mc-syndrome

[mc-syndrome]

Here is my submission for the Fallen Cosmos fan art contest. I hope you all enjoy it 😉✨

[mc-syndrome]

18+ || MINORS DNI

Caleb fucking you from behind, his body practically glued to yours after you mentioned wanting to buy a vibrator. You feel his bare chest against your back, hot and sweaty as he reaches down to rub your clit. He breathes heavily right next to your ear, the sound and feeling of his hot breath on your skin making your head swim. The stimulation from his hands combined with the delicious stretch of his cock nearly makes you melt into the mattress, but his soft voice whispering into your ear snaps you out of your daze. “See? You don’t need a toy…all you need is me.”

[mc-syndrome]

NSFW— minors do not interact

cw— creampie

thinking abt Caleb’s big dick </3

you want to blame it on him, say it’s his fault and swear that he does it on purpose. but you know he’s not. he can’t help it that he’s so deliciously hung.

somehow he manages to tuck it into his pants in just the right way that leaves you wondering, but behind closed doors when the day is said and done it’s like he sets it loose. he walks around in his boxers or a baggy pair of pj pants, ones that barely contain the sizable bulge that tents under his waistband.

he’s not trying to seduce you but it works all the same.

you almost feel bad when he catches you ogling him. those pretty purple puppy dog eyes gaze down at you with a sinful innocence that makes you huff.

it’s thick and heavy. so so heavy it makes you drool just thinking about the feeling of it in your hands. it stands tall and proud and so pathetically hard for you. it’s pretty. so pretty in the way it seems to challenge you when it twitches and bobs for your attention.

he knows it’s big but he doesn’t know it’s big. he’s just been hauling it around with him all this time not knowing how full it’d make you. how you cry and push your palm against his abs as he humps in and out of you.

“too much too much!” you’d slur into the sheets and he wouldn’t know what to do. is his dick not supposed to be this big?? is he hurting you?? is it normal to feel every twitch and clench of your pussy from all sides like he is right now?? because it’s making him lose his damn mind.

“are you okay? d-does it hurt?” his voice is light but rough as if it was ripped from his diaphragm. the fingers that hold your waist tighten and dip into your skin as he forces himself to slow down.

you pant absentmindedly in response. your core burns violently in the best way possible. Caleb hits every spot all at once and each thrust stretches you out so good. his cock head kisses your g spot so firmly yet so tender, sending you spiraling into a filthy mess. he’s not even going as hard as you told him to and you’re about to cum all over him anyway.

“pips.” he calls. the bed dips beside your head as he leans over you, pressing a loving kiss to your temple and nuzzling into your cheek with his nose. your cunt hasn’t stopped trying to suck him in and he whines and whimpers into your neck in feeble resistance.

“i’m here. just—Caleb, you’re so biggg.” you drawl. “you give it to me so good can’t take it.”

he pulls away to look at you and his lips part to speak but the sexiest moan rips from his throat to interrupt him as you rut your hips back into him. his girthy length slides and catches on all the right ridges and you cry in ecstasy.

the coil in his abdomen suddenly snaps and he’s pumping the fattest of loads right into your womb and you feel it in your throat, the addicting heat swirls in your stomach and the gift keeps giving. it starts to spurt and leak, leaving a milky ring around the base of him, some spilling out to stain the sheets. ‘i’m sorry i’m sorry i’m sorry’ his lips brush the shell of your ear as he chants and his chest presses into your back to anchor you.

all you can hear is the deafening squelching of his seed getting fucked into you and his pitchy wails of your name.

no wonder he’s so big. he’s just so full of creamy white love for you can you feel it? you’ll take it all for him right? :(

[mc-syndrome]

“smile for the camera, baby!” ☆

as if you could.

caleb is all too cocky about your inability to do anything but lay beneath him all slack-jawed and shaky as he drills his cock into you despite your overstimulation.

you’re so fucked out that you can’t even muster up the energy or mindpower to regret gifting your boyfriend and polaroid camera for his birthday. you had brought it with romance in mind—he’s away so often for such long periods at a time that you thought a few sweet photos he can carry in the lining of his uniform jacket would be a nice idea.

but caleb, the amalgamation of all things desperate and horny, couldn’t wait five minutes after unwrapping his gift to start unwrapping you as well. each layer of clothing discarded he’d reward with a photo of your revealed skin until he was trying to finesse a way to hold the camera with one hand as the other pumped his fingers mercilessly into your cunt.

now, hours later, you’re laying on a bed of polaroids, each more lewd than the last. one digs into your skin while another is jostled off the bed with the hard thrusts of your boyfriends leaky cock into your (regrettably) still-needy pussy. the effect this man has on you is unreasonable—you’ve cum so many times that you can’t form a coherent thought and still you think you’d cry if he pulled out and denied you the stretch of his cock.

flash. another shot is taken, this one of your glossy eyes and drool-soaked lips.

“you’re so messy,” he teases like his dick isn’t shining with the sweet mixture of your releases—like he’s not spat on your cunt just to rub load after load of cum around your clit in sick circles that make you choke on your breath. what an asshole he is.

“gonna make you cum again, pips,” he grins, dark hair sticking to his forehead with sweat. “i want to see if i can catch you squirting in a pic, hm?”

you part your kiss-swollen lips to protest. “cant—“ is all you can manage though, before your boyfriend, your best friend, is squeezing your cheeks between his long fingers and frowning down at you.

“don’t doubt yourself, pretty, you can do anything if you set your mind to it!”

pep talk of the century. you’d laugh at him if you had half your mind left, but all you have the space to think about is how he’s never gotten quite this deep inside of you before. you don’t even process the way he’s driven your hips up with his thighs to feel even more of you around him.

so perfect, he calls you. and even though he’s fucking you erratically, once he feels the telltale signs of your impending orgasm, he’s all smiles. sweet glossy eyes brimming with needy tears, flushed cheeks, soft brows… the man with his cock so deep inside of you that you’re seeing stars, leans down to press a kiss to your forehead as you orgasm.

it’s too much. you choke on it, you feel it in every bone in your body and still you crave more of him. you squirt around his cock with a moan made for porn and caleb feels like a hormonal virgin all over again.

click. another pic; one that prints to be fanned out immediately—one hand flapping the print through the air as the other one rubs slow circles on your tummy as he tries to feel himself pushing inside of you.

once it finally develops enough to gift caleb with the sight of your spread legs and the mess of lust between them, you swear he grows even harder inside of you.

“yeah,” your idiot of a man grins. “this one’s going on my wall.”

[mc-syndrome]

PAIRINGS. . . sylus x fem!reader

CW. . . smut, mating press, breeding kink, praise, dirty talk, clit slapping (once), reader’s fucked silly your honor

thinking about sylus' big hands gripping the back of your thighs, keeping you nice and spread for him. he’s deep inside you. has been for what feels like hours, working you open over and over like it’s a ritual.

“you’re taking me so well,” he breathes, voice low and gravelly, lips brushing against your ear. “just like that… yeah, that’s it.”

a moan breaks in the back of your throat when he pulls nearly all the way out—then slaps the head of his cock against your swollen clit, once, twice—hard. you cry out, hips bucking, but his grip tightens, holding you exactly where he wants you.

“so sensitive,” he grins, and you feel it against your skin. “bet you love when i do that. filthy little thing.”

you can’t even answer. words dissolve into gasps as he slips back inside, slow and punishing, hips angled just right to hit that deep, aching spot that’s already fluttering.

he leans over you more, full weight pressing down, your knees damn near touching your shoulders. “you gonna let me fill you up? stuff you full ‘til it’s dripping out around my cock.”

your body shudders violently. his cock twitched inside you, thick and pulsing, already leaking with the promise of another load. he’d been insatiable tonight—pushing you past your limits, coaxing orgasm after orgasm until you couldn’t think straight.

“hm?” he growls, hips stuttering.

“want—” you gasp, voice wrecked. “please, sylus..”

“shit.” he groans, pace faltering as you clamp down around him. then he laughed—laughed, breathless and hungry. “‘course, you do. you’re milking me already… greedy little thing. gonna keep you like this for hours. knot you up until i’ve ruined you for anyone else.”

[mc-syndrome]

Sitting on Caleb's Face

Warning: Cunnilingus

AN: @his_lily00 on tiktok inspired this little ditty. I love you girl, stay freaky, never change.

Caleb x reader

He's been asking for weeks for you to sit on his face. He already enjoys eating you out but he's never gotten you to climb on top of him like that.

If you're worried about being too heavy, he immediately waves the thought away. If you're REALLY worried about being too heavy, he promises to use his evol to make sure you don't crush him.

When you finally agree, he drops everything he's doing and lays down right then and there. It doesn't matter if he's in the living room or the bedroom, he's finally getting exactly what he wants and he's not going to give you a chance to second guess yourself.

He prefers if you just push your panties aside to let him eat you out. He likes when you keep them on during sex and this is no different. There's something hot about just pulling them to the side and fucking you. Like he can't wait the extra three seconds to take them off of you. He needs to have you right now.

When he finally gets his tongue inside you, it's perfect. He's always been good about eating you out. He enjoys it a lot. But something about you being on top of him while he does it really gets him going. Your soaking wet pussy just drips directly into his mouth and he wouldn't have it any other way.

Every little noise you let out just makes him want to bury his face further into your pussy. When you grab a fistful of his hair and try to rock your hips onto his face, he groans so loud you're sure the neighbors heard him.

Slowly but surely, you can feel your body beginning to move. It isn't until his face is buried in your pussy that you realize he's not using his evol on you anymore.

If you try to get up, he's digging his fingers into your thighs to keep you in place. He'll use his evol again if only to make sure that you. don't. move.

Can he breathe? Who cares. He doesn't. He's in heaven right now and if going to Heaven means he gets to stay there, that's a sacrifice he's willing to make.

He's curling his tongue inside you, tasting everything that he can't. He can't get enough of the way you taste. He usually pretty vocal in bed but he's extra vocal right now. This is all he's ever wanted.

He sucks on your clit a little too hard and you cum hard enough to see stars. You pull harder on his hair and the mix of the pain from his hair and your pussy clenching around his tongue makes him cum without a single touch to his cock.

He keeps sucking until you're a whining mess on top of him. He cums longer than he's used to and there's a large stain quickly forming on his pants.

From that moment forward, he'll whine and beg for you to sit on his face more often. He's already gotten a taste for it, he wants more.

Requests are Open!!

[mc-syndrome]

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐄 ⋯ 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐏𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐀𝐒𝐒

𝐗𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑

The movie marathon had stretched late into the night. You were sprawled on top of Xavier, your head resting on his chest as the TV cast flickering light across the darkened room. His steady heartbeat had almost lulled you to sleep when you felt his hand shift slightly beneath you.

Smack!

The unexpected slap to your ass made you jolt upright, nearly headbutting his chin in the process.

