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doctrined · 4 months ago

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⠀ &͟&͟.

⠀⠀LUCID DREAMS ⁎ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀II ⠀ ⠀⠀

synopsis: ❛ Greed.❜

It was the first word I ever whispered.

The second was Kale, a name laced with the hollow sweetness of devotion, a name that meant everything to me. But greed festered in the spaces between the syllables, twisting it, twisting him. And when he showed me—it was never Kale. It was Caleb.

And then, the world showed me I could not love him. I should not love him. Not him. Not the boy I thought a brother, the one who recoiled from my touch, the one who despised me for loving him in the first place.

So, he became Caleb the loathsome.

They found him on the battlefield, a savior of war, a broken thing wrapped in glory. And the whispers—they spread like poison, a slow, suffocating venom in the halls of Galdoria.

And thus, the serpent came—the one that sank its fangs deep into my soul, feeding me venom that tasted like him. He was the poison, the hunger, the disease I could never rid myself of. The world told me I was broken, that I was nothing more than an empty vessel of desire, a creature to be gawked at by men, but never to be desired by the one I wanted most.

I wanted him.

I wanted him with a ferocity that burned me alive. That was my sin. To want what I could never have. To long for the one who could never see me the way I saw him.

He was everything I could not touch.

And yet—he was the only one who could see the hunger in my eyes and let it burn. He made me understand. He made me see the ugliness in the idea of us. He showed me that my desires were not innocent. That I, too, was tainted. That I was no longer a princess.

I was a woman who could want and be wanted. A woman who could be destroyed.

But the worst part is, he ruined me—destroyed me in the most exquisite way. His love, if it could be called love, came wrapped in agony, wrapped in pain, wrapped in devastation. He tore me apart, shattered the princess I had been, and put me back together, but not as I was before. Not as the woman I was meant to be.

But as something darker.

Something hungry.

He was the hunger consuming me alive. A man who wasn’t afraid of death, but feared me. A mute who only ever wanted her knight’s love, her knight’s first kiss, her knight’s first everything. And he did it, but only at the cost of devastation, ripping us apart, tearing my soul to pieces and piecing me back together like poetry.

And when the serpent bit me, when society turned its eyes away in disgust, it took my voice. It took my words. My tongue, my lips, my lungs—they were no longer mine. They were his.

It silenced me.

But in that silence, I found the woman I was always meant to be.

Not a princess. Never a princess.

A woman who could take. A woman who could destroy. A woman who ruled, not by the title I was born to, but by the hunger that consumed me.

Did that stop me from fighting back?

Did it stop me from pulling my knight from the clutches of war—dragging him to me, back to me, even when he rejected me?

Even when he rejected us?

&. chapter one;

tags; @alevres @icedoatlatte29 @starlitfool @rcvcgers @puckpuckvt @jadeloverxd @spacenott @marina27826 @starkdarya @darkx143

CHAPTER TWO

Violet eyes.

I was five years old when I first saw them. The lush color of a lavender field, a vibrancy and sadness that a little me didn't understand but devoured the very expression he'd made upon seeing me.

"Papa?"

I watched men pour in like bees, their armor clinking, their faces grimy with ash, dust, and sweat from the battlefield. The unmistakable scent of iron and blood clung to them, their bodies heavy with exhaustion and the weight of war. It made my nostrils flare with disgust, the air thick with the stench of death and despair. I made a choking sound, a reflex to push it all away. A gentle hand cupped my head, and before I knew it, I was lifted into the air, the warmth of my father's embrace pushing the acrid air away for a moment. I snuggled close to his chest, burying myself in the familiar scent of him—- leather, steel, and something uniquely his.

"Why is my little darling still awake?"

"Eed," I told him, holding up a torn scroll.

My father took it from my hands, seeming to inspect the brown, tattered paper, his fingers brushing over the crinkled edges. A small puff of laughter escaped him, full and bountiful, and soon, the soldiers in the room joined in with their deep chuckles. But the sound didn't comfort me—it made my little heart twinge with confusion and pain.

What had I said wrong?

I peered into his glistening eyes, mouth parting in disapproval. But truly, my features twisted, and tears streamed down my cheeks as he laughed harder, gently rubbing my back with his large, calloused hands. I tried to blink it away, but the sting of humiliation clung.

"Greed, Cecilia, love." My father corrected; his voice warm but edged with amusement. A soft kiss graced my temple, and for a moment, his kindness drowned the noise of the soldiers, but only for a moment. The harshness of their world, of war, seemed so distant in the quiet of his affection.

Yet, I couldn't shake the dissonance—the laughter felt foreign to me, like a language I hadn't been taught, a code I couldn't crack. I wiped my tear-streaked cheeks, feeling the weight of confusion still pressing against my chest, but the hiccup that hitched my breath quickly pulled my attention elsewhere.

My head turned, and in the shifting shadows of the room, I saw him.

"Cecilia, this is..." There was a pause when I was placed on the floor, hesitation curling my father's voice.

The next thing I knew, my feet moved of their own accord, my tiny heart pounding like a war drum. My fingers, stiff and trembling, reached out as if drawn by something far more powerful than my own will, as if I were compelled by an invisible pull. That very greed I had been studying in the scroll made me touch his hair—lightly at first, tentative, then more frantically, my fingers brushing against the rough texture of his dirt-smeared strands, the faint scent of sweat and earth clinging to him. His face, hard and unyielding, bore no expression, only those eyes—- violet eyes—watching me silently.

They flickered in the dim candlelight, their color so unnatural it almost seemed to shimmer like some distant, unattainable star.

And then, despite the weight of the air, I kissed him.

On the lips, on the cheek, my small fingers brushing against his worn shoulder as I stood beside him, feeling a warmth stir in my chest—something like pride, something like happiness, as if I had finally done something right. But all around me, laughter erupted once again, louder this time, sharp against my ears. My father’s booming laugh mixed with the soldiers’ deep chuckles, a sound that seemed to shake the very walls of the room. And yet, despite the warmth of my father’s embrace, I felt suddenly alone.

Because you see… words were not a thing for me.

They were reptilian creatures I couldn’t catch, no matter how many times I tried. Each word slithered away from me, a fury, and the sound that curled in my voice upon speaking was relentlessly an embarrassment.

So, I learned to speak differently.

Through my hands. Through my actions. Through the things I chose to touch and keep close.

Thus, I liked violet eyes.

I loved them.

But perhaps that was the odd part, no? How quickly, within the first moment of speaking through my touch and actions, I had told my father I liked him. I wanted him to be everything: a brother, someone I could play with, someone whose hair I could braid. But instead, their laughter confused me, and more tears fell, no longer stifled but drawn out in waves of realization that I was different.

That I didn’t belong.

That I never had.

⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ 𓂋𓂋𓂋

A jarring blast of the horn and fingers digging into the flesh of my right arm jolted me back to reality. The veil of memories lifted, dragging me unwillingly from the broken moment. My pulse was still racing, and the weight of those memories clung to me, but I forced myself to turn and face the hand that gripped me.

The rain, relentless as ever, seemed to fall in sheets now, turning the streets into a grim, swirling mess of mud and puddles. The cold dampness of the world around me pressed in, soaking my skin, and the sky above was an oppressive shade of gray, heavy with the promise of more storms to come.

What was it with sad eyes today?

Severus’s grip tightened on my arm, his fingers digging into my skin, grounding me to the present with a cruel reminder of the moment. His eyes, sharp as knives, locked onto mine. His voice cut through the downpour, slicing the silence between us with brutal clarity.

"Do you intend to die in this rain like a pathetic loser?"

The words were harsh, the bitterness in them unmistakable. The sting of his tone wasn’t just the cruelty of the words themselves; it was the weight behind them, the venom that seeped from a place I hadn’t been prepared for. The pain in his voice, raw and cutting, was unmistakable. But what hurt more was knowing it was directed at me, that I was the reason for the frustration that twisted his features.

A surge of anger flared in my chest. I wanted to lash out, to push him away, to say something sharp, something that would tear through the wall of hurt between us. My fists clenched at my sides, nails digging into my palms, and my body tensed, a coil of energy ready to snap.

But there was no strength left in me.

The fight that had always existed between us—sharp words and sharper glances, our own version of rivalry—felt hollow now, empty. The anger, the old bitterness, no longer made sense. It didn’t burn the same way. It wasn’t the same fire.

It had always been reserved for one person.

Caleb.

I stared at Severus, unable to understand the change in the air between us. His usual sharpness had lost its edge, replaced by something deeper, something I couldn't quite grasp. There was pain in his eyes, in the tightness of his jaw, in the way his shoulders were stiff and tense, as if he were holding everything inside. He wasn’t angry, at least not in the way I was used to. He was hurt—hurt by Caleb’s departure just as much as I was.

His gaze flickered, and for a moment, the world seemed to still. The rain poured down around us, but I barely noticed it.

“Why him, Cecilia?�� Severus’s voice was softer now, almost pained. His fingers, still wrapped around my arm, loosened slightly as he stepped closer, his presence imposing despite the distance he tried to keep. “Why him? When you knew what it would do... what it would mean...”

I could hear the tremor in his words, the crack in the veneer of his tough exterior, and it made something inside me twist painfully. He was asking the same thing I had asked myself a hundred times. Why Caleb? Why did I let him get so close, knowing what it would cost us? Knowing what it would cost me?

But I didn’t have an answer.

The silence stretched between us, thick with unspoken things. Severus’s chest rose and fell with his breath, ragged and uneven. There was something almost desperate in the way he looked at me, like he was reaching for something he knew he couldn’t have.

It was too late. It had always been too late.

And still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that the distance between us—Severus and me—was growing wider, just as surely as the space that had opened between me and Caleb.

But for the first time in a long while, I realized that maybe it was no longer just Caleb I was losing. The prodigal son. The unwanted man thrown into a world of violence where everyone wanted a piece of him.

What became of a boy who’d seen darkness at the age of nine?

Truth is, it had changed him. And that very same darkness swirling in the pools of his violet eyes? It was still there. Except now, the flames of hatred burned hotter, stronger, nearly drowning everyone around him.

Including me.

"Where's Isolde and Lucian?" I asked, my voice shaking with the bitter weight of the rain.

Before Severus could respond, I became aware of my surroundings—or, more accurately, the absence of awareness I had earlier.

I was standing in the middle of the street—drenched to the bone, uncaring to the point of recklessness.

The whispers weren’t for me.

They were for the spectacle I had become.

The princess in the rain.

Unbothered and broken.

A mess for all to see. Reality was a crueler fate, so I gave in, mustering up the courage and lifting my hand to pry off Severus’s biting cold fingers. His grip lingered for a fraction longer, as if he meant to hold on—to stop me—but I wrenched free, my skin stinging where his fingers had pressed too hard. He didn't say anything as I stepped away, but his eyes burned with something unspoken, something that sent a sharp pang through my chest. The rain had softened into a steady drizzle, yet the world felt no less cold. My steps hastened toward the waiting carriage, the heavy fabric of my gown clinging to my legs, soaked through from my time standing in the storm. The streets blurred around me, murky puddles reflecting the dull light of lanterns.

Roman and Cassian stood by the carriage, their expressions unreadable. Despite carrying an umbrella, they were both drenched to the bone, their dark cloaks hanging heavy with water. Roman’s arms were crossed over his chest, a shadow flickering in his gaze as he watched me approach. Cassian, ever the quieter one, said nothing, his lips pressed into a tight line.

