#xyou

She wasn’t sure what her job title actually was. Just a village girl looking for money in the city to send back to the farm. But none of them dusty, stuffy, jail like factories did it for her. With monotonous work, day in and day out. Long and dreary, depressing and gray. She decided if she were to work in one of them, she best just pitch herself off in the canal. Better to be dead than a human machine. 

Her father knew a bloke in Birmingham. A factory owner, but also a stable owner among fifty other occupations. His brother needed someone to help out in his stables. Clean out the shit, move around the hay, feed the horse. You know, the shit a stable keep does. And father sent her to Birmingham, and when good ol’ Tommy Shelby realized she wasn’t looking to make his morning tea or sweep dust from his tables, he laughed. Is somethin’ funny? I been working horses since I was five. There were three of them, sitting around in a pub. Nursing on whiskey and puffing on whatever they chose to smoke. They shared looks of amusement, but the youngest agreed, not really feeling the idea of a man alone with his wife when he wasn’t around. Besides, a young woman could be helpful with the lot of bastards. 

He brought her home with him that day. The first thing she noted was, he looked like a really classy gangster. She knew from the rings on his fingers and the way he walked. However, he had a certain level of charm and softness the other two lacked. He opened the door for her and any time his eye caught hers, he’d smile. 

It made the drive to his home on the outskirts smooth and unnerving. John Shelby. The eldest was Arthur, the middle was Tommy. Well, wouldn’t John be the middle if they also had two other siblings? Hm, she was a middle child, too. She remembered asking him that day if he thought Finn would be expected to travel for work, too, being the baby? Your parents spoil ‘em, hm? No parents here, no. 

When she met the wife, she was kind and welcoming. Taking over for John, she showed her the room in which she can stay in. Even gave her a tour around the land and asked a whole lot of questions. Gypsies, she thought, weren’t really much different than the farmers like herself. The first dinner that they all broke bread was nice. More filling than anything she’d ever gotten at home. And when she pushed aside the fact he had a razor in his cap, they looked nothing less than a normal family. Loving and sweet, and rather joyfull. Unbothered by anything. 

Working for John wasn’t awful. She got up early and worked some morning hours, took a break at noon before doing the evening keep. In the beginning, he’d often check in at some point of the day and linger just enough to crack a joke or two. But as weeks went on, his lingers got longer. His gazes felt less casual and more purposeful. I’m surprised you care so much about your looks out here, he had teased one day, his eyes skimming over her bare legs. She’d been wearing a simple frock dress. It was quite thin and hardly a thing to wear working horses. Just a bit hot is all, Mr. Shelby. Never one to read anything properly, she did hoops trying to understand why his hand dropped from her shoulder to her lower back just to help reach a tool. Or why his fingers pressed in.

That night when everyone was already tucked away, she finished fixing something in the stable. She slid in the house and locked up before yawning her way up the stairs. A dim light peeked through their bedroom. The door just slightly cracked. She approached to peek her head in and let them know the job was done for the night, but as she got closer, she heard the familiar creeks of a rocking bed. Stopping, she attempted to step back and go into her bedroom, but she couldn’t help the curiosity. He listened for it; the heavy breaths, the low cursing, the tickled moans, and vile words sometimes spoken through sex. She leaned in, looking through. 

Esme had been leaned over and arched, face in the pillow. All so erotic as his fingers, the same ones that were digging into her flesh earlier that day, dug into her hips. They gripped tightly to keep her perfectly placed and arched for him to thrust. Her breath caught in her throat as he got lost in himself, sliding his hands over his wife’s back. His body pressed against hers while his hands cupped her breasts. In a daze like state, his tongue slid between her shoulders before biting playfully at her shoulder. Esme’s moans were getting throaty and deeper, begging while her thighs spasmed.