“Did you forget about earlier?” he asked.

You laughed, settling back against him. “I thought you might have fallen asleep and forgotten.”

“I didn’t,” he replied simply, his hand returning to your backside. This time, he gave it a gentle squeeze, his fingers kneading the spot he’d just slapped. The tender motion contrasted with the playful smack from moments before.

He pulled you closer, adjusting your position against him until you were both comfortable again. The credits rolled on the forgotten movie as his fingers continued their gentle massage, his calm breathing eventually synchronizing with yours as you both drifted toward sleep.

As the auto-play feature started the next film in the queue, his free hand reached for the remote, lowering the volume to a soft background murmur. His other hand never left your backside, alternating between gentle squeezes and soothing circular motions that made you melt further against him.

“Your heartbeat speeds up when I touch you like this,” he observed quietly, the subtle change in his tone betraying his satisfaction at the reaction.

You mumbled something incoherent against his chest, too comfortable to form proper words. He shifted slightly beneath you, adjusting your weight to better accommodate his frame, his hand continuing its ministrations with practiced ease.

“We should sleep,” he suggested, though his actions contradicted his words as his fingers traced the curve where your ass met your thigh. “Or would you prefer to continue this instead?”

𝐙𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄

Midnight had come and gone, but sleep remained elusive. It’s another day of Zayne had just returned from his grueling shift at the hospital, his tie loosened and suit jacket discarded as he prepared for bed.

“I need at least six hours of sleep before my morning consultation,” he muttered, setting his alarm.

You poked his side, deliberately disrupting his bedtime routine. “But I’m not tired,” you whined playfully, stealing his pillow and hugging it to your chest.

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Return my pillow.”

“Make me,” you challenged with a grin, scooting away.

In one swift motion, he reclaimed his pillow with one hand, while the other delivered a firm smack to your pajama-clad backside.

Smack!

“That’s for being bratty when you know I need rest.” The sting lingered pleasantly as he settled beside you, drawing you against his chest despite your earlier antics.

“Sleep,” he instructed, his arm wrapping around your waist. “I’ll have time for your games tomorrow.”

His breathing soon steadied into the rhythm of sleep, while you remained awake just a little longer, savoring the unexpected gesture from him. Despite his stated exhaustion, his hand remained active, tracing absent patterns along your hip.

He murmured against your hair, seemingly not as close to sleep as you’d thought, “You just have to be difficult before going to sleep.”

You shifted to look at his face, finding his eyes still open. “Someone has to remind the great doctor he’s human,” you replied softly.

His fingers tightened slightly on your hip. “Tomorrow,” he promised, voice dropping to a whisper that sent a pleasant shiver down your spine, “I’ll show you exactly how human I can be. Now sleep before I administer more persuasive methods.”

The implied threat only made you smile as you finally closed your eyes, lulled by his steady heartbeat.

𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐋

“Turn around again,” Rafayel instructed, his eyes focused intently as you modeled the fifth dress he’d purchased for his upcoming exhibition. The silky fabric whispered against your skin as you obliged, turning slowly to give him the full view.

“Perfect,” he murmured, approaching to adjust the way the material draped across your shoulders. “This shade of green complements your skin tone exactly as I imagined.”

As you moved to reach for the next outfit, his hand descended without warning.

Smack!

The slap against your ass echoed in the spacious bedroom, leaving a tingling sensation in its wake.

“Rafayel!” you exclaimed, spinning around to face him.

He grinned. “I couldn’t resist, cutie. You look really good with the dress on.”

Your initial surprise melted as he pulled you close, his hands wandering dangerously near the spot he’d just slapped.

“The red dress next,” he whispered against your ear, releasing you with obvious reluctance. “Though I’m starting to think my favorite masterpiece isn’t hanging in any gallery.”

He retreated to his chaise lounge, watching appreciatively as you reached for the next dress, the memory of his touch still warming your skin.

“Wait,” he called suddenly. “Do that again—the way you just moved. Hold that position.”

You froze mid-reach, throwing a questioning glance over your shoulder.

“Perfect,” he breathed, grabbing the sketchbook that never seemed to be far from his reach. “The light catches your profile exactly right from this angle.”

You maintained the pose, feeling the spot where he’d slapped you still tingling pleasantly as he sketched, occasionally looking up to capture another detail.

“You know,” he said between strokes of his pencil, “I think I’ve just found the centerpiece for my exhibition.”

“A drawing of my ass?” you asked incredulously.

His laughter filled the room. “No, cutie—though that would certainly draw crowds. I’m thinking of something much more...personal. Now, try on the red dress, but move slowly. Every line of you deserves proper attention.”

𝐒𝐘𝐋𝐔𝐒

Rain pattered against the windows of Sylus’s room as you lay on your stomach, engrossed in the latest episode of your favorite show on your tablet. Completely absorbed in the climactic scene, you didn’t notice his approach until it was too late.

Smack!

The sudden, sharp slap to your ass sent your tablet flying from your hands. You yelped in surprise, rolling over to find Sylus standing over you, that infuriating half-smile playing on his lips.

“You look focused, sweetie,” he said calmly, as if he hadn’t just scared you half to death.

You glared up at him. “I was watching the season finale!”

“And now you’re watching me instead,” he replied, retrieving your tablet from where it had landed on the carpet. He handed it back to you, his fingers lingering against yours. “A considerable upgrade, wouldn’t you agree?”

Before you could respond with the retort forming on your lips, he leaned down, his voice dropping to that low timbre that always made your pulse quicken. “Consider us even. For now.”

He then left you to return to your show—though your focus was thoroughly shattered.

You returned to your previous position. Just as the plot was reaching its climax again, the bed dipped beside you. He had returned, two glasses of wine in hand, offering one to you.

He settled next to you, positioning himself so he could see your tablet screen, his thigh pressing against yours as if nothing unusual had happened between you moments ago. His free hand casually draped across your lower back, dangerously close to where he’d landed the mischievous slap, his fingers casually tapping your ass.

“So,” he said, sipping his wine and gesturing toward your tablet with his glass, “who’s the traitor? The brother or the assistant?”

You blinked in surprise. “You’ve been watching this show?”

His half-smile returned as he made himself more comfortable beside you. “I have my reasons for staying informed about your interests. Now, shall we finish this finale together?”

𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐁

Steam filled the kitchen as you stirred the pasta sauce, following Caleb’s recipe while he chopped vegetables nearby. The domesticity of the moment wrapped around you like a warm blanket, comfortable and familiar.

“Can you pass the oregano?” you asked, gesturing toward the spice rack.

“Sure thing,” he replied, stepping behind you to reach for the herb.

As his hand extended past you toward the rack, his other hand made its move.

Smack!

The slap to your backside was anything but gentle, causing you to drop the wooden spoon into the sauce. Before you could react, he dissolved into laughter, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Your face!” he managed between chuckles, handing you the oregano as promised. “I’ve been waiting all day for the perfect moment.”

“Caleb! You—” You shook your head as you accepted the spice—and the fate of your ass. “Was it worth the wait?”

“Absolutely,” he grinned, pressing a quick kiss to your temple before returning to his chopping board. “Dinner might be worth the wait, if you don’t let that sauce burn.”

You turned back to the stove as his laughter continued to fill the warm kitchen.

His laughter gradually subsided, but the atmosphere remained light as you both continued preparing dinner. Every time he passed behind you to reach for another ingredient or utensil, you tensed slightly in anticipation, unsure if another playful slap might be coming.

“Relax,” he teased, noticing your reaction. “I already got my revenge. Unless...” he paused dramatically, “you’re hoping for an encore?”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t suppress your smile. “Just focus on those vegetables before I decide it’s my turn for revenge.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied with an exaggerated salute, his grin never faltering. He resumed his chopping, occasionally humming a cheerful tune that matched his buoyant mood.

Smack!

“Just for fun, Pipsqueak,” he grinned unapologetically.

Okay… so… I kinda accidentally deleted the whole page of my Google Docs when I reached Sylus’s part, and I was just sitting there, like—😀💔 So, I had to write everything all over again in a bad mood 😭 I hope you still enjoy reading! ಡ⁠͜⁠⁠ʖ⁠⁠ಡ

[mc-syndrome]

cw: lowk red flag caleb lol, virginity loss

Caleb is pissed when you get asked out for the first time. He had deliberately warned everyone in both of your social circles to stay away from you. Not without threats of violence or death, either. So yeah, he’s pissed as fuck when you tell him. Did he have to burn the whole world down merely to keep you all to himself? To protect you from perverts and creeps?

But, unfortunate and naive, you were so damn excited for this date. He couldn’t spoil your mood. Not when you asked him which dress to wear—both of them too short for his liking—and certainly not when you asked him to zip up the back for you.

There was just something about how you looked, all dolled up and cute to see someone who wasn’t him. He can already barely control himself around you; even the thought of another man having access to you like this makes him utterly sick. “It’s just not a good idea. All guys want the same thing.”

“You’re a guy aren’t you, Caleb? So what, are you telling me you’re like that too? Hmm?” He wants to wipe the playful smile off your face. You just think everything’s some fucking game.

“He’s gonna want to kiss you. Touch you. Fuck you. Have you ever been fucked? Huh, pipsqueak?”

He thinks he went too far then, notes the way your eyes widen and lips slightly part. You shake your head, but he already knows. He knows everything about you. So when you ask if he can help you, give you some advice, he knows exactly how he will.

“So naive, let me just show you.” He smashes his lips against yours. The force would’ve sent you falling backwards had he not steadied you with his hand on the small of your back.

“This is how to kiss…” he mutters it into your mouth, not caring that your teeth are hitting each other.

“And this…” he lifts your skirt just enough so that he can pull your panties to the side and slide his fingers along your puffy folds. “This is how it feels to be fingered.”

“Ah—Caleb!” You squeal when he fully plunges his finger in deeper than your own fingers ever could. He adds another, and soon the room is filled with your moans and the lewd squelch of his fingers thrusting in and out of your soaked pussy.

His lips are back on yours, and this time his tongue is shoved inside your mouth, claiming it. He goes faster when he feels your walls clench around him, and lets you grip his biceps while you come around his fingers and leave behind crescent shaped indents on his arms.

He nearly throws you on the bed, eager to yank off your underwear and free himself from his own boxers, wasting no time in aligning his tip to your still sensitive cunt.

“This is how to take it like a good fucking girl.” You try your best to relax, to be so good for him as he buries himself into you. He lets you get used to his size, going slow. Not moving until you practically beg him to, then there’s no going back. He’s brutally snapping his hips against yours and watching your tits bounce through your dress.

“Already gonna come on my cock? You really are inexperienced. Can’t even control yourself. Go on then. Fucking. Come.” With two last jerks of his hips, your climax washes over you and he tries so fucking hard to delay his own orgasm. He begins to pull out but your legs lock him in place. He cums on the spot—still inside you.

