/n. You’re acting like you’re meeting the Prime Minister of Magic.” El commented, shaking her head. “You’ll be fine, if they don’t like you… then they better prepare themselves for a Hufflepuff’s wrath.”

Remus casts a glance worriedly at you, fixing your black and yellow scarf on your neck. “Darling, it isn’t that cold out, you don’t have to practically cover your face with it.” He chuckles, kissing your reddening cheeks as you huffed, “It would be a great help when I meet your friends.” Grinning, he pinched your cheeks, making you glare at him.

“They’ll love you. Don’t worry too much, yeah?” He whispers, before giving your forehead a kiss, at this point, Remus and the cold weather’s mission is to make you look like a tomato.

You gulped nervously, fiddling with the ends of the scarf. “But… I…”

To be honest, you are kind of expecting them to be disappointed when they meet you. A Hufflepuff girl, fairly average, wallflower, and a goody-two-shoes. Quite boring, in your opinion. Remus’s gaze hardened, as if scolding you. “I know what’s going on your pretty mind, darling. Just be yourself.” Squeezing your hand in his, you made your way to the Gryffindor Tower and to the dorm room he and his friends share.

“There you are, Moony!” James smiled as he opened the door to their room, his smile widening as he casts, a glance at you. “You must be Y/n! Come in!” He excitedly ushers both of you inside the room, you gave Remus’s hand a squeeze, he looks at you and squeezes back. You took a glance at their room, there was Sirius laying down lazily on his bed, Peter sitting on a random beanbag on their dorm room, and Lily sitting on her boyfriend’s bed, beaming a smile in which you returned; albeit a little more nervously.

“Any second further than that and I’d thought Moony was lying about finally getting a girl, isn’t that right, wormtail?” Sirius grinned, teasing Remus before standing up and giving you a hug. Which made you widen your eyes and stiff up, but recovering quickly to hug him back, pulling away after a few moments.

“Nice to meet you, love. I’m Sirius.”

You smiled shyly, “Nice to meet you too, I’m Y/n.”

“Remus, tell me again how’d you manage to get someone as gorgeous as she is?”

Remus rolled his eyes, “Sod off, Pads.” Sirius just laughed, smiling as he looks at you and Remus together.

“Hi Y/n, I’m Peter. Nice to meet you.” Peter smiled politely, holding out his hand which you took, shaking it. “Nice to meet you too, Peter.”

Lily smiled, pointing at her boyfriend. “That one’s James! Don’t pay attention to him- “ cue a protest from James, who’s pouting “-and I’m Lily, so glad there’s another girl in the group! They’re driving me crazy!” She practically bounced off her feet and hugged you, making you stumble, and Remus put a hand on your back to support you.

Okay, this wasn’t what you expected. Quite far actually.

Your heart fills with warmth as you allowed a smile to appear on your face, looking around, seeing how they felt so comfortable with you already. Sirius was busy bothering Peter, who shoos him away, complaining that he’s being annoying even when you’re with them. “Have you got any shame left with you, Padfoot?”

“Hm, last time I checked none.”

James was trying to get your opinion on how to pull off one of their pranks, and Lily scolding him not to drag you onto his shenanigans.

Remus pulls you close to him, wrapping his arms around your waist, he whispers. “Welcome to the family, darling.”

#remus lupin x reader #remus x reader #remus lupin fluff #remus fluff #remus x y/n #remus lupin #marauders #james potter #marauders fanfiction #sirius black #marauders era #marauders fic #moony wormtail padfoot and prongs #harry potter #the marauders

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concretejunglefm · 20 days ago

Text

So human error had me accidentally posting this instead of drafting; however, I hope this fits even remotely what you were hoping for, anon 💕 I hope you don't mind that I added a little angst at the end for something extra 🫣

CW: mentions of grinding, nipple play, light choking.

WC: 2.5k.

NSFW below the cut 🔞 Minors DNI.

Truthfully, Noah doesn't want to be here.

The moment he stepped through the door and realized this place was a strip club, he should’ve turned and walked back out immediately. But unfortunately, he didn’t.

Now, he’s stuck entertaining his friend, one he mentally chooses to exclude from his list of people to hang out with the next time he’s feeling stressed out and needs to unwind.

“Just a club soda for me, thanks,” he tells the waitress who happens to pass by them, which prompts his friend to roll his eyes and reach across, slapping him playfully on the chest.

“Come on, you’re here to have fun tonight.”

Noah grimaces at the thought. Watching girls dance half-naked and having a private lap dance isn’t exactly what he calls ‘fun.’ Even though the place is considered a high-end establishment, it’s simply not his scene, something obvious in the way his eyes constantly avoid looking at any of the dancers, offering only a brief nod and a forced smile of acknowledgement when they glance down at him when walking past.

“I think maybe I'm going to—”

“Ah, there she is!” Noah’s friend interrupts him as you approach, and all his plans about leaving vanish instantly when he locks eyes with you.

Like most of the dancers, you’re wearing something lacy, though it covers you enough to leave some areas to the imagination. Half of your face is obscured by a mask, like some of the others, presumably to conceal your identity and enhance the club’s allure. However, his eyes momentarily flicker to your lips and the shade of lipstick. Suddenly, he’s consumed by an intense desire to smudge it, to witness how your lips would appear plump and kiss-swollen.

He shakes his head, pushing those thoughts aside. After spending too much time in the studio, neglecting most of his needs, sexualizing the first woman he sees isn’t how he intends to resolve that issue. However, he can’t help but allow his eyes to wander back to you, this time more shyly, when he catches you actually moving towards him, your hand extending and resting upon his shoulder.

“Who’s your friend?”

Noah hadn’t caught the conversation between you and his friend, but his eyes widen almost comically when he raises his gaze to meet yours through the eye holes of your mask. “Noah…” he swallows, managing to utter the syllables of his name through a tightening throat.

“He’s been quite overworked lately. It seems he’s forgotten all about how to have some fun, if you know what I mean.” Noah shoots his friend a disapproving look, but your quick reach for his hand silences any protest.

“Well, I know a thing or two about helping with that,” you giggle, and it sounds smooth like honey, making his chest burst a little. He hesitates to follow you as you tug on his hand, a gentle indication for him to stand. He doesn’t want to slip away into some private room, which would make this encounter feel more seedy than it should be. Yet, he finds himself already completely enamored by you. Whether it’s the mystery of you hidden beneath the mask or the allure you generally radiate, he’s drawn to you as if there’s a magnetic pull keeping him from straying away.

“Have fun,” his friend calls out after him. Noah briefly glances back, finding himself almost on autopilot as he obediently follows you towards a private area near the club’s back.

When you’re alone in one of the private rooms, he falls into the seat you push him down into and slightly shifts, his nerves settling as he realizes you’re the only person he can now focus on.

“You don't have to do this.” Noah attempts to dismiss the offer, the dance, the opportunity to relax, or whatever is being presented to him at this moment, but your response is simply a scoff.

“Is this where you tell me that my dad loved me?” You roll your eyes, bracing yourself for the usual charade from a guy who expects to swoop in and ‘save’ you from this life. “Surprisingly, I have a great relationship with my family.” You move towards him, intending to settle down on his lap by straddling him, but pause before doing so.

“No, I didn’t mean it that way. I just meant… I’ve never done this before,” Noah confesses, feeling the tip of his ears turn red. He lifts a hand to his neck, rubbing his palm against it, and shifts in his seat.

“Wait, really?” You don’t mean for the surprise to escape in your voice as it does, and you step back a little, placing your hands on your hips as you observe his awkward shifts and continued avoidance of your gaze.

“Yes, does that really surprise you?” He chuckles, but it’s slightly forced, and his eyes finally meet yours once more. He’s once again captivated by the allure that seems to draw him in. There’s an odd sense of familiarity that sends a warmth through his chest, though he can’t quite place it. The way you’re looking at him now certainly makes his stomach flip. He can’t tell if you’re pitying him or ready to make him prey, but he doesn’t care either way.

“No, it’s just… I’ve noticed your friend here quite frequently.” You chuckle and shake your head. “I suppose I anticipated the same from anyone he brings here.”

“So, this is your first time? I suppose that implies I should be gentle with you.” You purr, leaning forward, your hands returning to his shoulders as you squeeze them for stability before moving closer and twisting yourself to position your back to him.

Reaching behind you, you place your hands on his thighs, spreading them as you use them to maintain your balance. Slowly, you lower your ass down to meet his lap. “Let me know if you need me to stop, and I’ll stop.”

“Okay,” Noah says, his voice strained.

As you lower yourself and rub your covered ass against his crotch, he feels his cock instantly harden within his pants. He’s already worked up, but the proximity of you to him, the intoxicating scent, and the magnetic pull all combine to send his head spinning with arousal. Instinctively, his hands reach out and grasp you at your waist, stopping you.

“It happens to every guy you know,” you say with a laugh, making him realize that you felt it. In your line of work, it’s more of a compliment than a form of harassment.

