The muffled grumble of your snores was a sound Caleb knew as well as his own heartbeat.
Most nights, he didn’t mind. You were dead tired from your job, and it wasn’t like he got to come home with you every day. But tonight, it was a persistent, grinding hum that vibrated through the mattress and directly into his already pounding skull. Caleb sighed, shifting for what felt like the hundredth time – the sheets tangled around both your legs. He’d tried everything: turning on his side, burying his head under a pillow, even counting the seconds between each, adorable snort. Nothing worked. You kept working yourself deeper and deeper into his arms.
“Babe,” he whispered, a soft nudge to your shoulder. “You’re snoring.”
You simply burrowed closer into him, lips smacking together in an incoherent babble.
With heavy lids, he watched the soft outline of your face in the moonlight. You were curled into a perfectly serene ball, hand tucked under your cheek. A small puddle of drool already pooling at the edges of your lips. And the sight of it – of you – safe and sound, and smelling like him, in his own bed, melted the edge off his frustration.
He couldn’t bring himself to jostle you awake now, didn’t have the heart to disrupt your peace.
Slowly, carefully, he eased himself out of bed, mindful of the creaky floorboards. He tiptoed all the way to the living room, a pillow under his arm, as he crashed into the couch. The old thing was lumpy, and the worn, knitted blanket was a poor substitute for the duvet.
The silence, however? Unmatched. It was relieving to the senses, his shoulders finally letting loose of the tension. Within minutes, he felt his body sink into the soft cushions.
A gentle weight settled over his chest moments later, causing Caleb’s eyes to flutter open. Its familiar shape, illuminated by the moonlight, made the hard edges of his heart to soften. There, draped over him, was your sleeping form. You were now curled up on top of him, one leg hooked over his waist, your head nestled in the crook of his neck. Your soft snores, when paired with that longing look on your face – as if being apart even in sleep pained you – no longer seemed to be a bother.
Not when he can feel your warmth, the weight of you like a blanket settling over him.
Caleb smiled, a silly grin that stretched across his face in the dark. He didn’t mind the snores so much now. And he knew deep down anyway, that he couldn’t sleep that well without you, either. Tightening his arms around your body, he fell back into the sweet bliss of contentment. Truly, there was no other place in the world he’d rather be.
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SYPNOSIS: caleb x non!mc, except x is a bit of a stretch. snippet of a much larger fic to come
“Is your wife always so…uptight?” You heard MC mumble.
You don’t know how you found it in yourself to stay out of Caleb’s business until now. Perhaps it was the blinding trust you had for this man, the strong, reliable colonel who had graciously married you, who had signed your marriage certificate with empty eyes. But deep down, you always knew.
From the day you came home from the courthouse, there has always been three in the spaces you occupied with your husband, three at the alter (you wondered if Caleb had imagined it was MC standing in your place on your wedding day), three in the bed (you could even imagine MC lying in empty space inbetween you and Caleb as you slept, and three at the table (at first before Caleb had learnt more about you, the dishes he served were all reminecent of MC’s favourites). You knew MC haunted, haunts, your marriage. But like any good wife, you looked the other way and hoped for the best.
That is, until now.
With your back pressed against the cold marble wall, you listened on to the conversation that Caleb was holding with MC in your living room, after an awkward dinner party to which Caleb had invited MC and her husband, Zayne, to attend.
“No, she’s just…” You heard your husband began, an awkward silence stretching over the expanse of MC’s living room.
I’m just what, Caleb?
“…she’s just emotional, that’s all.”
You heard MC snort. “Emotional? Hardly. I seem to remember that at your wedding, she was ever so meek and crittery, so nervous, so deferent, so grateful to marry the big strong colonel…” She sighed, “And I thought that, y’know, hey! She might do a lot of good for you. She’s like a squeaky mouse, just like another version of me, how I was your ‘pipsqueak’…” Her voice suddenly dropped to a whine.
“I thought maybe you found a better replacement.”
You heard sounds that indicated that Caleb stepped forwards to hug her.
“MC…nothing and nobody could ever replace you.” Caleb said gently, tightening his embrace.
They were silent for a long time. Tears had began to bead in your eyes.
“Well…on that happy note…” MC mumbled, her lips splitting into a wide smile, one hand coming to rest on her stomach, the other intertwining with Caleb’s.
[ I've seen how Caleb is often described to be a sex god without any experience at every first time (and I eat it up) but I also think we should discuss the other side of it. Kinda of an addition to my previous post ]
Let's discuss virgin Caleb that since he hit puberty has been struggling with his own desires and when he finally received the green light from you it's like a dam was unleashed.
This man is BEYOND sensitive. And so damn needy too, to the point that greedy would be a much more suitable word for him.
He started having wet dreams about you after the first kiss and the walk of shame to the bathroom every morning to wash his boxers is very real.
He's got a leaking and painful boner every time you kiss him for a little too long and he can't get enough of the taste of your tongue on his.
Having you on his lap is both bliss and torture. He'd try to hide the fact he's hard the first few times, not wanting to scare or pressure you, but each time your hips pressed down against his boner he'd be rolling his eyes back into his head and forcing down a groan.
I'm a dry-humping truther and I firmly believe the first time he came with you was by rubbing himself against your leg like the dog he is while you two were making out.
Caleb is mortified about his first experience with a blow job and he wishes you'd forget such an embarrassing moment of him.
But in all honesty, it wasn't his fault. You offered out of nowhere, which left him no time to mentally prepare, and just by having you kneeling down in front of him with your hand wrapped around his cock had him gripping the edge of the desk behind him, to the point the wood creaked at the sheer pressure.
And when you licked along the precum that was dripping down his length and pushed your tongue against his swollen tip he came and he came hard. His cum coating your face, getting onto some parts of your hair and in your mouth.
It goes without saying that he spent the rest of the day apologizing, but the sight of you swallowing his cum that had gotten onto your lips made him dizzy and hard again.
I'm sure he'll be fantastic in bed eventually, but your first time is a mess. Literally. Caleb is so eager to explore the body he's desired for so long and to please you as much as you do to him.
Everywhere he can reach is littered with dark and very obvious hickeys.
He'd have your hands pinned next or above your head so you couldn't touch him otherwise he knows he won't last at all.
Though, all his efforts bear no fruit because the second this man bottoms out inside of your warm and tight insides he is cumming again.
His body would tremble as he held his entire weight on his forearms to not crush you and he bit down on his lips.
After switching condoms, you'd have to get on top while his shaky legs recover from his orgasm and oh gods he's really trying his fucking best right now.
He's panting against your neck when you roll your hips and cause a loud moan to escape his lips, followed by his strong arms wrapping around your middle like a bear hug as if to keep himself grounded. It's rather cute, really.
He'd come with you this time, if not a little before from you clenching around his cock and the sweet whimpers because he's oh so very sensitive.
His hands would feel up your thighs then shamelessly grab your ass while he looked up at you, loving the view of you on top of him and he's got the cockiest grin you've ever seen on his face.
Now we're talking about someone with YEARS of suppressed sexual desires so you better brace yourself because he's far from done.
Caleb would use the entire night to learn everything he possibly can about your body, besides what he already knew. Each sweet spot that make you cry so good for him and just how deep he can hit inside of you to have you gasping for more.
He's sloppy, he's desperate, he's pathetic and it's messy. He'd ask between shaky breaths and his tone is almost whiny "Does that good? I need you to talk to me sweetheart, c'mon."
"Tell me what you want and I'll do it. Teach me how to make you feel good."
"Can I go deeper? Fuck- Please? Please? you feel so good-"
"I can't stop— Just one more, I'll make it good for you too, please, gods please, I need more of you or I'll go insane."
Caleb is the type of pathetic loser that would get a nosebleed while he pounded into you for the nth time.
He'd kiss you when you showed concern, spit trickling down your chin as the taste of iron would spread on your tongue before he pulled away to admire the sight of you completely disheveled for him. Because of him.
He licks the few drops on your chest, the crimson smearing with the sweat glistening on your skin and leaving a trail that only added to the perverted satisfaction that you're his.
Almost every position is crossed off the list in a single night and he's willing to do anything you ask of him. You want to ride him again? He's sat. You want him to hit it from the back? He's got you on your hands and knees already. You want him to eat you out? Please, by all means take a seat on his face. You have complete control over everything that happens most of the time.
It's morning by the time you two pass out, or run out of condoms in the box honestly, but you can fully expect him to try something when he gets into the shower with you the next day. Hey, he's just helping you clean up like a good boyfriend should ;) .
summary: tonight is a blood moon, the night when werewolves mate for life. back in your tiny town on break from college, you don't suspect anything to happen. but when the moon's mysterious glow draws you deep into the forest, you're in for a sharp-clawed treat.
contains: nsfw, smut, monsterfucking, knotting, unprotected sex (don't be like them!), p in v, oral (f!receiving), lowk primal kink, lowk dubcon (not really), about 8 pages of plot before porn (promise it's worth it), blood and biting, lowk yandere caleb, implied rutting, your bestie is a masc lesbian (and a werewolf), your dad died, caleb is also a mechanic, omegaverse-werewolf au fusion, sex on camera, 9.2k words
The buttery scent of pancakes wafts through the small house, luring you downstairs to the kitchen. Waltzing in, your mom is at the stove, flipping breakfast.
“Morning, Mom,” you say from behind her.
Turning around, she smiles at you warmly and responds, “Good morning, darling.” You set your tote bag down on the island bench.
“Need any help?” You offer.
She shakes her head and insists, “All good, baby. Take a seat. Breakfast will be ready soon.” Obedient, you pull out one of the bench’s stools, the legs scraping against the tiled floor. The sound makes you wince and sends chills spiralling throughout your system.
Sitting down, you prop your phone against the fruit bowl, turn on the camera, and start fixing your hair. But it refuses to be tamed. Ponytail, pigtails, half-up half-down, and you still look like you did when you were six. Grumbling, you decide on a low tail. Rat, it is today.
“Did you have a good sleep, love bug?” Your mother asks while plating the pancakes.
“Yeah, it was alright,” you say lazily while locking your phone and slipping it in your back pocket; the final syllable gets caught in a yawn. With a melodic chuckle, she sets down the steaming pancakes in front of you. They’re all funny-shaped, golden-brown and slathered in butter, making your cholesterol levels screech in terror. You’ve been so good lately, but a little treat won’t hurt, right?
The maple syrup clinks against the marble bench, alongside freshly cut strawberries and cookies and cream ice cream.
“Mom!” You exclaim as she dumps a spoonful of the cold creamy goodness on your plate.
“What?” She laughs. “You love ice cream and pancakes.”
“Mom,” you sigh. “You know, having this much sugar in the morning isn’t good for you. What if I crash out by midday?”
Filling the seat beside you and scooping out some ice cream for herself, she counters, “Consider it as your motivation for today.”
You grumble, “Fine,” while grabbing a handful of strawberry slices and dumping them on your pancakes; you’re confident they’ll make up for your lack of dietary discipline.
Your Mom has a mega sweet tooth. Always has and always will. She used to make you a breakfast like this almost every weekend when you were a kid. But as the years passed, life got busy, and so did she. The last time she went all out for you like this must have been a year ago, just before Dad died.
Ah, the ol’ man. You miss him. Not a day goes by that you don’t think of him, with his eccentric ways and big heart. You were always a daddy’s girl growing up. Every night, he would tell you a bedtime story. But instead of a fictional tale about glamorous princesses and heroic knights, he would tell you myths about werewolves.
But aren’t werewolves fictional? Your Dad sure didn’t think so. They were his life’s work. That’s why he moved here anyway, to your tiny town surrounded by dense woodland. He believed that they lurked amongst the townspeople and investigated several werewolf sightings and suspected activities during his career.
When he died, he left all of his precious journals and unfinished articles to you. He taught you everything you know about a supernatural entity you’re uncertain even exists. Mother says that Dad got too close to the source and was silenced, but you don’t believe that. It’s all some hokey-pokey bullshit to justify the death of a good man.
Mourning his loss brought you and Mom together, but it also tore you apart. And with the significance of tonight, the hairs on the back of your neck are standing up.
Her fork clinks against her plate as she says earnestly, “I want you to be careful when you go into town, alright? And especially when you come back tonight.”
“Mom, it’s just a blood moon,” you huff.
“Exactly. After your Dad died—”
“I know, I know. You can’t lose me. I can’t lose you either, okay?” You sigh, glancing over at her grim face. She stares at you, assessing the weight of your words before returning to her half-eaten pancakes. You do the same, gobbling them up, otherwise you’ll be late for your hangout.
Today, you’re seeing your best friend, Gwen, to get some footage for your film project due at the end of the summer holidays. You’re a year into your degree and have decided to take media production as a free elective this semester. And oh boy, what a mistake that was.
Don’t get me wrong, film-making, podcasting, and photography are cool. But you would rather have a thesis paper due then spend your time off filming shit and compiling it into a short piece.
Your theme is: the sublimity of the mundane. Not an enthralling choice, but you were not about to pick The cyclical nature of existence or The futility of infatuation. That second one, though, you could talk about. A little too much for your liking.
Licking your lips, you stand up and carry your plate to the sink. After quickly washing your hands and fixing your outfit, you grab your bag and run to the door.
“Bye, Mom!” You call as you lock the front door before hopping into your car and reversing out of the driveway.
You and Gwen meet at the heart of the town: the moon statue. The copper and bronze have long since oxidised, turning the monument a deep green. It’s a sight to behold, a wolf howling at the full moon. Pulling out your compact camera, you hit record and tape an eye-level shot of the statue. It’s mundane enough, right? Something beautiful that’s long since lost its shine. And yet, it possesses this magnetic quality.
Lowering your camera, your eyes are glued to the craters of the moon and the wolf’s curves. Unprompted, it calls to you, whispering incoherently in your ears. But you understand.
Do not turn away.
You can hear the wolf howling, its cry to the celestial body above. The pattering of paws on the soil, chasing unity as darkness consumes the land once more.
Mindlessly, you twirl the wolf pendant on your necklace between your fingers. It was given to you by your father on your 18th birthday— the age he said, when werewolves could discover their life-long mates and create everlasting bonds with them. You’d be lying if you said you’ve never thought about the guys your age in town who might be looking for their mate. And fantasised about someone specifically discovering that you’re theirs.
Your thoughts are interrupted by a poke to your shoulder. You gaze up and grin immediately.
“Gwen!” You throw yourself into her muscular arms, basking in her warmth. She giggles in your ear and hugs you tightly before drawing back.
Squeezing your upper arms, she grins, “Missed me, huh?” You shove her playfully, both of you laughing as you start walking along the main shopping strip.
“How’s college been?” She asks. You roll your eyes, making her laugh.
“Busy. But good. It’s just this assignment, you know? I’m actually cooked,” you admit.
She chuckles, “You’ll be fine, Y/n. Smartest girl I know.” You place your finger on your lips, shushing her as you narrowly avoid an elderly couple walking hand-in-hand.
“And you?” You prompt her. Gwen shrugs.
“Oh, come on! How’s your apprenticeship? How’s the shop?”
She huffs, “Same as always. Mr Ropen's car broke down last week—”
“Again?!” You ask in shock. She nods, smirking. You two veer into the local organic café.
Stepping inside, the AC blows cool air over you, providing sweet relief from the hot summer air. You whip out your camera and start recording the food display window and the staff at work.
Gwen stands behind you, sighing, “I told him to give up on it, but he’s a stubborn ol’ codger, ya know?”
You giggle, “I know.” The movement shakes the video a little, so you stop recording and slot your camera back in your pocket. You two waltz up to the counter and peruse the menu, only to order the exact same thing as always.
“A double espresso caramel frappé for me and an iced mocha for the lady,” Gwen winks at the worker on the till.
“Gwen,” you bemoan as she taps her card all cocky. The staff member doesn’t even bat an eyelash as your bestie wraps her arm around your shoulders and leads you over to the little table in the corner by the window; the one you two sit at whenever you come here.
She insists that you sit down while she attends to the drinks, walking away before you have time to protest. Sighing, you scoot closer to the little round table and gaze out the window.
The sun glints off car roofs and the jewellery of passersby. You see familiar faces, like your eighth-grade English teacher, and Gwen’s ex-girlfriend (one of them anyway), as well as unfamiliar faces. It’s been almost a year since you’ve been back here. The last time you returned, it was for your father’s funeral and to support your mother afterwards.
The cloudless sky hunts down your gloominess, vanquishing it as Gwen returns with your mocha in hand.
“Thanks, babe,” you say teasingly.
She grins across from you, “You're welcome, princess.” Taking a sip from your paper straw, you’re met with sugary bliss. You moan in pleasure, giving her twinkling eyes and paying compliments to the chef.
You two chat about life for a while: getting older, inflation, your latest obsessions. Your particularly animated speech about your latest TV show is interrupted by Gwen’s blaring ringtone.
“Sorry,” she apologises as she answers the call. On the other end, you make out that deep rumble you’ve been trying not to think about.
“Fuck off, Caleb. It’s my day off. I told you not to bother me,” your friend snaps.
The awkwardness sets in as you start looking around, attempting to give her some privacy but also yearning to hear Caleb’s voice. Pulling out your camera, you start filming your empty cups and pan to a view of the café.
All the while, Gwen spits out, “You’re not my alph— boss. You’re not my boss, Caleb, so get fucked.” Clearing your throat, you press the stop button and place your camera on the table. You prop it up and hope that the lens is focused on you before hitting record again.
“No! I don’t care if you told the client it would be done by tomorrow. I’m not coming in!” She abruptly stands up, and your eyes go wide seeing Gwen’s rapidly heaving chest. Her chair clanks on the floor, drawing the patrons’ curious eyes as she gives you a look before heading outside.
Several minutes pass before your best friend returns, and she seems positively peeved.
Plonking down in her chair (which you picked up while she was gone), she runs her hand down her face as she grumbles, “Sorry, babe. Caleb’s got a stick up his ass today. I gotta head to the shop ‘n finish up on an ignition coil change. D’you wanna come?”
“Will he be there?” You ask, nervous for her answer.
She groans, “’Course he will, fuckin’ prick.” Chuckling forcedly, you agree to accompany her to the shop.
It’s a quick walk back to your cars, and you tail her through the few streets of your small town. As Xia Automotive comes into view, you’re positive your soul has ascended. You should be thrilled to finally see him, the man you’ve had a crush on since you were 12 years old. Instead, dread pools in your tummy.
Entering the driveway, you park in the back corner. Cutting the engine, you throw your keys on the dash as you mentally prepare for what’s about to happen.
Allow me to clarify, nothing’s happened between you and Caleb.
And that’s the problem.
You’ve been in love with him for years now, but it’s always been one-sided (or so you think). Every time he’s ever acknowledged your presence (eleven times; every single one is recorded in your diary), it was in this older brother manner. And fair enough, he is a few years your senior. But you’re not a little girl anymore. You’re a young woman and you have womanly needs.
Leaving town for college wasn’t only about pursuing a career, but also about getting some breathing room from your parents and Caleb. Moving away gave you the chance to re-evaluate your feelings for him and release them. However, that wasn’t as effective as you were hoping it to be.
You’ve never met a man who rivals Caleb. To you, they merely lurk in his shadow. And it’s not just you. Much of the town’s young ladies loooooooovvve Caleb. He’s so charismatic and friendly. He has this way of making you feel like you’re the only one whenever you’re with him; it’s intoxicating. And obviously, he’s the most handsome hunk around.
There’s just one more problem: Caleb’s strictly celibate. You might be thinking, a man like that? There’s no way. But as far as you know, he’s never… been around, if you know what I mean. No dating, no girlfriends, no hook-ups, nothing. Not for a lack of admirers, but because he claims that he’s simply waiting for the right person.
Bullshit.
“Remember, Y/n. He’s gay,” you say to yourself with your eyes closed, hyping yourself up.
“He’s definitely gay. 110% gay, but in the closet. And he thinks you’re a weirdo.” You add that last part for a confidence boost. Opening your eyes, you gaze at yourself in the rearview mirror with renewed vigour.
“He’s gay,” you murmur with the finality of an affirmation.
Stepping out of your car, you walk over to the shop’s front and duck inside the garage. There are a couple of cars on hoists, while others are missing bumpers or car doors. Avoiding the myriad of tools and tyres, you find Gwen.
She’s in the cramped office, going off her nut at—
“You fuckin’ asshole!” She yells while slamming the door open. Storming over to you, she pulls you into her side and squishes your cheeks together. It’s too late to run now. Out walks Caleb. A furrow in his brow, sweat dripping down his soot-covered arms, black tank and straight cut jeans that cling to his meaty thighs.
You can’t stop your eyes from trailing over his delicious form as your bestie shouts, “Look who I was hanging out with! You interrupted our romantic date!”
Caleb scoffs, “Please, Gwen. Like you’re her type.” He folds his arms across his chest, muscles flexing as he grits his teeth (you almost drool). Those sleep-deprived eyes rest on you, drinking you in as much as you did him. You feel hot beneath his gaze, the blood rising to your cheeks despite your efforts to will it away. The last thing you want is to look like a red-faced loser in front of your crush!
Gwen almost growls, “I could be.”
“Gwen!” You squeak.
Her callused fingers press harder into your cheeks as she snickers, “Don’t forget, Caleb. We’re best friends. There’s nothing we don’t know about each other.” Leaning down, she nudges your temple with her nose, grinning widely. The sight makes the vein in Caleb’s jaw pop. He’s clenching his teeth so hard that you think for a moment you can hear them grating against each other.
“Gwen,” you whine. The sound is needy, erotic, almost. It makes Caleb’s eyes widen. Only he should be making you elicit those kinds of sounds—
“You proved your point, okay! You’re super hot!” Chuckling throatily, your best friend releases you. You stumble forward, but catch yourself quickly. The way Caleb steps closer reflexively doesn’t go unnoticed.
Gwen ruffles your hair as she beams, “Why don’t you tell Caleb about how we used to shower together?”
“Gwen!!” You shriek, certain that your face is so red you could tell people you just ran a marathon.
Caleb’s voice booms over the buzzing of drills and clattering of ratchets as he commands, “Go to your station, Gwendolyn.” Ouch.
“Tch. Whatever,” she grumbles, trudging off to a beat-up blue car nearby.
For a long moment, you avoid Caleb’s piercing gaze. He’s gay, he thinks you’re a weirdo, he’s gay, he thinks you’re a weirdo, you repeat in your mind.
You flinch as he says sternly, “Is that true?” Gazing up at him, you blink dumbly.
“What? Oh, uh, well, yeah. I mean, like, we um showered together when we were kids, yeah,” you reply sheepishly. If Caleb didn’t think you were a weirdo before this, he must think you’re one now.
He presses on with, “Just when you were kids?”
You laugh awkwardly, “Well, duh, like, we’re not… involved if that’s what you’re thinking.” Caleb nods, analysing your words while scrutinising your behaviour. How you shift uncomfortably on your feet and gnaw at your lower lip. That drives him up the wall, especially with the blood moon tonight. Finally, he huffs, his shoulders slumping and features relaxing as he draws closer to you.
He seems to be back to his usual self as he remarks, “I didn’t know you were back in town.”
“Yeah,” you mumble, rubbing your neck as you glance down at your feet.
“Miss me?” He jokes. But it’s not really a joke, neither to you nor to him.
“Of course I missed you,” you respond with a little too much sincerity. You hope it goes over his head (and unfortunately for you, it doesn’t).
Fidgeting with your wolf pendant, you say nervously, “I should, uh, let you get back to work. You seem really busy.” Caleb shakes his head, shifting even closer to you. There’s barely a hair’s breadth between your bodies now, making your heart race.
“You've been okay?” He asks, concerned. His hand raises, long fingers just touching a loose strand of your hair.
“You look a bit tired,” he states. Pulling back, you don’t miss the hurt flickering in his violet eyes.
You brush it off with, “I could say the same about you.” The crease in his brow returns as his hand drops to his side.
“What’s with the attitude?” He counters, an undercurrent of annoyance in his tone. You shake your head and avert your eyes to the office behind him. Pin board with paperwork, cluttered desk— Caleb moves to the side, blocking your view of the private room and filling it with himself instead.
You bluff, “There’s no attitude. I just don’t wanna bother you. Like, we’re not even friends, you know?”
“Can you even hear yourself right now?” He retorts, jaw tight.
Meeting his harsh gaze, you mumble, “What?”
“We’re not even friends? Is that what you think?” He reaches out and grabs your upper arm, squeezing the fat and muscle firmly in his rough palms.
“Caleb—”
“Forget it.” He lets go of you as quickly as he took hold of you and moves back, putting much-needed distance between you two.
He sighs, pissed off with himself, “I’m sorry, pips. Just had a hard day. Why don’t I order you some takeout? It’s already one.”
“Oh, no, that’s okay,” you try to convince him, waving your hands in a dismissive gesture. But it doesn’t get through as he whips out his phone and starts dialling your favourite noodle place (there’s only one in town). He orders your favourite, unprompted and recited from memory (one conversation you had when you were in ninth grade and were asking him to show you how to use chopsticks properly). Flashing you a captivating grin, he leaves you to your own devices as he resumes fitting a new car door.
You dart over to Gwen and scold her for making you two look like a couple in front of Caleb. But she doesn’t apologise. Instead, she rambles about how much of dick he is until your food arrives. The delivery driver drops it off by the front counter, and you pick it up from the receptionist.
Heading back over to your best friend, she grumbles, “How come you get to eat and I don’t?”
You giggle, “’Cause you’re working.”
“Mouthy shit.” That makes you laugh harder.
The rest of the afternoon goes by smoothly. After enjoying your takeout, you bid Gwen adieu and even stop briefly to say goodbye to Caleb and his Dad, who’s the head mechanic and owner of the shop. Next, you drive around town, stopping at all of the spots you think are worthy of being filmed for your project. You even snag a still of the sunset over the trees from a nearby lookout point.
By the time you return home, it’s dark out and you’re absolutely exhausted. Taking off your outside clothes, you flop down on your bed before groaning about showering.
The night is balmy, heat sticking to your freshly cleaned and moisturised skin as you pull on your sleep shorts and a tank top. You feel uncomfortable, suffocated, even as your ceiling fan cooks you like a chicken in a fan-forced oven.
As the sky gets even darker, the humidity shows no signs of letting up. It’s around 8pm when you decide to record an update for your short film. You turn your drawers inside out and search your day clothes anxiously for your camera. Sighing, you grab your car keys and make your way downstairs, reasoning that you must have left it in your car earlier. You slip on your slides before heading out.
Unlocking your car, it doesn’t take long to find your lost possession (it was in the glovebox). Straightening up, you lock your vehicle and start walking back to the house when you see it.
High in the sky, shimmering like a ruby… or a pearl dipped in blood. The moon, a total lunar eclipse. It takes your breath away. Magical. Your hands move on their own, pressing record and holding the camera up to capture the natural wonder gazing down upon you. It calls to you, something buried, primal.
Come closer, child.
You obey mindlessly, like an angel to God’s commands. Your feet carry you into the woods beside your house, through the shadowy shrubbery with no map. Your heart pounds in your chest, the rushing of blood deafeningly loud in your ears as you avoid trees and duck beneath branches.
Holding your camera steady, you film your journey into the wilderness. You seem to know the way; some ancient knowledge awakens and guides you to the moon. Time seems to stop as the woodland chatter surrounds you, the crickets’ croaking and occasional hoots not instilling the fear inside you that they should be.
Soon, you reach a small clearing. It’s not even a clearing, more like a small circle of unoccupied grass in the midst of thriving vegetation. You stand there, camera facing skyward as you zoom in on the celestial body above. The stars decorate the black sky, but their light is inferior to the central glowing beauty.
The animals’ buzz quietens, near silence rippling throughout your surroundings before you hear it. Twigs snapping and the violent rustling of shrubs. You have no time to react before it’s upon you.
Fur, brown fur, you make out in the dim moonlight. But such a discovery is marred by your screams as it slams into you, sending you to the ground as sharp teeth sink into your neck.
Blood, your blood, coating its muzzle as it rears back. In a frenzy, the creature bites you again and again. Its teeth carve its mark into your neck and collarbones before trailing down one arm. The woodland hum picks back up, loud but not loud enough to mask your cries of pain.
Rich, purple eyes lock on yours as it chomps on your bicep. Your very life force forms a ring around its gums and trickles down those sharp canines as it lets up.
“A-ah,” you groan, tears rolling down your cheek as it stares at you, long pink tongue lapping at your spilled blood.
It growls, like it’s defending its territory. Your sorrow obscures your vision, but make no mistake. It’s clear what creature has attacked you.
A werewolf.
Dipping its head, the wolf licks up your arm and décolletage, not letting one drop of blood go to waste. Pain throbs throughout your entire being, yet the repetitive lapping of your wounds is soothing, almost like it’s cleaning them. How considerate.
The creature paws at your tank top, sharp claws tearing it to shreds. You scream as the hot air hits your exposed skin, some of your most prized possessions on show. Your arms shoot up to your chest and cover your breasts, but the wolf doesn’t like that. It growls at you, teeth bared and red drool dripping from the corners of its mouth.
You shake your head frantically, but it doesn’t care. The werewolf nuzzles your crossed arms, eventually pushing them aside before licking your breasts. It laps at your nipples, switching from one tit to the other indecisively. You push at its broad shoulders, only to find a solid wall of muscle and soft fuzz.
“Please!” You cry out as it nips on the fat of your breast, drawing blood. Grabbing its head, you attempt to push it off, but to no avail. Those wild eyes gaze up at you, observing your every reaction.
Shifting to your other breast, it bites again, but more gently. Your breath catches in your throat, only a red mark left behind while crimson trickles down your other nipple. You wriggle beneath the werewolf’s large body, trying to escape. Noticing your efforts, the beast drops its weight onto you, keeping your legs and hips in place.
Its searing mouth closes around your small bud, and you scream, waiting for it to bite your nipple off. But instead, the werewolf rolls its tongue around it. And for a second, it almost feels… good.
In your anaemic daze, you’ve convinced yourself that this is pleasurable. Pathetic. But, as the creature sucks on your sensitive peak, a moan is torn from your throat. The sound echoes throughout the night, so breathy and desperate, you’re unsure if it was yours.
Right now, the ecstasy coursing through your veins feels pretty real.
Those razor-sharp claws scrape down the smooth skin of your tummy. The wolf is careful not to scratch you, the sensations instead adding to your growing panting and muffled whines. No longer are you pushing it off. Now, you’re pulling it closer, scratching beneath its pointed ears.
The creature pulls off your tit and shakes its head from side to side, like a dog does when it sneezes. The gesture makes you giggle a little.
All of the fear you’d been feeling is swiftly melting into liquid heat, swishing about your limbs and draining to your cunt. Again, you scratch its ears, making the werewolf purr. It’s a low, rumbling sound emanating from its chest. The hum puts you at ease while you stare into its galaxy eyes. Your body eases into the grass, and your breathing stabilises as a silly idea comes to mind.
The werewolf’s eyes are just like Caleb’s. Deep and dazzling. You’re curious what would happen if you called it his name. Would the creature know what you’re saying? How would it respond, if it responded at all? Does the creature already have a name?
It leans forward, its furry chest against your soft, bloodied one as it nuzzles your cheek. The werewolf’s purr resonates with your heart, the vibrations reverberating throughout your body. It licks your cheek, and you cup its muzzle as you laugh. Turning your head, it licks your lips.
“Did you just kiss me?” You ask it, not really expecting a response. But the wolf makes a noise, which you assume to mean ‘yes’ as it laps at your lips again.
You stroke its head, your fingers running through its mane. The wolf’s purr grows louder as it begins licking your neck again. You wince, fingertips pressing into its shoulder blades as its hot tongue makes contact with its bite marks.
Back down your body, the werewolf laps and carefully nibbles. Each time its teeth make contact with your delicate flesh, you cry out in pleasure, not pain. As the creature reaches your hips and rips off your shorts, you’ve never felt more self-conscious. Your thighs squish together, teddy bear panties not safe from the wolf’s hunger.
It grabs your knees and separates them, the power of its grasp demanding compliance. The werewolf lifts one of your legs and brings your calf to its snout. You’re expecting another cautious lap of its tongue, but instead, it bites down hard into your muscle. You scream, body recoiling, but its grip is vice-like, keeping you right there to satiate itself.
“Please stop! It hurts!” You wail, a new batch of tears welling in your eyes. It pulls off your flesh and licks the wound before travelling down to your inner thigh. There, it etches its teeth into your soft flesh again, but briefly this time. You sob as the wolf looks up at you. For a second, you think you see a crease in its brow, dissatisfaction on its face at your agony. It prods at your fat with its wet nose affectionately before reaching your most sensitive spot.
Moments pass as you stare at each other. Your heart thumps in your throat, and you wipe your eyes, but more tears come. You’re sure it didn’t mean any harm; it’s just marking what belongs to it. But still, the pain is insufferable.
The werewolf maintains eye contact as it leans down, damp nose on your cute cotton panties. It takes a whiff, pupils dilating slightly from your intoxicating scent. Shamelessly, the creature sniffs up and down your clothed cunt, nose tip pressing into the growing wet patch at your entrance.
You can’t help it! If you could, then you would, but once again, your anguish is transforming into burning desire.
The wolf licks up your panties, tasting your arousal through the flimsy fabric. Its tongue is so wet and spit spills from its mouth, ecstatic to be intimate with you; your underwear turns translucent. The werewolf is content to lap at your covered pussy for a short while… until it yearns for more.
