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starmocha · 2 months ago

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Push & Pull [Caleb/Reader ★ 1939 words ★ Masterlist ★ Series Index ★ AO3] What a bore, he thought, no longer amused by tonight’s show. A/N: To be fair…this was started at the same time as Pillow Talk. idk what I’m defending myself from I’ve done worse alkaal;akla Tag list: @miudle @alfredosaws @nezukoo-channn @rose-tinted-kalopsia @valkyyriia @natimiles @yourlocalcatscammer 【 request to be added 】

He was just a tease.

But you liked it.

You liked the way Caleb didn’t make the first move, the way he always seemed to smile knowingly, already aware of what was going through your mind. He would calmly observe you, a smirk here, a chuckle there, whenever it seemed you wanted to make him jealous.

Tonight was no different. You were feeling particularly bratty, wanting to provoke him a little for your own amusement. He didn’t say anything when you had left his side, already strutting your way through the crowd, capturing the intrigue of the wolves in this den, their eyes gleaming from the lascivious thoughts running rampantly in their minds as they traversed down your body.

In the crowded bar, Caleb sat in a corner booth, leg crossed over the other as he enjoyed his drink and the entertainment you provided. He chuckled, feeling a twinge of pride, knowing that everything of yours belonged to him.

Glass to his lips, he took a slow sip, darkened eyes watching your every move from across the room.

Such a pretty little thing, so strong and alluring, you were the object of many male gazes, a figment in all of their perverted fantasies, but, oh, what a shame that your own eyes were only on Caleb truly. He watched you entertained the flirtatious advances, smiling and giggling, dumbed down for their pathetic sake, their pride too fragile to truly experience the kind of woman you could be in the bedroom. None of these swine could match his caliber. At this point, it seemed more insulting to you than him.

What a bore, he thought, no longer amused by tonight’s show.

Caleb set his glass back down on the table and stood up, crossing the room in slow strides with his long legs. He always did know when you would try to make him jealous, and tonight was just one of those nights. However, it never worked—not even once—because you would always come back to him, just like how he would always find his way to you.

He exuded an aura of dominance, a silent command to yield to him. One cold stare had dispersed the crowd of boys around you, and soon, you felt that familiar presence lingering behind, him knelt down lower, his lips from your ear, a faint growl in his normally gentle voice with you:

“My room—now.”

In a dark hotel room overlooking Linkon, the floor-to-ceiling windows allowed the city lights to illuminate the space, enough so that after you had pushed him onto the bed, he lounged casually and watched as you stripped out of your little black dress for him.

You wondered if he was always this good at masking his expressions, because even with the minimal lights in the room, you couldn’t truly discern his look. You reached behind your back and unclipped your black lacy bra, letting it fall to reveal your breasts to him. He tilted his head a little, appearing more amused than aroused, almost as if he was simply studying you for a figure drawing class than appreciating you as a work of art crafted by God Himself.

You huffed a little in annoyance, still determined to get a rise out of him.

You climbed into bed with him, crawling closer until you were settled in between his legs, peering up at him with the same naughty smile you wore all night long. His hands instantly grabbed your face, his lips upon yours as he kissed with the intensity and intention of bruising you enough to leave his mark, a reminder that you were always his. It didn’t take much before he had you immediately flipped on your back, trapped beneath his heavy body, your legs already parting to allow him access.

He smirked. It was, after all, so sweet how you were always ready for him, always desiring him when you could have any man you wanted. You stared up into his familiar violet eyes, your chest heaving, breathing heavier as your body was trembling with anticipation. He knelt above you, his hand grabbing at his tie, loosening them as it was his turn to provide you a show.

With every article of clothing he took off, revealing more and more of him to you, you could feel a growing ache as you imagined those large hands grabbing at your buttocks, his toned chest pressed against your body, and his warm mouth taking your nipple to suckle and tease until they hardened, until he had you squirming underneath him, legs trembling, your cunt dripping obscenely for him.

“Caleb…”

“I know,” he murmured, as he tossed the last item of clothing on the hotel floor. He reached out and grabbed at the waistband of the panties you still wore. He hummed low, his arousal visible, once he took in the sight of the soaked panties. “Already this wet…fuck…”

His lips were on yours again, and you both fumbled in the dark, hands exploring one another, your moans and his heating up the room.