“Don’t care that I ruined your dress? How you gonna go on your date now, baby?”

“Hm. Guess I have to cancel,” you say, faux disappointment coating your words.

He pauses. “There was no date.”

“There was no date.” You confirm, wearing that same stupid grin from before. Luckily your schedule is free, because he has a hell of a punishment waiting for you after that.

[mc-syndrome]

Jerking them off - LaDS

mdni

ᡣ𐭩 lets you jerk him off from behind when he's sleepy, your chest against his back whilst your hand pumps his aching cọck. He's overstimulated, having come twice already, and his face is red from the lewd squelching noises your hand makes against him. He lets his head fall back to your shoulder, murmuring heated words of encouragement - Xavier

ᡣ𐭩 has his larger hand over yours as you jerk him off together. He rolls his hips up and fucks the makeshift hole both of your hands have made. His other hand is pressed up against your own pụssy, cupping and stroking it erratically as you both pleasure each other in unison (almost) - Caleb

ᡣ𐭩 lets you jerk him off through his pants. It's something new he likes to indulge in, a complete contrast to his usually clean appearance. Breathy groans leave his lips as he bucks his clothed hips upwards to meet your hand, ass, whatever is grinding against him at that moment. He eventually comes in his underwear with a spasm - Rafayel

ᡣ𐭩 Makes you watch him jerk himself off whilst you're restrained. Ignores all of your begging and pleading whines whilst looking down at you with a blank expression, but you know him too well. The subtle hitches of his breath and the way his throat bobs told you everything you need to know about how he's feeling - Sylus

ᡣ𐭩 Prefers to pleasure you, but on the rare occasion he lets you touch? He's tugging you onto his lap and guiding his hand to his cock so that you could stroke it. His forehead is pressed against yours as he murmurs low words of praise, occasionally pecking your cheek or lips - Zayne

[mc-syndrome]

I am not sure how to perceive my 18+ content now, so I'm publishing the cut version only. Because it's definitely not "just nudity", but also I don't draw any explicit things either. And since I'm new to tumblr I'd appreciate some tips on that matter, because I do like drawing spicy stuff, but I would also like to keep it withing the rules and cause no problems. Full pic here: subscribestar.adult/posts/1809096 My subscribestar is completely free. Anyway enjoy some Caleb. <3

[mc-syndrome]

He found your Lumiere merch

[mc-syndrome]

So much of MC's absolutely unhinged behavior derives from growing up with Caleb. Caleb has convinced her that so many things are normal when they are Absolutely Not. When LIs meet Caleb for the first time, it clicks for them and they're like ohhhh so this is why you're like this.

[mc-syndrome]

[mc-syndrome]

You wanna try it out? Caleb X You

Chapter Two

Tumblr: Chapter 1 Chapter 2 AO3: Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Synopsis: Caleb is determined to be your first everything, and lucky for him you're not that hard to convince.

AN: Caleb being manipulative, only a little. First times, eventual smut. I'll link the next chapters on each post as I upload them.

You’re 20 the next time you and Caleb both manage to get a month off school at the same time. Excited, you call him on the phone and you both choose to spend your summer break together at Grans.

The slight butterflies you’ve been feeling ever since your phone call ease as soon you see him, doing a double take as he walks into Grans kitchen. He’s grown so much, both height and width, his aviation standard-issue shirt stretched tight across his chest and arms.

“Holy shit pipsqueak I don’t remember your legs having all that muscle?” he says, scooping you up into his strong arms.

“Speak for yourself, what are those, double D’s?”

“Too long have aviation pilots suffered. I will not be objectified, I demand respect.”

You fall into an easy routine because things have always been easy where you and Caleb are concerned. For the most part. You walk to the shops, prepare dinners together then spend your nights recommending films and shows to each other. Gradually, a tension you didn’t know you were carrying eases. Your heart feels full, he’s still Caleb, your Caleb. The unspoken kiss lays dormant between you, a secret just for the two of you.

Occasionally the memory of his lips hovers at the edge of your mind. You watch the line of throat moving as he drinks for a beat too long, or sometimes a particularly mischievous grin will make your mouth feel dry. You hold it there like a bouncer, heart heavy. You refuse to let teenage folly interfere with your adult relationship.

Caleb doesn’t seem to notice and hasn’t even inquired about your dating life. In this way three weeks of warm, comfortable domesticity pass, until your college, automated and pragmatic, diverts a package from your dorm to your current place of residence.

They’ll need to invent a new word for the kind of mortification you felt coming home to see Caleb flipping through “Learning to Love Myself: a Woman’s Guide to Anorgasmia.”

The word would describe the feeling of being dunked into ice that paradoxically set you on fire, that made you want to throw up and also throw yourself off the nearest building.

When Caleb’s sees you seeing him holding your book his whole body flinches, a ruddy blush going all the way to his ear tips. He snaps the book shut.

“Uh… we, uh,” he stammers.

You feel stripped bare, your heart freezing in your chest.

“We always used to… open each other’s mail…” he mutters.

“Uh!” Is all you manage to get out before striding across the room to swipe the book out of his limp hand. You turn to make a hasty retreat to your room before freezing in the hallway, turning back to retrieve the open packaging off the table.

A horrifying clunk echoes through the kitchen. You feel light headed.

Oh. That’s right. You’d also ordered a vibrator.

When you finally make it back to your room you throw yourself on your childhood bed, face hot, glaring at the large “DIVERTED” stamp on the envelope until Gran calls you down for dinner.

At the dinner table you can’t to meet Caleb’s eye. He's trying his best to engage you in friendly, normal conversation, but you’re still finding it hard to form coherent thought. His gentle smile does let you relax a little, he even offers you his share of dessert.

You take it, it’s the least he could do.

You excuse yourself to bed not long after dinner, feigning illness. About an hour later you hear a timid knock at your door.

“Come in, Gran.”

“It’s me.” Replies Caleb.

“Oh.” You say, chest suddenly tight.

He pushes in meekly, holding two cups of tea.

“Grans already racked out,” he says warmly, “she gets sleepy so early these days! Not nearly as spry as she used to be.”

The tightness in your chest eases a little, perhaps this wouldn't be a big deal after all. You know he didn’t really mean to invade your privacy or anything, he was probably just feeling a bit cheeky. You really did used to always open each other’s mail.

“She’s got a few good years left in her Caleb. Don’t worry.” You say, taking your tea.

His thoughtful eyes narrow, brows low. “It’s not Gran I’m worried about, pipsqueak.”

You choke as you take a sip.

“Oh my god, what wrong with it?!”

He snorts, drawing a small whiskey bottle from his pyjama pocket.

“Irish tea. Sorry, couldn’t help myself! Wanted to see the look on your face when you didn’t expect it.”

“Eugh, it’s foul!” you say, wincing.

“Give it a chance, it’ll grow on ya.”

His eyes are twinkling as you take another sip. The taste of it shoots straight up your nose, making your throat burn but it does leave a pleasantly warm sensation in its wake. You’ve not really tried hard spirits before, just sweet rice wine a classmate had snuck into the dorms. You elbow Caleb playfully as he takes a swig.

You sigh deeply into your cup. Growing up these moments with Caleb had always been always so precious to you. Like life was a secret adventure just for you two. He drains his cup, a clear challenge, and you follow suit but can’t help pulling a face. His warm laughter makes your heart soar.

“Sooo,” he says, pouring more into your cup, “we gunna chat about what happened?”

You feel a sudden lump in your throat, “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

Caleb's eyes pause to examine you over the rim of his cup.

“In fact,” you say, “I think I must have hit my head at some stage. Short term amnesia.”

He raises his brows in exaggerated shock. “Sounds serious.”

“A terrible tragedy, it’s also contagious,” you inform him grimly, “anyone in my proximity will also unfortunately entirely forget this afternoon.”

His breaks into a smile, laughing, but then furrows his brows again.

“I am sorry pipsqueak, really, but c’mon. We’re both adults now, yeah?”

“Eugh,” you say, flopping back onto your pillows, “really Caleb?”

“Well since the amnesia will surely erase all of my memories soon I’ll just say if there’s anything you wanna talk about,” and he catches your gaze, holds it “and I mean anything, there’s nothing you could say that would…”

“….would what.” You say, warning in your tone.

“Just… nothings off the table, yeah?”

Your palms feel sweaty so you grip your tea cup little harder and take another sip and it goes down a little easier this time. This means either the whisky must be either killing your taste buds or you’re finally becoming accustomed to it. You’re not sure why your heart is racing, it could be that Caleb knows your awful predicament but you do wonder if it could also be your deep, burning urge to talk about this with someone, anyone! There was nobody at college you felt close enough to for such a sensitive topic. In fact, the only person you’ve ever felt close enough to to be that vulnerable with was…

You abandon your empty cup and throw yourself back on the bed, shoving your pillow over your face.

“Caleb!”

He lays down on your bed, moving closer to you and propping himself up on some pillows in anticipation.

“What!”

“I just!” you sigh heavily, hugging your pillow and fixing your eyes on the ceiling.

“Can’t get off?”

You throw the pillow at him, and he spills whiskey on his pyjama pants.

“Shit! Hey! C’mon! We can be mature about this.” He wipes at the spill with your sheets, “you wanna read that book a bit together?”

“I really don’t. It’s been stressing me out so much!”

“Has it… always been like that?”

You groan, “I cannot have this conversation with you.”

“Why not?” He says, a little flat, “because you see me as your brother?”

His voice sounds tight and you know if you say yes, that’s literally the exact reason, that it’ll push him away and the conversation will be over. You realise that you desperately want the chance to talk about this with someone, even if its Caleb. Perhaps he’s right, you’re adults! This could just be a new chapter in your adult relationship. You flop back on your pillows again.

“It’s not so bad, Caleb. It’s just been…ugh…. difficult… since I moved out.”

“Are you with a guy?” he says, and you can feel his eyes on you.

You snort, as if you’ve had time to meet someone, your dreams of college romance have been quite thoroughly dashed on the cruel rocks of your insane workload.

“No. It’s just… difficult all of a sudden.”

Gives you a curt nod, brows furrowed, and you can practically hear the gears start turning in his head. This was a mistake, you hate it when he goes into ‘fix-it’ mode. He’s like a dog with a bone, especially when that bone is upsetting you.

Your chest feels suddenly tight so you sit back up, pulling your knees together.

“You got any more of that foul stuff?” you ask, trying to sound casual.

He holds your gaze as he takes a long pull from the bottle before passing it to you. His throat and collarbone are dramatically lit in your bedside lamplight. You take the bottle quickly, and his brows furrow.

He exhales sharply, “Maybe you’re just stressed about study?”

“I wondered that too, but it was never a big problem before.”

