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after you become intimate, caleb gets regular manicures. 

he’s never paid his callused hands much attention before, but if his long fingers are going to be inside you, they’ll be as soft and smooth as possible—he’s not taking any chances. 

for a whole night, he does his research, dutifully sifting through customer reviews and testimonials until he finds the best option. 

his hulking frame is out of place in the quaint pastel salon, but all the nail techs love him—partly because he pays full price despite only ever getting his left hand done, but mostly from the way his eyes light up when he talks about you.

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i want to talk about my ocs but im literally this image. i got nothing

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sigh.. they're everywhere

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Caleb can do anything for mc 😔💗

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may your next lover be the reason you’ve waited and endured for so long.

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people are always like "Oh a vampire wouldn't get horny while drinking someone's blood, that's like getting horny while eating a sandwich" and like man have you never had a really good fucking sandwich?

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Heeeey! 👉👈

My name is CookieTails (She/Her) and I write fics on AO3!

❤️ Veteran VLD Lover 💙 Veteran Klance Shipper (2016, where y'all at) 💜 Domestic, Post-Canon, AUs, etc. 🍪 Open to questions about headcanons, etc. ☕️ Feel free to hit my inbox if you'd like to suggest a prompt!

I appreciate all the love and support I've received on AO3, and thus I've decided to make an account here to share my work.

Thank you for support my writing journey!

✨ Ao3 ✨ Twitter / X

FICS ♥︎ Ascension - Explicit ♥︎ Love Bites - Mature ♥︎ Currently, Us - T Rated ♥︎ Bed Chem (Summer Lovin') - Explicit ♥︎ Close To You (Moonlit Tides) - Explicit ♥︎ Interrupted Bonding Moments - Mature ♥︎ I've Got You, I Always Do - Explicit ♥︎ Asterism - Mature ♥︎ Lumen Aura - Explicit

SERIES 🍯 Heaven & Earth

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WHERE was the so called heterosexuality when lance mcclain declared on a fucking gameshow that keith kogane was the future????? how do u just say your male teammate is the future and look like THIS while u do and then still get called straight??????? HUH

the denial is crazy frfr

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I see a rival smiling very affectionately at his other rival. Very platonic 🙃

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HI I CANT stop thinking abt kissing caleb!!

He's suuuuuper handsy with you when you’re making out, pawing at your waist, your hips, your thighs… if you’re seated on his lap he WILL manhandle you so that your thighs are wrapped around him, chest pressed flush against each other. (May or may not grind up against you at the same time.)

Whispers things like “Mmh, I love that sound you make,” whenever you squeak or whimper at his touches. Would trail his hands teasingly over wherever you’re sensitive, letting out a breathy laugh into the kiss. 

Loves it when you initiate kisses—no matter if it’s just a peck on his cheek or a full on make out session, as long as you get it started it will be impossible for him to stop.

When you part before he’s ready (whether it’s because you need a breather, or just a little break), he gets really irked about it. Cups his hands around your hips and pulls, groaning into your lips, “Get back here, we’re not done yet.” 

he also. Does the thing where he cups the back of your head or neck to deepen the kiss. would NOT let you go until you're like just about to pass out from how overwhelming it is

Gets tunnel vision when he sees you after a long day/week of not having you to kiss and to hold. Nothing else would matter once he’s come home to you, single-minded focus on just pulling you into his arms, burying his face in your neck and relishing in your presence. (leaves hickies and little bite marks all over your skin too <3)

When you press chaste kisses to his cheeks he loves to return them, would pause his cooking/reading/almost practically anything that he’s doing to give you some kisses of his own!

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Can you pleaseeee make a caleb ver of the cramp simulator🙏🧎‍♀️🏃‍♀️

If not thank youu!!! Loveeee love that fic tho 👅👅👅

𝙲𝚛𝚊𝚖𝚙 𝚂𝚒𝚖𝚞𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚘𝚛 - 𝙲𝚊𝚕𝚎𝚋

Finally adding Caleb to the Cramp Simulator saga

[Before]

reminds you that he has pilot and military training “did you forget I'm military trained?” “What does that have to do anything?” “You think I can’t handle this?”

is well aware that your cramps are bad, but wholeheartedly believes that he can handle it

volunteers to have you put two on him “If I had two I would, but one should be enough" "Do your thing pipsqueak" he definitely has a shit eating grin on his face

[During]

loses control of his evol “Caleb you’re making the couch float!” “Fuck that couch”

red in the face down on all fours begging for mercy “is this really what you go through?” “actually this is” as you turn it up

ends up in full fetal position “you were right” “I was what?” “Right!” “A little louder” “YOU WERE RIGHT!”