You shudder as its claw cuts through the fabric. Pulling your ruined panties off, you gasp, your cunt bare to the creature. Your slick glistens beneath the blood moon, pussy so perfect in the glowing light. The werewolf gazes at you hungrily, eyes asking for consent. You nod, and that’s all it needs to dive in.
Your back arches as you scream, your hands flying down to grab at its long fur. The pleasure is unreal. Completely blinding, you can barely keep your eyes open as the wolf’s nose bumps your clit before it licks and sucks the little nub.
If someone told you three hours ago that you would be trusting your most private parts to a werewolf, you would have made fun of them for how insane they are. But now that you are, you wouldn’t have made any other choice. Do you belong in a mental asylum? Probably. But, do you belong here? Right now? Beneath this hungry beast devouring your cunt like it's the finest meal the creature has had in days? Absolutely.
Its tongue slips into your hole, and you swear you’re delusional. There is no way you’re not dreaming. But as your head lolls to the side, you catch a glimpse of your compact camera. That’s right! You must have dropped it when the werewolf body slammed into you.
Forcing your eyes to stay open for more than two seconds is no easy feat, but you manage to do so long enough to realise that the lens is facing you and the rather lewd undertakings you’re engaging in. Now, that’s two things you weren’t expecting to add to and cross off your bucket list. 1) Have sex with a werewolf and 2) record yourself having sex (with a werewolf). Your damn camera better be recording all of this or—
“F-fuck!” You moan, your hips bucking into the creature’s ravenous mouth. It doesn’t fatigue, too caught up in the bliss of consuming your slippery cunt.
The wolf keeps licking and sucking and fucking your hole with its tongue and repeating the entire cycle over and over until you’re screaming, “’M gonna cum! ‘M cumming!” And cum you do.
Never before have you experienced such an intense orgasm. The pleasure spasms throughout your body, making you shake on the werewolf’s tongue as you finish all over its face. It growls and groans into your fluttering pussy, licking up your juices like they’re the sweetest nectar. The wolf doesn’t stop until you’re begging it to from overstimulation.
“Please! Please, please, it’s too much,” you whimper, trying to scoot away from the beast. But it holds you steadily in place, not allowing you to move an inch away from its hungry tongue.
You cry out while pulling on its ears, “Please! Please! You’re hurting me.” The werewolf seems to sober up. It draws back, muzzle soaked in your slick and glancing up at you. You shiver as its tongue, the tongue that was just inside of you, darts across its snout to clean itself up.
The creature climbs back up your body, taking a moment to suck on your tits before nuzzling your jaw tenderly. You pat its head and scratch its ears lightly as a reward.
“That felt really good,” you pant, your noses bumping together. Its chest heaves, sticky-warm exhales fanning across your face. That heavenly tongue licks your lips, effectively distracting you from its paw pumping its canine cock. The other grabs at your thighs and hooks one leg over its hip. Your spine curves as a guttural moan is torn from your throat at the sensation of his tip running up your slit.
Wrapping one arm around its shoulders, you gaze down, your forehead bopping its snout. You can make out its girthy cock in the shadows, and promptly realise that the werewolf is not an ‘it’ but a ‘him’. He circles your swollen clit with his angular tip, making you whimper at the sensitivity. It’s painful, but addictive at the same time.
Lying back, you cup the creature’s face with your free hand and murmur, “I want this. I want you. Please.” You cry out as his head pushes inside your tight hole. He growls, the sound carnal as he slides further in. You can feel every vein and ridge rubbing against your gummy walls. The way his cock slims and then curves out takes you by surprise. Your moans are uncontrollable as you reach the fattest part, and then it tapers toward the base.
The werewolf nuzzles your temple with his nose, just like your friend did to you earlier today. Her affection was innocent, but his was claiming. It's a gentle gesture, but with how his cock keeps sliding in, it feels like he’s conquering your body and soul.
Bottoming out is a blessing, because if he was any longer, you would have been severely fucked. But oops, you’re still going to be. And you realise as much when he starts rutting into you. No buildup to the main event, he’s fucking you at a brutal pace with considerably brutal force. His hips force every breath out of your lungs. He pummels you into the grass, fucking you so hard you could dig yourselves into a hole.
Those twilight eyes stare at you, and the werewolf groans, “Sorry.” It’s barely comprehensible, the syllables slurred and rough, like it got stuck in his throat on the way out. But you understand just fine.
The squelching of your sex rings throughout the night, joining the choir of chirps and buzzing from all around you. Natural, that’s what this feels like.
Between your incoherent whines and moans, you register that not only are you fucking a werewolf, you’re fucking a werewolf during a blood moon. Meaning, you’re not only fucking, but you’re mating, for life. However, the werewolf is no stranger. He’s familiar and as warm as you always hoped he would be.
You gasp, “Caleb!” after a particularly rough thrust. Those violets widen, and he stops, his jaw slackening as he stares at you like a mad woman. Moaning, you wiggle your hips, desperate and proud of it for his cock. He shakes his head and licks your lips; a loving kiss.
You mewl, “Caleb, it’s okay. I… I want you to keep going.” He gazes at you for another moment, his cock throbbing inside your snug cunt. You moan, feeling his pre dripping into you.
“Please,” you whine. He drops his head and rests it in the bitten crook of your neck before resuming his back-breaking thrusts. Your legs tighten around his hips, ankle digging into the dimples above his ass to keep most of his length inside.
He grunts against your skin, claws digging into the ground beside your head and tearing up the shrubs. You’re sweating, his body insulating yours and making your skin all sticky. Your fingers tug at his soft brown fur, anchoring yourself to this plane of existence as your release nears. His pelvis knocks your clit, making you jolt in pleasure.
“Please, Caleb! Right there, baby,” you whimper, your body starting to shake from exertion and blood loss. He lifts up, one hand snaking down between your bodies to circle your needy bud. Even if Caleb can’t fuck you gently right now, he remains careful when rubbing your clit, ensuring his claws don’t snag on your delicate folds. It only takes a few more tight circles until you’re falling over the edge into sweet oblivion.
Screams and cries of pleasure pour forth from your pink lips, unrecognisable as yours but distinctively erotic. And as soon as you’re cumming, Caleb’s cumming, too.
His knot swells rapidly, locking your bodies together as he spills bucket loads of white hot release into you. It fills your womb, making it impossible for you not to get pregnant (or at least he hopes so). Growls rip out of his chest, interjecting a residual purr.
The moon bears witness to the consummation of your mate bond, sealing it in blood and cum (what a mix). The hot air sears your damp skin. You’re burning up beneath Caleb as he collapses on top of you, muscular arms tight around your smaller frame. His heart beats as rapidly as yours, together, in sync. It keeps you tethered through the ecstasy-induced delirium.
Your injuries are catching up to you. It’s clear like the obsidian sky above as Caleb feels your hold on him weakening. Driven by his own insatiable hunger, he wants to go again and again until sunrise. But you’re losing consciousness. And he can’t talk right now. So he chooses the next best option and licks your cheek.
You giggle quietly, the sound airy and concerning. He draws back, paws on either side of your face as he gazes at you worriedly. You’ve got this blissed out smile on your lips as you encircle his wrist with your fingers. His cock twitches inside of you, making you moan softly.
“I love you,” you sigh, your eyes closing from exhaustion. Oh, how he wishes he could return your words! But he can’t, not on a night like this, when his animal instincts are at an all-time high.
The last thing you hear is a hushed whimper from your werewolf. It pulls on your heartstrings, sparking a yearning within to kiss his pain better. Feeling heavy, you drift off into a dreamless slumber.
…˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚…
Warmth. Your hand is warm. No, your hand is hot; it’s **the rest of your body that is warm. The ground beneath you is soft, moulding to your curves, like a mattress. Birds chirp in the distance, and a pillow cushions your head. Your pillow, you can tell by the silk case.
Groaning, you roll onto your back; whatever was keeping your hand blazingly hot is absent now. There’s a dull ache spreading throughout your body, throbbing like you got hit by a truck. Or worse.
Memories of last night fill your mind. Fragments of the blood moon and the werewolf attacking you surface and morph into desperate, forbidden sex. It-it couldn’t be real. You’re in complete denial, despite the pain you’re in. Because there’s just no way you fucked a werewolf. AND there is certainly no way you fucked a werewolf who you thought was Caleb.
Fluttering your eyes open, you sincerely hope that all of that was a dream. But as you try to sit up, reality crashes down upon you.
“No, don’t move.” You groan in confusion as you’re gently pushed back down on the bed by your shoulders, a swathe of brown hair clouding your vision.
“Caleb,” you croak out. He cringes at how hoarse you sound. Pulling back slightly, you two stare at each other. His tired eyes swim with anguish and concern, while you’re certain yours are filled with confusion.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, he murmurs, “How’re you feeling, pips?”
“Sore,” you admit. He nods, guilt weighing on his conscience. Leaning over, he grabs a cup of water from your nightstand and helps prop you up enough to drink it. The crystal liquid is cool; it soothes your parched vocal cords and replenishes some of your strength. He sets the cup down as you lie back and glance around your room. It looks exactly how it did when you left last night.
You ask confused, “What happened last night? Why’re you here?” Panic flickers across Caleb’s handsome face, but it’s long gone before you can mention it.
He clears his throat before answering with a question of his own, “How much do you remember?”
You laugh dryly, averting your eyes to the fluffy blankets covering your body, “Too much.”
Caleb commands you, “Tell me.” Your brow creases as you try to sit upright again, but he holds you down once more.
“Can’t you tell me like this?” His tone isn’t as harsh this time. You sigh, giving up on your futile attempt at autonomy. With one hand, you lift the cosy blanket just enough to see the bandages peeking out of your haphazardly thrown-on night gown. Last night really did happen then, huh?
“I, uh, got lost,” you say, avoiding his gaze.
Caleb scoffs, “You got lost?”
You grumble, “What’s it to you? And you didn’t even answer my initial question. Why are you here?” Side-eyeing him, you catch how he rolls his eyes and his shoulders tense up.
He sighs, “Are you always this stubborn?”
“Caleb,” you groan. You two have never fought before. There’s never been a cause to, unless you count the disagreement you had at the shop yesterday. But even this didn’t feel like a fight, more like you two dodging around something you both remember. But there’s no way he knows what you were up to. Or should I say who? That couldn’t have been him, could it?
The werewolf had responded fondly to the name, but… But what?
Recalling your mantra (he thinks you’re a weirdo), you gather up the confidence to ask, “Was that really you last night?” You two gaze at each other for a long moment, assessing whether to come out and say it or continue beating around the bush.
He gulps, “So you remember then? What happened between us?” You nod, rendered speechless as you process the very real fact that 1) Caleb is a werewolf and 2) you’re mated to him for life.
Before he can say anything else, you chime in, “But I don’t understand. Why did you bite me? Why did you… do that with me?” He shakes his head, elbows on his knees, as he looks away to compose himself. His father is going to skin him alive once he finds out what Caleb did with you last night. But it’s worth it, because now, Caleb’s golden girl belongs to him.
“You’re my mate, always have been,” he finally shrugs, still averting his eyes to the ‘bewitching’ carpet. A quiet descends upon the room as you wait for him to continue, but Caleb is hellbent on doing literally anything else.
You ask, “How long have you known?”
He chuckles, but there’s no real joy behind it, “I’ve always had a feeling, but I didn’t know until you turned 18.” Meeting your eyes again, he explains, “Both mates have to be 18 before the bond is recognised. It protects both parties in situations like ours.”
“Oh,” you mumble. But then—
“Why didn’t you say anything?” You frown.
“Say anything?!” Caleb echoes. “What was I supposed to say? ‘Hey honey, by the way, I’m a werewolf and we’re destined for each other’?”
“That’s not what I mean,” you mutter while shaking your head. “You could have gotten closer to me. Texted me or something to make it more reasonable.”
“Reasonable?! What? Is our bond not reasonable to you?” He counters angrily. He’s never acted like this with you before.
Your voice is small as you say, “It’s so sudden. I didn’t expect you to reciprocate my feelings, is all. You could have clued me in earlier, is what I’m trying to say.” Seeing the way you shrink into your blankets, his heart pangs. All of his frustration dissipates as he turns to face you, one hand reaching out to rest over your heart beneath the covers.
“I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to scare you. I just… It’s just hard for me to control my emotions right now, okay?” He stares at you with puppy eyes, seconds away from getting down on his knees to beg for your forgiveness.
He continues in the same sorrowful tone, “But that’s not an excuse, I know. You’re right, I should have been more direct with you when I found out.”
“Why didn’t you? I mean, surely, you must know how I feel about you?” You pout. Caleb shifts closer, his hand on your chest now holding your cheek.
He explains, “I didn’t want to intrude on your life. You had so much going on at the time, with your Dad passing away and heading off to college.”
You accuse him, “So you let me suffer alone?”
“No! That’s not— Pipsqueak, I would never. You had Gwen. Throw me into the mix and it would have been too much.” Caleb’s breathing shallows, his heart thumping heavily in his chest.
He reassures you, “But I was always around, honey. Almost every night when you were still here, I was watching over you.” That seems to have the opposite effect of calming.
“You were watching me?!” You exclaim.
Caleb groans, hyper-aware of the hole he’s digging himself into, “No! Well, yes, but it was for your own safety.” More like for soothing his anxiety, but close enough, right? You stare at him, unsure of how to proceed with this new information.
“That’s how your father got into trouble,” he says earnestly.
“What? What does any of this have to do with my Dad?” You ask, pitch rising as your nerves do.
Shit! Caleb’s always been so good at concealing things, but now that you’re here, he’s incredibly awful at it.
He rubs the back of his neck with his free hand as he starts explaining, “He knew I was watching you. I knew he knew. And when I didn’t show on the blood moon, he came looking for me—” He stops abruptly, contemplating whether to continue telling this story.
You wrap your fingers around his wrist, just like you did last night, while gazing at him with serious eyes.
You say sombrely, “Please. If you know what happened to him, then please tell me.”
Your mate sighs, “Pips—”
“Please, Caleb! Please,” you insist.
His Adam’s apple bobs before he leans back and continues, “We were partway through a ritual when he stumbled upon us. I tried to reason with the elders, but they wouldn’t listen. The rumours surrounding our town are bad enough. If anyone found out about what we are, you can imagine the kind of damage it could do.”
“And, so you killed him,” you conclude, a lump forming in your throat.
Caleb’s eyes widen as he exclaims, “No! I mean, I didn’t kill him, no.”
“But, the elders. They decided his fate,” you choke out, tears bubbling along your waterline.
His shoulders slump as he murmurs, “Your dad was unshakeable once he got a lead, you know that, pips. If the elders didn’t do something, our secret would have been out by dawn. I don’t support their decision, but it’s justifiable.” You can’t hold back your cries any longer. They spew forth, ugly and burning hot.
“Honey,” your mate coos. He shifts forward, lying down beside you and embracing you tightly. You want to push him away, be angry at him for something, anything! But all you crave is his strong arms and broad chest as you mourn. It hurts, moving around, but you don’t care. It’s nothing compared to the pain your father must have felt in his final moments. To be killed by what he loved the most: werewolves.
And you’re mated to one of all things.
You sob, “A-are you goin-going to kil-kill me, too?”
Caleb shakes his head and mumbles in your matted hair, “’Course not, pips. You’re my mate.”
“How-how is t-that any dif-different?” You cry, but you already know the answer. Your Dad taught you just how sacred a werewolf’s mate is to them.
“You know just how different it is,” he remarks quietly. Drawing back, Caleb cups the back of your head and turns you to face him.
Staring into your bleary eyes, he says tenderly, “We’re going to be together forever. And as much as I’d like to keep secrets from you, I won’t be able to anymore.” Leaning forward, he kisses your forehead. The sensation of his lips on your skin calms you like no deep breathing ever has. It’s almost instant, the slowing of your cries into sniffles. You bury your face in his chest, basking in his woodsy-car grease scent, and was that a hint of—
“Apples?” You mumble, tears dripping onto your lips. Your mate gazes down at you, concerned.
“What was that, pips?”
“Apples,” you repeat. “You smell like apples.” A lazy grin spreads across his lips, and he tugs you even closer. You melt into his heat and security, confident that it was him holding your hand while you were sleeping.
After a few minutes, you’re feeling much better. The pain surrounding your father’s death is still very much there; it was an unfortunate situation no one wins in. But you feel capable of dealing with it.
Shifting in his arms, you tilt your head back and ask, “Where’s Mom?”
“I told her I’d take care of you, so she went to work,” he responds. Inching closer, he brushes his nose against yours. But it’s not all wet like last time. It's notably dry, and the gesture is soothing.
“Pips,” he almost whispers.
“Mhmm,” you hum, closing your eyes and just enjoying the feeling of being so intimate with someone you’ve had heart eyes for, for a long time.
“I’m sorry that I didn’t give you a choice last night. So I’m going to give you one now,” he says sincerely. You open your eyes and stare back at him, taking note of the anxiety pooling in his sunset eyes.
“Do you accept me as your mate?” The question hangs in the air for a few seconds. You don’t even need to think about your answer, but you wait momentarily to build suspense.
Giggling at the slight furrow in his brow, you nod, “I’ll always accept you, Caleb. Werewolf and all.” He almost tears up at your sweet words. That’s all he’s ever wanted to hear.
Unable to contain himself, your mate captures your unsuspecting lips in his. You squeal into his mouth as your eyes rival the size of saucers. It only takes a moment before you’re melting into his kiss, your hands tangling in his dishevelled locks while his bunch up the thin fabric covering your body. Lust poisons your veins, tempting you to take something so innocent further.
Angling your head, Caleb’s tongue slips between your parted lips and tastes every corner of your mouth. You return the favour, sucking on his tongue which makes him moan. Smirking, you break apart to catch your breath. Lips still brushing, spit connecting them in needy ropes, your exhale becomes his inhale and vice versa.
“Caleb,” you whine. In his embrace, your physical pain from last night is practically gone. Your thighs press together, the space between them craving to be filled with him.
He chuckles, “Up for round two already, honey?” You nod, oblivious to the logical side of you screaming about how you should be resting and taking it easy right now. It’s as if Caleb hears your raging thoughts because he just shakes his head and pulls you into his chest again.
“Maybe later, baby. When you’re all better,” he murmurs.
You grumble, “Seriously?” Your hand snakes down his body, so close to what you need most, when he grabs your wrist and tugs it up to his lips.
Leaving a searing kiss there, he mumbles into the flesh, “Don’t tempt me, pips. You need to rest.”
“Fine,” you groan, shifting to get comfortable in his grasp.
There’s a certain domesticity to this all, lying in the arms of your lover in the morning, traipsing along the edge of one more minute and it’s time to get up. It’s almost cinematic. Your camera!
Jolting up, you gaze over Caleb’s right-angled shoulders at your bedside table. And there it sits, your compact camera winking at you mischievously.
“You brought it with you?!” You exclaim, pointing to it. Your mate grumbles as he rolls over.
“That? Yeah, of course I did. You didn’t want me to leave our sex tape in the woods, did you?” He grins. You shove him cheekily, laughing as he gives you a pointed look.
You clarify, “So then, it was actually recording?” He nods, one hand trailing up your non-bandaged arm.
“Did you watch the footage?” You ask, your face reddening at the thought. Again, Caleb nods.
“I had a look after I bandaged you up.” His finger strokes your flushed cheeks, his cocky smile infuriating and embarrassing you at the same time. Huffing, you lie back down, but this time, you curl into his side while he shifts onto his back. With one beefy arm around your shoulders, your mate holds you tight. Your ear is pressed to his chest, listening to his heartbeat.
His voice is serious when he murmurs, “I didn’t get to tell you last night, but I love you. I love you with everything I have, pips. You’re irreplaceable to me.” Sighing into him, you tighten your grip on his black tank.
Quietly, you return his sentiment with, “I love you, too, Caleb.”
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| AO3 | A small continuance | DIVIDER CREDIT: @uzmacchiato
PAIRING: Yandere!Caleb x Psychotherapist!Reader
CW: SFW but MATURE, manipulation, yandere, obsessive/possessive/controlling behaviour, grotesque descriptions, descriptions of gore, suicide, implied murder, stalking, trauma, mental illness, just a heavy fic in general, mild swearing, Fem!Reader.
SUMMARY: A broken mind is a psychotherapist's to mend. After your childhood friend had returned from death's clutches, he had done so as another man—colder, stronger, and with an obsession akin to a broken child's devotion. The clock ticks. The traps are set. Can you mend his broken mind before he devours yours?
WORD COUNT: 31k words.
DISCLAIMER: This is a psychological thriller meant for entertainment purposes only. I do not romanticise nor condone this behaviour. Heed the warnings.
He was always like this, wasn’t he?
You twirled your pen between your fingers as you glared out the open window into the faces of buildings looming high. A warm westerly breeze wafted through the opening, swirling the bittersweet scent of coffee throughout the room. A long, white couch sat at the other end of yours, bearing a small, fresh dent on its right corner—left by the last patient of the day. That decade-old piece of furniture had been in your office for as long as you could recall. It had shouldered the weight of various troubled souls who would rush to you at the first hint of distress. They would barge in, plop themselves down on the exact same side of the sofa, and pour their worries out.
For hours, you would sit still with a notebook in your hands, gazing out that very same window as if your ears had not caught a word. And once they’d stop, you would turn to them with a smile.
“I see. Well, let’s start from the beginning.”
Many came with a burdened frown, and all left with their heads lifted high. That was the quality of your service—the merit of having abandoned the role of a renowned criminologist to settle for a mere clinical psychotherapist. It was a far more peaceful life, where you only needed to contend with the usual afflictions of mental health. You’d say it suited you better. It was far kinder to your body and soul to study the boundaries of the mind rather than the savagery of crime. Because if you were truly competent enough to retain your position as a criminologist, you would have noticed sooner, wouldn’t you?
Your pen stilled in your hand.
You had studied the faces of many. Cheaters, narcissists, the apathetic, the antisocial—you had seen it all and more. During your brief tenure as a criminologist, you had worked with the most wretched criminals. A deranged, delusional son who had donned the skin of his mother shortly after gutting her alive, a schizophrenic woman who had splattered her husband’s brains across her grotesque painting, and countless men and women who displayed heightened symptoms of obsessive and abusive behaviour towards their partners.
And yet, you missed it.
There was a saying that we normalise the odd behaviour of those closest to us to such an extent that their misdoings and concerning actions fly off our radar without a hitch. Our paths were so intertwined with theirs that we saw no reason to stop and ponder—Hey, could this be a sign of mental illness?
You supposed you had fallen into the same dilemma. He had sat before you your entire life—from adolescence to the moment higher education set you apart, he had always been there. Even as you pursued your double majors, Caleb’s botched mental evaluation exam had not raised any red flags in your mind.
“Oh, it’s a flawed test. You of all people should know that someone’s mental health can’t be determined by a simple questionnaire.”
And regrettably, you believed him. He made a good point, after all. A simple questionnaire said nothing about someone’s true psyche.
But still, you regretted not questioning—Is it even possible to fail so miserably?
You should have checked his answers. Such an oversight had cost you the surprise of finding out in... such a way. And now that you looked back and reevaluated your interactions with him, the markers became clear.
“The people that want to hurt you? They should all just—” his gaze burned through your skull, “—disappear.”
“I don’t need your protection. I’m fine on my own.”
He scoffed, eyes brimming with betrayal.
“You don’t need me? Is that what you think?”
Your lips trembled as you sank deeper into the plush of the couch, forced down by his presence. With one arm, he caged you between his body and the cushions.
“Alright, what do you want? You can tell me.”
You knocked his forearm weakly. “Caleb, calm down—”
“We can return to Linkon if that’s what you want. We’ll rebuild our old house. And if one house isn’t enough, I’ll build you a whole maze.”
Like a fish out of water, you thrashed about, only to still once realisation dawned on you—
He was speaking to you with unfiltered, bare words. There would not be another chance like this. Now was the perfect time to capitalise on his raw and vulnerable state.
You pursed your lips. Caleb’s finger trailed across your jaw.
“I’ll decorate it with whatever you want. It will be the most stunning garden you’ve ever seen.”
You emptied your gaze, donning the familiar facade of a professional, objective psychotherapist. You scrutinised him as he spoke. You picked up on the subtle crack of his voice, the tears threatening to form, the gentle firmness of his grip. This was him—the true, raw him. How could you not have noticed sooner?
In hindsight, the signs were present. Possessiveness, obsession, strategic control—traits you would have easily identified in a client. He thought of himself as clever. And he was right. To the general public, Caleb was beyond cunning. A force to be reckoned with.
But you had seen worse. You had dissected minds far more twisted than his. You were confident in your abilities—you could unravel him, strip him bare once more, and deliver the final blow with cautious precision. Patients often believed themselves to be indecipherable, an enigma buried in the sands of time.
Yet they forgot that doctors such as yourself had wasted half their lives preparing for them. No matter how savage or twisted one may be, you were trained to make people collapse at the slightest pull of their heartstrings.
The only reason behind your incompetence had been simple—familiarity breeds blind spots, and Caleb was all too familiar to you. You regretted not having picked up on it sooner. Now, all your analyses pointed to the same result. He was severely disturbed and in urgent need of therapeutic intervention.
And who was more qualified to deliver just that than you?
This was what you had studied for, was it not? With your combined expertise in both psychology and criminology, you could corner Caleb into spilling his woes. You could fix him. He thought himself untouchable, but you had spent years preparing for men like him.
You tilted your head and glanced at the brightly coloured strip of paper sitting atop your desk. Tickets. To Skyhaven. You could finally see him.
You smiled. How long had it been? A couple of months, perhaps? Since your last visit to Skyhaven, Caleb had not hesitated to check up on you daily. As if unbothered by your reluctance to respond, he left small texts floating in your inbox. Simple formalities—How are you feeling? Have you eaten well?—all left on read. You could practically see the fireworks erupt in his violet eyes the moment you finally responded—
“I’m coming over tomorrow. Do you mind?”
Like an overjoyed pup granted his favourite treat, he swarmed your chat with various emoticons. ‘Are you on vacation? :0’ ‘When are you coming?’ ‘Should I make dinner?’
Despite your best efforts at denial, you couldn’t shake the flutter in your chest at his care and enthusiasm.
If only he had remained the same.
If only he were the boy you once knew, you wouldn’t have to resort to such measures.
Your pulse quickened as your fingers brushed across the ticket’s surface.
You were really doing this, weren’t you? Playing with fire, confident in your eventual triumph. In your field, patience was key.
You would untangle him thread by thread. And when he collapsed, you could embrace him once more. Not as a cruel, restrictive monster, but as the warm boy you had always known.
It was only a matter of time.
“Please stand clear of the doors,” a robotic female voice buzzed. “Next stop, Skyhaven.”
You planted yourself against the hard plastic chairs, clutching a phone that idled on a conversation.
“I’m on the train.”
“I’ll be there to pick you up :D”
You stuffed your phone back into your bag. With a loud whir, the train began to move. Your body swayed to the side as it accelerated, pressing you against a metal pole. In just a few hours, you would reach Skyhaven. And he would be there, waiting for you with that big grin plastered across his face—the grin that once lifted you off your feet, whose irony you had now begun to despise. It was the very same expression that would trick the masses.
Girls lined up against high school lockers would swoon over it. But what they didn’t know was that his radiant smile was merely a distraction meant to deter them from the way his eyes, no matter what obstruction emerged before him, would always be locked on you. His warm violet hues would burn through your skull as you led him through the hallways, chatting away obliviously. Back then, you had shrugged it off. He was just expressing care, you thought. You were afraid of crowds back then. He was just looking out for you. It was in your best interest, right? If only you had known.
You should have questioned. You should have known better.
But your high school days were well behind you. What stood now were two matured adults with a strained relationship, engaged in a ruthless game of chess—a game he did not yet realise he was a participant in.
But that only gave you the upper hand. When dealing with patients who would exploit your vulnerability and love for them, having a head start was almost a necessity. Sure, you were certain you’d come out on top eventually. But your work had taught you to tread gingerly nonetheless. When navigating the confines of a person’s mind, every micromovement of yours could cause the whole structure to crumble. No matter how accomplished a psychotherapist is, they are bound to experience massive turbulence in the field of their work.
And you had come prepared accordingly.
You reached into your bag to retrieve a worn, leather-backed journal. It had no labels. Only a brown, thick covering with a matching strap. A blue strip with a metal piece on its end hung loosely from the bottom. It was a bookmark. Old, worn—the fabric of the strip had gone dirty. It was stained with splotches of brown, with an array of torn threads poking out from a corner.
You turned to the first page. It was dated three years ago.
You swiftly flipped through the rest of the pages until you landed on nothing. Somewhere around the middle of the journal, there was a cluster of blank pages stapled together. With a moment of reconciliation, you thumbed through the stapled pages.
Harrison Roan.
A small smile graced your lips. You had, in fact, snatched the correct one before departing.
You traced your hurried handwriting, skimming over the words. You stopped at the small paragraph below the margin—the ‘final comment’.
Patient remains evasive and reluctant to engage in cooperative dialogue. He exhibits obsessive tendencies when discussing his partner, demonstrating patterns of control consistent with Machiavellian protection. His behaviour suggests a state of limerence, accompanied by coercive control over his loved ones. Obsessive-compulsive personality traits are observed, raising suspicion of OCPD. Therapy is recommended for further evaluation and intervention.
Back during your time at the Linkon Criminal Psychiatric Facility, you were assigned as Harrison’s primary psychotherapist. He was accused of abducting and imprisoning his lover, Anne Lotte. Anne underwent severe emotional abuse and manipulation. For a short period of three months, you were assigned to her as well. But before you could make any progress, she had thrown herself off the facility’s roof.
It was devastating, the state you found her in. Anne’s mind was completely mangled. There was a dark fog clouding her conscience. You doubted even a piercing sharp beam of light could pass through to her. She was unresponsive, silent, rendered dead; almost as if her mind had gone senile. Her situation filled you with revulsion. Ten years of imprisonment and psychological torture could destroy one’s psyche so brutally that even after they had regained their freedom, the light of hope would fail to reach their eyes.
You refused to be a victim of the same tragedy, and you refused to let Caleb walk the same path of insanity. Beyond all, you loved him. You wouldn’t leave him be and watch as he slowly abolished himself. You would not let the same tragedy occur once more. And perhaps Harrison’s case was the key. Maybe you could learn a thing or two from here.
“Skyhaven. Doors will open from the left.”
You shut your journal and lazily shoved it back into the depths of your bag. A flock of passengers stood, ready to hurl themselves out the moment the door slid open. You recoiled in your seat with a sigh. You’d just go once the crowd had dimmed.
Placing your chin in your hand, you looked out the window and peered through the crowds, fishing for Caleb. Your pulse fluttered as you saw him stare back at you with that signature smile of his—boyish, handsome… eerie. A chill shot up your spine. There was something about this ‘new’ him you could not explain. Something you couldn’t wrap your head around.
Something that frightened you.
You beamed through the glass, the brightest smile you could muster, and raised your palm to wave at him feverishly. Collecting your belongings in a frenzy, you rushed out the door, only to be met by the solid wall of his chest.
“Oof—” You rubbed your forehead. The man before you broke into a fit of gentle laughter and ruffled the top of your head. “Were you that excited to see me?”
You shot him a sheepish smile. He returned your gesture.
“Here, let me help with those.” He hoisted one of your bags over his shoulder and beckoned for you to follow. You took after him shortly after, skipping over to him with glee.
“Soo… why the sudden visit?” Caleb mused. You raised your head to look him in the eye. “I got a vacation, and…”
He cocked an eyebrow. “And?”
“There are… never mind. Can I tell you once we’re alone?” You could feel the way his heartbeat hastened without needing to touch him. It made your stomach knot in retaliation.
“Alright. Sounds good.”
The two of you hauled your way to the car. Before you could nestle yourself in the spacious backseat, he rushed in front of you to swing open the door to the passenger seat. He gestured for you.
Your eyes glinted with mischief. “Oh?”
“The finest service from yours truly.”
Damnit, that smooth imbecile.
Defeated (yet not yielding), you slid into the passenger seat and waited as he loaded your luggage into the trunk of the car. Once sure nobody was looking, you pried open your bag and inspected the journal inside. Phew. You hadn’t abandoned it on the train.
“Forget something?” You jumped. Your head whipped to the head peeking in from the crack of the car door. A shudder crept up your spine at the empty expression plastered on his face and the way his eyes gave away nothing. The grin was absent from his lips. With lingering unease, you forced your muscles to relax. “I just thought I left my phone behind.”
The warmth returned to his gaze. “Sorry for scarin’ ya.” He ruffled your hair affectionately. You shook your head. “No, it’s fine.”
The drive was quiet, with you engulfed in your paranoia regarding whether or not you should say what you’d sworn to tell Caleb, and him consumed by God-knows-what. The way he fixed his gaze on the road up ahead, not once looking back or giving you a sliver of his attention, perplexed you. What was he so invested in?
“So,” Caleb started, snapping you out of your domain of thought, “What were you gonna say?”
You bit the inside of your cheek and forced yourself to don a neutral tone. “I wanted to…” Fingers deftly played with the hem of your shirt. “Fix things.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Between us. Because, you know.”
The world stilled. You subconsciously hugged your bag tighter against yourself, anticipating all sorts of responses he could give. Would he stay silent? No. Not his style. He would…
Caleb smiled. “So, you want to start over?” He glanced at you from the corner of his eye. “Can’t say for sure whether I can be the Caleb you want.”