This was still Caleb, so despite the pleasant fuzzy warmth making its way up your spine you weren’t about to go into gory detail. You’d spent many frustrated evenings in your dorm room, wrist cramping trying to work out why you just couldn’t…

“Maybe you just need a hand.”

He sounds resolute, and you’re suddenly aware of your proximity. He’s lying on the end of your bed, propped up on a pillow, his forearm is touching your leg.

“Maybe, but good luck to me finding someone with all the free time I don’t have.”

“I see.”

“Well!” you say, shrugging half-heartedly, “Cheers to that I guess.”

You fumble for the bottle, perhaps the taste is growing on you, or perhaps you just need something to quell your heartbeat. Maybe this conversation isn’t helping after all.

“I guess I’ve got my book now so…”

“You…wanna try it out?”

His steady low voice hits you like a physical blow, like he remembers that moment in the car so long ago as vividly as you do. When you lower the bottle to tell him off you’re horrified to see he’s holding the petite vibrator. He was just teasing you!

“Jesus Christ. Caleb! How did you find that? Give it back!”

His eyes are alert and on you, he holds it just out of your reach.

“Why not? We’re adults who can work together at solving adult problems, aren’t we?”

He lets you snatch the vibrator out of his hands, and you feel cold sweat on the back of your neck.

“Caleb, for once it’s really not a problem you can help me with!” you stammer, tossing the offending object into your bedside drawer.

“Says who?” He retorts, as if you’re just being stubborn. Your breathing feels shallow and you feel suddenly lightheaded, but you can also feel a more worrying development, a pooling of warmth between your legs. It’s been a long time since you’ve felt yourself getting this turned on.

Your eyes glance over at the bottle of amber liquid. Surely he didn’t bring this here with ignoble intentions? A ludicrous thought, it’s Caleb! It’s just the stress of the topic you assure yourself, you’re just feeling overwhelmed.

He sits up, pushing his sleeves up. “Don’t overthink it.”

You study his face, his lips are pressed together into a thin line. His stupid, handsome face.

You shake your head, pointing an accusing finger at him, “What makes you think you’re so great that you could get me off when even I can’t get me off!” You’re astonished at the words coming out of your own mouth, you shouldn’t even be entertaining this line of thought.

He’s just teasing you anyway.

“I can.” He says, jaw set.

“And what if you can’t?” you say and you can’t seem to stop the quiver in your voice, you hate how it sounds.

“Oh, I can.” He says, leaning in, hand on one knee.

You think back to the kiss you shared and how it had actually helped you in a funny way. It was to build more confidence, you would say to yourself, to make you less nervous for your first actual kiss. You tilt your head, still trying to read his face.

The kiss didn’t really count with Caleb, did it? So why should something like this? There’s a dull, insistent throbbing between your legs now. It had been so long since you’d come that it had become something of a worrying fixation for you, thus the book, so just the fact that you could feel that was reassuring. That could be enough.

He leans in further, breaking your train of thought, “I notice haven’t asked me to leave yet.” He says.

His gaze is locked on yours and you realise suddenly that there’s not much room for two adults on your child sized bed. You used to be able to sleep in here together just fine.

“You’re just teasing me…”

“I’m not.” He says firmly.

You're too scared to look down to see if this conversation if affecting him as much as you. You shake your head again.

“You’re mad, Caleb! What are you even suggesting?!”

“Just lay back and relax, I’ll help.”

“Help,” you scoff, suddenly hyper aware of how close he is, “and just who have you been ‘helping’ these days, hmm? I thought you’d be too busy studying to chase girls.”

“I’m not with anyone.” He says, brows lowering.

You can feel just how wet you are against your panties. If you do this, he’ll see how much he’s affected you. If you do this, you might be able to come again. What are you even thinking!?

“No, Caleb, I can’t believe I have to say it! It would be too weird!”

“Wasn’t weird last time, was it?”

You both know what he means.

You bite your lip, trying to ground yourself. Your head feels a little fuzzy, but you’re not nearly tipsy enough to blame alcohol for what you’re about to do. All you’d have to do is say yes.

The silence stretches between you until he breaks it.

“Please.” he says, his low voice catching.

“...Alright.”

His mouth parts in shock, like he didn’t actually expect you to agree. Heart pounding, you stand up from the bed, switching the bedside lamp off so only the moonlight illuminates your room. Your mind is spiralling in on itself. It’s Caleb, it’s not right, we’re adults, it’s different, it’s not weird technically, it’s very weird actually.

You let out a sharp exhale, “You really want to do this?”

He nods mutely.

You step out of your sleep shorts and panties, steeling yourself like you do before going into battle. You can hear Caleb's breathing behind you, but he hasn’t moved. Despite your bravado this is your first time undressing like this in front of a guy, even if it is just Caleb. You sit back into the bed, knees pressed together. The atmosphere too tense, which is silly, since this is just… an adult problem that a good friend is helping you with.

You’re adults, this is fine!

You snort, “Y’know if you can’t do it I’ll never stop making fun of you.” You say.

That breaks whatever spell he was under, and he exhales a deep breath.

“You relax, I’ll fix you right up.”

He slides himself across your bed, down to where your legs are firmly closed. You haven’t actually discussed what his ‘help’ will entail and you’re wondering if perhaps you need to make some sort of plan when he parts your legs like a physician.

“I guess you’re always good at helping me solve problems,” you say, trying to keep the vibe casual. You’re not sure why, this isn’t romantic. It’s not like its sex or anything.

“Yeah,” he mutters, gazing between your thighs, eyes glassy and there’s no way he can’t see how wet you are, “always wanna take care of you.”

You can hear the slight tremble in his voice and you consider putting your pants back on and pretending this never happened.

“Hey now, don’t get nervous on me.” He says, and strokes up the inside of your calf slowly, like he’s calming a dog.

“Eugh! This is silly, sorry, I…”

He pushes your knees further apart.

“Don’t worry, I got you.” He says, lowering his eyes back to where he’s parted you open. A tingling sweeps up the back of your neck, prickling at your cheeks and ears.

Under his gaze you can feel yourself throbbing and you let out a sudden sigh of relief. It still works! Yes!

Caleb starts kissing up your thighs.

“Hey! I thought we were just gunna…”

He lets out a breathy laugh and you can feel it hot against your naked thigh, you're surprised at how good it feels.

“Well pipsqueak, if you’d actually read any of that book you’d know that proper preparation is important. Just try to relax.”

He goes back to kissing up your thighs, moving agonizingly slow. You try not to squirm under him, mortified at the childhood pet name. You’re feeling yourself rapidly losing control of the situation.

“Just..do it!” You say boldly, and part your legs further, you sit up on your elbows and gently push his head lower.

He lets you push him down, eyes round, then all to quickly you feel his mouth on you and you can’t stop your sharp intake of breath. There! Less talking! More fixing!

Any modicum of power you might have gained in that move is completely undone when his lips part around you, so soft and so gentle you have to force your hips not to buck up into him. You’ve never had anyone put their mouth on you before and the sensation short wires your brain.

He’s not doing much more than kissing you, but it already feels so good you’re suddenly breathless with the possibility that you might actually come to fast.

The room spins slightly, what if you still can’t… what if….

The contact of his warm tongue on your clit has you throwing your head back onto your pillows, covering your mouth to suppress the awful noises that threaten come spilling out of you. This was a terrible idea, it’s too much like sex, it’s…

You feel him break contact and he lets out a breathy laugh. The sensation leaves your nerves there tingling.

“Wow. Here I thought this might be a challenge.”

You want to quip back, retaliate, but you can’t seem to find anything to say. You’re trying to claw for some sort of response when you realise he’s sliding a finger into you. Your hips buck into the sensation.

“Oh. Fuck.” He mumbles, taking a shaky breath before pushing back in. He's stroking you with his tongue, slowly increasing his pace and you're lost in a swirl of sensation, his finger slides easily in and out of you, a gentle but insistent. You’d never thought to try both sensations at once and it's simultaneously disorientating and so, so good. You can help pushing up into his mouth, desperate for more contact.

“That’s it,” he says as he sucks you back into his mouth hungrily. Hearing Caleb’s voice wet and undone with arousal, Caleb who’s audibly overwhelmed by you pushes you over an edge you didn’t even see coming.

You come, hard and deep, clamping around him, pulsating. You squeeze your eyes shut and see stars dancing behind your eyelids. After all that it was too fast, too easy. Your legs feel shivery and weak.

“Shit! Oh my god… fuck.” You say eloquently.

His finger are still inside you, moving gently as if he’s reluctant to break contact. He’s gazing up at you steadily, smiling like he always does when he’s pleased with himself.

“Dunno what the problem is here pips, or is this just like when you’re too lazy to open a jar so you make me do it?”

You tense, oh my god what just happened? You claw for your sleep shorts, limbs heavy. Caleb doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to get off you.

“Hah! Wow, Okay… thanks!” You say, chest tight, and try to move your hips back.

A strong arm moves to your lower belly, pinning you to the mattress.

“Oh no, I want to make sure everything is in working order.” He says, eyes gleaming.

He pushes another finger inside you, slow and relentless, and the way he’s angling his fingers towards your pelvis is making you feel all shivery. He’s leaning his shoulder against your thigh, forcing them apart as he watches his own hand in fascination.

“You’re so reactive, look at you.” He says, almost to himself, “I want to see you come again.”

He increases his pace and you're so wet you can hear yourself being worked on his fingers. You cover your face with your arms as waves of pleasure start building again. You don’t want him to stop, so you finally let yourself relax into the moment. It feels good, so fucking good, the sensation of fingers other than your own inside you. Caleb's strong, confident hands are so much bigger, his fingers pushing deeper than you could manage on your own. You can help but keen quietly into your mouth.

As the shivery sensation builds you let yourself look down at his face. His eyes are glassy, tender, and his free hand is idly stroking circles on the skin of your thigh. You didn’t even know you could come just from penetration like this, and it hits you in a different way, a full body spasm that arcs up your spine to the tip of your head. A clumsy moan breaks free, and the sound of your voice like that, animal and needy, makes you cringe.

“More,” he says roughly, “let’s see how much you can take.”

He pushes both your legs up until they're pressed against your body, licking roughly up the length of your tender flesh.

His lips quickly find your swollen clit and he takes it into his mouth again, relentlessly pleasuring you because of course he does, determined in a way only Caleb can be when he gets fixated on a problem. To have all Caleb's energy focused between your legs is more than you can bare. When he starts sucking again you can’t hold back, and your third orgasm leaves you gasping.

Your limbs are loose in his grip as he slowly, slowly gets you off a final time, three fingers deep inside you, gently pressing your tender clit against his hot tongue. Your last orgasm is a gentle one, your legs twitching like you’ve just run a marathon.

You have no idea how to process the experience, you’ve never come that many times at once. You wonder if perhaps your body is catching up on all those missed orgasms. He sits up now to face you, wiping his face with the back of his hand and stretching his jaw, smiling contentedly.