Severus had called after me once, my name slipping through the rain, but I didn’t turn back. Not when I reached the carriage. Not even when I felt my brothers’ scrutinizing gazes burn into me as I climbed inside, lifting my skirts to keep the drenched hem from tangling. Inside, the warmth was a stark contrast to the cold, though it did little to ease the tightness in my chest. Isolde and Lucian sat stiffly across from me, both soaked despite the protection of the carriage roof. The rain had found them, just as it had found me. Lucian’s silence was cutting. His usual teasing smirk, the one that had comforted me since childhood, was absent. His damp hair curled against his forehead, and his arms rested loosely on his knees, but his hands were tense, fingers curled against his trousers. He didn’t look at me.

Isolde, on the other hand, did. Her earthy green eyes glistened with unshed tears as she reached forward, her fingers pressing gently against my knee. The warmth of her touch sent a shiver through me, grounding me, though it did little to soothe the ache deep in my chest. For a long moment, no one spoke. The only sound was the rhythmic clatter of the wheels against the cobblestone as the carriage lurched forward, leaving Severus behind in the rain.

The sight of him standing there, of his figure growing smaller in the distance, was one I wouldn’t soon forget.

Everyone loved Caleb.

Everyone, including my father.

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doctrined · 4 months ago

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new theme eats bae, let me bite caleb and u

do you even have to ask? by all means go ahead. 😈

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doctrined · 4 months ago

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⠀⠀FIGHTER PILOT

chapter one;

synopsis; You had dreamed of this moment for years—joining the fleet force, flying among the best, and proving yourself in a world where only the strongest survived. Being stationed under Caleb, the renowned ace pilot, was an honor. He was sharp, disciplined, and impossibly skilled, A legend in his own right. everything about him demanded respect. But the moment lessons began, reality shifted. the excruciating world of fleet training was nothing compared to what lurked beneath the surface. Caleb wasn’t just a pilot. he was something else entirely—something darker, something that watched you too closely, spoke too softly, and tested your limits in ways you never expected. You knew Caleb as the perfect soldier, the controlled instructor. But perfection is a mask, and you were about to see what lay beneath. In the cockpit, there’s no escape. and in his hands, neither is there mercy.

cw; This chapter contains sexual themes, power imbalance, manipulation, and psychological tension. Please read at your own risk. MDNI. 🔞

&. tags: @mariojins @dummiebunny @tenmaabnesti @starkdarya @darkx143 @rcvcgers @justpassingdontworry @icedoatlatte29 @spacenott @marina27826

word count: 3.16k

If anyone wants to be tagged in the upcoming chapters of this fic or Lucid Dreams, just comment below, and I’ll make sure to tag you. Only if you’d like to be tagged, of course!

⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ┈┈┈┈

⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ CHAPTER TWO

The mass hall aboard the fleet was a hive of activity, the air thick with the clatter of trays, low murmurs, and the occasional burst of laughter. The overhead lights hummed with the same dull thrum of the ship’s engines, casting long shadows over the worn metal walls. Crew members, soldiers, and officers alike filled the space, sitting in groups, their voices rising and falling in casual chatter as they ate. The smell of synthetic food and fresh-brewed coffee clung to the air, a reminder of the sterile, yet strangely comforting, routine of life on board. You could hear the soft scrape of utensils against the metal trays, the clink of glasses being set down, and the rhythm of feet shuffling against the floor. It was a world of its own, disconnected from the vastness of space outside, but still thick with the weight of shared purpose.

As you walked into the hall, the noise shifted. It wasn’t a sudden silence, but a subtle lull in the conversations as eyes turned in your direction. You’d learned to tune it out, the constant awareness of being watched, but tonight, there was something different about the way the room felt. It was as if everyone knew something had shifted—you had shifted—and for a brief moment, it felt as though the whole mess hall had become a stage for a play that only the crew could understand. You made your way to the officer’s table, where a few familiar faces were already settled, deep in conversation. Your seat was toward the far end of the table, where the harsh light of the overheads didn’t quite reach. A sliver of the endless black of space was visible through the windows, distant stars twinkling like forgotten promises. It was the perfect spot—quiet enough to retreat into your own thoughts, but not so isolated as to feel like you were a stranger here.

“Glad you could join us,” said the gruff officer sitting next to you, his weathered face crinkling into a grin that didn’t quite touch his calculating eyes. He waved you in, a gesture that felt more formal than welcoming. You nodded, taking your seat, but you couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something was off. The conversation around the table flowed easily enough—mostly idle chatter, a mix of war talk and the usual gripes about ration packs and ship repairs. But beneath the surface, something simmered. You could feel the weight of his presence across the table.

Caleb.

His eyes were on you—- always on you—like he was trying to pull the answers from the very air around you. Every so often, you caught him glancing in your direction, his gaze lingering a second too long before he quickly turned his attention back to his plate, as though he hadn’t been caught. It wasn’t new. Caleb had always been a master of subtlety. But tonight, the tension felt palpable, as if every stolen glance was a thread slowly pulling between you, stitching you both into something neither of you could quite name. You tried to ignore it. You tried to focus on your meal, on the conversation at the table, but it was impossible. Every time your eyes flickered over to him, you saw it—his smirk, the flicker of something unreadable in his gaze. And then, just as quickly as it appeared, it would vanish behind the mask of the officer he was, the soldier in him that had been honed in years of service. But you knew him better than that.

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, reaching for your drink. You didn’t know why it bothered you so much, the way he looked at you, the way he touched you—under the table, his fingers brushing against your leg just enough to send a shock through your body. It was barely there, a whisper of contact, but it felt like an electric current running between you, undeniable and dangerous.

“Something on your mind?” The younger officer beside you leaned in slightly, a teasing edge to her voice. She’d noticed the way you tensed, how your attention had drifted from the conversation. But her gaze lingered on Caleb as well, as if she too was aware of the quiet war being waged between you two.

You forced a smile, your fingers curling around your drink. “Just… distracted,” you muttered, your voice tight. But you couldn’t stop the way your eyes flicked back to Caleb once more.

He was still watching you. His fingers drummed absentmindedly against the edge of his plate, his expression unreadable, but you could feel the pull of his gaze, like gravity drawing you closer with every passing second. The moment his hand brushed against yours, sending a shiver up your spine, you couldn’t breathe. You didn’t look at him—couldn’t look at him—- but the intensity of the moment hit you like a freight train. His fingers lingered there, just a second too long, and when you finally did glance up at him, he was already looking away, his jaw tight, the muscles in his neck flexing as if he were holding himself back.

You stood abruptly, pushing your chair back, a stammering apology slipping past your lips as heat crawled up your neck. Every head at the table turned toward you, but none of them mattered—only his hand, now gone from your thigh as if it had never been there at all. The absence of his touch was humiliating, not because of the audacity he possessed, but because of the way your body still burned where his fingers had been. Your hurried steps faltered slightly as you left the table, your heart racing, the ache between your legs unbearable. It had been two weeks of this—of Caleb’s relentless teasing, of stolen touches when no one was looking, of lingering glances during lessons in the cockpit. You had hoped tonight would be different, that you could sit through dinner without feeling like your sanity was slipping. But he had other plans. And worse? You had let him. Again.

The deep murmur of conversation and laughter faded the further you got from the mess hall, and relief flooded through you at the thought of finally being alone, of catching your breath and piecing together the reckless, crumbling thoughts swirling in your head. But just as you rounded a corner, a cold hand gripped the nape of your neck and yanked you back. A quiet yelp tore from your lips as you were pulled into a shadowed alcove between two bulkheads. The cool metal of the ship pressed against your spine, and before you could react, Caleb was there—towering, close, his fingers firm against your skin.

“Relax, pipsqueak,” he mused, voice low, almost amused as he squeezed the back of your neck. “It’s just me.”

Your pulse was a frantic staccato beneath his fingers. The dim lighting cast sharp shadows over his face, highlighting the dangerous smirk that curled at his lips.

“Let me go.” You hated the way your voice trembled, hated that it wasn’t conviction but anticipation that made your breath hitch.

Caleb didn’t move. If anything, his grip softened just slightly, fingers grazing over your skin in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. “You keep saying that.” He leaned in, his breath warm against your ear. “But then you run.”

You clenched your jaw, refusing to let him see how your knees nearly buckled when he spoke like that—like he knew exactly what you wanted, exactly what you needed, even before you did.

“I was just going to the bathroom,” you muttered, though it was a flimsy excuse at best.

He hummed, tilting his head. “Is that right?”

Before you could respond, he was already moving—gripping your wrist, guiding you down the hall like he had every right to do so. The corridor was empty, the hum of the ship the only sound as he led you past a row of locked doors, each step sending your pulse higher. Your boots barely made a sound against the metal floor as he finally stopped, pressing a code into a panel beside a door. It slid open with a quiet hiss, revealing a small maintenance room—dimly lit, empty except for a few storage crates and a workbench pushed against the far wall. Before you could question it, Caleb pulled you inside, the door sliding shut behind him. And then you were against it, the cool metal biting into your back, his hands braced on either side of your head, caging you in.

“What are you doing?” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the pounding in your chest.

His eyes darkened, the smirk still playing at the corner of his lips. “Giving you that break you wanted.”

You swallowed hard, fingers curling into fists at your sides. “This—this has to stop.”

Caleb tilted his head slightly, gaze flicking over your face, reading every unspoken word, every inch of hesitation. “Then stop me.”

Your breath caught.

The worst part was, you knew you wouldn’t.

You should push him away, remind him of the rules, of the lines he kept crossing, of the danger in whatever this was becoming. But instead, when his fingers ghosted down your arm, when his body pressed just enough to make you feel the heat of him, your resolve cracked.

This was a mistake.

A reckless, intoxicating mistake.

And you were letting it happen all over again. A shudder racked through you, spine straightening as heat prickled along your skin, your nipples pebbling underneath the light fabric of your dress. It was soft, delicate—completely at odds with the sharp hunger in Caleb’s gaze as he leaned in, eyes dark and lidded. He dragged his lower lip between his teeth, exhaling a quiet chuckle as his stare dropped to your chest.

“No bra, huh?” His voice was a purr of amusement, thick with something deeper, something that made your breath hitch. His knuckle lifted, grazing over the curve of your right breast, barely a touch—so light it should have meant nothing, but it sent fire licking through your veins. Instinctively, your back arched, your hips shifting ever so slightly toward him, seeking more. You bit down hard on the inside of your cheek, willing yourself to keep still, to resist the pull of his touch.

But Caleb saw everything. He always did.

A slow smirk stretched across his lips, lazy and knowing. “You always do this, you know.”

Your breath was uneven. “Do what?”

His fingers trailed down, barely brushing the underside of your breast before retreating, leaving you aching, restless. “Pretend you don’t want me to touch you.” His voice dipped lower, his mouth grazing the shell of your ear. “But you do.”

You shuddered, gripping his forearm, unsure whether it was to push him away or keep him close. “Caleb, we’re going to get caught.”

That only seemed to amuse him more. His hand dipped lower, skimming down your waist, fingers pressing, teasing—each touch featherlight but devastating. His free hand reached up, tilting your chin so you had no choice but to meet his gaze.