An opening.
You mustered the kindest simper you could and shook your head. “I was thinking… rather than rebuilding our past, we try and make peace with the new versions of each other.”
There was silence. And then, a glint in his eye. His shoulders slumped against the leather seat. The weight dimmed from the air, leaving only a soothing quietude—the calm after the storm had passed. It was almost like the old days.
Almost.
“Sounds good to me.” His mask returned. Contrary to his words, this version of Caleb was unfeeling. Even now, he refused to let you in. He blocked you out with that fire—that crackling lukewarm grin, that blazing radiance he bore. Warm like the sun, and just as deadly as it, and almost impenetrable.
But you could see the cracks that ran through that frigid surface. Earth crumbles fast. And no matter how sturdy the soil, the right amount of water could dampen it just enough for you to dig through.
You would reach him. You were sure. And you would save him just as you should’ve saved yourself.
Caleb helped you unload in front of his house, reaching the bags faster than you could and hauling them over his shoulder before you could protest. Admittedly, it was these small gestures of fondness that allured you to him in the first place. A trap, you thought. Only a front to mask his true twisted nature.
“Are you gonna conquer my room again?” he teased. You stopped in your tracks, turning to scrutinize all the barren rooms. A thought arose, one you desperately tried to shove to the back of your brain. Had you let your fear of him affect you so much that you would begin to lose your mind over the simple choice of rooms?
You took a deep breath and raised your finger, pointing at his room. You looked at him and grinned. “Why not? Your bed is the comfiest.”
Caleb would fall for it, wouldn’t he? The thought of you inhaling his scent, residing where he did—it was far too intimate for his mind to fathom. And the privilege of having your scent rubbed all across his bedsheets, in his balcony, in the mugs you used and the plates you discarded; you were making an offer a lovesick mind like his could not refuse.
You rejoiced internally at the sight of his face. The widening of his eyes, the contraction of his pupils, the subtle twitch of his lips—something awoke in him. Something fearful—a horned monster with gleaming red eyes clutched his heart. It was your indication that you’d won.
“Alright, alright,” Caleb mused. “Whatever the lady wants, she shall get.”
And with that, you successfully seized his room.
They say that one’s room is a reflection of one’s mind. They being you, of course, alongside a few other studies that emerged following the publication of your own. A great deal can be discerned from the mere face of a room—the way its occupant arranges their bedsheets, the colours they favour, the state everything is in, the organisation of furniture and possessions, the things they treasure enough to keep within these walls. From mental state to relationship status, all could be dissected from a single glance at a room and its arrangement.
You didn’t believe Caleb foolish enough to leave incriminating evidence strewn about. If anything had been there, he would have tidied up days before you set foot in Skyhaven. He preferred to keep details of his field of work discreet. You assumed it stemmed from an unwillingness to "corrupt" what he held sacred—sacralisation, perhaps? Disturbing when done to a human, yet not uncommon. You had encountered such cases before, and no matter how many you worked on, each left a familiar sinking feeling in your gut.
Knowing that, you never expected to find anything concrete in his room. But that wasn’t your intention.
You unpacked, arranging your belongings on the bed. Your journal rested on his desk. Of course, there was a risk in choosing to stay here. If you left your journal lying about and he happened to enter on a whim (which he had every right to; it was his room, after all), you would be exposed almost instantly. What excuse could you offer for analysing patients from three years ago, especially while on holiday? Worse, if his eyes caught the blue thread marking the pages where you had written about Harrison, he would connect the dots at once. What would he do then? Banish you? Grow cold? Or something worse?
You didn’t want to think about it.
Regardless, it was a risk you were willing to take. Consequences only existed if you faltered first. You were far more interested in what his room revealed about his mental state. Was it irrefutable evidence? No. But you weren’t on duty. This was a personal investigation—here, proof could be as subjective as you pleased. The only jury was yourself.
The bed was impeccably made, yet a thin layer of dust coated the duvet—a symptom of neglect. Still, there were signs that he had attempted to prepare. The neatly arranged cosmetics on the vanity, the dusted balcony with its watered plants, the stocked bird feeder swaying gently from the ceiling, the polished bathroom with its dry, tiled floors. They spoke of the care he had taken to render the space habitable for you.
It was your belief that people tidied before the arrival of guests to mask the unguarded fragments of themselves, those revealed in the dim solitude of their rooms. You could sense the effort he had poured into creating an illusion of warmth. His room practically welcomed you. Little hints of life were scattered throughout, almost as if to weave a mirage of normalcy.
"When we move in together in the future, what kind of room do you want?"
You lifted your chin, humming in thought. "Oh! I know! I want a lively room!"
"You mean colourful and vibrant?"
You shook your head. "No, dummy. A warm room! One that looks lived in."
Had he remembered your words? Back then, you had merely been a child. You had no true grasp of what you were saying, lacked the linguistic skills to articulate your thoughts. And yet, he remembered. Or perhaps it was simply instinct—after all, any normal person would feel more comfortable in a space that had been occupied before.
Despite his meticulous efforts, something betrayed it all.
You ran a fingertip across the duvet, picking up dirt. He had forgotten to tend to the bed. You could see it now—the bed, untouched for so long, had appeared so pristine that it had entirely slipped his notice. That very perfection had made him overlook it. And you might have as well, had it not been for the red welts that bloomed upon contact.
That told you more than you had expected. So consumed with work, he had dehumanised himself. Yet, instead of confronting it, instead of seeking help, he had merely painted over the cracks and prayed you would not notice.
Caleb was underestimating you. And that would be his undoing.
As both a therapist and a friend, it was your duty to halt his descent before it could begin.
Breakfast was served a bit late, around the time you’d usually make it for yourself back at home. Flatbread stuffed with meat and cheese—slightly indulgent, you’d say, but filling and undeniably delicious. Especially when put together by his hands. The savoury aroma wafted through the kitchen. You sat near the counter, devouring the bread in bites that left your mouth stuffed and puffy. Caleb laughed at the sight. But what could you do? After all, you were obsessed with his culinary prowess.
Although, you would admit, it was hard to focus on the food when his eyes were practically glued to you, unmoving and unwavering. A chill crept through your limbs but was quickly swallowed by the sudden burst of flavour in your mouth.
“How is it?”
You mumbled incoherent words through your full cheeks.
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
No matter how vastly he changed, one thing remained constant—his food. It hadn’t changed a bit. The taste carried the same warmth it once had, the same lingering aftertaste of his signature seasoning. A silly thought popped into your mind—what if that were to change as well? A ridiculous notion. But then again, art changes as the artist does.
“Do you eat well while you’re on duty?”
Caleb looked out the window and hummed. His gaze averted yours. “Does cafeteria food count as ‘eating well’?”
“…Not really.” You smiled. Why did he look away?
You pinched his arm. “Look at you—you’re going to grow frail and weak!”
Caleb flinched before wincing dramatically, forcing a chuckle. “Really? Guess I gotta start eating well, huh?” He paused, glancing at his arm. “Or else someone’s gonna be breathing down my neck even when we’re apart.”
With a tilt of your head, you nodded. “I’ll scold you every time I’m back.”
“If it means seeing you more ofte—ow!” You pinched a thin layer of his flesh and twisted it.
“I can see those evil schemes swirling around in your brain. Cut it out! Or do you want me to punch you?”
Caleb pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. “Oh, whatever am I to do?”
Despite the playful spark in his eyes, you couldn’t ignore the way his gaze flickered toward the compartment beneath the counter. He shifted, positioning his body over the gap so you were unable to steal a glance even if you tried.
You tilted your head and hummed. Interesting. It was best not to let him know you’d caught on.
You swallowed the last bits of your food with a mug of icy water. “Once you’re weak, I’ll craft a ploy to seize your position. The fleet’s going to have a new Colonel soon!” Smirking slyly, you puffed out your chest with mock confidence.
An unexpected tension settled in the air. You noted the way his shoulders tensed, the way his jaw clenched at the word Colonel. A fleeting, alien emotion flickered behind his violet eyes, only to be swiftly dimmed by his sudden grin. That same, insufferable grin that guarded the entrance before you could step into his mind. His way of shutting you out.
He poked your arm and chuckled. “I’ll be looking forward to it, Colonel.” A palm rose to his head in an exaggerated salute.
Why was he so jumpy today?
Later, sometime during the afternoon, you dragged Caleb out for a casual tour of Skyhaven. “Show me your favourite places to relax!” you’d said with a beam. That was all it took for him to crumble to his knees.
He led you to a sky-based retreat (well, you were already in the sky, but still) situated atop a towering skyscraper that dwarfed all others of its kind. It was a behemoth of a building—a monolithic structure plated with heavily tinted, floor-to-ceiling windows on all four faces. The epitome of a modern yet intimidating corporate monolith. A lake surrounded it on three sides, and the only way in was via a vast bridge, sturdy enough to withstand the heaviest of cargo-bearing trucks, looping around the entire strip of land.
The apex was swallowed by cotton-white clouds. The last few floors vanished into the fog, dissolving from view. Despite the presence of splendid and meticulously maintained gardens throughout, only a few workers strolled about. Even with the meticulously architected bridges, barely any cars were to be seen. Only the distant rattle of golf buggies echoed in the air. Save for the occasional chirps and the gentle woosh of water below, it was eerily quiet.
You contemplated asking Caleb about it, but for some reason, your inability to piece it together on your own gnawed at you, filling you with a bitter pride. It should be easier than a murder case. Why were you fumbling? This was supposed to be your first real move. How could you falter before even setting your plan into motion?
None of the workers paid any real attention to the two of you as you stepped through the main entrance. Only a few odd glances followed. Caleb seemed to be a regular here. They all seemed at ease with his presence.
The elevator ride was a gruelling one. You could swear it took five whole minutes just to exceed the twentieth floor. Caleb argued it had only been forty seconds. It felt longer, nonetheless. Normally, a crowded elevator would have preoccupied you. You would have found yourself enthralled by the faces and mannerisms of the passers-by—the twenty-something man in a black suit, the unusually silent boy with bruises on his arms, the seemingly unfazed elderly woman with a deep-set frown. Insignificant to most, yet to you, endlessly fascinating.
For instance, the furrow on the businessman’s brow suggested he was late for work. The bruises on the boy’s body spoke of a heartwarming heroism, evident in the little girl beside him who thanked him ceaselessly (though, judging by his expression, he had definitely received an earful from his guardian). And the irritable old woman—well, she was quite clearly the one who had placed a zipper on the boy’s mouth.
What seemed forgettable to others was precious to you, and as long as there was company, you found solace.
But here, there wasn’t. Other than Caleb, of course. And unfortunately, you couldn’t exactly stare at him for the entire ride. You’d rather not resemble a mad doctor dissecting a newly discovered organism. Still, you couldn’t deny it—he was far more interesting than any stranger.
So, you stared at him anyway. Luckily for you, he didn’t seem to mind. Perhaps because he was too preoccupied, gazing out the transparent sheet of glass with a small smile on his lips. He seemed to be in a good state of mind. That was good. Otherwise, things had a slim chance of escalating into an argument. Nothing you couldn’t handle, just something you’d rather avoid. Or else, he’d pierce through your façade faster than you intended.
The doors slid open with a hiss. Beams of warm light spilled through, hitting your face and causing you to squint. The entryway, constructed of flimsy straw structures, was adorned with threads of vines creeping up and down the walls. Sunlight dripped through the holes in the patchwork roof, glinting cruelly beyond the tapestry, shining down with all its might—an act of savagery against your poor eyes. Thankfully, the vines shielded you from its full assault.
You tilted your head. A woman—uniformed, with a strict look on her face—stood beside the entrance with an immaculate posture. A familiar hat sat low on her head, guarding her eyes from both the intense heat and light. The utter lack of emotion in her gaze sent an involuntary shiver down your spine.
You glanced up at Caleb. He was unfazed by her presence, as if she were a mere colleague or a guard standing by. But she wasn’t the latter. You could tell by the uniform.
With your hand in his, he strode up to the woman. She offered a curt salute in response. “Colonel.”
“We would like to enter.” His voice was cold, a stark contrast to the way his thumb tenderly grazed over yours.
The woman turned to you. Her head tilted as she scrutinised you with a wary gaze. Then, she nodded. “Right this way.”
You were sure of it now. This was a private building, accessible only to high-ranking members of the Farspace fleet. You supposed such an arduous job had its benefits. Well, this was the least they could offer to those who put their lives on the line each day, fighting for yet more senseless bloodshed. This place was built upon a mixture of blood and sweat.
You grimaced. It felt wrong to stand upon this ground. If you squinted, you could see them—corpses strewn across the floor, brain matter splattered across the walls. Your stomach coiled. What a pathetic way to live—to be crowned in blood and sit upon a throne of bloodied cash, chest brimming with pride, belly full of greed, smirking down upon the famished.
You turned to face Caleb. You supposed he wasn’t too different from those people. And yet, you had forgotten all about it until now. He was truly a master at forging a harmless appearance, a welcoming front. Even now, a part of you refused to see him that way.
You supposed you were guilty as well. You had accepted your position as his plus-one without hesitation and accompanied him to such a place. It was hypocritical to persecute him while standing upon the faces of corpses, declaring yourself the selfless hero.
Such was the nature of humans.
The woman led you through the delicate gate. Caleb dragged you along. The first time you laid your eyes on the garden, your world stilled.
Words could not describe how breathtaking yet melancholic the sight before you was. If you were to attempt to jot it down on a piece of paper, you would be stuck on the first word. Unlike your initial beliefs, the botanical garden was not encased in glass. It should’ve been obvious from the torture you’d endured—the perpetrator being the sadistic, open sun. Maybe it was the awe of it all that heightened your perplexity.
The flowering meadows, the perfectly trimmed patches of fresh, green grass, the symmetrical, square-shaped ponds, the pair of birds feeding from the birdbath, the cascading artificial waterfalls—you didn’t know which one of them struck you the deepest. Or maybe it was the overly maintained religious sculptures—the one depicting a winged woman, angel or devil, with a honeycomb for her face—or the concerningly clean walkways, or the flawlessly aligned roses in the rose gardens that seemed a little too well-kept, stealing away the ‘wild’ and ‘natural’ vibe of your typical botanical garden.
The sky above was a whirlwind of blues, whites, subtle purples, and a dominant yellow-white. A soft breeze cascaded past, threading through the strands of your hair and dancing along your skin. It was cool and pleasant—perfectly so. Like the soft spring breeze that blows in February, or the afternoon wind at the shore of a river. It was just right. The perfect temperature to lull you to sleep.
Your mind winded back to the afternoons you spent with Caleb under your backyard’s willow tree. The breeze there would blow just as strikingly as it did here. Leaves would flutter down onto your face, only to be brushed aside by Caleb’s warm fingers. You would spend several hours lying there with him. Whether it was to complete your homework (of course, you slacked off and lured him into an endless chat instead) or flip through a book, he would always be there, brimming with that brotherly tenderness of his. It made up for your lack of a father figure in your life—Grandma Josephine being your only guardian.
Your heart ached at the memory. Maybe he hadn’t changed at all. Even then, Caleb harboured one major purpose—to protect what he loved, you, and to cherish it to the fullest. You had a hunch—what if that mysterious chip in his brain did not alter him entirely, but only heightened his preexisting instincts? But still. You found it hard to believe that the chip could truly rewire his brain so severely. You refused to believe such contraband existed. The mind is a fragile thing. It’s not so easy to suppress its power. Although all factual data pointed towards only a little portion of his brain remaining untouched, you firmly believed it was a front.
Maybe, among his emotions lay one that would be easy to utilise, to take control of and provoke so that he abided by their rules. And the only emotion so easy to manoeuvre—his only weakness—was his love for you. If you hadn’t been born…
“It’s… wow,” you let out an audible gasp. Your eyes twinkled with stars. On your heels, you spun around, imprinting every inch of the garden in your memory. Caleb didn’t need to be a genius to know that bringing you here was the best choice he had made in a long time. His grin mimicked yours. There was no use in asking whether you were enjoying the view or not—the way you frantically hopped about the place, skipping from pond to pond and observing the exotic birds from afar, told him everything.
With small, unhurried steps, Caleb approached you as you peeked at the pair of colourful birds drinking from the birdbath. “They’re raised here. I feed ’em sometimes.” He tucked a strand of loose hair behind your ear. “They’re friendly towards humans. Watch.”
He held out his right hand and approached the birds gingerly. The blue jay tilted its head to scan Caleb as he neared. As if recognising him immediately, it leapt onto his arm.
Using his other hand, he gestured for you to come. You approached with silent and hesitant steps. Once close enough, you reached up to touch the blue jay perched on his arm. You nearly jumped into a pond when the bird took off. Your cheeks flushed red, to which Caleb burst out guffawing.
“I forgot to mention—they don’t like being touched. Sorry, Pip!” he uttered between chuckles.
You gave him the meanest glare you could muster. “How very forgetful of you.” You brought an accusatory finger to point at his chest. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you?”
“Did I?”
“Yes, you did!”
The woman watching from afar could not help but smile at your meaningless banter.
You and Caleb lingered until the sun began to dip below the horizon, until the once-blue skies were replaced with a bright orange-red and purple. The clouds began to darken—the battle cry of an impending tempest. Or was it the coming of night? You didn’t know. Nonetheless, both of you refused to leave.
“The world looks so tiny from here.” You compared the size of the structures afar with your fingers. Your other hand gripped the railing for support. “I’m almost jealous. You get to come here every day.”
You mumbled, turning to face Caleb, who appeared entranced by the hues of the setting sun. A smile adorned your face. He looked so peaceful, so content. As if nothing had occurred in the past few months, as if it was still the two of you against the world. You yearned to breathe in his embrace once more, just like old times. You swallowed. You couldn’t afford that. The past was gone. Now, only the future awaited—a future that depended on your actions, your choices, and your diligence. You couldn’t back out now. You were too far in.
“Don’t you miss that Willow tree?” you started. “The big one in our backyard. We used to rest against the trunk on the grass.”
“Once, I had to save you from a grasshopper. It lunged at you from the grass, and you screamed like a child,” he laughed. “And afterwards, you ended up avoiding that place for two weeks.”
“I only went after you got rid of them.”
He nodded. “I sprayed the whole area with bug repellent—it killed some of the vegetation as well.”
You smiled at the memory. “Grandma was so mad at us.”
A comfortable quietude ensued, submerging you both into a peaceful state of mind. Then, Caleb spoke solemnly.
“I have patrol tomorrow.” The sun began to disappear below the horizon, leaving swipes of purple behind on the sky. Dark clouds converged. “I won’t be there for you, pip.”
“Truth be told…” You gazed up at the vanishing sun. “I have some work to do. I came here for a more peaceful and friendly working environment.”
“Then you can busy yourself with that. Just… don’t burn down my kitchen, yeah?”
You shot him a scheming grin, yet it held no bite. “When will you be back?”
“The day after. Not too long.”
You bit your lip. Couldn’t he have stayed for a day longer? You had to be quick on your feet, then.
“Did you think about it?” Caleb suddenly interrupted. The gears turned in your head. Your mind was brought back to the offer he’d made before you departed from Skyhaven the last time—“Why not live here? You have nothing left in Linkon city to return to. I can get you a position somewhere as a criminologist. You can return to doing what you loved.”
Your gaze returned to him. You hadn’t decided yet. Sure, it gave you quite a handful of opportunities to inspect his brain a little closer. But if your plan failed? You’d be stuck in Skyhaven. You were sure it wouldn’t, but…
You took the flesh of your mouth into your teeth. It wasn’t the time to doubt yourself. But that wasn’t the only concern in your mind. The thought of him bearing so much power over your life and your job put you at unease. It was risky. Terribly so. It made your advantages over him feel insignificant. No matter how passionate you were about your work, and no matter your love for him, you preferred your sanity and wellbeing over all.
You turned to Caleb with an apologetic smile. His eyebrows furrowed, and a flicker of disappointment crossed his face. “Sorry, Caleb. I’ve made some friends, and I’m happy with the quiet life I’ve managed to build for myself.”
You could sense his thoughts—“What life? That poor, miserable one devoid of my presence and protection?”—you were sure that was what’d crossed his mind at that moment. You could tell by the way his jaw was clenched and his muscles tightened. But at once, the solicitous façade returned, washing away every hint of dissatisfaction that’d dared to cross his face. “That’s all right. You’re free to change your mind whenever you wish.” You forced your lips into a tight smile in return. “I appreciate it.” A part of you winced at the sudden formality in your tones. For some reason, you loathed whenever he got serious. It frightened you somewhat.
“You know, pip-squeak,” Caleb mused, his voice light, casual. Unnervingly so. Something in your stomach coiled—that familiar feeling of dread and anticipation. “Something tells me you’re not here for relaxation.”
You stilled, only for a little while. But it was enough. His gaze sharpened. “Tell me.” His eyes bore into yours—calculating, scrutinising, leaving no stone unturned. As if you were the experiment, and he, the mad scientist. Something venomous swirled in his violet hues. Like a dagger, or like the teeth of a snake—sharp, ready to pierce skin, waiting.
Unreadable.
Bolts of lightning ripped through the skies, illuminating a part of Caleb’s face to highlight the utter insanity brewing beneath his irises. A strong, dusty wind blew, sending shivers down your spine—though, you were unaware whether they were from fear or the cold. So, it was an oncoming storm.
Your fingers curled against the railing. Your sweat seeped onto its surface. You hesitated.
“Caleb, that’s—” A soft voice murmured. You let out a breathless laugh, flustered. “You’re not wrong.”
The air between you stretched taut. He remained silent, unmoving. Once again, silence had engulfed you, but this time, it wasn’t pleasant. Like a watchful eagle, Caleb waited.
You brushed strands of hair away from your eyes and glued your eyes to the birds instead. “You know, lately, I’ve just—I’ve been thinking,” you let your words tremble, “I—I’m sorry…” You gripped your chest. “I’ve been thinking that, maybe…” You swallowed, lowering your gaze. Perfect.
You inhaled sharply. “You were right.”
His brow raised. He seemed hooked.
“I thought about what you said—about my security. And you’re right. Although I’ve trained in the police, my combat knowledge is minimal. Linkon city is becoming less safe by the second, especially for me.” You closed your eyes. “Assuming what you said was true, about several corporations being after my head—well, my heart, I just can’t help but feel unsafe. Even when surrounded by my friends, even in my own home.” Your lips quivered. He listened with immaculate patience, as if he were picking apart your words, searching for a hidden subtext. “And now, everybody seems like hollow, empty beings. I can’t resonate with my patients; I can’t have fun with my friends. I feel so… isolated. So alone. And I realised,” you continued, “that despite all, you on the other hand? You were always there for me. In my heart, by my side. I could truly only be safe and happy when with you.”
Silence. The only sound in the air was the crackling of thunder.
You chanced a glance at him, watching how his eye twitched. Had he caught on? Were you in trouble? Was he mad? Your anxiety peaked at the slow inhale as he prepared to speak.
But then, his eyes softened.
“You should’ve just said so.” His voice was gentle, lacking the malice it once had. “You know you can always turn to me for help, right?”
Bingo.
Inside, you smirked. It worked. He fell for it. How could he not? You had been preparing for ages.
You’d won your first challenge. Arguably, it was the toughest one. If you’d failed—if he’d caught on, or noticed even the smallest hint of it having been a lie, your entire world would’ve crumbled. All that you’d worked for, gone. Rendered meaningless by your incompetence. You didn’t know what you would do afterward if that were to happen.
You let yourself appear small and vulnerable when you looked back at Caleb, attempting to highlight the anxiety in your eyes. “I know. I was planning to say it, but a perfect moment never came. Until now, that is.”
Caleb brought his palm to your cheek and cradled your face in his arms. “You don’t need an excuse to be honest with me. Whenever you feel like it, just lay your heart bare.”
“But you seemed so happy. Like you were enjoying yourself. I didn’t want to ruin it with my embarrassing thoughts.” You argued, forcing a frown on your face. He shook his head. “Once you’re done, we can go straight back to having fun if that’s what you want. Besides,” he averted his gaze, “It’s been on my mind all day—why you could be pretendin’ when you could’ve just told me. I was wondering how bad it was for you to be hidin’ it from me so desperately.”
You assumed as much. Explains why he seemed so jumpy earlier during breakfast, and why he kept zoning out the entire way here. It was what gave you the idea of using such deceit in the first place. You were sure if there was a perfect place to confront you about it, it would be here; under the witness of the setting sun, in a place you were bound to feel sentimental and thus, vulnerable and ready to spill it all out.
Unfortunately, you were not willing to fall for such a clear trap.
By the time you had left, the downpour had begun. Weighted beads of water stormed down on you viciously. The two of you rushed out before the storm could catch you. Well, one of you did. Caleb, who so valiantly used himself to shield you against the relentless tempest, had been completely drenched. Blobs of water dragged along the floor as he walked. You swore, if you squeezed him then, a whole waterfall would erupt. It was almost sweet—the way he so earnestly utilised his behemoth of a body to block out the storm’s ceaseless assault. It was something straight out of a romantic drama, or some sort of cliché film. But for some reason, you couldn’t cringe. You only laughed it off, paying no mind to the gentle flutter in your stomach.
The drive home was thrilling—abundant with giggles and snarky remarks thrown around. Perhaps you were in a better mood because your stomach was full—Caleb had been kind enough to treat you to supper in a small café situated on the middlemost floor of that building. The chef’s culinary expertise overflowed from the arrangement of exquisitely prepared Skyhaven delicacies. And the best part? They were quite cheap. Had you received a discount in honour of his presence? You didn’t know. But at the very least, you didn’t go broke after insisting that you split the bill 50/50. Despite having dried off, however, Caleb somehow wetted the seats.
Once home, both of you almost immediately collapsed onto the couch (you threw him off, of course, for soaking the furniture with the remnants of his heroism). He scrambled out of his clothes and cooked you both a warm plate of braised chicken wings shortly after. Dinner ensued normally this time, with a dearth of odd flinches or averted gazes. The two of you simply chatted to your heart’s content, both putting in equal effort to make it seem as if old times had returned.
Of course, it hadn’t. You were thrust back into reality when Caleb’s phone began to ring.
With a sidelong glance, he excused himself, making haste to his room and shutting the door behind him. You eyed the door, moving only when you were sure it’d clicked shut. Tip-toeing over to the kitchen, you bent down to eye the compartments underneath. There it was. Unmistakable, concrete—a file of unknown origin adorned with a sleek grey cover. You glanced over the counter. He wasn’t done yet. Your attention travelled back to the file.
But you paused. Tremors rippled through you as you slipped the ring off your finger and dropped it to the floor. With a measured kick, you pushed it further beneath the counter. Just to be safe. In case you were caught.
You reached into the compartment. Your entire arm was swallowed by darkness before finally, your fingers met the file. Cautiously, you pulled it out. The layer of dust coating its surface sprang up to your face as you dusted it. You made an effort not to cough.
The file’s edges were worn. Yet the pages inside appeared to be relatively new and untouched, perhaps even well-kept. A plastic sleeve shielded the grey manila folder from all sorts of debris. The pages inside were laminated and contained bundles of new words and information foreign to you. The file’s contents overwhelmed you. They appeared to be gibberish, nonsensical.
You deftly skimmed through the first few pages. None of the information contained within them seemed worthy of noting. Not to you, at least. There didn’t appear to be anything you didn’t know and was not known by the public. Then why was he reacting so oddly back then? Why had he flinched? Why had his gaze travelled back to his lap—or more specifically, to this file, as he anxiously fiddled with his fingers? You’d lured him away on purpose—dragging him outside the moment he could’ve gotten a chance to remove the file before you could grasp it. Was it all for nothing, then? Were you mistaken?
You stilled.
You weren’t mistaken after all.
Your fingers hovered over the fifth page.
There, in big, bold letters, was your name.
Inscribed upon the laminated page. And beside that lay your picture, alongside a list of unremarkable data, such as your date of birth, full name, affiliation, and so on.
Before you could investigate further, a voice called out your name. You hadn’t heard the door creak open.
You peered up from beneath the counter. Caleb’s face was contorted with horror—his pupils contracted; his body frozen. The hand holding his phone to his ear dropped to his side. He began to stride toward you.
You shoved the folder lazily into the compartment once more, ensuring no sound was emitted in the process. Adopting the most nonchalant expression you could, you lifted your head to face him. “Caleb,” you called out, a small pout gracing your lips, “I can’t reach the ring.”
He stopped. The act seemed to have taken effect. He cocked his head, eyes bearing into yours, as if ripping apart your soul itself for a trace of a lie. But you weren’t intimidated by his silent interrogation. You held your resolve, maintaining the façade with determined accuracy. Gradually, Caleb’s impishness returned.
“Dropped it?”
He fell for it so flawlessly, it almost irked you that he hadn’t put up a bigger fight. You pouted internally. Could he not have pretended not to buy it? For the sake of the thrill? Oh, well. A win’s a win.
You nodded. “I can’t reach it. Can you help me?”
He hurried to your side and hunched over. You noted the way his eyes skimmed over the document tucked away in the depths of the compartment, right where he’d left it, before it went to the gap underneath the counter. The subtle glint of your ring confirmed your honesty. He raised his hand and twirled his fingers in the air. As if a gust of wind had carried it here, the ring smoothly levitated out of the darkness and onto the countertop. You shot him a sheepish smile before returning to your feet to collect the ring.
Just as you slipped it onto your finger, Caleb grasped your chin between his fingers and turned you to face him. His eyes bore an unnerving intensity as they skimmed over your face. Were you busted? Had he caught on? You didn’t let the quiver reach your lips. Instead, you donned a perplexed complexion as he whisked your head around.
Once satisfied, he released you from his grip and ruffled your hair. “Just checking if you’d gotten dust on you.” You rolled your eyes in response. “I’m not a child anymore!”
“Anyway, anything wrong? That call seemed important.” You caught him zoning out, staring into the distance. You waved your hand before his face. “Earth to Caleb?”
He straightened himself. “Not really. I just… might return home a little late tomorrow. And I gotta leave tonight.”
You frowned. He had the audacity to lie to your face, knowing you were skilled enough to penetrate through whatever front he puts up. Pushing it would only add to the uncomfortableness of it all, so you sealed your lips instead.
You whined, although it came out a bit prolonged, before swatting his arm weakly. “But you said…”
“I know,” he sighed, “But duty calls.”
“Tell you what?” He brushed a stray strand away and cradled your cheek. For a moment, he glanced to the side, lost in thought, before he looked back at you and continued, “I’ll make it up to ya once I’m back. But with that being said, don’t stay up too late tomorrow, yeah?” You pretended to be unmoved, but a part of you jumped at the mention of recuperation. You wondered what it would be. Food, perhaps? Or maybe tickets to that movie you’d been dying to watch? Whatever it was, you couldn’t deny it enlivened you.
Caleb seemed to have noticed the somersaults you did, and the way you skipped around with joy behind those eyes. He smirked. “I’ll be leaving now. Get some rest. I’m sure you’re tire—achoo!” He hastily covered his mouth with his arm. Another sneeze. And another.
You narrowed your eyes and folded your arms over your chest. “Are you sure you won’t catch a cold? Although you probably already have…” you muttered the last part under your breath.
Caleb waved his arm dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll be—” And another. “Yeah. Anyways, as I was saying, go to bed on time, alright?”
You shook your head, as if disheartened by his juvenile behaviour. “Alright. But, at least take some medicine or something. It’ll probably be one long night.”
When Caleb had left, the tempest roared at its prime. Despite having handed him two umbrellas, a string of worry coiled in your chest. Could he fend off against the raging winds that thumped against the sliding glass doors of the balcony and threatened to knock them over? No matter how strong a man, he was deemed fragile and brittle against the forces of nature. What if an uninvited bolt of electricity had happened to fall upon him as he walked? Was he even walking? You hoped not. At least vehicles were designed to protect people from lightning.
In the end, the quietude proved to be quite pleasant. You could immerse yourself in re-studying Harrison’s case without the fear of Caleb barging in and catching you red-handed.
You managed to skim over quite a lot of pages before hunger struck. Glancing up at the clock, the realisation dawned upon you that you had been at it for more than two hours. But it was a productive two-hour session with yourself, you’d say. But there were obstacles, nonetheless. As you’d suspected, Roan’s problematic behaviour had a completely different source from what you’d suspected Caleb’s to be. He acted on paranoia and insecurity, whereas Caleb seemed more insistent on the idea of protection. Roan’s obsession blinded his wit and caused him to act on impulse.
The kidnapping of Anne Lotte, although seemingly flawless, was conducted on a whim. Harrison executed his plan with merely a gun, a bundle of ropes, and some chloroform to sedate her. The alley Anne happened to be crossing through had no cameras, and as it was a secluded shortcut few were aware of, there were no passers-by to witness the crime. Nobody had gotten injured, thanks to Harrison’s prior police training, so there was no blood or evidence to be picked up. All other proof happened to be washed away by the rain shortly after.
From this timeline of events, it was clear that Harrison had gotten away with Anne’s kidnapping simply because of luck. If the stars hadn’t aligned during his sudden state of paranoia, Anne would be alive and well now. What an unlucky girl she was. It was almost as if fate had abandoned her.
Harrison had strength, but he was dim. That was what caused the inevitable discovery of Anne stashed away in his basement. Caleb, on the other hand, possessed both. Throughout high school, he had topped you almost constantly. No matter how hard you studied, no matter how many all-nighters you’d pulled, he would somehow manage to top you with a mere four or five hours of study before an examination.
