#Xia Yizhou

[kyo-mei]

Handgun wedding?

[orphicmeliora]

LETTERS UNSENT

SUMMARY: You have shared too much with Caleb— your childhood in middle school, your restless teenage years in high school, and the sleepless nights that came with training at the DAA. Through every phase of your life, you’ve loved him. Quietly. Desperately. While he loved someone else.

So you learned to endure it.

You swallowed your feelings and tucked them away in secret letters never meant to be read—letters inked with heartbreak, feverish longing, and fantasies too raw to speak aloud. From crooked handwriting to elegant script, each page was a confession of the love you hated to carry, the ache you never outgrew. And when Caleb vanished from your life after graduation without a word, you buried those letters in a box, and the box deep within yourself.

Years later, fate intervenes.

Caleb returns—broader, bolder, devastatingly handsome. And strangely focused on you. His touches linger too long, his eyes see too much, and his smile says he knows exactly what you’ve been hiding. He looks at you like you’re the one he’s been waiting for—and you can’t tell if it terrifies you or tempts you more.

You try to pull away. You’ve spent too many years surviving without him to fall now.

But Caleb doesn’t let go.

Because now that he’s seen the truth—every broken sentence, every filthy fantasy, every whispered ‘I love you’ you never dared say out loud—he’s not just here to catch up.

He’s here to chase you down.

And he won’t stop until you’re his.

WORD COUNT: 9.1k

NOTES: Takes place after the Main story supposedly ends. This happens far in the future. Caleb is older here, 28–29 maybe. Reader is NOT mc, keep that in mind. In this scenario mc is with another LI.

You used to love love.

Not just the idea of it—but the ache of it. The promise of it. The giddy, schoolgirl butterflies and the midnight hopes whispered into your pillow. Love was the secret language of your world, threaded through songs you hummed under your breath, the romance novels dog-eared to your favorite passages, the ink-stained pages of letters never sent.

You believed in love the way children believe in magic.

But you grew up.

And love? It grew fangs.

Now, you love to hate it.

You hate how it made a fool of you. How it made you wait and yearn and burn in silence, hoping he’d look your way and see you. Not as a friend, not as a childhood companion, but as someone worth reaching for. Worth choosing. But he didn’t. He never did. Caleb’s heart was always spoken for.

So you buried your own.

You’ve become good at pretending. You laugh at romance now, scoff at declarations, dismiss affection with a curl of your lip and a joke that lands just bitter enough to be believable. You’re not heartless—you’re just tired. Of hoping. Of hurting. Of wanting things that were never yours to begin with.

You fill your time with things that don’t require soft emotions. You keep your hands busy and your mind busier. You hum lullabies to yourself when the silence grows too sharp. You sleep with the light on sometimes—not out of fear, but because the darkness reminds you too much of waiting for someone who never came back.

And still…

Despite it all…

Sometimes, on quiet nights when your guard slips, you wonder what it would be like to be loved out loud.

To be wanted so much it’s terrifying. To be chosen first.

You don’t dare admit it aloud. You barely let yourself think it.

Because if love ever finds you again…

You’re not sure if you’ll run away from it—

Or straight into its arms.

You hear his voice before you see him.

Low. Smooth. A little deeper than you remember. It cuts through the background noise like gravity pulling everything toward it—pulling you toward it. You freeze mid-step, your spine going taut like a wire drawn too tight. You know that voice. You’ve heard it in dreams. In memories. In the echo of unsent letters you’ll never admit you still read.

You turn slowly.

And there he is.

Caleb.

Older. Sharper. Beautiful in a way that feels almost unfair. His body is broader now, sculpted with strength and silent discipline. His jaw is dusted with scruff. His posture, relaxed but alert. And those eyes—still storm-silver and searing, but steadier somehow. Knowing.

He sees you.

Really sees you.

And for a moment, the world narrows to just the two of you standing there like a collision waiting to happen.

A beat passes.

“...It’s been a while,” he says, and God—he smiles.

That same crooked, devastating smile that used to undo you in a single heartbeat. But there’s something different now. Less boyish charm, more… reverence. Like he’s looking at a relic he thought lost forever and can’t quite believe is real.

You swallow, throat tight. “Yeah. A while.”

There’s so much you could say. So much you want to say. About the years. The distance. The versions of yourself that broke and rebuilt in his absence. But your mouth is dry and your thoughts scatter like startled birds.

Caleb steps forward—close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off him, smell the faint scent of metal and pine and something unmistakably him.

He looks you up and down slowly, like he’s taking inventory of everything time tried to steal.

“You look…” His gaze softens. “You look like trouble.”

You scoff—too sharp, too fast, your defense mechanisms kicking in like old habits. “And you still talk like you’re trying to land a date in a bar.”

His grin flashes wider. “Would it work if I was?”

God, he’s flirting.

Like you weren’t just background noise to him once. Like you didn’t spend years trying to scrape his ghost off your ribs.

You narrow your eyes. “Why are you here, Caleb?”

He leans in, the air between you charged, crackling. His voice drops—lower, rougher.

“Because I missed you.”

You blink. That wasn’t the answer you expected. Not from him. Not with that look in his eyes—part hungry, part haunted, all real.

And just like that, the careful walls you’ve built start to shake.

You hear the door creak open behind you before the sound of his footsteps catches up.

“I almost didn’t recognize you,” Caleb says, his voice deeper, richer than you remember. “You look... different.”

You don’t turn around immediately. The skyline looks safer than his face.

“Yeah, well. Years pass. People change.”

“Some people stay exactly the same,” he murmurs. “You still lean to the left when you’re uncomfortable.”

You whip around, heart doing a traitorous little jump when your gaze lands on him.

God. He’s unfair. Broader shoulders, sharper jaw, that golden tan that makes his white shirt look criminally good on him. His smile has mellowed into something more potent—less boyish charm, more devastating man.

You cross your arms. “You’re observant now. That’s new.”

He chuckles. “I’ve always been observant. You were just too busy avoiding my eyes to notice.”

Touché.

He walks closer—too close—and you catch a whiff of his cologne, spicy and dark, like danger disguised as comfort. His gaze drops to your lips for half a second too long before returning to your eyes with a glint that spells trouble.

“How long has it been?” he asks softly.

“Since you ditched our entire friend group without a word? Or since I gave up hoping for a message you never sent?”

His jaw tenses. “I deserved that.”

“You did.”

There’s a beat of silence between you, thick with all the things you’re too proud to say and all the things he suddenly looks desperate to.

You retreat into the safety of the couch, motioning for him to sit across—but no, of course not. Caleb drops beside you, hip pressed against yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“What about Emcee?” you ask, biting the inside of your cheek. “You two live happily ever after or what?”

His brow furrows. “Emcee? God, no. That was over before it ever started.”

Your heart skips. “Oh.”

“You sound disappointed.”

“I’m not.” Lie. “Just surprised.”

“Good,” he says, leaning in, his voice a husky whisper. “Because I didn’t come here to talk about her. I came here for you.”

Your breath catches. You laugh, shaky and forced. “Wow, Caleb. You’ve upgraded your flirting. What happened to your legendary cheesy pickup lines?”

He grins. “I could still use one, if you’re nostalgic. But I figured you’ve grown out of tolerating my bullshit.”

“Smart of you.”

And yet, the way his knee brushes yours every few seconds isn’t helping. Neither is the way his hand hovers just a little too close to your thigh when he reaches for his coffee.

You’re not sure what’s worse—that he’s this charming now, or that it’s working.

Later that night, after he leaves with a promise to “see you soon” and a gaze that lingers like heat, you retreat into your sanctuary.

Your room. Your old dresser. The box tucked under the drawer like a dirty little secret.

The letters.

Every one of them stained with years of aching want and unspeakable need. A catalogue of your descent into hopeless longing, from childish hope to fevered fantasy. The kind of thing no one should ever read.

Especially not Caleb.

But fate, of course, doesn’t care what you want.

The first time he brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, it's under the guise of helping you with groceries.

“I’m perfectly capable,” you snap, snatching the bag from his hands.

Caleb just laughs, leaning in. “I know. Doesn’t mean I don’t want to help.”

His knuckles graze yours. You pretend not to notice. He pretends not to notice you pretending. Bastard.

—

The second time, you’re at your favorite café, the one with the uneven chairs and the cinnamon drinks he used to gag over. You’d brought him there as a joke, once. Now he takes you there seriously.

He’s seated too close, his thigh pressed against yours like a quiet claim.

“So,” he says, turning his head toward you. “No boyfriend? Fiancé? Star-crossed lover waiting in the wings?”

“None of your business.”

“That’s a no, then,” he says smugly, sipping his drink.

You glance at him, narrowing your eyes. “Why are you asking?”

“Just making sure I’m not stepping on any toes,” he murmurs, then adds, “when I kiss you.”

Your heart slams into your ribs. You scoff, rolling your eyes so hard they might get stuck. “You’re not kissing me.”

“Not today, maybe,” he says easily. “But eventually.”

You hate how warm your cheeks get. You hate him a little more for noticing.

—

The third time is worse.

You’ve both had a bit too much wine. Not drunk, but soft around the edges. He’s on your couch, lounging like he belongs there, like the time between now and then never happened.

He watches you over the rim of his glass. “Why do you keep flinching when I touch you?”

“I don’t flinch.”

“You do. Like you’re scared I’m not real.”

You take a sip of your wine and stare straight ahead. “I’m just trying to figure out what you want.”

His voice goes quiet. “You.”

The word hits you like a punch.

“You wanted Emcee for years.”

“I was stupid for years.”

You meet his eyes. They’re clearer than they’ve ever been—focused, almost painfully sincere.

“That’s convenient,” you say coldly.

He sets his glass down, leans in. “No. It’s fate finally letting me try again.”

His hand reaches up, brushes your cheek with maddening tenderness. He’s so close you can feel the heat of his breath.

You freeze. The ache in your chest roars to life again. This is everything you ever wanted—but you don’t trust it. Not yet.

You turn your head. Just barely.

Caleb’s jaw clenches, his hand falling away.

He sits back without a word.

—

The fourth time, it’s raining.

He brings you a coffee, his hair damp, his hoodie soaked at the shoulders.

“You didn’t have to walk in this weather,” you mutter, taking the drink anyway.

“I wanted to.” His smile is lazy, but his eyes are sharp. “You’re still not letting me in.”

“Would you trust someone who vanished for years without a word?”

His smile falters. Then, to your surprise, he nods. “I wouldn’t. But I’d want them to fight for the chance to be trusted again.”

He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a familiar-looking charm—a bent paper star you made him in high school.

“I didn’t forget you,” he says, voice low. “I tried to.”

That might be the worst thing he’s ever said. Because it means he felt something. Because it means you weren’t the only one suffering in silence.

Because it means he’s telling the truth.

You excuse yourself before your throat gives way to the sobs you refuse to let him see.

He doesn’t follow.

But he waits.

He always waits now.

And that’s more dangerous than any of his old pickup lines.

You agree to go with him to the observatory.

Big mistake.

It’s late, the sky smeared with stars and promises, the air just crisp enough that Caleb offers you his jacket before you can even pretend to be cold.

You don’t take it.

So, naturally, he just drapes it over your shoulders anyway, like you’re his.

“It looks better on you,” he says, voice quiet as your fingers clutch at the sleeves that still smell like him.

“Don’t start,” you murmur, but there’s no real bite to it.

“Start what?” His smirk is all mischief. “Being nice? Can’t help it. You bring it out of me.”

You roll your eyes and turn your gaze to the sky, but he keeps watching you like you’re the constellation he’s been chasing all his life.

“I used to come here when I missed you,” you admit without thinking, and immediately wish you hadn’t.

The silence that follows is so sharp it could cut glass.

“When you missed me?” His voice is different now—serious. Dangerous. “How often did that happen?”

You laugh, tight and brittle. “Only every time I breathed.”

His head tilts slightly, like he’s not sure he heard you right.

Then: “Say that again.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’ll use it against me.”

He steps closer, slow and purposeful, until your back meets the cold railing. His hands cage you in, one on either side of your body, his expression unreadable but intense.

“Do you really think I’d take something that precious and weaponize it?”

“I don’t know what you’d do anymore.”

“Then let me show you,” he says, and for a terrifying second, you think he’s going to kiss you.

But he doesn’t.

His lips hover just beside your ear, the warmth of his breath teasing your neck.

“I dreamt of you too, you know. Every damn night.”

Your knees nearly buckle, but pride is a stronger drug than longing.

“Then why didn’t you do anything?” you whisper.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes burning. “Because I was stupid. And I thought you didn’t feel the same.”

You snort. “Well. You were wrong.”

“I know,” he growls. “I know that now. And you’re still keeping me at arm’s length.”

“Damn right I am.”

His smile is tight, hungry. “Fine. You want to make me work for it? I’ll work.”

“I want to be chased, Caleb. Not collected.”

He steps back, hands raised in mock surrender, but his grin is pure trouble.

“Then run, sweetheart. I’ll catch up.”

You hate him for knowing exactly how to undo you.

And maybe you hate yourself more for wanting to be caught.

It’s late. The kind of late where even the shadows seem to sleep.

The old piano room is still your secret solace—dusty, dim, filled with forgotten echoes and dreams you never dared to say out loud. The acoustics are perfect. No one ever comes in here anymore.

Except for one person.

You don't hear him at first. You’re too wrapped up in the song, the way your voice trembles on the high notes, the keys trembling beneath your fingertips. It’s the kind of melody you never intended anyone to hear. Especially not him.

I didn't opt in to be your odd man out

I founded the club she's heard great things about

I left all I knew, you left me at the house by the Heath

Your voice breaks. You close your eyes, breathe, keep going anyway.

I stopped CPR, after all it's no use

The spirit was gone, we would never come to

And I'm pissed off you let me give you all that youth for free

Silence. One, two, three beats of it. Then—

“You always did sound beautiful when you were sad.”

You jump.

Caleb leans against the doorway like he owns the place. Like he owns the air in your lungs. Like he owns you.

“Didn’t mean to startle you,” he adds, smile lazy, eyes sharp. “Old habits die hard, I guess.”

You blink. “You heard that?”

“I always do.”

Of course he did.

You feel your cheeks burn as he strolls in, gaze never leaving yours. “That song… it’s new?”

You clear your throat, try for nonchalance. “Just something I was playing around with.”

He hums. “Right. Totally not about anyone in particular.”

You bristle. “Did I say that?”

“Nope. But you don’t have to. You forget—I know your voice. I know when it’s for fun. And when it’s ripping you open.”

You glance away, fingers tapping nervously on the ivory keys. “You're being dramatic.”

He kneels beside the bench. Just like that, he’s too close again. Always too close.

“You used to do this all the time,” he murmurs. “Sneak away to sing where no one could find you. You didn’t know I followed.”

Your heart stutters. “You never said anything.”

“Why would I ruin it?” His gaze darkens. “Hearing you like that—it was the only time I ever got to feel like you needed something.”

“I didn’t sing those songs for you,” you lie.

Caleb tilts his head, eyes locked on yours. “Then why are your cheeks red?”

You shove away from the piano, muttering, “You're insufferable.”

He follows, not missing a beat. “You’re blushing, songbird.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

You stop. He almost slams into you.

You glare up at him. “You think you’re so clever.”

He leans in, smirking. “No. I think I’ve waited too long to be this close to you, and now that I’m here, I’m not backing off.”

The worst part? Your hands are trembling. Your knees are weak. And still, somehow, you want more.

But pride wraps around your tongue like a noose.

“You heard the song,” you say, voice low. “That’s enough.”

His eyes flick down to your lips. Then back up. He’s not smiling anymore.

“No,” Caleb whispers. “It’s not.”

You should have locked the damn drawer.

You don’t even know what made you check—but something prickled at the back of your neck the moment you stepped into your apartment. Like something sacred had been disturbed. And when you see the box in Caleb’s hands, your heart stops cold.

No. No.

His head lifts as the door shuts behind you.

And your world implodes.

He’s seated on your couch like he’s carved from stone, the soft golden lamp beside him casting long shadows across the muscles in his jaw and the heartbreak in his eyes.

He’s holding your soul in his hands.

The letters—dozens of them, hundreds, years of ink and agony and lust and grief—you recognize the crooked childhood handwriting, the shaky, angry teenage confessions, the flowing script of your adult longing. Pages of you. Laid bare.

Your breath catches. Your throat closes.

“I—That’s not—You weren’t supposed to—” Your voice cracks. Your knees are trembling.

Caleb stands, the box still in his grip. He looks wrecked.

“I read every single one,” he says softly.

“Put them away,” you whisper, voice hollow. “Please, just… put them away.”

“I can’t.”

You turn to bolt, pure instinct.

And that’s when gravity betrays you.

A weight presses against your body—not crushing, but firm, immovable, inescapable. His Evol. 

Your hands fly to the walls, to the floor, anywhere to push back, but you’re floating. Held in place. Suspended in the moment you never wanted him to witness.

“Caleb—!”

“I need you to hear me,” he says, moving closer. Slowly. Carefully. Like approaching a wounded animal.

Your back hits the wall.

He stops just inches from you, eyes devouring every inch of your face. His expression is ravenous, pained, like he’s starving and terrified that the meal in front of him will vanish if he breathes too hard.

“I didn’t know,” he says, his voice ragged. “I never knew.”

You shake your head. “You weren’t supposed to.”

His hand lifts. Hovers near your cheek. “I’ve been walking around blind, thinking I lost you back then. But you never stopped… You loved me. You loved me so much it hurt.”

Tears gather hot and fast in your eyes. “Caleb—don’t—”

“And I was in love with you,” he breathes. “All this time I thought I was chasing someone else, but it was you. It was always you.”

You look away. “You didn’t want me. You wanted her. You chose her.”