The house looks like an acid trip with furniture and random objets either floating or being held down causing cracks in the floor

[After]

laid on the floor for over an hour after you took it off of him “How do you feel?” “There’s a chance something may be out of place now” “like what?” “do you really wanna know?”

makes you stay with him when you’re on your period ; will call out from your job for you or put in your pto

brings you everything you ask for and if you want to get it yourself he carries you “I can walk you know” “that’s a miracle in itself honestly”

gets phantom pains now anytime he thinks about it

sits outside the bathroom and waits for you so he can carry you back to bed or wherever you were before

puts a pad on your underwear for you while you’re in the shower

rubs yours stomach and feet religiously

Chef Caleb, Nurse Caleb, Caleb the Maid, Caleb the Butler whatever you need him to be he's doing it x10

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Current Brainrot: PDA VS. Boyfriend Caleb!

Author's Note: I was feeling soft and mushy today instead of lewd and smutty—so you’re getting clingy, lovesick Caleb. I promise the debauchery will return, but for now? Enjoy the fluff. (Artist & Original Post)

not proof-read! (sorry if there are any errors - let me know and I'll fix it!

✧₊🦢🫖₊✧✧₊🦢🫖₊✧✧₊🦢🫖₊✧✧₊🦢🫖₊✧✧₊🦢🫖₊✧✧₊🦢🫖

Caleb does not give a fuck about PDA. Not even a little. In fact, he seems personally offended by the idea of not touching you at all times, like physical contact is the only thing keeping him tethered to Earth. (Ironic for someone who has a gravity manipulation evol, I know.)

You're the PDA couple in line for amusement park rides. The ones people pretend not to stare at while Caleb leans over you with his chin on your head, swaying side to side like you’re his favorite song. His hands are somewhere on you: around your waist, in your back pockets, or just flat on your stomach like he’s claiming territory.

At the grocery store? You’re trying to compare pasta sauces and he’s behind you, arms looped around your hips like you're the most fascinating shelf in the store. You shift a step to the left; he shuffles with you like you’re in a three-legged race. A lady clears her throat behind you in the aisle and Caleb, unbothered, just kisses the back of your neck and asks if you want the spicy marinara.

Friends have stopped commenting. You sit on Caleb’s lap like it’s your assigned seat. He hooks his chin over your shoulder during game nights, one hand playing with your fingers under the table while the other deals cards like nothing’s out of the ordinary.

He once tried to hold your hand during a dentist appointment.

“You don’t even have any cavities,” you hissed.

“I missed you,” he said, two feet away.

You’re not even sure he knows he’s doing it anymore. It’s second nature to him, an unconscious act. Caleb waited so long for you. There’s no going back. You’re doomed.

His gym routine has become a team sport. Caleb loves—loves—when you sit on his back while he does pushups. He’ll drop to the floor, slap the space between his shoulder blades, and go, “C’mon, Pips, get on. I need motivation.” You try to be serious about it, but he starts grinning the second you're up there like it’s the best part of his workout. And God help you if you cheer him on; he’ll do twice as many, just to impress you.

Doomed to forehead kisses in traffic. Doomed to shared straws and linked pinkies while you walk. Doomed to being the human equivalent of a teddy bear he refuses to put down.

And honestly?

You wouldn’t have it any other way.

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LOVE AND DEEPSPACE — “CURRENT BOYFRIEND” PRANK

a/n: i’m sorry idk why i made zayne’s kinda serious and angsty, guess i’m still reeling from the effects of the main story </3

ZAYNE

You’re pacing around your living room with your phone pressed to your ear, laughing quietly at something your best friend just said. The afternoon sun filters through the windows, golden and soft, catching on the curve of your grin. Zayne is on the couch, reading. Or pretending to, anyway. You can feel his attention flicking toward you every so often.