“I know it’s just... it’s been a while.” he says, his voice tinged with embarrassment. You imagine that if you turned to look at him now, he might have a beetroot-colored face. Instead, you take his hands and begin to gently guide them up your sides.

“Well, we do offer other services here.” While your clientele has always been those who come for either a show or a personal release, you rarely cater to the latter. However, you can’t help but feel compelled when you have a man as handsome as Noah beneath you, as you do right now.

“No that’s... wait really?”

“Mhm,” you nod, a smirk tugging at the corners of your mouth as you feel his fingers gently caress your skin in circular motions.

Suddenly, he pulls you down onto his lap.

“You mentioned it’s been a while. Could I ask why?” you ask, allowing him to take the initiative slightly as his fingers delicately traced the contours of your bare stomach.

“Work.” He responds with a single word, and you can’t help but roll your eyes. You deliberately press your hips down and grind your ass against his crotch.

“What do you do?”

“Music.” Another one-word answer, but you hear the groan he’s trying to suppress and choose to interpret it as a triumph. “I’ve been spending a lot of time in the studio and…” he gasps as you roll your hips, brushing against his bulge and feeling the outline of his cock against you. Suddenly, you feel the heat rising in your own stomach, especially when his hands shift to your thighs, gripping you almost possessively to hold you against him. It makes you tremble and as you try to move, you hear him growl, “Don’t.”

He can’t release you yet, not when he’s already been feeling worked up and touch-starved. You’ve barely touched him, yet he’s experiencing an entirely new surge of desire.

Instead of moving, you gently rock your hips, circling them as your ass drags and grinds against his crotch. You listen to the change in his breath and feel how his cock twitches beneath you, confined within his pants. “Please?” you almost plead, and it results in a strained whimper from him, his fingers only pressing harder against your thighs.

“Noah, tell me what you need.” Your voice lowers, becoming soft and alluring as you lean back against his chest, turning your head and gently brushing your cherry red painted lips against the apple tattoo that covers his Adam’s apple.

Your breath, warm against his skin, sends a wave of goosebumps across him, causing his breath to catch in his throat. He can’t possibly be contemplating asking and accepting your offer, can he? It feels selfish to request anything from you, especially since you’re just a stranger. Nevertheless, he can’t deny that you’ve somehow worked your way beneath his skin, a mysterious stranger who calls themselves honey, or perhaps cherry, or pixie? He can’t quite recall the exchange between you and his friend during introductions, but he’s certain he feels an overwhelming desire to have you.

“You…” he whispers, his fingers finally releasing their grip on your thighs before they begin to slide, gliding along your inner thighs before ascending, stroking across your stomach and further up the exposed area of your torso, before slipping beneath the lace that covers your chest.

Your back arches against him as his hand palms at your breast, his fingers playfully teasing your nipples and producing a faint sound from you. Normally, you’d swiftly slap away a client who dared to behave this boldly, yet you find yourself leaning into his touch, yearning for more of it, more of him. His name slips from your lips as a soft whisper as you begin to grind against him once more, and your head rests on his shoulder, savoring the sensation of his fingers twisting your nipple.

Noah’s other hand raises higher, fingers light against your skin as they close around your neck and gently press, causing you to gasp; “Harder.” Your eyes roll back at the faint pressure he adds, his fingers pinching harder at your nipples as your hips rock and grind, almost desperately trying to soothe the ache between your thighs instead of focusing solely on relieving him. However, Noah doesn’t seem to mind; you hear the encouraging whispers from him against the side of your head.

“Show me how needy you are.”, “Do you like being touched like this?”, “Do you like your nipples being toyed with?”

The only sounds you make are soft moans, accompanied by faint “yeses” that gradually fade into breathless gasps as you intensify your grinding and whines steadily increase the closer you feel yourself approaching the edge.

Beneath you, Noah can feel his cock straining against the restrictive fabric of his pants, yearning for freedom and an even greater desire to be inside you. However, he knows that he can’t bring himself to request that of you, instead choosing to accept this arrangement, allowing you to satisfy him in exchange for your own pleasure.

As your soft pleas continue to fall from your lips, you feel the intense heat of your climax building up in your stomach, causing you to buck your hips desperately on Noah. In response, he lifts himself to meet you, and your bodies collide, sending a wave of pleasure over you, leaving your body trembling against him as he presses you firmly onto his lap. Grinding himself right against your ass, he emits a guttural sound, holding you tightly against him as his own body trembles, and his cock twitches in his pants beneath you.

“Did you just...?”

“Yes,” he says with a voice devoid of shame, which makes you laugh. It’s not a mocking laugh, and Noah feels the wave of embarrassment that had threatened to overwhelm him dissipate.

“I can’t deny that you’re not the first, but I must admit, I’m flattered.” You whisper, tilting your head and brushing your nose against the column of his neck. You’re almost reluctant to move, savoring the warmth of his presence against you and the delicate scent of his cologne that tickles your senses.

Unbeknownst to you, Noah shares your sentiments. He’s completely intoxicated and makes no effort to move you from his lap or even release his possessive grip on your throat and chest. When one of them sinks away, it’s the one on your chest, slowly descending to rest on your stomach, his thumb moving in gentle circles against your skin.

If any post-nut clarity should prompt him to leave, it hasn’t manifested yet.

You’re the first one to shift, reluctantly pulling yourself away from his chest and bending forward to adjust the strap of your heel. As you do, the lace from the lingerie you’re wearing rises up, which hangs further down your back than your front. Noah’s eyes briefly flicker down to the newly exposed skin, and a breath catches in his throat at the sight of a familiar tattoo.

You hear him say your name, your real name—not the stage name you use in this club—and it makes your head turn and your brow perk up.

Standing, you look down at him, taking him in properly as you begin to scan his familiar facial features. Granted, he was much younger when you knew him—a lot younger, with much longer hair—but a closer look reveals that his features still look the same—that same familiar Virginia boy you once knew.

“Noah?” You utter his name as if it’s your first realization, as if you hadn’t mentioned it just moments ago while grinding against him.

As he stands, you notice his height—he appears even taller and more imposing now, having grown out of his skinny boyhood.

Reaching out a hand towards your face, he hesitantly grasps the corner of the mask that obscures half of your face and lifts it, revealing the rest of it to him and recognition flashes across his eyes. “It’s you…” his voice softens, and the corner of his mouth twitches, threatening to break out into a smile as he feels the familiar thumping in his chest.

“Yes, it’s me,” you softly laugh, feeling the gentle touch of his knuckles against your cheek.

To Noah, everything becomes clear; the irresistible attraction, the magnetic pull, the way his mind constantly revolved around thoughts centered around you—a once mysterious stranger, when no one else here had caught his attention in that manner, it was because there was something profound, something that had always been there; you were the one who got away.

“Perhaps we should consider taking this reunion somewhere else.” You suggest, a mischievous glint in your eyes.

“Oh, Absolutely.”

#anon ask 💕#bad omens fanfiction #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian smut #bad omens smut #noah thots #concretejunglefm fics #noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian fanfic #bad omens fanfic

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letteredlettered · 12 days ago

Text

how i learned to keep fucking up and love myself anyway

I love me.

Though I struggle with guilt, shame, and anxiety, I forgive me. I’m gentle with me. I am kind to me.

This love hasn’t come naturally. It was built.

I built it, and I’d like to share the blueprint.

Start with a simple experience: I fuck up. Let’s not evaluate the exact nature of the fuckup, as it can happen for any number of reasons in any number of ways. I’m awkward. I’m inadvertently rude. I’m purposely rude. I forget people’s birthdays. I break promises. I fail to stand up for myself. I don’t set boundaries. I don’t meet my expectations. I let people down. I hurt people. I make a fool of me. Now begins the fuckup cycle.

Step 1: I ask, “Why did I fuck up?”

Step 2: An answer, “Because I’m a fuckup.”

Step 3: The logical extrapolation, “I am loathsome.”

Step 4: Question why I am so loathsome, question everything, return to Step 1

One day when I was a teenager, I was on the endless loop described above, at Step 1, “Why did I fuck up?” When some deep, dark part of me heretofore unknown came screaming back with a new answer: “Well, it wasn’t me who fucked up. It wasn’t me!”

Where was this answer coming from?

At first, I thought it was an issue of hindsight. When I fuck up in the moment, I don’t notice all that much. I might wince internally, but I can’t make it a big deal—I have things to do, places to be, people to see. It’s only later, in bed at night, that I’d really examine the error of my ways and feel overcome by it. That was when the fuckup cycle would begin. The one who fucked up was an earlier self. The later self was the one saying, “It wasn’t me who fucked up.”

So this was an issue of time displacement. Alone with myself at night, I could acknowledge I might’ve fucked up in the past, but I know better now. I wouldn’t do it now. So, it was unfair and pointless to blame me, my Later Self Who Knows Better, when an Earlier, Stupider Self really was the culprit.

This was the solution to the fuckup cycle: just be a Later Self Who Knows Better. I’d be perfect. I felt so much better, knowing that I would never fuck up ever again in my entire life. I could stop punishing myself. I did not suck. I was not loathsome. What a relief!