“I didn’t choose anyone,” he growls. “I was a coward. I ran. I shut you out and let you carry all that alone. I thought I was protecting you.”

“You weren’t,” you whisper. “You were destroying me.”

The look in his eyes breaks something in you.

“I memorized your words,” he says quietly, his forehead leaning gently against yours. “Every line. Every wish. Every desperate, filthy, aching thing you wanted to say. I felt all of it. Like I was there with you, through every goddamn year I missed.”

You tremble, caught in his pull, aching with the need to believe—but terrified to let yourself fall.

“I don’t know if I can forgive you,” you whisper.

“I’m not asking you to,” he murmurs. “Not yet.”

His fingers trail lightly over your waist, your hip, anchoring you. The Gravity around you loosens just enough for your feet to touch the floor again, but you don’t move.

His mouth brushes against your temple.

“I just want to earn you. All of you. Like I should’ve from the start.”

You don’t kiss him.

But you don’t pull away either.

You can’t.

Because suddenly, you're not cold anymore.

You’re burning.

He stays.

Even when you tell him to leave—quietly, then louder, then with trembling fingers pressed to his chest like a warning—Caleb stays.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you whisper, not meeting his eyes.

“I should’ve been here years ago,” he murmurs. “Don’t you get it? I’m not leaving again.”

You shove him.

He barely budges.

You shove him again.

This time, his hands catch your wrists mid-motion, fast, firm—calm.

You freeze. His skin is warm against yours, calloused where it should be gentle, familiar where it should feel foreign. Your pulse spikes in your throat.

“Let me go,” you say, breathless.

“No.”

Your breath hitches.

“No?” you echo.

His voice drops. “Not until you stop pretending you don’t want me to stay.”

You glare up at him, furious. “You think a few words and a couple of pretty promises erase everything?”

“No,” he says again. “But I’ll keep proving myself until they do.”

You twist out of his grip—nearly—before he suddenly pulls you in.

And for one terrible, brilliant second, your bodies align like they’ve been waiting for this moment your whole lives.

His eyes search yours.

And then, Caleb whispers, “Tell me to stop.”

You open your mouth.

But nothing comes out.

So he kisses you.

Not a soft, hesitant brush of lips.

It’s a claiming.

It’s all the years you spent alone, writing down your agony like confessions to a God who never answered. It’s every fantasy you denied yourself, every moment you watched him look at someone else and wished it were you. It's him—finally, truly, desperately—here.

Your fingers fist in his shirt like you’re angry, like you’re clinging to something you swore you’d never need again.

And when you break apart, gasping, forehead pressed to his, you say—

“I hate you.”

He smiles, soft and ruined. “I know.”

“I hate how much I wanted that.”

“I hope you did.”

“I’m still not making this easy.”

Caleb’s lips trail down your jaw, his voice a low rasp. “You’ve never made anything easy, sweetheart. That’s why you’re worth everything.”

And still—

Still, your heart trembles with the weight of old wounds, and you pull back just enough to see the truth in his eyes.

“You’ll have to fight for this,” you warn him.

His hand finds the back of your neck, possessive and reverent. “Then prepare to be relentlessly pursued.”

You never agreed to date him.

But apparently, Caleb’s taking “relentless pursuit” as a blood oath.

He shows up at your place the next morning with coffee—your actual order, down to the way you like the foam. He doesn’t say how he remembers. You don’t ask.

That night, he texts you at 2am.

Bastard: Thinking about that song you sang. Thinking about your lips too, but that’s not important (it is).

You throw your phone across the bed.

The next day, he’s waiting outside your building. Leaning against his hoverbike, all long legs and low-lidded eyes and that grin. You think he’s here for some kind of mission.

Nope.

Just here to take you to lunch.

“Don’t say this is a date,” you grumble.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says, offering his hand. “But hold on tight anyway.”

You hate how your fingers slide into his like they belong there.

—

Caleb doesn’t just flirt. He weaponizes charm like he trained for it.

He gives you compliments with the kind of intensity that makes it hard to breathe.

“I love your voice. Especially when you don’t realize you’re humming.”

“You roll your eyes the same way you used to when I beat you in training. It’s kind of adorable.”

“You don’t have to pretend around me. I know what you sound like when you're honest. I miss that sound.”

He touches you too often. Hand brushing your lower back when he walks past. Fingers grazing yours when he hands you something. Sitting just a little too close on your couch, his thigh pressed against yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You hold strong—for a while.

Until he stays over one night, after watching some late-night sci-fi re-run and falling asleep on your couch like a smug golden retriever with abs.

You try to nudge him awake.

You fail.

Hard.

He catches your wrist in his sleep, pulls you down half-on top of him, murmurs your name like it’s a secret prayer, and buries his face in your neck.

You don’t sleep.

Your body is screaming.

But your heart?

It’s terrified.

—

When morning comes, you wake to him cooking in your kitchen like he belongs there, shirt half-unbuttoned, hair a mess, singing your song under his breath.

You freeze in the doorway.

He sees you.

And smiles.

Like you’re not the one who spent ten years hiding a love that almost broke you. Like he’s not here to crack it wide open.

“Morning, sweetheart,” Caleb says softly. “Stay.”

You almost do.

But you don’t.

Not yet.

You think you're doing a good job keeping him at bay.

You’re not.

Because Caleb is everywhere now.

He’s in your kitchen again, humming off-key as he steals bites from your cooking. He’s draped across your couch like it’s his favorite place in the world. He’s in the way he looks at you like you invented gravity, like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded.

You keep your walls up.

But he keeps coming.

Like he knows you’re lying every time you act unaffected.

—

One night, after a long mission and even longer silence, he shows up unannounced. Eyes shadowed. Mouth grim. Shoulders tense with something unspoken.

You open the door.

He doesn’t say a word—just walks past you, breath ragged.

You follow him into your living room. “Caleb?”

“I thought I lost you again,” he says, voice low.

Your stomach drops. “What?”

He turns to face you, and it’s like the air shifts. Thickens.

“I heard your name over the comms. Brief moment of static. No confirmation you made it out. Just radio silence.”

You cross your arms. “I made it out fine.”

“I didn’t know that,” he snaps. “And for a second, I thought—” He cuts himself off, jaw tight.

You exhale. “I’m used to people not checking in.”

“I’m not people.”

He stalks closer.

You step back.

He follows.

“I don’t care how many times you push me away. You don’t get to disappear on me.”

“And what am I supposed to do?” you throw back. “Pretend like none of this hurts? Like I didn’t bleed for you in silence for years while you played hero somewhere else?”

“I know.”

“Do you?” Your voice cracks. “Because I can’t let myself fall again, Caleb. Not if you're just gonna walk away when it gets hard.”

He grabs your wrist.

Not rough. Just certain.

“Look at me.”

You don’t.

So he tips your chin up with two fingers.

His eyes are burning.

“I am not going anywhere. I don't care how long it takes. You can scream, you can run, you can tell me you hate me. I’ll still be right here.”

“Why?” you whisper, eyes glossy. “Why now?”

“Because I’ve loved you longer than I even understood what that meant,” he breathes. “And I’m done pretending I don’t want every single part of you.”

His other hand slides to your waist, slow and reverent.

Your breath hitches.

You can feel his heartbeat through your palm. Fast. Desperate.

The heat between you is unbearable.

One tilt of your head and you’d be kissing him again.

You want to.

God, you ache to.

But instead, you whisper, “This changes nothing.”

He leans in, nose brushing yours.

“Wrong,” Caleb whispers, his voice rough with restraint. “It changes everything.”

But he doesn’t kiss you.

Not this time.

He lets you go.

And it’s infuriating—because now you want him even more.

The first thing you notice is the light—soft gold spilling through your curtains, catching on floating dust motes, warming the edges of the sheets tangled around your legs.

The second thing you notice is the heat.

Not the weather. Not the blanket.

Him.

Your breath stills.

Because Caleb’s wrapped around you like he owns you.

Which—he doesn’t.

He shouldn’t.

And yet here you are, cocooned in his arms, his entire body molded to yours like you were sculpted to fit him. Your head is pillowed on his chest, right over the steady, heavy thump of his heart. One of his hands is buried in your hair, fingers gently tangled, the other gripping your waist in a possessive clutch that hasn’t loosened even in sleep.

You remember falling asleep with your back to him.

You do not remember signing up for this full-body cuddle trap.

Then there's his thigh—wedged between your legs like it lives there.

Your cheeks burn.

“Okay,” you whisper to yourself. “Time to get out before you completely lose your mind.”

You try to slip away quietly.

You wiggle.

No movement.

You nudge his hand.

His grip tightens.

You try prying his fingers from your waist. It’s like wrestling a bear. A warm, unfairly smug bear.

You let out a frustrated sigh and attempt to roll away—but the second you shift, Caleb lets out a low, sleepy groan. His body shifts with yours, tightening the hold, his thigh sliding higher. His lips brush your neck, parting slightly—

And then he nibbles.

You whimper.

It betrays you instantly.

That quiet little sound. The one that escapes before you can swallow it.

Caleb hums. The vibrations rumble through his chest, into your cheek.

And then—

“Mm... morning,” he murmurs, voice wrecked and delicious.

You go still.

“Caleb,” you say, your voice a warning.

His lips find your pulse point. “You smell good,” he slurs, still half-asleep, tone thick with something dangerous.

His thigh rocks just slightly forward. Pressure, heat.

You squeak.

His arms tighten like steel bands.

He’s caging you in.

“C-Caleb, get off—this is—this is not appropriate!”

Another sleepy groan. His lips ghost along your jaw. “You’re so warm.”

Your brain short-circuits.

“You’re dreaming,” you say, trying desperately to breathe like a normal person. “This is a dream. You’re dreaming. Let me go.”

He chuckles—chuckles. A deep, lazy sound against your neck. “If I’m dreaming, I’m never waking up.”

Then his hips shift. Just barely.

But enough.

“Caleb!”

His eyes snap open.

You expect guilt.

What you get is heat.

Raw, focused, and dangerous.

He blinks once. Then twice. Then—

His hand slides from your waist to the small of your back. His nose brushes yours.

“I was trying to be good,” Caleb murmurs. “You have no idea how hard it’s been.”

You do, actually.

Because it’s been hell for you, too.

You’re seconds from giving in—completely, helplessly—when you shove at his chest with both hands and scramble out from beneath him.

You’re standing, heart racing, cheeks flushed, breathless.

Caleb just smirks from the bed, messy-haired and golden in the morning light. “What? You gonna pretend you didn’t enjoy that?”

You throw a pillow at his face.

“Out,” you snap.

He catches it effortlessly. “No breakfast first?”

You march to the door.

“Fine, fine. But next time?” He swings his legs over the edge and stands, gaze searing into yours. “You’ll beg me to stay.”

You slam the door in his face.

It doesn’t stop your knees from buckling.

It happens fast.

Too fast for logic. Too fast for the walls you’ve spent years constructing around your traitorous heart.

One moment you’re arguing—again. Another stupid quip from him, another reckless flirtation that turns your blood to fire. You’re trying to hold on to the last shred of distance between you, snapping something half-hearted and defensive—

And then Caleb moves.

He grabs your wrists, spinning you with dizzying ease, and slams them gently but firmly against the wall. Your back hits the cold surface. His body follows.

You gasp.

His eyes meet yours.

They are ravenous.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Caleb says, voice low, feral, shaking with restraint. “I can’t keep pretending I don’t want to devour you.”

Your breath catches.

And then he kisses you.

Hard.

Not sweet. Not tentative.

Possessive.

Like he’s claiming what was always his.

Your body jerks with the force of it, your wrists still caged in his hands above your head. You try to twist free—not to escape, but because it’s too much, all-consuming, desperate.

He doesn’t let you go.

He presses closer instead, chasing your mouth with his own, drinking in every gasp, every shuddering moan you try to swallow.

You break away for air—just for a second—and he follows, mouth trailing your jaw, nipping your throat, sucking a mark into the skin just below your ear.

“Caleb—” you manage, but it comes out a whimper.

His pelvis grinds into yours, deliberate and aching. The friction draws a strangled sound from your throat.

“Oh god—”

“That’s it,” he groans against your skin. “That sound. I’ve imagined it every night. Every. Damn. Night.”

His hands leave your wrists—only to slide down your arms, your sides, until they’re clutching your hips like he might fall apart if he lets go. He lifts you onto the wall, thigh pressing between your legs, grinding again.

Your fingers tangle in his shirt, yanking him closer even as your brain screams to stop this.

But your body?

Your body is already his.

“Tell me to stop,” Caleb breathes, forehead pressed to yours, chest heaving.

You don’t.

You can’t.

There’s no pretending anymore. No wall to hide behind.

Because the truth is—he touches you like a man starved, but worships you like you're divine.

His lips return to yours, slower this time but no less intense, and it feels like every missed moment, every unsent letter, every buried ache is burning through the kiss.

His self-control shatters.

And you let it.

Because there’s no going back now.

There’s a moment—barely a breath—after that kiss.

His forehead rests against yours, both of you panting like you’ve just clawed your way back from the edge of something too big to name.

Then he says your name.

Low.

Like a promise.

And then he moves.

Your legs wrap around his waist instinctively, anchoring yourself to the only solid thing in the room—him. He lifts you with maddening ease, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other gripping your thigh so tight it borders on bruising. The kiss doesn't break—it deepens. Tongue sliding past your lips, breath and need mixing with no hesitation. He’s not asking anymore. He’s taking.

And you're letting him.

Because you’re tired of pretending you don’t want to be devoured.

He carries you, mouth never leaving yours, and slams the bedroom door shut with his foot. When your back hits the mattress, his body follows—pressing, claiming. His weight is heaven and fire, the grind of his hips against your core already making you tremble.

“You still gonna pretend you don’t want this?” he rasps, voice rough as gravel, dragging his nose along the curve of your throat.

Your only answer is a moan as you arch into him.

His hand slips beneath your shirt. Fingers splayed wide, reverent—like he needs to memorize the shape of you. He palms your breast through your bra, thumb flicking over the peak until you shudder. His mouth finds the skin just above your heart.

“Mine,” he growls, more to himself than you. “Always have been.”

He strips you slowly, deliberately—like he’s savoring every inch of newly exposed skin. His hands roam. His mouth follows. Down your neck, between your breasts, over your stomach, every inch worshipped like he’s repenting for all the years he stayed away.

When his fingers finally slip beneath your waistband, you gasp—your hips jerking up into his touch. He groans.

“So wet,” he mutters. “God, baby... how long have you needed this?”

You can’t speak.

Don’t even try.

Because his fingers know exactly where to press, where to circle, how to push you to the edge with maddening precision. It’s not just hunger—it’s intimacy, like he’s reading the language your body never learned to say out loud.

And when he finally takes you—when his body surges forward and fills you completely—it’s not just a snap of tension.

It’s a detonation.

You cry out, legs wrapped tight around his waist as he drives into you with smooth, powerful thrusts. His pace is brutal in the best way—controlled only by the desperation in his eyes and the grip of your nails digging into his back.

He kisses you through it.

Keeps whispering your name like a prayer he’s never going to stop saying.

And when you break—shattering beneath him, around him—he follows instantly. With a groan that sounds like surrender. Like salvation.

He collapses against you, breathless.

Sweat-slick and trembling.

But he doesn’t move.

Just holds you.

His arms like iron bands.

His face buried in your neck.

“This isn’t over,” he whispers against your skin. “I’m not letting you go now. Not ever.”

And you believe him.

For the first time, you really believe him.

You lost track of how long ago the sun set.

The air is heavy with heat and sweat, your skin slick against the sheets. You’re boneless, trembling, lips swollen from kisses too deep, too desperate. Every nerve is raw. Every breath you take shudders.

And Caleb?

Caleb is still going.

You're on your hands and knees now, your face buried in the pillows, eyes squeezed shut as he thrusts into you from behind—relentless, deep, so deep it feels like he’s touching places inside you no one ever dared.

Your moans have long since turned into wrecked sobs of pleasure, and yet—he doesn’t slow.

He only grips your hips harder, angling you just right, dragging a scream from your throat as he hits that perfect, devastating spot again and again.

“I can’t—Caleb, I can’t—” you cry out, arms shaking, your body trying to collapse beneath the weight of all the overstimulation.

But he’s not hearing you.

Or rather—he hears you, and it only spurs him on.

Your body starts to slip forward across the mattress, desperate to escape the flood of sensation. You try to crawl away on trembling limbs, instincts screaming for reprieve—

And then his hand shoots out, grabs your hips, and yanks you back flush against him.

“Where do you think you’re going?” His voice is dark silk, wrapped around steel. Each word punctuated by a thrust that makes your toes curl.

“I asked you a question, sweetheart.”

You sob into the sheets, too far gone for words.

He leans forward, chest pressed to your back, breath hot against your ear. “You’re not going anywhere.”

His hand slips beneath you, down between your legs, fingers finding your clit with merciless precision.

“Not when you’re this wet. This messy. This mine.”

You scream.

The orgasm crashes through you without warning—your entire body seizing, writhing in his hold as the pleasure tears through you like a storm. You think that has to be the end, that your body can’t possibly handle any more.

But Caleb’s not done.

Not even close.

He stays deep inside, rolling his hips slowly, dragging out every aftershock until you're sobbing from the sensitivity. Your arms give out. You collapse onto your stomach, body limp, broken open from the inside.

And he follows—grinding into you again, pressing deep and staying there, his weight pinning you down, his mouth against your neck.

“I’ve waited too long for this,” he murmurs, voice raw with emotion. “Years. Dreams. Fantasies. You don’t get to run now.”

Your heart stutters.

You’re overwhelmed.

You’re aching.

You’ve never felt more wanted.

And still—his hips move again.

You whimper. “Caleb—please—”

He kisses your shoulder. “One more, baby. Just one more.”