Watching, the little stable keep felt the familiar tingle of arousal build between her thighs. Just as she was about to feel down, John's eyes opened and caught her glance. Panic struck, she felt her feet glued to the ground, unable to move. Their empty stares continued for what felt like eternity. Thoughts and images of every worse outcome overwhelmed her. In the morning, she’d be fired. Or worse, now she'd have to walk back to her farm. But slowly he grinned and sent her a wink before pulling back and slamming into Esme, the empty air filling with a whimper of want and need.

She immediately stepped back and disappeared in her room, slamming the door shut. Falling on her bed, her heart thumped in anxiety. When the moans died down, she heard one of them climb from the bed and tread down the hall. Slowly, she climbed under the covers, not caring to wash. She watched as the shadow went past her door and she eased into the mattress, letting out some of the pressure. Would he tell Esme? 

But worst of all, would they say anything to her? She practiced in her head, I thought you were up and I wanted to let you know I fixed the thing. 

It wasn’t easy, but she eventually fell asleep. Then the next morning, instead of going to breakfast, she got up early enough everyone was still in their rooms, and slipped out the door to head to the stables. There was no rush in getting to the tasks. She took her time, looking over the horses, paying attention to their manes. Kindy scratching along their cheek with her nails. They were gentle horses. Mostly used for farm work or hobby, long retired from the racetrack. She pressed her nose to his, rubbing it in soft circles.

She was entirely entranced in the moment, not noticing him stepping in. John watched her, still wearing casual trousers and a white undershirt. His suspenders rested at his sides. Most saw John dressed in fine pressed suits with perfectly slicked hair. But that day, his hair strayed, and bangs tickled over his forehead. He took careful strides forward, his hands meeting gently at her hips. He watched the corner of her eyes; they shot open and her fingers froze over the horse. Her body became tense, and she slowly turned her head, blinking. He spared her no look, his hands massaging through her clothing; rubbing up and down her sides, snaking his hands around her waist. She was greeted with his face nuzzled in the crook of her neck, taking a deep inhale. Slowly, the corners of his lips tugged up into a grin. An all too knowing grin that she was weak for the male touch. His tongue flicked upward at her sensitive, pure skin—never been cursed by a man’s touch. 

Her bottom lip quivered, and she fought the words. Her hands rested over his, her fingers fighting to peel them off. “Mr. Shelby,” she whispered, a little shake in her voice. But she was unsure it was radiating from the buzz in her head; her nerves shaking and body uneasy. Or this heat building up in her core, radiating over her. Closing her eyes, letting out a long sigh, she thought back to that moment. The way he looked at her and winked. 

John let out a taunting, throaty chuckle. His lips dragged along her neck over the curve of her jaw to the back of her ear. His cool, wet lips placed a lingering kiss. “I saw that hand. Where it was going, what it wanted to do. My only question is, why did you stop?” His hand moved up, his fingers pressing at her skin. The palm of his hand pressed over her right breast, massaging lightly, inviting himself to all of what her body had to offer—not caring to ask or confirm. Because he already knew. He felt the low vibration of a repressed moan, fighting to come out. 

She tried to answer him, feeling her thighs press together. 

“Shhh,” he hummed. “Somebody likes to watch, dirty girl. Yet so bloody fookin’ shy about it. You should have stayed there, lifting your dress up.” His words started to trail off into low mumbles of gibberish, his nose caressing circles against her cheek. “My wife would have loved that, you know? You watching her. That’s her favorite position, being a whore. All bent over, holes nice and exposed for me.” His hand lifted up, feeling along her rosy, warm cheek. Clear embarrassment laid out on her face. She felt humiliated. His finger snagged a curl, coiling it around his finger. “But do you know what’d get her off even more? Watching me teach my naughty, dirty little stable keep a lesson. You dirty little voyeur, I bet you’re into some nasty shite, huh? If you like watching people like that.” 

She pushed back on him, flaring in panic. “No! No, no, no. I swear it was an-”

John stepped away, turning her, pressing her back gently against the wooden stable. Tilting her chin gently just enough for she’d look at him, he smiled. “Someone is only shy because they got caught, hm?” There was no way he was going to allow her to get away with standing there, acting small and innocent with her quivering chin. His hand found its way to her inner thigh, and only squeezed harder when she flinched. Really just a weak attempt at hiding all the curiosities in her head. “You should take the day. Hike the road heading to the pond.”