And yet, a few days later, I’d go and fuck up again. And it was Later Self Who Knows Better who fucked up! I knew better, and yet I still fucked up! Why couldn’t I stop myself, why couldn’t I be better, why couldn’t I stop fucking up?

But still that answer came screaming out of me from that dark place: “It wasn’t me! It wasn’t me it wasn’t me it wasn’t me!”

What a lie! What a crock! What a filthy coward! I just didn’t want to be blamed. I didn’t want to have to deal with my fuckups; I didn’t want to deal with how much I sucked, how loathsome I really was. And how much more loathsome was it, that there was this voice inside saying, “It wasn’t me!” Shouldn’t I have had the courage to face the fact that it was me? To accept that I was loathsome?

Self-acceptance was surely the answer! Kill this thing inside that says, “It wasn’t me!” Kill it, shut it up, lock it in a room! Accept everything about yourself you hate!

And yet still that answer, growing weaker and weaker, “But it wasn’t me!”

At first, I’d explained this protest through time displacement, but that hadn’t been a very good excuse when the Later Self Who Knows better was always becoming an Earlier, Stupider Self by fucking up again. So what was this answer always claiming “It’s not me”?

Some people might attribute it to multiple personalities, “alters” in a system, two wolves inside of them. But just as these two selves were always displaced in time, so were they always displaced in space. The self fucking up was always in the middle of things, in public, fucking up. The self going through the fuckup cycle was always alone in bed at night. I realized I had a People Self and an Alone Self, and just like hindsight is 20/20, it’s also easier to evaluate a tense situation when you aren’t in the middle of it.

They’re not different people, these selves, but they do have different traits, just as everyone adopts different behaviors for different situations—the behaviors we have for work, the behaviors we have with friends, the behaviors we have with family. We also have behaviors for when we’re alone, and my “alone behavior” just happens to be the fuckup cycle.

They’re completely at odds, because Alone Self always knows better, because Alone Self is not the one in Situations. Alone Self is entirely separate from the world and able to reflect upon it, whereas People Self just stumbles along, fucking up and fucking up and fucking up

The trick, then, was to be Alone Self all the time, in public, with other people. Alone Self knows better, possibly because she thinks deeply and reflects and has an awareness of the feelings and perceptions of others. Just be Alone Self all the time. That should fix things.

It didn’t work.

I feel like I have a socialization mode, and running socialization mode is like running a program that takes a lot of processing power, so much processing power that none of the background programs can run. People Self takes over; Alone Self shuts down.

In some cultures we do not exist as singular beings. Instead, the “self” is a web of connection and interaction, formed by a series of relationships with people, animals, plants, the world. That’s who People Self is, a self who exists in relationship to the world and everything in it.

Alone Self cannot exist in such an environment. The western, individualized concept of the self exists alone in a vacuum and cannot thrive in communities. Alone self is an abstract, an idea, and the human need for animal society kills her. If I try to summon Alone Self into my body when I am in public with others, it feels like using a time machine and violating the most important paradox: two versions of me cannot exist in the same time in the same place.

What’s more, I can barely even remember Alone Self when I’m talking to someone. I’ll fuck up in some way—say something mortifying, do something stupid, commit some faux pas—and it will send a ping down into some hidden file in my brain. Later, when I drive away from the drive-through window, when I get to be alone in a restroom, when I’m on my way home from the party, when I’m lying in bed at night, the Alone Self opens the hidden file and is horrified to find it positively glowingwith ping after ping after ping. But People Self just went on fucking up, gloriously, without the ability to spare more than a few internal winces about what a daft idiot she really is.

What’s an Alone Self to do? Here she is, stuck in an endless fuckup cycle, but none of this is her fault! And furthermore, she can never fix it, because People Self is someone else, remote, untouchable.

At this point, Alone Self would’ve really just liked to have murdered People Self. After all, People Self is a fuckup, and meanwhile, Alone Self is everything I want to be. She’s smart. She’s thoughtful. She’s insightful; she’s wise. She knows the right thing to do in all situations. She’s the one who screamed back, “It wasn’t me!” which means she’s the one who figured out there was an Alone Self and People Self to begin with.

But here’s the thing about Alone Self: she is slow. She is socially incompetent. She cannot function in society. She is too mortified by every mistake to have a life of her own. She’s too hellbent on processing the worldto live in it. She needs People Self, or she would not be able to function in a world with other people in it.

People Self may be a fool. She may be reckless and embarrassing; she may be cruel and forgetful and mindless and unkind. She’s a drunk at a party everyone laughs at. She’s the jester in a court dancing for her meals. She’s a social butterfly, flitting from person to person, situation to situation, without awareness or control or meaning. She fucks everything up all the time, leaving mess after mess after mess for that other self to deal with—so many pings in the file.

But she’s alive. And she’s me. She keeps me alive. Without her, I wouldn’t be able to meet people or interact with them or have friends. No one would know me and so how could they love me? I wouldn’t put on plays, I wouldn’t play fun games, I wouldn’t meet new people or live in society or do well at a job, I would be running from everyone all the time, unable to speak for fear of misspeaking, unable to exist for fear of existing. I’d be perfect, but I would be a useless thing in a vacuum, a dull thing that doesn’t know how to talk or laugh or love or have fun.

Because here’s another thing about People Self—she’s the one people care about. She’s the one that people see. If I have any friends, anyone who loves me, it’s her they know, not the Alone Self who lies there alone in bed and beats herself up about stupid things no one cares about. If anyone laughs at my jokes, if anyone reacts well to me, if I get a job or a promotion or someone likes something I did—it’s her they’re rewarding. They don’t even know that Alone Self exists, since she’s a sad little shut-in who can’t even go outside.

Alone Self is the one who wallows in the fuckup cycle—in fact, the Alone Self creates the fuckup cycle! People Self never self-flagellates like that! People Self is carefree and innocent and deals with mistakes in a normal way! She feels mortified by her errors, but she goes on and lives and talks to people and does her job and has fun. Meanwhile, Alone Self is cruel, sitting there constantly judging, constantly condemning—what good does that do? All it does is perpetuate self-loathing.

And so now, in fact, we’ve come full circle: if one self should be annihilated, maybe it’s the Alone Self who’s really the issue. It’s an evil self, a mean little voice who should not be listened to. End the fuckup cycle—just be People Self all the time! That should fix things.

It didn’t work.

For some reason, I couldn’t stop the fuckup cycle. I’m still alone sometimes, and when alone, People Self does not emerge. In fact, I like to be alone, and when I am, no matter how much I tell the fuckup cycle “Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!” it still runs on automatic. I couldn’t seem to stop feeling guilty and loathsome and terrible, for all the terrible things I’d done, all the terrible things I am. And the net result of trying to kill the Alone Self is feeling bad for not being able to do it. Now, on top of the fuckup cycle, add another layer:

Step 5: An admonition, “Stop thinking these thoughts. They’re toxic; you’re hurting yourself.”

Step 6: A confession, “I can’t stop thinking these thoughts.”

Step 7: An accusation, “You’re so fucked up for being unable to stop hurting yourself.”

Step 8: Question, “Why are you so fucked up?” and begin again.

I spent a lot of time thinking about the Alone Self and why I was unable to kill her—who she was, what she was there for. In the not-so-distant past, I’d thought that Alone Self was everything I wanted to be. I’d thought that she was smart, thoughtful, insightful, wise. I’d thought she knew the right thing to do in all situations.

Alone Self may be an awful creature. She may lie in bed and hurt herself, condemn herself, recriminating and self loathing.

But she’s alive. And she’s me.

She isn’t just the fuckup cycle. In fact, she only runs the fuckup cycle because she’s the one whose job it is to process the whole world. People Self doesn’t have to do that! She gets to flit about, fucking up, having fun. Meanwhile, Alone Self is the one who thinks about people, who they are, why they do what they do. She thinks about herself, understanding there’s an Alone Self and People Self. She thinks about morality; she thinks about philosophy; she thinks about spirituality. She is the one who reads stories, analyzes them, loves them; she’s the one who writes stories, who writes about herself, who finds things out about herself. She is the one writing this post right now—how could I murder such a person?

Thinking about this Alone Self, I once more wished that I could be her, that I could show her to the world and share her, because she is so interesting, so thoughtful, so kind, so big, so endless. She’s a well that I could drown in—why could I not wear her face in the world?

And then I realized, since she cannot exist in public, People Self is what Alone Self has, to interface with the world. People Self is a thing that Alone Self made, a program that she wrote, and agent that she sent, because Alone Self is in a vacuum, and she needed a thing that could be in the world and live. If People Self is a socialization mode, then Alone Self is the CPU running it.

But if you run a program—if you send an agent out into the world, she has to be dynamic. She’s going to encounter all these factors that the Alone Self could not account for. She’s going to have to react in the moment and work with what she has available to her. And then, at night, when she’s alone, she can return with all the intelligence she’s gathered so it can be analyzed. There will be a lot of pings in her files, but it’s not her fault.

She really did her best.

Reader, I ship it.