“Then you’d better be quiet,” he murmured.

Your heart pounded as his fingers slipped beneath the fabric of your dress, dragging up the inside of your thigh with agonizing slowness. Heat pooled deep in your stomach, your breath catching in your throat.

“Caleb—”

A sharp gasp tore from your lips as he found exactly what he was looking for. His fingers traced over the damp heat between your thighs, slow, lazy strokes that sent a violent shiver through you. Your head tipped back against the cold wall, the need to breathe suddenly a battle you were losing.

“Fuck,” he exhaled, his voice just as wrecked as you felt. His forehead pressed to yours, his fingers never stopping, never relenting. “You’re so wet for me.”

Your nails dug into his shoulder, your body betraying you as your hips rolled forward, desperate for more.

But then—footsteps. Close. Too close.

Your stomach twisted with panic, but before you could pull away, Caleb was already moving. His hand clamped over your mouth, silencing the helpless sound that slipped from your lips as he pressed you back into the shadows. Your breath came in sharp, uneven bursts against his palm, your body trembling.

Someone was looking for you. A voice called out, distant but searching.

Your wide eyes snapped to Caleb’s, your hands gripping at his jacket, as if anchoring yourself. You shook your head at him, silently pleading. Not now. Not like this.

But Caleb—fucking Caleb—- just watched you. Watched every little tremor, every ragged breath, his own mouth parted, his eyes dark with something primal.

His fingers curled ever so slightly inside you. There.

White-hot pleasure slammed through you so suddenly you nearly cried out, but his hand was still over your mouth, trapping every broken sound. You clenched down around his fingers, your entire body seizing as the pleasure crested, your mind blanking. The sensation was unbearable, overwhelming—pleasure mixed with terror, the risk of getting caught heightening every pulse of sensation. You clung to him, burying your whimpers against his palm, gripping the back of his neck so tightly your fingers ached. Your entire body shook, the high dragging out endlessly because he wouldn’t stop—his fingers continued their slow torment, pushing you through it, drawing out every last tremor until you were nothing but a trembling mess against him.

“Look at you,” he whispered, in awe, watching the way your body shuddered with aftershocks. His hand finally dropped from your mouth, and your ragged breaths filled the space between you.

The footsteps were gone.

The world returned slowly, your vision swimming as you blinked up at him, chest rising and falling erratically.

Caleb smirked, his face impossibly close. His breath fanned across your lips as he murmured, “I told you to be quiet.”

You barely had time to register the words before his mouth was on yours—soft, deliberate. A claiming.

No tongue. Just a bite. Just his lips pressing against yours, taking, savoring. Breathing you in.

By the time he pulled away, you were still trembling, your mind still catching up to what had just happened.

And Caleb? He just smirked.

“You really should be more careful,” he teased, wiping his fingers off on the hem of your dress. “Someone might notice how wrecked you look.”

Your body burned at his words, but you didn’t have the strength to fight back.

You’d lost.

And the worst part?

You loved it.

Caleb watched you for a moment longer, his dark eyes tracing the tremors still rippling through your body. His lips curled into a dark look, something dangerous lurking beneath the casual facade. Without another word, he pulled his hand away from your trembling form and stepped back, the distance between you now palpable. His gaze never wavered as he studied you, like a predator appraising his prey, savoring the aftermath.

“Tomorrow,” he said quietly, his voice low and commanding. “I expect you to be ready. Piloting lesson. No distractions.”

His words hung in the air like a promise, heavy with the weight of unspoken tension. There was no warmth in his tone—only the cold, calculated authority that had defined him from the start. It was as if the moment between you two had never happened, as if his touch had been nothing more than an inconvenient detour. You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. Your body was still shaking, your breath ragged in your chest, struggling to catch up with the storm he’d unleashed in you. Caleb seemed to relish the silence, his expression never faltering, even as you remained frozen against the wall, your hands still gripping the edges of his jacket in desperation. He gave you one last look, a glance that was both possessive and dismissive, before turning toward the door. His boots clicked against the cold floor, each step a reminder of the power he held over you, and the power he was so determined to maintain.

“Don’t make me wait,” he added, almost like an afterthought, his words cutting through the thick silence. “You know what’s at stake.”

With that, he was gone, leaving you in the stillness of the room, the sound of his footsteps fading away. You leaned back against the cold wall, your heart still racing, your mind reeling from the moment he’d stolen from you. It was wrong. You knew it was wrong. But still, there was a pull, a craving deep within you that refused to be ignored. A part of you wanted to scream, to throw yourself into something—anything—to escape the suffocating grip he had on you. But the other part, the part you hated, craved more. More of him. More of the control. More of the tension that twisted inside you every time you thought of him.

You finally pushed yourself off the wall, taking a few unsteady steps forward, the weight of what had just happened slowly sinking in. Caleb’s words echoed in your mind, a reminder of tomorrow’s lesson, tomorrow’s inevitable confrontation. The idea of facing him again sent another jolt of excitement through you, mixed with a sharp pang of fear.

One thing was clear: this was far from over.

You took a deep breath, forced your hands to steady, and nodded to yourself. Tomorrow, you would be ready. For whatever he threw at you.

And somehow, you knew that wasn’t the last of him.

#caleb x reader #caleb #love and deepspace #caleb x mc #possesive love #secret desires #teasing #lads mc angst #smutty fanfiction #smut #hot as hell #yearning hours #hatred #push and pull #caleb x y/n #caleb x you #ongoing #to be continued

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doctrined · 4 months ago

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FIGHTER PILOT

synopsis; you had dreamed of this moment for years—joining the fleet force, flying among the best, and proving yourself in a world where only the strongest survived. being stationed under caleb, the renowned ace pilot, was an honor. he was sharp, disciplined, and impossibly skilled, a legend in his own right. everything about him demanded respect. but the moment lessons began, reality shifted. the excruciating world of fleet training was nothing compared to what lurked beneath the surface. caleb wasn’t just a pilot. he was something else entirely—something darker, something that watched you too closely, spoke too softly, and tested your limits in ways you never expected. you knew caleb as the perfect soldier, the controlled instructor. but perfection is a mask, and you were about to see what lay beneath.

in the cockpit, there’s no escape. and in his hands, neither is there mercy.

cw: this fic contains power imbalance (superior officer/instructor dynamic) and suspenseful psychological tension. expect aviation smut (cockpit intimacy, in-flight tension) with elements of authority kink, restraint/control themes, and explicit smut with detailed sensory descriptions. mind games and manipulation/gaslighting may be present as caleb pushes yn’s limits, blurring the line between training and something far more dangerous. additional warnings include breathplay/choking, danger kink (intimacy while flying), and obsession/possession themes as caleb’s control begins to take a darker turn. this is a corruption arc, where yn soon realizes that the perfect soldier isn’t just a legend—he’s something else entirely.

wc: 1.6k

chapter two:

p.s a light read for everyone. enjoy!

⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ┈┈┈┈

⠀⠀⠀ Chapter One

Clear skies don’t mean safe landings.

You had dreamed of this moment for as long as you could remember—since the first time you looked up at the sky and saw those sleek fighter jets carving through the clouds, leaving a trail of awe in their wake. Joining the Fleet Force, becoming one of them. But now, sitting in the cockpit of a real fighter, your dream felt strangely suffocating.

Beside you was him.

Caleb. The man you had admired from a distance for years, the one who could twist a jet through the sky like it was an extension of his own body. The prodigy of the Fleet, with stories about him circulating throughout the academy—stories about his unrivaled skill, his unwavering discipline, and his control over everything in his path. Everyone revered him. Everyone feared him.

And now, you were in his cockpit, placed directly under his command. This was supposed to be a dream come true. But nothing prepared you for this moment. Nothing prepared you for the way he made you feel in the enclosed space of the cockpit.

“Hands on the yoke,” he commanded, his voice low, but not unkind. His tone was smooth, like velvet, but underneath it lay a steely edge. The way he spoke was controlled, calculated. There was no room for error in his world, not with him.

You placed your hands on the yoke, your fingers trembling slightly. Was it the height? The speed? The reality of flying? No. It was him. His presence. His quiet confidence that seemed to fill the space between you, suffocating the air until it felt thick with something else—something dangerous.

His hand moved over yours, almost casually, but you felt the heat of it instantly. A brush of his fingers over your knuckles, like he was testing you. The touch was nothing like you’d imagined—a professional, light gesture that shouldn’t have meant anything, yet it sent a sharp thrill down your spine.

“Relax,” he murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper, yet it rang in your ears like a command. “You’re flying like you’re afraid of it.”

He was right. You were afraid, but not of the plane. You were afraid of him.

His eyes stayed on you, unreadable but intense, watching every move you made as if he could read your thoughts, anticipate your next mistake before you even made it. The pressure was immense. His fingers remained where they were, brushing over yours, not guiding but testing, like you were just one more thing he could control.

“Good,” he said after a moment, his tone shifting just slightly—though still distant. “You’re improving.”

The praise should have made you feel better, but instead, it only tightened the coil in your stomach. You weren’t sure what he wanted from you, but the longer you spent in the cockpit beside him, the more you understood: this wasn’t just about flying.

He leaned back slightly, not taking his hand off yours, but letting the subtle pressure shift, just enough to remind you that he was still in control. You felt the weight of it—his presence pressing in on you, the intimate space between you both almost suffocating.

“You need to focus,” he said, and his voice was a little colder now. His hand moved from yours, but not without a lingering touch that left a phantom burn on your skin. You turned your attention back to the controls, trying to steady your breath, trying to focus.

It wasn’t enough.

The plane suddenly jerked.

Your heart leapt into your throat as the world around you shifted. Instinct kicked in, but your hands moved too late. The plane veered, and you could feel the vibrations of the metal, the rush of wind outside pressing against the hull.

“Don’t panic,” Caleb said, voice calm, as if this was a training exercise and not a potential crash. “You’re in control. Take a breath.”

You couldn’t breathe.

The plane dropped again, a sharp dive that made your stomach twist.

“Focus!” His voice cut through the tension, sharp as a knife. “You’re not a rookie anymore, you’re a Fleet pilot. You handle this or you don’t fly.”

His gaze bore into you, commanding, unyielding. You forced yourself to exhale, to concentrate. You gripped the yoke, fingers digging into the smooth, cold surface, and slowly, painfully, you steered the plane back on course.

When it leveled out, your heartbeat thundered in your chest.

“That’s better,” Caleb said, his voice smoother now, almost like a purr. “You didn’t think you’d be able to do it, but you did.”

He looked at you like he knew something you didn’t. Like he had been watching you all along, reading you, seeing how far he could push you before you broke.

And you were starting to feel like you were breaking.

“Let’s see if you can handle some real turbulence.” Caleb’s words were quiet, but there was a hint of something darker behind them. Something that made you wary.

You opened your mouth to ask what he meant, but before you could speak, the plane dipped again, this time even more violently.

You instinctively gripped the yoke harder, your hands now slick with sweat. Caleb didn’t react, didn’t move a muscle. He simply watched, his cold eyes never leaving you.

“Don’t freeze,” he warned. “Fly like your life depends on it.”

It did.

Your knuckles went white as you gripped the yoke harder, trying to force the plane back into control. You fought against the pull of the turbulence, your heart racing in your chest, your breathing shallow and panicked. But through it all, you could feel his gaze, like a weight on your shoulders, pulling you deeper into the turbulence of your own emotions.