Her shoulders eased as he let go, giving her space. “I’m sorry?” she asked, pushing up straight, her eyes looking around for any inkling that someone was watching them. 

“I have some people coming to look at the stable,” he said, but he really meant his brother needed to talk to him and it was no business for some stable keep. “You can come back out at nine. You should come back out here at nine to feed ‘em dinner. Nine, at nine, eh?”

Nodding as she walked backwards, fingers playing with the fraying hems of her frocks. Her boots left heavy indents trekking in the mud. She reached the door, and looked over her shoulder. “Nine?”

With one nod, he said, “exactly nine.” And before she could leave, he asked her something she hadn’t quite understood. “Your color. What would ya’ say is your favorite one?” Purple. He smirked at that and winked. “Purple.” Like a nice bruise. 

Nine? When the clock struck 8:55 at night, she questioned what was so important at nine? There was a hint of something sinister in his tone, and she wondered if Esme would enjoy it so much, why did they have to meet in the stable at nine at night. But the curiosity only filled her with more desire; to know what John Shelby had planned, if anything. But knowing him, he did. All Shelby’s were meticulous in their actions. Slipping out the door, she quietly treaded through the soft rain kissed grown, leaving her little trail of shoe prints. It was such a quiet night. Quiet and clear. Except for the creaking of wood when she hit the stable and perhaps the distant sound of spring crickets humming. 

Questioning whether or not she should wait for him, or actually feed the horses, she started to roll down her tights and fold up her dress sleeves. Grabbing buckets of feed, she threw it over the wooden gate. I’ve only come out to feed the horses, is what she told herself, perhaps trying to convince herself that it was only a request. It was simply her job. But his hands and the way they travelled over her body, teasing at the idea of fucking her. 

But for fucks sake, she was so oblivious to it all. Out of all the men a Shelby could have hired, they hired her. A fucking village girl with a body. A nice one that swayed anytime she walked. And John would fucking hate to admit it, but village girls were so goddamn daft. Tired of whores and pub slags, having something linger around was something different. A little piece of ass that his eyes could follow, and Esme never gave a fuck. John, since the day she slid into his car, was watching her. It was only lucky that she fell into the trap; hearing them fuck. God, a naughty little thing, standing at the door. Unable to move, and caught in the wind of her own curiosities and desires. That little pathetic attempt at easing that heat between her legs, rolling up her excuse of a dress, only to quickly stop. Shyness was such a thing. The urge to break it, to run his teeth down its delicate skin, and tangle his hands in its hair for the simple purpose of hearing it cry out. So, yes, he fucking looked. For fucks sake, Esme looked…they all looked.

She was inching towards the back stall of the stable, fussing about enough that horses formed an opinion that she was fucking crazy. Just about to grab the tools, the door creaked. The moonlight glow seeped through, and she turned, but said nothing.  John Shelby stood there, blocking the exit, his arms crossed over his chest. His jaw tightened. She questioned if it really was all to do with his little game or was he drinking? He stepped forward. “What’s this, eh?” he said, nodding to her hardly covered legs. “Middle of the night.”

She looked around him, eyes slightly narrowed. “Feeding the horses?” she answered, a bit unsure. 

He looked past her, noting her empty hands. “With what?” She turned toward the grain sack, and nodded over to it, but it’d been a new sack. John cracked a little grin, all knowing as his strides became taunting. Her heart skipped a beat, and her only solution was to reach for the sack to open it, forgetting why they were both in such a place at such a time. His strides were longer than anticipated, and he was quick to grab her upper arm hard enough she whined out, and fought back with a tug. 