You’re suddenly aware of how you must look, sweaty and blown out. You should say something but you’ve no idea what, you don’t think you can form a coherent sentence.

“Told you I could.” He says.

You finally sit up, wobbly, and look down between your legs to see the mess you’ve made on your bed sheets. Your face heats.

“Oh my god.” You say.

You fumble for your sleep shorts and Caleb, ever helpful, leans down to pass them to you. You use them to cover yourself for now, legs still reluctant to move.

“Thanks,” you finally say, “that really… helped.”

Caleb gives you a secretive grin, and its so familiar you feel your heart clench.

“Always like takin' care of you, pips.” He says casually, standing up to stretch.

“I’ll let you clean up some.”

He gives the excuse of needing to take the teacups to the kitchen, so thankfully you have a moment to breathe. You go to put your panties back on and realise you’ll need a fresh pair.

He was just helping, you think to yourself, as if that makes everything normal again. He was just being kind. Nothing has to change.

The next day the energy between you feels alien, new. Being alone with Caleb never felt like being alone with a guy before, there was never a need to navigate those feelings. Now it’s impossible not the be aware of the line you just crossed.

One late evening you’re watching a movie together. It’s the day before you leave and he had been promising to watch your favourite film with you. You’re trying to act casual, sharing the couch with him like normal but when the edge of his fingers brush against your thigh you start a little.

When you glance up at him he quickly averts his gaze.

“Sorry’ he says, shifting away from you.

“Oh, no! It’s okay!” You say, “just sucked into the movie I guess.”

The silence stretches between you.

“Y’know I love you, right pipsqueak?” He says, keeping his eyes fixed on the television.

Hi voice cracks slightly and you remember this is Caleb. Your Caleb.

“I love you too Caleb, so much.”

Chest tight you nuzzle into his side like you always do, and he puts and arm around you like he always has.

You were just trying it out, nothing more.

[mc-syndrome]

10 Ways You Ruin His Day (and 10 Ways You Ruin His Self-Control)

I originally made this list as character notes for future stories — I love digging deep into their dynamics and really breaking them down. But honestly? I couldn’t not share. Would love to hear your thoughts too: what do you think drives them absolutely mad, and what turns them into helpless fluff puddles? 🖤

🍎 Top 10 Things That Make Caleb Absolutely, Irrevocably Mad

1 He doesn’t know where you are Even when it makes sense. Even when you’re safe. Even when he’s on the far side of a tunnel with no signal and too much time to think. The silence eats at him, turns every breath into a countdown. By the time he’s back, no one on the base dares talk to him until you’re in his line of sight again.

2 You come home with a bouquet of flowers from another man It’s not jealousy, really. It’s… fury dressed in olive green. You’re standing there, smiling, saying some poor man gave you flowers because you saved his life. Great. Fantastic. Caleb’s thrilled that his girlfriend is both competent and accidentally irresistible. But now he has to pretend this isn’t bothering him while mentally comparing the man's face to strategic punching surfaces.

3 You climb on unstable furniture to reach something You know, nothing fancy—just a stack of books on top of a chair that’s on top of a bench. And you? Balancing like a gremlin in fuzzy socks. He walks in and suddenly the war flashbacks begin. You think it’s funny. He thinks it’s a workplace hazard, and you are the HR violation.

4 You rearrange his model planes He adores you. Worships the ground you walk on. Would throw himself in front of an oncoming dropship for you. But if you dust his shelf and dare to reorder his starfighters and aircrafts by vibes instead of model number? He's already rewriting his will. In blood.

5 You do something reckless and then smile about it You say “relax, I had a plan.” He hears: “I almost died, and I’d do it again, because I’m cute and unstoppable.” That smile? That grin you give when you know exactly what you did and you’re proud of it? That’s why he needs stress meds. And maybe a punching bag with your face on it. (Lovingly.)

6 You casually mention the girl he used to date You say it with a smirk, like it’s just some harmless teenage memory. But he doesn’t see her—he sees you. You, standing in the doorway that day. You, catching him with her, both of them half-undressed. And you looking at him like something cracked between you. Back then, you were off-limits. You were the girl he wasn’t allowed to want. So he wanted someone else. Easier. Safer. And now, years later, you bring it up like it’s nothing—while he’s still trying not to remember how badly he wished it had been you.

7 You weren’t his first kiss—but worse, he wasn’t yours It never comes up. Not out loud. But he remembers. Vividly. The hallway. The way your face lit up. The boy leaning in. You smiling. And Caleb—watching from across the room, fists clenched, jaw tight, playing the role of older brother when his whole body screamed mine. You never talk about it. But he never forgot. Never will. Because that moment should’ve been his—and someone else took it first.

8 You walk away during a fight, or shut down emotionally You call it “space.” He calls it “psychological warfare.” You shut down. He short-circuits. Nothing drives him more insane than trying to fix something while you’re actively ghosting him across the living room. He’d rather you screamed. Threw something. Anything. But this quiet? This distance? That’s the one thing he doesn’t know how to fight.

9 You cry—especially if it’s because of him And then he’s done. Game over. His spine straightens like he’s under military command and his entire soul just went through the paper shredder. You cry, and suddenly he’s the villain. You say “it’s not your fault,” but that doesn’t matter. He’s already rewriting the past and taking full responsibility. And yes, he’ll suffer in complete silence. Like a man.

10 You secretly try to uncover what he’s hiding from you You call it curiosity. He calls it a breach of protocol punishable by full emotional lockdown. You think you’re clever. He thinks you just walked into classified territory barefoot, blindfolded, and with a target on your back. You were never supposed to see that side of his world. And now that you have? He doesn’t know whether to yell, hold you, or lock you in a room with military-grade firewalls and a blanket.

🍎 Top 10 Things That Turn Caleb Into a Complete Fluff-Mess

You wearing his dog tags / uniform shirt / flight jacket Instant puddle. No chance. He sees you in his gear and his brain just... shuts off. All he can think is mine mine mine, and he gets this dumb, soft little smirk like he’s trying so hard not to combust.

You falling asleep on him—especially mid-conversation You’re curled into his side, mumbling something about dinner plans, and then: silence. He looks down, sees you asleep on his chest, and that’s it. Whole day ruined. Cancel all missions. He’s not moving.

You bringing him coffee exactly the way he likes it—without asking That quiet, thoughtful act? Hits him right in the soldier-shaped heart. He doesn’t even know how to process being taken care of, so he stares at the cup like it just proposed to him.

You absentmindedly touching him—fiddling with his fingers, tracing scars, playing with his hair He pretends he doesn’t care. He does. He cares so much he forgets how to breathe. Just turns into a warm, red-eared statue trying not to whimper.

You whispering “I trust you” or “I feel safe with you” in a soft moment Core memory unlocked. He stores that one like sacred intel. Will literally whisper it back to himself at 3 AM when he’s lying awake, missing you. It breaks him in the best way.

You clinging to him in your sleep / pulling him closer without waking up Caleb.exe has stopped functioning. He will lie perfectly still for HOURS if it means not disturbing that moment. Bonus points if you mumble his name while doing it.

You defending him when someone questions his methods or past He’s used to being the shield—not having someone stand in front of him. The second you raise your voice on his behalf? He falls in love with you all over again. Might even cry. Secretly.

You gently helping him out of his gear after a long day Soft hands on his buckles. A kiss to his shoulder. A low “You’re home now.” That’s how you make a Colonel melt. His fingers twitch like he wants to worship the ground you walk on.

You surprising him with something dumb and heartfelt, like a handmade gift or bad sketch of him He acts gruff—says “the hell is this, Pips?”—but then puts it in his locker or keeps it in his chest pocket for missions like it’s sacred treasure. Because it is.

You calling him “baby” / “handsome” / “sweetheart” when he least expects it He acts like it’s annoying. It is not annoying. It turns him into actual butter. If you do it with a teasing smile? He short-circuits. Might drop something. Might combust. Definitely blushes.

🩺 Top 10 Things That Make Zayne’s Calm Snap Like a Microsurgical Thread

You ignore his instructions when you're sick You had a fever of 102°F. He left explicit care instructions—bed rest, fluids, minimal movement. You, sweating and glassy-eyed, decided this was the perfect time to rearrange the furniture. When he came home and found you dragging a bookshelf across the room “because the light felt wrong,” he genuinely considered sedating you. Not as punishment. As damage control. For both of you.

You order greasy fast food instead of going somewhere “nutritionally viable” He offered to cook. You said no. Twenty minutes later, you’re eating fries from a paper bag while half of it spills on his clean table. You grin. He stares. Not angry at the food. Angry because you rejected his precision, then settled for processed chaos.

You leave wet towels on the floor after every shower He’s not sure when it started. Day three? Day five? But every time he walks into the bathroom and steps into cold, soggy cotton, something in him fractures. You claim you “forget.” He suspects a psychological experiment.

You casually mention spending time with male friends You think it’s harmless. Lunch with Caleb. Training advice from Xavier. You light up when you talk about them—and that’s the problem. Zayne doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t raise a brow. But the sudden over-fixation on his email inbox says everything.

You receive a speeding ticket. Forty miles over the limit. You wave it off like it’s a funny little anecdote. He sits in absolute silence, calculating the stopping distance of your car vs. standard reaction time at that speed. You think he’s judging. He’s actually trying not to scream.

You poke his ass. Specifically, between the cheeks. You call it “affection.” He calls it “emotional terrorism.” He flinches like he’s been electrocuted, whips around with murder in his eyes—and you’re giggling like a gremlin. Later, you regret nothing, but your thighs may beg to differ.

When you diagnose him with internet psychology You’ve read one book on attachment styles and watched three reels about emotional unavailability. Now you’ve decided he has "clinical avoidant tendencies with a hint of fear-based control fixation." He stares at you, deadpan, like he's about to perform your autopsy.

You keep spoiled food in the fridge and expired meds in the cabinet You say “it doesn’t smell that bad” or “maybe it still works.” His eye twitches. His gloves are already on. He’s not even mad at you—he’s mad at entropy. You’ve become its agent.

You watch reality shows. About infidelity. Willingly. You claim it’s “just background noise.” But he walks in and hears someone scream “that’s not even your baby, Kyle!” and your eyes are glued to the screen. His soul briefly leaves his body.

You washed his white lab coat. With your pink unicorn pajamas. It’s not just the color. It’s the betrayal. The symbol of his clinical neutrality now smells like bubblegum and looks like cotton candy. You say it’s cute. He looks personally violated by the washing machine.

🩺 Top 10 Things That Make Zayne Soft Against His Will

You bring him lunch at the hospital He never asks. You just appear—arms full of neatly packed containers, face lit up like this isn’t the third double shift he’s worked this week. He complains about the timing. The smell. The disruption. And then eats every bite with frightening focus. You leave. He stares at the empty container like it’s proof someone still believes he’s human.