I’m very lucky, that Alone Self is so strong that she screamed, “It wasn’t me,” that she hated being blamed, that she didn’t want to hurt herself by running the fuckup cycle on repeat. I don’t think everyone has that voice inside them, and it must make all these feelings so much harder.

I’m also very lucky that I do have some instinctive love for my Alone Self. I love being alone with me, because I get to spend time thinking and reflecting. I think my thoughts are interesting. I’m constantly shocked and amazed at how far the thoughts go down. I think not everyone feels that way, which can make life so much harder.

But I truly believe that the thing that really saved me is this instinct I have for story-telling, for character analysis . . . for love stories.

I had realized, through all my efforts to stop fucking up, or at least to eliminate the fuckup cycle, that I had an Alone Self and a People Self. I had realized, trying to murder each of them, that they were intimately related, that they made each other who they were. That they couldn’t live without each other.

I could have accepted that this was a tragedy, a war story, a story of dire enemies doomed to co-exist and hate it. But I could not.

Because it sounded like a love story to me.

Alone Self is a grumpy storm cloud, a brooding Byronic hero, a Beautiful Mind. She’s the Ultimate Computer, the God of an Underground World, the inside of the Earth. She’s a mother, she’s M, she’s an annoyed older sister—but she needs this one who seems younger, frailer, weaker. She needs this person who can bring the world to her doorstep. She needs this agent to go out into the world and live her life, her dangerous life, her life filled with landmines and horrors and the unexpected, a life filled with The World and the People In It, a life filled with too many unknowns to program a contingency for everything.

And Alone Self can choose to hate her agent, her sunshine girl, her manic pixie dream girl, her damsel in distress. A mother can hate her child, a big sister can judge and condemn her little sister, M can let 007 die and consider the mission a failure. A computer can choose to hate the program it is running, and Hades can choose to loathe his Persephone. The Earth can choose to revile its butterflies.

Or.

It feels easy, when you put it in these frames, when you see that these two selves are family, lovers, heroes, gods, eternal. It feels easy to see how they can be in love.

They can be in love, they can be in love, they can be in love, because that self out there in the world is trying her best, out there in the cold, with only the exploding pens the Q was able to invent for her, only the shoddy tools for communication and interaction an hermit mother imagines a Girl of This Generation might need. The only thing our sunshine girl has is Notes from the Underground. And that self out there in the world, she fights, and she fights, and she fights; she’s out there in the cold and she gets injured, and she goes on.

She goes on, and then she comes home again. She comes home again, and she could come home to someone who judges her, who asks, “Why did you fuck up?” Or she could come home to someone who loves her, who says, “You did your best with what you had,” who says, “I’ll try to equip you better next time, but sometimes, I fuck up too.”

And that manic pixie dream girl, that butterfly with her tattered wings, could say, “No, I hate you, you don’t give me enough,” but how could she? How could she, when her god lives underground, when her god is just a computer, when her god is trying her best too, I’m trying my best too, and all I can do is try to help you, because I love you. I love you.

This is my blueprint. I’m giving it to you, but I can never hand it to you in its entirety in a way that will spell out every detail, every contingency for you, because you and I can never touch. You are your Alone Self, alone, reading this—even if people are around you, you’re in a coffee shop, your living room, your grocery store—your inner self is reading this, your Alone Self is reading this. My Alone Self is writing this, and we are not the ones who interact in the world. We operate through our agents, our sunshine girls, our programs, our Persephones, and even this essay is coming through some thin filter of Who I Am when I interact with the world.

You have a People Self, and they’re the ones who will get their grubby hands on this precious blueprint. They’ll fuck it up. They fuck up all the time; she fucks up all the time; he fucks up all the time. It’s what they do, those fuckups; they take something that is perfectly pure, perfectly reasonable, and distort it, trying to make work for them as they hopelessly flail about the world, flitting restlessly as they try and fit in.

But though this blueprint comes to you, dirty and crumpled, wrinkled beyond recognition, without clear measurements, without straight lines, without the best instructions, I hope you’ll see that this blueprint is a love story.

It’s a love story, and love stories aren’t about following instructions perfectly, to the letter. They’re about discovery, about learning, about finding someone you can love and seeing something beautiful in them, processing the heartbreak, and letting love win, in the end. I hope that you can find your selves; I hope that you can learn who they are; I hope those selves fall in love. I hope they fall in love, become best friends, and forgive each other, forgive each other, because they’re all trying their best. They’re trying their best. I hope that your life is a love story.

My life is a love story. What I’ve been telling you is a love story. It’s taken me years, and years, and years to write this down, to write this love story for you, but I’ve written it now. I’ve written it now, my Alone Self has written it, passed it through all the filters into that cold and lonely world to find you—you, yes, you, who is reading this. I wrote it for you.

I wrote it for you, because, like so many lovers who find happiness, I want happiness for you, too. But it’s more than that. It’s more than that, because I think you’ll find that when you see yourself at last, see the self that you are but also the self who has to constantly deal with this difficult, cruel, unexpected and careless world, you’ll begin to see others this way. You’ll begin to see that all of us are underground, all of us are Earth, all of us are Ultimate Computers, MI6, mothers, fathers, parents, big sisters, big brothers, big siblings, and we’re all just reaching out with our fragile methods of communicating, our fragile voices and our fragile faces and our fragile fingers, blindly seeking touch.

I think you’ll find that we’re all love stories, waiting to happen, and that some of that love is happening already, because I love you. I love you. I can never know you, but I love you, because you’re here, reading this with me.

And you’re trying your best.

#long post #self esteem #self worth #self awareness #self respect #self healing #self growth #etc etc etc

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chilling-seavey · 6 months ago

Note

hi hi i don't know if i already asked this and you're definitely going to write about this regardless but i'm still going to ask about this anyways :DDDDD *me, completely okay about this at a normal level: sending endless asks*

how did they meet? :')

↳ A/N For those of you who keep thinking that TWIG has to be some idealized universe where reader is some famous model with beauty and money to blow, here's a little reminder that us normal working-class girls can still get the guy <3

↳ Pairings: George Russell x Fem!Reader (NO use of y/n)

↳ Word Count: 3.2k

↳ Warnings: None.

The lobby of the five-star hotel bustled with employees working to tame the swarm of fans outside the front doors. You stood at your place at the front desk, politely assuring well-to-do guests that their stay would not be impacted by the rambunctious crowds out on the sidewalk. As yet another unconvinced woman in a designer wardrobe stalked off with her nose high, you glanced back out the large glass windows that lined the front of the hotel, watching how the local police service worked to keep everyone behind the red velvet ropes.

You hadn’t been working there long—only a temporary summer gig since you had graduated university and decided to take a year abroad—and right off the bat you were faced with the divide that came with the upper and lower classes of society. Clearly, it didn’t matter which country you were residing in; it was everywhere. From humble beginnings yourself, you found yourself drawn to the crowd of ‘commoners’ outside the luxury hotel doors, seeing yourself in their passion, their craving to get a glimpse or a signature from someone they admired.

You had heard of Formula 1 before, seen a race or two here or there on bar tvs when you were out with friends, but never enough to call yourself a die-hard fan. So when your boss had gathered the staff and alerted you all that a few of the drivers would be staying at your hotel during their local race weekend, you couldn’t help but feel a little excited. It was a whole other way of life you weren’t familiar with; the glamour and stardom. Something so far away from your reality.

They were to be treated like royalty, your boss told you all very clearly in that meeting. Anything they want, they get. No matter what it is; make it happen. Some of their teams were sponsored by your hotel, after all, so there was no margin for error. The lobby had been meticulously cleaned, their suites had their bed sheets ironed, and everything was stocked and ready for whatever might arise during their stay. It was an almost insane amount of preparation just for people who drove fast cars, you thought, but who were you to argue?

You were alerted of the VIP’s arrival by the rise of volume from the fans outside the hotel doors. The excited screaming and chants of names and flurry of papers or caps being thrown around for a signature filled the sidewalk and you couldn’t help but try to raise up on your tiptoes to try and get a glimpse for yourself.

The front doors were opened by the doormen and two well dressed security guards ushered the group of young men into the lobby with bellhops following behind with their bags. You and the rest of the front desk crew put on your best well-trained customer service smiles as the small group of men each found their way to one of you.

You greeted your guest as you did any other; with your usual practice welcome and polite request of the name for their reservation booking.

“Good afternoon,” he greeted you in reply with a warm smile, adjusting his backpack on his shoulder, “My reservation is under Albon. A-L-B-O-N.”

You typed his surname into your computer to pull up the booking, skimming his details on his stay, “Alright, we have you booked into one of our executive suites with check-out scheduled for Sunday, is this correct?”

“Yes, that’s great.” he replied with a polite nod, pulling out his wallet to slide over his sleek black credit card to you.

You took down his details and processed the payment, slightly all too aware of how he stared at you with that almost too-friendly smile on his face. You cleared your throat and passed back his card, “There you are, Mr. Albon, you’re all set.”

The computer set his keycard and you scribbled down his room number in the pamphlet before passing it over as well.