There was an unusual guttural tone to his voice that she never noticed before. The harder she tugged, the more he pulled, his fingers pressing into her flesh. She’d only worn a thin white frock, meant to be more of an undergarment than a standalone piece. And she skipped out on anything proper, like shoes, for one. But dressing to society’s standards was never the village girl’s norm. Nor was it for most girls and women of her background. John pushed back as he walked until her back hit the wooden gate of an empty stall. Flimsy, it shook and the metal locks clattered. “Always fookin’ teasing me. Acting so innocent, but knowing exactly what you’re doin’,” he said, low and laced with a growl. He leaned down to her level, and in a whisper much softer and kinder, “do you remember your favorite color?” Her body eased slightly and she nodded. “Repeat it. I want to hear you say it.”

Swallowing the hard lump down, she said, “p-purple.” It was hardly even a whisper, but a cracked voice. She felt her nerves set on fire. How one could be so nervous, but excited at the same time, she couldn’t comprehend. 

John smirked at her ear, his hand letting go of her arm, tickling down to her waist. He held her, teasingly swaying. “Good girl.” And that made her melt, her knees buckling. She reached out to hold on to his white undershirt. “You just say that anytime things get a little too much.” His lips dragged along her jawline before hovering over hers. His whiskey tinted warm breath meeting her sensitive lips. “I have a tendency,” he whispered, pinching her chin. “Of getting a little too…intense.” Her breath hitched as her body leaned against the stall. All her other options were blocked either by hay stacks, sacks of grain, or hm. How he stood so tall above her, making every fiber of her being feel small. John smiled down at her as his hands roamed over her arms; up and down, teasing and enjoying how each touch only added to the mass of goosebumps.

She rolled her shoulders, shaking him off. “Mr. Shelby, we can’t-”

He snorted at that, his hands finding their way to her waist, squeezing and massaging up the sides as he pushed in further. His body pressed up against hers, feeling heavy and domineering. And any time she’d try to back up, he just pressed her harder against the door. “Let me see you, eh?” he teased, hands teasing back around to cup her breasts, squeezing. Only a thin fabric shielding her. “No bra,” he pointed out under his breath, more in thought. His eyes fluttered up, his brows arched, almost to say…are you serious? 

 Embarrassed, she averted her attention downward. Hissing under her breath, she said, “let go of me.” He chuckled at her weak attempt to wither from his grasp. Because in the end, there was nowhere for her to go. He had her cornered, tightly and every bit to his advantage.

He met her face, grinning ear to ear. Before he spoke he spat downward at her feet. John was hardly trying, really, to fondle her. His hands just went naturally where they belonged; caressing and grabbing her sides, holding her perfectly in place. She’d fucking love this, he thought to himself, knowing Esme would be sat up on the table, hand already between her legs. Slap her around a bit, John, she’d say. He was bloody fucking sure of it! “You can’t fuckin’ do shit, can you? Hm?” The barn echoed with his low chuckle as he gave her cheek a nice ol’ tap. “Can’t fucking say shit—can’t fucking do shit, you understand? Hm? Because you been walking around here the way you fuckin’ do, wearing what you’re wearing-”

“J-john,” her lower lip quivered. She raised her hand, pushing it against his chest. But the way she buckled under him gave away all her intentions.

“Don’t,” he warned, sliding a hand up and behind her neck, grabbing it and tilting her up. She cried out in a wince, reaching to meet his hand. But before she could fiddle with the death grip of his fingers, his hand cupped her right tit roughly; squeezing the sensitive flesh. Between his fingers, he pulled and pinched at her nipple before slapping the sensitive flesh. She whined, trying to avoid looking at him. “You want me to stop? Hm?” he asked, flick the hardening bud. He watched as her mouth opened, but no words came out. The grip on the back of her neck tightened and his voice raised. And he turned her head, releasing her nipple to land a few good slaps. “I asked you if you wanted me to fuckin’ stop!” Specks of spit hit her lips. “Huh? Do you?!” Leaning in, his voice evened out. “Say the fuckin’ word, but if you don’t, I’m going to continue. Understand me, eh?” But she just froze there. Sighing, he released her neck and made her look at him. “If you don’t say the magic word, your favorite color, I won’t stop.” She swallowed the hard lump in her throat, her body feeling electric. She nodded. 

