#ade caleb

[melsts3cc]

Male Hair Dump - Ade

Originals here

Age Conversions by @shimydim

Texture by ifcasims

Adult versions of Daniel, Glen, & Jeonghan already retextured by @ifcasims

Downloads

Jake | Caleb with Accessory

Daniel - Child | Toddler

Glen - Child | Toddler

Jeonghan - Child | Toddler

[starmocha]

Love and Deepspace + Texting BF "I want a baby" meme

[akiisks]

Happy Birthday Caleb!! 🍎❤️

[dollyswishingwell]

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ Spoilt girl

𝒲𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒻𝑜𝓇 ˙⋆✮ Rafayel, Zayne, Xavier, Sylus, Caleb

𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒/𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 ˙⋆✮ Fluff, slightly suggestive, A bit OOC? borderline stockholm syndrome, rich men.

> ִ ࣪𖤐.ᐟ The boys love to spoil their pretty little wife

𝙍𝙖𝙛𝙖𝙮𝙚𝙡 °‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

You didn’t mean to quit your job. Not at first.

But Rafayel had a way of making it seem inevitable. It started with little things, longer visits to his oceanside villa, missed calls from Jenna while you lay tangled in silk sheets, the scent of salt and paint clinging to your skin. “You’re too delicate for that,” he’d whisper, brushing your hair behind your ear while you drowsed in his arms. “You weren’t made for blood and bullets. Let them chase the wanderers, you’re meant to be adored. Let me adore you like i’ve always dreamed of” And slowly, gently, he peeled you away from it all. No more physical checks. No more mission briefings. Just soft mornings, sapphire skies, and Rafayel, always watching you like you were the center of the galaxy.

Now, you were his pretty little housewife. And you loved it.

The ocean murmured in the distance, waves brushing gently against the shoreline just beyond the cliffside villa. The morning light filtered through soft pink gauzy curtains, casting soft rose gold across the white stone floors.

You stood in front of the mirror, holding a pale lavender dress against your body. It shimmered faintly, made of some silk-like fabric only found in the N109 trade routes, expensive, unnecessary, and absolutely perfect.

Behind you, Rafayel lounged on the edge of the couch, legs draped over the arm, sketchbook forgotten at his side. His eyes tracked your every move, a sleepy smile pulling at his lips.

“You’re staring Raffy,” you murmured, biting back a smile.

“I am,” he said unapologetically, stretching like a cat (despite hating them). “You look like you belong in a painting. My painting.”

You turned, holding the dress up with both hands. “Too much? It’s for your exhibition, not mine.”

Rafayel stood slowly, bare feet silent against the floor. He moved with the effortless grace of someone used to walking between worlds, between reality and dreams. He came up behind you, arms slipping around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder.

“I want you to have it cutie,” he whispered, voice low and indulgent. “All of it. That one, the blue one with the shell clasps, the earrings you pretend not to like. Buy them all.”

You giggled, cheeks heating. “I thought we were pretending to be frugal this cycle.”

“That was before I saw you in this light,” he said, nuzzling into your neck. “I don’t care if I have to trade every pigment I’ve ever ground, if it makes you smile like this, it’s worth it.”

His fingers played lazily with the fabric at your waist, his tone laced with fondness, a loving charm and something deeper, quieter. Possessiveness, perhaps. Devotion? Worship, definitely.

“You used to chase wanderers,” he murmured, as if reminding himself. “Now you’re here. With me. My little pearl.

You looked at him through the mirror, pouting slightly. “i just want to look pretty for you.”

His expression melted. “You always do, baby. You don’t have to lift a finger unless it’s to point at something you want.”

Your grin turned smug. “Even the pink heels with the pearls?”

He kissed your cheek, then your jaw. “Especially those.”

𝙕𝙖𝙮𝙣e ⋆꙳•❅‧*₊⋆☃︎ ‧*❆ ₊⋆

You never thought you’d slow down. Not after everything.

But then came Zayne. calm, steady, patient Zayne.

He didn’t tell you to quit being a deepspace hunter. He never had to. He just started sitting beside your hospital bed more often, hand steady over your pulse while you slept, voice low but firm whenever you skipped post-mission scans. “You don’t have to destroy yourself to prove you’re still alive,” he said once, after stitching a split across your shoulder in silence. And when you tried to laugh it off, he just looked at you. Not with pity, but with something heavier. Something like love.

Eventually, he made you a deal. “Let me take care of you for once. Let me give you a life you don’t have to survive.”

So you did. And now, you were his wife.

His spoiled, pampered, bratty little wife, and you were thriving.

“I don’t need this many dresses,” you teased, spinning in front of the mirror as the baby blue silk clung perfectly to your waist.