When the plane finally steadied, the relief you felt was short-lived. Caleb leaned closer to you, his breath warm against your ear.

“Well done,” he murmured, his voice as calm as if you were simply landing in a controlled environment. “But we both know you’re capable of more.”

His hand brushed over yours again, more deliberate this time, like a promise. But the promise wasn’t of safety. It was of something else. Something darker.

“Let’s take a break,” Caleb said, sitting back in his seat, his voice casual, almost too casual.

You turned to him, your chest still tight, still shaky. He didn’t seem affected by the ordeal at all. In fact, he looked almost pleased.

“You handled it well,” he said, but there was no praise in his voice—only a calm, assessing look that made your skin prickle.

You nodded, but inside, you weren’t sure if you could handle much more. You weren’t afraid of the sky, but of what Caleb was becoming to you.

The lesson was over, but the weight of it clung to you. Every breath felt heavier, as if the air was thicker now, charged with something you couldn’t name. You tried to shake off the tension that still coiled around you, but it wouldn’t release. Your hands were still trembling, your mind buzzing, unable to process the storm of emotions that Caleb had stirred up in such a short time. You could still feel the ghost of his touch on your skin, a reminder of just how close he was.

Your gaze flickered to him, but he wasn’t looking at you now. He was observing something outside the cockpit window, his posture relaxed as if he hadn’t just put you through hell. But you could see the faintest curve to his lips, a knowing smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

You had passed the test. But you knew—this was just the beginning.

The lesson had only just begun. And you weren’t sure how much more you could take.

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doctrined · 4 months ago

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⠀ &͟&͟.

⠀⠀ LUCID DREAMS ⁎ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀ 恋徒 ⠀ ֵ

“𝑅𝑈𝐿𝐸𝑆 𝐻𝐴𝐷 𝐴𝐿𝑊𝐴𝑌𝑆 𝐵𝐸𝐸𝑁 𝑆𝐼𝑀𝑃𝐿𝐸 𝐼𝑁 𝐻𝐼𝑆 𝑊𝑂𝑅𝐿𝐷. THAT IS.. until she came along and turned his world upside.” —- salem’s knight, a night of lucid dreams.

&. LUCID DREAMS: MEDIEVAL AU

• MDNI (Minors Do Not Interact)

• TW: Unrequited Love, Angst, Dark Themes, Hate-Love Trope, Drama, Emotional Manipulation, Self-Doubt, Violence, Heartbreak

• FIC INFO:

• Setting: Medieval Era AU, featuring a Princess and her loyal, yet conflicted knight.

• Themes: The complex, tormented relationship between Caleb (the knight) and the princess MC. Love and hatred intertwine as they struggle against their desires, promises unkept, and duty’s unyielding grip.

• Genre: Angst, Drama, Romance (with a slow-burn love-hate dynamic), Dark Fantasy

tags; @alevres @icedoatlatte29 @starlitfool @rcvcgers @puckpuckvt @jadeloverxd @spacenott @marina27826 @starkdarya @darkx143

synopsis: ❛ Greed. ❜

It was the first word I ever whispered.

So, he became Caleb the loathsome.

They found him on the battlefield, a savior of war, a broken thing wrapped in glory. And the whispers—they spread like poison, a slow, suffocating venom in the halls of Galdoria.

I wanted him.

I wanted him with a ferocity that burned me alive. That was my sin. To want what I could never have. To long for the one who could never see me the way I saw him.

He was everything I could not touch.

I was a woman who could want and be wanted. A woman who could be destroyed.

But as something darker.

Something hungry.

And when the serpent bit me, when society turned its eyes away in disgust, it took my voice. It took my words. My tongue, my lips, my lungs—they were no longer mine. They were his.

It silenced me.

But in that silence, I found the woman I was always meant to be.

Not a princess. Never a princess.

A woman who could take. A woman who could destroy. A woman who ruled, not by the title I was born to, but by the hunger that consumed me.

Did that stop me from fighting back?

Did it stop me from pulling my knight from the clutches of war—dragging him to me, back to me, even when he rejected me?

Even when he rejected us?

VERSE O1. pagans surely bleed, and the sky bows in worship. surely the humans too.. can see the chaos in a mind numbed to pain. surely, a man such as him—-divine in utter power, seething with raw possession—could understand that I was the pagan. a ritual left undone, a prayer uttered halfway, a woman in dire need of his acceptance. but see, flowers wilt, the seas rage, and i, standing at the shore, watched his dark eyes swallow me whole. my lips burned while his remained untouched, my fingers ached whilst he only drew further and further away from me. so I ask myself—-do I rage? do I rage for the stars? or for the man who refuses to come to terms with the revelation of us?” —- CALAMITY, a princess on the run.

I. “ I FUCKING BLED. and so did he, that I was certain of. ”

chapter two:

CHAPTER ONE

Ravenous thunder latched on in mere desperation to cling to the raging source of the downpour. As far as desperation went, I believe we all had a moment in life. A rarity where you must beat all odds for a miracle, for a hope that clung to life. Was your desperation clinging to something more meaningful? A new country? Love? Or maybe… an adventure? I don’t know what you struggled for, I don’t know the… desperation your heart hides nor the pain you swallow at the tight clench of your jaw and the sweep of your gaze tucking away an anguish one cannot decipher. But this was mine. I ran to chase away my misery. It came in the sweet, forbidden coveting of a man who just failed… to see me. It’s pathetic, the lies we chase, the demons we hide under our beds. The skeletons in the closets are worst, but dare I say, catching my breath as thunder poured its wrath onto me, slowing my steps. My legs ached, my chest constricted, and my tears, not a single soul could see, streamed down my cheeks with rain drowning them in fresh rainwater. But I pushed until my eyes caught sight of his carriage. It was obsidian black with a king’s symbolic sword displayed on the back. Everyone knew who it belonged to, no one needed a reminder, because that was him. The man, the myth.

“CALEB!” Was that my voice? Unrecognizable, torn and seeping with sadness, it broke through the rain. I don’t know how he heard me, much less the carriage rider, but it stopped, so did my heart when he stepped out. Relief was instant, but so was regret, anger, hatred because how dare he leave me behind? How dare he pretend I was nothing but a mere soul who’d meant nothing, who was of no value? Yet, as the distance ceased, and I pushed until my vision blurred, at the last drag of my breath, a grunt sounded by my ear. Arms caught me first thing before I crushed against his taut chest. Still solid, strong, and warm. My desperation was the sling of my arms winding around his neck, a choked sob wrecking past my lips. Just as words of hatred eased past my lips, his thudding heart uttered what his lips failed.

“I hate you.”

“I know.”

“If you knew, then why must you do this to me? Do you find it amusing? Is my misery…” And I cried, for the first time, pathetically, miserably because I was desperate for him, desperate for his love. Even as he crushed me into him, holding me so tightly as if I might vanish before his eyes. I’d like to believe promises meant something to people. Promises, of course, brought hope and at the same time, held the power to mend the broken. So, I thought the one I loved would always stand by my side and love me, truly love me the way that I had surrendered my soul to him. I was wrong, so wrong. I thought I meant something to him just because I willingly allowed my soul to tether, and to bind my heart to his. I loved him, loved him until my lungs ached and burned for his lips to cease that burn in the pit of my belly. Instead, my lover left me stranded. Affairs were the worst, cheating lovers, and liars, nay? But mine chose duty over me, and I watched him, helplessly untangle my arms from around his neck. Not a word had formed on his tongue, yet heat, the one betraying ache of insanity, remained infused, glaring at me, telling me to believe, to know he felt the same.

Did he feel the same, though? Did you, Caleb?

Instead, violet eyes bore into mine with a hardening gaze, soft as a puppy’s, and pleaded. Pleaded for what? My mind raced, the clatter of my teeth chattered as cold seeped in, dread followed, and I shook my head, staggering a step back.

“S—so that’s it? You’re not even going to acknowledge our feelings? What we both feel?” My voice sounded foreign to my own ears, making me cringe, but did it matter when my heart was being slaughtered, torn mercilessly? And there was nothing but silence from him.

Complete and utter silence.

“Caleb—”

“Don’t.” He cut in sharply, his voice rough and thick with emotions, betraying his usually controlled demeanor. It broke me.

Still remember my earlier words? About desperation. Well, this was the grave I dug with my own two hands, without mercy. It was ruthless, the way he watched me, stepping back, willing me to return to the castle. What cruel fate, no—what a cruel lie I’d fed myself, thinking I was strong enough to love him, thinking the first words forming on his tongue would be of love. Nay, I watched him turn, get back in the carriage, the relentless rain never once ceasing, even as it soaked us both. It never stopped for me. How much hope had garnered in this heart of mine? Ached for his love, aching to be the one to fill those cold, distant eyes with a mischievous glint.

Everything hurt. My lungs burned with thirst to quench a hunger I no longer understood, my hands trembled, but worst of all, I remained where I was, rooted, watching as the sky took sudden pity. It slowed its rage, and light flecks of drops grazed my cheeks where tears numbed, no longer streamed. Yet, was it a lie? Because at the jutting of my chin, lifting to the sky, a fresh pool of them gathered at my eyes, and I wept with laughter, empty inside. I stood there, abandoned, watching his carriage disappear into the misty horizon. My heart ached with the heavy weight of abandonment, but there was something else too—something darker. He hadn’t even tried to look back.

I lingered in the rain, feeling each droplet fall upon me like another weight added to my already fragile heart. With every beat, I could almost hear his silence.

#love and deepspace #lads mc angst #mediveal #la knight #love and deepspace caleb #caleb x mc #caleb x reader #lnds caleb #caleb x you #angst #heartbreak #dark romance #hatred #anguish #ongoing

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doctrined · 4 months ago

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dang my shawty & darling:333

😏.

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doctrined · 4 months ago

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SECOND CHANCE PART 1

Pairing: Caleb x Fem Reader/ MC

Chapters: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Epilogue (smut)

Contains: Angst, yearning, grief, little bit of fluff at the end

TW: Extreme grief of losing someone / mostly angst and yearning

Summary: MC’s experience of losing Caleb the first time, how she dealt with the grief and loss, how she is still scarred, and how she plans to confess to Caleb

Notes: Just to preface, this is my very first attempt at EVER writing a fanfic. I am in no way a writer, so please excuse me in that sense 🥲. I always have complex ideas in my head but never the right words to convey. But I absolutely adore Caleb, and his storyline inspired me to do this. Mostly I am a huge sucker for open communication, and so I wanted to imagine how Caleb would feel if MC told him she remembers the events of Lucid Dream (his myth). But also there’s a depth to her emotions and what she went through while he was gone. So before the fluff, I had to cover all that angst first. 🥹

You wake up to find yourself gasping for air, your body drenched in a cold sweat that clings to your skin like a ghostly embrace. The familiar sting of tears on your cheeks is a cruel reminder that even in sleep, you can't escape the pain. Your throat burns, raw and aching, as if the screams that echoed in your nightmare have torn their way into reality, leaving behind a hollow echo of your anguish.

The dream, always the same, replays in your mind with merciless clarity. Caleb, your anchor, your everything, ripped away from you in a moment of helpless terror. You can still see his face, hear his voice calling out to you as the darkness swallows him whole. And all you can do is scream, your voice breaking as you reach out, your fingers grasping at empty air.