You quote him back to himself like a philosopher You remember something he said weeks ago—some throwaway line about time or structure or entropy—and you drop it casually in conversation, like it’s wisdom from an ancient text. He doesn’t know how to react. You turned his logic into poetry, and he’ll never recover from that.

You wear the little seal keychain he made He didn’t think you’d keep it. Let alone turn it into your everyday keychain. But there it is—always with you, worn smooth from touch. You twirl it absentmindedly while talking to him, never noticing the way his gaze lingers. Never realizing how something so small can hit him so hard.

You put a photo of the two of you on his desk It appears one day. No fanfare. Just… there. A moment frozen in light, sitting quietly beside his surgical reports and diagnostic schematics. At first, he moves it to the edge. Then back to center. Now it lives next to his pen. He doesn’t talk about it. But it’s the only object on that desk he wipes clean with his bare hand.

His work shirt smells like you You borrowed it that morning, wore it while dancing around the apartment with wet hair and no real purpose. Hours later, when he pulls it on between rounds, the scent hits him like a loaded memory. He short-circuits mid-button. Everything feels warmer than it should.

You leave your phone with him while you shower No password. No hesitation. You toss it into his lap with a breezy “can you clear out whatever’s making it lag?” and vanish behind steam. He sits there, phone in hand, suddenly trusted with everything. He opens nothing. But the fact that you’d let him? That’s the part that shakes him.

You ask for his opinion on minor discomforts A papercut. A weird freckle. A suspicious sneeze. You hold out your hand, utterly serious, asking what he thinks. It’s laughable. Ridiculous. And it absolutely wrecks him. You could ask a dozen others—but you ask him. Like he’s the one who makes things better.

You’re on top He likes control. Precision. Strategy. But when you climb into his lap, all instinct and fire, hands braced on his chest and lips already parted—his brain stops cooperating. There’s something about you taking the lead that makes him unravel. Quietly. Violently. Completely.

You argue with him about complex theories—and mean it You don’t just nod. You push back. You challenge. You quote sources he hasn’t thought about in years. You spark. You flare. And he watches, fascinated, lips twitching with something dangerously close to pride. No one does this. No one dares. But you? You never flinch.

You whisper “I love you” in your sleep It’s not loud. It’s not even clear. Just a faint breath in the dark, like a dream half-remembered. But he hears it. Every time. And though he never says a word in return—not while you're sleeping—his fingers tighten around your waist like he's anchoring himself to the only thing that matters.

🎨 Top 10 Things That Make Rafayel Absolutely, Irrevocably Annoyed at You

You told him his painting was “nice” You stood in front of a piece that cost him three sleepless nights, a minor existential crisis, and two broken brushes—and said “Nice.” Just like that. No gasp, no poetry, no tears. He aged five years on the spot. Somewhere in the distance, a violin cried for him.

You dragged him to a cat exhibit You thought it would be cute. Enrichment. A bonding experience. Instead, he spent the entire time perched on edge, eyes darting like prey. You said “they’re just kittens.” He said nothing. He was too busy making sure none of them came closer than ten feet.

You cleaned his studio You thought you were being helpful. But you moved The Pile. The sacred, unholy, perfectly calibrated mess. Now he can’t find his favorite brush, and also he’s deeply offended by how cheerful you looked doing it.

You didn’t reply to his messages for over an hour He sent three texts, one meme, and a “thinking of you 💭” voice note. You replied 67 minutes later with “sry was showering.” By then, he’d already decided you were breaking up with him, joining a cult, or possibly dead. He had a whole monologue planned. And now you’ve ruined it.

You cut your hair He loved your long hair. Adored it. Worshipped it. You showed up with a sharp little bob and said “it’s just hair.” It is not just hair. It is the collapse of a visual era. He’s still adjusting. And by adjusting, he means mourning with wine.

You made fun of his driving You muttered “technically, you were meant to let the tram go first” He muttered “technically, silence is golden.” His driving is instinct. Vibe. Energy. If you didn’t want drama, you shouldn’t have sat in the passenger seat of a man who parallel parks like he’s in a ballet.

You woke him up too early He went to bed at 4 a.m. because inspiration struck. You woke him at 7:12 like it was nothing, and said “you have that interview, remember?” He does remember. He also remembers specifically telling you that if he ever falls asleep before sunrise, you are to let him die peacefully, cancel all earthly obligations, and throw his alarm clock into the ocean where it belongs.

You hid your phone screen when a message came in You were probably teasing. Just being playful. But now he’s spiraling. Who was it? Why the secrecy? What do you have to hide? Congratulations—you’ve just activated his inner opera villain.

You got jealous Which is absurd. He’s the one who invented possessive affection. But you being jealous? That makes him unreasonably indignant. What do you mean you “didn’t like the way that gallery girl looked at him”? Of course she looked. But he didn’t see her. He saw you.

You burned the bacon You say “it’s fine.” He says it’s charcoal. The entire kitchen smells like culinary war crimes. And now he’ll have to burn incense and replant three garden beds to recover emotionally. Who even let you near the stove? Who hurt you? Was it… the bacon?

🎨 Top 10 Ways You Accidentally Turned Rafayel Into a Purring, Love-Drunk Work of Art

You massage his head He’s mid-rant. Arms crossed. Absolutely furious about the lighting in that gallery. And then your fingers slip into his hair—and just like that, the war is over. His entire body melts like he’s been tranquilized. He’ll deny it later, of course. But the way he leans into your hand? Case closed.

You claim him in public It’s an art gala. He’s dressed to ruin people. And then you slip your arm through his, fingers just tight enough to say mine. You smile like a goddess. He pretends he’s unaffected. Inside, he’s writing vows in ten languages and considering printing matching business cards.

You actually listen to his advice He knows he can be dramatic. Unfiltered. Emotionally volatile. But when you sit there, really listening, nodding like his words matter—you destroy him. Suddenly he’s not the chaos. He’s the compass. And that? That’s love.

You share every detail of your day over dinner You talk about everything—the lady at the store, the funny email, the awful latte. You give him your day like a story, like he’s the only one you wanted to tell. He leans in, listens too closely, files away each emotion like a collector of rare art.

You’re always down for his wildest ideas It’s 3 a.m. He wants to hike 2.5 miles along the beach, take a boat to a tiny island, and watch the sunrise with wine. You say “give me five minutes.” And just like that, you become the only person worthy of his wildest, most beautiful chaos.

You let him photograph you Nothing compares. Not awards. Not praise. Nothing rivals the moment you look into his lens—bare, unfiltered, unashamed. Especially when you’re nude, glowing, and laughing like the world doesn’t exist. That’s when he falls in love with you all over again. And again. And again.

You let him choose your dress You come out in the one he picked. Elegant. Perfect. You spin for him. And the way he watches you? Like he made you. Like you’re the gallery and he’s the only one with the key. It’s not fashion. It’s trust. And he adores you for it.

You sing when you don’t know he’s home Wearing socks and earbuds, dancing with a broom, serenading your way through burnt pancakes. You’re off-key. Glorious. Real. And he stands in the doorway, silent, just watching. Because in that moment—you’re not posing. And he’s never loved you more.

You take care of him when he’s sick He has a fever of 99°F and insists he’s fading. You bring tea, stroke his hair, whisper that he’s “very brave.” You don’t mock him. You take his dramatics seriously. He will never forget it. He may also write you into his will.

You join him in the bathtub without asking He’s already halfway submerged, music playing, steam curling in the air—and then you slip in behind him, no warning. You nudge your legs around his hips, hand him your shampoo, and let him wash your hair while you giggle. He tries to act unimpressed. But when he starts kissing your toes? Yeah. You win.

✨ Top 10 Behavioral Anomalies That Triggered Xavier’s Internal Alert System

You break an agreement—even if it's “just a small one” It’s not about control. It’s about structure. You promised. And when you bend the rules—just slightly—he doesn’t react outwardly. No visible shift, no sharp breath. But something behind his eyes goes cold. Because for him, even small deviations mean recalculating everything. And that means risk. To you.

You create drama “just to get a reaction” You push. You poke. You escalate. And he gives you… nothing. No outburst, no flinch. Just that flat, unreadable stare while he mentally exits the room. He doesn’t get angry—he just shuts off the part of himself that wants to stay.

You refuse his protection—on principle You call it independence. He calls it a strategic vulnerability wrapped in pride. He won’t argue. He’ll just be one step farther back the next time, quietly cataloging how to stop caring just enough that it won’t kill him if something happens.

You call him cold—especially when he’s holding himself together for you You see stillness. He feels restraint. You accuse. He remembers what it takes to not become the darker version of himself. If only you knew how much energy it took to stay composed. If only you knew it was for you.

You’re late Five minutes. Ten. No message. No explanation. And his pulse ticks upward—not with impatience, but with pure, trained alertness. He starts looking for signs. Traffic reports. Emergency alerts. By the time you arrive, he’s smiling. But it’s the tight kind. The kind that says never again.

You skip training You’re tired. You had a long day. You say you’ll make it up later. He doesn’t argue. He just recalculates survival probabilities and mentally adds you to the list of people who might die because they were unprepared. And he will blame himself for letting you get soft.

You pull away from his touch when you're angry It’s not the rejection. It’s the meaning behind it. He reaches out—small, careful, calculated—and you shut the door in his face with a single backward step. He doesn’t try again. He doesn’t ask why. But the space you leave behind? It echoes.

You use a photo of Lumiere as a bookmark You think it’s cute. Maybe even sweet. He sees it—and freezes. He’s not jealous. Not exactly. But the idea that you might admire that version more—the legend, the mask, the sharpness—it unsettles something deep. Something he can’t name.

You secretly believe you’re not good enough for him You never say it out loud. But he sees it—in your deflections, your nervous jokes, the way you doubt his love like it’s a glitch. It doesn’t anger him in the usual sense. It just…hurts. Because you’re the only one who never had to earn it.

You throw yourself in front of him during a mission It’s instinct, you say. Split-second decision. You didn’t even think. And that’s the problem. He does. Always. Every variable, every movement, every risk is accounted for—except you breaking formation to protect him. You think it’s brave. He sees it as catastrophic miscalculation. Not because you acted without logic. But because you decided his life was worth more than yours. And that? That’s the one conclusion he refuses to accept.

✨Top 10 Things That Quietly Break Xavier’s Walls and Leave Him Unreasonably Soft About You

When you start reading the same book he’s readingYou don’t announce it. You just show up with the same title, a few chapters behind, and start casually asking questions. He plays it off. But inside? He’s spiraling. Because this—this—is how you speak his language. Silently. Precisely. Together.

When you knock on his door like you’re trying to break it downIt’s loud. Impatient. Inappropriate for the hour. But he knows that knock. That rhythm. That you. You need him. Not his solutions. Him. And somehow, that chaos pounding on his door feels more like home than anything else.