After giving him that final bit of permission, she gave a weaker attempt at pushing his chest. John shoved her around, and forcibly arched her over the grain sacks. Her legs kicked as she cried out when her cheek hit the sack. The rough fabric burned at her skin. Quickly, his hand was at her mouth, pressing hard to suppress any cry. “You keep makin’ all these noises,” he chuckled into her ear, nibbling at her lobe while his foot kicked open her legs. “Are you trying to be the village slut? Letting everyone listen to you get your cunt beat.” She felt herself arch her ass a little more when his other hand grabbed at her thumb, rubbing up before snaking inward. A low moan vibrated against his hand as he felt her bare folds. “And no fucking knickers, as expected. You really were searching for this, weren’t you?” You can’t get angry at a man for being a man.

John’s fingers felt up and down her folds, her arousal wet and sticky, and very much begging in need. She shuddered, her body twitching as it was all a new sensation. Odd, really. That was her first initial thought. His fingers played at her folds, just gently skimming over her clit, not wanting to rush. Lazily, almost, as he found his rhythm. He followed her lead in the way she whined  and whimpered, and her hips jerked. Clearly finding the need within her for more. The corner of his mouth lifted up in a knowing grin as his middle finger pushed in, curling up. When she jerked a bit too hard, he pressed his weight on her harder. “Shhhh.” 

His finger pumped in and out, sparing all mercy. If she wanted to tempt him, he was going to give her exactly what she was looking for. She knew exactly where to touch and what buttons to push, and when to withhold. Finding her g-spot easily, he paid special attention to it, pressing up and rubbing while his thumb did everything possible to tease her begging clit. He rubbed around it in teasing, tormenting circles. So much was happening and she couldn’t begin to understand the sensations clearly. Her leg kicked back as she cursed under her breath. John watched as her nails clawed at the sacks, fraying the straw claw. Red and rosy, her cheeks had the look of embarrassment. ”Someone didn’t think they’d give in so easily, did they?” he whispered as he left a lingering kiss below her ear. She cried something muffled into his hand. It sounded like please. John kept his movements as he removed his hand. “What? Hm?”

She was breathless, taking all the air she could. Please, she wanted to say please. His fingers felt so slow and purposely evil. More. Her body ached for more, and she no longer gave a fuck that her brain was confused. She was sick of hanging by the edge. In a hoarse voice, she said, “ple-”

He cut her off, shoving his index and middle finger in her mouth, hitting the back of her throat. She gagged on them, her fingers clawing harder. “Enough of that, hmm? We’re good.” He teased at how wet she was. The drag and thrust of his fingers drove deeper each time, trying to pull her just about over that edge she so desperately wanted. Or not. He wasn’t quite decided, yet. He felt her tightening around him, and there was some resistance. “Relax, relax,” he cooed, breaking character just slightly as he thumbed pressed against her clit, rubbing in rhythmic circles. A pace that fluttered through her body, bringing an overwhelming pleasure.

She hummed, vibrating at the feeling. Toes curling, thighs shaking, it broke within her. Her cheeks flushed a hot red as she moaned on his fingers. Drool dribbled over the sides of her mouth, traveling between her tits. The wave shocked through her so quickly her head felt fuzzy and under water. John smiled, watching her ride the wave, and he gently rubbed her back before his hand worked at his trousers. His cock free, already leaking needily with precum. One handedly, he positioned her hips before pressing his hand on her back. 

She looked over her shoulders at him, fluttering his eyes. John winked, his hand stroking his cock, positioning it right at her cunt. He let out a sigh as he slowly pushed forward. She tightened around him, tense as she whimpered. John chuckled, giving her bottom a nice spank. Yelping out, she whined, “John!”