“—No, I’m not going alone,” you say into the phone. “Zayne’s coming with me.”

You glance at him. He’s still reading, one ankle crossed over the opposite knee, posture relaxed but alert in that way of his. You chew your bottom lip, a mischievous idea forming like lightning behind your eyes.

“Yeah,” you continue smoothly, loud enough for him to hear. “I’m bringing my current boyfriend.”

There’s a beat of silence from your friend, followed by a muffled laugh. But what grabs your attention is the subtle shift in Zayne. His eyes lift from the page, gaze pinning you like a blade pressed to skin — not sharp, but undeniably felt.

He sets the book down, slow and deliberate. “Current boyfriend?” he says, voice level, calm. Too calm.

You turn toward him, covering the phone’s mic with your hand. “Yeah?” you say, trying to bite back a grin.

He doesn’t blink. “What do you mean ‘current’?”

Your friend is absolutely losing it in your ear, but you ignore them. You’re more focused on the way Zayne’s brow furrows — not deeply, just enough to signal that you’ve touched something serious beneath that ever-composed surface.

You lift an eyebrow. “You’re not not my current boyfriend.”

Zayne stands, slow and measured, and crosses the space between you in three long strides. He stops a foot away, looking down at you with that infuriatingly unreadable expression of his.

“If I’m your current boyfriend,” he says, his voice low and quiet, “that implies there’s going to be a next one.”

The smile slips off your lips a little, because you weren’t expecting him to sound genuinely bothered. You see it now, in the tightness of his jaw, in the way he’s watching you — not angry, just… hurt.

You blink. “Zayne—”

“I don’t play musical chairs with my relationships,” he says, softer this time. “When I choose someone, it’s not temporary. So if you’re joking, fine. But if you’re not…” He trails off, leaving the thought unfinished, but heavy between you.

Your heart stutters in your chest.

“I was messing with you,” you say, finally. “I didn’t mean it like that. You know that, right?”

He watches you for a second longer. Then he exhales, a quiet sigh through his nose, and something in his posture eases.

“Good,” he says simply. “Because I’m not going anywhere. And I’d prefer it if you weren’t planning to, either.”

You swallow and nod, trying not to let your heart explode in your chest.

“Noted,” you murmur.

From the phone, your friend shouts, “TELL HIM I SAID HI!”

Zayne raises an eyebrow. You shoot him an apologetic look. “They, uh, say hi.”

He leans in close enough that you can feel the warmth of him against your skin.

“Tell them I’m not just the current boyfriend,” he murmurs, voice barely audible. “I’m the last one.”

You drop the phone.

XAVIER

He’s sitting across from you now, fork in hand, chewing on a ravioli like it personally wronged him. His cheeks are a little flushed, probably from the red pepper flakes he accidentally dumped on his plate. But mostly, you’re focused on the way his knee keeps bumping yours under the table, like he might be doing it on purpose, but also might apologize at any second.

The waiter comes by to check on your table, offering a polite smile. “How’s everything tasting?”

You flash a smile back. “It’s great, thank you. My current boyfriend and I are really enjoying it.”

Xavier’s fork stops midair.

The waiter nods, unfazed, and walks away.

You don’t even look at Xavier at first. You just take another bite of pasta and wait… three… two—

“What do you mean current boyfriend?” Xavier blurts, voice a little high, like his soul just left his body.

You look up, chewing. “Hmm?”

He’s staring at you, eyebrows halfway to his hairline, fork forgotten on his plate. “Did you just call me your current boyfriend? Like there’s gonna be a next one?”

You blink innocently. “Well, I mean… we are currently dating.”

Xavier slouches dramatically in his chair, eyes narrowed. “Okay. Wow. So I’m just a phase now? Like bangs? Or oat milk?”

You snort. “Bangs?”

“People always regret bangs,” he says flatly, pouting now. “You’re gonna regret me?”

“Xavier.”

“I’m just your little test boyfriend, huh?” He’s still going. “Just here so you can get back out there and find your forever man with strong jawlines and… and functional communication skills.”

You nearly spit out your water. “Functional communication skills? You’re literally the one sulking because I said one word.”