With a shuddering breath, you sink back into the pillows, their softness a poor substitute for the warmth you yearn for. The ceiling above becomes a blank canvas for your memories, each crack and shadow a chapter in the story of the last six months without him. The nightmares have been your constant, unwelcome companion ever since that fateful day in Bloomshore district. As you reminisce, painful moments and flashbacks resurface from the last 6 months:

The explosion that tore through the area didn’t just shatter buildings; it shattered your world, leaving you adrift in a sea of grief and regret. Even as insomnia clawed at your mind and you worked yourself to exhaustion, desperately trying to outrun your thoughts, sleep offered no respite. Every stolen moment of rest, every brief nap, became a battlefield where the same horrific scenes played out, leaving you more traumatized with each awakening.

You lasted 3 weeks before the Association mandated therapy. The therapist’s diagnosis of PTSD came as no surprise, but it did nothing to ease the hollowness inside you. You fought tooth and nail to keep working, knowing that if you stopped, if you allowed yourself to be alone with your thoughts, the fragile threads of your sanity might finally snap.

So you slammed the door on your guilt – survivor’s guilt, they called it, as if there were any survivors in the crater he left in your chest. You functioned. You compartmentalized. But there were days when the facade crumbled, when the weight became too much to bear. On those days, you found yourself at Caleb’s grave, the only place where you felt you could truly breathe. “Idiot,” you’d choke into the earth, dirt biting your palms as if digging could reach him. “You promised.” Promised to always be there – your tutor when equations made you cry, your shield when the world turned cruel, your conspiratorial grin during midnight fridge raids.

Caleb was always more than just an adopted brother figure. He was your protector, your confidant, your rock. You were his princess, and he spoiled you rotten. His stupid hero complex, those stray maple syrup stains on his hoodies, the way his laughter crinkled the tiny scar by his left eyebrow. But also the boy who’d linger a heartbeat too long when fixing your scarf, whose smoldering glances during movie nights made your pulse stutter. The unspoken thing that hung between you like live wires – would he have done more than kiss you that one summer if you both hadn’t panicked and started cracking jokes about something trivial? You’ll never know now. Because you both had been cowards, preserving the fragile equilibrium of his headlocks and stolen hoodies, and texts that always ended with “Don’t stay up late, Pip-squeak.”

This line between your relationship had remained uncrossed, not because of what others might think, but because of the paralyzing fear of what lay on the other side. The thought of losing him, of things changing irrevocably if a romantic relationship went wrong, was too terrifying to contemplate, especially with someone who grew up with you. He was too precious, too beloved to risk losing over romantic feelings, so you kept things playful and platonic, shoving any deeper emotions deep down where they couldn’t threaten what you had.

You’d found yourself at his graveside on a particularly difficult day, your heart heavy with unspoken words and unfulfilled promises. The cemetery grass bit cold through your jeans as you crumbled before his headstone, autumn leaves skittering across granite like memories refusing to stay buried. Your knuckles whitened around the wilted sunflowers in your lap — his favorite, always bought from that vendor by the train station he’d pass on his way back from Skyhaven.

“You…” The word comes out brittle, choking on summer heat and pancake breakfasts and all the words you swallowed. “You knew. You had to.” Your thumbnail digging into the stem until green stained your skin. “The way you’d… thaw frozen pizza at 3AM because I forgot to eat. Pretend to ‘accidentally’ buy my favorite mango ice cream every goddamn week.” A wet laugh escapes, sharp as the shrapnel that took him. “Always… always catching me before I fell.”

The headstone had stayed silent. It mocked you.

Your palm slammed against the earth, gravel embedding in flesh. “Damn you, Caleb. Damn you for making love feel like breathing.” Your voice had splintered, each syllable a confession pried from your ribs. “Those nights… when you’d carry me home after exams… your heartbeat against my cheek? I wanted to live there. In your stupid flannel scent and the rumble of your voice…”

Wind whipped through the trees, scattering goldenrod pollen like the ashes you never got to bury. When you finally whispered it — “I loved you” — the words dissolved into the twilight, unheard. Unanswered.

You hadn’t noticed the blood on your palm until it smeared across his engraved name. “You’re gone, and it feels like you took a part of me with you. How am I supposed to keep going without my ray of sunshine? Everything’s so… colorless now.”

Your body shook with sobs as you whispered, “I see it every night in my dreams. You being taken away from me. Over and over.”

You pressed your forehead to the stone, imagining the warmth that once greeted your tears. “Should’ve burned with you,” you rasp to the worms beneath the soil. “At least then… I’d know where to find your hands in the dark.”

Time blurred as you sat there, lost in a haze of grief and regret, until darkness fell. They’d found you hours later — some faceless groundskeeper clearing their throat at the edge of your grief. You rose on numb legs, leaving the sunflowers askew. Let them think you’re mad. Let them stare.

The walk home was a blur of streetlights and phantom laughter. Your apartment swallowed you whole — his faded jacket still draped on the couch, the last Tupperware of his braised chicken wings fossilizing in the fridge. You hadn’t bothered with the lights.

As you sunk into bed that night, the ghosts descended too, his voice in your ear, “Pip-squeak…”. The nightmare came as always. But this time, when the flames took him, you stepped into the inferno.

The memory of that day alone draws fresh tears to your eyes as you lie there, watching shadows dance across the ceiling. Outside, thunder rolls and rain begins to tap against your window, nature’s own symphony of melancholy matching your mood. Those agonizing six months of grief feel like a lifetime ago now, especially since Caleb’s miraculous return – not quite as the same person you lost.

Now he’s Colonel Caleb of Farspace Fleet, a title that carries the weight of untold horrors and survival. The explosion that should have killed him was just the beginning of his transformation. The Toring chip in his body, the bionic arm that registers nothing but searing pain – evidence of modifications you can barely bring yourself to think about. Sometimes, when he thinks no one’s watching, you catch glimpses of the toll it’s taken on him.

He still looks at you with that same adoration, still calls you “pip-squeak” with that familiar warmth, but there’s a shadow behind his eyes now. A darkness that speaks of secrets and burdens he won’t share. Whatever Ever and the Farspace Fleet are forcing on him has turned your open book into a locked vault, and it breaks your heart to see him struggling under the weight of it all. There’s a new distance in his eyes, secrets building walls between you that never existed before.

Yet when he laughs — really laughs — it’s still there. Beneath the secrets and the new hardened exterior, you can still feel it – the genuine love and warmth that is uniquely Caleb. After experiencing the soul-crushing void of believing him dead, you’d take him back a thousand times over, complications and all. Nothing could be worse than the hollow emptiness of living in a world without him.

Of course, that didn’t stop you from giving him a piece of your mind that day after he’d revealed himself and personally interrogated you. The moment you’d stepped into his Skyhaven residence, your heart had thundered with a tempest of emotions. There he stood, a ghost made flesh, the very embodiment of your deepest longings and most bitter regrets.

How dare he? How dare he return from the grave and not breathe a word to you? Yet, even as you’d hurled your grievances at him, a traitorous warmth bloomed in your chest. He was here. Alive. Breathing. Changed but still here, and that’s more than you dared hope for during those dark months of grief.

The thought of losing him again coils like barbed wire around your chest, but you breathe through it. This time will be different. You’ve clawed your way back from the abyss of grief once—you won’t let fear sabotage the fragile second chance you’ve been granted. Caleb may wear the title of Colonel like armor now, his laughter tinged with shadows, but beneath it all, he’s still yours. The boy who carried your secrets, your joys, and your tears long before Farspace Fleet carved its demands into his bones.

Rebuilding trust has been slow, like stitching together shattered glass. His return has eased the nightmares, but they haven't vanished completely. Learning about his bionic arm only sparked new fears, the way pain flickers in his eyes when he thinks you aren’t looking. It has manifested fresh anxieties about losing him again in an instant. You’ve gotten adept at concealing your own scars, though. He doesn’t know about the nights you still wake gasping, your pillow damp with tears, your graveside confessions, or how your heart aches every time you catch his carefree smile or when he cracks a joke too sharp to feel genuine.

Refusing to dwell in darkness any longer, you reach for your phone and dial his number with trembling hands. He answers instantly, his voice rough as if he’d been waiting. “Hey, princess,” he murmures, and you can almost see him leaning against the window of his Skyhaven quarters, that half-smile playing on his lips. You swallow the urge to spill everything—the nightmares, the grave visits, the way your heart fractures every time he clenches his hand to stop himself from reaching for you.

Instead, you laugh weakly. “Just… one of those nights. Had a stupid dream about reliving the same awful day on loop. You know, like that old sci-fi trope?”

He hums, soft and low. “Sounds lonely. Let’s rewrite it. Maybe tomorrow’s the day you finally beat the final boss. Or… find a cheat code.” His voice dips, hesitant. “…Or get rescued by a dashing colonel with terrible comedic timing.”

You huff a watery laugh, curling into the sheets. But the banter can’t mask the tension crackling beneath. When he speaks again, his tone shifts, raw and stripped bare. “If I’m not… the same. If I’m worse now—would you still…?”

The question hangs like a blade. Yes, you want to scream. You’re still the boy who made me feel safe. Still the man I’d cross galaxies for. How grateful I am just to have you breathing and alive, how past and present versions mean nothing compared to the simple fact of your existence. But old habits claw at your throat, so you force lightness into your reply. “You’ve always been a disaster, Caleb. Some metal parts and secrets won’t change that.”

A beat of silence. Then his chuckle rumbles through the speaker, warmer now. “Fair.”

The conversation lingers, charged with everything unsaid—the Lantern Fest festivities, where he’d brushed his thumb over your wrist, the way you’d both frozen when your fingers tangled while reaching for the same decorations while building your lantern, the way you had sat in his almost-embrace as you both made New Year’s wishes on the paper boats floating in the lake. But you’re done with almosts and maybes. Before he can retreat behind another joke, you blurt it out: “Take me to the amusement park. Tomorrow. Like we used to.”

A pause. “The one with the rickety Ferris wheel?”

“The one where you swore you’d beat me at ring toss and failed. Twice.”

His laughter wraps around you like sunlight. “You’re on pip-squeak.”

The call ends with Caleb’s laughter still tingling in your ears, but you press the phone to your chest a moment longer, as if you could trap the warmth of his voice there. A smile tugs at your lips, bittersweet and hopeful. Caleb has no idea what you’ve set in motion, the carefully laid plans waiting to unfold.

He still believes you’ve forgotten – those three precious days when amnesia stripped away his defenses, and you both teetered on the edge of something more. The memory of it burns bright in your mind: that train ride through the amusement park, the world blurring into streaks of color and light as his breath ghosted across your skin. His voice, rough with want, whispering “I like you” against your ear. You’d been so close, leaning in, hearts thundering in unison—

And then pain had lanced through your arm, white-hot and searing. The chip, that cursed piece of tech, had nearly ruined everything. Your fingers drift to your forearm, tracing the faint scar – a reminder of your desperate, delirious attempt to feel closer to him, to share his pain, and understand why he behaves the way he does now. The agony of its removal paled in comparison to the ache in your chest as you realized he believed the process had erased your memories of those precious days. You’d played along, letting him think the confession, the almost-kiss, had vanished with the tech. It was easier than admitting how close you’d come to shattering the careful dance you’d maintained for years.