“Inside you will find your room key, room number, and the Wi-Fi password. If there is anything else you need, we are only a call away and we will be more than happy to assist you.” you said genuinely, your usual spiel taken up a notch for the sake of your VIP guests.

“I appreciate it.” he offered you another toothy grin as he took the pamphlet from you.

Just then, one of the other drivers appeared beside him, giving him a clap on the shoulder, “Ready?”

“Yeah.” Alex slid his wallet back in his pocket. He then looked at you once more with a genuine, “Thank you.”

You smiled politely and gave him a respectful nod.

It was then that his friend glanced over at you from the other side of the front desk. You met his gaze instinctively, about to offer another well-practiced wish for a pleasant stay, but the words seemed to halt in your throat the moment his blue eyes locked on yours. He stood no taller than the lanky man you had just checked-in, both of them with impressive stature and casually expensive fashion sense.

But the one who had just joined, the one who was staring at you with the biggest, bluest eyes you had ever seen, took your breath away almost embarrassingly fast. This was your job. You were not going to let a man distract you from delivering peak customer service no matter how much he resembled a fairytale prince.

Much to your relief, he earned a smack against his chest from Alex who cocked his head towards the elevators with an impatient, “Let’s go.”

You exchanged pleasantries in parting with the two of them and you watched him walk off towards the elevators. You could have sworn that the handsome stranger glanced back at you as he disappeared across the lobby.

With the VIP guests successfully checked in and now out of your hair for the time being, the small group of your co-workers at the front desk gathered to talk hurriedly about who they checked in. You spoke about how Mr. Albon was so smiley and polite, another mentioning how her guest didn’t speak much but still offered her genuine thanks and a generous tip before he walked away, and another talking about how her guest acted like the most normal guy she had ever met that she wasn’t sure he was even a driver.

“Well, my guest was a little too distracted to spark up a conversation.” another one of your co-workers announced.

“Don’t tell me he was on his phone.” another groaned, “I hate that!”

“No, no,” the first smiled cheekily before gesturing towards you, “he was too busy staring at someone.”

Your eyes widened as they all looked at you with a chorus of ‘oooo’, and you stumbled out a disbelieving, “What?”

“Why do you think he came over to you after I finished with him?” she challenged.

“To meet his friend?! I don’t know!” you protested, your voice rising in pitch a little.

“Oh, girl, you’re so oblivious.” she tutted, “Seriously, he couldn’t stop staring at you from the second he got to my desk. I had to ask him twice for his credit card. It was embarrassing, really.”

“You’re such a liar!” you laughed nervously, crossing your arms over your chest.

“I have his room number if you want it.” she teased, elbowing you playfully.

You scolded her by name despite the flushed smile on your face at your shared banter, glancing behind you to make sure your boss wasn’t overhearing such risky conversation. Yet, your mind felt like mush upon hearing this new information, wondering what truth lay in her words. It was a ludicrous concept—there was no way such a high-society figure would set his eyes on the girl in the polyester uniform behind the front desk—but maybe it was fun to dream.

The hotel computers held all the information you needed to know about every guest that ever stayed there. It was a vault of confidential information from credit card numbers to private addresses; most of which you never needed to look at. However, when it came to the presence of your VIP guests, each of their files held important notes that one might need to know when it came to how to make them feel the most welcome. Likes, dislikes, little quirks, ways to calm them down when something went awry.

You were working the overnight shift at the front desk that Saturday night when the phone rang. It was almost midnight and the lobby was entirely empty apart from the doormen and a singular woman reading by the fireplace. You and your one other co-worker were manning the desk, both of your eyes flitting to the phone when it rang.

You quickly typed in the caller ID room number into the computer database to pull up the information on that guest. Of course, one of your VIP guests this weekend. This would be interesting. You lifted the receiver to greet him by name, “Good evening, Mr. Russell, how can I help you?”

Through the line, a calm and smooth British accent answered, “Hello, I ordered room service about an hour ago and I still haven’t received it. I tried calling the kitchen but there was no answer.”

“Oh,” your heart sank, anticipating backlash for such poor service, “I’m terribly sorry to hear that. Let me handle this for you personally. Do you mind telling me your order again just so I can make sure the kitchen is working on it?”

You balanced the receiver between your ear and your shoulder as you grabbed your notebook and a pen.

“I’d really appreciate that, thank you. I just ordered a chicken wrap and a mug of boiling water with lemon.”

You scribbled down the order in your notebook, “Perfect, I got that down. I will check on this right away for you.”

“Thank you so much.”

“My pleasure, Mr. Russell.” you replied before the line went dead and you hung up the receiver.

With one last glance to the computer screen and a few more helpful notes jotted in the margin of your notebook, you alerted your co-worker that you had to drop by the kitchen to make sure his order was being fulfilled. Leaving her alone at the desk, you made your way through the staff hallways and through to the kitchen.

The overnight chef—someone who barely saw customers and orders apart from the odd drunken request for French fries or cake—was leaning against the counter in the near-empty kitchen on his phone. The sound of the door closing behind you had him startling.

“Excuse me?” you said sternly, “We have a VIP guest who has been waiting for his room service order for over an hour. Where is it?”

“Oh-” the chef shoved his phone into the pocket of his apron and turned around in a circle as if he had completely forgotten where he was for a moment. “Yes, of course. Uh- what was the order?”

“A chicken wrap.” you replied in near disbelief. You then noted the kitchen phone left unattended and you walked over to it to note the ‘missed call’ light flashing. Turning back to the chef, you asked, “Where is the room service operator?”

“Smoke break.” he replied as he hurried to wash his hands and get to making the food.

“For an hour?” you gaped.

The chef just shrugged and tossed the chicken into the sizzling pan.

Although you had been starting to see the divide in class structures since beginning your job at such a luxury hotel, you also were learning that money couldn’t buy intelligence. There were going to be incompetent people anywhere and it just meant you had to take things into your own hands to keep things from falling apart.

While the chef prepared the wrap, you took it upon yourself to boil the water in the kettle and slice up a fresh lemon to add in the bottom of the mug. As per the computer’s notes, the guest’s favourite type of dessert was listed from the last time he stayed, so you sliced him a generous piece of cake and added it to the tray free of charge. (You figured avoiding the bottle of wine would be smart since he was in town to drive and those two things did not go well together).

Once the chef plated the wrap, added garnishes, and topped it with the metal cloche, you set it on the rolling table with the rest of your spread and made your way to the service elevator. You truly had to do everything yourself to get it done right, or so it felt.

The elevator doors opened with a soft ‘ding’ at the 24th floor and you carefully rolled the table out onto the plush hallway carpet. Silently, with your notebook in hand with all of your helpful scribbled notes, you made your way down to his suite near the end of the hall. Once you were outside the proper room, you pocketed your notebook and then knocked three times.

You weren’t sure who you were anticipating to answer the door but the handsome man who had been staring at you from the other side of the front desk only three days earlier was not your first thought. He wore a casual t-shirt and a pair of lounge pants, his brown hair still slightly damp from a shower and drying slightly at the ends in funny directions as it framed his face. It was endearing if nothing else. For a second or two, the two of you just stood there in surprise.

Finally, you cleared your throat, trying to remind yourself you were working, and you displayed the table-cloth lined room service table that held his simple late-night order, “I am terribly sorry about the delay, Mr. Russell. As promised, I made sure it was handled personally.”

“And delivered personally?” he replied with a small quirk of his lips.

“I- Well-” you let out a soft laugh, “Yeah, that too.”

“You’re too kind.” he said genuinely, stepping aside to hold the door open so you could roll the table into the suite. “Please.”

In the living area of the suite, only the floor lamp was on, casting a comforting glow around the room. His laptop was open on the coffee table to a paused F1 race replay, the computer framed in loose papers with various graphs and things printed on them, and an open notebook with colour-coded handwritten notes on top of it all. You stopped the table to the side of the spacious room and used your toes to lock the wheels so it stayed in place.

He appeared beside you as you lifted off the metal cloche from his plate, his eyes skimming everything as if making sure it was all in order.

“Oh, I didn’t order this.” he said gently as he gestured to the plate with the slice of cake.

“No, that is just something from us as an apology for the delay.” you told him.

His handsome face broke into an amused smile, “Cake on the night before a race? I would think you’re trying to sabotage me.”

Your polite smile fell quickly, your hands raising quickly to cover your mouth, stumbling over your words as you saw your job vanishing before your very eyes, “Oh my God, I didn’t even think- That was not my intention, Mr. Russell, I’m so sorry.”

He simply laughed, the sound warm and sweet, reaching out just enough to dust his fingertips over your arm reassuringly, “It’s alright! No harm, it was a kind gesture. Thank you,”

He glanced down to your name tag pinned to your collared uniform shirt, finishing his thanks with a gentle addition of your name.

You tried to take a breath.

As if he had now been introduced to you properly, he offered his hand out, introducing himself in return, “George.”

You accepted his handshake, momentarily speechless. Then, always trying to find solutions to everything—a habit you picked up since your first day at the hotel—you offered, “Maybe you can save the cake until after the race tomorrow. A little reward for winning or something.”