You admit, you were envious of him throughout most of your teenage years, and you were appalled when he’d decided to tread a completely different academic path from yours. But nowadays, looking back, you realise that the only reason he’d made such an effort to conquer you was to be a reliable pillar of support if you were to falter. Which, inevitably due to the gallons of caffeine and hours’ worth of lost sleep, you did. Another irksome consequence of his undying affection that you had to suffer.
Even now, his wits and manipulation are clear. You were sure nobody rose to the rank of Colonel so swiftly without possessing immense intelligence. Caleb’s puppy eyes weren’t going to fool anyone. Not you, at least. They couldn’t hide the terrifyingly adept brain that lay beyond them.
Anne’s decline in mental well-being was predetermined. It was part of Harrison’s flawed plan all along. His insecurity left little room for actual care and affection to be expressed towards her, and as a result, he determined that breaking her resolve would be the surest way of ensuring submission. Of course, that did backfire for him. It led to her malnutrition, forecasted miscarriages, and her eventual suicide. Although you had no sure way of knowing what Caleb would’ve done, you were sure it wasn’t this.
Someone like him could predict such an outcome from a mile away. Breaking somebody’s mind, in this case, would be a reckless decision. And most importantly, his fatal flaw is that he loves too dearly and cares too much to be able to leave someone he admires to fend for themselves as he relentlessly shatters their psyche. He is too infatuated for that. His obsession stemmed from a desire to protect, not meaningless paranoia like Harrison’s. That explains why he would be unwilling to lay a finger on them.
And, of course, Caleb was a “manipulation>direct action” type of man. He had expressed his twisted desires to keep you confined and unable to flee once before, as he had been bandaging up your injured leg. But you were confident that his idea of confinement exists in a psychological state. He would bind your mind and heart to him, maneuver you to fall deeper into a psychical trap you could not escape. He would never directly imprison or confine. He would rewire your brain so that you willingly stuck yourself to him. It was a legal way to get what he wanted. And you didn’t doubt he could pull it off.
However, one thing to note was that he needed motive—proof that you were slipping from his grasp. As long as you remained on good terms, or pretended to, he would not need to resort to such methods.
Maybe.
Despite the dissimilarities, you were sure you could learn more to be able to counter his blows if he were to ever make some. But your main priority was still to cleanse his mind, to provide him with an opening to redeem himself and return to his normal life once more. Never mind your intentions. The contrast between their insanities led you to notice some peculiar things.
You turned to one of the back pages of your book and began scribbling down your thoughts.
Harrison and Caleb were merely two sides of the same coin. A cerberus with two heads. One who is impulsive, led on by rage and desire, and the other that is intelligent, driven by his loyalty to his master. But in the end, the cerberus is one complete being. If you split it in half, it will not regenerate like dividing cells. It will simply perish together. After all, both are two extremes.
Meaning if a lack of foresight could tackle one, then the other would fall for his over-calculation of things. They were both arrogant and full of themselves, believing only themselves and their strategies to be correct. In the end, they couldn’t see the 48 other heads lodged between the two—48 other ways to be “correct”.
The impulsive head aches to swallow his prey, to make incisions within his heart and stash them away in one of its chambers. And the cunning head too cuts, not his heart, but his lover’s brain, and detangles the strands only to twist them again, only this time in a way that would make them willing to stay. Resorting to such cruel yet more humane tactics implies that the fear of losing their treasure was rooted far more deeply in the intelligent cerberus rather than the dim one.
And what if fear is not another vulnerability to control?
Whereas Harrison is abundant in paranoia and insecurity, Caleb is almost wholly dominated by the extremity of positive emotions like love, care, and an overwhelming desire to protect. His unwillingness to hurt means that if you were to show even a single crack in your mind, the fear of you crumbling would force him to loosen his grip almost entirely, given that his side of the mind games had already begun. That would create the perfect opening for you to slip past and dash out to meet your freedom.
All you had to do was put on one more act.
Harrison’s impulsiveness, contrasting Caleb’s preparedness, also let you peer into another opening. If you continued to think of them as two sides of the same coin, then you could come upon this conclusion—if Harrison had a breaking point, so did he.
Harrison’s inevitable downfall and his psychological abuse of Anne was set into motion when the thought bit into his brain, whispering—“If you don’t tighten the leash, she will run away.” It was safe to assume that Caleb too had a breaking point. It was simply harder to reach. One side of the coin was made of bronze, whereas the other was constructed of tungsten. Both could melt, just at different speeds.
If you could provoke him up to that point, Caleb would be forced to reveal his hand. But, admittedly, picturing what could happen if he snapped was… unsettling. Precisely because you couldn’t picture it at all.
And thus, that would remain something you would try if you couldn’t get him to falter at all. A last resort, to be more specific.
And now, with your acquired information, you could weave your final plan: if he tried something anyway, you could paint a front of danger, as if his ‘advances’ and whatnot had thrown you into a state of endangerment, and if he didn’t back away immediately, it may cost him (and you) something precious. Whether it be your life, blood, or sanity, he cared too much not to abort instantaneously. Unlike Harrison, he wouldn’t act blindly—he’d justify his actions. If you could provide real consequences (consequences that mattered to him), you could alter his idea of justifications and compel him to rationalise his actions differently.
And how, exactly, would you achieve that? Well, that was something to figure out along the way. That was your motto—have a vague, surface-level plan, and build upon it as you go. If you had a solid, fool-proof plan, you wouldn’t have searched for information after arriving in Skyhaven.
To be honest with yourself, your knowledge on Caleb’s behaviour and your predictions on what may have happened next were minimal; certainly not enough to conclude that you were in any real danger, and certainly not enough to deduce that your initial assumptions could be utilised to orchestrate a surefire way of taking him down. You suppose you had to spend more time with him to come to a real conclusion. Of course, that wouldn’t be too easy, considering that you’d purposefully invaded at a time where he’d be busy juggling you and his duties simultaneously. You had your reasons. The perfect time to strike was when a man’s back was faced to you, and he was too busy with the happenings before him to notice the footsteps creeping up on him from behind. In short, right now, he was vulnerable. If he found out you were up to something, he would be too exhausted to think straight and thus he would falter. If you face an enemy far stronger than you, wear them down first, and then strike when they are on the verge of tears.
The real problem right now was how you could feign being endangered. For now, you’d come up with a few ways. Perhaps a more logical approach would be best for a start.
Skyhaven’s weather seemed mostly untouched. Save for yesterday’s storm, it remained relatively stable. With clear, cloudless skies, splashed with a unique blue, it was perfect weather—perfect air. Too perfect. Maybe the storm from yesterday lingered somewhere beneath the blues. It had to be. Nothing is truly calm—especially not here.
“Beautiful, isn’t it, Rhys?” you hummed. A flock of black ravens flitted past your window. The bitter scent of unbrewed coffee beans drifted in the café’s air. It was a scent you’d grown to admire. The perfect place to work, really. It opened your mind (and mouth) wide enough to effectively scribble away at one of your flimsy journals, analysing some patients’ consciousnesses or just gathering your thoughts. But today, you weren’t here for work.
“Probably because we’re so high up,” Rhys grinned, flashing his braced teeth. He was a tall man of dark complexion with thin brown hair kissing his shoulders. Rhys Vaughn—one of the few patients you’d reviewed in Skyhaven, involved with your limited history here. He used to be a drug addict and had nearly run over a child while stoned. To his luck, the child managed to escape mostly unscathed save for a broken limb, and thus, he got off with a relatively lighter charge. He was placed under your care while serving time in prison. Eventually, after a period of two years, you’d managed to lure him into making a full recovery. Now, he appeared before you, a new, clean man with a loving wife. But, above all, working with Rhys had one sure advantage—he was quite talented in the art of gathering information.
In his line of work as a technician, Rhys was required to have some basic computing skills. As a result, he’d undergone several computer science courses online, and he completely aced them. The coding shenanigans that couldn’t penetrate through your thick skull passed through his as if tearing through paper. He was skilled in what you were not; practical work. If there was anyone to call for some ethical hacking and information digging, it would be him. To Rhys, asking him to dig up information was the same as asking him to pass you the remote from across the room. You could put those skills to use.
“How’s your wife?” you gingerly sipped your coffee.
“She’s good. Hit a milestone in her art.”
“And you? How are you feeling?”
Rhys chuckled. “Still playing psychotherapist, miss?”
You shook your head with a sheepish smile. “Force of habit, you know? Can’t take my mind off work.” You waved your hand dismissively. “Really, though, how are you? Answer the question viewing me as… a friend.”
“I’m doin’ great!” He raised his hands dramatically in a gesture of joy. “Not delirious all day, actually sane and stable, able to keep relationships and eat something other than scrawny prison food. Yeah, couldn’t have been better.”
You smiled. Genuinely. “Good to know.”
Knowing your patient had achieved happiness fulfilled your purpose as both a psychotherapist and a human. Your mind recalled a skinnier Rhys sitting across from you on a long, white couch, lacking the sun in his eyes, which he now had multiple of, swirling about in his pools of bronze. His eyes back then; they were empty. He appeared a lifeless man with mould growing out of the pores of his skin. And now, he was here, sitting across from you, helping you just as you had helped him two years ago. It was a motherly pride that filled your chest, cascading through your nerves like a warm, sweet liquid. You couldn’t be happier.
“Anyway, what ya here for?”
You placed your hand under your chin and turned to look out the window.
“I remembered what you said, Rhys.”
He cocked an eyebrow and peered at you from over his cup as he sipped. You took it as a sign to continue. “You mentioned once that you owe me one, and that if I ever find myself in a stump in Skyhaven, I could call for you.”
“So,” he added a packet of sweetener into his coffee, “You want to take me up on that offer now? I thought you’d forgotten about me.” His countenance twisted to display mock hurt. “All right. I’m just playing. What’s it about?”
“I recently managed to earn myself a boyfriend,” you started, although cringing internally, “And I happen to doubt his mental well-being.”
Rhys kicked back on the plush of the chair. He’d figured it out already, you were sure, but you went on anyway.
“We just got together about 6 months ago. So, it’ll be hard to know enough to be able to help him.”
“So you want me to dig up some information about him?” He leaned closer. “What kind?”
“He’s an orphan. Doesn’t have family, pretends with his friends. But there are a few people he seemed close to. Some workers, mailmen, plumbers, you know. Those types of people I can never seem to get a hold of.”
“Should I fetch their contacts?”
“No.” You winced at the finality of your words. “I mean, yes, but not just that.”
Rhys cocked an eyebrow. An amused smirk crossed his face. Had he caught your lies?
“It’d be convenient if you could search for his transactions with them. Their backgrounds, history, et cetera. I have some… other doubts as well.”
With a large gulp, Rhys slurped up his coffee and wiped his face with a napkin. Only silence swayed between you two as he took his time to reply. He wasn’t thinking. Certainly not. But he lingered, nonetheless.
He knew, for sure.
“You know, little miss, I don’t know why you feel the need to fabricate when you know I don’t hesitate to dirty my hands.”
You glued your eyes to your lap.
“I owe you. And even if you asked me to kill a man, I’d do it.”
You let out a shaky exhale. “If I were still your therapist, I’d be scribbling on my notebook right now. But, considering I’m in a pinch, I’ll let it slide.” You smiled. “I appreciate your help, Rhys, and your respect for my privacy. I will forever be indebted to you.”
He swatted his hand about mindlessly. “Yeah, yeah. A name, please.” He slid you a slip of paper.
You plucked a pen from your coat and jotted down Caleb’s name before passing it across the table. Taking it between his fingers, Rhys eyed the name. He lingered there for a beat too long. Something was up. Your suspicions only spiked with the subtle twitch of his finger. A light of recognition crossed his bronze irises before fading just as swiftly. In a flash, his grin returned, and he pocketed the slip of paper before springing to his feet. “All right. Tomorrow, I’ll text you with whatever I find.”
You lowered your head. “Again, thank you.”
That night, Caleb returned late. Uninjured, thankfully, but acting odd nonetheless. In his hands, a small bag was clutched. You recalled his words—“I’ll make it up to you.”—and it took a lot for you to resist leaping from the couch and snatching the bag from his hands. What stopped you, aside from the fear of appearing awfully juvenile, was the exhaustion etched into his face.
When his eyes met yours, however, his complexion brightened immediately. Still clad in his uniform, Caleb kicked off his boots and strode towards you. A weariness weighed his movements. The strongest man you’d ever seen, both physically and mentally—your pillar of strength—stumbled across the room like a golden puppy dragging its injured leg along the floor, wagging its tail and paying no mind to its pain. You felt stabbed in the chest. For a man of such power, he could be absolutely endearing at times.
“Miss me, pip?” Caleb leaned down to ruffle your hair affectionately. You shut off your phone to smile at him. Your eyes enlarged as his familiar face appeared before you, but a frown tugged at your lips at the dark stains under his eyes. You reached your hand out to caress the blackened bags of flesh.
“You didn’t sleep.”
He cradled your face in turn. “Neither did you.” A flick to your forehead caused a pout to form on your face.
“I wasn’t working my ass off.”
“And I was. I know. I’m sorry.” He set his colonel cap on your head. The accessory dwarfed your skull, sinking down until it obscured your vision. Caleb stifled a laugh at the sight.
He noted the way your eyes drifted to the bag in his hand—the bag that was coated with crimson and shiny gold accents, which gave away very little about its contents. Sensing your curiosity, he handed the bag to you.
“The lady asks, and I deliver.” He bowed curtly. You both broke into merry laughter.
Stashed away in the depths of the tiny bag was a rectangular velvety jewellery case, coloured similarly to the bag, down to the gold accents. The mere surface of the case seemed extravagant enough to satisfy your greed even in the absence of the jewellery itself. You stared in awe. Were you truly deserving of the real gem hidden inside? Your fingers traced the engraving on the case’s surface. A remarkable brand. There was a lump gathering in your throat. It felt sacred to hold something so precious, so expensive. You were no high priestess or beloved queen—not worthy enough to clutch a revered artifact. And yet, Caleb’s eyes bore into yours with a gentleness that could bring you to tears. And it did. You felt tears threatening to form. You were sure he noticed.
A sudden wave of guilt knocked the wind out of your lungs. Just hours before, you’d been conspiring against him, digging up information that could potentially be labelled as an invasion of one’s privacy, and threading together a plan that was catered to go against him, to take him down. You knew you weren’t doing anything wrong. You were helping him. Guiding him to a path of happiness, just as you did with your patients, just as you did with Rhys.
Just as you would have with Harrison and Anne.
If only your incompetence hadn’t gotten them killed, they could walk their own paths today. You closed your eyes. An image flashed before you. A flimsy blonde girl with scars littering her arms, crossing a bridge, heading towards a field of flowers with her dead child clutching her hand. And a battered older man going the opposite way—a path towards a blinding light, the path to redemption.
You wouldn’t let it happen again.
There was nothing to be guilty of. Your fingers curled tighter against the fabric of your pants. There was nothing to be guilty of. You weren’t in the wrong. This was for the greater good. They’d understand. They surely would, once they realised that the path you chose for them was a more tranquil one.
But did you risk losing yourself in the process?
“Not going to open it? Your head’s been stuck in the clouds for about thirty seconds now.” Caleb loosened his tie before seating himself next to you. “Something on your mind? Is the casing not to your liking?”
You shook your head. “I’m just… you’re exhausted beyond belief right now, and you went through all that trouble… I don’t deserve this.” You frowned. “I’m so sorry for making you ‘make up’ to me. I didn’t know you’d go that far, I—”
Strong arms coiled around you, drawing you in. You felt the steady, yet surprisingly slow beats of his heart from where you were nestled against his chest. Fingers wove through your hair, offering a sense of solace you hadn’t felt in a while. With a low, careful tone, he whispered. His lips brushed against your ear. “Don’t say anything.”
And you obeyed.
For a moment, you remained steady. Silent. Your lips were pursed, and your heart beat fast—a stark contrast to his. You sank deeper into his embrace. Your grip faltered, and you eventually gave in to his presence entirely. Your body slumped against his, but he seemed to have no trouble bearing your weight. For a moment, you considered letting the tears flow. But a part of you clawed against the muscular wall of your heart in retaliation, screeching in protest. Something screamed danger, despite you being the safest you’d ever been right now.
With steady arms, Caleb brought your palm, which was weakly clutching the jewellery case, to your chest. “I had this ordered for months. I was just waiting for the right moment to pick it up. So,” with his other hand, he tousled your hair, “Don’t think you were a bother. And honestly? I can’t name a single woman more deserving of this than you.”
A faint blush coated your cheeks. But you shook it off before he could see. Renewed courage surged through you, and your fingers made their way to the hook of the case.
Carefully, you slid it open.
A white gleam.
There, perched amidst the plush, was a delicate, thin bracelet made of what appeared to be sterling silver. The chain itself was of a unique geometric design consisting of circles, ovals, and a myriad of shapes you couldn’t name. The expert craftsmanship showed in the presence of the bracelet’s seamless links and its shiny, polished clasp. You ran your fingers over the chain. The material was smooth, devoid of bumps or rough edges—things you’d usually find in low-quality bracelets.
You remembered complaining to him once how half of your bracelets used to dig into your skin, to which he’d reply with a smile, “One day, you won’t have to wear uncomfortable jewellery.” Back then, you’d brush it off with a “Oh, that day better come soon!”. But now, considering the significant amount of effort put into smoothing the surface, you wondered if this was what he truly meant.
The primary point of attraction, however, lay not in the bracelet’s gleam or smoothness, but in the moderately sized white gemstone hanging from it—a gorgeous pendant.
You opened your mouth, but no words came. Caleb chuckled. “White sapphire.”
You pressed your lips into a thin line. What could you say? You were surprised your jaw wasn’t kissing the floor by now.
Speechless, you ran your fingers along the gemstone. It weighed a bit more than you’d expected—an insignificant difference, really, but notable nonetheless. Perhaps it was pure. If that was the case, then it didn’t help with your simmering guilt.
“Here,” Caleb snatched the jewellery from your fingers, “Let me help you with that.”
Deftly, he slid the bracelet down your wrist and clasped the hook. You raised your arm, watching as the white sapphire that dangled from the thin chain glittered beneath the pencils of light. Your lips parted in awe.
“Promise me,” your attention shifted to Caleb as he brought your jewelled wrist to his chest, “That you won’t take this off.”
“Like how you’re glued to that dog tag I gave you?” You giggled. His lips curled into a soft smile. “If that’s how you want to put it.”
“Okay.” You placed your free palm atop his. “I promise, I’ll cherish this forever.”
“If you don’t, I’ll be really hurt.” He feigned a pout. But the yearning in his eyes was real.
You shook your head. “You’re impossible.”
“I know.” Caleb brought your palm against his face, sinking into your warmth. You stilled for a moment. This was way too intimate. But the guilt glued you in place, restricting you from moving away. Or was it his endearing affection? Nonetheless, pulling away felt like a crime. He’d handed you such a priceless treasure; could you not indulge him for a moment and let him bask in your radiance?
You choked back the sinking feeling in your gut to let him have his way with your arm. He was acting like a starved puppy. Cute, yes, but a little overbearing and unsettling. Almost as if the puppy brushing up against you had blood smearing its teeth. Of course, it was just your paranoia, and nothing was really there.
Nothing visible, at least.
In spite of your passionate protests, Caleb insisted on whipping up a late-night snack for you. And so, you were practically forced into your seat on the counter as you were made to watch him scurry through the kitchen. The heated pot sizzled in objection to the cold oil poured onto it. You’d made up your mind to just observe as he worked, in case you could find an opening or an excuse to help, but you were distracted by a notification on your phone.
Rhys.
You looked up at Caleb. He appeared too deeply immersed in his cooking to notice the small ding of your phone. Bringing the device under the shade of the counter, you opened your chat with Rhys.
“Miss, this is important.”
Your brow furrowed. “Found anything?”
“Well, yes. A few things. But first, I think I really gotta come clean with this.”
You silently typed out a reply. “Go on.”
“That guy? Caleb Xia? I know him.”
You froze, fingers hovering over your keyboard. Rhys continued typing.
“I worked for him in the past. He needed something installed in his home. I was the one who took up the job.”
“Install what?”
“Cameras.”
A void formed in your stomach. A sudden chill enveloped the air. You shivered involuntarily. Cameras. He had cameras in his house. Your head whipped about the room, scouring every wall and every corner for a hint of something that could be labelled as a camera. Something prickled the skin on the back of your neck. Caleb’s back was turned to you. But still, you felt something watching you from the shadows.
Paranoia. You couldn’t let it consume you.
“I found it odd back then,” Rhys continued, “He had it installed in his rooms. The bedrooms,” You studied Harrison’s case in one of them, “The living room, the hallways.” Dread crippled into your being. It was as if someone had thrown a pebble across a calm pond, causing violent ripples to tear through the once-steady surface.
“And also,”
He paused.
“The kitchen.”
A clot. In your throat. Your lungs constricted.
He knew.
Caleb knew.
That you’d stumbled across that document.
Images of a collected Caleb smiling down at you as you knelt against the counter resurfaced in your brain. The way he so nonchalantly fetched the ring for you, the act he’d put on just now. The act you’d believed.
You gazed down at the white bracelet clasped around your wrist. What used to be a remarkable work of superior craftsmanship transformed into a heavy chain made to tether you to him. ”I promise, I will cherish this forever.” You really were going to throw up.
With shaky hands, you shut your phone. Your eyes returned to the bracelet.
It wasn’t a gift. It was an anchor to bind you to him. To trick you into forming a vow you couldn’t break.
Shit.
You walked right into a trap.
Blind and oblivious. A moth to a flame.
The circular kitchen lights buzzed overhead. A flicker of light flashed past the window—a ghastly apparition, watching. You whipped your head towards it in an attempt to catch it before it fled. There was nothing. Were you seeing things? Paranoia. It was simply your fear—your body preparing itself to become hyper-aware of its surroundings. A consequence of the natural fight or flight response. You were paranoid. You were aware. But that didn’t help how every shadow felt darker, how every corner untouched by the kitchen’s dim light seemed to host an entity.
Your whole time here, you were being watched. How much had he seen?
“You seen a ghost?”
It took every bit of your strength to not leap off your seat. You looked up at him, then eyed the plate nestled in his palm. It was hard to trust him right now.
Under the faint light, half of Caleb’s face remained shrouded in an ominous shadow. His violet hues gleamed from beneath the darkness menacingly as they peered down at you. Beyond the cloak of darkness, however, his countenance seemed normal.
But you couldn’t shake the dread off.
An invisible shiver tiptoed down your spine. You forced a smile. “I got startled by the flash of lightning.”
“It’s stormin’?”, he placed the plate down on the counter before turning to the large windows. “Again?” A bolt of electricity ripped through the sky. Caleb turned to you with a smirk. “Still afraid of thunder, pip-squeak?”
Afraid of you., you wanted to say, but you bit your lip. It was best you avoid giving him reasons to put a collar on you. For now, you had to stay low.
“I’m not.” You huffed, folding your arms over your chest. A forced blush crept up your neck. “I’m just… anyway, the food looks amazing!” You swiftly snatched the dish from his hands, leaving him slightly dumfounded as he lingered where the dish once was. With the help of his evol, Caleb pushed a pair of utensils your way. You were glad you suppressed the flinch that threatened to ripple through you. For the first time in your life, his evol terrified you.
The bed groaned under your weight as you suspended yourself entirely onto it. The mattress dipped beneath you. Even his bed, which, to you, had once been the comfiest bed in the anthropology of beds, felt like a cage. You could feel metallic tendrils crawling from beneath it, wrapping over your form as you slept, encasing you like a cocoon would. Perhaps that’s all you were to Caleb. A butterfly, useful only for its grace and the tranquility it brought. Meant to be wrapped away in a cocoon and let out only when it bloomed. The part of you bound to your profession begged to differ—clearly, that was not the case. Clearly, his feelings ran deeper than that. A complex tapestry of twisted adoration, infatuation, and perhaps even hatred or rage.
But that didn’t stop your feelings from thrashing about in a frenzy, did it?
It’s a simple truth. Many, if not all, of the patients you reviewed struggled with something similar to it. Their brains were aware of the truth, but their hearts refused to comply. It was a plague, killing them from the inside. Their loved ones resorted to presenting the truth before them. And their brains knew, lodging the processed data as it normally did. But the heart is a stubborn thing. Some things it refuses to accept.
At this point, you would become the patient.
A part of you urged yourself to bash your head against the wall for not predicting such a bold move on his end sooner. You were close to figuring it out. A part of the reason why you’d always gone to the bathroom to change included this subtle feeling of being watched. So, with your hands still gripping the ends of your shirt, you kicked open the bathroom door and changed there instead. You were glad you’d done that, of course, but you couldn’t hate yourself more for not pondering a second longer on the feeling of being watched. If you had, you were confident you’d have figured it out before he could notice. You were supposed to be ahead of him.
You were about to reopen the chat, but the sensation of a chilling pair of eyes drilling into your head halted your decision. The bedrooms also had cameras. But where? And how good was their image quality? Could he have read the contents of your journal, perchance? Could he see your chat even from up there? Your initial thought was to position yourself away from the camera. Find a blind spot, maybe. But all those ideas were rendered useless considering you were unaware of its position.
You could open your phone and check for any flashes of red or purple from infrared LEDs, which would most definitely be present assuming the cameras were equipped with night vision. But committing to such a dumb move would expose your knowledge of his ‘control’. You were sure twirling about the room in the dark with your phone’s camera on would leave no room for assumptions. What excuse would you bring? That you were so awe-struck by the lack of artistic interior design in Caleb’s room that you felt tempted to record it all and store it on your ‘top-10 things to not do while constructing a home’ list? Yeah, no. He would figure you out faster than Rhys had in the café.
You didn’t want to imagine what would happen next.
So, you resorted to the last thing you could think of.
You reached for a thin blanket and threw it over yourself. Protection. He couldn’t see what you were up to, even if he tried. And what excuse did one need to huddle up under a blanket?
You switched your phone open and scrolled through the messages you couldn’t read.
“I’d gotten it done a few days ago.” Right before your arrival at Skyhaven. He gauged your intentions so swiftly. A chill ran down your spine. You couldn’t tell whether it was from the storm’s frosty wind.
“Pretty high-tech stuff. With night vision and all. It was odd. I should’ve questioned it. But it wasn’t any of my business. So I left it.”
“I did some digging on his background. And, miss, I have to ask you—are you aware of his profession?”
You sighed, threading your hair through your fingers. You hadn’t asked him to dig up dirt on that matter.
“I’m not sure if I should be telling you, but—”
“I know,” you typed back. “I know about it very well.”
“I’m not sure if I should be getting involved in this. Surely, you understand?”
He knew too much. And for that, you had to let him go. Even if he hadn’t approached you first. You’d have to. Because honestly, you were scared of what that man could do. Scouring any further would prove risky for him. The last thing you wanted to do was put a man happily living his married life in inconceivable danger for the sake of your selfish desires. It was a cruel thing to do. Although you’d technically used him, it was your last wish to be selfish.
“I understand. I’m sorry for getting you caught up in this. Should I pay you for your troubles?”
“No need for that. I barely did anything. But, I will tell you this.”
You watched as the three small dots enlarged and shrank as he typed.
“Recently, some personnel were recruited under his command to be appointed to more general tasks. That’s the most I can tell you. Searching any further’s gonna cost me my head.”
You didn’t push Rhys any further. You thanked him for his service and were about to log off when he sent one last text message.
“Little miss, I know you’re determined in whatever you’re tryna do. But please. For your sake, leave Skyhaven and forget about this.” You gripped your phone a little tighter. Exhaling shaky breaths, you shuffled under the blanket. You knew Rhys was right, and that he only spoke from a place of genuine care and respect. You knew you should’ve taken his advice and ended your vacation here. But you couldn’t. Not when you’d gotten so far. You were too deep into this. You were sure that Caleb wouldn’t let you leave either—he was (most likely) aware that you’d stumbled upon that document. Whatever it was, it wasn’t something he wanted you to see. And he wasn’t going to let you flee so easily after unearthing such a disastrous secret of his.
But you had to say, he needed to practice being discreet more often.
“Protect yourself. If things go south, you can’t escape. The whole of Skyhaven is controlled by his fleet.”
You sighed. There was nothing to say to that. But you were sure it wouldn’t come to you having to physically run from the authorities and escape the land in secrecy. Physical restriction was something Caleb couldn’t bring himself to do, even if he was injected with all the liquid courage in the world. His care for you ran too deep, even if he had mentioned it in a fit of rage. You’d defend that belief with your life.
Why were you defending him again? Oh, well.
But if it came to mentally detaching yourself from him, well, that… you weren’t so sure. It just so happened that you’d been so full of yourself before arriving here that you’d completely forgotten to ponder the possibility of having to flee on short notice. Simply put, if worst came to worst, you had no plan to save yourself.
You agreed that Caleb did have influence. And, unfortunately, that could often overpower the authority over one’s mind and heart. After all, the realm we truly resided in was the physical realm, not the psychical one. If anything were to bind you in the physical world, you couldn’t escape from it even in your mind. In other words, you’d be trapped here, body and soul.
“Don’t worry,” you lied, “I have it under control.”
And with that, you ended your conversation with Rhys.
It was only a matter of awaiting the occurrences of tomorrow now. You wondered what the weather would be like the next day. Would it storm again? Or would Skyhaven finally see an endless period swarmed by the warm west breeze? The only thing you could do was close your eyes and wait and see.
Except, you couldn’t sleep.
Three hours had passed as you rolled about on the large contemporary bed, making a sleepless mess of yourself. You winced at the way your hair clung to your head, warm and sticky. Like lukewarm goo. You twirled a lock on your index, only to be surprised at the absence of the goo you were picturing. Were you imagining things? Nonetheless, your body ached for a good, cold shower. You switched your phone open to check the time. 4 AM. Oh, well. What better place was there to collect your thoughts than under the sprinkle of an artificial shower?
You hugged yourself a little tighter as the cold beads of water commenced their assault on your head and dripped down your sides. You trembled heavily, but you let yourself do so. It was the collection of your fear from the past few days bolting out of your body at once. Finally, you could let out the shaky breaths you’d been withholding. It was only within the confines of enclosed foggy glass and under a gentle spray that you could truly let yourself loose and breathe freely once more.
People underestimate how arduous it is to put up fronts. Acting wasn’t easy. Especially when your life practically depended on it. It was like waltzing through a stage, but instead of expectant guests and observers anticipating your fall, there were 500 archers and the world’s best snipers aiming for your head, all while you were bound not to break your dance. Put on a show and attempt to please your pursuers. The chance of failure was almost certain. Even the best of dancers and actors fail to escape such a scenario.
And that was the gamble you were willing to take—fighting; no, dancing for the nonexistent chance that you may save your head, all in the sake of helping somebody you found yourself caring for a lot more than you were willing to.
Your eyes trailed to the bracelet resting near the sink. When he had handed you that gift, you felt… truly happy. A feeling you hadn’t felt before. Like your heart had burst open, and a myriad of colours had strewn out in a frenzy. Like your skeleton had been immersed in warm pond water, and a flock of underwater lilies caressed your skin.
For the first time in a long while, you felt as if you were needed for a cause beyond that of your profession.
That you mattered to him as much as your patients did to you, or perhaps even more. In his eyes, you could see a care that extended beyond what you could comprehend. A desire to keep you close and by his side, basking in your warmth forever.
A long time ago, you’d frozen your heart.
All because you believed there was no place in this world for your emotions.
To be someone else’s haven, you had to forsake your own.
The moment Caleb had handed you that bag, you felt as if your life had gained a new meaning. In the end, you were just a girl like all others, and he had made you embrace that.
For a moment. Only for a moment.
Because now, the silver you once admired reminds you of the silver of a chain. The chain was thin and fine, for it was not made to restrain you, but to help you grow accustomed to the existence of a shackle on your mind. It was suffocating to wear it. But a part of you wondered—what if his affection is genuine? Then, would it be so bad to give in? Well, he was the only one who made you feel alive. Perhaps, if you just stayed…
No. You shook your head. Strings of water flew off your hair and hit the glass walls. This was exactly what he wanted, wasn’t it? To make you accustomed to his control. To silently persuade you into giving in out of your own volition.
Caleb wanted a reaction. Any hints that you were being sucked and molded in the black hole he set up for you. If that’s what he wanted, all you had to do was withhold it from him, no? Just stop reacting. Act normal, put some subtle distance between you two, and watch as he crumbled beneath your finger.
You shut off the shower and rolled your hair back on your head. That’s right. You had to submerge yourself back into your monochromatic world. Only then would he falter, knowing all his advances had failed.
You stepped out of the shower, bringing with you a trail of water as you walked. A small white towel was wrapped around your head, and a bigger one coiled around your torso. You snatched the bracelet off the sink after changing into your new clothes. No matter how you felt about it, you made a vow. And for the sake of your ideals, you would not stray from it.
The hardest part about experiencing your first loss was that you had to regain control afterwards. Fail this step, and watch as the spear cuts through your stomach inch by inch. And if you cannot truly regain control, form the illusion of it.
You eyed yourself in the mirror. A crease was present between your brows. Taking the cream off the vanity, you began applying it in long swipes across your skin. Caleb still used the same cream as before, huh?
Act as if nothing had happened. That was the best you could do for now. And to form a plan to actually reclaim your throne, you needed some alone time. Away from this house. Away from the prying eyes perched in every corner of every room, and away from him.
The cream melted into your skin.