You know he’s lying.

And you let him.

Because the truth is—you’ve always wanted this, too.

Even if it leaves you utterly, completely undone.

You're floating.

Barely conscious, held together by the fragile thread of Caleb’s body wrapped around yours, his breath a soft rhythm against your neck.

Your limbs are jelly. Your thighs ache. Your lips are kiss-bitten and bruised, and your core is so sensitive that every inch of you shivers when he so much as adjusts beside you.

And yet—even now, even after hours—he won’t stop touching.

Not in the same feral, frantic way as before. No. Now it’s worship.

He kisses the curve of your shoulder, the back of your neck, your spine. His fingertips trace lazy, possessive patterns into your hips. He murmurs things—some unintelligible, some far too intimate.

“You’re perfect,” he whispers against your skin.

“I missed you.”

“I’ll never let you go again.”

You’re too tired to reply. Your voice is hoarse from screaming, from moaning his name over and over, but your heart responds like a bell rung too hard. It throbs.

Eventually, he gets up—only to return with a warm towel, water, a fresh shirt. He tends to you with gentle hands, murmuring apologies each time you flinch from how sensitive you are, pressing soft kisses to your forehead, your temple, your knuckles.

When he finally slides into the shower with you, your body instinctively leans into his. The water is hot, soothing, washing away the sweat, the stickiness, the evidence of your complete and total unraveling.

But not the ache. Not the possessiveness.

He sits on the tiled bench and pulls you into his lap, your legs straddling him, head tucked under his chin. You’re exhausted, wrecked—and he’s still hard beneath you.

You give him a look that’s half horror, half disbelief.

He smirks, eyes dark and gleaming. “I told you, I’m not finished.”

“Caleb—”

“I owe you,” he says, voice dipping low. “For every year I didn’t touch you. For every time you cried over me in silence. For every word in those letters I should’ve read sooner.”

Your breath hitches.

And then his lips descend again—slow, tender, reverent. As if he’s trying to memorize this version of you, water-slicked and trembling in his arms, yours at last.

Back in bed, you collapse into his chest, body boneless, heart hammering.

And just when you think he’s finally done—

He shifts again.

Rolls you beneath him.

“You’re not going to let me sleep?” you rasp.

His fingers trail down your body, between your thighs, making you jolt.

“No,” he breathes against your ear. “You’re not sleeping until I’ve claimed every inch of you. Until you can’t think of anything but me.”

You should tell him to stop.

You don’t.

Because the truth is: every part of you belongs to him already.

And now?

He’s going to make sure you never forget it.

The morning after feels… dangerous.

Not because you’re in any real peril—but because it’s blissfully quiet, and the man who wrecked you within an inch of your life is humming softly in your kitchen, shirtless, wearing nothing but sweatpants slung far too low on his hips, looking like the devil himself in domestic drag.

You barely make it through the doorway, each step a careful negotiation with gravity and sore muscles. Your thighs ache. Your back aches. Everything aches. But the moment Caleb glances over his shoulder and smirks at your limp?

Oh, you want to punch him.

Or kiss him.

Or both.

“You’re up,” he says, voice as smug as the day is long.

“I tried to stay asleep,” you deadpan. “But someone kept me up all night.”

He chuckles—low and wicked—and sets a mug of coffee on the counter for you.

“Consider it payback.”

You squint at him. “For what?”

His eyes drop to your hips, the curve of your throat, the faint marks blooming on your skin like war medals.

“For every letter you wrote and never gave me.”

Your stomach drops.

The mug clatters slightly when you set it down too fast.

You’d almost forgotten. Almost managed to push aside the mortifying knowledge that he read everything.

And yet, here he is—utterly unbothered, possibly turned on, casually flipping pancakes like he didn’t spend the night wrecking you with the very fantasies you'd penned in lonely bedrooms and late-night heartbreak.

“You read them all,” you say, not quite a question.

He looks at you over his shoulder. “Memorized. Studied. Jer—”

“Do not finish that sentence, Caleb.”

He only grins wider.

You try to be casual, sip your coffee, lean against the wall like you’re not reliving every desperate, depraved word he’s now got locked and loaded in that beautiful head of his. But he’s already watching you too closely. Reading you like one of those letters.

“There's one you missed,” you murmur before you can stop yourself.

He freezes.

Slowly, slowly, he turns. “Where?”

You bite your lip.

“The drawer by my bed. Bottom one.”

He’s gone before you even blink.

The pancakes are burning.

And your heart is pounding.

By the time you stumble after him, he’s already sitting on the bed, letter in hand. It’s the last one. The one you wrote when you thought you’d never see him again. It was raw, feral— filled with longing so thick it could drown you.

He reads it silently. His jaw tightens. His Adam’s apple bobs hard.

When he finishes, he just looks at you.

You’re not sure what you expect.

But you do not expect him to throw the letter down and stand up like that.

“I’m going to ruin you again,” he says, voice low. “And this time, it won’t stop until you beg me to believe you’re mine.”

Your knees buckle.

But he’s already crossing the room.

“Run,” he commands, voice low, raw, as his fingers trace the curve of your jaw. “Run from me.”

You blink, confused for a moment, but then the hunger in his gaze makes your heart stutter. He’s not asking. He’s daring you.

And you’re the last person who can resist a challenge.

So you do.

You turn, heart pounding in your chest, and sprint out of the room, the sound of his footsteps following close behind you like a predator in pursuit.

You think you have a head start, but no. You’ve never seen Caleb move like this. He’s on you in seconds, and just when you think you can escape into the hallway, he catches your wrist, yanking you back, pulling you into his chest with a growl.

“You thought you could outrun me?” he snarls against your ear, his breath hot, his body pressed up against yours like a solid wall.

“Caleb—” you manage to gasp out, but before you can even finish the word, he’s lifting you effortlessly, throwing you onto the nearest surface—the kitchen counter.

You barely have time to brace yourself as he dives in. His hands are everywhere—on your hips, your waist, your thighs, your breasts—and all of it is a blur of sensation that leaves you breathless, exposed, desperate.

He thrusts hard, deep, as if trying to bury himself in you—like he’s trying to carve a piece of himself into your soul.

“No more running,” he growls. “You’re mine now. Forever mine.”

You cry out, body rocking forward with every savage thrust. His grip on you doesn’t falter. His hips slam into you with a force that makes your breath catch in your throat. There’s no gentleness now. No tenderness. Just pure, unrelenting desire.

“Tell me you want me, baby. Tell me you want it as much as I do.”

You can’t form words. You’re too lost, too gone, caught between the pleasure and the pain of it all. But your body tells him everything he needs to know.

His hands slide down to your hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh, pulling you back to meet him with each thrust.

“Good girl,” he growls, voice thick with satisfaction. “So fucking good for me.”

He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t slow. He’s relentless. He’s savage. He’s ruining you in the best way possible.

And you don’t even want him to stop.

But then, like a switch flipping in his mind, he pulls away—just enough to let you breathe, to let you feel the cool air between you.

You take a shaky breath, your body screaming for release. And then he looks at you, eyes dark, glinting with something feral, something possessive.

“I should have known,” he mutters, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, “you liked being chased.”

His hands slide down, gripping your thighs, pushing you back against the counter until you’re arching helplessly into him, your legs spread wide.

“You always did,” he adds, voice dripping with satisfaction, “even as a kid. Remember all those games of tag?”

You remember.

And you remember how he’d always let you win—just enough—before pulling you back into his arms with that sly smile of his, the one that made your heart race and your stomach flip.

But now?

Now there’s no escape.

Now, his hands are all over you, claiming you again and again. You scream in pleasure, your body trembling under the weight of it all. His thrusts are punishing, but you can’t find it in yourself to care.

“You think I’m done with you?” Caleb mutters, bending over you, his lips brushing your ear as he thrusts deeper, harder. “You’re wrong.”

You can barely comprehend what he’s saying, too caught up in the endless spiral of pleasure and pain, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t need you to understand.

He’s not finished with you. Not by a long shot.

You try to push him away, but he’s too strong, too determined, too hungry. The game has shifted. Now it’s a battle of wills, and you’re not sure you want to win.

With a primal groan, he pulls you back against him, his hands digging into your waist, his mouth trailing hot kisses down your neck as he takes you again—slamming into you with an unholy force that leaves you gasping for air.

You don’t stand a chance.

You think you can catch your breath. You think you can stop. But Caleb’s dark eyes—burning, unwavering—look down at you, and you know, with every fiber of your being, that there’s no going back. Not now. Not ever.

You try to squirm, to move away, but every time you think you can escape, his hands are there—pinning you down, forcing you to stay, to take him, to let him claim you in ways no one else can. The harder you struggle, the more determined he becomes.

“You’re not getting away from me,” he growls in your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “I’m going to break you down until all you know is me. Until your body belongs to me. Forever.”

You can’t think. You can’t breathe. All you can feel is him—every inch of him buried inside you, his hips driving into you with an unforgiving rhythm. Your legs tremble, your breath coming in ragged gasps, your body completely surrendered to him.

He’s relentless. He moves faster, harder, deeper, and you can’t do anything but cling to him, feel the electricity of every touch, every kiss, every mark he leaves on you. The room is filled with the sound of skin on skin, the sharp inhale of breath, the frantic rush of your heart.

And through it all, Caleb’s eyes never leave you. He watches you as though you’re the only thing that matters—his gaze filled with something fierce, something possessive, something dangerous.

He groans, his voice low and hoarse. “I’ve wanted you like this for so long. All this time, I knew what I was missing. I knew you were mine.”

Your heart skips a beat, the rawness in his voice making your chest tighten. His hands move down to your hips, pulling you against him, forcing you to take him even deeper. You can’t escape, can’t move away from him, no matter how much you want to. The pressure inside you builds—relentless, unbearable.

“Say it,” he demands, his voice like a growl. “Tell me you’re mine.”

You open your mouth, but no words come out. Instead, you let your body speak for you—clinging to him, arching into him, begging for more in every breath you take.

His grip tightens around you. He shifts, changing the angle, and a fresh wave of pleasure crashes over you. You gasp, unable to stop yourself from crying out in ecstasy.

“You can’t hide from me anymore,” he growls. “You’re mine. And I’ll make sure you know it every time.”

And then—just when you think you can’t take anymore—Caleb pulls you into him, his lips capturing yours in a kiss so deep, so desperate, that you can’t help but melt into it. His tongue invades your mouth, and you meet him with equal fervor, your hands grasping at his shoulders, your body pressed tightly against his.

“Tell me you need me,” he murmurs between kisses, his voice low, demanding, and so fucking sexy. “Tell me you want me. That you’re mine.”

You do.

You say it, breathlessly, barely able to hold on.

“Yes, Caleb,” you whisper. “I’m yours.”

His eyes darken even further, a vicious smile curling on his lips. And then, with one final, savage thrust, he brings you to the edge of oblivion—breaking you completely.

You scream his name as the world shatters around you, your body wracked with pleasure, your mind consumed by the sensation of him inside you.

But Caleb isn’t finished. Not yet.

He pulls out, watches you with a wicked grin, and without a second’s hesitation, flips you over, his grip tight on your waist as he positions you again—harder this time, faster, deeper.

“You’ll never escape me,” he murmurs against your neck as he takes you again, the primal, savage rhythm pushing you to the brink.

And the only thing you can do is let go.

Let him consume you. Let him claim you. Let him ruin you completely.

[erensfeed]

DO NOT LEAVE ME IN THE SAME ROOM WITH THESE TWO POSSESSIVE GUYS UNLESS YOU WANT THE EARTH’S POPULATION TO QUADRUPLE IN NUMBERS

[lalalotta]

[nsfw!] you sneaking into caleb's bed at night

yeahh, and grandma is sleeping in the next room lol

[bunbunnies]

five senses

1.7k words. 🔞 NSFW. 18+ MDNI 🔞

cw: somnophilia (dubious consent), vaginal penetration, masturbation, oral (cunnilingus), panty fuckin, multiple orgasms, creampie, come eating

when caleb accidentally caught you masturbating, it was an honest mistake.

but it becomes all he could think about— consuming his every thought for days and nights on end. he restlessly tosses and turns in bed, replaying that moment over and over again: you, wearing his shirt, moaning his name, thinking that pink dildo you're fucking yourself stupid on could be him. he never knew that his name could sound so sweet until that very moment. it doesn't help that caleb already struggles with falling asleep. and as if to rub it in his face, he begins hearing stifled moans from your room in the middle of the night.

caleb is only human. he could only hold it in for so long— resisting temptation and acting unknowing, before he breaks. 

and surely enough, he's quietly making his way into your room one night. in the dimly lit room, with only the glow from the moon illuminating, he's careful not to wake you up as the mattress dips with the weight of his large frame sliding and curling up behind you. settling under the thin blanket, his hand slides underneath your (his) shirt, lightly grazing over your bare skin and panties. feeling the little bow on the waistband of the underwear, his lips form a grin as he could instantly imagine exactly which pair you're wearing. often helping you with your laundry so often has its… perks.

reaching into his boxers, caleb pulls out his already half-hardened, sensitive cock— the result of thinking about you practically everyday for the past two weeks. his breath slightly hitches, eyes half-lidded as he wraps his large hands around his length, slowly pumping himself while imagining you.

its not long before his hard cock has precum drooling out of the tip and his balls are tensing up. unsurprisingly, it doesn't take much for caleb to get so riled up when he's thinking about you. his strokes become louder, wetter, more frantic as he finds that his hands aren't enough— he's getting greedier and bolder by the moment.

a part of him feels guilty. how dirty of him to be touching himself mere inches away from you as you lay peacefully, unbeknownst to him. but as much as he feels guilty, a thrill still seeps through his mind. after he had heard your pretty moans of his name, you wouldn't mind… right?

"maybe… just the tip…" he convinces himself. his cock angrily pulses at the thought of your sloppy cunt tightly swallowing him up. "fuh-f-fuckk,” he quietly groans, his voice a ragged breath. he buries his head into a pillow, not wanting to wake you up just yet.

caleb then carefully parts your legs, positioning himself closer behind you. he lets out a shaky exhale as he buries his cock in between your warm, plush thighs. a quiet whine spills from his throat as he rubs against you, feeling how wet the thin material of your panties have become. carefully, he hooks his fingers onto your panties, slightly pulling them away from you so he could fuck you with your cute lil' panties on. as caleb buries himself snug between the wet fabric that clings onto him and your sopping folds, his cock throbs at the thought of you, in public, wearing your panties stained with his cum.

with the feeling of his shaft grinding against your bare pussy, you let out a sleepy, soft hum alongside a wiggle of your hips. it causes caleb to immediately halt and hold his breath. only when your movements settle does he start again. his large, warm hands rest at your waist, just barely guiding you as his breath and thrusts get heavier with each passing moment that you don't awake from.

"that's it, pretty girl…"

even without fully waking up, you're eventually getting soaked and your breaths are turning into gasps. you must think that you're in a sweet dream— how cute.

but you begin to feel his increasing desperation that shifts the bed with each roll of his hips, causing you to slowly wake up from your slumber.

“c-caleb…?” you wearily mumble, still half asleep as you try to turn your head behind you. a soft whine immediately escapes your throat, and you're instinctively grinding your hips back against him as you feel his thick cock rubbing against you. your eyelids are still heavy with sleep, and your mind is lost in a daze of sleepiness and pleasure. 

caleb's heart skips a beat from hearing how sleepy and clueless you sound, yet continuing to push your hips into him. “ahh-, f-fuck, baby,” he pants, burying his face into your neck. he would say more, perhaps try to explain himself, but all he could think about was how good hes feeling inbetween your pussy and panties.

taking your moans as a sign, caleb's arm wraps around your waist to pull you impossibly closer to him. his resolute quickly falters under the smell of your body wash and the warmth of your body. he needs more of you.

“p-please…, let me put it in,” he begs into your ears, his voice a high-pitched whine.

of course, you give in.

caleb is ecstatic when you give him permission, eagerly adjusting his position and maneuvering your pliant body before letting his heavy, thick cock sink into you with a loud squelch. the both of you gasp from the sensation of your tight, warm walls being filled up. feeling every ridge and vein of his cock aginst you, you let out a wanton moan his name. it sends a wave of arousal coursing through him— his cock twitches and throbs inside of you, its fat tip touching your cervix.

"don't- hah, moan��� like that… gonna cum too quickly," caleb breathily stutters. he pauses for a moment to adjust, before he's pulling back and heavily thrusting into you.

with the added stimulation of your own fingers tightly rubbing circles on your clit, your climax rapidly builds. the air quickly becomes hot and heavy with needy pants and whines spilling out from the both of you. its not long before a white ring forms at the base of his cock and spilling over his balls, a copious accumulation of slick. your panties, even though pulled aside, are still getting soaked from overspilling juices.

calebs desperately begging to cum inside of you. after, of course, you cream yourself around him— hard. when you cum, your body jerks and trembles as hes practically using your sensitive cunt, relentlessly fucking and spilling his warm seed deep into you.

but this is not nearly enough to satiate him. afterall, he has spent his entire life desperately in love with you. a life-time of pent up desires can't just be satisfied this easily.

and so, you easily succumb to his pleas to have more: to have you sit on his face while he laps at your creamy folds. he's helping you take off your panties, before he hungrily slots himself in between your legs. 