“You take it,” he said, nonchalantly, pushing deeper. “You take it like the dirty girl you are. Just like you wanted. Just how you begged.” The stretch made her cry out. John loved a little pain hearing the cries and yelps. But he didn’t want to scare the girl. And so he went easy, making sure her body was adjusted perfectly for him. She played into his games, trying to pull away. He leaned over her, pressing his body heavily over her’s. His hands rested on her shoulders, pulling her deeper with each thrust. 

His hips jolted and snapped against hers, his rhythm getting messier the better she felt. It was almost embarrassing for him how fast he felt his balls clenching. Arrogantly, he often teased about how he wasn’t the type to bust a nut so quickly. John’s fingers tightened, nearly bruising the sensitive flesh of her shoulders. Her hips twitched under his ragged, rough thrusts. Surprisingly finding herself trying to move her ass back to meet them. Each time they met, a long, but sweet moan would slip her lips. 

He didn’t want to cum, yet. There was still so much to do to make her squirm and whimper. He found himself, pausing between thrusts, grunting in her ear. “F-fuck,” he stuttered in the crook of her neck, peppering kisses. “Fuckin’ tight, fuckin’ beautiful.” John bit lightly at her neck, vibrating low moans. “And so easy, you fuckin’ submit so easy, you know know that?” His hips jerked, holding that edge the best he could. hand stayed tight over your mouth. It was unbearable. The pressure she felt in her core, and how fucking badly she wanted him to consume her.

She turned her head to nibble at his finger playfully. “Am I allowed to beg you now? To say please-”

“Shhhh,” he cooed, that hand slipping to a place that felt very much like home to both of them; tightly around her neck. She whimpered, begging, as he tilted her just enough so he could peck her trembling lips. And when she tried to take it upon herself to move her hips back and take control, he pressed harder, keeping her still. Whispering against her lips, he told her, “behave, hm?” His lips teased at hers, landing soft pecks before dragging his teeth against her jawline.  

He started up slow again, allowing them both to build up to that edge. Just for a moment, he wanted to enjoy the softness of her low, soft whimpers and whines. It allowed him to really feel the tightness and clenching of her cunt, and how it begged for him. He picked up the pace when the edge was too much, too high. Neither being able to comprehend words or thoughts, they soaked in the moaning. The sounds of their moans and bodies filling the air around them. Building up, all the sensations overwhelmed him. His thrusts jerked and got sloppy, and his breaths got ragged. It was right there. He chuckled as her hand reached back, trying to push  at him.

The thought of him finishing in her, filling her, and potentially leaving her with something, made her body tense. “John, don’t-”

“Don’t what, hm?” he teased, kissing at her temple. “Finish in you?” He was going to. He had to, no, he yearned for it. Filling her up that it dripped beautifully out. She tried to beg, her hands pathetically flaying. One handedly, he reached up and held her hands down. “Speak up!”

“John!” she cried, feeling suffocated by the weight of him.

He jerked harder and faster, laughing. Feeling far too consumed by his own pleasures. “Can’t fuckin’ hear you!” Every time she’d attempt to say an ounce of protest, he’d laugh. Each was met with a counter argument: too good, don’t want to stop, ooh I can’t stop. 

I can’t stop.

Can’t stop.

Can’t fuckin’ stop. 

So you just have to take it. 

In the midst of his words, he reminded her of their little special word because otherwise, he really wasn’t going to stop. At that point he was unsure if he could, truly, stop. Too close to the finish line, the pleasure burdening any ounce of common sense and rationality. “Take it!” he grunted, biting hard at her ear, his grasp on her neck getting harder. ”Good girl! Fuckin’ naughty girl for me!” When it finally overtook him, running through him like a shock wave, the moan got stuck in his throat. His hot cum leaked in her core, deep and perfect. Catching up to his breath, he eased his tension and kissed her cheek. “Fuck.” She could have sworn she could feel his heartbeat against her back as he rested over her. 

Whimpering, she wiggled her hips to release herself. Her cunt throbbed from the overstimulation. 

“Stop!” he immediately said, jolting. Breathlessly, he begged, “stop, stop…too sensitive.” Keeping her in place, he relaxed over her, closing his eyes. Sweat dripped down his temples and his hair was no longer gelled in place. “We’ll take a bath together-”

“We’re not done?”