But fate, it seems, has granted you a second chance. Tomorrow, you’ll recreate and complete that almost confession. And when his eyes widen with the realization that you remember, that you’ve always remembered, you’ll let the truth spill from your lips like a long-held breath, “I never forgot. Not a single second.”

And in that moment, suspended between what was and what could be, you’ll finally close the distance that’s haunted you both for so long.

As sleep finally claims you, your dreams are filled not with explosions and loss, but with the warmth of Caleb’s smile and the sweet anticipation of confessions long overdue. Tomorrow, you’ll rewrite your story. This time, there will be no chips, no hesitation, no misunderstandings to tear you apart. Because losing him once was agony – but losing him again, without ever having truly had him, is a fate you refuse to accept.

A/N: The phone call is very much inspired from their actual call in game (Safe Haven). Also these beautiful dividers are from @omi-resources :)

#caleb love and deepspace #lads mc #caleb lads #caleb x mc #caleb x reader #lads mc angst

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doctrined · 4 months ago

Text

— Borrowed time, part 3

‼️Caleb x reader x Sylus. Reader not MC. University AU. Modern AU. Angst angst angst!

Everyone knows Caleb is in love with MC. Everyone. Including you. But that does not stop him from flirting with you, teasing you, keeping you close. And it definitely does not stop you from falling for him—even when you know you’re just a stand-in, a place holder.

“Had you paid a little more attention, you would’ve known I hated the thunder too.”

word count = 5.2k

i appreciate all likes, comments, reblogs, and asks. i may not reply to all of them, but i want you to know that i reread them over and over 🥺

The choir of rain showering down envelops your whole world. Holding yourself close, you hug yourself away from the constant roar of the thunders.

You did not notice the man watching— his gaze lingering on the drenched rag of a person curled up on the roadside.

Another roar tears through the sky, clawing at your chest, sending tremors down your spine. With each shallow breath, you silently pray for the nightmare to be over, to wake up under warm covers in the safety of your own room.

He probably saw the state you’re in—the haziness in your unfocused eyes and the way you blink, once, twice, sluggish and distant. A sigh leaves his lips as he kneels down to your level. With one gloved hand holding his helmet, the other lightly flicks your forehead.

The flick is light—too light for the weight crushing your chest, yet enough to tether you back to reality and bring some focus back into your gaze.

You slowly raise your gaze, meeting his crimson orbs. Unwavering. Sharp. Studying.

His lips twitch—not quite a smirk, not quite concern.

“You look like hell,” he states as he tilts his head, studying you like you’re an amusing puzzle.

You don’t answer. You can’t. Your lips tremble, but no words form.

Sylus exhales, slow and deliberate—not quite a sigh, but something close.

“Can you get up?”

Silence. Only the sound of the rain, the low hum of the storm, and the quiver of your breath fill the air.

He clicks his tongue, running a hand through his drenched silver locks before shaking off the excess water. Then, without a word, he drops his helmet onto your head, fingers swift and practiced as he secures the strap beneath you chin

The sudden weight startles you. But before you can react, you’re lifted.

A sharp gasp catches in your throat as his arms hook effortlessly around you, pulling you up from the cold ground and onto the sleek leather seat.

He swings his leg over the bike, boots steady against the pavement. The engine purrs beneath you, low and commanding.

“Hold tight.”

The words are simple. A command. A warning.

Your hands instinctively clutch his waist, gripping the fabric of his jacket. The sudden yank pushes you flush against him.

But through the turmoil of it all—through the howling wind, the biting cold, the chaos swallowing the whole world as you ride through the roads a little too fast—beneath your fingers, beneath the soaked fabric,

he’s warm.

The contrast is sharp. The world untamed, screaming, tearing everything apart. The situation rushes past you, too quick, too unreal.

Through it all, you—fractured, weightless, drowning— hold onto him— steady, unshaken—like he’s the only rope tying you to reality.

•

“What’s your room number?” he asks as the bike comes to a stop and the deep rumble of the engine fades.

By the time you’ve returned to the resort, the campfire is long gone—reduced to nothing but damp coals and the ghost of laughter lingering in the air.

People scattered, rushed towards shelter, their hurried footsteps splashed against puddles. The storm has chased everyone indoors.

Except for you and him.

You’re still clutching onto him, fingers curled around the fabric of his jacket. The lingering warmth of his body beneath your touch feels foreign.

“Well?” Sylus’s voice cuts through the silence.

You blink, realizing you haven’t answered.

Your lips part, allowing a light whisper to leave your lips.

“409.”

Without a word, he starts walking.

Perhaps it’s because you did not want to be left alone in the darkness of the night again, or perhaps it was because the sudden loss of warmth prompted your body to move on its own.

You trail behind him through the dimly lit halls, the faint hum of electricity buzzing through the silence. Water drips from your clothes, leaving a trail behind as you shiver against the cold air-conditioned corridor.

You steal a glance at him. Sylus walks ahead, hands shoved into his pockets, completely unfazed. As if he didn’t just find you curled up on the side of the road, as if you’re not drenched and shaking beside him.

The two of you stop in front of your door.

You fumble for the key card, fingers trembling slightly, though you’re not sure if it’s from the cold or from everything that’s happened tonight.

“Shh, don’t be scared.”

Soft coos seep through the door.

“I’m here, pipsqueak. I’m here.”

Soft giggles follow the gentle whispers.

“You’ve always stayed with me on days like these, holding me just like this whenever there were thunders.” Her voice is small and fragile—like something meant to be cherished, protected.

Your fingers hover the doorknob, frozen in place.

The storm rages on, harmonizing with the soft giggles on the other side of the door.

You stood there paralyzed, your mind too tired to register whatever it is that your heart is going through.

Sylus leans against the doorframe, watching you hesitate. Waiting.

“So? You gonna go in, or are we just standing here all night?” He finally asks, voice low and edged with amusement.

Your lack of response earns slow exhale from him.

Before you can fall any deeper, before you can drown in the ache clawing at your chest—he moves.

His hand wraps around your wrist, firm and unyielding.

You flinch, eyes finally snapping to him.

He doesn’t say anything—just turns, walking, dragging you with him.

Away from the door. Away from them.

“Sylus—“ Your voice is barely above a whisper, but he doesn’t stop.

He doesn’t loosen his grip.

And deep down, you were glad he didn’t.

You let the warmth of his hand anchor you, let the storm swallow everything else, and let the laughter behind the doorframe fade into nothing.

•

Sylus doesn’t stop walking until you’re deep inside the quiet halls of the resort, the sound of rain and thunder fading into the background.

His grip finally loosens as he stops in front of a door.

Without looking at you, he pulls out his key card and swipes it. The lock clicks open.

“Get in.” His voice is flat, low—an order, not a request.

You linger by the doorway, water pooling beneath your feet.

Sylus exhales sharply for the nth time that night, raking a hand through damp silver strands, sending droplets scattering to the floor. Then, without warning, he grabs a towel from the bed and throws it at you.

It smacks against your chest, snapping you out of your daze.

“Shower.”

You blink up at him. His crimson eyes don’t waver.

His jaw ticks. Another sigh, this one slower, controlled.

More is tossed at you.

A shirt. A pair of sweatpants. His clothes.

They land in your arms, warm, freshly laundered, carrying the faintest trace of him—clean, sharp, and something unplaceable.

Your fingers tighten around the fabric.

“You’re soaked. You’ll get sick.”

It’s not concern. It’s a fact. A simple statement.

When you still don’t move, he clicks his tongue, tone dipping into something dangerously close to impatience.

“Either you go shower, or I’ll throw you in there myself.”

That finally makes your feet move.

You clutch the clothes tighter against your chest and step past him, disappearing into the bathroom.

The door clicks shut behind you.

And only then do you finally exhale.

The warmth of the shower does little to soothe the tightness in your chest, but at the very least, it washes away the lingering cold from the rain, the exhaustion clinging to your skin like a second layer.

When you finally step out, damp hair sticking to your neck, Sylus is exactly where you left him—leaning against the dresser, one knee bent, a towel draped over his head. His silver hair peeks through, darkened by water, stray strands clinging to his forehead. He’s slow with his movements, lazy almost, dragging the towel through his hair before ruffling it out with one hand.

For the first time, you actually look at him. Not just a passing glance, not a flicker of acknowledgement,—but really look.

At the way the dim light carves shadows along his jawline—the cut of his jawline, the slight furrow in his brow, the way droplets trail down his collarbone before vanishing beneath the black tank clinging to his build—damp and unforgiving, outlining lean muscle and sharp edges.

There’s something effortlessly sharp about him, something dangerous in the way he simply carries his frame.

A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips as his gaze flickers up, sweeping over you. Unbothered. Knowing. Like he’s caught you staring.

“Like what you see?” his voice drips with lazy amusement.

You blink, heat creeping up your neck before you compose your features.

“What is there to like?”

His smirk deepens, crimson eyes flickering with something teasing.

“You really are a shortcake.” He smugs as his gaze roams your body. “Looks like my clothes are trying to swallow you whole.”

You glance down. The oversized shirt hangs loosely off your shoulders, the hem brushing against your knees. The sweatpants are cinched at the waist, tied hastily to keep them from slipping.

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “It’s not my fault you’re built like a damn tree.”

Sylus snorts, shaking his head as he runs the towel over his hair one last time before tossing it onto the chair. “Move.”

He brushes past you, the scent of clean linen and faint sandalwood trailing behind him. The door clicks shut a second later, leaving you alone in the room.

For a moment, you simply stand there, staring at the empty space he left behind.

Then, with a slow, heavy breath, you make your way to the bed. The mattress dips beneath your weight, soft and warm—a stark contrast to the cold pavement you were curled up on just hours ago.

You sink into it, pulling the blankets over yourself, letting your body finally rest.

But sleep never comes.

Even as exhaustion tugs at your limbs, your mind refuses to quiet.

The storm still lingers beyond the windows, faint rumbles reverberating through the walls. Every moment from tonight replays, over and over again—

The laughter at the campfire.

Caleb’s dismissive jokes.

Caleb’s warmth, his head rested on your lap as the sun sets.

His voice, gentle, whispered—“I’m here, pipsqueak. I’m here.”

And the way the line cut before you could even finish your cry for help.

Your grip on the blanket tightens.

It’s pathetic. How much this hurts. How much he still has a hold on you, even when you know better.

You force yourself to listen to the sound of the shower running in the bathroom, gripping into your own palm like doing so could lull you to sleep.

The blanket feels too heavy. The air, too thick.

You shift onto your side, curling in on yourself, trying to focus on something—anything—other than the ache sitting heavy in your chest.

The shower stops, and a moment later, the bathroom door opens.

Sylus steps out, towel draped around his neck, silver hair still damp, a few strands clinging to his skin. The scent of clean linen and something sharp, something distinctly him, fills the space.

He says nothing, nor does he acknowledge you.

Instead, he crosses the room in that effortless, unhurried way of his, tossing the towel onto a nearby chair before grabbing something from his bag.

You watch from the corner of your eye as he settles into the chair beside the bed, flipping the book open like he’s done this a thousand times before.

Like you’re not lying there, curled up in his clothes, drowning in the silence between you.

Like this is just another one of his quiet nights.

The pages turn, slow and steady, the faint rustle of paper weaving into the distant cries of thunder.