“pleasepleaseplease, sit on me baby, please,” he almost cries out, his voice a warm huff of air against your skin. "please baby, all of your weight."

when you finally sit on his face, he spontaneously lets out a moan from the pleasure of being caged underneath your pussy and the weight of you. it's all he could ask for and more. smelling your heady scent, his tongue licks a wet stripe up your sopping cunt. the taste of both of you lingers on his tongue as he attaches his lips to swirl and suckle on your swollen clit underneath your hood.

you mewl, slightly wincing from the overstimulation. your body instinctively tries to pull away from him. but both of caleb's hands firmly grip over your soft thighs, holding you in place. his motions encourage you to roll your hips, to use his mouth to your own pleasure— which you slowly begin to do as you overcome the pain.

taking a hand off of you, he wraps your soaked, creamed undies onto his bare cock, already hardened and leaking again from tasting you. if the panties weren't already drenched, they are now.

his mind quickly becomes a foggy haze as he ruts up into his own hand like a pathetic pup that's desperate for you to occupy all five of his senses: to touch you, smell you, hear you, see you, taste you. his moans and whimpers are muffled by your juices, his neck and chin glistening from saliva and slick as you buck into his face. the bridge of his nose nudges against your puffed up clit as his tongue budges its way into your wet, gummy walls, feeling and tasting the globs of cum and arousal as they drip out of you and into his mouth.

"caleb, please," you choke out, struggling to string together a coherent sentence. "c-close, 'm close!" this time, you're the one begging. your fingers intertwine with the soft strands of his hair, pulling his face deeper into the rolls of your hips. there's no tempo or rhythm anymore— just erratic, needy grinding.

caleb replaces his tongue inside of you with two of his fingers, sinking them knuckle-deep into your clenching walls. he's just as close as you are, fucking himself with your panties. frankly, he could probably cum from just looking at how debauched and erotic you look above him: your mouth agape, eyes barely open, and pert nipples all on display as you use his mouth. but he wants to cum with you.

suddenly, his fingers curl up into you as his tongue focuses on flicking over your pearly clit. it becomes too much for you, making your eyes roll back and see white. with a loud moan of his name, you cum around his fingers and it subsequently sends him toppling over the edge. milky white cum spurts all over his hand and your panties as he lowly groans into your cunt— every vibration felt by you.

letting go of his softening cock, his arms keep your spasming pussy close to his face. he takes his sweet time cleaning you up with his mouth, drinking you up like a parched man. despite your sobs and squirming, quivering thighs, his adam's apple bob with each gulp of you. he makes sure to be thorough with you, to not waste a single drop.

a/n: not me posting filthy smut at 8am after staying up all night to write it. anything for CALEB MY PANTY SNIFFING KING!!

[xinyuehui]

△ THEY ARE THE OPTIMAL WEAPON FOR DESTROYING ONE ANOTHER. * THIS EXPERIMENT IS NEVER TO BE RESTARTED

[5lt]

scared yet?

Pairing: caleb x female reader (afab)

Genre/tags/warnings: smut, nsfw, stalker/yandere themes, porn with a plot, ghostface au

Word count: 5k

Links: ao3

Summary: you never saw the danger coming. not when it looked like your best friend. not when it wore a mask, pinned you down, and made you beg for the safety you’d taken for granted.

Three Weeks Earlier

The flicker of the TV screen cast shifting shadows across Caleb’s living room, the chilling sounds of Scream filling the cozy space. You were curled up at one end of the couch, a bowl of popcorn balanced precariously on your lap. Caleb lounged at the other end, one arm thrown lazily over the back of the couch, the other nursing a soda.

You laughed under your breath as another victim on screen made the classic mistake, running everywhere else instead of out the front door.

"They never lock the doors," you muttered, tossing a handful of popcorn into your mouth.

"Neither do you," Caleb said, voice light, teasing.

You turned your head, raising your eyebrows. "Excuse me?"

He smirked, eyes still on the screen. "You heard me, pipsqueak."

You shifted, setting the popcorn aside, heart picking up a little. "I do lock them," you protested.

Caleb turned his head then, meeting your gaze. His smile was easy but his eyes were serious in a way that made your stomach twist. "Sometimes. Not always."

You opened your mouth to argue, but he leaned in slightly, voice quieter now. "Once is enough. That is all it takes."

You blinked, thrown by the sudden intensity in his tone. Protective. Grounded. A little too steady.

"And how would you know?" you asked, half teasing, half genuinely curious. "You stalking me now?"

Something flickered in Caleb’s violet eyes, too fast to catch. Then he shrugged, casual as anything. "Maybe I just know you better than you think."

You narrowed your eyes at him, pretending to glare. "So I am predictable now?"

His smile softened, almost fond. He shifted closer, his knee brushing yours, and reached out, brushing a stray piece of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered, warm against your skin.

"It means you trust people too easily," he murmured, the low scrape of his voice sending a shiver down your spine. "And some people are not as harmless as they seem."

You swallowed. The way he was looking at you made it hard to breathe.

But you tried to keep it light, bumping your foot against his. "Relax, Caleb. I am not some dumb girl in a horror movie."

He chuckled, the sound low and rough. "No," he said. "You are smarter than that. Which is exactly why you should listen when I tell you... lock your doors, pipsqueak."

You held his gaze for a long moment before you finally gave a small, exaggerated salute. "Yes, sir."

Caleb laughed, ruffling your hair with his hand before settling back into the couch, but his eyes lingered on you a little longer than they should have. Watching. Measuring.

Present Day

The apartment feels too quiet.

You shrug off your jacket, tossing it over the back of the couch before locking the door behind you. Linkon City pulses outside your window, lights spilling through the glass in streaks of gold and red. The city hums with life, but here, everything feels far too still.

It’s late. Far later than you intended to be out. Your recent mission had dragged, leaving you exhausted and craving nothing but a hot shower, your favorite movie, and the couch. Maybe some popcorn, something simple and warm to ward off the chill that seems to cling to you.

You kick off your shoes and pad into the kitchen, flicking on a light. The apartment feels hollow, shadows clinging to the corners like something living. You brush off the unease, grabbing a bag of popcorn from the cabinet and tossing it into the microwave. The machine hums and crackles, the scent of butter filling the air.

As you wait, you scroll through your movies on the holographic screen, fingers tapping restlessly. Something thrilling. Maybe something scary to match the odd chill prickling along your skin.

The microwave beeps, breaking the quiet. You grab the bag, tearing it open with a hiss of steam. The warmth soothes you, the simple, comforting ritual of snacks and movies easing your nerves.

You’re just settling onto the couch, curled under a blanket with your bowl of popcorn resting in your lap, when the phone rings.

You frown, glancing at the display. Unknown caller.

It’s late. You should let it go to voicemail, but something makes you reach for it anyway. Maybe just the curiosity that claws at you when the world feels so deathly silent.

You hesitate, but curiosity wins. “Hello?”

“Hi there.”

You roll your eyes, already half-amused. “Who is this?”

“Just a friendly voice.” The distortion wraps around his words, familiar and wrong. “What’s your name?”

You snort. “Uh, you called me.”

“I just want to know who I’m talking to.”

“Yeah, no.” You hang up, tossing the phone onto the couch.

It rings again.

“Persistent, aren’t you?” you answer, annoyance bleeding into amusement.

“That’s what makes it fun.” His voice deepens, a touch darker. “What’s a pretty thing like you doing all alone tonight?”

You glance at the door. “Not your business.”

“I’d say it is. Let me guess, you’re all alone, making popcorn… getting ready to watch a movie.”

A chill slithers down your spine. “Lucky guess.”

“Sure. What’s the movie?”

“I’m not telling you.”

“Why not? Scared I’ll judge your taste?”

“Or maybe you’re just a creep.”

He laughs, rich and smooth. “I like scary movies. How about you?”

“Sometimes.” You lean against the counter, eyes flicking to the darkened hallway. “Depends on the movie.”

“What’s your favorite?”

“Does it matter?”

“Humor me.”

You sigh. “Halloween, I guess.”

“Oh, a classic. Lots of blood.”

“Yeah.”

He pauses, the line crackling softly. “You got a boyfriend?”

Your laugh comes out sharper than you intend. “Why? You planning to ask me out?”

“Maybe.” His voice is silk, teasing. “Or maybe I just want to know if someone’s keeping you safe tonight.”

You tense. “What do you want?”

“Just to talk.”

“Well, I’m hanging up.”

“No, you’re not.”

The certainty in his voice chills you. Your thumb hovers over the end call button but doesn’t press it.

“Are you scared?” he asks, his tone dripping with curiosity.

“I’m annoyed.”

“I think you’re lying.”

You glance at the door again. The lock unlatched. Damn it. “Who is this?”

“Just someone who wants to make sure you’re being careful.”

“By harassing me on the phone?”

“By testing you.”

“Testing me?”

“To see how safe you really are.”

You bite your lip, irritation flickering to something colder. “I don’t like games.”

“Sure you do.” His voice dips, thick with amusement. “You haven’t hung up.”

Silence stretches, your breathing too loud in the quiet apartment. “What do you want?”

“Go to the kitchen.”

You pause. “Why?”

“I want to see something.”

“See what?”

“If you’re safe.”

You laugh, but it’s strained. “And me doing that makes you an expert on my safety?”

He laughs, deep and rich. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m closer than you think.”

The line goes dead.

You stare at the phone, the silence deafening. Your heartbeat pounds in your ears, the sound almost drowning out the creak of a floorboard behind you.

Almost.

You spin, eyes wide, a gasp caught in your throat. The kitchen feels smaller, the darkness stretching and bending until you’re certain something lurks within it.

The shadow moves.

He steps into the faint glow spilling through the window, dressed head to toe in black, the mask reflecting pale light. Ghostface. The figure you’d seen in those horror flicks you watched with Caleb, cheesy now but then it was terrifying. But this isn’t some movie. This is real.

The knife glints in his hand as he approaches, movements slow and deliberate.

“You know, it’s not safe for someone like you to be all alone,” he says, voice thick with mock concern. “Anyone could just… walk right in.”

You stumble backward, your hand fumbling over the counter until your fingers wrap around the cool handle of a kitchen knife.

He’s in your apartment. Watching you. Playing with you.

Your heart slams against your ribs as you raise the blade, your breathing shallow. “Stay back.”

“Oh, baby.” He takes another step, his mask a terrifying blankness. “You’re going to hurt yourself holding it like that.”

You slash the knife through the air, wild and desperate. He dodges easily, his gloved hand snapping out to grab your wrist. You twist away, but he’s too quick. He forces your arm down, twisting the knife from your grip with infuriating ease.

The sound of metal clattering to the floor seems to echo forever.

He crowds you against the wall, his body pressed to yours until the cool stone digs into your back. His knife lifts to trace the curve of your collarbone, trailing downward with agonizing slowness.

“Scared yet?” he asks, his voice low and syrupy.

You shake your head, but the trembling in your body betrays you. Tears stinging your eyes but you fight them back.

He lets the knife glide along your skin, never breaking the surface, the sensation makes your knees weak. His gloved hand trails up to grip your jaw, forcing you to meet the empty eyes of the mask inches from your face.

“No one here to protect you tonight. Just me.”

You feel his breath through the mask, warm and taunting. The knife traces lower, sliding over your stomach and back up until the edge of the blade brushes against your throat, featherlight.

“I asked if you were scared,” he says, his tone thick with amusement.

Your pulse races, a shudder running through you. “And if I said no?”

The blade rests just beneath your chin, tilting your head back.

“Then I’d have to make you.”

Your pulse hammers as you shove against him, twisting out of his grip before he can pin you in place. You bolt through the kitchen, slipping past him and nearly colliding with the corner of the counter. Your bare feet slap against the hardwood floor as you sprint down the hallway, your breathing jagged and frantic.

The door to your bedroom is just ahead. You lunge for it, hand reaching for the handle, but he’s faster.

A gloved hand snatches your wrist, yanking you back with enough force to make you stumble. You twist, throwing an elbow at him, but he dodges easily, his grip unyielding. You kick at him, your foot connecting with his thigh, but he only laughs.

“Come on now. You can do better than that.”

You wrench your arm free and shove him hard in the chest. He staggers back a step, only a step, before he advances again, smooth and relentless.

You manage to dart past him, throwing yourself into the living room. Your heart thunders as you snatch a heavy glass vase from the coffee table and hurl it at him.

He ducks, the glass shattering against the wall behind him.

“A vase?” His voice drips with amusement. “I like it.”

“Get the hell away from me.” You grab another object. This time an empty picture frame, and fling it at him.

He catches it mid-air. The gloved fingers tighten, the glass cracking under the pressure. He sets it down like it was nothing.

You spin and run, adrenaline propelling you forward as you race for the door. Grabbing for the handle. You struggle with it, fingers trembling.

“Running already?” His voice follows you, mocking and smooth. “What happened to all that attitude?”

You glance over your shoulder and see him stalking toward you, his steps measured, casual. Like he’s giving you a head start just to amuse himself.

“Stay the hell away from me,” you hiss, throwing your weight against the door.

“Or what?” He tilts his head, the mask gleaming in the dim light. “You’ll fight me off with some cheap decor? You’re just making it more fun.”

You finally manage to twist the handle, but before you can open the door, he’s on you. His arm wraps around your waist, hauling you backward with a force that steals the breath from your lungs.

You thrash, kicking and clawing, but he moves with precision. Every wild strike is dodged or blocked, his reactions infuriatingly smooth. You slam your fist into his chest, but it’s like hitting steel.

“Fucking let go!” Your voice is strained, desperation creeping in.

“Keep trying,” he taunts, his gloved hand sliding up your arm to pin your wrists together. “You’re making this more fun for me.”

You twist, managing to free one arm and take another swing at his face. His head jerks to the side, but he catches your wrist, twisting it just enough to make you gasp.

“That all you’ve got?” he purrs.

You wrench yourself free, bolting toward the kitchen again. This time you grab the knife from the floor, your grip trembling but determined.

He watches you, head cocked as if this is all some kind of game.

“What’s the plan now?” he asks, voice rich with amusement. “Gonna try to stab me, baby?”

“If I have to.”

He steps closer, unbothered by the blade pointed at him. “Go on, then. Let’s see what you can do.”

You lunge, slashing wildly, but he sidesteps the blow with infuriating ease. Your own momentum throws you off balance and his hand closes around your wrist, twisting until the knife clatters from your fingers.

He spins you around, slamming your back against the wall of your hallway with just enough force to knock the air from your lungs. His body presses into yours, caging you in.

The knife glints in his hand now, and he brings it up to trail along your collarbone, slow and teasing.

“Scared yet?” he asks, his tone dripping with mock concern.

You swallow, heart pounding so loudly you can hardly think. “No.”

“Liar.”

The blade glides over your skin, never breaking it, but the cool metal sends a tremor through you. His gloved hand grips your jaw, tilting your head up so you’re forced to meet the empty, haunting eyes of the mask.

“No one here to protect you tonight.” His voice is a whisper, soft and taunting. “Just me.”

Your chest heaves, breaths shallow and uneven. “What do you want?”

His thumb brushes over your pulse, the touch almost gentle. “To test you.”

“For what?”

“To see if you’re safe.” His head tilts, the mask inches from your face. “Guess you failed.”

He trails the blade down your body, featherlight. Your skin prickles beneath the touch, every nerve ignited by the sensation.

“I asked if you were scared.”

“And I said no.”

The knife tilts your chin up, his breathing heavy through the mask.

“Guess I’ll have to try harder.”

The knife traces along your throat, light and deliberate, grazing your skin with just enough pressure to steal your breath. Your chest rises and falls too fast, your hands pressed flat against the wall as if it’s the only thing keeping you steady.

His gloved fingers tilt your chin higher, forcing you to meet the empty, hollow gaze of the mask. That familiar white visage, grinning and twisted, somehow more unsettling up close.

“Look at you,” he taunts, the voice smooth and rich despite the distortion. “All that fight, and here you are. Caught.”

You should be terrified. You should be screaming. But your body thrums with something hotter, something wild and feverish that tightens low in your stomach.

He leans in, his breath warm through the mask. “What’s the matter, princess? You were so brave a minute ago.”

You swallow, throat dry. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“That’s a loaded question.” The knife drags down your collarbone, slipping between your breasts before gliding over your ribs. It never breaks the skin, just leaves a trail of cold and heat that sends shivers up your spine.

“Why?” you breathe, voice trembling for reasons that have nothing to do with fear.

“To see if you were safe.”

“And?”

He chuckles, the sound thick and taunting. “You left your front door unlocked. Again. It’s almost like you’re inviting me in.”

Your eyes widen in disbelief, indignation coloring your voice. “You broke in through the front door? That's impossible, I locked it before I left!”

He tilts his head slightly, the mask seeming to mock your protests. “Did you? Then how am I standing here? Or would it be better if I just watched you from a distance?”

The realization hits you hard. The familiarity of his voice. The way he moves, graceful and sure. The playful cruelty threaded through his words like a private joke.

“Caleb?”

He stiffens, just for a heartbeat. Then the knife falls away from your skin, his gloved hand smoothing over your hip instead.

“Should’ve known you’d figure it out eventually.” His voice is low, that false distortion gone.

Frustration flares hot in your chest. “Wait, did you use your Evol on my lock? If you’re using that to break into my apartment, it doesn’t matter how careful I am.”

He leans closer, his black-gloved hand bracing next to your head, trapping you between him and the wall. His voice is dangerously low, teasingly gentle. “See, that’s the thing, pipsqueak. I didn’t even have to use it. You just left it unlocked. Again.”

You stare at him, torn between disbelief and the thrill still singing in your veins. “So you just… broke into my apartment... To mess with me?”

“Not just to mess with you.” His fingers trace the curve of your waist, slow and possessive. “You’re too careless. You leave your windows open, your door unlatched when you’re tired. I wanted to see how long it would take before you noticed.”

He shifts closer, pressing his body against yours until the cool metal of his knife brushes against your hip. “And how well you’d handle yourself if someone… dangerous got in.”

“That’s insane.” But your voice is breathless, the protest weak.

“You think so?” His thumb brushes your jaw, gloved fingers leaving trails of heat over your skin. “But you like it, don’t you?”

Heat floods your cheeks, embarrassment mingling with adrenaline. His quiet laugh brushes against your ear, warm and darkly amused.