“You make such pretty sounds,” he murmured, “I want to hear more…”

You felt his calloused hand rubbed circles on your thigh, and then—

Smack!

A piercing slap resounded, the sting had you crying, squealing in surprise, but also aroused by his dominance. Caleb chuckled, seeing that delighted look in your eyes. He slapped you again, harder, the noises you were making a blend of pain and pleasure.

“Did you enjoy prancing yourself around those men tonight?” he asked calmly, his voice neutral, showing no sign of annoyance or anger. He seemed almost genuinely curious. He slapped harder, the sting lingering far longer than the previous instances. Almost immediately, he rubbed the same spot he had struck in soothing circles, and he murmured lazily, “Answer me.”

“…No,” you admitted, panting softly as you gazed up into his eyes. There were tears in the corner of your own eyes, a natural reaction to feeling the sharp pain.

“No?” he questioned, almost mockingly. He reached up and brushed those tears aside, his lips kissed your temple. “But it was your idea to act like a slut tonight.”

You whined at him, “Caleb…”

He immediately chuckled and apologized. “Alright, alright,” he conceded, “You don’t like being called a slut, do you?”

You remained silent, eyes darting to the side in avoidance. His hand grasped your chin, making you keep your sight on him. He continued in that same soft and even tone, “Or rather, you only like being my slut?”

You inhaled sharply, and Caleb laughed, your quick natural response answering his question more honestly than words ever could. He kissed you again, settling more comfortable in between your legs. You gasped when you felt his hard, thick cock pressing against your slick entrance. You trembled, breathing shuddering as he eased himself in, his low groans answering your own cries.

Caleb panted softly, smiling, and spoken almost matter-of-factly, “You’ll always be my slut.”

He started shallowly thrusting in and out, feeling your walls stretching to accommodate him. He continued in that same easy tone, “You can take as many cocks from as many men, but you’ll always want me instead.”

“Ca-Caleb…!”

You were whining, gasping and moaning, your body responding to the pleasure of feeling him penetrating you again and again in this same, leisure rhythm as he took his time, relishing in the lewd expressions you wore only for him.

“How many men has this pussy taken?” he asked, his lips on yours once more, swallowing those heavenly moans.

“I guess I really don’t fucking care,” he admitted, “Because you will always be mine. Isn’t that right, pipsqueak?”

You were trembling, tears in your eyes, too overstimulated by him and his words to truly grasp what he was saying.

“Answer me,” he demanded, thrusting in harder, your arms now wrapped around his neck. His own arms wrapped around you, lifting you from the bed as your legs locked around his waist. His pace grew more brutal, no longer slow and leisurely. He panted heavily, his voice lower than before, as he demanded again, “Answer me. You will always be mine, right?”

You whimpered into his shoulder, crying and agreeing without thinking, “Yes! I’m yours, Caleb! Always yours!”

One hand rested on the back of your head, pressing you closer to his shoulder. He smiled faintly. “Good girl,” he whispered, “My good girl. My pretty little slut. All mine.”

You squealed as wordlessly, Caleb took you harder, fucking you so intensely, you could feel your climax fast approaching with every deep, hard thrust. You panted, sharp nails digging into his back, his immediate groans had you clenching around him, squeezing him until you both were crashing, falling deeper and deeper into this state of euphoria together.

Your back hit the mattress again, and Caleb’s body collapsed on yours, his weight keeping you trapped underneath. You reached forward, your hand brushing against his damped bangs that clung to his forehead. He looked down at you, curious, almost as if he was waiting for your next move. You smiled and leaned up, kissing him where you had just touched.

He smiled back, his expression warmer than before, feeling very familiar, a memory of a time so far in the past now. You sometimes wished you could see this same smile again more often, and perhaps, maybe over time, you both could return to that period of innocence. It didn’t seem like an impossible dream, you thought, your fingers still lightly stroking his temple.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Caleb murmured, breaking you out of your trance. He grabbed at your restless hand, little kisses pressed against your fingers as he peered up again into your eyes, as if he was waiting still, silently calculating.

You wondered what he was thinking, what was hidden behind those eyes for so long. You remembered when they shined like brilliant amethyst, but now it seemed a dark cloud had overcast.

“I’ll be back,” he whispered, kissing your cheek before he had gotten up.

You lazed in bed, tired but immensely satisfied, still feeling the lingering warmth of his body heat against yours. You struggled to keep your eyes open, feeling a heavy exhaustion wracking your entire body.