Pining!Eugene who slowly began to pay a lot more attention to you after you saw him for who he was and not just the fact that he was a prodigy

Pining!Eugene who didn’t think he’d find someone else with his shared love of reading novels, though he did like essays better

Pining!Eugene who began to unconsciously note down your small habits you wouldn’t think anyone else would catch

Pining!Eugene who believe it or not, began to overthink every little interaction with you and would wonder whether or not he made a mistake in front of you, and it would eat him alive for the rest of the day

Pining!Eugene whose actions spoke louder than words, he would quietly anticipate any of your needs and fix them before any problems arose.

Pining!Eugene who would go out of his way to do things for you, but make it seem coincidental

Pining!Eugene who comes up with reasons for you two to spend together, such as studying for the upcoming exam or a topic you were struggling with, to not seem like he was eager or had any other intent in trying to impress you

Pining!Eugene who lights up and slightly flusters when you compliment him, even though he usually is calm, as he’s used to people praising him, but for some reason, when it came from you, it felt a lot more meaningful to him

Pining!Eugene who once felt a little upset after seeing you seem so flustered when talking with Kanzaki, concluded that you may have something for his close friend

Pining!Eugene who told himself that he’d give up on his feelings by creating a small unnoticeable distance between the two of you, but how could he when you would constantly check in on him and smile with that sweet face of yours

Pining!Eugene who didn’t want to ruin either the friendship you guys had or the bond between him and Kanzaki, so he decided to push his feelings to the back of his mind and never let it resurface

Pining!Eugene who despite making a promise with himself, couldn’t hold it in anymore

Pining!Eugene who seemed a little different the next time you saw him, and when you tried asking what’s up, he asked if you could wait for him after school today

Pining!Eugene who throughout the day was dreading the response he was going to hear, even if it was a rejection, he would rather get everything out of his chest than let any feelings linger and bite him back in the ass if you and Kanzaki ever end up together

Pining!Eugene who saw you standing underneath the cherry blossom trees waiting for him, as most people had already left the school

Pining!Eugene who rarely got nervous, was sweating small bullets as he got closer to you 

Pining!Eugene who felt his heart skip a beat when he saw you turn around and wave at him when you finally noticed him coming towards you with a big grin on your face

Pining!Eugene who didn’t even let you greet him before he finally told you everything he’s been keeping secret

“I like you, Y/n… More than I probably should.” He trailed off but kept eye contact as he wanted to let you know that he was being serious 

Pining!Eugene who paused and waited for your reaction, bracing himself for the worst outcome, still thinking that you liked someone else

Pining!Eugene who didn’t expect you to be flustered, as he was anticipating a look of pity and sympathy

“Eugene, why do you look so sad? I like you too.” You said with a soft smile

Pining!Eugene who was taken off guard

“Really! I mean, really? I thought you liked Kanzaki,” He exclaimed, a little surprised but happy nonetheless.

You laughed at him, “Now, why is that? Liking Kanzaki in that way? Hell no. He’s a close best friend of mine, maybe even like a brother.”

Pining!Eugene who explained himself and felt embarrassed when you told him that the times he saw you blushing around Kanzaki were most likely because you would tell him about your crush on Eugene, and he would tease you and would create images of the two of you based on shojo mangas you both read.

“Don’t worry, Eugene, it was just all a misunderstanding. You don’t have to compete with anyone, okay? I'm definitely sure I like you too”

Pining!Eugene who felt the reassurance he needed, he couldn’t help but giggle and pull you into a tight hug with a big smile on his face, knowing that he’s finally all yours and you’re all his.

Caleb accuses first. Always.

You walk into the room smiling because someone sent you a funny meme. Caleb’s eyes narrow immediately.

“Who made you smile like that?”

“…it’s literally a meme.”

“You only smile like that when you want someone’s attention.”

You roll your eyes. He steps closer, lowering his voice.