“Maybe you really do want me here,” he murmurs softly. “Maybe deep down, you like knowing I can always get to you.”

You shiver at the implication, heart hammering at the realization that he’s right. Your efforts to keep him out are meaningless. Not because he can use his Evol, but because you can't seem to remember something as simple as locking a door.

You hate how much you do. How your pulse kicks up at the possessive edge in his voice. How the playful cruelty makes you burn.

“I shouldn’t,” you whisper.

“But you do.” His mask remains inches from your face, the empty eyes somehow more intimate than if you could see him. “You trust me, don’t you?”

“Even when you break into my apartment and chase me around like a lunatic?”

“Especially then.”

You can feel his smile beneath the mask, and can sense the smug satisfaction radiating off him.

“I like proving you’re not as safe as you think you are,” he murmurs. “I like the idea of you depending on me.”

Your stomach twists, desire curling through your veins. “You’re a sick bastard.”

“And yet, you’re still pressed up against me. Not running. Not fighting.”

Your body betrays you, heat pooling low and desperate. The thrill of fear is replaced by something far darker and more alluring.

He pulls back just enough for you to see his mask, head tilted slightly in mocking curiosity. “Careful next time, pipsqueak. Or don’t. Either way, I’ll always find my way in.”

You reach up, your fingers tracing over the smooth, cold surface of his mask. “Take it off.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to see your face.”

A pause. Then he leans in, the mask brushing against your cheek. “Beg.”

Your breath catches. “Caleb—”

“Say please.” His voice is thick with amusement, the power he holds over you intoxicating.

“Please.”

He takes his time, letting the moment stretch until your skin prickles with anticipation. Then, finally, his gloved fingers rise to grip the edge of the mask, pulling it off with deliberate, unhurried precision.

Caleb’s eyes meet yours, dark and burning with intensity. His hair is tousled, his lips curved in that familiar, smug smile you’ve seen a thousand times.

But here, pressed against the wall with his knife resting against your hip, it feels different. Intimate. Dangerous.

“Better?” he asks, his voice no longer filtered, but still holding that predatory edge.

You let out a shaky breath. “Not sure.”

His smile widens, voice dipping into a playful taunt. "Still think you're safe with me, pipsqueak?"

Your breath stutters slightly, eyes fixed on the glint of his knife. "Shouldn't I be?"

Caleb chuckles softly, his gloved thumb tracing the line of your jaw with gentle pressure. "Tell me this, does it scare you more that I got in, or that part of you doesn't mind?"

Heat rushes to your cheeks at his accusation, your voice dropping to a whisper. "Caleb..."

"Answer me," he presses, leaning closer until his lips brush against your cheek, voice deep and rich in your ear. "Tell me the truth."

You swallow hard, heart thrumming in your chest, but you don't look away. "Maybe it doesn't scare me at all."

“That’s my girl.”

“Put the mask back on.”

Caleb pauses, his fingers tracing over your arm where he had been stroking gentle, soothing lines. His eyes narrow, amusement flickering beneath the heat of his gaze.

“You sure about that, baby?” he asks, voice low and rich, already anticipating your answer.

You swallow, your body still thrumming from the thrill of it all. “I want you to keep it on.”

His lips twitch into a grin, the predatory kind that sends a shiver through your spine. Without hesitation, he reaches for the mask, pulling it back over his face until that twisted, haunting grin of his stares down at you once more.

“Anything for you,” he purrs, voice thick and dark through the filter.

The mask is back on.

You don’t know if it’s his idea or yours, but the moment Caleb pulls the blank, twisted expression over his face again, something in you unravels. It shouldn’t make your pulse spike, shouldn’t send heat curling low in your belly. And yet, here you are, pressed against the wall of your apartment, his gloved hand wrapped around your throat while the other grips the knife.

He traces the flat edge of the blade along your jaw, just enough pressure to make your breath catch. The chill of metal sends a shiver through you, your body hypersensitive to every touch, every taunting word he gives you.

“Now that you know it’s me,” he purrs, voice thick and rich, distorted through the filter. “What’s your excuse for looking at me like that, pipsqueak?”

You bite your lip, refusing to answer, but your body betrays you. The way you tremble against him, the way your thighs press together, desperate for friction. He sees it all. He revels in it.

“Come on.” The knife glides down your throat, slow and teasing. “Tell me you want it.”

You swallow, feeling the blade shift with the movement. “I want it.”

“Atta girl.” His fingers tighten around your throat, just enough to send a thrill through you. “And how bad do you want it?”

“Bad.” The word falls from your lips like a confession, raw and breathless. “Just… just do it.”

“Oh, I will.”

He spins you around, shoving you against the wall with enough force to knock the air from your lungs. Your cheek presses against the cool surface, his hand gripping your hip hard enough to leave bruises.

“Hands on the wall,” he orders.

You obey, palms flat against the surface, your body arching back toward him. The anticipation makes your skin buzz, every nerve alight with hunger.

His gloved hand slides down your back, fingers curling over your waist before dipping lower. You gasp when he presses against your core, his touch rough and unrelenting.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice thick with amusement. “Practically begging for it.”

“Shut up,” you snap, but it’s weak. Breathless.

He laughs, the sound deep and taunting. “Such a mouthy little thing.”

You feel the knife’s flat edge drag down your spine, the sensation leaving a trail of fire in its wake. Your body jerks, but his hand holds you steady, the possessiveness in his grip leaving you dizzy.

“Keep still,” he warns. “Wouldn’t want me to slip, would you?”

You shudder, his words stoking the heat building low in your belly. “Caleb—”

“It’s Ghostface tonight, baby.”

You roll your eyes instinctively, breath hitching. "That feels weird," you mutter, your voice shaky but defiant.

He chuckles, deep and slow. "You’ll get used to it," he murmurs, his free hand trailing higher to grasp your jaw, tipping your head back with firm, controlled pressure. "Say it."

You hesitate, your pride warring with the rush of heat pooling in your stomach.

He tilts your chin higher, knife gliding featherlight along your side. "Say it, pipsqueak."

You shiver under his touch, cursing how easy it is to crumble for him. "Ghostface," you whisper, the word trembling against your lips.

"That’s my good girl," he praises, voice dripping approval, and the way he says it makes your knees almost give out.

The knife presses lightly against the side of your neck, enough to make you gasp but not enough to hurt. His free hand unbuttons your jeans, sliding his hand under the waistband and down between your legs, gloved fingers working you with relentless precision over your soaked panties, drawing broken sounds from your throat.

You whimper, your body writhing against his touch. “Please.”

He chuckles, the sound almost cruel. “Please, what?”

“Fuck me.”

He doesn’t make you wait.

With a sharp tug, he yanks your black jeans down to your thighs, the cool air licking at your overheated skin. Before you can even catch your breath, his hands are on you again. Rough, greedy, possessive.

You whimper at the sensation, hips jerking back against him as he presses against you, hard and insistent, the rough fabric of his costume brushing against your thighs, only making you ache harder.

"Tell me you want it," he growls, voice thick and ragged behind the mask, every word burning against your skin.

"I want it," you gasp, the words tumbling out too fast, too eager.

He clicks his tongue in mock disappointment, his grip bruising your hips tighter.

"Louder," he demands, tone sharper now, darker, threading straight through you.

Your throat tightens. Your pride kicks weakly, humiliated at what he’s asking for. At what you’re about to give. Calling him Ghostface feels ridiculous, silly, humiliating, but your body doesn’t care. Your body is already his, trembling for him, ready to give him whatever he asks.

You swallow hard. Pride be damned.

"I want it, Ghostface!" you cry out, the name catching rough in your throat. Half-plea, half-surrender.

The low, guttural sound he makes vibrates against your spine. Approval. Ownership.

And then he’s slamming into you, one brutal thrust that steals the air from your lungs, your body arching against the wall under the force of him. Your nails digging into the wall for stability.

You don’t even realize you’re whimpering his name again. Ghostface, Ghostface, Ghostface — as he drives you harder against the unyielding wall, his masked face close to your ear, breathing you in like he’s waited forever for this..

The knife presses firmer against your neck, your pulse fluttering against the cold metal. Every thrust drives you higher, your mind lost in the sharp, addictive pleasure.

“Look at you.” His voice is thick, broken by the rhythm of his movements. “Taking it so well. My perfect little victim.”

The words shouldn’t thrill you the way they do, but you can’t deny the way your body responds to him. To his possessive touch. To the edge of danger that only he can give you.

The knife glides over your skin, never breaking the surface, but the sensation leaves you trembling. His gloved hand grips your hip, holding you steady as he fucks you harder, each thrust sending you closer to the edge.

“Tell me who you belong to,” he demands, voice rough and fraying.

“You,” you gasp, your head tilting to give him more access to your throat. “Always you.”

“Damn right.”

The pleasure coils tight, your body writhing beneath his hands. He feels it, the way you tense, the way your breathing grows ragged, giving you away completely.

"Come on, baby." His voice drops lower, rough and commanding against the shell of your ear, his hips never relenting. "Let go for me."

Your body answers before your mind can catch up.

His name rips from your throat. A broken, desperate sound as the pleasure slams into you all at once, fierce and unstoppable. The world fractures around you. Your fingers claw helplessly at the wall for something, anything to hold onto as the wave drags you under.

Your muscles seize, your thighs trembling violently against him, your body clenching down hard around him in sharp, rhythmic spasms that tear small, breathless cries from your lips. It’s too much, overwhelming,  the intensity of it stretching your nerves to the breaking point, shattering you completely under the weight of him.

He follows seconds later, his grip tightening as he slams into you, groaning your name like a broken prayer.

Silence fills the room, broken only by the sound of your breathing and the faint hum of the city outside.

Caleb pulls the knife away from your neck, his fingers brushing over the spot like he’s checking for damage. His touch turns gentle, almost apologetic.

“Still with me, pipsqueak?” His voice is clearer now, the distortion gone.

“Yeah,” you breathe, your knees weak and your body thrumming. “More than with you.”

He chuckles, the sound warm and familiar even through the mask. “Good. Because we’re not done yet.”

[ormymarius]

he lived, served cunt, died, got resurrected, served even more cunt

[niisancomplex]

[urfavstan]

College roommate Caleb! - always safe, always consistent—the epitome of gentlemanly behavior. It’s well known across campus, evident in how others seem to treat you a little better whenever you’re with him. But it’s when you’re alone with him that you sense there’s more beneath the surface. Not that you ever felt anything less than secure or protected; it was the extent of his protection that made you question him. Still, you couldn’t complain, especially when he was so tender he insisted on leaving his door open at night, just so you could crawl into his bed whenever you needed. This happened many times throughout the week—not always purposeful, but frequent enough that it became habitual. His strong arms engulfing you protectively shielding you away from the world. Becoming your solace you personal sanctuary devoted to your wellbeing.

[velaenam]

𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲

                                                                         ◦ ♡

𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐛 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 – non!mc. you are a successful aerospace engineer, a girlboss, with terrible luck in romance. let's hope this strangers website brings you out of that rut! 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 / 𝐭𝐰 – NSFW topics! mature themes, swearing/foul language, slow burn, talks of depression/mental health, guilt tripping, manipulation, tba 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬– not proofread. erm, more domestic bliss!! stop expecting the worst (or do.. stay on your toes baby) 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 - 7 of many ! previous chapter | next chapter | playlist —reblogs comments & likes are appreciated. let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist!

the sim drills went smoothly. too smoothly. caleb hit every mark, sharp and fluid like he was born to fly that frame. you’d caught yourself smiling halfway through the final sequence when he executed a near-impossible maneuver just to show off.

now, outside the sim bay, the group’s circled up. a handful of pilots, a few engineers, a tech or two from flight systems – all gathered around in a loose half-ring, laughing over debrief notes, tossing gentle jabs, and happily drinking and eating the catering you’d bought not too long ago.

caleb’s next to you, leaning against a column with his arms folded, sleeves rolled up again like he knows what he’s doing to everyone’s attention span. your shoulder brushes his every now and then as you speak. he’s still holding your coffee cup, but he won’t let you throw it out yet. “i swear you just barrel rolled for fun,” one of the pilots says to caleb, nudging him. “not protocol.” and caleb scratches the back of his head, laughing awkwardly, “i was following the sim’s response curve,” caleb replies, mock-offended, his laugh resonating afterwards “if that just happened to look cool, then hey… occupational hazard?”

you laugh, tilting your head toward him. “i think you’re just addicted to flair and being a show off.” – “coming from the one who reprogrammed the entire thermal loop in under six seconds mid-flight?” – “it was five.” the group laughs. there’s a lightness to the air. the kind that doesn’t happen often on base. everyone’s relaxed, orbiting the two of you, letting the ease ripple outward.

then there was a shuffle into the room 

“caleb.”

the voice cuts clean through the noise, and you turn first.

she’s standing just outside the ring of pilots–  boots spotless, uniform crisp, her hair tucked behind one ear, her pistols adorn her hips. you recognize her instantly. hunter hq. jenna’s office. her supposed star employee. that tight smile, the way she scanned you in aw with her friend as you debriefed them.

“caleb,” she says, all sugar and poise. he shifts beside you, and you feel it. not defensively but like he was on high alert, maybe tentative. “hey pipsqueak...” he says, voice quiet.

pipsqueak.

the group goes still, the laughter dying out. the silence says enough. you look between them. it clicks. she glances at you, recognition flickering behind her eyes. then she turns back to caleb, her voice light.

“i figured you wouldn’t answer my messages, so…i came here” her whined words hang there, and you don’t look at her. you look at caleb. “this is the friend you mentioned, right?” you ask, voice steady. he meets your gaze– surprised, then guilty, then it was honest. “yeah.”

you nod and she smiles at you. “we’ve met! hunter hq, right? miss jenna is your sister?” you nod, “that’s right,” you say calmly. “and you’re the one who told caleb to unadd me on whispr.” her expression changes into a shocked one–   “i didn’t tell him to do anything.”

you smile. it’s clean and polite– but full of edge. “right. just made the suggestion.” the group starts to drift, the moment crackling under the weight of the shift. caleb stays beside you, jaw tight, his silence heavy, really unsure how to handle this. you step forward just enough to close the space. “we’re dating,” you say clearly. “and i’m saying it out loud so there’s no confusion.” she blinks once. that’s it. “well,” she says, choosing her words carefully. “i just came to say congratulations.”

“you’ve said it,” you reply. she nods. turns. walks off without a second glance. the hallway quiets again. caleb exhales beside you. “i was going to tell you it was her. i just didn’t–”

“you don’t have to explain,” you say, cutting in gently. your stomach curdles into knots. you suddenly felt sick, like you were about to vomit, but you remain steadfast– swallowing back the feeling of dread as you walk off from caleb, “i need 5.” you mumble as you disappear into the corner.

caleb stands there, a mixture of surprise, and dread surging through him. his breath was shallow, his eyes darkened, as he continuously tries to blink away the odd moment. he had to snap out of it, because it was killing him just standing there, but he was confused. but just like that– the room was empty, and he had two objectives to complete.

the hallway is quiet now. the briefing room is behind him, but caleb’s walking fast—shoulders tense, jaw set. the base lights above flicker a little too bright as he rounds the corner near the hangar access. that’s where he sees her.

she stands near one of the side exits, arms folded, weight shifted onto one leg. like she knew he’d follow.

he slows to a stop a few paces from her, breath still uneven from the sharpness of everything that just unfolded.

“you shouldn’t have come like that,” he says.

she exhales a slow breath, not looking at him. “you haven’t been answering.. i had to...” a tinge of whininess in her voice as she trails off

“i’ve been busy.”

“busy,” she repeats, dry. then she turns toward him fully, eyes tired but still sharp. “you’ve been busy for months, caleb.” he doesn’t say anything. “and when you do answer,” she adds, voice quieter now, “you don’t sound like you.”

caleb runs a hand down his face. “things are just different now.”— “yeah,” she says, mouth twisting. “because of her?” he blinks. not defensive, confused again. “this isn’t about her.”

“really? because it feels like i’ve been watching you disappear piece by piece. and i know you—i know you better than anyone else. and this? shutting me out? that’s not you.” he swallows. presses his tongue to the back of his teeth before speaking. “look… i didn’t mean for it to happen like this. i’m not trying to push you out.”

“then what are you doing?” he doesn’t have an answer she’ll like. not yet. so instead, he says spontaneously, “come over later.”

she blinks. “what?” he sigh, inaudible, “just… come by. we’ll talk. i’ll explain everything. i owe you that much.”

she watches him for a long time, but her expression softens—just a split second “okay,” she says finally. “i’ll come by.”

he nods once. it’s not relief exactly, but it’s something. then she turns and walks away. and he stands there in the empty hallway, alone with the weight of everything he hasn’t said yet. he stares at her disappearing figure before he turns back to the hallway, finding you.

-

the lights are soft. the sun outside’s dipping lower, casting long shadows across your desk. your tablet hums quietly beside the flight logs you’ve been annotating all day. the silence is good. it’s clean. keeps you grounded.

then a knock before the door slides halfway open— you already know who it is. you don’t look up. “if it’s about the fighter diagnostics, you’ll have the final render in an hour.”

there’s a pause. then caleb steps fully into the room, letting the door close behind him. he’s still in uniform, jacket half-unzipped. if you weren’t so tense you would’ve had a witty remark about how handsome he was looking, but the atmosphere didn’t call for it.

you finally glance up. “let me guess,” you say. “it’s about her.” he doesn’t answer immediately. he stands there, like the words are heavier than they should be.

“she showed up,” he says.

“yeah,” you reply, returning your gaze to the tablet. “i was right there.” he shifts his weight like he wants to say more. explain. justify. but you don’t give him space to.