It wouldn’t hurt to nod off for just a few seconds, you thought.

Perhaps you might have rested for far too longer, because now, you suddenly found yourself feeling weightless. Once you had opened your eyes, you realized the reason for the change. Cradled in Caleb’s arms, he carried you to the bathroom.

“Can you walk?” he asked, peering down after he had noticed you stirring.

You immediately shook your head, the faint gleam of mischievousness twinkled in your eye.

“Still a brat?” he asked, and you pouted, just a bit upset that he had caught on so quickly to your treachery. He sighed in mock-exasperation. “Alright, alright.”

The warm bath he had drawn felt heavenly on tired muscles. Completely spent and satisfied, Caleb kept you cradled in between his long legs as you both relaxed in the water, because this was how it always was. He would always take care of you. It was just in his nature, a natural instinct he could never ignore.

The water rippled when he moved, his head bent to kiss along the nape of your neck. His murmur was so soft and warm, a contrast to his earlier cold teasing. Your guard lowered, you relaxed against him, his arm wrapping around your waist as he gazed down at you, a satisfied smile graced his lips.

My pipsqueak. Mine.

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace caleb #love and deepspace x reader #caleb x reader #caleb smut #love and deepspace fanfiction #lnds fanfics #x — fanfics #🥹 i just love him sm i can't be normal about him #it's not in my nature to be calm 🥹

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thebiscuitlabryinth · 1 year ago

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Cookiekind, in general, seems to hold the strange belief that Shadow Milk Cookie, as the Beast of Deceit, does not understand truth. This is because they have burnt ash for brains, and cannot comprehend that a change in superficial title does not mean that Shadow Milk Cookie is no longer the Master of Knowledge. Even if it did, a deciever can only be effective by understanding the nuance of truth, for the greatest lies are created through its flexibility.

So despite popular opinion, Shadow Milk does recognise, understand and know truth. Well, he knows everything, but especially something as fundamental as that.

Look, here's a truth, right now; Shadow Milk Cookie quite likes Pure Vanilla Cookie, in spite of everything.

Not in the soft, fluffy cotton candy way, of course. Shadow Milk likes Pure Vanilla in the same way a cat likes a mouse, or a researcher likes a test subject, or a puppeteer has a favourite puppet. He likes him because he is a source of entertainment – having such a soft, simple heart makes him fun to watch struggle with silly emotions, and easy to taunt and frazzle. That's all, really. Shadow Milk can't even say he likes him to the point of wanting to crack him open and see what makes him tick, because he doesn't need to. He already knows everything about Pure Vanilla, right down to the composition of the yeast in his body, because he has constantly kept his eyes on him since the start.

It must be said though, if we are to talk in truths, that Shadow Milk may have some biases that make him more invested in Pure Vanilla's continued existence. Namely, the fact that he holds his Soul Jam.

Now, obviously he doesn't like that this little half-cookie, this unworthy, flimsy vessel, holds half his power. On the contrary, it is nothing but an insult to watch him clumsily flaunt it around while Shadow Milk stays unjustly shackled. It is the only transgression Pure Vanilla has ever committed against him, but it is a blasphemous one.

And yet, even with his bubbling rage at the disrespectful theft of his rightful power, Shadow Milk sometimes likes to toy with the idea that he is a gift, a plea for forgiveness from the Witches that he can righteously ignore. After all, Pure Vanilla has his Soul Jam – his, not theirs – and does that not make Pure Vanilla his too?

Naturally, Shadow Milk knows that the Witches are horrible, selfish old tyrants and would not grant him that grace, but that does not change the fact that Pure Vanilla is, for all intents and purposes, his other half. There is something powerful in that knowledge, especially since he knows it would tear Pure Vanilla apart.

So Shadow Milk does like Pure Vanilla quite a lot, even with the full knowledge that he's a dirty little thief, because he is entertaining and, most importantly, he is his.

Now, here is another truth, since we're already on a roll; Shadow Milk Cookie will escape the Seal and get his Soul Jam back.

It's an inevitability, really. Even if Shadow Milk feels like he is absolutely crumbling of boredom stuck in this stupid tree, especially since the rest of the Beasts have one by one drifted into a bitterly restless slumber, they are all far too strong to be contained by a single measly seal forever. The day will come when it gives way beneath the probing of his hands, and with the cracks in the tree nearly large enough for him to stick his fingers through, he knows that day will come much, much sooner than later.