When you hug him from behindYou wrap your arms around his torso mid-task, face pressed between his shoulder blades, palms splayed across his chest like you’re anchoring yourself to something ancient and steady. He stills. Every time. Like someone just whispered a secret to his bones. He never asks why. Never moves away. He just tilts his head slightly—listening, as if your silence said everything he needed to hear.

When you touch his sword (the actual weapon, calm down)He never lets anyone handle it. Not even for cleaning. But your fingers skim the hilt, gentle, curious, reverent. And somehow… it’s okay. You’re not just touching steel. You’re touching him. And he lets you.

When you act like a little girlYou scrunch your nose. Say something ridiculous. Blush like you didn’t mean to. And he watches—utterly disarmed. Because he knows exactly what you want. You want him to carry you. Wrap you up. Keep you safe. And he will—without hesitation.

When you join him on a morning runYou complain. You lag. You swear this is “not your vibe.” But you still show up. Same hour. Same route. And when you match his pace for those few precious minutes? He doesn’t say it—but he’s proud. Painfully proud.

When you share your dreams—and say “we”You’re rambling. Light spilling from your words. Talking about the future, the maybes, the next steps. But you don’t say I. You say we. And that sound? That tiny shift in grammar? It settles deep. Irrevocable. Permanent.

When you make matching braceletsYou say it’s silly. Handmade. Slightly uneven. There’s a charm shaped like a rabbit. He never takes it off. Not in combat. Not in sleep. It rests against his wrist like a pressure point—and grounds him better than anything else.

When you remember his habitsYour shopping list always includes his cinnamon. His brand of shampoo. The exact instant noodles he pretends not to love. You don’t make a show of it. You just know. And that knowing? It destroys him in the softest possible way.

When you trust him completely in bed—even when his darker side surfacesThere’s a moment—quiet, charged—when the softness shifts. He waits. Watches. Braces for resistance. But you don’t pull back. You open your hands. Arch into him. Let him take control without fear. That? That’s what breaks him. Not the pleasure. The trust.

🖤Top 10 Things That Push Sylus Into Maximum Sarcasm and Mildly Homicidal Disapproval

Your outdated, unreliable weapon Yes, he gets it. It’s vintage. It’s “standard issue.” It’s approved by the Hunters Association. Congratulations. That won’t matter when it jams and gets you killed. Every time you return one of the sleek, upgraded firearms he hand-delivers like he’s your personal armory concierge, he has to resist asking if you've already made a draft of your death wish. Alphabetically sorted. With floral headers.

You chew gum—and pop it It’s not the gum. It’s the snap. The sudden, violent pop of sugary air bubbles that hits his trauma response like a trigger. He knows it’s just a noise. His shoulder still twitches. He’s this close to reaching into your mouth and extracting the gum like a gentleman. A very sarcastic, deeply annoyed, half-feral gentleman.

You try to shake your tail (him) You use stealth tech. You block your signal. You go dark. Adorable. You’re forgetting that the very system you’re relying on was developed by his own syndicate. The only person who ever really evades Sylus is Sylus. And maybe the cat that lives under his car. But not you. Never you.

You don’t introduce him as your boyfriend to your old classmates You panicked. He gets that. You called him “a friend.” And now he’s deeply committed to the bit. For the next seven days, every time you said anything, he replied with “Of course, as your friend…” in front of waiters, dealers, and one extremely confused ambassador. You only managed to shut it down by hastily posting a photo of you two with the caption “my boyfriend and the love of my life.” Acceptable recovery. Barely.

You refuse to use his resources His private jet? Untouched. His cars? Collecting dust. His black card? Sitting unused like some kind of insult in your purse. You say you’re “independent.” He says you’re actively offending his entire lifestyle philosophy. Do you have any idea how disrespectful it is to ignore an entire walk-in wardrobe prepared for you in his estate? Honestly, it’s almost admirable. Almost.

You once smoked a cigarette, and he saw it He didn’t say anything. At the time. Just looked at you. Silently. Like someone had drop-kicked a kitten in front of him. He’s not judging. He’s just picturing your lungs in an ashtray. And adding another page to your death wish list.

You speak in riddles and expect him to “get it” You want something—time away, a trip, his attention—but instead of asking, you sigh dramatically and murmur, “It’s fine. I guess some people just don’t want to escape the city with their girlfriends…” He blinks. Slow. Dangerous. “Was that a request, a riddle, or an emotional booby trap?” If you want something from him, Kitten, try using nouns and verbs. Not cryptic guilt puzzles.

You suggest another woman would be “perfect for him” It’s a joke. Offhand. Barely a breath. But your voice wavers—just slightly—and that ruins it. He doesn’t want her. He doesn’t want options. He wants you. And now, thanks to your charming lapse in self-worth, he has to waste the rest of the evening reminding you that this face, this power, this entire empire already belongs to someone. Guess who.

You sneak up on him You never mean to. But somehow, you're always the one person who slips past every alarm, every trained instinct, and ends up whispering behind him when his brain is still in kill mode. It takes everything in him to not react on pure reflex. You think it’s cute. He thinks it’s potentially catastrophic.

You don’t believe him when he says he’s fine Yes, he’s bleeding. Yes, his shirt is soaked. But he said “it’s a scratch,” and when he says that—he means it. His body heals like a myth. Your worried face? It makes something in him ache. Because the real wound isn’t on him—it’s in you, for thinking he’s anything less than unbreakable.

🖤 Top 10 Things That Make Sylus Dangerously Soft for You (And Yes, He’s Keeping Score)

When you finally spend his money It started with coffee. Small. Harmless. But the alert hit his phone and, for a moment, he genuinely wondered if his card had been stolen—until he saw your name. And something in him shifted. Not because of the cost. Please. He could buy the city it was brewed in. No, it was the fact you used it. You. Willingly. Now? You’re bolder—little dresses, shoes, jewelry you don’t need. And every time you do, he rewards it like you just proved you understand the assignment: what's his, is already yours.

When you give orders to his men like you're the boss You don’t ask. You instruct. Calm, certain, completely in charge. One of his men hesitates—just once—while you’re directing them to rescue a terrified kitten stuck in a tree. Sylus doesn’t interfere. He just watches, arms crossed, a grin tugging at his mouth as armed professionals scramble to obey you like you're the patron saint of lost animals. Somewhere in his mind, he’s already fitted you for a crown. With tiny cat ears.

When you secretly pet Mephisto The mechanical raven used to drive you insane. Now? You’re sneaking him treats and absentminded scratches under the jaw. Sylus sees it. Says nothing. But deep down, he knows: if you’ve accepted the bird—you’ve accepted all of him. And that’s lethal. To him.

When you make him a playlist You never explain them. Just send a link and say nothing. But he listens—every time. Alone. In his car. In the bath. Eyes closed, calculating your every choice like it’s encrypted intel. Each track? A hint. A mood. A coded message from you to him. He doesn’t ask for them. He just waits for the next one. And when it arrives, he treats it like gospel.

When you leave a trail of chaos in his car Your hair on the seat. Your gum wrappers in the cup holder. The seat so close to the wheel he practically has to fold in half. And the music? A full-volume love ballad ready to ambush his eardrums at ignition. It's obnoxious. It’s inconvenient. It’s perfect. His life, now featuring you.

When you eat from his plate You swore you weren’t hungry. You said “no carbs this week.” And now? You’re stealing fries from his hand and dipping into his steak sauce like it’s your birthright. He doesn’t stop you. He just watches you chew with that look that says: mine. forever.

When you talk and talk and talk Something happens. You spiral. Words spill. Thoughts tangle. You’re not even aware you’re rambling—but he is. He listens to everything. Stores it all. Because there’s something magical about your voice when it’s unfiltered. You don’t realize it, but he falls a little harder every time you forget to censor yourself.

When you crawl into his lap while he’s working He’s in the middle of paperwork. Calculating things. Dangerous things. And suddenly—you. Right there. Knees on either side, arms around his neck, like the world’s most beautiful interruption. He tells himself he needs to finish. But his hands are already on your hips.

When you call and ask for help A jar. A stuck zipper. A ride. It doesn’t matter. You’re a trained hunter—you’ve faced things with claws, fangs, and no name. But you still call him. Because you want him. And that? That wrecks him in ways he’ll never admit. He’s already on his way before you hang up.

When you scream his name right before you come There’s a lot he’s proud of. His empire. His power. His record. But nothing—nothing—satisfies him more than the moment your voice breaks open with his name. Like prayer. Like surrender. Like he’s the only thing in your world. Which, of course… he is.

[mc-syndrome]

needy!caleb is definitely just caleb all the time. especially when he comes home after being gone for too long, the absolute best... how he gets on his knees and nuzzles his head into your lower stomach, breathing in your scent & gripping your ass. he'd whimper lightly into the cloth of your shirt, almost to the brink of tears from how much he missed you.

"god, baby, you smell so fucking good." he'd mumble, eyes squeezed shut and nostrils flared with the force of his inhales.

if you told him you wanted to move, he'd simply tilt his head slightly up to look at you, giving you a warning glare. but if you suggested to move to the bed to properly cuddle, thats a whole different story. he'd jump right up to his feet and practically run to the bed, taking you along with him when he leaps on the mattress. he'll force you into a laying position before nudging his nose deep onto your chest, moaning into your breasts.

"i need you so bad, pips, please. pleasepleaseplease..." he whimpers, dragging a hand to your boobs to toy with your nipples.

it doesnt take long until he's balls deep inside your cunt, sprawled on top of you. he can't control himself anymore, every thrust comes a sob and more tears begin to form. he's so overstimulated but so happy to be enveloped in your sweet warmth again; a lazy smile plastered onto his face. he's actually quite a beautiful sight to see if you were able to see him... maybe if you werent so drunk on his cock you'd have the luxury of witnessing him all blissed out. regardless, the feeling of his drool-filled tongue on your shoulder blade accompanied by his incoherent mumbles are juuuust enough to send you over the edge once again; the feeling of your pussy squeezing him milking his cock for what feels like the 100th time. all he can do is bawl and beg for it to not happen, a string of 'nononono's coming out of his mouth in a desperate attempt to stop his body from cumming.. it's just sooo painful to his poor abused member:(((

the night would inevitably end with you and him sleeping together (still connected) in a bed soaked with lots more than one bodily fluid... just how caleb likes it.