“listen,” you say calmly, setting the stylus down. “if you came here to talk about where you stand with her, you don’t need to.”

his brow furrows. “that’s not what i—” “it’s fine,” you cut in, voice even. “i’m not going to be one half of whatever triangle this is. i don’t have time to navigate nostalgia.”

he stiffens, not insulted — just caught. “it’s not like that.”

you nod once, quietly. “okay. but if it ever starts feeling like it is — if it ever becomes easier for you to go back to someone who knows the old you instead of learning who you’re becoming — then i’m not going to get in the way. you know where i stand, I told you before. i won’t be in these types of situations” ‘im too good to be humiliated’ you think as you purse your lips. that is the truth. you worked too hard to be humiliated by a man and what looked to be his tail. and that was the hard truth. 

his mouth opens slightly, like he wants to argue, but the words falter. you’re not angry. that’s what throws him. you’re not defensive. you’re just… clear.

“you’re not a child, caleb..”  you continue. “you get to decide who’s in your orbit. i just don’t want to waste my time when you’re busy trying to keep one in line..”

his shoulders drop. the weight of your words settling into his chest.

“you’re not a placeholder,” he says softly. you smile, sad and a little tired. “then don’t treat me like one.” there’s a beat of silence between you — full of everything neither of you wants to admit out loud.

then you turn back to your screen. “we’ve got an inspection tomorrow,” you say, dismissing him, more rudely than you'd like to be “don’t be late.”

he lingers for half a second longer. but you don’t look up. and eventually, the door closes behind him.

-

the corridors feel longer on the way out.

boots echo off metal floors. low base lights flicker past him in pulses of gold, red, blue emergency lights, even when there’s no emergency. it makes the walls feel colder than they are. his hands stay deep in his jacket pockets. shoulders hunched. eyes down. always moving forward because stopping makes the noise louder.

he shouldn’t have gone to your office. you were calm. too calm. not distant, not rude but you knew what you wanted..

he exhales, slow through his nose, as the security gate opens and the city lights spill in. the sky over skyhaven is deep blue, stars caught behind haze. his apartment isn’t far. it never is. but it always feels like a long way home.

he passes a storefront window and catches his reflection — uniform half-unzipped, eyes shadowed, jaw tight.

i look tired.

i always look tired..

but there’s no one to say it out loud. no one to hand him a plate or touch his back or tell him to rest. not since grandma started needing help getting down the stairs. not since he was seventeen and everyone decided he was the man now. the strong one. the dependable one. he’s good at it. at carrying. at being the solid wall for everyone else to lean on. but he doesn’t know how to be held. it was hurting him, and every single day he had to throw that feeling of pain away. he couldn’t afford to falter— not when there were two women who depended on him. that kept him going. 

and now there’s her again. familiar, yes. easy in the way old friendships are, with all the hard edges already worn down. she’s never asked him for more than what he gave. and part of him loves her. he hated to admit it, but he did love her. and this is what hurt him. caleb loved her more than life itself.

he knows that.

but it’s a careful kind of love — like putting your hands on glass, knowing it won’t cut you, but also knowing it’ll never bend with you either.

then there’s her. you.

the woman who took his breath away. at the gala. the engineer with the steady hands and ambitious fire and a heart that scares the hell out of him because it’s real. it sees him. pushes him. expects him to be more than a caretaker. to be whole. 

but… he doesn’t know if he can be that yet. he doesn’t know if he has it in him.

he swallows hard as he keys into his apartment. drops his jacket onto the couch. the light in the kitchen hums when he turns it on.

he doesn’t make dinner. he doesn’t turn on the tv. he just sits at the edge of the bed with his head in his hands. and wonders, not for the first time, if he’ll ever know what it feels like to be chosen for who he is, not for what he holds together. if he’s being chosen for being caleb. not caleb the protector, caleb the best cook, caleb the best role model. 

-

the city hums outside your window. the lights of skyhaven pulse low against the glass, gold and distant. your tablet’s dim beside you, diagnostics forgotten. everything feels heavier at night.

you stare at your phone a moment longer before hitting call.

it rings once. twice. then his voice: “hey.” you breathe in before speaking. “hi. i… wasn’t sure if you’d pick up.”

“me either,” he says quietly. not cold — just tired. worn at the edges, but his voice hinted of surprise. like he was relieved you called. 

you suck air in, as you don’t tiptoe around it.

“i wanted to apologize for earlier. for how i handled things in the office.” he doesn’t interrupt. “i’m still figuring this out,” you continue. “how to be in something real. how to let people close without expecting them to walk away. but i’m not stupid. and i’m not fragile…. i don’t want this — us — to fall apart over a moment.”

there’s a pause. his breathing is steady on the line.

“i know you’ve worked hard your whole life,” you say softly. “i know how much people expect from you. how you carry everyone like it’s second nature. i know how hard you’ve worked your whole life as the sole protector of your family.” you swallow, voice steadier now. “but you don’t have to do that with me. i don’t want anything from you but your peace. your rest. your quiet. your self. i want to be the one who takes the weight off your shoulders, caleb. if you let me.”

his silence isn’t rejection. it’s listening. full-bodied, heart-deep listening. he felt like he’d crack in any minute now. “you don’t have to worry anymore,” you add gently. “not with me. not ever.” another breath.

“i really like you,” you admit. “probably more than i should. and i want to see you — not the exhausted version you give to everyone else, but the best one. the version of you that gets to breathe. to laugh. to be caleb. i want to see you smile- like you deserve..”

you wait.

and finally, he speaks — voice rough, like it caught in his throat before it came out.

“you don’t know how much i needed to hear that.”

“then let me say it again tomorrow,” you whisper.

he exhales —  his tears made their way down his face quietly as he listened to you

“okay,” he says. “tomorrow.”

he hears the knock before he sees her. it’s sharp, followed by that little silence she always leaves like she expects the door to open itself.

caleb wipes his hands on a dish towel and opens it.

she stands in the hallway, hands in her pockets, shoulders squared like she’s trying not to look like she’s bracing for something.

“hey,” she says, neutral, “you came,” caleb answers, stepping aside to let her in.

she walks in and stops just past the threshold, scanning the place like it’s a museum exhibit. the skyline glows through the massive balcony window behind her. the whole place smells like clean linen and something faintly citrus. there’s a hint of… female perfume in the air. everything is warm, sharp-lined, and understated. elegant.

she whistles low. “wow.” he raises a brow, locking the door behind her. “what?”.. “this is…” she turns in a slow circle. “not what i was expecting. at all.”

“you don’t like it?” she shakes her head “oh, i like it just fine,” she says, tapping her nails lightly along the counter. “i’m just wondering when you got taste. and a fridge that probably costs more than your old ship. and… you also gave gran your check recently….”

caleb exhales through his nose, a wry smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. “came with the apartment.”

she  freezes. then she turns to him, one brow arching. “bullshit.” — “what?”

she gestures around. “caleb, i’ve known you since you were stuffing power bars into your duffel because you didn’t want to buy overpriced food. don’t tell me this entire setup ‘came with the apartment.’ ” he leans against the counter, folding his arms. “why does it matter?”

“because this looks like someone lives here now. someone with money. and a life.” she tilts her head. “and last i checked, that wasn���t really your style.” he shrugs. doesn’t answer.

she walks slowly past the living room, fingers trailing over the back of the velvet couch — the one you picked out. her voice softens just slightly. “so who’s the decorator?”

caleb looks away. “was it her?” she asks. his silence is enough of an answer. she sighs, “she’s the reason you stop talking to me, too?” he runs a hand down his jaw, tired. “i didn’t mean for it to get this bad. i told you i was busy.”

“busy… with her?” she asks, looking back at him. he doesn’t answer and she doesn’t push.

the light over the kitchen island glows warm gold, casting long shadows across the navy cabinets and clean lines. she perches on the edge of one of the stools, fingers loosely wrapped around a glass of water she poured herself without asking.

caleb stands a few feet away, leaning against the counter. his arms are crossed, body angled away.

she watches him, “you’ve been off,” she says finally. he exhales, slow. “i’ve had a lot going on.” — “no,” she says gently, “you’ve been different with me.” he doesn’t answer. she swirls the glass slowly in her hands. “i thought we didn’t do this. the whole… not-talking thing.”

“i’m not avoiding you.” — “you are, though.” her voice stays soft, but her eyes pin him in place. familiar. knowing. she’s done this before but with control masked as concern.

“you stopped answering right away,” she continues. “you never used to do that. and when you do text, it’s like… short. detached. like you’re measuring your words.” caleb sighs, shifting his weight. “i’ve been working nonstop. i’m training on a new system. i’m in and out of base 13 hours a day.”

“sure,” she says, tilting her head slightly. “but that never used to stop you.” he looks at her now “what do you want me to say?” this was starting to hurt him more than she could perceive. she smiles, faint. practiced. “i want you to tell me when everything changed.” he stays quiet.

she sets the glass down, stands, walks toward him slowly and careful. she reaches out and places a hand lightly on his chest, right over his collarbone. “you and me,” she says. “we’re not temporary. we’ve never been.”  his jaw tightens. her voice softens. “i know it feels easy to drift when things change. new people come in, they bring something exciting, but they don’t know you like i do.” he flinches — barely. but it’s enough. “they don’t remember what you were like when you broke your arm climbing out of that tree to save a cat i thought was cute,” she whispers, almost fond. “or how you couldn’t sleep without me next to your bed, how you couldn’t stand the thought of not sending me to class without snacks. ”

“people change.” he says, finally. “they do,” she agrees. “but the good ones don’t forget who they were before the world tried to split them into pieces.” this didn’t sit right with him.

she looks up at him, eyes soft. “i’m just trying to remind you.” he swallows and says nothing. because a part of him still doesn’t know where if she was right or not.

her hand is still resting on his chest, light like a memory she doesn’t want him to shake off. caleb lowers it gently. not harsh. just firm. “you think she’s genuine because she bought you all of this?”

“you can’t talk about her like that,” he says quietly. her smile falters. just slightly. “i didn’t say anything cruel.”— “you don’t have to,” he says. “it’s the way you talk about her. like she’s some… stranger passing through. like she doesn’t matter.”

“caleb—” 

“she does,” he cuts in. “she matters a lot.”

she steps back, folding her arms. the practiced softness starts to slip, something sharper forming at the edges. “you barely know her. you shouldn’t trust everybody so freely caleb..”

he shakes his head. “you don’t get to decide that.” she stares at him for a beat, then lets out a soft, almost disbelieving laugh. “wow.” he tilts his head. “what?”

“it’s just funny,” she says, voice light and brittle all at once. “how quickly someone can rewrite your orbit.” “it’s not about rewriting anything,” caleb says. “you and i have history. but she and i… we have something . we have something real, here and now. and i need you to learn to coexist with that.”

she blinks. her jaw works. offended. then she speaks again, slower. “you’re seriously asking me to share you?” — “i’m not a possession,” he says, visibly hurt. “i’m asking you to respect that more than one person can matter to me at the same time.”

“but there’s only one woman in your life who should get all of that attention,” she snaps — not loud, but sharp enough to cut. his brows furl into something more than hurt, “and it’s me. it’s always been me, caleb.” he breathes in deep through his nose, jaw tightening.

“that’s not your choice to make,” he says, voice steady. “not anymore.”

her shoulders rise like she’s bracing for something. but nothing comes next — not a slap, not a shout. just silence.

he steps back, running a hand through his hair. he looks at her, and it’s not cruel. it’s just tired. “i think you should go.”

she doesn’t move. after a minute she finally grabs her coat from the stool. shrugs it on. walks toward the door.

but before she opens it, she glances back. “she doesn’t know you like i do,” she says quietly. “you’ll see that eventually.”

he doesn’t respond. she leaves and this time, he doesn’t follow.

.

the door clicks shut behind her.

the sound lingers long after she’s gone. caleb stands in the middle of the room, coat still in his hand, chest tight with everything she didn’t say — and everything she did. he sinks down onto the edge of the couch, elbows on his knees, hands laced behind his neck. the apartment feels too quiet now. too clean. too arranged. like someone else lives here and he’s just visiting.

he rubs his thumb along the edge of his palm as if it was a nervous tic.

“there’s only one woman in your life who should get all that attention — and it’s me.”

that isn’t fair. he hears it again. word for word.

it doesn’t feel like a threat. it feels like history. like something stitched into his skin that he never questioned. he feels like she was scared of him slipping away from her and the worst part? a piece of him still believes it.

she was his beginning. the soft familiarity of her hand on his shoulder in every childhood photo. the one who sat next to him on the roof of the house, whispering plans about running away. the girl he shared his dreams with. the girl who knew how he liked his food and when to pull him back when the anger got too close to the surface.

it wasn’t fireworks. it wasn’t chemistry. it was gravity. a love he’s been quietly feeding his whole life.

and yet. you.

you came into his life in a beautiful dress. you came in without needing him. you didn’t reach for his hand like you needed saving — you handed him a soft manicured hand and asked him to carry himself better. you didn’t baby him. you didn’t expect him to fix anything. you expected him to show up. with his smile that had you smitten. and when he did — when he was around you — he didn’t feel like a tired man holding the world together with duct tape and obligation.

he felt like a man. grown. happy. in love.

and maybe that’s what’s terrifying.

because with her, he was the boy who never stopped being needed. and with you, he was someone who got to rest. he closes his eyes. presses his palms into them until stars bloom in the dark. maybe it's his thoughts of not being needed. maybe you will envelope him and he'd become like... her.

he loves her. he really, truly does. but he doesn’t know if it’s the kind of love that moves forward — or the kind that keeps him standing still.

and you — god, you make him want to be someone different. someone better.

but what if he doesn’t know how to let go of who he was?

what if he can’t?

-

there’s a knock.

it’s not loud, not rushed. just steady. three soft taps, like he’s hoping you’re still awake but wouldn’t knock again if you weren’t.

you were plopped on your vanity when the knock came, and as you start you scream through the hallway, “I HAVE A DOORBELL YOU KNO-“

DING DONG

you flinch when the loud ass ring went through. it probably woke your neighbors up. that was not calibrated since it hasn’t been used in a minute.

you cursed yourself as you continue to the entrance with quickened pace.

you pull open the door, pajama shirt loose at the collar.

caleb stands in the hall.

hoodie pulled low. eyes glassy. jaw clenched. he doesn’t say anything right away — he just stares at you like he’s not sure if he made the right decision coming here, but also like he had nowhere else left to go.

“hey,” you say gently.

his mouth opens, closes. his throat works around the words before they come out. “can i…” his voice is rough, almost cracking. “can i talk to you?” you nod immediately. “of course.”

he steps in — slow, like his body is twenty pounds heavier than it should be. the moment you close the door behind him, he turns and he wraps his arms around you.

it’s not a quick hug. it was a plea. his hands grip the back of your shirt, his forehead presses to your shoulder. like holding you is the only thing keeping him standing.

you hold him back, quietly, palms gentle against his spine. he exhales against your neck. shaky. raw. “i feel like i’m slipping,” he whispers. “like every day it’s getting harder to pretend i’m okay.”

your chest tightens. he doesn’t lift his head. “everyone just… expects me to be fine. to carry it. be strong. be reliable. even when i want to scream. even when it hurts to get out of bed.”

you don’t say anything yet. you just stay there. holding him together for a moment while he falls apart in your arms. “i don’t know how to ask for help,” he adds, voice breaking in half. “i never did. but i think if i don’t say it out loud tonight i’ll drown.”

you shift slightly, brushing a hand through his hair. soft. steady. “then say it,” you whisper. “you don’t have to hold it alone anymore.”

he nods against you, slow and trembling and in that quiet, late-night space — he lets go. just a little, because you’re there. and for once, he’s not carrying it all by himself.

you lead him gently to the couch, your hand never leaving his. the lights are low, the only glow coming from the city outside your windows and the soft flicker of the screen you’d left on idle.

he sinks down like his bones are too heavy. and when you sit, he follows — resting his head in your lap without asking, like something inside him already knows he’s allowed to. your fingers find his hair, slow and careful, brushing through it like you’ve done it a thousand times.

he breathes out. “she came over,” he says quietly, like it’s a confession. you stay quiet. just keep your touch steady. “she looked around like she didn’t believe any of it. like i’d turned into someone else.” you hum softly, giving him space. “she kept asking what changed,” he murmurs. “like she couldn’t stand the idea that i didn’t revolve around her anymore.”

he laughs a little under his breath. it’s not a happy sound. “i didn’t even fight her. i just stood there and let her say it.” — “say what?” you ask, voice low. “that there’s only one woman who should get all my attention,” he says, eyes on the ceiling. “and it’s her.” your hand pauses for just a second — then keeps moving. through his hair. down the side of his head. over his temple — gently and slowly. your teeth grits as you allow him to continue. you’d have a word with her. 

“i didn’t know what to say,” he admits. “because part of me still… loves her. or thinks i do. because she’s been there since we were kids. she saw me when no one else did.”

you nod a slight pain rising through your chest. 

“but with her… i always had to be the strong one. the protector. the steady hand. and now that i’m different — now that i’m tired — she doesn’t know what to do with me.”

his eyes flutter closed, “but when i’m with you,” he says, softer now, “i don’t have to pretend i’m okay.”

your fingers slow for a moment, then curl lightly into his hair.