“That one word was current,” he says, pointing at you with a breadstick like it’s a legal document. “That’s, like… the most insecure relationship word. That’s, like, pre-breakup language.”

You lean forward, resting your chin in your hand, eyes dancing. “Are you jealous? Of hypothetical boyfriends who don’t exist?”

“I might be,” he mutters. “You didn’t say only, or amazing, or even adorable but clumsy and at video games. You just said current like I’m a passing trend.”

You bite your lip, trying not to laugh. “Okay. First of all, you are adorable and clumsy and freakishly good at video games.”

He doesn’t look appeased.

You reach across the table and nudge his hand. “And second of all… I was messing with you. I just wanted to see what your face would do.”

He squints at you. “This is your idea of romance?”

“It is now.”

He pouts harder, but you can see the edge of a smile tugging at his lips.

“…Can you just, like, say boyfriend again?” he mumbles. “But this time with no weird adjectives in front of it?”

You smirk. “Xavier.”

“Yes?”

“You’re my boyfriend.”

He melts, slumping forward like you just healed him with divine affirmation.

“Okay,” he says softly. “I can keep eating now.”

“You didn’t stop eating.”

“That’s beside the point.”

RAFAYEL

The gallery is buzzing — soft music, clinking glasses, murmurs of “genius” and “visionary” floating through the air like the smell of paint that hasn’t fully dried.

You’re standing beside Rafayel, who is —unsurprisingly — dressed like someone who definitely knows he’s the main character. Long dark coat, rings glinting under the track lights, wavy locks falling just right, looking equal parts tortured artist and runway model.

He’s pretending to be humble as someone compliments his use of negative space.

You nudge his side. “You gonna tell them you spilled coffee on that canvas and then just rolled with it?”

Rafayel doesn’t miss a beat. “Never reveal the chaos behind the masterpiece,” he whispers, eyes gleaming. “That’s rule one of being a genius.”

You’re grinning, half-listening to someone nearby marvel at a piece Rafayel made at 3 a.m. after watching a documentary about the moon and crying for twenty minutes.

Then a waiter stops beside you both with a tray of drinks.

“Oh, thank you,” you say, plucking one off the tray. You gesture lazily to Rafayel beside you. “My current boyfriend will have one, too.”

There’s a slight pause.

The waiter smiles and moves on.

Rafayel turns to you with the slow precision of a man personally betrayed.

“I’m sorry — current?” he repeats, hand on his chest like you’ve just stabbed him mid-sip.

You blink innocently. “Yeah?”

He narrows his eyes. “You make it sound like I’m on a rental plan. Like I’m just your seasonal boyfriend — here for spring, gone by June.”

You sip your drink and shrug. “Well, you are limited edition.”

Rafayel gasps, spinning half a step away from you like he needs air. “Not you calling me disposable at my own art exhibition,” he says, utterly scandalized. “This is my night. My moment. I wore the dramatic coat for you.”

You stifle a laugh. “Are you genuinely offended?”

“I am aesthetically offended,” he says, fanning himself with a folded event pamphlet. “Emotionally bruised. My ego — cracked like cheap pottery. Do you know how many layers of emotional depth are under this coat?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Two?”

He glares. “Three. And a scarf.”

You step closer, brushing your hand against his. “I was joking.”

“Oh, really? Because I was about to demand a retraction and a public declaration of eternal love in front of the fruit platter.”

You lean in, barely containing your grin. “Rafayel?”

He looks at you, suspicious.

“You’re not my current boyfriend.”

His eyes narrow. “I’m not?”

You shake your head. “No. You’re my forever boyfriend.”

There’s a beat. Then he flings his arms around your shoulders in an overly dramatic swoop, nearly spilling both your drinks. “Finally. The respect I deserve.”

You laugh against him, and he mutters into your ear, “God, I love when you flatter me in public.”

You pull back and raise your glass. “To my one and only, eternally dramatic boyfriend.”

Rafayel clinks his glass against yours, smirking. “Now we’re speaking the same language.”

SYLUS

You’re out with Sylus at your favorite cafe — the cozy kind with mismatched mugs, moody lighting, and music that sounds like a slow-motion scene in an indie film. He’s sitting across from you, long fingers wrapped around a coffee cup, that smug little grin resting naturally on his face like it was born there.