It was about time you began searching for an excuse to get out of the house and stray from him. Perhaps you could look for work. A new patient. Something that came up urgently? Or was it better for you to be more subtle? Just whip up an excuse to go hang out with friends? Not that you had any friends in Skyhaven. And if he asked to tag along? What then?
You released yourself from the towel and reached for your shirt.
A sigh passed your lips. Seems it would just be best to find some work. But save for Rhys and a few others, barely any of your patients lived in Skyhaven. And even if they did, would you just go knocking on their doors and creating a new mental issue in their stead that somehow needed urgent fixing? That wouldn’t do. You required real work.
Perhaps it was a problem best saved for tomorrow. Right now, your starving stomach demanded some attention.
The kitchen lights flickered on with a buzz. One of them didn’t light. You’d better tell Caleb about it tomorrow.
The hum of the fridge increased in volume as you strode towards it with heavy steps. Inside, an arrangement of food lay: some in boxes, some bare, some bottled. Your eyes narrowed. They seemed to have been recently stocked. You bet his fridge had been empty up until your visit.
You snatched a plate of dinner’s leftovers and gathered a few utensils to accompany you. And with that, you plopped down on the couch, not bothering to turn on the lights. It risked waking him up, after all. You wouldn’t want that. Especially now.
Shuffle shuffle.
Something stirred beside you—a figure shrouded in darkness. You nearly launched your fork into its heart when a familiar arm reached out to wrap around your wrist. “It’s just me,” a groggy voice responded. You threw yourself off the couch and rushed to turn on the lights.
Caleb. It was just him.
You pinched the bridge of your nose. “You—” Your accusing finger pointed in his direction. “Why are you awake?”
His violet eyes skimmed over your form, stopping at your toweled hair. “Likewise.”
Sluggishly, you returned to your plate and picked up the fork. Caleb nestled himself by your side. “You took a shower? At 4:30 in the mornin’?”
“Why are you here? On the couch? I don’t recall seizing every single one of your rooms.”
He breathed a sigh. “I’ve made an enemy of insomnia, and it’s been chasin’ me ever since.” He turned to you. “Maybe you can help with that.”
“I don’t know what you take me for, but,” you stuffed a portion of food into your mouth, “I’m half-dead right now. Therapists are humans too.”
“But,” you wiped the corner of your mouth and finished up, “Still, I’m ready to listen.”
Caleb shook his head. “I was messin’ around, pip.”
“Such a tease, even when sleep-deprived.”
You pressed your fingers into his temple and soothed the area. Your fingers moved gingerly, as if the slightest slip-up could cost you one of them. The man under you gradually relaxed. His body sank deeper into the couch.
“Come on, Caleb. What’s the hold-up? I know you’re hiding something,” you cooed. His sealed eyes didn’t help with trying to see through him. But you pressed on nonetheless.
You leaned forward slightly, pinching his forehead a little harsher than you would have. Finally, he opened his eyes, only to glue them to the ceiling instead.
“I’m not going to force you into a 12-step rehabilitation programme.”
“I know, it’s just…” his eyes never left the ceiling, “You’re tired. I’m tired. We all need a break. You’re not entitled to help me.”
You hummed. “You’re right. I’m not.”
Caleb let out a small sigh of relief as you pressed down on that one spot on his forehead. You continued to massage the area for a while before moving on to the next.
“I’m doing this out of my own volition. I want to listen to you. And whether I’ll help, well, that depends on what it is.”
Picking up on the slightest droop of his lips, you continued, “But, unless it’s a tedious task like climbing a skyscraper with nothing but my bare hands, I won’t refuse you.”
Caleb’s eyes didn’t move from the ceiling lights as he contemplated. You could see the weight of decisions bearing down on his mind, and you worked your fingers accordingly to soothe him whenever he faced a mental obstruction. Your smile widened.
With one finger, you moved his gaze to you instead. “All right, mister. I know the ceiling’s looking quite lavish today, but I’m sitting right here, fighting for your attention.”
Caleb grinned. Subconsciously, his eyes travelled to your lips. You found yourself tensing up for a moment, but you swallowed it. Just how you were trained. But uneasiness overtook your nerves. Why was he looking at them like that? As if he yearned to devour them whole?
“You can’t outsmart me at this hour, Caleb. See?” You lifted your arms before placing them back on his temple. “I’m not writing any notes or anything.”
“It’s not that.”
“You make it seem like it is.” You sighed. “You don’t need to use big words. Just tell me what you need.”
“All right, then. Can I ask you for a favour?”
You hummed. “Depends on what it is.”
His eyes fluttered. You tensed as they lingered on your lips once more before they moved to meet your eyes. He seemed incredibly exhausted. “I have a friend,” he began, “And she’s been… off.”
“A fleet member?”
“Yes.” He let out a soft groan as your fingers continued to massage his temple. “You met her. She’s the guard at the garden we visited.”
Your mind recalled her stature. Tall, brooding, albeit intimidatingly, with curly ginger locks and tan skin. You remembered her.
“I’ve been worried about her mental well-being. She experienced a devastating divorce lately. And ever since, she’s been acting… you know. Distant. Violent. Is a little rougher with her underlings. I gave her a break, demoted her temporarily to the position of a guard. But she isn’t improving.”
Your brow furrowed. The behaviour he described seemed like the usual displays of pent-up anger and resentment following a horrid event. But what bothered you wasn’t the normalcy of her situation.
It was the fact that you’d failed to pick up even a sliver of negative emotions from her as your eyes landed on her face.
A therapist’s eyes were made to penetrate flesh and scour the soul with ease. Especially yours—considering your previous position. How come Caleb just happened to notice, whereas you entirely missed it? You were unsure whether his eyes were better than yours, or you were simply dozing off at that moment and unable to catch a glimpse, or…
Was it a hole in his story?
Still, the kindness and concern Caleb had shown towards his fellow colleague filled you with a sense of warmth you loathed. It felt genuine. But you couldn’t feel like this. Not with somebody like him.
“So, I guess you figured it out by now.”
Your fingers halted. Your eyes drifted in thought. “When should I visit her?”
“Tomorrow. I’ll give you the address. Should I tag along?”
“No,” you winced at the severity of your tone. In a frenzy, you reiterated, “She might be unwilling to open up if you tag along.”
He nodded in understanding. “Tomorrow, then. For now, let’s get some sleep.” In a swift motion, he pulled you onto him and buried your head into the crook of his neck. A red tint coated your cheeks, but you didn’t protest. Act normal.
You’d called for work, and work came to you. Sometimes, fate (and perhaps your luck) left you awe-struck.
But, this time, for some reason, you weren’t sure whether this was God’s plan or the Cerberus’.
No storm crackled through the air that day. Only an endless mass of grey clouds hovered over Skyhaven’s sky, still brewing, lingering, as if the storm were awaiting the right moment to unleash its shower. The air was damp, humid, but stiflingly hot. In spite of the absence of the sun, the heat rendered you as disgraceful as a panting dog. The metro was stuffed to the brim. People squeezed against you as you struggled to grip onto something. The heat radiating off the enraged passengers did not help in cooling you down. Quite a contrast to your initial thoughts that you could find a moment of respite in the metro’s air conditioning. Unfortunately for you, you couldn’t even manage to find a seat.
Luckily, trains moved fast. It was only a matter of five minutes before you pushed your way through and out of the suffocating swarm of people. Perhaps, you should’ve taken up Caleb’s offer for the car. But who knew what trick he had installed in there? Another camera? Or even a tracker? You were better off walking.
You fidgeted with the pendant of your bracelet. Caroline’s house was eerily quiet. Not a single beam of light peered out of her curtained windows. Only darkness emerged from underneath the front door. She lived in an isolated villa, something akin to a bungalow. Red-bricked, with mould growing off the walls, the small garden before the house was overgrown with ferns and invasive plants. Mushrooms grew off one side of the house. A foul stench permeated through the air.
She had a pool as well, somewhere near the back of the house that you could only catch a glimpse of as you arrived at the front gate. But that small glimpse was enough to know the state it was in—the water was rotting. Fallen leaves decayed on its surface, turning the once-blue waters into a murky yellow-green. If you weren’t any smarter, and if the decay had been any faster, you’d think it was a pond, not a pool. It smelled like wildlife as well—the damp, fungal musk of rot.
It surprised you how bad the smell near the house had accumulated, considering how large the bungalow’s verandas were, how abundant the number of windows, and how open the air around it was. Her house was isolated from the main roads. Only strips of vibrant green land stretched around it for acres. And to add to the advantages of the location, you were standing atop the windiest parts of the land. Knowing this, you wondered—where was the ammonia-like stench coming from? It was as if an entire crowd had relieved themselves across the garden and into the pool. If you hadn’t known better, you’d have believed it, if not for the large iron gates that were padlocked shut.
You rang the doorbell. No response. Your head craned to the top floors. The sliding glass doors near the veranda were open. The white curtains drifted in the air. Somebody was home.
You pressed your finger against the doorbell again. Once more, only silence greeted you. Something felt wrong. You’d imagined it to be a result of depression at first, but now, something felt off. Something lurked beneath the waters, threatening to erupt.
After a few more tries, you stepped away from the door. If she wasn’t going to let you in, you’d just leave.
Walking across the pavement, you pulled out your phone to quickly type a short apology message to Caleb. But that was when something caught your eye.
The back gate. It was open.
Your feet came to an abrupt halt. To get a closer look, you maneuvered your body and took a few steps. You weren’t mistaken. Alongside the gate, the back door was pried open as well.
You strode past the black pool until you were directly facing the looming red door. The stench was only increasing in intensity. But this time, you could smell something else. Something you couldn’t catch before.
Old blood and flesh.
You opened your phone’s camera and aimed it at the door. Just in case, you thought. With your free hand, you pushed it open.
The room inside was dark. Pots and various random clutter were littered on the ground. You made an effort not to step on them, but you found yourself stumbling nonetheless. In a hurry, your fingers worked to pry the curtains apart and swing the windows open one by one. You subconsciously breathed a sigh of relief at the sudden gust of fresh air passing through the openings. Finally, some ventilation.
The phone’s recorder blinked.
The little light from outside illuminated the room just enough for you to be able to spot the light switch. Hurrying over, you flicked it.
The lights flickered on with a static buzz. The back door led to the kitchen. Or, well, you assumed it was one. You couldn’t tell because of the ruckus. It appeared as if a fight had occurred here. Either that, or Caroline was one messy individual. You doubted the latter.
The kitchen sink was clogged. A broth of mould, discarded food, and fish bones lay inside. You stopped yourself from gagging and throwing up your breakfast. The kitchen didn’t need another mess. It was suffering enough.
On the floor lay dirt tracks. Footprints—messily removed by rubbing more mud on top. Somebody was here. Could they still be here?
Dread finally seized you. Your foot stilled, and you found yourself unable to move any further. As if fate itself urged you to leave. To turn and leave out the back door as swiftly as you’d entered. But you couldn’t. Something was up, and a greater scandal could’ve been at play. You couldn’t leave. Not now. Not when you’d sunk one foot in already.
You dragged yourself along the battered tiles, entering room after room and flicking the lights on before swinging the windows open each time. Downstairs was empty. You’d checked everywhere—in the two living rooms, dining, and across all the hallways. You even made sure to check under the sofas. The static in your mind grew louder. It pierced through your ears painfully from the inside out, busting your eardrums until your head throbbed so violently you thought it would implode. The nothingness told you to not go.
You pushed yourself back onto your feet and bolted up the stairs. You searched all the rooms, throwing the doors open and spinning about the entire area before moving on to the next. Eventually, you’d scoured all the rooms. Save for one.
The demon gurgling inside you moved as your eyes landed on the door. The master bedroom door.
You held the camera up to your face and placed your hand on the doorknob.
With a sickening and loud creak, the door crept open.
You held your palm against your nose. The scent of ammonia was strong, paired with the decaying flesh you’d picked up from outside the bungalow. And to fuel the disgusting stench, your nose could also pick up the faint scent of bleach. Your face contorted. Bleach?
The bile rose, threatening to spill out of your throat. You swallowed it down. Bitter. You were really about to throw up. Everything inside was dark. But thanks to the light in the hallway, you could make out the debris scattered across the floors. Cigarette boxes, open and sealed, were present among most of the junk. Other than that, empty beer bottles and discarded laundry could be seen. From the ceiling, large decorations hung. Decorations or more clothing, you couldn’t tell. The scent of bleach engulfed your lungs.
Hesitantly, you reached for the lights.
Your phone fell to the floor with a thud. Your fingers curled into your palm. A tremble rippled through you. You couldn’t move.
They weren’t decorations at all.
A step.
Nor were they more ugly clothing.
Your hand met skin. Cold, lifeless skin.
There, from the ceiling, hung a ginger-haired woman, ghastly and pale.
A corpse.
Caroline.
Thunder drummed through the clouds. A flash illuminated behind you. But you were too still to be afraid. Your body shivered, even under the cloak of the warmest, fuzziest blanket Caleb owned. Your numb hands clutched a mug of hot cocoa. Its bittersweet aroma rose from the cup, entering your nostrils. But your mouth didn’t water at the scent. You only sat still, as lifeless as a corpse, as the wide-screen television played on, broadcasting the news of Caroline’s death.
Suddenly, a pair of strong arms wrapped around you from behind. “Drink up, pip. It’s going to get cold.”
He was right. The fingers curled around the mug only felt cold—a sign of the drink’s dissipating warmth. But how could you eat? Your teeth had tasted flesh not long ago.
The figure behind you sighed. “I shouldn’t have sent you there.”
“I went too late.” You curled against yourself. “If I had been faster, I—”
“She’s been dead ever since that day at the garden. It was inevitable. We didn’t know.”
Your body slumped in his embrace, threatening to give in.
“She was my patient. I’m still responsible.”
“I’m so stupid.” Caleb’s arms left your torso, leaving you cold once more. A part of you ached to reach out, to grab him and bury yourself into him and just—disappear. Vanish from existence. It was what you deserved. What you’d brought upon yourself. “I shouldn’t have sent you on a job. I ruined your vacation.”
“Caleb, I can’t.” You buried your face in your palms. “We were having fun. We were laughing, joking around, all while she…” You couldn’t finish the sentence. You didn’t have to. Caleb empathised, nonetheless.
Coming to your side, he gently pried the mug from your hands and cradled your face. “Let me warm it up for you.” He switched off the television and returned to the kitchen.
You curled up on the couch. This wasn’t meant to happen. Someone wasn’t supposed to die. Unrelated to your mission or not, experiencing a death head-on was not part of your predictions. This was supposed to be executed flawlessly. You were supposed to be in charge.
Nonetheless, you felt more of the control slipping from between your fingers with each passing second. You were losing. Devastatingly. You’d prepared for various outcomes—losing because of yourself, losing because of him, but you’d completely forgotten to consider that you could lose to independent external factors as well.
In short, you thought you were invincible.
You thought none grasped the situation better than yourself.
But alas, it was indeed the devil himself who’d intervened in your fate. The opening for a temporary escape from him was timed too perfectly. It was too good to be true.
And it wasn’t. What you’d thought would be a normal, perhaps exhausting, session with a new patient, morphed into a traumatic, arduous twist of fate that would throw you entirely off course, flicking you so far from your path that crawling back was rendered both physically and mentally impossible. How could this have happened? You just lost twice in a row. Fate had abandoned you, just how it had abandoned Anne.
You gritted your teeth.
None of this was fair. Caroline shouldn’t have had to die. Nobody deserved death. Images of her intimidating visage flashed across your mind. Just a few days ago, you heard her speak. Just a few days ago, she was blinking, moving, talking, eating, breathing. And now, she was off to God-knows-where. Perhaps her body was stored in some cold machine, or she was placed in a stretcher as the morgue worked with her body. In a blink, the life was sucked out of her. And she was rendered nothing.
You eyed your arm. Everything felt so surreal. What if this was all just a dream? An alternate reality, or a sick nightmare you couldn’t wake up from. You shut your eyes and attempted to drift off into another land. It was too taxing to process this overload. It was better just to sleep it off, or just disassociate so you didn’t have to make peace with the truth.
You pressed your lips into a thin line. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t get a moment of shut-eye. The sight of the corpse flashed before your eyes. A noose was tied around Caroline’s neck as she hung from the ceiling fan; dead, lifeless, gone. So close yet so out of your reach. Her once-vibrant ginger locks were tainted a sickly orange. Her once-intimidating eyes were sealed eternally shut. The lips she’d spoken with that day were dry, blue. Blood had stopped circulating inside them. Her heart had stopped beating long ago. You knew you couldn’t have saved her even if you’d tried.
Counterfactual thinking. You sighed. At this point, you really were turning into the patient.
You wrapped the blanket tighter around yourself, paying no mind to the way its soft edges cut into your skin. Countless what-ifs pried into your brain. You covered your ears with both hands, attempting to shut it off. If only your brain could shut up.
A familiar pang resonated in your temples. Your head began to throb violently—just as it had before you went up the stairs of Caroline’s bungalow. Those thoughts weren’t as evil as you’d made them up to be. If only you hadn’t looked. If only you’d stopped and messaged Caleb instead. Then, you wouldn’t have to be involved in such a complex scandal. Paired with the recent discovery—your recent loss—the whole situation, you were afraid, was going to render you completely mentally senile. Just like Anne.
Anne. The moment you’d gazed upon her—all shrivelled up and curled into a ball at the side of the black couch you’d owned in your previous office—you felt a sense of sympathy you’d never felt before. Something about her resonated with you. Her whimpering eyes, her clammy hands, her knitted brows, or the dimming fire that had blued years ago crackling in her eyes. You didn’t know which of those had piqued your curiosity. Something about that woman, so gorgeously broken, sparked something within you.
Perhaps, it was her eyes. Those dread-filled eyes that bore into yours. The spark that ignited when she saw you. The hope she’d regained upon your visage. Like she’d been starved of a true friend for millennia, and you were the one meant to be the ailment to her wounds. She’d looked at you like a newborn gazing upon its mother—its protector, saviour from the cruelty of the world. She looked at you with… hope. And in your heart, you swore to protect her. To be the one to show her the beauties of life, and to guide her onto a path of bliss and tranquility so she could return to the life she once had.
And what did you do?
You failed her.
The dread that tingled your limbs that day was the same one that numbed it now. That horrid purple, fanged beast. When the detective knocked on your office door in a delirious state, and had brought to you the news of Anne’s attempt, you couldn’t move. The air lumped in your trachea, refusing to release, as if your body itself had decided you were unworthy of life, and your fingers went cold. You almost fell to your knees, unable to rush to Anne’s side immediately. She was not dead yet. She was alive, blinking, here. And that only made it worse—how would you face her? You couldn’t bear to see the look in her eyes deform from hope to animosity as she looked at you one last time. You couldn’t let the one who abandoned her be the last person she saw, felt, and breathed.
So, you didn’t go.
Shortly after, a messenger knocked on your door. His knocks were calm, unhurried, as if the weight of everything had already settled into his heart. He brought the news, low and steady, that Anne Lotte had breathed her last.
The first tear fell from your eye. You’d cried for her before, and you would do it again. The first time, you wept silently because she couldn’t. And the next time, you wept out of your own free will. Because nobody was there to mourn her death.
Anne had an empty funeral. Abandoned by all, loved by none.
Caroline’s death was only a reminder of your past shortcomings, a visceral punch to the gut, the reality that life and death were beyond your control, and that even you couldn’t shoo the poison away from eating at your patient’s brain.
You couldn’t even save yourself.
You failed as a psychotherapist, as a human, as an organism.
A type of survivor’s guilt. You bit your bottom lip, tearing at the dry skin coating it. The migraines worsened. Drowning in your thoughts, you failed to process the shift in weight beside you as another figure seated himself on the couch.
“I re-heated the cocoa. Come. You have to eat.” With unnerving gentleness, Caleb lifted your body off the couch and brought the mug to your lips. Defeated, you gently sipped. You winced as the hot liquid seared your tongue. “Too hot?” he cooed before setting it down on the glass coffee table. Even then, his arms never left you. Cautiously, as if to not scare you away, he positioned you on his lap and began to run soft circles on your back. You melted into his touch. As much as you hated to admit, he knew exactly what to do to help you feel at ease and lift your mood just enough.
You rested your chin on his shoulder, and suddenly, the world reverted 15 years back. A young girl sat atop a boy’s lap, whimpering, sniffling as she rubbed her tears and snot onto the boy’s shirt. But he didn’t seem to mind. He only hummed a soothing tune and cradled her head tenderly. “They said the cat deserved to die,” the girl choked a sob, “Tell me it didn’t, Caleb, tell me!”
A small smile graced your lips at the memory. Back then, and even now, only to him could you lift the dam and let your tears flow free. Only in his embrace could you breathe once more, and only here did you truly feel at home.
If you’d lost your memories, you’d just want to stay here forever. By his side. In his arms.
But you couldn’t forget. A part of you wished you could.
Rain pattered against the windows—its sound being the only one besides your breaths intertwined with his. His fingers found their way to your wrist, pressing down gently on your pulse point and watching as the fragile vein beat. A content sigh passed his lips. But something about it irked you. How could he be so calm when the colleague he’d shown so much care for yesterday night wound up dead? You suppressed your anger. Blowing up on him wouldn’t fix anything. In fact, you’d only end up pushing away the ones who cared for you. You knew you couldn’t cope without him.
A warm, smooth object pressed against your lips. The scent of chocolate filled your senses, and for the first time, your mouth watered. Your stomach growled in response, as if it had awoken from a long slumber—empty and unfulfilled.
"Drink up," Caleb hummed. "And then, I'll tuck you in."
You opened your mouth and slowly sipped the hot cocoa. The warm, fudgy liquid enveloped your tongue. Saccharine bursts of flavour erupted in your mouth. Steadily, his hands guided you to slurp up the entire mug, granting you occasional breaks to collect yourself in between. His demeanour was gentle, unhurried.
The butterflies in your stomach stirred from their dormancy, flitting about once more. It was an odd sensation—the serenity of butterflies mingled with the bitterness of guilt, resentment, and anger. A combination never meant to exist.
The next thunderclap sent a jolt of pain through your skull. You gripped your head and winced. Taking note of your discomfort, Caleb pressed his fingers against your aching temples.
"You should really get some rest."
"I tried. I can't sleep."
"I'll get you a sleeping pill."
Your brows furrowed. How could you trust him with medicine after that? Nonetheless, he had a point—if you didn’t sleep now, the weight of your burden would end up crushing you into smithereens. Sighing, you nodded.
Caleb disappeared into the darkness before returning with a bottle of medicine. He scurried over to the kitchen to fetch a glass of water and was back at your side shortly after. You plucked the bottle from his hands and inspected the label. Ibuprofen. You eyed him warily.
"Your head’s killing you, right?"
"And the sleep medicine?"
He opened his palm to reveal a relatively large pill. You cocked an eyebrow. Since when were sleeping pills that large? Maybe it was a stronger dosage.
You swallowed the ibuprofen before turning to the pill resting in his palm. Your eyes narrowed. Carefully, as if handling a radioactive sample, you pinched the pill between your fingers and brought it to your nose. You sniffed. A strong medicinal scent.
This wasn’t a sleeping pill.
A sharp breath. Your shoulders slumped. Suddenly relaxed, you calmly returned the pill to Caleb’s hand. He stared at you with half-lidded eyes.
"A predetermined provocation. You knew I’d catch on." An empty smile graced your lips. A breathless laugh followed. "You know I know a lot about medicine. This was no attempt to drug me." Your sharp glare met his violet hues. "You deliberately planned this."
Caleb curled his fist and placed the pill on the glass table alongside the water. "I was tired," he mused, "of dancing along as we played this stupid game."
"Oh," you lifted your head and smirked. "No, you were enjoying every part of this. Playing with me, driving me to the edge."
"I had to." His fists curled. "You were being a brat. You thought I wouldn’t catch on, right? But your relaxed composure gave it away."
Crossing your arms, you let out a huff. "I—"
Before you could finish, Caleb pressed on. "You were conspiring against me. Treating me like some damn lab experiment. Is that all I am to you? A deranged patient in need of saving? Another victim of the fleet?" He looked up at you, genuine hurt lacing his eyes. You gulped.
"You were studying that case all day in my bedroom while I was away, you—"
"You spied on me," you retorted. "Twice. First, with my personal information, and again, with your damn cameras!"
Caleb’s teeth sank into the plush of his bottom lip.
With eyes blazing with unrestrained emotion, you went on. "Last time, you actually drugged me. Kept me captive for three days. Threatened me. Terrified me out of my mind! And you try to insist you're above a deranged patient? You’re delusional and in need of help. I wanted to help you. I wanted to bring you back."
If Caleb had ears, they’d be lying flat against his head right now.
Your heart withered with guilt. You knew you shouldn’t have called him a deranged patient. But even then, his reaction wasn’t a response to that insult—it was something deeper. It emerged from the darkest recesses of his mind, the parts even you could never access.
Had you gone too far?
"Was it," his lips trembled, "was it all a lie? What you said in the car? That you were willing to make peace with the new versions of ourselves?"
"You know that to be a lie very well."
"You’re wrong." He lifted himself onto his feet. "I trusted you. I trusted in us."
"There was no us!" You lashed out, overwhelmed by the sheer force of emotions that inevitably laced your tone. "I’ve been alone ever since you left me—us—for the DAA! Ever since you blew yourself up with Grandma!"
You watched as Caleb clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms. You’d struck a nerve. It was enough. You got the reaction you wanted, but you couldn’t stop. Not when he was finally listening to you, looking at you—truly looking. For the first time in years, you could tell him how you felt.
And so, the words kept tumbling out of your mouth like an unstoppable avalanche—cold, all-consuming, and doomed to self-annihilate.
"I didn’t talk to anyone. For years after you left, I shut myself off. I found solace in my patients’ despair because you were never there!"
You looked up. His eyes were glued to his feet, his clenched fists trembling. Darkness overcast his face. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking, much less how he felt. You searched his face for a sign—anything. Anger, resentment, agony, indifference, tears, or a smile. But you found nothing. It was all hidden away behind that invisible veil. Another mask.
You gritted your teeth. It only fuelled your rage further. At that moment, you wished you could tear open his skull and peer inside his mind.
"And you know what? I was such a fool. When I saw you again, I was willing to forgive your every flaw! I was willing to forget and move on with you. But guess what? The man I was madly in love with since high school had become so intoxicated by his newfound power and authority," you spat the last words with venom, "that he’d forgotten of my existence entirely! And still, I trusted you nonetheless! I thought it was my shortcomings when you were the insane one!"
"You…" Caleb lifted his head. The darkness dissipated from his face, only to be replaced with a flicker of hope. "You loved me?"
You slapped your palm against your face and threw yourself onto the couch, oblivious to how painfully you'd bumped your leg. You couldn’t believe you’d said that. Stupid, stupid.
"Why else would I be so obsessed with bringing you back?"
In a flash, Caleb was on his knees before you, bringing your palms together and pressing them against his chest. His heart pounded with fervour. His eyes gleamed with something raw, something terrifyingly close to unraveling. This was no act.
"Caleb…" You spoke his name with such softness, he gulped. "What are you doing? Get up—"
"You loved me." His grip tightened. "Do you still feel that way? Do we have a chance?"
The loudest bolt of lightning ripped through the stormy clouds. You turned your gaze to the tempest outside.
"I don’t think so, Caleb."
"I’ll make this right. Let’s live together."
"Caleb…"
"I’ll return your position as a criminologist. You can work under the fleet. You’ll have a better salary and a better working environment. And if you don’t want that, I’ll move the whole clinic here."
"Ca—"
"You like lively atmospheres, right? We’ll decorate this house. Or we can move to a new one. It’ll have the largest windows and the warmest winds. I’ll build you a garden full of your most treasured flowers, in a place far away where nobody will find us."
You tensed. A tremor rippled through you, but Caleb didn’t seem to notice. And if he did, he didn’t care. His eyes gleamed with desperation, restraint, and a love-fuelled mania that terrified you. Yearning. Could a mere emotion become so haunting? So intense?
"Let’s rebuild our life. We can be married. Have a bunch of kids, or not. If it’s what you want, we can take it slow. One step at a time. Just…" He nuzzled both your hands, his eyes lingering on the bracelet. "Just be by my side. You’ll never have to be alone again."
"Caleb."
You affirmed firmly, making him halt mid-sentence. His brows furrowed noticeably. A flicker of anger ignited in his eyes.
"You’ve gone too far. I can’t be with you."
You retracted your hands. The frown deepened on his lips as the absence of your warmth settled in. Gone was the adoration. Only wrath remained where it once was. He acted as if you’d stabbed him in the back, as if you’d plucked the feathers from his bionic wings and crushed them before his eyes. Faster than he’d knelt by your side, Caleb sprang to his feet and caged you within the couch. A familiar scenario. Your mind raced.
"You just don’t understand, do you?"
You averted your eyes. He forced your head parallel to his with a firm grip, ensuring your gaze remained locked onto his. You squirmed under the inferno alight within them. Whatever swirled inside was darker, crueler, and far more monstrous than anything you’d faced in the past few days. It was far more ruthless than what had lurked the last time you found yourself pinned to the couch. Honestly, it truly terrified you. Even in Harrison’s frantic eyes, you hadn’t spotted such ferocity.
"I’ve given up my life, my heart, and a limb for your sake. You breathe today because I sacrificed my breaths in your stead."
You thrashed against him, trying to pry your face from his grasp, but nothing worked. He loomed over you with monstrous strength.
"What? Weren’t you wondering what happened after the explosion? I’ll tell you, alright? If you give me something of yours."
Mustering all the strength you could, you barely managed to knock the behemoth of a man off you. As if regaining his self-control, Caleb eyed his hands before turning to you. The mania in his gaze dissipated, leaving only that desperate yearning.
But it was too late. The damage had been done.
"Pip—"
"I’m leaving Skyhaven." You picked yourself up and stormed off into your—well, his room. "Try to stop me, and I’ll show you hell."
And with that, you slammed the door shut.
That night, while Caleb had (not so) blissfully stashed himself away in his temporary room, you gathered your things and silently fled the estate.
Before walking out the front door, you spared one last glance at the empty house. You eyed the barren shelves, devoid of colour or antiques, the dim lights that were rarely granted the opportunity to welcome any host, and the uninspiring grey paint coating his solid walls.
Perhaps these walls were meant to imprison him, not you. Beyond any shadow of a doubt, Caleb had suffered—immensely. But you couldn’t let him drag you into the sizzling depths with him. He may have abandoned joy, but you would not. You would return to Linkon, maybe flee to another city nearby, and leave your past behind in pursuit of a joyous future—a future where, this time, you would be in control, not your listless feelings from decades ago.
You yearned to take another look, to glimpse his slumbering, pained face one more time before departing. But a saying from a precious individual circled in your mind: Don’t look back at me. If you do, it’ll be more difficult to leave.
Or, in other words, do not look back before leaving. If you do, you will be bound to them eternally—heart and soul. That was what he meant back then, wasn’t it?
With a relieved smile, you stepped out the door and into a new beginning.
“Goodbye, Caleb,” you murmured under your breath. “I love you.”
But in actions, I always look back.
There were only a few trains active at night. As a result, the station was relatively quiet, save for the occasional sweep sweep of the cleaning lady’s brush or the robotic echo of the AI announcing the next rides. The aged cleaning lady eyed you suspiciously. Perhaps you were suspicious—a woman sitting all by herself at a station at eleven at night, with barely any luggage to accompany her. You clearly weren’t mourning or panicked, so it likely wasn’t an emergency you had to return to.
Even then, the way her gaze kept returning to you was… odd.
Ding!
You fished through your pockets and retrieved your phone. Had Caleb caught wind of your absence? No. Odd. It wasn’t Caleb.
It was Rhys.
You quickly opened his chat and skimmed through his messages. A sinking feeling settled in your gut.
"Miss," he hastily followed, "you’re on the news."
You stilled. Why would you be on the news? Surely, a woman alone at a train station at night wasn’t such a revolutionary event that it had lured in the mass media?
"?" you typed back. "I’m famous now?"
"It’s no joke. Look."
A video file popped up. The thumbnail appeared to be Rhys’ TV. You could spot a snippet of his wife from one of the corners.
The throbbing ache in your head returned, begging you not to click on the file. Alas, your curiosity took hold of you, and your fingers hovered above the play button.
Hesitantly, it met the screen.
The woman announcing the news spoke your name. You immediately lowered the volume.
Your name. Your full name. Something was wrong.
"A suspect has been found." She said your name again. "Skyhaven authorities are actively searching for the suspect in connection with Caroline Mayday’s death. According to local reports, the individual was seen near the estate a day prior to the incident."
You slapped your clammy palm onto your mouth to silence the gasp that was about to escape your lips. The only person you had met that day was Rhys. Surely, there had been some sort of mistake. Surely, you hadn’t murdered a woman whose address you weren’t even aware of.
"Evidence, including fingerprint analysis and multiple witness testimonies, has linked the suspect to the scene."
Testimonies? Witnesses? Had people perceived a ghost? How could they have witnessed a woman who wasn’t even there?
Your hand stilled. Suddenly, the thoughts in your brain quieted, leaving nothing but unnerving, unmoving silence. The gears turned in your head. And then, it all made sense.
Caleb. Utilising his authority.
That bastard.
"A search warrant has been issued, and officials confirm that she will soon be taken in for questioning before the court of law."
Shit.
Shit.
You turned off the video and returned to the chat. Rhys had sent another message.