Still, the way the thunder rumbles through the sky, rolling and crackling so close, makes your body tense on instinct. You will your breathing to steady, to calm. But your hands won’t stop trembling.

It’s stupid. You know it’s stupid.

The sudden change from the steady rhythm of pages turning to the faint tap of his fingers against his phone screen causes your brows to furrow in curiosity. You crack an eye open just enough to see him searching something up. His expression remains as impassive as ever, his crimson gaze flicking across the screen, scanning whatever article he’s pulled up.

Then—without warning—he gets up, grabs your blanket, and yanks it off you.

“H-Hey—!” You barely have time to react before he moves, fast and measured, rolling you over onto the bedspread like you weigh nothing.

“What the hell are you—“

He ignores you. Ignores your flailing arms, ignores your indignant protests, and swiftly tugs the blanket around you, tucking you in so tight you can barely move.

You blink, completely stunned. You stare up at him, utterly dumbfounded, as he looks down at you with a face that is, somehow, completely unbothered.

“What the fuck is this?”

Sylus simply plops back down into his chair, cool as ever.

“It’s what they say helps cats with anxiety attacks.” He gestures vaguely towards his phone. “Something about mimicking the feeling of safety.”

Silence. You blink at him.

Once.

Twice.

His lips twitch—just slightly. “You’re welcome.”

You stare at him in disbelief.

“What kind of dumb—this isn’t even—“ You wiggle, struggling against the tight wrap of the blanket. “Sylus, let me out.”

“No.

“Sylus.”

“They say chin scratches can also help calm cats down,” he smirks. “Would you want that too, kitten?”

You open your mouth to retort, but another loud crack of thunder cuts through the room. Your breath hitches before you can stop it.

Silence engulfs the room once more.

He flips to another page in his book.

“Do you hate it that much?” his eyes never leaving the words in front of him. “The thunders.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, hating the way your hands still tremble against the blanket.

“No.”

Sylus hums, the sound low, almost skeptical. He flips another page.

“Convincing. Really.”

You would never admit it, but the tight wrap of blanket around you created a protective barrier between you and the world.

Or perhaps it is the steady rhythm of his breathing. The calm, unshaken presence beside you.

Your eyelids grow heavier.

The storm still lingers outside.

But here, in this quiet space, it’s bearable.

And before you realize it—the world turns dark.

•

Your eyes shoot open.

The room is steeped in deep blue, the quiet hum of dawn settling over the world. The storm has long passed, leaving behind only the faint scent of rain lingering in the air.

You instinctively look around, your pulse quickening as the memories of last night rush in like a relentless wave.

The chair beside the bed is empty. The book he was reading is gone.

He isn’t here.

A strange feeling settles in your chest—one you don’t have the energy to name.

You push yourself up, the oversized fabric of his clothes slipping loosely around your frame.

Right. You need to go.

Sliding off the bed, you grab your things, moving as quietly as possible. The last thing you need is anyone seeing you sneaking out of a room that isn’t yours.

The hallways are eerily silent, save for the distant rustle of the ocean breeze slipping through an open window. You slip into your own room unnoticed, the door clicking shut behind you.

MC is still asleep, curled beneath the blankets, her breathing slow and steady.

You exhale, body weighed down with exhaustion as you strip out of Sylus’s clothes, replacing them with your own. The fabric is warm, familiar.

Sliding your phone onto the charger, you finally crawl into bed, slipping under the covers beside MC.

She stirs slightly, shifting at the dip in the mattress, but doesn’t wake.

The silence stretches, the soft rhythm of her breathing lulling you into something close to peace.

You close your eyes.

•

You’re jolted awake by MC’s sudden exclaim.

“Oh my god, Yn!”

Your eyes snap open, the soft haze of sleep vanishing in an instant. MC is hovering over you, her phone clutched tightly in one hand, her brows furrowed in concern.

“Where the hell were you last night?!” she demands, voice a mix of worry and exasperation. “I called you like, a million times! I was this close to going out and looking for you—” She pauses, eyes narrowing slightly. “But, you know… how I am with thunders.”

You blink, mind sluggish, body too drained to react.

MC huffs, shoving her phone in your face. “Seriously, Yn. I was worried sick!”

You squint at the screen, barely making out the endless stream of missed calls and texts before you sigh, rubbing a hand down your face.

“Sorry,” you mumble. “I—”

What are you even supposed to say?

That you got caught in the rain? That you collapsed on the side of the road? That Sylus found you?

That you spent the night in his room?

Your throat tightens.

MC sighs, finally pulling back. “I swear, you’re gonna give me a heart attack one day.” Her expression softens, the frustration fading into something quieter. “You okay?”

The concern in her voice makes your chest ache.

You force a small smile. “Yeah. Just… tired.”

MC watches you for a moment before nodding. “Alright. But don’t ever do that again, okay? If something’s wrong, you tell me.”

You nod, though you don’t say anything.

She plops back onto the bed, stretching her arms over her head. “Anyway, we have a long-ass day ahead of us. Let’s get moving before they start filming without us.”

You hum in agreement, pushing yourself up despite the weight still clinging to your limbs.

The moment your feet touch the floor, a faint dizziness creeps in, but you shake it off.

Today is going to be long. You just have to get through it.

MC chatters away as she gets ready, pulling out outfits and rummaging through her bag. She seems to have let go of last night’s worries, and for that, you’re grateful. You don’t have the energy to explain anything right now.

By the time you both leave the room, the sun has fully risen, painting the sky in warm golds and soft blues. The air is fresh, carrying the lingering scent of rain, but the storm from last night feels like a distant memory—like something only you remember.

When you arrive at the set, the atmosphere is already buzzing with energy. Crew members are setting up, actors are going over their lines, and the director is barking out instructions.

MC quickly joins the main cast, slipping into her role with ease, leaving you to find your own place among the side characters.

“Action!”

The day begins.

It’s hectic—far more chaotic than yesterday. Since most of the key scenes are scheduled to be filmed today, there’s barely a moment to breathe between takes.

You go through your role automatically, delivering lines, hitting your marks, going where you’re needed.

And yet, through the commotion, you can feel him.

“Action!”

You can see him in the crowd, practicing and discussing his lines.

You can see him placing his hand on MC’s head, telling her it’s okay she messed up her part.

“Action!”

Every now and then, between takes, you can see the way his eyes land on you, a certain look that you can’t quite place your finger on.

And every now and then, during any short break he can muster, you can see the way he tries to approach you.

But the simple thought of him makes you sick to your stomach.

“Yn—”

You slip away.

“Where were y—”

Someone calls you over before he can finish.

“Why didn’t you pick—”

Another take is called, forcing him back into position.

Every conversation dies before it can even begin, and you make no effort to change that.

You don’t want to face him yet.

You can’t.

“Action!”

Fortunately, the day is kind enough to be relentless, dragging you from scene to scene, making it easier to ignore the weight of his gaze, the questions lingering between you.

But as the hours pass, the sun burns hotter, the air grows heavier, and a dull ache creeps into your skull.

It’s subtle at first, just a faint throbbing behind your eyes.

“Action!”

Your limbs feel heavier, your head foggy, the world tilting ever so slightly.

You swallow, forcing yourself to focus.

It’s nothing. Just exhaustion. Just the heat. Just the fact that you spent last night soaking wet in the cold for hours.

“Action!”

You push through.

A hand reaches for yours.

“Hey—are you oka—“

“I’m fine, Caleb.” You snap, finally turning to face him, snatching your touch away from his.

You look over his shoulder to find MC waving for him.

“MC’s looking for you,” you state, turning away just as quickly.

“You don’t look—“

The set sweeps him away once more.

The heat is unbearable. It sticks to your skin, clings to your lungs, burrows into your skull with a relentless pulse. Every sound around you—voices, instructions, the scuffling of feet on set—blurs into a distant hum.

“Action!”

You should sit down. You should stop.

But you don’t.

You push through, following the motions, forcing your body to move despite the dull, throbbing ache radiating from your temple.

The sun beats down harder.

Your limbs feel heavy. Your vision swims.

Something is wrong.

“Act—“

A sudden shift—the ground tilts beneath you.

The world spirals. Your stomach churns—everything is slipping too fast.

And then—a firm grip catches your wrist.

Through the haze, crimson eyes lock onto yours, sharp and assessing.

You don’t understand how, don’t understand why— but subtly, nearly imperceptibly—the sharpness in his eyes narrows, just slightly.

His grip tightens.

“It’s not called a dance if there’s no one to catch you when you dip,” a teasing smirk crawls up his face.

You narrow your eyes, a frown following closely.

“Let me go,” you demand, pulling your hand from his. To your dismay, he does not budge.

Sylus hums, tilting his head slightly, his crimson eyes flickering with amusement.

“Let you go?” He scoffs lightly. “Sweetheart, you nearly face-planted in front of half the set. If it weren’t for me, you’d be eating sand right now.”

A flush of heat creeps up your neck—whether from frustration or fever, you don’t know.

“But it did look like you were throwing yourself into my arms just now…”

Your jaw tightens. “I wasn’t—“

“You were.” He grins, lazy and insufferable, before tapping his temple. “Don’t worry, I’ll be generous and let you blame it on heat exhaustion. But next time, try asking before you faint dramatically into my arms, yeah?”

A scoff pushes past your lips, hot and irritated. “I didn’t—“

He cuts you off again, eyes narrowing in mock thought. “Actually, should I be offended? You didn’t even call my name. Isn’t that what damsels in distress do?”

He shifts his grip to hook an arm securely around your waist, pulling you closer as your knees wobble.

You slap at his arm. “I can stand just fine.“

“Sure.” He drawls the word out, clearly not convinced. “If by ‘just fine’ you mean ‘barely upright and just one second away from proving me right.’”

Your glare sharpens, pushing his body away from you. However, your body betrays you as your knees struggle to find balance, causing you to lean just slightly into his hold.

Sylus smirks.

“You love proving me right, don’t you?”

You groan. “Just let me go, Sylus.”

Before he can answer, another presence looms in.

“Yn.“

The teasing weight of Sylus’s words vanishes in an instant.

You tense.

The air shifts—sharp, tight, suffocating.

Sylus’s smirk doesn’t falter, but the amusement in his eyes dims, replaced with something much more calculating.

“I’ll take it from here.”

Caleb takes a step forward, his expression unreadable—but his tone isn’t.

“Let go.”

A muscle in Sylus’s jaw twitches as his gaze sweeps over Caleb, the amusement curling at his lips deepening.

“That’s funny,” he muses, low and almost thoughtful.

Caleb’s eyes darken. “I said, let go.”

Sylus tilts his head slightly, gaze dipping back to you.

“Mm.” His voice drops lower, amusement flickering at the edges. “Yeah, I don’t think so.”

The tension snaps tight between them—like a drawn blade, waiting to be swung.

You exhale sharply, yanking your wrist away from Sylus. Caleb’s presence itself is enough to push you off the edge, adding the tension between the two and your head splitting in half definitely does not help.

“I’m fine. I can walk. You two have scenes to film—go do that instead of hovering over me,” you mutter, your glare shifting between them.

Neither of them move.

You sigh, rubbing your temples. “Seriously. I just need some rest. Go.”

Sylus studies you for a beat longer, then— with an infuriating smirk, he raises both his hands in a mock display of surrender.