George’s face broke into a grin and his eyebrows raised, his hand still lingering in yours, “You think I’m going to win tomorrow?”

“Well,” you scoffed modestly, “I guess we’ll see.”

You shared smiles.

Your hands finally broke apart and he looked back down to the table, “I don’t see a cheque here. Is the charge just put on my room?”

You shook your head, “Oh, no. I can��t allow you to pay for it after the trouble. It’s on the house.”

“I cannot have you do that.” he chuckled, “It’s a chicken wrap…it’s, like, €14…I can pay it.”

“Mr. Russell-”

“I want to pay it. Please?”

You sighed.

He offered you a cheeky smile, “Either you let me pay for my dinner or I’ll insist you come to the race tomorrow as my guest.”

You hurriedly pulled your notebook out of your pocket to take the cheque from the inside cover where you had tucked it earlier and you shoved the paper at him.

He laughed, taking it and your pen, “Ouch! You hate Formula 1 that much?”

“No! Oh my gosh, no.” you said quickly, eyes on him as he bent over the table to sign it to his credit card, trying not to entirely offend him with everything you said that evening, “I just- the last thing I want to do is put you out of your way.”

George stood up again and folded the cheque in half to pass it back to you, “Well, you already bet over this slice of cake that I’d win tomorrow. What if you’re my good luck charm and you’re not there?”

You took the cheque and pen back from him with a reluctant, “I can’t. I work tomorrow anyway.”

“A shame. Well, you’ll find your way to a race someday, I’m sure.” he said like it was a genuine promise.

“Hope so.” you smiled in return.

The two of you lingered there for a moment, staring, staring, in the warm light of his suite at nearly 1am.

“Okay,” you took a step back towards the door, “I should get back to the desk…make sure no one is trying to set the hotel on fire.”

“Of course.” George followed after you to open the door for you.

The bright light from the hallway spilled into the hotel room and you stepped out into its blindingness.

George spoke again as you turned to face him, “Thank you again for your kindness.”

“Leave a good word with my boss?” you joked lightly.

“Gladly.” he chuckled, “Good night.”

“Night.”

He closed the door behind you quietly as you started back down the hallway. The grin that was spread across your face was almost entirely involuntary and you lifted your hand up to touch your cheek that was intended with the curve of your smile. Such a simple interaction with another guest and somehow it left you with this indescribable warmth across your skin as if there was so much still left unsaid.

As you waited for the elevator, you unfolded the cheque in your hand, skimming past his signature to the handwritten tip of €30—more than double his order’s total—and the little note in the margin punctuated with a phone number:

If I win tomorrow, you’ll have to share this cake with me x

And, if you were wondering, he did win the race the next day.

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ronearoundblindly · 7 months ago

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would you ever write an invisible reader? Like let’s say she’s an agent or a scientist. Quiet and stuff right? She always keeps to herself has the biggest crush on Steve but because she’s thinks she’s invisible she doesn’t ever think he might be interested too. There’s a mission she goes on and things go awry and she actually turns invisible. Something akin to how in the Fantastic Four movies they get their powers she gets this one? But it takes time to get under control. Steve thinks it’s his fault so he tries to help out. And through the the process of helping her gain back visibility she realizes Steve has seen her all along. Lol this really just came to my head when I was thinking about Steve using paint on someone’s body as a way to show them he thinks they’re art.

This. Is. Spectacular. I'm gonna fudge it a bit. Headcanon/stream of consciousness format. No warnings just canon-level "action." gif credit: @meidui

Erasure (Steve Rogers x junior agent!Reader)

My first instinct is to make it an ability to alter someone perception--i.e. you're constantly a little embarrassed of your input, so you tell people to 'forget you said that'--and let's say that constant hope that you won't be remembered badly is the innate trigger for your ability.

Probably a science experiment of Tony's gone wrong. He and the team are arguing about something that needs to be recovered before a damaged thing reaches critical mass. You sneak in to just grab what he wants and not waste time arguing. Tony doesn't know you're in there and locks the lab down until the dangerous pulse dissipates. (Steve doesn't know you're in there either because you popped in while he was facing and yelling at Tony, fwiw.) Maybe Tony saunters in once the doors open, finds you there with the part in your hand and knocked on your ass.

Your skin touches his as he reaches for you and the part. You jokingly tell him there's nothing to worry about, nothing to see here. You're surprised that he listens and walks off immediately, chatting and leading the team away down the hall to show them something else he's working on in the hangar bay.

Overall, once you catch your breath, you're fine. You don't want to go to the infirmary and tell them you did something so dumb.

Life continues.

Through a lot of trial and error, you realize what you can do--forcibly--by erasing people's memory of you being around. The head count for meetings is off. Several teammates you know you spoke to see security footage of you at the time and curiously remark that they don't recall you being there. Things like that. It works on everybody, or so you think.

There's a brainstorming session about how to infiltrate a possibly corrupt corporation's facility to gain intel. Everyone agrees to this elaborate rouse where two ripped agent dudes pose as janitors and blah blah blah. It's a little absurd.

You check the companies job listings, and knowing you qualify for one, submit an application the next day. The woman in HR who hires you doesn't work on the same floor as where you are technically snooping, and you can handle the work they actually want you to do in just a few hours a day, giving you a bunch of time to access nearly everywhere and nudge everyone to forget you were there.

The attempted break-in of fake janitors is the talk of the office on your last day, the one where you find the info Stark wanted to begin with, and then you quit, still quietly, returning to the Avengers the next morning.

You drop off the intel to Tony's office when he's not there, but just as you get situated back at your little desk, Steve comes up.

He looks concerned, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the flimsy cubicle wall.

"Feeling better?"

You're so confused.

"You were out for over a week. Did you need to go to the hospital? Was a family member with you at least? You could have called in for help."

On impulse, you grab his arm and tell him not to worry about you, yet he...doesn't move. After a flawless use of the power hundreds of times in a row, you don't understand.

Blinking up at Steve, you blurt, "I should be erased. Why are you still noticing me?"

He's bewildered, sure, but Steve tucks his head and smiles shyly.

"Can't erase you, doll," he chuckles, so soft only you can hear. "I draw you in pen--" Steve taps his temple "--up here..."

He bends down, his hand gently gripping your arm and his cheek touching yours.

"...now where you been for a week?"

And then, yes, some beautiful closeness and Steve paints on you to highlight what parts he drew so permanently on his mind!

🤗

a/n: Thank you for sending in this lovely idea, nonnie! I'm sorry everything I'm writing has been short and convoluted the last...while, but this is such a sweet premise. (Also, my apologies if you really, really wanted straight invisibility as the power. Just send in another ask, and I'll try to come up with an alternate version!)

[Main Masterlist; Light Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

#steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers fic #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers one shot #agent!reader #ro answers #captain america fanfiction #captain america x reader #captain america x you #steve rogers x you

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writemeaway · 15 days ago

Text

This au has me in a chokehold- I cant- help-

This is one of the very first scenes for “Worse Than a Love Square”! I’ve started working on the fic for it! Nothings been posted just yet as I have other works to finish first, but I thought it’d be fun to do a little preview!!! (I’m not a comic creator so it’s very rough but I love the scene and wanted to doodle it out!!!)

So here’s the first time Mumbo meets Hotguy and Cuteguy in person!!!! (The actual writing is below the cut!!! Please excuse any errors in it as it’s just the first draft lol)

<-Previous Post | Next Post->

Chapter 1- Worse Than a Love Square

“Are you alright, Mister?” Hotguy asks as he places Mumbo down on the blessed ground in an alley to keep them from prying eyes.

Mumbo could kiss the disgusting concrete under his feet, he’s so grateful to be back down here. Getting grabbed off the street to be used as a body shield for a villain being shot at was unfair, in Mumbo’s unbiased opinion.

He was having a perfectly normal day too! He bought himself a tea (now discarded somewhere on the sidewalk he was stolen from), he was on time for work (key word was), he had everything ready to go. But now, he’s here. Being rescued by the vigilante duo of Hotguy and Cuteguy.

Cuteguy is nowhere to be seen at the moment, so for now, it was just Mumbo and Hotguy, who is looking at him with uncertainty.

“Sir?” Hotguy asks again, “Do I need to take you to a hospital?”

“No! No, of course not!” Mumbo blurted out, partially panicked. His heart is beating violently in his chest for reasons he unfortunately understands all too well.

He has a crush on Hotguy.

But honestly, who wouldn’t?! He’s Hotguy for Heaven’s sake!

One might even call him a superfan. Mumbo kept that hidden as best he could though, his friends had no idea how much Hotguy and CuteGuy merch he had. He has a very strict rule around his place that people are not allowed to come by unannounced, only so he has enough time to hide all of his merchandise away.

If he’s honest, he’s probably had a crush on Hotguy ever since his first calendar came out. By the grace of some otherworldly being, he managed to get his hands on one when they first went on sale. Once that baby arrived at his house, he may or may not have gone through the whole thing multiple times to admire all the photos. Mumbo’s favorite one just so happened to be on his birth month, a pretty shot of Hotguy sitting on the ledge of a building, the sunset in front of him as it settled below the city in brilliant shades of pink and orange and yellow.