"Miss, you have to leave. I’ll get you tickets to Linkon."
"No need," you typed back. "I’m at the station. I was just about to leave anyway."
After a brief pause, you asked, "Rhys, do you believe I’m guilty?"
For a moment, he didn’t reply, leaving you on seen. Your body stiffened. If he didn’t believe you…
"No. We were at the café right about the time the witnesses claimed to have spotted you. And even if you weren’t, well, how do I put this nicely? Miss, you don’t have the balls."
Despite his half-insult, you couldn’t help but smile. At the very least, there was somebody who trusted you.
"I know it was that colonel’s doing. He isn’t to be trusted. Please, for your sake, never get involved with him ever again."
"I won’t."
And this time, you were being honest. You couldn’t return to him. Not after this.
"Stay safe, Rhys. If I’m not caught and executed, I promise you, we will meet again."
The train rolled into the station. Its wheels hissed against the cold metal rails.
You had to leave, now.
A handful of people lined up against the entrance. Some of them had their faces glued to their phones. Could they be watching the news? You hoped not. It was safer to go last.
You fished through your luggage and pulled out a cap you happened to bring along, placing it low on your head, shielding half your face from the gazes of passers-by.
Donning the calmest demeanour you could muster, you stepped into the train’s carriage and seated yourself far away from all. Sort of counterintuitive, now that you thought about it. Attempting to appear normal whilst actively isolating yourself from the crowd like a child who had shoplifted a candy bar. It made little sense. But how could you think logically when danger was quite literally breathing down your neck each second? Half of Skyhaven’s forces were after you, and you were practically tethered to a determined fate.
With a slow rattle and a monotonous announcement, the train began to move.
Your eyes trailed to the bracelet clasped around your wrist. Your promise to Caleb. But what did that matter now? It was merely a chain. A bad-luck charm, even. Ever since you had put it on, misfortunes followed close behind. You kept experiencing losses ceaselessly.
You contemplated tossing it away, but it would be such a waste of a valuable item.
You peered from below the cap’s shade to eye the modern tablet displaying the train’s destinations. The last stop wasn’t Linkon. It was a town two cities apart—Nimbura. The land of storms and tempests. Perhaps the storm that had been looming over Skyhaven for the past few days originated from there.
Nonetheless, Nimbura was a town of little population. Due to the never-ending downpour, most citizens had moved to greater cities. It was the perfect place for an escape. You could sell your bracelet to a local broker for a small fortune. You reckoned it would get you enough to kickstart your new life there. Perhaps open another clinic or begin to achieve the dreams you had long since abandoned.
This time, you would live your new life the way you wanted to.
With Caleb manipulating the press from behind the scenes, any chance of achieving justice and clearing your name was lost to the wind. Though a cowardly move, fleeing was your only choice.
You shut your eyes. Oh, Caroline. If only she knew how her death had been exploited by her higher-ups for such selfish purposes.
Of course, starting anew was easier said than done. You still had to fetch yourself a new identity, a house, and somehow evade the authorities for the rest of your life. It was fun to dream, but you knew you had to embrace reality soon.
Or else, you would be caught in the dumbest way.
At the very least, you could put up one hell of a fight before being whisked away in shackles. Enjoy your last remaining days of freedom before he caught up.
Your breath hitched. Caleb wouldn’t give up, would he? He’d comb through each city and town, overturning even the smallest villages in search of you.
You couldn’t picture what drastic measures he’d take.
Perhaps he’d even drain the oceans and pluck you from the seabed if you decided to live freely as a sea turtle.
Wherever you were, he would find you.
Some things were only possible in the presence of power. No matter how intelligent you were, your helplessness was undeniable. You bore not even a sliver of authority and thus were incapable of turning the tide against him. You could run from a man, but you couldn’t escape a whole fleet of deranged, cybernetic militants.
You chuckled at the inevitability of your fate. In time, he would find you. The government wouldn’t protect you. Not when you were a wanted criminal on the loose. If anything, they would hand you over—to him—on a silver platter. Nobody wanted to make an enemy of the farspace fleet. They were a ruthless bunch. What would one insignificant sacrifice mean when it had been made for the greater good? For eternal peace?
Just like Anne, the world had abandoned you as well.
And this time, you truly had no home to return to.
An unfamiliar feeling coiled in your chest—a yearning for home. A yearning to sit across the white couch of your clinic, listing away your patient’s traits on a clipboard as a frigid wind drifted in from the window. A coveting for the warmth of your bed, the bitterness of the coffee you brewed each morning, and the intimacy of your workspace.
This was all a mistake. You should never have embarked on this journey in the first place.
So much for bringing someone back. Someone who had lost their heart long ago.
If only you hadn’t let your emotions blind you. If only you had moved on from him.
You squeezed your eyes shut. A single tear slipped down your cheek. This was no place to cry. What you should have been focusing on was a plan—a means of saving yourself. You barely had any money. Would it even be enough to buy you transport to the nearest broker?
You didn’t have any weapons on you either. Nothing to defend yourself with. Just you, yourself, and a lightweight bag with nothing valuable inside.
You should have stolen a few bucks from Caleb. His position surely paid well, so what would a hundred dollars mean to him? You really should have. And the worst part was that you knew he would have handed it all to you without a second thought. Something churned in your chest.
"I don’t know what to be when I grow up, Caleb. What should I do?"
You kicked your feet on the bed, lying on your back as you watched Caleb’s attentive gaze remain glued to his homework.
"Why are you askin’ me?" A young voice replied. "It’ll come to ya, pip-squeak. You’re only ten."
"But," you pushed yourself off the bed and nudged his shoulder, "the teacher asked us to write an essay on our dream careers. Help me, please? You’re really smart!"
"Why worry about that? I’m here, aren’t I? I’m smart enough for us both."
"Really?" You grinned stupidly. "That means your money is my money?"
He reached over without averting his eyes from the textbook to flick your forehead softly. You whined in response.
"Hasn’t it always been like that? But still. You’re good with people, right?"
You hummed. "I don’t have many friends other than you."
"But you understand people."
You nodded.
"Then why don’t you become a psychologist?"
"A… what?"
He sighed. "Never mind. You’re too young to think about that." And with that, he ruffled your hair and sent you off.
Little did he know you would cling to that word for the rest of your life.
The train whirred along the tracks, speeding readily through the various stations. One by one, the passengers departed, until you and an old man were the only ones remaining.
Before long, the train passed by Linkon. You watched with a solemn gaze as the doors slid shut. A part of you imagined yourself stepping out—happy, grinning from ear to ear, returning home. This cap wouldn’t be on your head, and your face would be devoid of worries. You would be free. On your way to a new life in the absence of Caleb. Into a new normalcy—a reality you could embrace this time.
You shut your eyes and rested your head against the window. Two fresh tears slipped past your lashes. Home. The word called to you from amidst the darkness. You envisioned two gentle arms cradling your form. The ghosts in your bed would welcome you home. They’d open their arms and tuck you in.
Just yesterday, the ‘ghost’ would have been none other than Caleb. But now, you wanted nothing to do with him.
Now, they had become two fleeting, ghastly apparitions—echoes of the past, lingering somewhere in your psyche.
The flesh may forget the sting of steel, but our minds will know.
You didn’t recall where you had heard that line. Perhaps it was a lyric from a melodious choir, or maybe a fragment of dialogue from a show you once treasured. You couldn’t recall the exact words either. At first, you had only nodded at its proclamation. It was right. There was nothing to refute.
As the new you emerged from the epicentre of a vicious battle, wounded by the likes of steel, its choir rang within your heart.
The mind never forgets. It is a being of its own. A tranquil entity, a lifeless organism so equally abundant with life. It may not respire, but it bears the authority to decide whether you do so.
And sometimes, it chooses for you not to be able to breathe.
Caleb would never vanish. He might perish while executing his unethical duties, or he might fade from your life altogether. He might even heal and reform. But that wounded man lived in a hollow within your heart, a cavity carved out with a knife—an unhealing wound, a permanent abyss.
A dark, bottomless pit you could never truly move on from.
No matter how achingly you worked to normalise his absence, his ghost would linger.
And so would the ghost of your former self.
For that wounded man didn’t just win,
He devoured you. He plucked your ribcage open and fused with your heart.
The burden of exhaustion weighed on your bones, dragging your body down against the train’s plastic seat. Your mind kept drifting home—to the warm lighting of your kitchen, the abomination stashed away under your bed, the mess coating your desk that you never quite found time to clean up. Their images flashed before your eyes, like a boat drifting back to the seas it had departed from, pushed there by a storm.
Now, it was up to you to decide what home meant.
You would make sure that this time, home wouldn’t be a place that breathed Caleb’s name.
“Nimbura. Doors will open from the right.”
You hauled your luggage alongside you as you exited with the old man. From beneath his drooping eyebrows, he shot you a wary glance before inching forward. A flimsy brown cane supported his weight as he walked. You hoped you would never again encounter a situation where you’d need to rely on someone else—not until you reached seventy, at least.
A cool gust of wind sent flyers fluttering through the air before your face. You shivered, hugging yourself a little tighter. An earthy scent lingered—damp soil, the kind you could always smell before an impending downpour.
Of course, the town hadn’t bought its name with cash.
It bought it with its perpetual rain.
“Excuse me,” you called out to the old man. “Do you know where the nearest broker’s is?”
“They’re all closed by now,” he croaked. “Get some sleep, girl. Go tomorrow.”
You let out an audible sigh before returning to your pocket to count your cash. Just enough for a night’s stay, but beyond that? You weren’t so sure.
To your surprise, the man turned back. “Need a place to stay, child?”
You eyed the money on your palm before returning to his face. He appeared wise. From the way his brows were furrowed, you could tell he had seen much in his long life. A part of you secretly loathed these types of people. Those who had seen it all were especially hard to deceive. They could spot any hint of trickery, no matter how ethical, from a mile away.
Your gut told you he probably knew you were on the run.
You needed a place to stay, but your instincts flared up. You didn’t know him. Anything could happen to you in a town this small, and it would go unreported for the most part. This was a matter of survival. Although your expertise insisted this man was no threat, your wariness begged to differ. So, with a polite smile, you turned down his offer.
Defeated, the man showed you the way to the nearest inn.
You followed his directions only to end up at a run-down inn around the corner. Its sign hung loosely, threatening to fall at any second. But clearly, the owner hadn’t cared enough to fix it. On top of that, the place stank. It reeked of alcohol, vomit, and cigars. You’d rather sleep out on the streets than stay here.
Thunder flashed in the sky behind you. You jumped.
Okay, maybe sleeping under a storm’s embrace wasn’t the best idea.
You were on the run, after all. Now wasn’t the time to be picky.
A short, blonde-haired woman sat on the other side of the counter, chewing gum as she scrolled mindlessly through her phone. The electric bell above the door chimed as you pushed it open. In a few swift movements, she spat out her gum and shoved the phone into the cavity under her desk.
“Hello, how may I help you?” She flashed the brightest grin she could muster.
She appeared young. Most likely still in high school. Your gaze travelled to the photo frame behind her—a clean picture of a family with a mix of blondes and brunettes. So, her parents owned the place, huh? A lucky child with a stable future. You envied her.
“How much for one night?”
“Oh, uhm—” She fished through something under her desk. You could hear the faint crumple of paper as she moved. That agility… was she in hunter’s school?
She named the price. You reopened your wallet and counted the bills. Just enough for one night, plus transportation.
“Is the food free?”
“No, ma’am. Only water.”
A deflated sigh passed your lips. You hadn’t eaten dinner, and you were practically starving. If you wasted money on food now, you doubted you’d make it through tomorrow.
Oh, well. A day’s fast wouldn’t kill you.
“All right. Can I have a room?” You smiled, placing the cash on the desk.
She opened her register and quickly handed you the change before fetching a pair of keys from the shelves behind her. Tossing you the keys, she showed you to your room. Despite her persistent offers, you ended up carrying your bags yourself.
Your room was relatively cleaner than expected. Initially, you’d envisioned a room as run-down as the front of the inn, with broken beds and a toilet that didn’t flush. Of course, the room was nothing like the average hotel rooms you could rent in Linkon, but it would do.
At least you discovered where most of the inn’s funds went.
You fetched one of the sealed bottles of water from the desk and buried yourself in bed. Having finally achieved a moment of respite, you whipped out your phone and began scrolling through your messages.
Oddly enough, there were no texts from Caleb. He was offline on all his socials.
Perhaps he hadn’t caught wind of your absence yet? That would suggest the idea of framing you for murder was something he had planned beforehand. Possibly after the argument.
You were about to head to bed when suddenly, your phone lit up with a notification.
You guessed it was Rhys again before even looking at the screen. He was the only one you’d been texting (or, more accurately, who’d been texting you) over the past few days.
If he was texting you, it could only mean trouble.
With numb fingers, you opened his chat.
“Miss, run.”
“You’re in Nimbura, right? They know your location.”
You froze as he kept bombarding you with short, panicked, back-to-back messages.
“He discovered our relationship. My wife’s dealing with the fleet.”
“They’re at our door.”
“Please, run.”
“Forget about us. Leave Nimbura. Immediately.”
“The police know where you are.”
The adrenaline was so deeply coded into your DNA that you’d gotten used to it by now. Only a deafening numbness lingered where anxiety once resided.
But, more importantly, how did he know where you were?
Your eyes trailed to the bracelet. The pendant gleamed under the light.
Now that you thought about it, the pendant’s size was oddly convenient, was it not?
And it was quite a bit heavier than you had expected.
Could it be…?
Caleb had revealed his final card. The ace up his sleeve.
Blood drained from your face. You paled.
A tracker.
You jolted up to the sound of police sirens slicing through the air. They were already here.
In a hurry, you snatched the bag you hadn’t yet opened and rushed to the door. Your other hand fidgeted with the bracelet coiled around your wrist. You hissed. Why were these things so hard to unclasp with one hand?
Pushing through your body’s sheer exhaustion and numbness, you bolted down the stairs, tripping over some of the steps. A knock resounded at the inn’s front gate.
“Skyhaven authorities. Open up.”
The perplexed blonde girl eyed you awkwardly. Tearing the bracelet forcefully off your wrist, you tossed the jewellery to her and muttered an apology.
“Gotta run. Take this as an apology.”
And with that, you stormed out the back door. Rain poured from above, thumping against your bare head relentlessly. No time to equip an umbrella. Just run.
With trembling legs, you skidded across the empty alleyways. Multiple pairs of footsteps slapped against the damp pavement close by. They were closing in. Fast. You had nowhere to go.
But perhaps you could make it to the train station before it closed. There was one last train heading to Linkon soon. If you could make it, maybe you could throw them off your trail for a while?
You bit your lip. You weren’t so sure. Chances were the authorities had already surrounded Linkon—your home and clinic were under their jurisdiction.
But that was a problem for future you. Right now, you had to run.
Mustering up all your strength, you pushed yourself forward, darting through the desolate streets. The commanding voices of the officers pierced through the rain, declaring how they would use force, how resisting would only worsen your case. You paid no mind to their warnings. Only the worst would happen if you were arrested—you’d be thrown into jail, executed by the fleet, or sent straight into Caleb’s arms. And he would definitely rather skin himself bit by bit than let you go once more.
How much worse could it get?
The walls of the world seemed to shrink in on you, confining you within Nimbura’s insignificantly sized territory. All sounds blurred together, contorting into one singular noise that thudded violently against your eardrums—the pulse of your own quickening heartbeat. The heart that once beat in love for a man now pounded in terror of the very same one. You no longer flinched at the bolts of lightning, no longer cared for the heavy droplets of rain smashing through your skull.
At that moment, you were reduced to a cowardly mess of a woman who knew only how to run. She ran from her life, her job, her stability, her friends, her problems, her mistakes. And now, that woman realised she had spent her entire existence fleeing. She buried her troubles in the desolation of her patients, abandoned the life that had given her everything, and flung herself into the arms of a stranger. A stranger who, due to her naïveté, received her love as she foolishly gave herself away.
Hot tears streamed down your cheeks. Or was it rain? You didn’t know. Didn’t care. And for the first time, you let the tears fall freely. You sobbed—your face contorted in despair. Your lips curled into an unsightly frown, your brows knitted dramatically. Vision blurred. Your pace faltered.
Your legs begged for respite. To stop, to collapse onto the wet asphalt, to simply wail to your heart’s content. But the footsteps behind you suddenly grew louder. Your brief moment of weakness had allowed them to close in. You were screwed.
Forcing yourself forward, you pushed through the pain. Your shoes stretched against your feet, groaning under the pressure. The soles were likely torn by now—perhaps even left behind a few metres ago. You didn’t know. There was no time to stop and check.
Then, through the curtain of rain, the silhouette of a tall stranger emerged. He walked parallel to you, treading calmly beneath the shelter of a large, black umbrella. Your heart lurched. You couldn’t stop now. You were bound to collide.
Squeezing your eyes shut, you braced for impact.
You crashed into a solid chest and, from the sheer force, went stumbling back. Before you could hit the ground, a firm hand seized your waist, steadying you.
“I’m sorry,” you gasped, lifting your head to catch a glimpse of his face. “I—”
Your body froze. As if your entire being had shut down, every gear in your mind clogged at once. The pitter-patter of rain and the approaching footsteps of the police faded, drowned by the roaring static in your head.
That long, black uniform. Those leather gloves. That sleek cap.
And, most importantly, those innocent violet hues scrutinising your face.
For a long while, there was only silence.
You parted your lips, but no words came. Finally, you choked out, “How—”
A chuckle. One you recognised all too well.
“Are you hurt?” A familiar voice cooed.
Caleb.
You turned on your heels and bolted in the opposite direction.
A flight of uniformed personnel obstructed your path, caging you in against Caleb’s form. In tiny, panicked steps, you inched backwards.
The leader announced your name. “You are under arrest on suspicion of the murder of Sergeant Caroline Mayday. You—”
“I’ll take it from here,” the figure behind you commanded firmly. “I’ll escort our criminal personally.”
Hesitantly, the officer backed away with a curt tilt of his head, signalling for his troop to stand down. You watched helplessly as they retreated.
A part of you wanted to reach out. To beg them to throw you into jail instead. An axe to your neck would be far kinder.
But no. They tossed you right into the vicious, merciless jaws of the beast, leaving you to a fate you couldn’t determine.
The world stilled. The patter of rain against the road was all you could hear, aside from his steady breathing contrasting with your short, quick spasms of breath. In that moment, it felt as if it were only the two of you in the world. As if only you both truly mattered.
But those weren’t your feelings, were they?
They were his.
You gulped. Unhurried footsteps inched from behind.
“You look tired. Have you eaten?” Caleb’s fingers interlocked with yours. Gently, he spun you around. The cap hung low on his head, obscuring half of his eyes. If only you’d spotted it from afar. Maybe if you’d picked up on his presence earlier, you could bolt in the opposite direction and avoid clashing into him.
He appeared from seemingly nowhere. Perhaps his appearance was also a calculated move that slipped past your radar.
Your final, most fatal loss.
Your reckoning.
You snatched your hand away. “You,” you cocked your head to meet his gaze, “What did you do to Rhys?”
You endured a long, deafening silence. The weight of it all pressed against your chest, squashing you against the mud. Like an insignificant, pesky bug meeting its end under the sole of one’s shoe.
A cold, frosty wind wafted through the atmosphere. Goosebumps prickled as frostbitten air slipped beneath your skin. The chill gnawed deep within your bones, causing painful pangs to crackle through you. Your knees buckled, unable to bear your weight any longer.
Expectedly, an arm wrapped itself around your waist and hoisted you up, pressing your body against his own.
Strings of water slid down from leaves nearby, splashing onto the pavement. Your forehead pulsated—that familiar sensation of dread that emerged each time you found yourself caught up in a complex, seemingly inescapable web. Usually, you’d bear the scissors to free yourself. But this time?
The webs cut into your skin, threading through your nerves.
Every fibre of your being was tangled. The slightest movement would cause the intertwined nerves to be ripped out of your skin.
A violent flash of lightning illuminated half of Caleb’s face.
“Who?” He lifted his chin, gazing at the sky as if buried deep in thought. When he looked down at you, he did so with a familiar darkness in his eyes. Envy. “Oh. Him.” His frown curled deeper as he uttered the last word.
“Why would that matter? It’s about us now.”
You locked your jaw. “What did you do?” Tears threatened to fall from your eyes.
As if able to distinguish between the rain and the remnants of your despair, Caleb brought his gloved hand and cradled your face. His thumb brushed against the tears, tossing them away as though they didn’t belong on your cheeks, and didn’t deserve to be shed from your eyes.
Not regarding another man, that is.
You flinched at his touch. A new, unsettling calm dawned over his countenance. And in a flick, all emotion dissipated from his eyes. His lips relaxed into a neutral line.
“I got rid of him.”
Your lips parted, but no words were uttered. A lump of saliva knotted in your throat. Your tongue was overcome with foreign saltiness.
“What do you mean…?”
No response.
“Caleb…” you stuttered, placing your palm on his hand, more to comfort yourself than to coerce him, “What did you do?”
His fingers trailed over your own. A tremor ran down your spine at the sheer tenderness he displayed, treating you as if you were a precious glass ornament ready to shatter at the slightest prick. “You don’t have to worry about him anymore.”
Your arm dropped to your side. “You… did you hurt him?”
Caleb didn’t reply. He only leered down at your trembling lips with an impenetrable mask. Or perhaps it seemed as such to you because you couldn’t be bothered enough to pick him apart.
You sucked in a breath and exhaled audibly. Your head lowered until you were staring at the surface of your mud-coated shoes. Think. What could get you out of this situation? Your eyes lingered on your feet for a while. The cogs whirred in your brain, working, but producing no reliable output.
A flock of thoughts flooded you—irrelevant, unimpressive, shrill, and horrid thoughts. What would he do to you once he’s got you in his grasp? You swallowed the saltiness, nearly gagging at the taste of your own bodily fluids.
But then, a thought emerged.
Bodily fluids. Bodily gases. You smelled ammonia—a common gas released upon the decay of a corpse. But amidst the urine-like stench, you smelled something else.
A strong stench of bleach—something you only picked up once you’d ventured inside the room. Meaning it was present nowhere else. The corpse crime scene hadn’t been cleaned. There was no need to tidy up after a corpse that hadn’t bled. And there was no residue of liquid bleach anywhere within the room. If there was, you certainly would’ve noticed.
“Chlorine.” You lifted your head to meet his gaze.
Finally, Caleb’s eyes flashed with a hint of emotion.
“I smelled chlorine in Caroline’s room.”
With an amused tilt of his head, Caleb wordlessly challenged your wits.
“She didn’t commit suicide. She was murdered with chlorine gas.” You glared up at him. “In gas form, chlorine is extremely noxious. Seventh grade chemistry stuff. You made it too easy.” You shook your head. “Once she expired, you didn’t hesitate to take her out.”
His lips curled to form a smirk you couldn’t shake off. It felt so out-of-place. So visceral. As if it didn’t belong on his pretty face.
It’s an expression he’d donned countless times in the past. But each time, it was a playful, giddy smirk. A boyish grin, more so. The one you’d flash before committing a silly act.
But this one conquered your nerves with an uneasy rattle.
Eyebrows slightly curved, his eyes subtly squinted, a feral glint alight in his gorgeous violets, and with his lips angled oddly.
Your stomach churned. It felt as if you were being preyed upon and tested.
Nonetheless, you stood your ground. You ensured that every bit of you would exude defiance, from your visage to your body and to the hairs of your neck. But your insolence only seemed to rile him up. The lunatic look in his eyes deepened alongside his uncomfortable smirk. Your fire exhilarated him, as if watching you ablaze with passionate rebellion was the prettiest you could be.
Like it was one of the many things he absolutely adored about you.
In spite of his admiration, he wouldn’t let you have your way, though, would he?
“A harsh accusation. But,” his hand returned to your face, as if it was unable to keep itself from it, as if it belonged glued to its side, “The world knows you to be the killer.”
“You weren’t raised to be a monster.”
Caleb cocked his head to the side. He hummed.
“Sure it wasn’t you? Don’t worry, you can tell me.”
Your balled fists trembled. “So,” you drooped your head, letting your hair fall before your eyes, “I was right.”
“Then, tell me,” you continued, “How do you know the fleet won’t turn on you next?”
“Once you reach a certain rank, you’re free from those risks. She was merely a sergeant.” His shoulders jerked to a casual shrug. “The media needed a culprit. The law doesn’t care who it is, they just need a scapegoat. A person to throw into a cell.”
“Which was me.” You eyed him in disbelief.
In a sharp movement, Caleb squeezed your chin and brought your face to his, forcing you onto your tiptoes. “But,” an alien, hoarse voice rasped, “I wouldn’t let them have you. They wouldn’t take you from me. Not again. Not after…” You could see fragments of a memory flash in the reflection in his eyes—a memory you seemed to share with him, but one that wasn’t yours.
Normally, you’d pry further. Coerce him, utilise his vulnerable emotions to spill the truth from his lips without having to properly ask. But by now, you’d given up on his rehabilitation. Now, your most vital priority was survival.
“You put a tracker in that bracelet.” A proud grin spread across his face. He had the audacity to silently congratulate you after all that.
“This?” He held up something near his face. A shiny, silver chain with a sparkling white sapphire pendant dangled from his fingers. “You forgot it at the inn. Here.”
Gentle fingers grasped your arm. He slid the chain onto your wrist before hooking it shut. “You were made to be clad in jewels. A Goddess.” You shuddered at the abrupt softness of his voice. Sincerity was engraved into his movements.
For a moment, it felt as if he were simply a man in love, and nothing more. A man awarding his partner with a treasure purchased by hours of his hard work, made only for the one he loved so dearly. You yearned to close your eyes, to let your world sink into darkness so you could paint a picture of your own—one where the two of you were simply a happy, normal couple, living a humble, free life. But dreams were merely dreams. In the end, you had to wake up.
A frown graced your lips. Your bad luck charm had followed you into your doom. And once more, the shackle was clasped to your wrist.
“Did they touch you anywhere?” He gripped your arm. His eyes poured over your body.
“What?”
“The authorities.” He affirmed. “Did they—”
You pried your form away. A visible tick emerged in his forehead. “No, they didn’t.”
“Why…” his eyeballs quaked, rolling about in his head with fervour, “Why can’t you just…” His teeth sank into his bottom lip viciously, drawing blood. “Are you afraid of me? Of what I’ve become?”
If it were just this morning, when he’d sourced you with the warmest form of solace as he cradled you on his lap, you would’ve denied that claim. You would’ve fought back with all your heart, with passionate proclamations on how you feel the safest when with him, and how nobody feels like home other than him.
Just a few days ago, you’d approached him out of fascination. Love, yes. But above all things, you were intrigued. Lured by his mystical, webbed, and broken mind. Eager to pick apart the strands of his brain tissue and see for yourself how they operated.
But now?
You weren’t just afraid.
You were terrified of him. Of whom he had become. And who he could transform into in the near future.
So, you simply let your head hang as you pursed your lips into silence.
The man didn’t move. He didn’t shift, whimper, nor shout. He simply stood there with you. Beneath the cloak of the large, black umbrella. A gentle thunder ruptured the air. The gale softened. The tempest was nearing its end. The grey storm clouds were returning home.
“If you love something, you should work hard to earn it.” You wiped a few stray droplets off your eyes. “If you love me, you should work hard to be a better person for me. You can’t just… do this.”
With slow, sincere motions, Caleb lifted your arm and slotted it with his.
“Let’s go home, then. I’ll work hard for you this time. We can make things right.”
But you didn’t move. You simply stood, pulling back your arm ever so slightly. Not desperately, not angrily, just… subtly. As if your own games had tired you out. Because they had. What use was there in fighting back? You had already lost.
“There is no home to return to, Caleb.” A soft voice spoke. His lips twisted into a frown. Brief anger flashed in his eyes, but he didn’t speak. What was there to say? He knew you were right.
“Let’s go build one, then. We’ll begin from nothing.” His fingers tightened around yours. “One step at a time.”
“My home,” you averted your gaze, hesitant to continue, “doesn’t include you.”
The wrath returned, spreading through his visage like poison dipped onto a pond’s still surface. His grip tautened painfully. “What? Don’t you love me?” There was a scoff in his voice, a forced friendliness. “All right. I get it. You’re shy, is that it?” he grinned. But his smile didn’t reach his eyes. Much like a lot of his smiles nowadays.
You stared back at him with a worn countenance, unresponsive to his tease. But something subtly stirred in your chest. Nothing pleasant. Fear. He was at it again. He was walking a fine line between mania and sanity, and he threatened to topple over and fall into the clutches of psychosis at any moment.
Knowing what it was scared you more. Most would mistake it for hurt, for desperation or any other normal feeling in the book. But you knew all too well it wasn’t that.
He was losing himself. You were, both physically and psychically, driving him mad.
Caleb’s smile slackened. “Pip-squeak.” He shut his eyes in an attempt at self-restraint. When he opened them, your nerves screamed. “You don’t have a choice.”
“Either,” a step forward, “you come with me, help me fix what I broke, or…” he stopped. His lips neared yours. His hot breath fanned over your eyes. The knot in your stomach tightened. Tears rose to your eyes.
You should move away, display the last bits of your dimming defiance. But what was the point? It was all over. He’d caught you, and now, the victor would claim his prize. Your soaked clothes clung uncomfortably to your torso, moulding to your shape. It pressed against your chest. Suffocating, revealing, vulnerable—the words raced in your mind. Bile rose to your throat. The weight of the clothes dripping down irked you, but not more than how you felt practically revealed under his gaze.
You gulped.
“Ya know, killing an important member of the fleet is a serious offence.” His eyes skimmed over your body. You tensed right as he caught himself and deflected his gaze.
You understood what he implied. Granting you a swift, painless execution was the kindest decision the fleet could come upon.
“But,” the coldness in your eyes matched his, “you wouldn’t let that happen to me, would you?”
“Smart girl.” He ruffled your wet hair. “Either you come with me, or I drag you home kicking and screamin’.”
The lack of reluctance in his voice startled you, paired with the sheer casualness of his tone. You could tell he wasn’t lying.
“I don’t have a choice.”
“You don’t,” he confirmed. “So, shall we go home?”
You don’t respond. You only look at him. With empty, broken eyes, with a dimming spark of defiance still lingering in them.
And in his eyes, you spotted emotion. His brow furrowed, curled. His lips threatened to drag into a frown. He was recollecting. Zoning out on the image of your face, drifting away into the land of memories. Your patients often entered this semi-delirious state, so you’d naturally learned to pick up on it. During those times, you’d simply offer silence. Because for most, the memories they recalled whilst vulnerable and overwhelmed were the ones they hid from themselves the most. If you were to interrupt his thoughts, he’d never confront himself again.
You didn’t know what burdens his heart bore. You didn’t know how many times his flesh tasted the bite of steel. And you certainly didn’t know whether what he felt had justifications. But one thing you knew for sure was that Caleb had to confront his past soon. If he didn’t, he’d lose himself to his obsession.
But you knew it was a matter you couldn’t manipulate. It was not something you could push and pull behind the scenes to manoeuvre them the way they should be moved. There were parts of the human mind that even the most talented psychologists couldn’t access, and if they could, they were not to interfere.
And because of that, most patients embraced a similar decision each time.
He tilted his head. The onslaught of broken memories fragmented before disappearing entirely amidst the purple voids. Just like most, Caleb had chosen to run. And then, without hesitation, he took your arm and pulled.
“Atta girl,” he cooed.
The faltering rain drowned everything—the drum of your heartbeat softly thumping against your ribcage, slowed by the exhaustion biting your limbs. In the distance, the last train to Linkon rattled past.
With a crestfallen gaze, you stepped towards him. Caleb wrapped his arm around your waist and gently lugged you close. The cage you couldn’t see before clamped shut. And so did any possibility of his rehabilitation that you’d initially planned on.
And then, together, you stepped into a new beginning—a future that was no longer yours.
$15.99 MAIN COURSE 5 ━ CALEB 夏以昼
synopsis. you find yourself unable to say no when X-02 explains that he's been tasked—forced—by those who held them captive to take your virginity.
what happens when they push caleb to his limits—not knowing the lengths he will go to to protect you? from everyone, except himself.
wc. 11.6k please mind the content warnings.
━ ✧ cw: mdni, explicit sexual content, forced-to-fuck situation, lots of 'gege/ge' use (you're not allowed to call him caleb), X-02!caleb and A-01!reader, virginity loss (both m and f), forced voyeurism, directed/instructed sex, light coercion and emotional manipulation, dubcon, handjob m!receiving, oral f!receiving, lots of making out, unprotected, caleb purposely does not pull out, undescriptive implied murder, themes of abuse and captivity (its A-01 and X-02 okay)
━ ✧ an: the last installment of kinktober is FINALLY here. my favorite for last, caleb <3 literally don't understand how it became 10k+ words lol. i was fully intending for zayne's to be the longest at 7.3k.
that's a wrap on aeyumi's 2025 kinktober. see you guys never i'm disappearing off the face of the planet i am so burned out. love you all!
as always, please mind the content warnings. if they bother you, don't read.
Caleb's jaw clenches as the men in white coats wheel in a sight that's all too familiar to him. Your unconscious body lays on the cot, coming back from yet another battlefield.
Your unconscious body lays on the cot, coming back from yet another battlefield.