“Whatever you say, kitten.”

He steps back, turning without another word. But, even if you’ve just known him for a few days, you’re well too accustomed to that glint in his eyes. He’s entertained—like he just witnessed something far more amusing than it should be.

You roll your eyes, turning to leave—only to find Caleb following closely behind.

You stop in your tracks.

“Caleb.”

“You’re sick,” he states simply, as if that explains everything.

You let out an exhausted sigh. “I just need a nap. The sun’s too hot. You have a job to do. Go.”

“I’ll take you to your room.”

You groan. “I don’t need you to—“

“Yn.”

Something in the way he says your name—low, quiet, edged with something almost like a puppy left alone—makes your breath hitch.

You swallow, annoyance and fatigue surfacing your expression.

“Fine. Do whatever you want.”

You start walking. Caleb falls into step beside you, silent. The set bustles behind you, voices and movement filling the space. But between you and Caleb, the silence is louder.

The walk back is slow. The ground beneath you feels unsteady, your legs sluggish with exhaustion. The day had been merciless—your body drained from the heat, the lingering weight of last night clawing at your bones.

“I didn’t,” you murmur.

“You almost did.”

You finally reach your door, the cool AC left running inside brushes away a part of your exhaustion.

The door clicks shut behind you. You turn to face him, arms crossed.

“Alright. You walked me back. You can go now.”

Caleb doesn’t move. Instead, he leans against the doorframe, hands shoved into his pockets. “Kicking me out already?” he says with his usual playful tone, a grin plastered on his face.

“Out.”

Caleb sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I just—why didn’t you say anything? You looked like you were about to collapse back there.” He slowly approaches you, placing one hand on your forehead and another on his. “You’re burning up.”

A deep frown crawls up your face, annoyance filling your senses. You swat his hand away, taking an unsteady step backwards.

“Get out, Caleb, I want to be alone.”

His eyes widen ever so slightly, taken aback by your response. A soft chuckle slips past his lips—one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Okay, okay, I’ll leave. Right after I tuck you in.”

You let out a sharp breath, exasperated, but too drained to argue. Caleb takes a step closer, reaching for the blanket, but you snatch it before he can.

“Caleb—“

“You didn’t answer my calls.” The shift is almost imperceptible. His voice is steady, but there is an edge to it—like he is holding something back. His jaw is tense, something unreadable flashing behind his violet eyes.

Your breath catches for half a second and you grip on the blanket tightens, but you school your expression. “My phone was dead.”

“Where were you last night?” His voice is still too calm. Too measured.

You exhale, pinching the bridge of your nose, exhaustion pressing into your skull. “Caleb—“

“Do you know how long I spent looking for you?” his tone is lighter than it should be, laced with something almost amused—but his eyes, his stance, the slight clench of jaw betray him. “I ran through the rain like a desperate idiot, calling for your name like a lunatic, only for you to act like I don’t exist the next day?”

His voice isn’t desperate. It’s frustrated.

You don’t know what to say to that. Instead, you let out a dry laugh, shaking your head.

“Yeah? That worried? Sure, Caleb. Sure,” you pause. “Do you expect me to be grateful?” sarcasm drips from your words.

“That’s not what I’m saying,” his eyes narrow.

“No? Then what are you saying?” You cross your arms, a bitter laugh slipping past your lips. “Because I remember calling you. I remember my hands shaking so bad I almost dropped my phone. I remember hearing your voice and thinking, ‘finally.’” Your throat tightens. “And then I remember you cutting the line.”

Caleb stares at you, his expression unreadable.

“I was in the middle of god knows where, drenched like a drowning dog, kneeled down on the road next to some fucking dumpster,” you continue, voice shaking despite yourself. “But it wasn’t a great time. You were busy.” A humorless laugh leaves your quivering lips.

His jaws ticks.

“You know how MC is with thunders,” he says, voice quieter now. Almost defensive. “But as soon as she fell asleep— I didn’t think—“

“Exactly.” Your words are barely above a whisper. “You didn’t think. Had you paid a little more attention, you would’ve known I hated the thunder too.”

Something in his face shifts. His breath catches. For the first time since you met him, he looks like he miscalculated.

The silence is thick, suffocating. His gaze lock onto yours, searching—for what you weren’t sure.

Finally, he exhales through his nose, looking away. His hand grips the doorknob, knuckles paling slightly.

His voice is quieter when he speaks again. “I didn’t know.”

A bitter smile tugs at your lips. “Yeah. You didn’t.”

He remains there for a second longer, a shadow of something you can’t quite place flickering behind his eyes. You inhale sharply, steadying yourself, pressing a hand against your temple as a dull ache throbs inside your head.

“I’m very—very—tired,” you continue, voice barely above a breath. “So just… let me rest, Caleb.”

His jaws tightens. He shifts his weight, like he wants to say something—like there’s something sitting heavy on his tongue—but in the end, he exhales through his nose, slow and steady,

His voice, when he finally speaks, is quiet. Strained.

“…Get some rest, then.”

His fingers twitch at his sides. He slowly place his hand on your head, ruffling it softly—the way that has always brought butterflies to your stomach. His violet eyes flicker, scanning you—your unsteady stance, the way you press against your temple, the exhaustion settling deep in your features. Something flashes behind his gaze. But just as quickly, it’s gone.

He takes a step back. Then another.

He tilts his head slightly, studying you one last time—not with amusement, not with his usual lazy charm or playfulness, but with something much quieter. Much heavier.

“Try not to sleep through dinner, shortcake.” His usual grin flickers at the edges, forced, strained, before turning his heel.

Click.

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doctrined · 4 months ago

Text

⠀ &͟&͟.

⠀⠀⠀ FORBIDDEN ⁎ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ 味 ⠀ ֵ⠀

note: the one-shot you’re about to read is a detailed work of fiction, it isn’t meant to correlate to the living or the dead and if it does, it is purely out of coincidence. alas, mdni please. this is a mature work, intended only for the mature audience.

⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀UN.

⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ at the break of dawn,

when the birds chirp, the hollow sky welcomed the soaring engines of the airplane, and winds gushed. anticipation built like a curdling cord. I could lose myself, I could feel the vibrations of the airplane carrying me.

⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ talk about sanity, and here I lose myself to the chaste dreams unwavering.

you believed in me once, no? believed I’d die for you? ah, the maddening edge of desire. the scenery shifted at the flick of my gaze, at the way my hues found her sprawled on my bed, covered in my sheets. the way her languid curves hugged my shirt too big on her, engulfing her entire frame. my hands ached, fingers burning to feel the curve of her spine, to taste the livid heat, the warmth sampling her skin whereas mine? was utter ice, begged to be soothed until I was.. engulfed.

⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀ “tired, pipsqueak?” I mused, leaning back into the cushion of my chair. a mumble of rused words slipped her bruised lips, a dainty hiss, and I could tell without feeling her. a soft ‘hm’ was enough to jar me into a thunderous need. was it ever enough? did a man ever find his fill and be done with the creature keeping him awake at odd hours? as thunder struck outside, casting a grey glow through the peaking moonlight, my throat burned. a sudden stirring from her and she returned to the living, lips parting in a soft gasp, hands frantically searching the bed.. for me.

“caleb?” her voice was groggy, edged with the remnants of sleep, but there was something else beneath it. uncertainty. I stood, pushing myself to stand and slowly strode to the bed, watching her head turn and eyes squint to catch my movements in the darkness of our room.

“I thought—” she began.

I shook my head, “I was here.” sitting at the edge of the bed, i reached for her, fingertips brushing the sharp lines of her jaw before she moved faster—-arms wrapping around my neck, dragging me into her warmth. speak of desire, and a man will fall to his knees. I wasn’t that man. I drowned for her, scraping my soul, dragging my last breaths only to dive headfirst until my soul tasted the very remnant of her skin, of her divine warmth. lifting my hand to touch the soft of her back, I pulled her onto my lap, settling her comfortably until she was nestled, until she felt the very thing that kept me awake even after she caved into slumber from our.. what did one call it? a baseless name to define love? to refine the acts of intimacy? nay, such words were meaningless when it came to her, and my possession of feeding her my soul. twas.. heaven? no?

“why weren’t you in bed?” her soft, sultry voice broke through my haze.

⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ “do you know how much space you take up in my bed, pipsqueak? nearly all of it, and you expect me to remain a chaste man.” I ran my hand over the soft curves of her hips, her breath hitching in response. my voice darkened.

“another nightmare?

her silence told me before she did.

⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀Fuck.

⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀“yes.” she blinked at me, the weight of it settling in the space between us. then, softer—-softer than she intended.

“you didn’t wake me.”

“you were already exhausted,” I murmured, dragging my fingers through her hair, the strands slipping through like silk.

“so?” she tilted her head, lips curving. “what, afraid I’d ask you to sing me to sleep?”

“I’d sooner throw you out the window.”

“ah,” she exhaled a laugh, slow and knowing. “so, you were watching me.” her words curled around me, teasing, wrapping me in invisible binds. and gods, she knew. the way I looked at her. the way I burned.

“can I do anything when you’re like this?”

before she could even attempt to swat at me, my hand caught hers, fingers locking around her wrist. but she was already shifting in my lap, already moving against me with the kind of trouble she knew would unravel me.

“you’re a hunter and yet, your aim still requires work. cut me some slack.”

she scoffed, the sound warm against my skin. “you’re getting slower, caleb. might be getting old.”

I chuckled, shaking my head. if she wanted fire, I would be the one to light her up in flames. her hands lifted toward my hair, fingers itching to tangle, to ruin. but I was faster, catching both her wrists and twisting them behind her back, locking her against me.

“you were saying?”

her lips parted, but no words came. of course, they didn’t. but her eyes uttered a thousand within a smoldering gaze, staring up at me with unspoken desire. so I did what I was capable of, what I truly had been burning to do. the ache to erase, the scars to tether my claws into, and her soft, delicate throat to sink my teeth. a soft cry was the only sound she’d made under my command, begging me to release her hands so she could burn me, so she could mark me like the many times she had. but this time, we’d do it on my terms as my tongue sampled the damp of her mouth, and my teeth sank into her lower lip.

⠀⠀⠀ her breath hitched, a sharp intake of air swallowed by the heat between us. her wrists strained against my grip, fingers twitching, desperate to touch—-to fight—- to claim. but i held firm, savoring the tremble in her frame, the way her chest rose and fell in stuttered, uneven breaths.

⠀⠀⠀ ⠀“caleb,” she whispered, a plea tangled in defiance.

I hummed, dragging my mouth from her lip, tracing the column of her throat with slow, deliberate intent. her pulse thrummed against my tongue, erratic, wild—-just like her. just like us. my grip tightened at her wrists, pinning her further against me, feeling the tremor that wrecked through her when i finally, finally let my teeth graze that fragile skin.

⠀⠀⠀ ⠀“what was that?” I murmured, voice thick, teasing. “didn’t quite catch it.”

her thighs tensed around my hips, a silent challenge, a promise of retribution. but I only chuckled, low and dark, pressing deeper into the fire she kindled in me.

No more running, pipsqueak. not from me, and certainly not from the beast within me.

⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀FIN.

#lads caleb #slow burn #love and deepspace caleb #caleb x reader #dark romance #longing #yearning hours #forbidden love #teasing #push and pull #kisses #light angst #oneshot

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