“you make me feel like it’s okay to just… exist.. be me— be caleb xia.”

you lean down just slightly, pressing your lips to his forehead. a kiss like a silent steady vow “you don’t have to explain yourself tonight,” you whisper.

he doesn’t speak again, but his breathing evens out in your lap, hand resting lightly against your thigh.

and for the first time in weeks, he sleeps peacefully.

his breathing has slowed, his shoulders finally relaxed, mouth parted slightly in the kind of sleep that only comes when the storm’s finally quiet for a little while. his head’s still resting in your lap, his arm draped along the cushion like he’d melted there. like this couch, your hands, your presence — were the only place he felt safe.

you don’t move— not yet.

your fingers linger in his hair, slow and absentminded. your heart’s steady, but your thoughts are anything but.

you feel for him, how could you not? he was a child forced to grow up fast. now he’s a man who is having a hard time catching up. you saw it in his eyes when he showed up at your door — the exhaustion he carries behind that charming smile, the pressure that’s been building inside him for years. and when he spoke about her it wasn’t anger or guilt he felt. it was dread. pain. the hint of possible betrayal. 

you felt for him, truly. but at the end of the day you’ve known yourself longer than you’ve known him. you felt weird about this.

because you’ve never been one to share. not when it comes to something real. you’re used to being the one people orbit around. the woman who never has to try too hard. men bend for you. they rewrite the rules. they chase. and when you’re done, they accept it, because you never promise what you won’t give.

but this? caleb? this is different. he was different.

you don’t want to chase him. don’t want to beg for space in a heart that might still belong to someone else. and for a second — just a second — you think about walking away. cutting it clean before it gets messier. before you start reaching for things you can’t have.

you’d still be kind. still be composed… but your heart doesn’t move.

it stays right here. with him.

you watch him sleep — lashes dark against his cheek, brows finally unknotted — and you feel that quiet, inconvenient truth settle into your bones:

you really, really like him.

not for how he looks in uniform. not for the way he says your name. but for the way he let you in tonight — when he had nothing left. and still came to you. and a piece of you might think that that felt the bare minimum, but a piece of you also felt that this has become deeply rooted into something else.

you reach over for the blanket draped over the side of the couch, unfold it carefully, and wrap it around him. tuck the corner near his shoulder. smooth it down like muscle memory.

you sit back, letting your fingers trail down the back of his head one last time. then you smile — small, fondly, full of something warm you don’t quite have a name for yet.

you’d be there for him. even if it scared you. especially if it scared you. because some things are worth staying for. even the hard ones.

you wake to the sound of the city blinking awake outside your window — traffic  humming down, distant voices below. the apartment is quiet, but the soft weight on your legs reminds you you’re not alone.

caleb’s still asleep, curled slightly into your side, the blanket tangled around his shoulders. your hand rests in his hair, and you realize you must’ve never moved after he drifted off.

you shift gently, trying not to wake him, but he stirs anyway.

he blinks up at you, eyes bleary, voice thick with sleep. “morning.” you smile enjoying the sight of him. “morning.” he sits up slowly, rubbing his eyes. then he looks at you really looks — and something in his face softens as if reality hit him in the head and he realizes that he just slept on you.

“hey,” he murmurs. “i’m sorry for showing up like that. for just… dropping it all on you.” you shake your head. “don’t apologize.”

“no, i mean it,” he says, brow furrowing. “you didn’t sign up to hold all that. i should’ve—” you cut him off gently, with a kiss on the forehead. he immediately stops talking as you pull away,. “caleb. you’re okay. you don’t have to carry that alone anymore.”

he watches you for a second, like he’s trying to memorize your face. then his lips twitch into something small. grateful.

“you mean that?”

you nod. “if you ever need me — really need me — come. even if it’s 2 a.m. even if you don’t have the words. just come home. ”

he exhales a slow breath, like your words physically untie something in his chest. then, without warning, he grabs your waist and pulls you forward. you yelp — softly, more startled than upset — as he lifts you into his lap, the blanket falling to the floor in a lazy heap. your hands press to his shoulders automatically, your face going warm.

“caleb—!”

he grins, eyes dark and fond. “what? too early for a kiss?”

“it’s not that,” you mutter, flustered. “you just— you grabbed me so suddenly—”

he leans in and kisses you — deep, slow, like he’s been waiting days to. his hands settle at your hips, and yours curl into his shirt despite yourself. when he pulls back, you’re flushed and quiet.

he laughs. not teasing, just genuinely delighted.

“you’re blushing,” he says, amazed. you shove lightly at his shoulder. “i’m not.”— “you are.”

“it’s not the kiss,” you grumble, flustered. “you just— threw me onto your lap.”

“oh, is that it?” he asks, clearly enjoying this. “yes!”

he laughs again, pulling you closer, pressing his forehead to yours. “you’re cute when you panic. who knew miss ‘i don’t get intimidated by anything’ melts from one kiss?”

“shut up,” you whisper, even as you smile into it. his voice drops, soft and sincere. “thank you. for last night. for this.” you kiss his cheek. “always.” and for once, there’s nothing left to explain. just warmth. just him. just you. and a quiet kind of morning that tastes like peace.

as you open your mouth to speak, your stomach rumbles. caleb stares at you, and you stare at him, blinks matching speed as a stupid smile creeps on his face. as it infects your face and you start to smile he nods toward the kitchen.

you: caleb and i wont be in today. let them know please. if they have any questions or issues have them call me directly secretary: will do ma’am

the kitchen smells like toasted bread and something vaguely sweet. sunlight spills through the window in long ribbons, casting warm light across the counter, the stovetop, the slight mess from cooking. his hoodie is slung lazily over the back of one of your chairs. he’s standing at the stove now, stirring something gently in a small pan, bare forearms visible under a rolled-up shirt. good lord almighty he was so fine. the slight flexed arm muscle. the side profile. the tall towering prince charming cooking you omelette or whatever. too busy drooling. 

you walk up behind him, slow, soft steps on the tile and without a word, you wrap your arms around his waist. your cheek finds the space between just below his shoulder blades as you lean into his back, your chest rising and falling with his breath.

he stills for half a second — just enough for you to feel it — then relaxes under your touch.

his hand moves off the spatula and rests lightly over yours. warm and steady. you close your eyes. the quiet is heavy, but not in a bad way.

“you’re not alone,” you whisper. “you never were. but you don’t have to pretend now, caleb. not with me.”

he doesn’t speak, but you feel his thumb rub lightly over your knuckles. “i’ll be here,” you say again, softer. “even when it gets heavy. even when it’s hard to ask.”

you press a small kiss to the space between his shoulder blades. “you don’t have to carry everything. not when i’ve got you.” his head drops slightly. like your words sink straight into his spine. you shift just a little closer your head resting on his bicep

“you’re so loved,” you murmur. “even when you don’t feel it. especially then.”

he turns his head — just enough to meet your eyes. and for a moment, he doesn’t have to say anything because you already know.

-

the two of you sit across from each other at the small table tucked near the window, plates half-full with the omelet and toasted bread and fruit you forgot you had. there’s the sound of a show, on low volume, serving as background noise. caleb picks up a strawberry with his fork and gestures across the table. “do you remember the night we messaged about that documentary of the first airplanes?”

you smirk. “you mean the one you said ‘aged like milk’?”

he laughs, nodding. “yeah. that one. but after that… you remember what you asked me?”

you tilt your head, thoughtful. “on whispr?” he nods and you glance down at your coffee, swirling it idly. “i think i asked if you believed in love.”

“you did.” you look up. “and you said yes.”

“i still do.” he says it so simply. like it’s not something that ever needed doubting.

you go quiet for a beat, then shift your plate aside a little, folding your hands around your mug.

“i don’t,” you say softly.

his eyes lift to meet yours not surprised, just listening as if egging you to continue.  you breathe in, steady. “i mean… i want to. part of me does. but love, for me, has always been tied to conditions. people want what i can offer. power, connections, money, the illusion of having it all.”

he doesn’t interrupt. “i’ve had partners look me in the face and pretend they wanted me, when really, they wanted my name on their grant. or the way my last name gets them past red tape. or the guest list i can get them on. cars. god— someone tried to get at me because they needed their rent paid.”

your voice doesn’t waver, but it’s clear this isn’t something you say out loud often. “i’m so used to being a prize — a power play,  i don’t even know what it feels like to be wanted for me. just… me.”

he sets his fork down slowly. leans forward a little, elbows on the table, eyes never leaving yours. “you don’t scare me,” he says gently. “none of that does. not your name. not your power. not your money. i’m not here because i think you can give me something.”

you swallow, throat tightening suddenly so shy, “then why are you?” he smiles, slow and soft. “because you’re the only person i’ve ever met who didn’t ask me to be a hero,” he says. “you don’t need saving. you don’t want rescuing. and that terrifies me in the best way.”

you stare at him, heart aching a little in your chest. your fingers tighten around your mug.

“you’re the strongest person i know,” he continues. “but even strong people need someone who sees them. really sees them. not the version other people try to build around them.”

his voice lowers. “so let me see you.” you don’t say anything for a long time.

then, finally, you slide your hand across the table and let your fingers tangle with his.

and caleb — bright, battered, golden-hearted, golden retriever caleb squeezes back, like a promise. just two people, plates of cooling food between them, learning how to love each other without armor.

.

the plates are mostly empty now. the coffee’s cooled. but neither of you have moved. your hand’s still resting in his, fingers lightly intertwined, your thumb brushing along the side of his. there’s a quiet stretch thats just… full. full of thoughts that haven’t been spoken yet.

“can i ask you something?” you say, voice a little quieter now. he tilts his head. “yeah.” there was one more pause before you continue, “i know we talked about it before but what kind of partner do you want?” he pauses now. not because he doesn’t know, but because no one’s ever asked him that in a way that felt real.

“someone i can protect,” he says eventually. “someone i can build something with. not just… a relationship. i want a life.” you nod slowly, gaze soft. “a future.”

“exactly,” he says. “i want to wake up beside someone who’s still there years from now. who knows the worst of me and doesn’t flinch. who will love me as much as i love them.” you glance down, smiling a little. “that’s surprisingly poetic for a guy who steals all the coffee creamer.” 

he laughs, “you have the fanciest coffee creamer i’ve seen. i kinda have to.”  then looks at you. “what about you?”

you inhale through your nose, thinking. “i want someone who loves me. fully. unshakably. someone who’s obsessed with me, even when i don’t feel like i deserve it. not in a suffocating way — just… someone who never lets me forget that i’m enough.”

he watches you closely. “i think i’ve always been the strong one. the polished one. people fall in love with the version of me they can show off. not the one that cries at night when it gets too quiet. not the one who has a mental breakdown because her job is so impossible to do. the one who can create a plane from ground up but can’t decode a crossword puzzle.”

he chuckles at your last sentence, but then his brow furrows, eyes soft. “you’re allowed to be both,” he says. “strong and soft.” you shrugs a tilted smile on your face, “i’m trying to believe that,” you murmur. he squeezes your hand again. then — almost like he’s thinking out loud — he says, “i’ve never been with anyone.”

you blink.

“sexually, i mean,” he adds. “or romantically. not really.” you stare at him for a second. then your lips twitch. “you’re serious?” he shrugs, sheepish. “i’ve been a little busy, you know… school, taking care of my family, working odd jobs.”

you snort. “and i thought i was the last virgin standing.” he looks at you, eyebrows raised. “wait — you?” you nod, biting back a grin. “yeah.” a beat of silence — then both of you burst out laughing. 

“oh my god,” you say between breaths. “we’re such liars. acting like we’ve got it all figured out.”

“we’re frauds,” caleb says, grinning. you smile, leaning your cheek into your palm as you look at him. “i kind of like that it’s you,” you say softly. “that we’re figuring this out together.”

he reaches across the table, brushing your hair back from your face with gentle fingers. “me too,” he says. “i wouldn’t want it with anyone else.” liar. 

you don’t kiss, not yet. but the look you share across the table is deeper than any first kiss could be. 

you’re still smiling from the shared laugh, legs curled up beneath you, coffee cooling untouched between you both. there’s a pause —  before you glance at him, head tilted just slightly.

“you know,” you murmur, “you once said you didn’t have time for romance. that it didn’t fit into your life.”

he shifts, leaning back in the chair, eyes still on you. “i did.”

“so…” your voice is quiet, almost teasing. “what changed?” he watches you for a second — and then something flickers behind his gaze. something warmer. deeper. “you did.”

you blink. a little caught off guard. your lips then curl into a smile, as if you were trying to stifle a laughter, “going to be honest caleb.. that was corny..”  he just laughs, rolling his eyes as he shakes his head at you. your laugh escapes your lips as you both enjoy another round of laughter. then it dies.

“you’re…” he exhales, rubbing the back of his neck with a lopsided smile. “you’re thrilling. you walk into a room and the air just shifts. but it’s not just that.”

his voice softens as he leans in a bit. “you make me feel comfortable in my own skin. like i don’t have to be performing strength every second just to be worth your time.”

you hold his gaze. “i don’t feel like i have to babysit you,” he adds, lips curving. “you’ve got your shit handled. you’re grounded. sharp. dangerous in the best way.”

you smirk. “so… competent?” he chuckles under his breath. “no. not just that.” his hand brushes yours on the table again. slower this time. “you’re a woman,” he says, voice low. “and i am so into that.”

your breath catches just slightly — it’s unexpected, it’s so clear he means every word.

“you walk like you don’t owe anyone your softness,” he says. “and you love like it still matters. you terrify me and calm me down at the same time. and it made me realize… romance isn’t the problem.”

his thumb strokes across your knuckles. “i just hadn’t met the right person yet.” your heart thuds once, low and warm in your chest. he grins again — that cocky, crooked one — but his eyes stay soft. “you made space for it in my life without even asking.”

you lean in a little, cheeks warm. “well,” you whisper, “glad i ruined your whole schedule.”

“best interruption of my life.”

the dishes are still in the sink. caleb’s now sitting cross-legged on your couch in a t-shirt and sweatpants you gave him, hair still a little mussed from sleep. your feet are in his lap. the curtains are drawn halfway open, city light pouring in like warm milk. everything feels slow, quiet, safe.

you glance over at him, head resting on the back of the couch.

“can i ask you something?”

he nods, lazy and comfortable. “yeah?”

“how important is sex to you?”

he blinks 

you watch his face carefully, not pressing. “it’s not that important to me,” you say softly. “not the act, i mean. it’s more about who i do it with. the feeling behind it. i don’t need it for connection. but if the connection’s already there…” you trail off, shrugging one shoulder. he’s quiet for a second. thoughtful.

“i don’t think i’ve ever really considered it,” he admits. “everyone around me always made it sound like a milestone. a checklist. but i never really…” he shrugs. “i guess i just wanted it to mean something..” 

you nod. “that makes sense.” there’s a pause. then, casually mutter just below a whisper: “you know we could fuck right now if you wanted.”

his head snaps toward you so fast you nearly choke on your own laugh, “w-what?” he sputters. you grin, tilting your head. “you heard me.” he blinks at you, eyes wide, ears instantly going pink. “i— you— are you serious?” you nod, “we’re alone,” you say, stretching your arms behind your head. “we both have the day off. you’re in my clothes. i’m feeling comfortable. you said you feel safe with me.” you raise a brow. “seems like the perfect setting.”

he opens his mouth. closes it. rubs his palm over the back of his neck and laughs under his breath. “is this a punishment...” you laugh, leaning in just enough to brush your foot along his thigh. “you’re blushing.” and caleb goes on the defense, “you said it like we were about to go do laundry.”

“just being practical.” he groans, hiding his face in his hands. “you’re going to kill me.”

you scoot closer, resting your chin on his shoulder. “i’m just saying, if and when it happens… it’ll be because we want to. not because we feel like we’re supposed to.” he peeks out from between his fingers, lips twitching. “you’re dangerous.” you smile against his neck. “you like that.”

he doesn’t deny it.

and neither of you move — just staying there, wrapped in soft clothes and possibility. he’s still pink in the face, but that crooked smile is back now — the one he gets when he’s about to do something cocky, something dangerous and you’ve seen that smile before — during flight drills, when he pulls a move just to show off. but seeing it here, aimed at you, in your apartment where he just spent the night in your lap?

“you think you can fluster me,” he murmurs, voice low, leaning just a little closer, “but you forget—i learn fast.”

you narrow your eyes, grinning. “is that so?” – “mmhm.”

and then suddenly— his hands are on your thighs, and he lifts you with a smoothness that knocks the breath out of you it’s so unexpected. you gasp, arms instinctively wrapping around his shoulders as he rises to his feet in one fluid motion– your legs are around his waist before you can think.

“caleb,” you hiss, half-laughing, half-scandalized, “what are you—!” he raises a brow, smug. “what? we’re off today. we’re comfortable. i’m feeling very safe with you.” you stare at him, flustered in a way you haven’t felt in years — like someone just cracked your composure down the middle and peeked inside.

“this is wildly inappropriate,” you mumble, face hot. he shifts his grip slightly, hands snug at the curve of your thighs, holding you like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “oh, i’m sorry—i thought we were being practical?” you glare at him, biting back a smile. “you’re mocking me.” – “you started it,” he says, laughing now, voice warm in your ear. “miss strong-independent-woman-who-doesn’t-get-flustered.”

“i’m not flustered.” he grins. “you’re flushed.” 

 “because you manhandled me.”

“you liked it.”

you smack his shoulder, and he stumbles backward playfully, still holding you like you weigh nothing. the two of you collapse back onto the couch, tangled in limbs and laughter, breathless in the best way. you land on top of him, hands braced on his chest, hair swaying forward. his eyes are right there — warm and focused, lips parted.

you’re both still smiling. still laughing. but the air’s shifted again.

you don’t kiss. not yet. but your forehead rests gently against his, and for a second, everything is quiet again. his voice, low: “i’m not rushing this. you know that, right?” you nod. “i know.”

he exhales, eyes flickering down to your lips. “but when you’re ready…” your fingers curl lightly into the fabric of his shirt.

“it'll be worth the wait,” he finishes.

you smile softly, “ it already is.”

as you relish the moment, your phone vibrates and you roll your eyes, stepping off of him, and checking the notification. it was from stacia.

'double date on saturday night with my boyf and you and yours! dinner is on me, i got a raise! mwah'

"well... if you have plans on saturday night, considered it cancelled. we have a double date." you state to caleb as you read the message out loud.