[mc-syndrome]

pairing: caleb x female reader description: caleb’s obsession with your underwear doesn’t seem to stop at just sniffing…. warnings: explicit sexual content, slight pwp, mdni, mention of male masturbation, needy!caleb, clothed sex, unprotected sex, cumming on underwear, this is messyyyyy wc: 2.4k (this got out of hand don’t EVER put me in a room alone with this man) a/n: continuation of my ask here. (read vic's blog she is goated!!!)

caleb swears it's not an obsession. he really means it, it's not.

it just so happens that every time he goes over to your place your underwear ends up in his possession. but it's not his fault! you have a bad habit of leaving your drawers open when you're getting ready in the morning. so caleb, being the amazing guy that he is, shuts them for you when he comes over to your place.

at least, that's how it started.

it eventually progressed into him snooping and taking a pair. then him snooping and taking a used pair. then him pocketing the ones off of your body after you've both had a time. okay, pocketing them off you every time. but he’s got it under control! he promises himself that it won't be happening again.

it’s just that he hasn’t been able to see you in a while due to both of your schedules being packed with work, so of course he’s going to sift through his growing collection to get as close to you as possible in every nonphysical way he can. the thought of u infects his mind, a dirty little parasite crawling around and making a mess throughout each private sector of his brain. the want for you to be close to him, to touch your body, to hear you, it intensifies as the minutes without you ticked by. 

so, when he hears his phone go off in the middle of rubbing one out to the thought of you while using the panties he stole most recently, he stops dead in his tracks and gives his deepest appreciations to all divine things that must be looking out for him in this world. 

it's not often that you get the opportunity to stay with caleb at his apartment in skyhaven for an extended period of time. said extended time being only three days makes no difference to him, to be frank the mere thought of you being in his presence at all already has his mind working and blood rushing in ways he can’t avoid. wouldn’t dream of avoiding. after reading the text you sent him stating that you got the upcoming weekend off and are planning to visit him, his brain truly fused out.  

caleb knows what self-control is.

he went through intense military training for heaven’s sake. plus he grew up with you and managed to not act on his intense and deep-rooted feelings that consistently threatened to devour him whole. so yeah, he’d say controlling himself is second nature. pshh. light work.

he picks you up from the train station, helps you with your things, gets you settled into his apartment for the weekend, and everything is going swimmingly. he positively can hold himself back until the time is right. totally not nearly bursting at the seams with the need to pounce on you. definitely not already picturing the mess he wants to make of you. this is easy.

then you stride into his living room after changing clothes. you’re beaming at him, so excited to be with your favorite person once more. you’re also, he notices, wearing the smallest sleep shorts possible. shorts that happen to hike up ever so slightly when you take a step. shorts that reveal a sliver of your underwear as you walk around the living room searching for the tv remote.

suddenly, caleb isn’t too sure he can even spell “self-control”.

his eyes track your movements like a radar system locking onto a target. your underwear of choice today isn’t even anything special, a neutral shade of pink that could be found anywhere, at any store, but it doesn’t matter. it shapes your ass perfectly and he groans inwardly at the sight.

or maybe outwardly. he’s already so far gone that doesn’t know anymore.

caleb’s legs are moving before his mind fully gives them permission to do so and makes his way over to where you stand in the living room. his hands find purchase on your waist, spinning you to face him before leaning in and kissing you.  

the kiss is desperate, hungry, and by no means slow. weeks of longing and desire so evident in the way his lips capture yours, all traces of self-control gone. his tongue pleads for access into your mouth while his hands simultaneously pull your hips against his own, and he’s impossibly hard already. the quickness of it all surprises you, so you pull away to address him, slightly out of breath and confused. which is all to his complete and utter dismay.

“caleb?”

the look on his face is so unimaginably needy, so desperate in a way you've never seen before. he looks as though you've wounded him for even having the thought of pulling away, how dare you create space between us, and it makes you want to indulge him in everything he could possibly ask for right then and there.

“want you”

his voice is breathy and low, completely meddled with lust, and those words are all he manages to get out before immediately leaning in to kiss you again. you kiss him back, the forwardness and obvious want turning you on. the kiss intensifies, caleb doing as he pleases with you, tongue overlapping yours, hands squeezing your body, hips grinding into you so desperately you'd think him a dog. that thought alone has hot, molten desire shooting through your body.

you spread your legs ever so slightly to have his thrusts hit home and moan into his mouth the second they do. the clothed friction arousing you more than you'd like to admit. he picks up on your movements, naturally, he's memorized everything about you, and spins you around so that your back is against his chest.

“been waitin to feel you for so long”

he nearly whines directly into your ear, the truth of his words pressing directly into your backside and causing your mind to go hazy with lust. he trails kisses down your neck and you bite your lip in anticipation, the tone of his voice and hard length touching you getting you beyond worked up.

caleb tugs at your shorts, a silent command to take them off, and you do so with no hesitation. the second your standing straight up again he pulls you against his chest once more and slides his knee in between one of your legs, effectively spreading them apart for easier access.

he then grabs your chin to open your mouth and slips two of fingers inside. not needing to be told what to do, you start sucking on them, twirling your tongue around them in a way that makes him grunt and stiiffen behind you. you smile inwardly to yourself, your affect on him palpable.

pulling his fingers out of your mouth, he snakes an arm around your waist and mixes your spit with the wetness already pooling in your underwear. he smirks to himself and chuckles, your need for him clear as day, and does you no favors by trailing his fingers to spread it to your clit.

“so wet and I haven’t even properly touched you yet..”

you whine in response, a needy sound that only spurs him on further. he draws circles around your clothed clit, adding to the arousal already collecting in your underwear to near uncomfortable levels. its sloppy and messy and quickly spreading to your thighs, just how he likes it.

you grind your ass into him, wanting- no, needing- him to touch you skin to skin, and he lets out a sharp hiss at the movement.

“don’t tease, caleb”

your voice is pleading, borderline begging him to give you what you want. unfortunately for you, hearing you beg and get more and more desperate for him is his only true goal in this life. he speeds up his movements and sucks onto your neck in response, surely leaving a mark by the intensity.

“c'mon, you can handle a little bit more. i know you can”

he's thankful you aren't able to see his face currently, because to be honest, he’s barely keeping himself in check. every move you make, every sound that comes from you, god even the way you smell, has each individual nerve in his body screaming at him to rip off your clothes and show you exactly how desperately he’s been missing you in every sense of the word.

yet it’s the almost there, not quite there action of pleasure that’s driving him absolutely wild.

caleb decides to take it a step further, really make things messy the way he gets so hard for, by slipping his dick out and rubbing it against your newly dampened underwear. his pre cum mixes with your wetness and absolutely drenches the seat of your panties.

he lets out a gravelly moan at the feeling, right into your ear, and you have to hold yourself back from finishing right then and there at the sound. you spread your legs wider for him, accepting the pleasure despite the fullness you're craving.

“talk to me pips, wanna hear that pretty voice”

his pace is mind numbing, not too slow, not too fast. the pressure against your core almost enough, but caleb knows better than to give it all to you. on top of it all, his dick being so close but not directly touching you is making your brain go haywire.

“please cal, no more. need you inside.”

“uh huh. what else?”

you whine at his demand for more, and you're burning with the delicious friction due the mess between the both of you right now. you rack your brain, fighting the urge to give in to him and just full on beg for more. he wants to see it so badly, wants to hear the pitch change in your voice and feel your thighs squirm once you do. he can clearly feel the want u have for him, its currently staining his pants, but he needs to hear it as well.

“can't take it. need you so bad, need more. you feel so good, always feel so good. im yours, only yours. please”

you're a rambling mess at this point, only caring about the desire that's building inside you and caleb’s prenatural ability to get you there faster. curses flow from his mouth freely at your words, and he walks you towards the arm of the living room couch, tapping twice on your back to bend over for him.

the second you're bent in front of him, he moves your panties to the side and sinks in between your drenched folds. you moan his name lewdly as his tip hits directly on your clit and tears almost spring to your eyes at the long desired sensation.

caleb’s knees nearly buckle, the teasing doing a number on you both, and he digs his hand into your waist to steady himself. he grinds between your folds once, twice, and right before you're about to get onto him again for his incessant build up, he thrusts inside you like a dog gone rabid. a cry rips from your throat and your vision almost blurs, the pace brutal and the feeling somehow impossibly too much and too little.

“couldn’t stop thinkin about you-fuck- thinkin about how tight you always are for me”

it's his turn to ramble now, his words accompanied by each pointed thrust inside you. he drinks in the sight of his dick slipping in and out of you, with no resistance whatsoever, sliding right past the ruined underwear that still clings to your body, and has to mentally stop himself from cumming just at the sight.

“hate when you're not here, hate that i have to fuck my fist to the thought of you”

you moan at his confession, his dirty words combined with the slight friction of your panties against your clit building the pressure inside you and causing your leaking arousal to spread from the mess that is your core to his thighs.

“shit! love making a mess on this pussy. you like it too, huh pip? wanna hear you say it”

you’re so close, him talking to you so conversationally while fucking you in doggy and hitting that deep spot inside you has your mind spinning.

“yes yes i love making a mess for you!! gonna cum-”

your quick confession has his dick straining, fighting to not empty his load without warning. he needs you to finish first, he’s got one more thing in the back of his mind that needs completing.

caleb shifts your hips closer to him so he can pull your sopping underwear further to the side and rub your clit. perfect circles have you clawing at the couch and clenching around him so tightly that he's not too sure he’ll last.

“such a dirty girl, you're drippin everywhere. need you to be good and cum on me yeah?”

his flithy mix of degradation and need send you hurtling off the edge as white, hot pleasure courses through you. you cum with a newfound intensity that only caleb would be capable of pulling from you.

said man bites his lip hard enough to draw blood to stop himself from finishing with you, the everything about you cumming on his cock making him go mad. a couple more thrusts and he realizes he can’t take it any longer, the feeling of you spasming around him becoming too much.

caleb pulls out of you, readjusts your underwear the best he can with what little time he has while still pumping himself, and cums all over the fabric with a series of broken groans. at first he tries to aim and make the most effective mess he can, but he soon loses himself to how fucking good it feels. he's left reeling from the intensity, but he can't look away from you. he genuinely wishes he could burn this image into his mind forever. however, he finds himself saying this every time you have sex.

as you both catch your breath, he leans forward to kiss your back, shoulders, neck, jaw, all places of exposed skin. while doing so he makes sure to mix all the fluids together on the soaking wet article of clothing, his ministrations leaving you twitching in overstimulation.

once he's satisfied with his handiwork, he slips them off of you and picks up your spent body, carrying you to his bedroom and laying you down on his bed with the gentleness of a soft afternoon breeze.

"grabbin a towel, honey. don't go walking all around the apartment now"

you roll your eyes at his words, as you've already sunken into the mattress you couldn't be paid to leave this bed. he chuckles knowingly in response, but before he leaves the room he sneaks a final glance to make sure your eyes are closed.

its then that he opens the top drawer of his dresser and places your underwear inside, the newest member of his prized collection<3

a/n (2): first fic and naturally it’s my munch caleb. hope it doesn’t sound too clunky as this is also my first time writing out smut🫣 i will prevail and become a smut writing champion!!!

@tojicide this one is for you friend, hope u enjoy ^_^