“Don’t do that. You’re acting guilty.

Do you think I’m stupid? Just tell me who it was.”

You scroll through your phone to show him, but he gently pushes your hand down.

“No. I don’t want proof.

I want your honesty.”

No matter what you say, he responds like he already knows the truth.

Even if he doesn’t.

He tracks your location and uses it to manipulate you.

You go out with friends for lunch. You didn’t even hide it.

But Caleb calls you the moment you’re walking back to your apartment.

“So… who were you really with?”

“I told you, my friends—”

“Funny. You passed by the park on the way. You never take that route unless you’re meeting someone.”

You freeze.

You know he’s tracking you.

You know he’s watching.

He breathes out a bitter laugh.

“Don’t lie to me again. I know your habits better than you do.”

Later, when he sees you, he hugs you tight… too tight.

“If you didn’t lie, why do I feel like I’m losing you?”

Suddenly YOU’RE the one comforting him.

He turns your “space” into abandonment.

“I just… I need a little space tonight.”

Caleb (voice turning cold): “Space from what?”

“Not from you, just—”

“Don’t sugarcoat it. You want distance from me.”

You shake your head quickly, trying to explain.

But he stands, looks at you like you shattered his entire world.

“If I asked for space, you’d think I hated you.

But when you ask, I’m supposed to pretend it doesn’t hurt?”

Suddenly YOU are the villain for needing a break.

He ends the conversation with a whisper:

“Just… don’t disappear. I can’t handle that.”

You end up staying with him all night out of guilt.

He uses his silence as a punishment.

After a mild argument, Caleb goes quiet.

Not normal quiet — calculated quiet.

He ignores your texts, doesn’t look your way, walks past you like a ghost.

You finally confront him.

“Are you ignoring me?”

“No.”

“You haven’t spoken in hours—”

“I didn’t know you wanted to talk. You seemed… busy with other people.”

You didn’t talk to ANYONE.

But now you’re apologizing to him, just to break the tension.

He only answers:

“Good. Come sit with me now. I hate it when we fight.”

He uses affection as a weapon.

When he hurts your feelings, Caleb knows exactly when to switch tone.

“What you said was rude.”

Caleb (tilting your chin): “You’re sensitive tonight. Did someone upset you?”

“You upset me.”

He smiles softly, like he’s the only one who understands you.

“No, sweetheart. You misunderstood me.

I’d never hurt you. Never intentionally.”

And it sounds so convincing…

You end up doubting your own memory.

He twists every argument until YOU apologize.

“Caleb, I don’t like when you check my phone.”

“Then don’t leave it unlocked.”

“It’s my personal stuff—”

“Personal? Since when did we become strangers?”

You stutter, trying to explain privacy, but he leans closer:

“If I didn’t care… if I didn’t love you… I wouldn’t bother.

I wouldn’t check.

I wouldn’t worry.”

Suddenly you’re apologizing for making him feel “unappreciated.”

When you react emotionally, he dismisses it.

“You’re hurting my feelings.”

“No, you’re hurting your own feelings by twisting my words.”

“I’m not twisting—”

“If I yelled, you’d cry. If I’m calm, you still cry. What do you WANT from me?”

You suddenly doubt yourself again.

He keeps a mental list of everything you’ve ever done wrong.

You make a small mistakes like, spilling tea, forgetting a date, texting back late.

And Caleb brings up something from months ago.

“This reminds me of the time you lied about that coworker.”

“That was a misunderstanding!”

“You THINK it was. I still don’t know if I believe you.”

He says it softly… apologetically…

And it hits harder than yelling.

He acts like your entire emotional state is his responsibility… and your fault.

“Why do you keep making me into someone I’m not?”

“I’m not—”

“I only get angry because you hide things.

I only get jealous because you don’t reassure me.”

“I try—”

“Try harder.”

He ends every fight with a sentence that traps you emotionally.

“Caleb, you need to trust me.”

Caleb (broken smile): “I do trust you.

I just don’t trust the world trying to take you from me.”

You freeze.