Not to mention, there just so happened to be another photo of Hotguy shirtless. Which Mumbo could barely look at without becoming flustered.

“I- just a little dazed from being kidnapped is all!” Mumbo says quickly. It’s a partial lie, but Hotguy surely wouldn’t be able to tell.

“Do you have any friends or family I can take you to for support?” HotGuy asks next, his brows pitched in concern behind his visor.

“No- well I do- but I can take myself over to them!” Mumbo stuttered out, his brain kept screaming ‘ALERT! ALERT! SOUND THE ALARMS, INSANELY HOT PERSON WITHIN OUR PROXIMITY. EVERYBODY PANIC!!!!’ Which wasn’t very helpful at this moment.

HotGuy smiles at him, making Mumbo’s knees wobble dangerously, “if you’re sure… though I’d really hate to leave you alone after a traumatic experience.”

“HotGuy!” Another voice shouted, “where’s the-” CuteGuy came into view, catching sight of Mumbo and cutting himself off. He seemed relieved. “Oh, thank the Watchers.”

If Mumbo’s brain wasn’t screaming before, it certainly is now. ‘ALERT. EMERGENCY UPDATE. TWO EXTREMELY ATTRACTIVE MEN HAVE APPEARED IN FRONT OF US. THIS IS NOT A DRILL. DO NOT REMAIN CALM.’

Mumbo couldn’t even bring himself to speak at the moment, too caught up in staring at both HotGuy and CuteGuy side by side.

“Sir?” CuteGuy asks cautiously, gently taking Mumbo’s shoulder, when Mumbo doesn’t respond (due to the words dying in his throat) he asks towards HotGuy, “we can’t leave him like this, did he tell you about any friends or family we can take him to for support?”

“What do you think I was trying to do?” HotGuy replied, his tone light so as to not be taken seriously, “he keeps insisting that he’s fine but I don’t believe him either.”

Okay, he has to say something before these two take him to a hospital.

“I’m fine! Really!” He finally manages to blurt out, though his voice cracks and betrays his panic. “I can walk myself home! Or to my friends! Or to work! Goodbye now!”

Mumbo turned to walk away, but was faced with a wall directly behind him. Ah. I appear to be cornered. I forgot HotGuy brought me into an alley.

Slowly, he turns back around, his face burning as he recognizes both of the vigilantes trying to hold back laughter.

Mumbo cleared his throat, “I just need to uh- scoot past you if you don’t mind.” Embarrassingly, his voice cracked and shook, but by this point he’s determined to go to his work and sulk at his failure to leave a good impression on the only major crushes he’s ever had.

Mumbo ducks his head as he squeezes past them, quickly rushing headfirst into the light foot traffic of the sidewalk.

He mutters apologies for bumping into someone, but he keeps up the pace. Not slowing for a second as he made his way to work.

There’s no way he can skip out on working right now. He needs a distraction from this embarrassment. Besides, pretty much all of his friends are too busy to console him right now. Though he can probably complain to Tango or Impulse about it. Maybe even Cub if he’s not too busy.

——End——

That’s all I have for the chapter so far! Honestly it’s a pretty good start in my unbiased opinion (I’m very biased)

BUT AHHH I LOVE THIS AU SO MUCH I NEED TO EXPLODE

THANK YOU DDVAU FOR INSPIRING A NEW FANFIC IDEA FOR ME TO FOCUS ON

I HOPE OTHER PEOPLE LIKE THIS AS MUCH AS I DO BUT EVEN THEN IM WRITING THIS FOR ME AND WHOEVER LIKES IT TOO

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inkedbydesire · 2 months ago

Text

Can’t Let Go (Pt 3)

Jimmy Uso x Black Fem Reader

(Part 1)

(Part 2)

A/N: This is inspired by an Adele song called “Can’t Let Go.” Please give it a listen if you’ve never heard it. It will enhance your reading experience (I hope 😂).

youtube

Warnings: None

Summary: A single letter set everything in motion, and now, after two years, you're finally facing the man who shattered your heart. With only a few days to prepare you muster up the courage to face him. What happens when old wounds and festering emotions resurface after all of this time?

Word Count: 2.7k

A/N: My consistency SUCKS but this is a filler chapter to let the people who are reading this story know that I’m still here no matter how long it takes. And I’m working on wrapping up Extortion too. Plus I have yet another Jimmy idea that I need to get off 😂 …… but I apologize in advance for any typos or grammatical errors I may have missed during my proofreading.

Sidenote: Adele’s “Can’t Let Go” inspires the overall story, but here are 4 more songs to describe Y/N’s feelings. Feel free to give them a listen if you want. I think it will enhance your reading experience (I hope).

Tagging: @empressdede @amandairene88 @mindairy

************************************************************************

Tuesday 8:17 p.m. Jon's New Number: I'll be there Friday. Just tell me when and where.

Wednesday 9:04 p.m. Jon's New Number: Y/N?

Thursday 11:27 a.m. Jon's New Number: I don't know why you haven't responded yet. But Y/N I'm not trying to pressure you or anything. I just hope you haven't changed your mind on me. Either way, let me know.

"You've already opened the can of worms. Ignoring him now would be pointless."

Jade's voice startled you, abruptly snatching you out of your thoughts. Through the chaos swirling around your head you hadn't even heard her come back from the bathroom, let alone creep up behind the couch to read over your shoulder. Reflexively, you hit the lock button on your phone, shutting out yet another one of Jonathan's texts. You had forgotten just how persistent he could be when he wanted something.

"Shut up, Jade. This is all your fault anyway," you muttered, your head sinking into your hands. The accusation was half-hearted, but your bubbling frustration needed a target, and Jade was an easy one. The perfect scapegoat so you didn't have to face the fact that you did this. Your eagerness to read Jonathan's letter set all of this in motion. And now you had to deal with the consequences of your actions.

Since receiving his "I'll be there Friday" text Tuesday night your thoughts had been a storm, and you had no idea how to quiet them. It wasn't supposed to happen this soon.

Jonathan wasn't supposed to be trying to see you this fucking soon.

"Girl, please. How is this my fault?" Jade asked as she flopped onto the couch beside you, crossing her legs underneath herself.

"When we talked about Jonathan the other day, I just said what you needed to hear—because you did need to hear it. But I didn't think you would go and contact him that same day and I damn sure didn't think he would drop everything to be on a plane three days later. I'm just as surprised as you."

"I know, Jade. My bad." You sighed, rubbing your temples as her words cut through your defensiveness.

"It's just that it was an impulse decision. After talking to you and then Josh, I decided that maybe I did need to have at least one conversation with him. And I knew if I didn't reach out that night, I never would. If I gave myself more time to think, I knew I would keep ignoring it and ignoring him like I've been doing. But I didn't think he'd want to meet up this fast. Hell, I didn't even think he would have the time to come out here this quick."

The realization hit again, sharp and heavy: Jonathan would be in Florida tomorrow.

Tomorrow?!?

Before everything hit the fan, you had known Jonathan for over ten years. And while in a relationship with him, you got to experience firsthand his relentless life as a pro-wrestler. The traveling, the grueling schedules, and the constant demands. So when you told him Monday night that if he ever found himself in Florida, you'd sit down and talk, it had been a calculated offer. You thought you'd have weeks, maybe even months, to prepare.

Not a few measly days.

You hadn't seen him in two years and now you were just supposed to be ready to see him tomorrow.

"He didn't waste any time, did he?" Jade's voice softened. "But honestly, Y/N, he's been waiting two years for a moment like this. I get his urgency. And I think, despite everything, you want to see him too. Otherwise, you wouldn't have reached out or even opened that letter in the first place. And I'm telling you this as your best friend not as a therapist. I know how much you hate it when I do that. "

You didn't respond allowing her words to sink in.

"And like I already told you I'm glad you read his letter," she continued, nudging you gently, "Look, I know this is quicker than you expected. But you can handle it. Ignoring him hasn't worked and you can't run from everything that reminds you of him for the rest of your life. Now it's time to face it."

You exhaled slowly and sat back against the couch cushions, looking over at Jade.

"You're right" you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

"I always am" she smirked, earning the first genuine smile you'd managed in days.

"See? Relax, Y/N. It's just Jonathan. He's not that special to be bothering you like this." Jade added.

Just Jonathan.

Just Jonathan, who you had been in love with since the first time he spoke to you in that hallway when you were sixteen.

Just Jonathan, who helped put the pieces of your heart back together after Trevor shattered it.

And Just Jonathan, who turned around and broke the heart he helped mend all over again. And now, somehow, you were supposed to look him in the eyes tomorrow.

You didn't know how you would manage it, but you would. You had to.

"Now let's figure out the when and where before that man loses his mind," Jade said bringing you back to the task at hand.

"It'll have to be here," you replied, gesturing vaguely to your apartment. You'd thought it over during the rare moments when you weren't internally spiraling.