He leans back in his chair, watching you over the rim of his drink, dark eyes glinting with quiet mischief.

“So,” he says, voice low and easy, “I assume this isn’t just a coffee date. You lured me here for something.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Maybe I just wanted to spend time with you.”

He smirks. “Right. And maybe I just come here for the foam art.”

You’re about to respond when the barista swings by your table with two pastries.

“Oh, thanks,” you say cheerfully, accepting them. You gesture to Sylus, smiling sweetly. “This is for me and my current boyfriend.”

The barista gives a polite nod and walks off.

Sylus, however, freezes like someone just called him a side character.

“…I’m sorry,” he says, slow and deliberate, “current?”

You look up, feigning innocence. “What?”

His eyes narrow, but the grin’s still there, cocky and dangerous. “Did you just call me your current boyfriend?”

You blink. “Technically, yes. You are my boyfriend. Currently.”

He sets his coffee down, leans forward, elbows on the table, and gives you that look — the one he uses when he’s about to win something.

“Oh, kitten,” he says smoothly, “I didn’t realize I was on a trial basis.”

You stifle a laugh. “There’s no trial basis.”

“Oh no, I get it. You’ve got, like, a subscription plan,” he says, all faux-understanding. “One Sylus for a limited time only. Cancel anytime. No refunds.”

You shrug. “There might be a survey at the end.”

He places a hand on his chest, gasping theatrically. “So you are shopping around. Am I just… a placeholder until Mr. Perfect shows up with a normal lifestyle and emotional availability?”

You grin. “Wouldn’t hurt.”

He leans in further, voice a little lower now. “Okay. But would Mr. Perfect know exactly how you like your coffee? Would he remember your favorite flowers? Would he put up with your insatiable hunger?

“Hey—”

“Would he,” Sylus says, lifting a brow, “kiss you like this?”

Before you can reply, he leans across the table and kisses you — soft, brief, but enough to shut you up and steal your breath in the most obnoxiously effective way.

You blink when he pulls back. “That was cheating.”

He shrugs. “So is calling me your current boyfriend like I’m going to expire next week.”

You exhale, defeated. “Okay, fine. You’re not my current boyfriend.”

He smirks, victorious. “Damn right.”

“You’re my permanent boyfriend,” you mutter.

He leans back, arms crossed, looking far too pleased. “Say it louder for the people in the back.”

You throw a napkin at him. He catches it without flinching.

“Still want to call me current?” he teases.

You reach across the table, grabbing his pastry. “You’re my forever boyfriend, but you’re currently not getting this.”

CALEB

Caleb’s fingers are laced with yours, warm and a little clammy, probably from nerves. Even after months of dating, he still gets flustered every time you kiss his cheek or say his name in a certain tone. Like he can’t quite believe this is real. Like he’s waiting for the punchline.

You’re walking through the park after grabbing smoothies — his is something bright and tropical, yours tastes vaguely like regret but you refuse to admit it — and the sunlight is hitting everything just right. Too perfect, really.

You glance over at him, cheeks a little sore from smiling.

And because the moment is sweet and lovely and stable…

You decide to mess with him.

A couple walking a golden retriever passes you and gives a friendly smile. You smile back and say, cheerily, “Just out with my current boyfriend.”

You swear you can feel Caleb’s soul pause beside you.

“…Wait.” He slows down, blinking. “Did you just say current boyfriend?”

You sip your smoothie. “Mmhmm.”

There’s a long pause.

“Current… like, temporary?” he says, voice cracking just enough to make your heart pang, even though you’re trying very hard not to laugh.

You glance at him. He’s staring straight ahead now, eyes wide, brow furrowed.

“I — I didn’t know there was an expiration date,” he mumbles.

“Oh no,” you say, as flat as possible. “Did I not mention the three-month boyfriend rotation policy?”

His face turns bright red. “That’s a joke… right?”

You don’t answer immediately. He starts doing the thing where he overthinks out loud.

“I mean — I thought we were doing okay. I even started leaving a toothbrush at your place! Was that presumptuous? Oh my god. Did I over-toothbrush?”

You finally break, laughing so hard you nearly choke on your smoothie. “Caleb, I’m joking!”

He looks at you, wounded. “Are you sure?”