He knows better than to lash out—even if it's all he wants to do when he sees you like this. The handlers had quickly learned that the best way to control X-02 was with A-01. To threaten A-01 was to keep X-02 in line. If he resisted? Stimulate her pain receptors. If he planned another escape? They guaranteed they'd be found again, just like all those years ago. Only this time, he'd never see you again.
It was a simple, yet painfully effective.
Caleb is prepared for what's to come. He would connect your transfer ports, gifting you his Construo energy so you could heal, broken and mangled from unfathomable bloodshed.
That part he didn't mind as much—to see color return to your cheeks, to see firsthand that you were alive.
Sometimes, if he was lucky, he even got to see your eyelashes flutter open, your beautiful eyes taking in the fluorescent lights wondrously, memories wiped clean. Like you'd been reborn—in a life different from this hellish one, if even just for a moment.
But they never let you see him, always sure to remove him, or sometimes you, from the lab and back to the lonely room separated by that damned wall he knew you sat across. His A-01.
With the go-ahead from the handlers, Caleb connects his transfer port to yours, holding your limp hand and murmuring to you tenderly. It was the same repeated words, now etched into his soul.
"I'm sorry. I won't fail you next time. Our next escape will be our last—I promise."
He grows weary as the energy is almost completely drained from his body. Lately, you'd needed more of it every time they'd have him repair you. He can feel the heat rising in his chest, blood boiling, contemplating what they've been doing to you. The horrors you were being subjected to.
Caleb shudders as he feels your Destructio energy caressing his—signaling that your body is almost done absorbing. The sensation was something he'd grown to crave more than anything, the closest thing he'd ever get to holding you again. At least until he could free the both of you. As the months dragged on, the endless cycle of violence and repairing fractured his soul—even he knew that freedom might just be a faraway delusion.
Desperately, he presses your transfer ports tighter, knowing they will disengage and you'll be taken away from him again. It's pointless; whatever vitals that appear on those screens always inform the handlers that the ports have disconnected.
Even though it's futile, he keeps your fingers intertwined with his—praying they won't notice for a while longer. That they won't take you away again.
But that dreaded moment doesn't come.
He tears his eyes away from you when he hears the researchers whispering among themselves, gesturing to different machines that displayed various vitals. Caleb's teeth clench tightly as he watches them point their eyes towards you, unconsciously moving to block you from their view.
When they catch his eyes, they turn to each other once more before slowly approaching him. Caleb tenses instantly, his body poised between you and them—ready to shield you.
They flinch. Though X-02 didn't carry the volatile Destructio energy, he had proven himself to be just as dangerous when A-01 was threatened. The lead researcher, one that'd known X-02 since he was a child, steps forward.
"X-02, we need you to do something for us."
—
Your eyes flicker awake, squinting at the harsh lighting. The room you find yourself awakening in is terrifyingly sterile. The incessant beeping of the machines around you makes your head split.
Trying to sit up, you realize your arms are strapped down. The beeping quickens, pulsing erratically as your heart starts to pound, realizing you're completely restrained.
"Hey, it's okay," a soft voice whispers from beside you, "You're okay."
Your head pounds as you try to place it. It's both unfamiliar and familiar.
Craning your neck around, you see a man sitting on a chair that's pulled up to your bed. He's wrapped in a similar exoskeleton suit as you. His eyes remind you of a sunrise you'd seen once long ago, deep amethyst hues that bleed into a pink coral that's almost golden.
"Caleb."
"Yeah," he whispers in awe, "That's me."
The researchers had let Caleb know that they'd reinserted the memories that had been extracted from you—the ones containing the word 'X-02.' Containing 'gege.'
They'd assured him that this was temporary. Once he was finished, they'd remove them, and the ones from today, again.
Considering what they were asking him to do, that was probably for the best.
He'd savor this while he could—the look of recognition and adoration in your beautiful eyes, eyes he dreamt about every single night.
Caleb exhales when the monitors settle, your heartbeat calming quickly. He reaches a tentative hand out, fingers gently brushing against your cheek.
You lean into his touch instinctively, as if you'd done it thousands of times before—trusting him implicitly.
Calming. Encouraging. Bright.
Caleb scoots closer, his eyes shining under the fluorescent lights. You try to reach out for him, but the leather cuffs dig into your skin as you tug. Caleb's hands instantly find the restraints, his expert fingers working to undo them.
Suddenly, a staticky voice blares from the intercom.
"X-02."
It's a clear warning directed at Caleb. He looks incredibly irritated, his eyebrows furrowing and eyes sparkling dangerously.
"W-What is that?" you ask, on edge again—the monitors reflecting your distress.
"It's…" he struggles to find the right words. You fill in his silence.
"It's them, isn't it?"
Caleb looks surprised but simultaneously relieved that you remember that much—that he doesn't have to explain the devastating reality you've woken up to.
"Yeah, it is," he whispers, stroking the irritated skin of your wrists, "But don't worry. I'll make sure they don't hurt you."
He intertwines his pinky with yours. You're hit with the memory of when he'd taught you what pinky promises meant—that same day he'd shown you the sunrise.
"X-02, you are not to undo A-01's restraints. Please proceed with what we discussed, or we will have you removed."
"Fuck! Just—just give me a moment!" he snaps at the air. His distress makes your chest clench nervously.
"What are they talking about? W-What did they tell you to do?"
Caleb breathes a sigh of relief when no accusation or hostility colors your words, realizing you still trust him, unconditionally. His heart throbs, thankful it's not his vitals being tracked. He knows he doesn't have much time. If he doesn't follow their orders, they've guaranteed they'd find someone else to carry this out.
And there was no way in hell he'd let anyone else touch you.
"They…they want me—us—to…"
Something about seeing Caleb so uncertain and lost for words makes you uncomfortable. Your fingers squeeze his, trying to reassure him—the same way he would do to you.
"Cal—" you're interrupted as Caleb gently closes his palm over your mouth.
"Gege. Call me gege. Th-They don't know about Caleb."
The meaning of his words slowly sink in as you remember all the times you'd woken up, healed from battle, remembering nothing but the name 'Caleb.'
The one thing they couldn't take from you. Not if they didn't know.
"Gege," you correct yourself with a whisper, "W-What does that mean?"
Caleb's own pulse skyrockets as he hears you call him that,"It means…brother. Family, friend, protector. Whatever you need me to be."
As you digest those words, he murmurs, "You trust me, right?"
Your head cocks in confusion, but you nod, "Yes. You're the only one I trust, gege."
"X-02!" The voice over the intercom is much more aggressive now, "Proceed, or we will find someone else!"
Caleb growls venomously at that notion, his head snapping towards the source of the voice. For a second, the air around you crackles and the lights flicker—gravity seeming to shift. Slowly, his fist clenches by your side and everything returns to normal. His expression is unreadable, softening when he looks at you.
"Close your eyes for me, please?"
You eyebrows furrow with confusion but you obey, your lashes fluttering shut. He's only ever protected you—you trusted him more than you trusted yourself.
A small eternity passes before something happens, something soft and foreign pressing against your lips, which part in surprise. Your eyelids flicker open, met with the sight of Caleb's shut eyes, right in front of your own.
Caleb hovers over you, thumb gripping your chin gently in place as he continues to press his lips into yours—stealing your breath straight from the source. He groans into you, feeling his suit getting painfully tight as he grows increasingly and uncomfortably swollen.
It's innocent—chaste. Just his lips against yours. But it's more than enough to send the blood rushing between his legs.
When he finally pulls away, his cheeks are rosy and his ears are tipped red. His purple eyes search yours pleadingly, as if expecting to be punished and preemptively asking for forgiveness.
But your anger doesn't come, only looking at him with wide and confused eyes, "W-What was that?"
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he apologizes still—the self-loathing eating at him. Your first kiss, and you'd had no say. And he hated himself for how badly he'd enjoyed it—loved it.
"Why are you sorry?" you ask genuinely. Your entire body tingled, the sensation of his lips still ghosting against yours even with his face a foot away from you. You were bewildered as to what he was apologizing for. You didn't understand what he'd just did, but it hadn't seemed like a bad thing.
"I want to explain," he whispers, stroking your face tenderly, "I can explain. It's—"
But he's cut off by that same crackly intercom again.
"X-02. You are not authorized to say more. Proceed as you have been directed."
Caleb let's out a string of expletives that's so venomous it makes you wince. His eyes widen when he notices, gently holding your face in his hands.
"I-I'm sorry, princess. Don't be scared, everything's okay."
Caleb's words, his touch, make you feel so unbelievably safe. But you can't quite ignore the ominous staticky directions, coming from the intercom in the corner of the ceiling.
"Then what's happening?" you whisper. As you try and reach out for him, your wrists once again tug against the cuffs, and panic settles in. You jerk against them, looking at him pleadingly. The monitors beep erratically, reflecting your rising anxiety. You can feel the energy inside of you surfacing with volatility, your entire body covered in goosebumps.
Caleb watches, helpless, as you realize that your powers, your energy, is useless. The entire room is built with some kind of destructuo energy dampener, specifically designed to control you.
It was no doubt in response to an incident years ago where you'd nearly destroyed the laboratory, and every single person in it, when they'd taken him away from you.
Knowing no other way to calm you, he leans back in, consuming your hyperventilating breaths with his lips. His hands gently stop your wrists from thrashing, soothing your irritated skin with his thumbs. You moan into him, overwhelmed by everything, taking solace in the comfort he provides you. It feels familiar, and yet different all at once.
Earlier, it was gentle, cautious, delicate. But now?
It was frenzied, claiming, desperate.
Caleb is scared, not knowing how to fix this—how to explain what they've asked him to do, scared of not being able to protect you from this.
From him.
He climbs onto the bed with you, gently parting your knees so he can settle between them. The way your tongue intertwines with his makes him groan, growing excited even when guilt weighs heavily on his body, his cock hardening painfully against his unforgiving exoskeleton.
You hadn't quite kissed him back earlier—not knowing how. But now, your lips moved in tandem with his, tongue messily twirling with his, learning quickly. Even when you barely understood what it meant, your body responded instinctively.
Caleb pulls away to breathe, his chest heaving as he hovers over you. Your eyes flutter up at him, hazy and bewildered. His eyes are drawn to your puffy lips, a line of spit connecting you to him.
"I-I've always wanted to do that," he croaks. The heat in his confession makes you shiver, something akin to excitement brewing in your stomach.
"Really?" you whisper breathlessly, in disbelief. He gives you a half smile as he nods, tucking your hair behind your ear.
You blink up at him, dazed—drunk off the sensation of his lips. Caleb presses his forehead to yours, holding the back of your head tightly, gripping your hair like it'd keep you from ever disappearing again.
"I have to do this. So they don't hurt you," he whispers. It's not completely untruthful. If he didn't do it, they'd find someone else to defile you. His words might be a slight stretch, but there was truth there.
As well as his own deception.
"Do what?" you whisper, still completely lost.
"They want us to…" he tries to speak clearly, knowing they'll warn him again, likely for the last time.
"They want me to—They're forcing me to take your…" Caleb gulps, his eyes darkened with a torrent of bitter conflict.
"Your first time."
He can tell by your expression that you're unsure what he means. His gut coils in an alarming mix of arousal and guilt at your inexplicable innocence and inexperience. Pressure builds in his groin at the idea that he will be the one to change that.
His heart pounds painfully, "Just…just trust me. If we don't do this…they said they'll find someone else."
The entire room crackles with sinister energy as he speaks, the lights flickering ominously. While you're unsure what he means, you knew you didn't want anyone else near you, touching you. Pressing their lips to yours, like he just did. The thought makes your skin crawl.
You watch with wide eyes as he leans back in, pressing his lips to your jaw this time. Caleb groans at how your body naturally responds to him, pretty little whimpers escaping you. His lips trail down your face, to your neck where you feel him inhaling deeply. It makes you blush, wondering why he's behaving this way. And why it makes your thighs clench excitedly.
"G-Gege!" you whimper when his lips latch onto the sensitive skin against your pulse. You feel him smiling, satisfied by the way the monitors go insane as they pick up on your increased heart rate and blood pressure, signs of how excited you are—even if you don't realize what it means.
"That's enough. Continue, X-02. Further down."
His fingers clench, blood boiling again—reminded of how methodical they've instructed he go about this. Like it meant nothing. Like it wasn't something he'd wanted for years.
He kisses down every inch of your exposed skin, his face eventually scratching against the rough metal of your suit as he moves down your neck.
"Stand by. Someone will enter shortly to remove your exoskeletons."
Caleb's eyes widen at that, a surge of hostility and protectiveness claiming him. Your dazed look of bliss only fans those flames of possessiveness—eyes snapping to the door as it slides open.
Before you can register what's happening, Caleb is off of you, standing between the bed and the door. The lights flicker wildly, lab equipment inexplicably trembling—metal scratching against the linoleum floor. The air around you feels odd, almost weightless.
"Do not fucking come near her," Caleb warns. He doesn't even realize what's happening—doesn't even notice the unprecedented deadly energy radiating off of him. The lab technician looks utterly terrified.
On the other side of the one way mirror, the group of laboratory researchers murmur excitedly among themselves—jotting down everything they see. For a moment they want to stop their little experiment, now having something far more interesting to study.
"This is incredible. Is it possible X-02 is developing some kind of…new ability?"
"It's seems A-01 truly is the key to unlock his potential."
"Screw the intercourse study, we should study him instead."
"Ca—Ge," you whisper urgently, not being able to remember ever having seen him do something like this before. Normally you'd be the one with the offensive abilities, your energy and blades, and him with the healing and power of creation, "W-What are you doing?"
Caleb's eyes soften when he looks at you, the pulsing energy surrounding him seeming to dissipate. But as the lab technician inches toward you, Caleb's hostility returns instantly, an animalistic noise escaping his throat. You flinch when one of the bulbs in the fluorescent light tube above shatter.
The man's hands raise in desperate surrender, eyes snapping to the dimmed light, discreetly speaking into his mic, "The hell am I supposed to do?! He'll kill me if I get any closer!"
At instructions that are inaudible to Caleb, the technician clears his throat, voice trembling as he speaks to him.
"Th-There's a button beneath the panels of your suit, at the back of the neck. If you press that, your exoskeletons will retract until it's pressed again."
He flees after, his face pale as a sheet—desperate to get out of that room and out of X-02's sight. Caleb turns back to you, fingers instantly caressing your cheek.
"Sorry, did I scare you?" he murmurs.
You shake your head, "N-No. But why do they want us to remove our suits?" Your cheeks are red, knowing it'll mean you'll be naked. In front of Caleb.
Caleb's own cheeks burn as his eyes drift down your body, unable to stop himself from imagining your bare skin under the imposing layers of metal.
"W-We…" he struggles to find the words as he carefully climbs between your legs again, "We need to be naked. To do this."
This. Once again, you didn't understand what that meant but you knew you wanted it to be Caleb. Not someone else, like they'd threatened if he didn't comply.
"B-But…" you blush harder, clearing your throat. Caleb kisses your forehead reassuringly, able to read you like an open book. You were nervous, shy.
"It's okay," he murmurs, fingers trailing across your collar and up to your neck, "Please…I-I want—I need to see you."
Your eyes widen wondrously at the desperation of his plea, heart hammering at the prospect of being naked in front of someone. In front of him.
"X-02, proceed. Now."
Caleb's eyes darken with annoyance. He leans in to kiss you again, whispering reassuringly against your lips, "It'll be over soon, okay?"
You moan into his mouth as kisses you aggressively, his fingers roaming across your shoulders. Even through the exoskeleton it made you shiver, an unexplainable fire growing in your gut.
Goosebumps form under the metal as Caleb's tongue tangles demandingly with yours, his fingers finding the nape of your neck. He wants to warn you, give you more time to adjust, but they'd given him far too many warnings already. Especially considering the power he'd just inadvertently displayed, he was surprised they hadn't separated him from you already. Not that he'd let them, not after he'd gotten a chance to taste you.
Caleb's fingers gently lift the metal panels against your neck, thumb finding the button they'd mentioned. With his lips still on yours, his eyes quickly scan the ceiling for all visible cameras, intentionally shifting his body to block your body from them.
His heart pounds as he presses it, inexplicably excited at the idea of seeing you naked. You gasp into his lips when you feel the tight exoskeleton disengaging, exposing your skin to the cold air. You can't look down, Caleb's metal fingers gripping the back of your head firmly in place, while the other grips your hip possessively.
Only when he releases your lips can you look down, seeing your own naked body for the first time in you're unsure how long. Caleb follows your eyes, breath quickening as he takes you in. His cock lurches, nearly feeling himself explode just at the mere sight of you.
"Beautiful," he croaks, thumb wiping away the saliva on your lips. His entire body trembles, overwhelmed by how exquisite you are, how soft your skin is, how mouthwatering your breasts are as they taunt him.
He doesn't dare look further down, knowing he won't be able to stop from losing himself entirely—pinning you down and taking you like a madman.
You try to cover your body, but of course your wrists only rattle against the metal cuffs.
"E-Embarrassing," you mumble, averting your eyes shyly.
Caleb wants to reassure you, but he's swiftly interrupted.
"X-02, proceed as you've been briefed. Start by stimulating A-01's breasts."
Your eyes snap up to the intercom, heart beating erratically in disbelief. Your breasts?!
Caleb holds your cheeks, bringing you out of your anxious thoughts, and pressing his forehead on yours.
"I have to," he whispers, trying to hide his excitement. A dark part of him thanked the twisted universe for providing him this opportunity.
"Why?" you croak quietly, your breath fanning across his lips, "W-Why are they making us do this?"
Caleb's heart fractures at your words, reminded that just because he wants this, doesn't mean you do.
"I-I…" Caleb stutters, "I don't know. They're always running experiments on us. If I had to guess, they want to see how we react to different physical stimuli…like pleasure."
"Pleasure…" you trail off, lost in your tumultuous thoughts. Caleb's eyes are drawn to your hardened nipples—puckered and begging for his attention, even as he tries to focus on your discomfort.
"X-02 this is your last warning to proceed as directed."
"J-Just do it," you whisper before he has a chance to lash out at the unseen voices. Caleb's face snaps to yours, both excited to continue and devastated by the notion that you were doing this entirely against your will.
But even if he wanted to, he couldn't refuse.
"I'm sorry," Caleb whispers as his lips trail down your bare collar. He moans at the smell of your skin, his hips bucking against your thigh. He's still in his exoskeleton, the material digging harshly into your legs.
Your eyes flutter shut as you feel moisture on the swell of your breasts, his lips latching on gently. You squirm, feeling self conscious with Caleb so close to your intimate parts. There's a building tension in your gut, half parts anxiety and half something you've never experienced before.
"I-I'm so sorry," he says again, but this time he's apologizing for how excited, how hard, he is. He feels terrible, but it doesn't stop him from wanting you.
"Focus on her areolas."
The thought of sucking on your nipples nearly sends Caleb into a frenzy. His eyes plead with yours, "I have to." When you nod hesitantly, his head dips down, taking one peak into his mouth and capturing the other with his rough fingers.
You lurch, cuffs digging painfully into your wrists, "Nnngh…C-Caleb!" You can't think consciously enough to remember not to use his name, overwhelmed by the sharp pleasure of his mouth on your breast.
Caleb nearly chokes against your skin, the sound of your moan completely unexpected and entirely irresistible. He growls excitedly, sucking harder. He can vaguely make out the sounds of the machines beeping wildly—the audible indication of your arousal fuels him, especially knowing your body wanted him even if you didn't.
"O-Oh that feels…" you trail off, struggling to breathe—the machines mirroring your thunderous heart rate.
Caleb braces himself for whatever you're about to say, lips still closed over your nipple, eyes nervously peering up at you through thick eyelashes.
"Unngh—f-feels goo—ood," you choke, forgetting your surroundings entirely. That there's a group of people watching you from the cameras. All you can focus on is the foreign feeling building in your body, every nerve tingling like it might burst.
You whine when he freezes momentarily, taken aback by your reaction. You try to prop yourself up to look at him, but you feel his teeth bare down gently on your sensitive flesh, causing you to thrash against the restraints.
"Really?" his words are muffled, breath hot against your flesh, "A-Are you sure, princess?"
Your head is thrown back with a moan as he sucks harder, "Y-Yeah? Is it—nngh—n-not supposed to?"
"N-No! It is. It is."
He ruts eagerly against your thighs, unable to contain his excitement as he samples your soft skin. He forces himself to control his urges, wanting to make this as enjoyable as possible for you. As you shiver against his metallic suit, Caleb pauses before finding the button at the nape of his own neck and pressing down.
You watch with wide eyes as the panels of his exoskeleton shuffle into themselves, leaving him naked—his body sculpted and muscular. It's then you realize his right arm is entirely modified, while the other is still flesh.
Your gaze drifts downward, specifically between his legs. Caleb flushes as he sees how erect he is, wet sticky arousal smearing against his abdomen as his cock stands tall. It lurches with excitement as he looks down at your naked body, kneeling upright between your legs.
"A-Are you okay?" you stutter, not understanding why his body is reacting like this. You'd never seen a man's body, but it looked swollen and painful, "Does that hurt?"
Caleb's cheeks burn as he watches you stare at his cock—feeling self conscious. Like you, this was the first time he'd seen himself naked in a while. The handlers were exceedingly careful not to share too much knowledge about their skeletons—not wanting to fuel another revolt.
"No, it doesn't. Don't worry, princess."
"I-Is it supposed to be like that?"
Caleb clears his throat, embarrassed, "…No. I'm like this…B-Because of you."
Your head tilts in confusion, but there's another instruction before you can inquire more.
"X-02, you may now undo A-01's restraints."
Caleb bristles at the intrusion but obliges, deftly undoing the cuffs and taking your wrists into his hands, massaging them tenderly. He doesn't even get to soothe you for two seconds before they're demanding more.
"A-01, stroke X-02's penis. With your hands."
"Wait—" the shock is evident on Caleb's face, turning to the blinking camera, "You never said anything about that—"
His tone is murderous, the energy around him once again sucking inward, making it difficult to breathe. He can't help it—unable to control this…ability of his that seemed to manipulate the gravity around them. And when he got emotional, it seemed especially volatile.
"You said she wouldn't have to do anything," he snarls, the idea of them subjecting you to more than they needed to like acid on his tongue. What they'd tasked him with doing to you would already be traumatic enough. He didn't want you to have to do the same, regardless if you would remember it or not.
"There's been new developments. A-01, proceed."
If Caleb had to guess, it was likely, what they believed to be, his newfound power that they now wanted to test. To them, it seemed to manifest as a result of A-01—specifically after physical intimacy with A-01.
And they wanted to see what else they could uncover about X-02, using A-01.
"No," he desperately turns to you, "No, you don't ha—"
"I-It's okay…gege," you wince at the resurfacing memories of what would happen when you didn't cooperate with them. The sensory injector. The pain.
You take him into your trembling hands. Caleb jolts when your fingers come into contact with him, curling over you. The exam bed shakes with the weight of his body as he curses lowly and whispers your name.
"O-Oh Christ," he pants, his entire body heaving. You slow your ministrations.
Your stomach flutters as he moans, seeming to thoroughly enjoy your touch—a concept that makes your entire body heat with confusing desires, even without him touching you.
Caleb's eyes are squeezed shut, trying to sear this feeling into his memory. He falls backwards, supporting himself with his palms, his hips rutting up into your timid hands.
You watch, mesmerized. You need to use both hands to completely grip him, the sticky fluid spilling onto your skin. His entire body rolls into your palms, a thin sheen of sweat starting to form on his abdomen.
Simply obeying orders, you really didn't have a clear grasp on what exactly you were doing. But even in your inexperience, you knew this was filthy. Lewd and intimate.
"A-01, make sure you stimulate his testicles too."
The intrusion startles you, making Caleb choke out a curse when you accidentally squeeze down on him.
"O-Oh sorry," you whisper, removing your hands. Caleb moves faster, catching your wrists and bringing them back to wrap around him.
"Hah—D-Don't stop," he groans, "Need you t-to touch me. Please."
When he realizes you have no idea what they'd just instructed you to do, he carefully brings one of your hands to cup the sensitive skin under the base of his thick length. He gently guides your fingers, showing you how to do what they'd asked. You audibly gasp as your fingers wrap around, what you assume is, his testicles—soft and heavy in your hand.
Your movements aren't particularly skilled, obviously, but your touch is pure heaven to Caleb. His balls quickly tighten excitedly in your fingers. You'd barely been touching him for a few minutes and he was already close.
"H-Hah—oh g-god. J-Just like that," he praises lowly, stroking your face with a shaky hand. As your eyes meet, you're struck with the sudden desire to feel his lips again. Caleb watches your eyes drift to his lips, lurching fiercely in your hands as he catches you.
"Come here," he whispers huskily, fingers weaving into the back of your head and tugging you forward—eager and aggressive. It's sloppy, his tongue claiming every inch of you as saliva escapes the corner of your mouth, struggling to keep up with his fervor.
When your hands stop moving, unable to focus on anything but his lips, Caleb groans and encompasses your fingers with his own. He uses your hand to jerk himself off, breathing growing increasingly heavy as his body rolls up into your joined hands. At the feeling of your wet timid tongue, he comes completely undone, unable to stop from exploding in your hands.
Caleb hisses into your mouth, shuddering violently under your touch. You feel something wet and hot splatter against your bare skin. It makes you shiver, reminding you that you're completely naked. You'd forgotten, his proximity keeping you warm and toasty.
"F-Fuck—!" Caleb curses as he holds the base of his cock, squeezing—trying to stop himself. But it's too late, his release painting your delicate skin milky white.
Of course, it was his first orgasm—a completely new sensation, so he had no idea what to expect. He didn't know if orgasming a few strokes in was normal or not. All he knew was that he was upset that he hadn't been able to prolong the glorious moment.
If the feeling of your fingers could render him in this state, what would being inside of you do to him? The thought excites him as much as it terrifies him, rendering him thick and desperate once more.
On the other side of the wall, the group of researchers note everything they see, including how the lights flicker erratically as X-02 approaches and reaches orgasm, his energy levels spiking to unprecedented levels and behaving more like that of A-01's destructuo energy.
"Is he showing signs of…evolution?"
"What do you think is the cause? A-01? Or climax?"
"Do you think A-01 could exhibit similar developments?"
"We theorized that physical pleasure might prove more efficient in the healing and recovery process than X-02's energy. What if…it can do more?"
They look excitedly between themselves before reaching for the intercom mic.
"X-02, proceed with the next phase."
Caleb is almost entirely incoherent, his entire body heaving with the force of his climax. His eyes widen at how much of his cum you're covered in.
"I'm sorry, couldn't stop myself," he blushes, moving to wipe you off. He freezes as he watches his release drip off your tits, groaning at how much harder it makes him—cock unbearably sensitive.
"It's okay, gege. It's…warm," you whisper wondrously at the way the white pearly beads reflect the fluorescent light. Caleb watches with shadowed eyes as you use your delicate fingers to wipe a rivulet off of your swollen peak. At your whimper, your nipples sensitive from his prior attention, he gently pushes you back down, hovering over you.
"You have no idea what you do to me, do you?"
He doesn't give you a chance to speak, stealing your breath all at once. His fingers ghost down your body, tracing your sensitive nipples in their path downward. Greedily, he swallows up your whimpers.
"X-02."
Caleb groans, swearing against your lips. The moment is shattered as he remembers what the next phase is. He looks at you, already repenting—this would be the point of no return.
"Forgive me," he rasps, pressing one last kiss to your forehead before his lip carve a path down your body. You writhe, moaning as he travels down, his tongue tasting every inch of you.
Your eyes widen when he reaches your pelvis, scrambling and trying to push him away, "W-Wait, not there."
Caleb looks up, desperate, "Please, princess. I…I have to."
Again, not entirely true, but not entirely a lie.
"You…have to," you echo, looking down at him. He's between your legs, faces inches away from your core. It made you squirm.
"Yeah. I-It'll be quick," he whispers, willing to do anything to reassure you—even if it's likely not true.
But one thing he knows for certain, "I'll always protect you, I won't let anyone hurt you."
Except of course, him.
Relief tinged with shame floods him when you finally nod and whisper, "O-Okay, Caleb."
At his despondent expression—grappling with the idea that you're agreeing because you have no choice, you grasp his face and bring it back up to meet yours, "I trust you, gege."
It soothes him, but it's not enough to reassure him entirely.
His body trembles with the weight of his restraint, his face inches away from your cunt. Your smell intoxicates him—it takes everything in him not to dive in, literally, head first.
"Close your eyes for me princess."
You oblige, breath quickening as you wait for him to do whatever it is they've tasked him with. All you can hear is the faint pulse of the monitors reading your vitals, and your labored breathing, as you wait for what feels like an eternity.
"C-Caleb—w-wha—!"
You're interrupted by your own scream when you feel Caleb's familiar mouth press against your most private parts, his nose prodding your lips apart.
"W-Wait, don't—don't," you say weakly, back arching off the bed at the sharp sensation. Caleb's arms loop around your thighs, holding you firmly in place—preventing escape. You whine as his tongue dives deeper, wedged right between your quivering folds. His moans reverberate off your sensitive skin, making your gut bubble with pleasure.
Caleb is too lost in your essence to register your rising distress, groaning desperately, "O-Oh y-you taste so fucking good."
Your eyes widen at his lustful words, his voice deep with desire and possession.
Truthfully, your distress stemmed from the idea that theywere also forcing Caleb to do something he didn't want, something that seemed so…disgusting. But the idea, the proof right between your thighs, that he seemed to…enjoy this—it made your entire body twitch with confusion.
"Uhhngh…r-really?" you moan in disbelief, sitting up on shaky elbows. The sight of his eyes hooded with pleasure, tongue lapping eagerly at the slick that refused to stop dripping from your legs, made you unbearably excited.
Caleb answers with a pleasured growl, unable to pull away from your nectar. His words vibrate against your core, making you writhe, "Mmnn..w-would never lie to you."
He tugs you aggressively closer to him, your body sliding down the exam bed as he practically brings your body to his lips like how you'd drink from a bowl. As his lips latch onto a unbearably sensitive bud of flesh, you're interrupted once more.
"X-02, the next phase is penetration, not f—"
You yelp as Caleb's fingers dig painfully into the plush of your ass, a snarl erupting from his shiny lips. Another halogen tube light bursts as he regards the unseen researchers venomously.
"You want me to fuck her, at least let me make sure she's ready!"
You flinch at the pure hatred in words, half-expecting them to barge in—punishing Caleb for his insolence. But you're only met with tense silence. Caleb turns to you again, his face softening.
"Sorry," he mumbles sheepishly, "Are you okay?"
You gulp nervously, but nod nonetheless. At that, Caleb kisses you again. Your nose scrunches at the new taste, goosebumps forming when you realize you're tasting yourself.
Pulling away, Caleb refocuses on devouring you. This time you don't protest when he places your legs on his shoulder, his expression absolutely starved—crazed, as he admires the mess he's created between your legs.
The scrutiny makes you squirm, "D-Don't stare."
Caleb only grins, leaning back in. You whine when he takes a deep breathe, inhaling your scent, making you flush with embarrassment.
"Cale—Ge. D-Don't do that."
He chuckles, warm breath making you twitch, "M'sorry princess. Can't help it."
His eyes lock with yours, the dawn hues darkened—reminding you more of dusk now, "I can't resist you. Not now. Not ever."
Your chest throbs at the sincerity of his confession. But he distracts you from it, latching back onto the sensitive nub at the crest of your core, sucking at it roughly.
"O-Oh God," you wail, fingernails digging into the bed, "W-Wait, slow down!" Your body is overwhelmed by the quickly forming tension in your abdomen, terrified by what might happen when that coil snaps.
Caleb growls with dissatisfaction but does his best to obey, easing his lips—suckling slower, trying to be gentler with you. His right fist clenches painfully with restraint, your soft mewls of pleasure echoing in his mind.
The scientists murmur excitedly between themselves, even despite X-02's disobedience. They knew he'd never done anything like this, and he was proving more and more just how resourceful he was—how quickly he could learn and adapt. And now, with the exhibition of his "newfound" offensive abilities…
The possibilities of what they could do with their new weapon were endless.
For Caleb, it was easy to pick up on the things you like and what you didn't. You were so responsive to him—but above all, his desire to possess your pleasure made it all the easier to learn every inch of your body.
You feel his hand enclosing over one of your breasts, kneading it as he continues to devour ravenously. When he starts to tweak your nipples, your body spasms and you see stars, your legs tightening so forcefully you're scared you might choke him.
Glancing down with blurry vision, you watch the pure bliss on Caleb's face as he tastes you. You gasp when you notice he has one fist wrapped around his cock. It looks thicker than it had when you held it, still shiny with the thick white cream that he'd released.
Caleb catches you staring, his abdomen tightening with excitement. With his tongue at your entrance, he can't help but imagine putting himself inside of you. You were more than ready, an obscene amount of arousal coating your inner thighs.
It's what they were demanding he do anyways, right?
You're dazed when Caleb pulls away, standing on his knees—instantly missing the warmth of his mouth. You're so out of it you don't even register that Caleb is lining himself up with your core, until his tip is nudging you apart.
"C-Caleb?" you whimper, eyes widening, "W-Wait you can't put that inside me—i-it won't fit!"
Not removing himself, he hovers over you, letting your foreheads rest against each other. You groan as he rubs the swollen tip of his erection up and down your slit, gathering the moisture and smearing it against himself.
"J-Just trust me, okay?" he pleads, at his limit of how much he can hold back. He needs to be inside of you.
You bite your lip and nod slowly, not being able to deny him, "I-It's going to hurt right?"