"Here?" Jade raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah .... we can't talk in public..... not about this. Not with him being Jimmy Uso." The thought of navigating a private conversation in a public space with cameras and fans looming was impossible. You had no desire to even attempt it.

But Jade still looked skeptical.

"What?" you asked.

"I just don't think you should be alone with him after all this time. Suppressed emotions have a way of coming out in messy, unexpected ways. I don't want him to take advantage of your vulnerability."

"What you think I'ma end up in his arms or something?" you scoffed, the idea absurd. You didn't even like Jonathan as a person anymore or at least you didn't think you did.

There was no way you would let him anywhere near you.

"It's a possibility," she said, unflinchingly honest.

"Well I don't plan on that happening," you said firmly.

"People don't usually plan for moments like that. But promise me that you'll stand your ground. You're in control, Y/N. He's been waiting to talk to you for the last two years, not the other way around. Okay?"

"I hear you, Jade. I got it," you told her.

You had already mapped out your plan. You would take a sick day from work tomorrow cause you knew that you needed to devote that whole day to the Jonathan ordeal. Then you would spend the rest of the weekend that you thankfully had off recovering.

You had it under control.

"I got it." You repeated the words, but the more you said them, the more you realized you weren't just trying to convince her.

But still, as unwanted doubts slowly started to settle over you, you picked up your phone and texted Jonathan the address to your apartment and told him he could come by at 9. You had no idea when his plane would land, and you had no desire to ask. But 9 seemed like a reasonable time. It would give you both a chance to prepare for what was coming.

********************************************

Friday morning and afternoon arrived and slid past you in a surreal blur. You busied yourself with errands, cleaning, and futile tasks, desperately trying to keep your mind off the impending reunion. But no matter how hard you fought against it, the thought of seeing Jonathan crept back in during every quiet moment.

And his ceaseless text updates didn’t help. He kept you informed when he checked into the hotel and when he picked up his rental car, each message marking an unwelcomed reminder that he was on his way to you. You begged time to slow down, but before you knew it, the clock read 8:10 p.m. You were sitting at your vanity, staring at your reflection, an anxious storm brewing in your chest.

Jonathan's imminent arrival drew your attention to every detail about yourself. Your hair refused to cooperate; no matter how you adjusted your dress, it didn’t feel right. To make matters worse, you’d somehow convinced yourself to do your makeup, as if Jonathan deserved to see you at your best.

“What are you even doing?” you muttered in frustration, the reflection mirroring your inner turmoil.

Grabbing a makeup wipe, you scrubbed away the foundation, opting for simplicity, just a clear coat of lip gloss and nothing more. You weren’t going to make a special effort for him. Not after everything. Leaving your bedroom, you wandered into the kitchen, where the wine cabinet beckoned to you louder than it had all day. A glass or two might calm your nerves, but you stopped yourself. Emotions were already going to run high tonight, and you didn’t need alcohol amplifying them.

At 8:30, you sat on the couch to wait.

At 8:45, a message from Jade lit up your phone.

Jade 🤞🏾: Good luck, Y/N. I love you, girl. Remember, you’re in control.

By 9:00, your heart was racing. He would be here any minute.

By 9:15, you reassured yourself that it was okay if he was running a little late; you didn’t expect him to knock on your door at 9 on the dot.

But by 9:30, irritation replaced your nerves. After two years of silence and waiting, after flying all the way here, he had the audacity to be late?

By 9:45, the doorbell rang.

Once.

Twice.

Then three more times back to back like someone was leaning on it.

“What the hell?” you muttered, grabbing your phone and opening the Ring camera app.

It was him.

Jonathan hovered unsteadily in front of the camera, a bouquet of roses clutched in his hand, his broad shoulders just as solid as you remembered. As you took in his appearance, your heart twisted. Those familiar, handsome features were marred by glassy, unfocused eyes that told you everything you needed to know.

He was drunk.

The realization hit harder than you liked. That's why he was so late. He was getting drunk?

Two years. Two fucking years of unresolved issues, guilt, and heartbreak, and this was how he chose to show up? Wasted and late?

As you continued to stare at him through the camera, your emotions ricocheted between anger and disappointment.

He rang the doorbell again, swaying slightly as he adjusted the roses, which were now wilting in his grip. For a few seconds, you considered leaving him out there to stew in his own mess. He obviously didn’t care enough about you to show up sober, and part of you felt vindicated by the thought of refusing him entry. It would serve him right after all this time.

Yet the image of him stumbling back to his car in his current state pricked at your conscience. No matter how you felt, you couldn’t let him hurt himself or someone else—or scar his reputation further with another DUI.

So, against your better judgment, you approached the front door and swung it open.

You were too annoyed to say anything first so you and Jonathan stood in a taut silence, locked in a standoff. You glared at him like he was the last person on earth you wanted to see, and he gawked at you as if you were a figment of his imagination.

“You look good” he slurred into the silence his uncared for compliment falling on deaf ears as you just continued to stare at him.

“These… these are for you,” Jonathan thrusted the roses your way, nearly losing his balance. Then, as if something suddenly occurred to him, he fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a small jewelry box.

“And this,” he mumbled, his voice trailing off.

You took the items silently, your jaw clenched tightly as if trying to contain the flood of emotions threatening to spill. There were a million things you wanted to say, questions to ask, anger to unleash but looking at him now, words felt futile. He wouldn’t understand, not like this.

You hadn’t taken the time to imagine what a reunion with Jonathan would look like but this version would have never crossed your mind. He wasn’t a heavy drinker when you were together; a casual drink on a night out was the extent of it. Witnessing him using alcohol as an escape was not just disappointing but it also hurt your feelings in more ways than you wanted to admit.

Now it was painfully clear that the conversation he had harbored for two long years couldn’t happen tonight. Not with him in this state. He ruined it. You two couldn’t discuss his cheating and your secret abortion with him like this.

But you still had to deal with him because you weren’t going to allow him to leave your apartment until he was sober.

“Jonathan… come in and sit down,” you pushed the anger aside, grounding yourself in the moment as you opened the door wider to grant him entry. He stumbled past you, knocking over a glass vase on the table, which shattered on impact, sending shards of glass cascading across the floor. You winced at the sound but swallowed the reaction, there was no room for that now.

“I'm sorry,” Jonathan muttered, glancing down at the wreckage he had made. He bent over, trying to gather the bits with unsteady hands, but before you could stop him, he stood back and winced. As you looked on you saw that a few jagged pieces of glass were now embedded in his palm, and your heart sank with unexpected and unwelcomed concern.

“Go sit down, Jon, and don’t move,” you instructed sharply, yet your tone held no anger, just deep and exhausting concern for the man you once loved. And still loved you would come to terms with if you gave yourself time enough to dwell on it. As he slumped onto the couch, you quickly rushed to the bathroom to grab your first aid kit. You placed the roses and jewelry box on the counter as you passed through the kitchen. You were confused about your feelings at this point but somewhere in you was compassion for Jonathan being physically hurt. That’s what you focused on the most.

When you returned to the living room, you settled beside him and reached out for his hand. Jonathan’s gaze roamed your face, searching for something, and he complied when you gently took his wrist. Taking a deep breath, you steeled yourself before using a pair of tweezers to remove the slivers of glass from his palm. You could still feel his eyes on you as you picked up a bottle of antiseptic, dampening cotton balls to clean the small cuts.

“Did you miss me at all, Y/N?” Jonathan’s sudden question caught you off guard, and you paused, just for a brief moment, while you continued bandaging him. But you quickly regained your composure.

“We’re not doing that right now,” you stated flatly, disregarding his question completely as you released his hand.

For a few agonizing minutes, the weight of the silence hung in the air. But then Jade’s words about you being in control came rushing back. With that, you knew you had to take charge of the situation.

“Look, Jon, you’ve been drinking. I don’t know what possessed you to think showing up here like this was okay, but I don’t want to talk about anything with you right now,” you told him truthfully, your voice steady.

“ I don’t know… I’ll just… I’ll just leave,” he stammered, attempting to rise but you stopped him.

“You’re not going anywhere. First, you’re going to give me your keys,” you declared holding out your hand, unwavering. He dug into his pocket with his uninjured hand and reluctantly dropped the keys into your palm.

“Now you’re going to lay on this couch and sleep it off. I’m going to my room, and we can try this again in the morning. Do you understand me?” you asked, waiting for him to nod sluggishly.

Without exchanging another word with him, you stood to your feet, grabbing a broom and dustpan to clean up the mess he made while the silence between you was overwhelming. You didn’t know what was going through his mind, but you were relieved that even in his intoxicated state, he didn’t pressure you to talk. He seemed to understand that his arrival tonight was laced with disrespect, and deep down, you hoped he recognized how lucky he was that you hadn’t kicked him out.

By the time you retreated to your bedroom, it was only a little past eleven, but you felt utterly drained, knowing that this train wreck between you and Jonathan was just beginning.

You still had tomorrow to face.

#jimmy uso #jimmy uso fanfiction #jimmy uso x reader #jimmy uso x black reader #jimmy uso x black oc #wwe imagine #black writers #the bloodline x reader

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