“Yes!”

“You said it so casually! Like I’m just the… transitional guy before you meet your soulmate at a farmer’s market or something.”

You stop walking, turn to face him, and press a hand to his chest. “You are not transitional. You are the soulmate from the farmer’s market. You are the guy who makes me braised pork ribs and plays me weird indie songs and says ‘sorry’ when he wins at video games.”

He’s quiet for a second, processing. Then, softly: “So… no expiration date?”

“Lifetime warranty,” you say, grinning. “Even if your snoring is kind of a crime.”

He laughs, finally. “Okay. But, like, just for my sanity… no more ‘current’ jokes, right?”

You squeeze his hand. “Only if you promise to stop apologizing every time we kiss.”

He gives you that soft, slightly crooked smile that always hits you right in the ribs. “No promises.”

“Then neither from me, current boyfriend.”

“Hey—!”

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Caleb: Okay, serious talk

Caleb: MC

MC: Yes?

Caleb: There's no breaking up in this relationship

Caleb: If you're tired of me

Caleb: Take a nap

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playing love and deepspace is going great btw i'm not being emotionally cheese grated at all

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I’ve seen the basis of this trope a few times before, but let me expand and connect it to my new fic idea:

The gang going to space, all with their phones onhand. Lance and Hunk are freaking out about not being able to text their families, Pidge being like “okay I can’t fix that but I can keep our phones from dying”, and concocting some janked up chargers. Now their phones are all basically memory/time capsules. They all use them to look at and take photos (Lance especially), watch the TikTok’s and movies they have saved, and all of them abuse the hell out of their pre downloaded playlists.

Lance rants to Keith that he’s missing new music releases on earth (“new Sabrina! New Chappell! By this time there’s probably even new Rihanna!”) and Keith kind of just shrugs and looks confused because the majority of his music taste is from the 2000s anyway. Keith offers to share his music with Lance so he at least has variety and at first Lance is like “oh yeah…this is something…” (while hating it) but then realizes that the Paramore that did “Ain’t It Fun” is the same Paramore that did Riot! And then he actually gets into it. In turn, he shares his music with Keith who is even more hesitant, but finds himself surprisingly drawn to the Olivia Rodrigo’s more rock leaning songs.

when they start getting Feelings for each other, Keith thinks that Sugar, We’re Going Down is Their Song, but Lance thinks it’s Naked In Mahattan. Both subtly try to slip their choices onto their hanging out playlist like the dorks they are.

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Fic/AU idea guys wait-

Adam is able to convince Shiro to sit out the Kerberos mission (or it never happens?). Meaning, Keith never gets kicked out, Pidge would probably join the Garrison under her own name, and Lance would stay in cargo class. All is going swell, until Shiro’s disease starts to get worse. This fucks Keith up, who starts verbally and physically lashing out- but only to the extent of a suspension or less, not an expulsion. Lance, being the kind-hearted boy he is, decides to set aside his rivalry and reach out to his classmate who’s obviously hurting. Over time, Keith let's him in and they become friends. After Lance has humanized Keith in his mind, his inferiority complex is no more and he's able to graduate to pilot class. There, they loop in Hunk and Pidge and become a tight-knit group.

Still, Shiro is getting worse and worse. After a bad bout that ends him in the hospital, Keith starts feeling something pulling him- the blue lion. He takes the gang with him to investigate ("wow my best friends are all conspiracy theorists" - Lance, probably) and they find the blue lion, and they're taken to the castle like in show. now it's time to form voltron but... there's no Shiro. Keith goes for Red, Pidge Green, Hunk Yellow, and now that Lance has been able to really settle in as a pilot in the Garrison without the need to compare himself to others, he's able to step into Black. Allura takes Blue. From here, Voltron continues pretty much as normal, but the found family trope is Founding More Family (basically it's better, they're more connected, etc). Lance gets to be the great leader I know he can be, no crazy lion swapping needs occur, galra ass gets kicked, and of course, Klance gets to be canon king.

and okay i'm not killing Shiro off I just don't know how to solve that whole Problem. maybe some alien tech/magic can help him (that could be a whole keith sideplot? trying to find one thing in the galaxy that could save his brother?). Also adashi stays together!

basically. i'm a mastermind