As for what comes after he escapes? Well, Shadow Milk has no concerns there.

The Faerie Cookies may have longer lifespans than average, but sadly that doesn't make them any smarter. It'll be a piece of cake to knead their doughy brains into doing what he wants them to, even with half his power missing. The Guardian is the only one who poses any real threat, and even that has a laughably easy solution, because he certainly isn't immune to crumbling.

Shadow Milk picks at the slim seam of the cracks with hands that are not his own, encouraging them to grow as he takes a moment to fantasise standing over the Guardian's pathetic crumbs.

Speaking of laughably easy solutions, Pure Vanilla is awfully kind to come to Beast-Yeast, right on the cusp of Shadow Milk's escape! Really, Shadow Milk was estatic when he overheard him discussing those travel plans. It saves him the trouble of having to track him down once he's finished freeing his friends and razing the Faeriewoods to the ground.

Even better, having Pure Vanilla around to welcome him back to the free air could prove to be useful. It would be so deliciously poetic, for Pure Vanilla to cut down the tree with his stolen power and set Shadow Milk free with his own hands, offering himself up in a syrupy spotlight to reunite the two lost halves of Knowledge to its true owner.

Shadow Milk could push him into it, he thinks confidently as he twists his claws into the fracture, grappling at the edges to force them wider. He knows Pure Vanilla better than Pure Vanilla knows himself, he is sure. It wouldn't even be hard.

Now, let's review! Shadow Milk Cookie quite likes Pure Vanilla Cookie, that is the first truth. And he will escape the Seal and get his Soul Jam back, that is the second.

These truths coexist, and because they do, Shadow Milk has long decided he won't immediately crumble Pure Vanilla into fine dust when he takes his Soul Jam back.

Oh, he could, and so easily too. Shadow Milk has held Pure Vanilla's hunched form in his palms dozens of times, in the pit of the abyss, has felt how fragile and weak it is – not that Pure Vanilla ever notices, the silly, blind thing. He has curled his claws around his silhouette like a cage countless times, and entertained and irritated himself with how easy it would be to crush him in one fell swoop.

Yes, he could crumble him without a second thought, but that wouldn't be much fun, would it? It's not like he needs to destroy him to be able to retrieve his Soul Jam, and really, it would be a bit of a waste. He's been waiting to meet him – really, truly meet him – for oh so long, to get rid of him immediately would just be anticlimatic. Nobody likes a boring ending, least of all Shadow Milk.

There is a sudden, audible crack, and Shadow Milk's hands finally breach the containment of the bark, fingers quickly scrambling to anchor themselves on the edges of the open wound. An uncontrollable, wild grin splits across Shadow Milk's face, or whatever is currently left of it, wide and eager.

He lurches forward, all of his eyes narrowing in on the wispy traces of light outside, with the exception of the one that always follows Pure Vanilla like a curse, currently watching him settle into an airship with some teeny, insignificant Cookies. Anticipation begins to simmer the endless darkness around him, finally, finally, finally making him feel alive for the first time in far too long.

Somewhere nearby, Silent Salt is slowly beginning to rouse, and Shadow Milk's grin stretches even wider. They don't make a sound and hardly move, but Shadow Milk knew they would be the first to wake. They always are.

Finally, a third truth, to neatly complete the rule of threes; Shadow Milk Cookie is looking forward to properly introducing himself and the other Beasts to Pure Vanilla Cookie.

This one doesn't need any further explanation. After all, there is nothing more thrilling than a good reveal.

The wood groans pitifully beneath his harsh grip, the noise mingling with the distant thrum of an airship in motion, and Shadow Milk's quiet but sharp giggling.

Ah, he can't wait to see Pure Vanilla's face when he realises the true identity of his precious Light of Truth.

#sorry. i was overtaken by demons (sm) it will probably happen again #this pov was an interesting one to write in!#my current conclusion on sm is that he is very entitled and very sure of himself #(hence the confidence that he knows all about pv here. and the irritation in canon when it doesn't work)#basically he's a whole bastard. love that for him though <3 #shadow milk cookie #crk #cookie run kingdom #shadowvanilla #vanilla milkshake #← implied but the nature is up to interpretation #the biscuit library

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