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ! - @rcvcgers, @mcdepressed290, @young-adult-summer, @unstablemiss, @britishfailure, @caramelizedpopcirn, @velvtcherie, @lonelylandofan , @llamabois , @i-messed-up-big-time , @mysticcollectionvoid, @iamawkwardandshy, @auraficial, @mxkvlio, @mysticcollectionvoid, @rxelarailuj, @angelwhizpers, @p5ycholuv, @dysphxriaii, @loversobession, @lucifers-silhouette, @alayaaaahhhhhh, @dwuclvr, @unstablemiss, @miffysoo, @perqbeth,

[xencc]

Sunny afternoon 🍎🍏

[littleapplle]

mating season!

bad pup! - 1.5k w.

cw.: dog hybrid!caleb, afab!reader, knot mentioned, masturbation, cunnillingus, caleb is stupid and i hate him, panty sniffing obviously. caleb is desperate and kinda pathetic. not proofread... again.

note: this was supposed to be a joke. tf went wrong dawg.

puppy!caleb who's the biggest sweetheart ever. he likes belly rubs, headpats and blueberry treats. he likes roughhousing and chewing on the baby teethers you give him so he doesn't destroy everything in your apartment while you're gone.

puppy!caleb who's the sweetest pup around <3 he waits for you to get home by the door and when you do, his tail wags so fast, his heart beats quickly and you can see the tears of relief pricking in his lilac eyes. 

puppy!caleb who can't stand that you leave for work everyday. who's going to play with him?!

puppy!caleb who's usually very obedient but has been acting up lately. you brush it off at first but caleb isn't one to growl when you try to get close to his food. bad dog!

puppy!caleb who sniffs you head to toe when you come home tired from work. and if he finds something he doesn't like? his fluffy ears drop down to the back of his head and he growls.

you try to search up online what's wrong with your pup and all you can find is rutting season, which is pretty weird since his last owner swore he was neutered.

puppy!caleb who gets sosososo anxious and stressed when you're not home:( he needs something- anything with your scent to calm down!

puppy!caleb who goes through your laundry basket. he knows it's bad and he made a mess but he'll clean it up later! the only thing important right now is that he found the white frilly panties you wore on monday.

puppy!caleb pupils dilate as his eyes stare at the discharge stain on the delicate fabric and something snaps inside him. He brings the panties to his face, giving it a first, innocent whiff and fuuuuuuuck

you’ve always smelled good, puppy!caleb likes your shampoo and bodywash and cologne and- but this? this is heaven. caleb gives it a whiff again. there’s a hint of sweat, it’s not nasty, it smells like  you and that does it for your sweet pup.

puppy!caleb who doesn’t know why he has been so pent up lately:( he likes being good for you! you smile and praise him and let him have a spoon of peanut butter! but his brain feels fuzzy and there’s a knot growing bigger and bigger on his lower stomach and he feels like he’s gonna pop like a balloon and he’s anxious and he’s alone and you’re not here to help him!

puppy!caleb kicks his wet boxers — which he did pee a little from anxiety but he’d rather die than accept that he is that desperate — and whines loudly when his sensitive cock hits his tummy.

puppy!caleb who paws his cock on a miserable attempt to relieve himself. his hand wraps itself around the shaft, his thumb presses down on his angry red, leaky tip and another loud whine escapes his lips.

puppy!caleb who sniffs your panties again, now gaining enough confidence to lick the patch of arousal and discharge left on the fabric. at the taste, his fluffy tail wags excitedly, thumping on the ground hard enough you’d definitely hear an earful from your neighbor downstairs later.

puppy!caleb who can’t help but sink his itching canines on your panties- sorry! he panicked! 

wet squelches fill the bathroom walls as his hand works up and down on his sensitive cock. melodic, obnoxiously loud moans and whimpers leave his throat as his already creamy dick finally shoots out strings of thick, milky cum and the base of his cock forms a big, swollen knot.

puppy!caleb ears perk at the sound of your keys unlocking the front door and he barely takes time to put his boxers back on before he runs to the entryway. oh you’re finally home! you’ve been gone for so long- too long!

he doesn’t give you any time to scold him for not wearing anything but underwear- or to question him why his heart is beating impossibly fast or why he’s whining so much. puppy!caleb who brings you down to the floor in a harsh pull, ignoring your complaints.

“s-sorry! ‘m sorry! so hot- you smell so good!” the pup cries, his breath tickles the sensitive skin of your neck as he takes a good whiff, drowning in what's left of your perfume and natural musk.

and it’s not like you can pull him away:( first of all you don’t have the heart to leave your pup crying like that, especially when you don’t know what happened and he’s just stupidly strong! 

“ah! b-bad dog! get off caleb- you’re heavy!” your nagging falls deaf in his ears. you shudder at the moment his tongue licks the skin where your neck and jaw meet, twitching at the weird feeling.

puppy!caleb who is so fucking dumb and can’t seem to figure out how to unbuckle your belt and unbutton your pants. you squirm under him and a raspy squeal of surprise leaves your throat. 

“bad dog! argh- what has gotten in you today?-” — “please! promise it’ll feel good- jus’- jus’ needa taste you, please? need it? i’ve been nice and didn’t chew on anything- can i get a treat? please? please please-” he asks- no- begs.

you don’t give him a proper answer, just accepting that there’s not much you can do under him. with some struggle, stupid puppy!caleb gets you out of your tight jeans.

a string of whines and sniffles come out of him. you feel overwhelmed- his hands are everywhere, puppy!caleb has always been the anxious type, if he can’t touch every bit of skin in your body and mark you as his then what else is he going to do?!

even in so much distress, puppy!caleb’s tail still wags excitedly behind him as he kisses your tummy and licks a stripe from your belly button to the hem of your panties. a different pair, he notes. this time, a pretty lacy red design barely covers your fat folds.

he takes a whiff first, of course, before licking the wet stain forming where your slit would be. “fu-uck- caleb! you- aha- bad fucking dog!” you moan, covering your face with your now sweaty hands. caleb doesn’t pay attention to your curses, only trying to dig deeper on the fabric in hopes to get to his meal faster.

frustration bubbles on his dumbed down brain. bothered by the fabric getting on the way, puppy!caleb’s teeth rip the delicate lace and pull it to the side, finally able to get his prize.

“c-caleb- are you fucking kidding-? what has gotten- h-hey no teeth! bad dog!” you chastise in disbelief. you don’t really know what’s worse, caleb non stop whining and the fact that you can’t pull him away from your cunt or that you find it hot.

puppy!caleb who licks a stripe from your slit up to your clit before diving in for a little snack!!! you taste so much better than your panties:( he really tries to be gentle and start slowly, kissing the hood that protects your clit but it just isn’t for him! he needs it now!!!

sucking harshly on your folds, he lets go with a loud ‘pop!’  before teasing your clit with the tip of his tongue attempting to get a positive reaction from you. seeing you squirm on the floor only makes it harder for him to think properly:( 

puppy!caleb whose tongue’s swirls on the sensitive bundle of nerves in a way that makes your head spin- how does he even know how to do all of that?

puppy!caleb who can’t help but rut his hips on the cold floor as his tip grows redder and leaks more pre cum than before:( he feels so good though… he can’t really stop right now to take care of himself! you’re basically overwhelming his every sense and his puppy brain can’t really focus:(

puppy!caleb who accidentally nips on your clit, making you jolt and curse at him. “s-sorry! ‘m sorry!” – he cries out as his ears drop and he spits on your cunt.

it’s messy, you feel ashamed for doing something like that with him of all people and what’s worse is that you can’t deny that it feels fucking good. puppy!caleb’s tongue slurps everything he can get leaking out your slit before digging in impossibly close for more. shoving his tongue as deep as he can to taste you better, his nose hits your clit for the nth time, the constant sniffing making you squeal in pleasure.

“a-ah! fuck! f-fuck caleb- gonna cum, can you keep going pup? be obedient for once, y-yeah? please- shit- mghh!-” at the sign to keep going, caleb’s eyes roll to the back of his skull. he shifts to suck on your clit again and that finally breaks you. your back arches and an embarrassing loud moan escape your glossy lips, your legs twitching and closing around his head. 

puppy!caleb who apparently is insatiable and doesn’t stop licking you clean until you scold him – again – and pulls his head  back by the hair. bad dog!

“did you cum on your boxers?-” — “sorry!”

⊹ ࣪ ˖ reblogs are very much appreciated. thank you for reading! (*´▽`*)

[asteroshearts]

Postpartum Confinement

[Xavier (Shen Xinghui 沈星回 ) + Caleb (Xia Yizhou 夏以晝)]

In Chinese culture, mothers stay and rest for a month or more after giving birth to properly recover (zuo yue zi).

Warnings: Yandere themes for Caleb's

Zayne and Sylus

Xavier (Shen Xinghui 沈星回 )

The Yue Sao (postpartum care nanny) and her little assistant, Xavier.

You and Xavier decided to hire a Yue Sao recommended by one of your older coworkers at the Hunters Association, and now Xavier could always be seen shyly shuffling behind her around the house, ready to get you anything and everything you needed at a moment's notice.

Your coworker told you that she heard many horror stories about Yue Sao or in-laws being opinionated or strict, but she told you that this woman always asked her what she wanted first.

It was true, this woman was an angel to you, so patient, asking for your opinions, making jokes with you, saying things like, "Oh, you don't want to? That's fine!"

But with Xavier...she was Gordon Ramsay, and he was her sous chef.

No more midday napping for him.

While you rested or nursed the baby, you could always see him in the background mopping, vacuuming, cleaning the kitchen, the bathroom, up and down the entire home.

Whenever his path would cross yours on his crusade, he'd always shoot such sad bunny eyes at you two... he wanted to nap with his baby too....

But the Yue Sao said you already did the brunt of the work, creating the baby for nine months, pushing them out, and experiencing the most pain you had ever felt in your life, what Xavier had to deal with was a molehill compared to your mountain.

But when she tried to teach him how to make you a postpartum soup...

["Um..." he answered awkwardly, "I don't think I should."

"Xinghui!" she scolded, and if he had bunny ears, you could imagine them drooping by now. He had normally been so above and beyond for you, so what changed? "What will happen when I'm no longer around? Who will make your wife soup?"

Those bunny ears seemed to sag even more.

"Are you going to make the mother of your child get up and make her own soup?"]

One hour later, you and your baby woke up with a jump when a loud BOOM came from your kitchen.

Your Yue Sao later apologized and swore to never let him cook again.

She later recommended some places you could order delivery from for meals specifically for postpartum women.

For some reason...why do I feel like he'd be really good at the massages meant to help you with lactation?

When the nanny tried to teach you the massage, you easily called Xavier over to learn too, as you trusted him.

He wouldn't find it awkward or weird, and would take up her lessons with seriousness.

He'd be the perfect mix of gentle and nimble, but he'd stare at your face as he'd do it, catching any microexpressions for any ounce of discomfort or pain. If the pressure was too much, he'd slow down or switch techniques immediately.

Being a nanny, your Yue Sao had seen far too many lazy, distant, or ungrateful fathers, so she was so glad to meet Xavier, who waited on you hand and foot.

As she mentioned that to him, a small smile appeared on his lips.

He didn't mind. As a knight, he lived devoted.

Caleb (Xia Yizhou 夏以晝)

A tradition where you aren't supposed to go outside, not meet with anyone else, and where all attention was on you and the ultimate proof of your love, and that you would never leave him, your child? Oh, he's over the moon.

Why should the zuo yue zi only be a month? He's telling you to make it three—five, in fact, you could stay like this forever.

Despite this, however, he doesn't trust anyone to properly take care of you and your baby. Not a random postpartum nanny, not any of the care centers, and you two had no in-laws.

He might not trust anyone, but that doesn't mean he would dare deprive you of any resource or help.

He puts it on himself to fill in the empty spaces and throws himself into learning about postpartum care, taking classes while you were still pregnant and constantly researching.

Some may say it takes a village to raise a child, but Caleb is all you need, hm?

Since it's just him doing all of the work, he wants to make sure that no stone is unturned, and falls deeply into believing postpartum superstitions and traditional medicine.

Feeds you bitter herbal stews and constantly talks about keeping the "heat" in your body.

You have to debate and argue with him that nothing will happen if you turn on the AC for just a bit in the summer, and can he please stop feeding you pork trotters!?

He's a bit sad too, though. It's just as hard for you as it is for him. Postpartum women aren't supposed to eat overly salty, oily foods, and he loves making you his famous braised chicken.

Washes your hair for you, cooks you every meal, and we all know that he's a pro at doing your laundry 😏, so the second the baby throws/spits up on you, he's there in a second with a fresh shirt and wiping you down.

It may seem excessive, but he'll say in his sweet voice that keeping clean is good for your mental health and how you view yourself.

But he'll love you no matter what. Even if you smell like baby vomit.

He takes over the night shift completely with your baby without you knowing, so much so that, for a while, you believed that your baby just didn't wake up in the middle of the night like other kids.

You had full eight-plus hours of sleep for months, and you were none the wiser that Caleb would wake up at the slightest hint of a whimper or cry from the crib beside your bed, feed the baby, rock them, and change diapers, all while you slept peacefully.

You didn't catch on until one of your calls with Jenna, she told you that it was improbable that your baby didn't wake up at all during the night, and perhaps one day, you should pretend to sleep to catch the act.

So that's why he asked you to pump so much.

Some women may beg for at least a 50/50 relationship with the father of their children, but for Caleb, 50/50 isn't enough. If he weren't human, and if he were made of machine and metal, he'd want to be built just for this. He'd make it so that you wouldn't have to lift a single finger, and he'd take care of everything.

[st4vk1nmybra1n]

wc: 500

cw: celebrity!caleb x gn!reader, just very silly fluffy headcanons! Reader is set to have an interviewing series similar to Chicken Shop Date called Tea-Time Talk!! (lowercase intended)

a/n: recently been geeking out over Love and Deepspace (might have a gambling addiction because of the gacha system) so i decided to write for Caleb :33 but i also have a longer fic for Sylus in the works.. wink wink

celebrity!caleb who gets restless at the thought of finally being able to join you on an episode for Tea-Time Talk, after months of pestering his manager and stalking all your posts and videos for the third time. (He's a d1 fan..)

celebrity!caleb whose eyes shine so bright when he's meeting you for the first time, resisting the urge to celebrate when you pull him in for a hug to greet him.

celebrity!caleb who brings out a gift as he sits down, smiling proudly as he watches you gasp in awe at the set of exotic and rare teas he got you!

celebrity!caleb who laughs just a little too hard at your jokes, full on slapping his knee, almost falling out of his seat. All while you blink in mild amusement and surprise. Surely you couldn't have been that funny..

celebrity!caleb who watches you skillfully pour him a cup of tea with his elbow resting against the table, holding up his arm which serves as a pillowy surface for him to lay his pretty little head on, giving you that signature puppy-dog-yearning look he's known for.

celebrity!caleb who takes a second too long to respond, a dumb smile on his lips as he watches you talk. His brain catches up a little late when he sees your gorgeous eyes narrow at him instead of sparkling and speaking all your sentences for you..

celebrity!caleb who answers all your questions earnestly, but is eager to learn more about you! So what if he starred in a new film or had a new feature or project out? He wants to know where you got that scar on your index finger from.

celebrity!caleb who compliments you on your tea pouring skills, playfully commenting about how you're a professional. (Which you are, considering this is your job..)

celebrity!caleb who runs through so many cups of tea from how much he simply sat and listened to you talk, preferring very much to listen to your voice. (Oh, and also– he just happens to take pretty large sips..)

celebrity!caleb who hums ruefully when you lament about how less you learned about him during your date– (even though you call every episode a “date” it doesn't make him any less giddy) only to then enthusiastically suggest a second date, all while his bright doe eyes stared you down.

celebrity!caleb who grins charmingly when you tell him you'll think about it, already thinking about how he'll get all his friends to comment on the video when it's up, imploring that you bring him on a second date.

celebrity!caleb who hugs you goodbye in his large and muscular arms, whispering in that quiet and husky voice about how nice it was to be on the show with you, passing you a small wink as he walks off set.

celebrity!caleb whose phone blows up once the video goes up on your channel, with everyone commenting about how there was so much chemistry between you two!

celebrity!caleb who can't help but preen and gloat when he sees comments talking about how you seemed to be extra flustered and break character around him, more than you'd done with anyone else.

celebrity!caleb who takes one good look at the views amassed on his video with you, and starts planning out his next date with you because duh!

celebrity!caleb who doesn't hesitate to @ you when he tweets “so when's the next date? ;)” thinking he definitely swooned you.

celebrity!caleb who definitely had you swooned, but he doesn't need to know that..

[maeparu]

lads caleb | xia yizhou video links 0.1

18+ MINORS DNI

summary: lads caleb twt links 😈

a/n: got my last exam out of the way so i finally got to finish this. subby top caleb truthers rise up 🤭🤭 many of them i included bc i'm self-indulgent :3 enjoy!

caleb definitely is the vocal, breathy moans type. how could he not be when you feel too good around him

submissive caleb,,, thigh fucking.... he would 100% look up at you with his big eyes and ask to cum

MORE SUBMISSIVE CALEB. im telling you, he would look up at you while sucking your tits as you praise him

he'd worship your entire body forever if he could. would love hearing your moans when he goes from your pussy to your tits

he would not know where to put his hands when you're riding him so good

having you cuffed and making you take all of him. he thinks its so hot seeing his cock get swallowed by your hole

he's sooo big :3 you just know he feels heavy in your hands

this is literally caleb... (again) seeing his cock disappear in your wet pussy is so hot to him

squeezing your ass while he cums >>>

let me be self-indulgent and say this is caleb.. just because.