Caleb let's his head catch along your tight little hole as he rubs ups and down, "I think so. But only for a little, okay princess? I-I promise."
He swallows your response, mouth slotting over yours again. The vibrations of your moans pulse through his entire body, his eager and possessive tongue distracting you as he lines himself back up. His free hand rubs tender circles into your trembling thighs, holding them farther apart as he tries to sink into you.
You rip your mouth away, yelping in pain. The monitors read your distress, and Caleb pauses, his jaw slack and teeth tightly grit.
"I know, I know—I'm sorry," he whispers.
"X-02, do not stop. Proceed."
Caleb seethes, glaring at the cameras—still blocking you from their sight. But he stays still, refocusing on you. He gently strokes your cheek, kissing your temple. It takes everything in him to wait—to give you more time to accept and adjust, even when all he wants is to bury himself inside of you.
"Ignore them," he whispers, "I-I'll wait until you're ready."
You shake your head—you were used to pain after all, "N-No just keep going. I don't want them hurting you."
Caleb freezes at that. Hurting him. That was your first concern.
He groans lowly, "F-Fuck don't say things like that. Not while I-I'm like this."
You blush as Caleb looks down at you with unquenchable hunger burning in his eyes. Hesitantly, you wrap your arms around his shoulders, tugging him closer.
"J-Just put it in, it's okay."
Caleb's eyes widen, a pained growl escaping his throat at your half-plea, "F-Fuck."
He buries his face in the crook of your neck, taking deep breaths of your scent to try and ground himself. At the same time, you feel his cock pressing deeper against you, trying desperately to penetrate you.
Your eyes squeeze shut, biting down on his shoulder. Caleb groans deeply, hips lurching at the sting—inadvertently pushing further into you, almost as if begging you to bite harder.
And you oblige, especially when he continues to try and force his cock into your tight heat. He groans with frustration, having a hard time getting inside of you. Sure, he was inexperienced but surely it shouldn't be this difficult.
"God you're tight as hell," he croaks your name desperately, "Please, baby."
The little name he calls you hits your ears like honey, making you shiver. Your eyes flutter at him, trying to focus—hazed with pain and something foreign, "Mmnngh..P-Please what ge?"
You take a deep breath, trying to loosen your body—your muscles cramping painfully with tension. Caleb swears at your wide questioning eyes, the way you call him that so sweetly, already obeying without him needing to elaborate.
"Y-Yeah just like that. Fuuuck…good girl."
Your stomach flutters with his praises, distracting you momentarily and allowing him to finally push in—just barely. You groan, your body tensing again. Even with your fragmented memories, you know you've felt worse pain before—through punishment, augmentation, experimentation. But this felt different...bearable.
But above all, it was Caleb inflicting it. And that made you want to withstand it.
"A-Almost," he whispers, sweat beating down his temple. He looks down, where your bodies are connected. Truthfully, he hasn't even gotten his full tip in, but he could feel you finally stretching fractionally.
"Hurts," you gasp, eyes focusing in and out, "Nnngh…I-I think it's too big."
Caleb's hand grips the rail of the hospital bed, caging you against his body, "Hah—F-Fuck…Just bear with me, a-a little while longer, okay?"
With tears streaming down your face you nod, taking another deep gulp of air. Caleb curses, his knuckles turning white and fingers going numb with the force which he grips the metal railing of the bed.
You nearly scream as you feel his thick head finally pop fully into you, the monitors going insane as they read your vitals.
"Oh god," he chokes as he feels your gummy walls enveloping just one inch of his cock, "Mmmngh—fuck you feel s-so good wrapped around me."
He squeezes the base of his cock again, jaw tightened as he nearly cums just from putting his tip inside you. When you whimper again, he looks up, violet eyes wide—as if just snapping out of his own trance. Caleb's heart clenches at your pained sounds, guilty that while you writhe in discomfort, he quite literally drowns in the pleasure your body provides him.
"I'm sorry," he presses his lips into your temple, holding still—not letting any more of himself slip in, "It-It'll be over soon, I promise."
You gasp for air, feeling unbearably stretched out. Looking down, you groan at the sight of his tip tightly nestled in your folds, your thighs shiny with moisture. The sight is so lewd it entrances you, your mouth shamefully agape.
Caleb chuckles, his voice trembling as he forces himself not to thrust into you. His thumb traces your bottom lip, "Hah—careful, princess. Don't drool."
You weakly swat his hand away, glaring at him, "I-I am not!"
He's about to tease you more, relieved as he sees you smile faintly, when the intercom crackles to life.
"X-02. Continue."
He hisses with frustration and you gulp nervously. Though you'd somewhat gotten used to it, you knew he was barely inside of you—and it hurt.
"I-I have to move okay, baby? I…I'm sorry."
You nod, squeezing your eyes shut, bracing yourself.
"C-Come on, don't do that. Look at me, please."
Your eyes flutter open, looking at him questioningly.
"I-I want—I need to see you, okay?" He pleads, tilting your chin up. He smiles when your eyes meet, "Deep breath for me?"
"C-Caleb—!" you cry, nails digging into his shoulders as he pushes into you slowly—not even remembering not to use his name. One inch. Then another.
Caleb's muscles spasm as he fights to stay in control, "C-Christ, I can't—you feel…"
He cuts himself off with a string of curses as you tighten. He's about halfway inside of you, and already he's questioning how much more of this he can take before he comes undone again.
"Caa—leb," you moan, the syllables breaking as he slips incrementally into you. You wrap your trembling legs around his back, unable to support them any longer. His entire body freezes at that, the sound of his name coming so beautifully out of your lips, the feeling of your thighs locking his body against yours.
"Princess, please," he groans, "Fuck…Y-You're making it impossible to be gentle."
Your eyes widen at how pained he sounds, not understanding what exactly you were doing that was hurting him. But you knew you could handle it, and you'd willing accept more if it meant sparing him.
"Nnnngh—I don't want you t-to be in pain," you whisper, "Just do it, I can—hah—handle it."
Caleb's eyes darken at your words. Looking down at you, he realizes the extent of your vulnerability and trust.
You had no idea what you were doing to him. What he could do to you.
"You don't know what you're saying. Don't say that."
"I-I do!" you insist, eyes rolling slightly as you feel his hard length brushing deeper into your sensitive walls, "Ge, please. Just put it in."
Caleb feels his resolve crumbling. The sound of you begging him to, essentially, fuck you, drove him to the edge of insanity. His body moves on its own, pushing deeper into your torturously irresistible gummy walls. Until he's completely bottomed out.
Both of your eyes are drawn to where your bodies are joined—glued to the sight of your pelvises molded firmly together.
"O-Oh…" you breathe out in awe, "It…y-you're inside me."
The machines go ballistic when you notice the obvious red streaks against Caleb's pelvis. He notices it too, and, for a second, it feels like a knife sinks into Caleb's stomach—knowing it's yours. Your blood. The sight made his hair stand on its ends.
His fist clenches so harshly that his nails pierce the skin of his palms, forcing himself to take a deep breath as his cock twitches inside of you. They'd brief him that there might be resistance, blood, since it'd be your first time. But seeing it was a different thing entirely.
Capturing your chin, he brings your eyes back to his twinkling violet irises, "Look at me. Everything's okay—I promise."
You gulp and nod, entire body tense with the strain of the pain. You trusted him. You'd give him all of you.
Caleb's cock pulses like a living breathing thing, with only one necessity to survive—you. Your wide-eyed trust drives him insane, coating your insides with his immeasurable arousal. He moans, "I-I need to move, baby—please. Hah…Can I?"
Your nose scrunches as he twitches, even the minuscule movement of his breathing making the ache sting to life.
"X-02, move, now."
The lights pulse erratically as Caleb's eyes glow with uncertainty, ignoring the intercom and instead looking to you for permission. Or forgiveness. Perhaps both.
With a deep breath you nod, "D-Do it. We h-have to."
Caleb growls, unhappy with your words—the insinuation this was entirely against both your wills. That perhaps he was the only one enjoying this.
But his body moves on its own accord. He falls onto his palms, hair falling and shadowing his eyes—hands on either side of your face.
"Ge?" you whisper, wincing when he pulls out an inch.
"Nnngh…l-let me make you feel good," he pleads, practically rambling as he slides that one inch back into you. He groans at the feeling—quickly becoming addicted to the sensation of your body wrapped around his. You choke on your words, biting deeply into your bottom lip to ease the sting from his thickness stretching you completely apart.
"Please, I need you to feel good too," he whispers desperately, withdrawing again—farther this time. It scares you, his desperation bordering on madness. Not giving you a chance to speak, he pushes his mouth to yours. You whine as his tongue eases your lips open, seeking yours out.
He pushes back into you, distracting you with his demanding kiss, moaning into your lips. You squeak, the feeling of his leaking tip pushing against the bottom of your stomach a sudden jolt of pain and…pleasure.
"Fuck—you just got tighter,"Caleb groans. His rhythm is sloppy, inexperienced, but somehow he still reaches your deepest and most sensitive parts. Even if he didn't know what to do, his sheer length and thickness was enough to have you moaning for him.
"W-Wait, ge—" you whimper, confused at the feeling of his cock thrusting in and out of you. Your thighs ached, his body heavy against your spread legs, and it still stung where he connected with you. But the sensation was quickly burning away into something pleasurable, especially with Caleb's hooded eyes beholding you like you were the only thing in this entire world.
It made your stomach flutter with something terrifying. Similar to the feeling that'd been brewing when he had his lips on your clit, his teeth against your tits, when his tongue was in your mouth.
"Oh god," he rambles, his wet skin slapping against your thighs, "Y-You're so perfect. My perfect princess."
You practically purr at his praises. Bewilderingly, it seems to make it feel even better, "Nngh…gege…s-so big I can't…"
Caleb groans at your unknowing praises, feeling the tightness building in his balls again, reminding him of when he'd exploded against your fingers and tits. Everything you do, your mewls, your words, your tightness, all come together in an intoxicating cocktail designed to draw him irrevocably insane.
But he's determined not to cum again unless he can get you there with him.
"Sh-Shit…Y-You feel so good," he huffs desperately, "Nnngh—fuck—!"
With one hand, he gathers your ankles into his hands. His thick muscles strain as he lifts you, your ass coming off the bed. He puts both your calves against his shoulder, his cheek pressed against them, all while supporting your lower back.
"O-Oh!" you squeak as the air is compressed out of your lungs, the angle making him reach farther than before.
"W-Wait—hic," your cheeks burn as you hiccup, tears still pooling at your neck, "S'deeper now—t-too deep!"
"X-02, bring A-01 to climax. Now."
Caleb snarls with annoyance. How was he expected to just do that, on command? He'd never done this before.
You can just vaguely register the order, your nails digging into the leather material of the bed. The pleasure is almost as overwhelming as the pain, and it made you sob uncontrollably, "W-Why are they—hah—doing this to us? W-Why do they make us do these things?"
Caleb's throat tightens. He bends down, pushing your thighs deep into your chest, kissing your face desperately. He licks up your tears, catching them as they fall.
"Don't cry," he pleads, nuzzling your cheek with his face. His rhythm is messy as he draws closer to cumming, fueled by the thought of repeating what'd happened earlier—only this time, inside you.
"Please don't cry, princess. I'm sorry, I-I'll make it better," he promises, though his movements don't stop. Even the immense guilt isn't enough to get him to stop indulging in your perfect body. His metal hand holds your face greedily, trying to mold your body to his.
You hiccup again, his cock seeming to reach up into your lungs, making it harder to breathe through the tears of pleasure.
"No—I-I…I like it," you admit breathlessly. Caleb's entire body tenses at that, his eyes shadowing. Of course, up until this point, it was clear your body responded to him. The proof was in your pretty little mewls, your drenched thighs, your love-struck eyes.
But to hear the verbal confirmation was an entirely different story.
Your eyes widen as Caleb's pace picks up considerably, his animalistic fervor increasing tenfold.
"You do?" he growls, "Y-You like my cock inside you?" Your heart skips a beat at his provocative lewd words, and you nod eagerly.
"Nnngh—no. Say it. Say it for me. Please."
At a particularly poignant thrust, his cock reaching into your diaphragm, you squeal—submitting to his every demand as your body responds eagerly to him, "Y-Yes—! I like your cock in me, Caleb!"
His cock throbs at that, unable to think straight as all his blood reallocates south, "G-God, you're so good for me baby."
There was that little nickname again. You didn't know what it meant but it drove you insane.
"You think you can cum?" he coos roughly, "Can you be a good girl and cum for me?"
You find yourself nodding instinctively, even when you don't really understand what he's asking for. But your body seemed to crave exactly what he was demanding.
"Nnngh—! I-I think so," you gasp, feeling like your abdomen might explode. The feeling scares you, not knowing what would come out when it burst. Caleb groans, throwing his head back, exposing his bobbing Adam's apple to your hooded gaze.
"Hah—Wait princess, not so tight," his eyes roll back, letting out a pleasured string of expletives—voice rough with passion.
"I-I can't—" All you can do is choke and sob as you feel your body unravel, unable to control any part of yourself—not your words, your muscles, or your thunderous heart.
Caleb kisses your ankle, still propped against this chest. He trails a wet path down your foot to your calves, worshiping your body.
"Fuck—!" Caleb cries as your walls strangle him, becoming tighter than before, "Uunngh…just like that baby—f-fuck I can feel you."
You wail his name repeatedly, forgetting that you weren't supposed to call him by his name. You don't hear the intercom blare, too far gone in the depths of your first orgasm.
"X-02 pull out. Under no circumstance are you to finish inside of A-01."
Caleb hears the orders loud as day, but he says nothing, instead continuing to lick a path down your calves—repositioning your body so that he can kiss you as you finally explode against him.
As your pussy constricts against him, you hiccup frantically, "O-Oh god, I-I—"
He cuts you off, swallowing your screams and scooping your body into his arms, pounding into you with reckless abandon. His mouth slots over yours, tongue parting your receptive lips and reclaiming parts of you that he deemed his. One of your hands finds his thick shoulders while the other desperately grabs hold of his mechanical arm, fingers digging into the unforgiving metal.
Caleb's rips his mouth away with a strangled gasp as he feels the sting of your hand wrapping around his robotic arm, the first sensation he'd felt there in years.
That sensation makes his cock lurch inside your throbbing pussy, his arms wrapping tightly and possessively around you. You mewl, stuttering through your climax.
"C-Caleb," you gasp, "F-Feels good…nnnghh…please don't stop." You groan as you feel how wet the space between your bodies is, coated in whatever you'd released as you reached your peak. His never ending thrusts makes your cunt quiver as the pleasure starts ebbing into a sharp sting.
"Never," he growls, "Fuck baby—hah—I-I want to cum inside you."
"X-02! Pull out, now."
Caleb snarls venomously, disregarding the order blatantly. Your eyes widen as you finally hear it. The idea of him pulling out of you right now, while your body sucked him in—begging him to prolong the pleasure, made your mouth taste bitter.
"Mmmngh…Caleb," you moan, "Please…I d-don't want you to pull out."
Caleb's eyes widen at that, his thumb brushing across your bottom lip, "Sh-Shit—yeah? You want me to fill you up, princess? Stuff you with my cum?"
The words spill out of Caleb's lips, surprising even himself with how filthily feral they are.
"Absolutely not. Do not cum inside her. Pull out, X-02. Now!"
The obvious sound of people panicking in the background can be heard through the intercom, as the researchers realize X-02 has no intention of listening to them, not anymore.
"Mnnngh—gege," you whimper, trying to regain his attention—able to think a bit more clearly now, "I-I want you. W-What you did earlier. Inside me."
Caleb's eyes snaps to yours from the intercom, cursing at your words—at the way your body wrings against him. The air around you becomes thin, making it hard to breathe, the lights flickering wildly. You vaguely hear hospital machinery clattering as they topple, chaos seeming to erupt as Caleb's eyes narrow at you. Sweat drips down his brow as he huffs, clearly close to his own undoing.
"Fuck. Do you know what you're asking?" he demands, fingers tightly gripping your hips, "Nnngh—D-Do you know how bad I want to fill you? Y-You can't take it back."
Honestly you didn't know exactly what you were asking, but you knew you wanted it.
"Unngh…w-want it," you plead, "P-Please. Please."
He groans at that, knees buckling—weight baring down on you as it finally hits him.
You were designed to be his undoing. His ultimate weakness. The only thing in this world with the power to destroy him. Just like now.
"R-Ready princess? Hah…You're gonna take it all, aren't you? Like a good girl?"
You whine and nod, feeling his cock head nuzzling against your tummy, threatening to make you implode. You claw at his back, feeling another tsunami of pleasure about to crash violently into you—this time more intense.
He clearly hears the sounds of frantic voices nearing the door of the room you're in. It only makes him hammer faster, harder. As the door whooshes open, Caleb wraps himself possessively around you, unwilling to let anyone near you, to see you, in this state.
"Don't come near her, I swear to fucking—" he snarls, his rhythm faltering but not stopping, choking as your climax forces you tighter. Even vaguely aware that there's people mere feet away from you, you feel yourself coming apart again.
"X-02! Get off of her!"
At the sound of shuffling feet, Caleb's fist clenches against the metal railing of the exam bed. You wince as you feel it come apart—the sheer force of his grip enough to yank it easily off the body of the bed. You hear it crash, unable to see exactly what's happening as Caleb covers you. You assume he'd flung it at whoever was at the door—screams and gasps filling the air.
"Don't. Don't touch her. I will kill you," he bites out, trying to stave off his orgasm, even as his body continues to slap into yours. The pure hatred in his eyes petrifies you. You know you should care about what's happening around you, but all you can do is gently cup his face, bringing it back to yours.
His entire face softens, his rhythm slowing fractionally to a passionate languid pace—every thrust intentional and deep. The blissful look of submission of your face sends him over the edge, and he feels his cock absolutely erupt inside of you.
"Fuck—I-I'm cumming, princess," he warns with a strangled groan, kissing the corner of your lips, "You'll take it right? Haah—all of it?"
"N-No we can't possibly let him…"
"Absolutely not. We don't even know if A-01 is fertile or not. We can't risk it…"
"Well someone stop him then. Get the sensory injector."
Caleb snaps at that—the idea of them taking you from him, of hurting you. You gasp as you feel Caleb's energy surge and your own energy naturally trying to attune itself to him—but your powers suppressed by the dampeners.
The air is filled with the ear-splitting sound of metal collapsing into itself, walls crumbling, people screaming, of Caleb groaning your name as he cums—you're so overstimulated that your second orgasm completely overwhelms you. Even if the room wasn't covered in Destructuo energy dampeners, you don't think you would have been capable of doing anything other than raking your fingers through his skin, crying his name as you took everything.
You're almost in complete darkness as all the lights shatter. Debris falls, but gravity seems to shift, causing it to fall everywhere but atop of you.
"Caleb—!"
He groans as you scream his name, your eagerness amplifying the depth of his orgasm—completely lost in the feeling of finishing inside you.
"C-Christ, y-you're perfect," he growls, arms wrapping around you like you were a rag doll, rutting into you like a rabid animal. As if he hadn't just blasted a damn hole into the underground compound of the Othman Research Bureau, without even lifting a finger. All while fucking your brains out.
"My cum belongs inside you," he snarls, rhythm sloppy as he fucks his release deeper. His entire body spasms, rope after rope painting your walls white, "Don't let it out, okay baby?"
His filthily sweet words completely distract you from the crumbling room around you. He buries his face into your neck, suckling your pulse as he rides the violent waves of his climax. Your head moves to the side to give him better access, and through your hooded eyes you can make out the utter destruction that seems to have ensued at hands of Caleb's temper—his protectiveness.
The steel door is completely caved into itself, barring anyone from entering. But you're unsure if there's even anyone on the outside of the crushed mess of metal. You don't hear any voices anymore, nor any screams. Just the faint blare of alarms sounding all across the compound—the sound sealed off from your little bubble.
Caleb roughly grabs your chin, forcing your eyes back to him.
"Look at me," he demands, "Hah…N-Need to see you."
You moan at the feeling of something thick and hot flooding your womb, making your belly feel swollen. Your orgasm wanes quickly, your body sensitive and overstimulated to the point of pain.
Caleb's movements slow, though they don't stop—even as his muscles quiver with painful overstimulation, begging him for mercy.
"Caleb," you whine, fingers trembling as you grab hold of his face, "No more. Unnngh…It-It hurts."
His jaw tightens, knowing he has to stop. His hips stutter to a halt, but he doesn't pull out. He rolls you onto your side, his cock still nestled deep inside of your sore walls.
"I'm sorry. I-I didn't mean to hurt you," he kisses your temple, burying his face into the top of your hair, taking deep breaths of your scent.
You mumble happily into his chest, enjoying the warmth and safety of his arms—the sting fading away into the background. He strokes your spine with his fingertips, basking in the afterglow of your orgasms and whispering sweet words into your ear.
"We have to go soon," he whispers into your hair.
"Go? Go where?" your eyes flutter with fatigue, fighting to understand him.
He pulls back, facing you again. His face shines with sweat, cheeks pink, and lips swollen.
"Our final escape, remember?"
Your heart beats excitedly at that, but you whine, "I don't want to move. You're so warm." You'd never felt warmth like this before, never felt anything as soft as his bare skin against yours.
Caleb chuckles, the sound deep and velvety, "If I could, I'd stay inside of you forever."
You shudder at that thought, which makes Caleb's eyes darken with renewed interest. But he clears his throat, carefully pulling out of you.
You whimper as he slips out, leaving you with only an aching emptiness. Caleb is silent, mesmerized by the sight between your legs. Thick pools of white dribble out of your perfect swollen lips, mixing with the streaks of faint red on your soft inner thighs. At his heated stare, your legs instinctively shut in embarrassment, wincing at the soreness.
You watch with wide eyes when his cock hardens again, smearing his stomach with moisture as it stands erect against his naval. Coming closer, he presses against you, his erection now firmly nestled between both your bodies. He grins at your doe wide eyes, lifting your chin upward so he can see you fully.
"Don't worry, beautiful. Not right now."
"O-Oh. Good," you giggle sheepishly, finding a sense of relief and, strangely enough, disappointment.
He moves your hair to the side, exposing your neck. Your breath catches as he leans down, gently kissing your pulse. His fingers move to your nape, finding that same button from before.
You wince as you feel your exoskeleton activating, wrapping your body in cold metal once more. Caleb smirks as he watches you squirm, knowing that you're leaking his seed into the bodice of your suit. He forces himself to look away, knowing his erection will never go down if he keeps looking at you.
You survey the damage around the room as you wait for Caleb to collect himself and reactivate his own suit. Your eyes find a puddle of dark liquid pooling in from where the door once stood, now a mangled mess of steel.
You can't find it in yourself to feel any remorse.
Looking down at your fingers, you can still feel your energy being suppressed. The energy dampeners must've been built underground, still intact and fully functioning.
Then it strikes you.
"Caleb, how come your powers work but mine don't?"
Caleb reaches behind his neck, his exoskeleton activating. He reaches his hand out to intertwine your fingers with his.
"The dampeners were designed for you, princess. Not me. As far as they were concerned, the only thing my energy was good for was repairing you."
You hum thoughtfully, letting him lead you to the crumbling hunk of rubble. The energy around him thrums to life as begins to manipulate gravity and create an opening for you to crawl through.
"Ready to go home?"
You nod, your heart skipping at that. At the prospect of home.
You sigh happily as he loops his arm around your waist, kissing the top of your head.
As the two of you escape once more, you find yourself wondering about Caleb—about your gege.
If Caleb had been capable of this level of destruction all this time, of stopping them without so much as lifting a finger, why hadn't he just done that from the beginning?
.ᐟ✧ THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND AO3. i am not @/aeyumicores or @/aeyumiicore or any variations of my blog name.
✧.˖ i do not permit translations or reposts of my work on tumblr, ao3, or others. the dividers in this post are by @/cursed-carmine. please do not reuse my usual blogpost headers, dividers, or layouts. these are original designs of my own.
Imagine Yandere! Caleb who also happens to be your best friend's older brother.
Imagine you always feel like Caleb was a little too good to be true. Too gentle, too thoughtful. Too kind in the exact way you needed, exactly when you needed it. Like a compass that always pointed toward your pain before you ever said a word.
Imagine he was supposed to be MC's brother. That was it. The older sibling of your best friend since freshman year, the boy who floated in and out of your life with barely a word at first, quiet and cold and distant. Until he wasn't.
Imagine that was until you broke your arm and he sent flowers before MC even told him. Until you had your phone stolen and a week later, the girl who'd taken it transferred schools. Until your ex left you crying in the hallway and the next day, he transferred too. To another city.
Imagine you thought it was coincidence. A string of strange but unrelated kindnesses. Caleb always seemed to be in the right place, right time. You told yourself he was just looking out for you because you were his sister's best friend.
Imagine you never noticed how his gaze lingered a little too long. How his voice was always gentler with you than anyone else. How his fingers brushed your thigh just slightly when you sat beside him on the couch waiting for MC to finish getting dressed.
Imagine you never noticed how those accidental touches stopped being accidental.
"Do you want to wait in my room?" Caleb's voice is soft, the way velvet would sound if it spoke. "MC's still in the shower." You shake your head quickly, flustered by the idea. "I-I'm good here."
Imagine the way he smiles. That slow, unreadable smile that makes you forget what you were saying. "You've always been shy around me." "I am not." "Aren't you?" He tilts his head, studying you. "Or is it just me?" Your cheeks burn. "Caleb-"
"I'm joking." He says, voice light, like he didn't just twist something tight in your chest. "You don't have to be scared of me." "I'm not scared of you." You murmur.
but Imagine you are. Not in the way you should be. You're scared of what he makes you feel. Scared of what you know MC would say if she knew. Scared of how easily you'd fold if he ever asked for more than this. And that's exactly what he's been waiting for.
Imagine Yandere! Caleb doesn't push. He never does. Not directly. Just little things.
Imagine the way his hand was on your lower back when he guides you through a doorway. A brush of his knuckles down your spine when you're distracted. A kiss to the cheek that lingers just a second too long, long enough that your breath catches but not long enough to question.
Imagine that one time, when you were tired and half asleep in their living room, you leaned against his shoulder. His hand had come up and stroked your hair so gently you nearly cried.
Imagine you never noticed how his lips brushed your temple. How his eyes closed for a moment like he was savoring it. You never saw how he smiled when you mumbled his name like a prayer. You never heard the whisper he murmured when you'd already dozed off. "You're doing so well, darling. So sweet. So easy to keep."
Imagine your fights with MC started small. A passive aggressive jab. A growing silence. And you kept apologizing for things you didn't do. She kept pulling away without saying why. And Caleb? He never said much. He just listened. Poured you tea. Sat beside you while you cried.
"You don't have to chase after someone who doesn't see your worth." He murmured once, thumb brushing your jaw as he handed you a tissue. "Some people are only your friend when you're useful." "She's not like that." You said, weakly. "She's just… overwhelmed."
Imagine the way his hand cupped your cheek. Warm. Steady. "She's always been jealous of you." You flinched. "That's not-" "She has. And I think she hates that I see you the way she never could." You froze. His thumb traced the edge of your lip. "Do you know how hard it is to pretend I don't care when she's around?"
Imagine the way your heart pounded. He was too close. You were too warm. Everything felt blurry. "I can't help it anymore." He murmured. "You come to me when you're in pain. You let me take care of you. Doesn't that mean something?"
Imagine you didn't answer. You couldn't. So he kissed your forehead. Then your cheek. Then, slowly on the corner of your lips. Not quite. But close enough. You pulled back, breath shaky. "I- I should go." He let you. Because he knew you'd come back. You always came back.
Imagine you didn't notice how MC stopped calling. You didn't notice how the only person who ever texted you first anymore was him.
Imagine you didn't notice how he had slowly replaced every thread of comfort in your life with himself. Because why would you? Caleb was always there. Always kind. Always gentle. Always warm. Your hero. Your safe space. Your trap.
and Imagine, by the time you realized it. You had already curled up inside it. Smiling. Trusting. Yours. Just the way he wanted.
Imagine you don't even know when the shift truly happens. Maybe it's the day you show up on his doorstep, eyes red, voice small, saying. She said she never really trusted you. That you were just another one of them, wanting to get close to her to get ber brother. Maybe it's the way he opens the door for you without a word, arms ready before you even fall into them. Like he was waiting. Like he knew.
Imagine you don't even ask if MC's home. You don't think to. You just stay.
Imagine it was late. The kind of late where the world is quiet, and it feels like nothing exists but the sound of your breathing and the calm, warm rhythm of Caleb's voice beside you.
Imagine you are curled up in his bed. The one he offered without hesitation. Said he'd sleep on the couch like he always does. Always so gentle, so good. But you asked him to stay. You don't know why. You just didn't want to be alone. And he didn't hesitate.
Imagine you're there, lying shoulder to shoulder, the silence heavy with something unsaid. His fingers ghost over your wrist in a lazy pattern. Back and forth.
"You're warm." You murmur, head turned toward him. He turns to look at you, his eyes taking in every detail. That same expression you always mistake for patience. "I'm always warm for you." You let out a quiet laugh, half asleep, half melting.
"I don't know what I'd do without you." He doesn't respond. Not immediately. You think you catch the faintest tremble in his breath. Then, finally, so soft you barely catch it. "You'll never have to find out."
Imagine, the kiss is slow. Painfully slow.
Imagine it starts as a brush, barely there. A question he lets linger on your lips, not quite touching. You tilt your head before you even think to stop it. And when your lips meet his, he exhales like he's waited years for this. He has. But it's not desperate. It's reverent.
Imagine the way his hand cradles your face so gently you want to cry. Like you'll break if he squeezes too tight. Like you're glass. Or porcelain. Or a prayer.
Imagine you don't know when your body shifts beneath him, when your fingers clutch the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer. You do not realize how badly you wanted this. How long it's been burning just under your skin.
Imagine he whispers your name like he owns it. Like he had always owned it. You nod. Not sure what you're agreeing to. Just that it's him. And that's all that matters right now.
Imagine when he kisses you again, deeper this time, his hand slides along your waist, slow and deliberate like he's savoring every inch of you under his fingertips. "You don't have to be afraid." He whispers into your skin. "Not with me. Never with me." "I'm not." You breathe. "I trust you." And that's all he's ever wanted.
Imagine Yandere! Caleb always takes his time.
Imagine every touch, every movement is meant to calm you, not ignite. But it still ignites. You're trembling under him, not from fear but because it feels too much. Too good. Too soft.
Imagine you didn't see the possessiveness in those purple eyes. You did not feel the tremor in his breath as he drinks in the sight of you bare beneath him. You did not hear the whispered finally as he settles over you, lips brushing down your neck like devotion.
Imagine he was slow. Meticulous. Like he was memorizing you from the inside out.
Imagine the way you whispered his name again and again and he kisses it off your lips, swallowing every sound. Every moan. Every promise you don't even know you're making.
"You're mine now." He breathes, when your fingers curl into his back and your mouth parts beneath him in pure, aching surrender. "I've always been yours." You say without thinking. And it's the truth. Not the one you know. But the one he made.
Imagine the way you lie on his chest after. Eyes half lidded, skin warm and aching in the best way. He strokes your hair with long, lazy fingers. You didn't even notice how tightly his other arm is wrapped around your waist.
Imagine you don't even notice how his lips brush your forehead like a seal. You don't hear the smile in his voice when he whispers, just for himself. "I told you, darling. You'll never leave me." You just hum softly in reply. Content. Oblivious. His.
[ⓒdark-night-hero] 2025°
: because I can’t write full blown smut. Anyways, still put on the sign just to make sure. Also, this is the definition of. If you see me being manipulated by a 6+ footer who flies fighter jet, former DAA fighter pilot and is now a Colonel who like apple. Leave me alone, I pray for that.
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synopsis. ┆ caleb’s life was perfect—until it wasn’t. a radioactive spider bite turned him into linkon’s friendly neighborhood spider-man, the daily bugle started hunting for the man behind the mask, and to top it all off, he was forced to partner up with you—his smart, competitive, and infuriatingly perfect classmate who threatened his spot as number one in the class rankings.
tags/warnings. ┆ college/modern au, academic rivals to lovers, fluff, angst, eventual smut, gran isn’t evil in this LOL, the canon event, college parties, alcohol consumption, cliches, depictions of serious crime, references to the spider-man comics and movies, mdni
a/n. ┆ fanart art is by 长白山小葱头 on weibo. this is my first series on this app to celebrate hitting 1K! if you want to join the taglist, comment on this post or send me an ask. from now on, please make sure your age is on your profile or i won’t add you to the list. if you don’t have it, i won’t remind you to add it.
main masterlist. ┆ moodboard. ┆ talk to me!
chapter one ── pest control.
caleb's worst fear comes true when the two of you are assigned as lab partners, especially after your first experiment together goes horribly wrong in more ways than one. (4.6k)
chapter two ── too easy, this game.
after you’re forced to check up on caleb, you realize that your methods of revenge can be much more interesting than you had originally anticipated. (3.8k)
chapter three ── pepper spray.
caleb tries to adapt to his newfound role as the web-slinging hero of linkon city, and you receive the opportunity of a lifetime. (4.8k)
chapter four ── lab partners.
after a series of unfortunate events, caleb shatters any hope of reconciliation with you. or so it seems. (5.0k)
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
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⊹ ࣪ ˖ Illusio with ZAYNE dressed in [Aqua Tones] ⊹₊ ⋆
requested by: anonymous hunter
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