Zayne didn’t look up from his seat on the velvet chaise, legs crossed, expression unreadable behind his glasses. “Yes, you do.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m going to one gala, not a royal wedding.”

He adjusted his cufflinks, voice smooth. “You’re the most beautiful woman in the room either way. But you’re also my wife. So you’ll have options.”

You paused, watching him in the reflection. “Is this really what you imagined when you told me to stop risking my life?”

Zayne finally looked up. His hazel green eyes flickered to yours, they were warm, sharp, and weirdly unreadable. “No,” he said honestly. “But I’m not complaining.”

You turned, raising a brow. “And if I wanted the velvet one and the silver one?”

He didn’t blink. “Then you’re getting both.”

A soft laugh bubbled up your throat. “Being the top surgeon really got to your head, Zaynie”

Zayne rose from the chair with that slow, effortless confidence you loved. His hands slid around your waist, fingers brushing just under the edge of the dress’s open back. “I became a surgeon for you. I have all this money and power for you. This is simply my thank you, for staying alive. For letting me love you.”

You melted instantly.

He kissed your temple, then your jaw, then your collarbone, each one calm and deliberate, and ever so gentle. “There’s people around, Mister Doctor” You let out quietly giggling at the ticklish kisses.

Zayne chuckled, low and warm. “Maybe it’ll show them i’m not as icy as they think.”

“I’m literally shivering at your touch—”

He groans playfully “I should give you back to Jenna.”

𝙓𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙧 ⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆

You used to like being a hunter.

But that was before Xavier. Before he held your hand in the ruins of the no hunt zone and asked, quietly, without expectation, if you were tired of this.

He never pushed. Just made space for you beside him.

And once you said yes, once you let yourself rest, he bought a new penthouse, one with wide windows, soft golden light, and more pillows than you thought anyone could reasonably own. “We require proper nesting,” he’d said, totally serious. “And a kitchen where I can make breakfast without setting off alarms.”

Now, you were his wife. No gun. No wanderers. Just a silk robe, messy hair, and bare feet curled beside him under soft linen sheets.

Xavier was half-asleep, arm draped across your waist, breath warm against your shoulder as you scrolled through your holoscreen with lazy flicks.

“I have nothing to wear, xavi,” you mumbled dramatically, even though you had three whole virtual closets full of new outfits, mostly ones he’d insisted on buying after you married.

“You have seventeen suitable options bookmarked,” Xavier murmured without opening his eyes.

You squinted at him. “Are you spying on my screen, Mr bunny?”

“I am merely present,” he said, pressing a kiss between your shoulder blades. “Also, the one with the pearl draping and backless cut. That one.”

You bit back a smile. “You’ve got good taste for someone wearing pajama pants with cats on them.”

“You bought them for me back then,” he said sleepily. “I love these pants.”

You snorted and leaned back against him, screen held up. “You really think I should wear the pearl one?”

“Yes,” he said, brushing his lips gently down your spine. “It compliments your shape. Also, I enjoy the idea of every hunter in that room seeing what I come home to.”

You flushed instantly.

“Your the most jealous man i know,” you mumbled, a little flustered.

“How many men do you know?”

“Your unbelievable.”

“Maybe.” His voice was still soft, unchanging. “But I do care about looking smug with you on my arm.”

He nuzzled into your shoulder, then slipped his fingers into yours, cradling your hand like it was something sacred. “Pick whichever dress you want. I’ll be proud either way. Just don’t wear heels that hurt your feet. You tend to forget.”

You turned toward him slyly, giggling. “You’ll carry me all the way back home if my feet hurt, right?”

Xavier blinked slowly, an adorable confused expression washes over his face. “That’s simply my duty as your husband.”

And just like that, you melted again, sinking into his chest, warm and safe and totally ruined for anyone but him.

𝙎𝙮𝙡𝙪𝙨 ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𓅨⋆｡°✩

It only took one mission. One mistake. One second where your gun failed and everything went white.

When you woke up, you weren’t in Akso Hospital. You were in Sylus’s personal safehouse, one you’d never seen before, cloaked in obsidian walls, the room so quiet you could hear your own heartbeat. You were stitched up, bandaged, monitored. And Sylus was there, not smug for once, but cold and furious.

Not at you. At everything else.

“You’re done,” he said simply, without argument. “I’ll burn that entire sector if it looks at you again.”

You tried to protest, tried to tell him you didn’t want to be caged. But Sylus just laughed, dark and…sad.

“You think this is a cage?” he murmured, brushing your hair back from your temple. “This is a home. You’ve bled enough. Let me give you everything else.”

And so you did. You let him.

You became his wife. his pampered, spoiled, silk-wrapped wife, and never looked back.

Now, the bedroom was chaos. Or, well, chaos on black satin.

Luxury boxes were everywhere, Maria Lucia Hohan, Dolce and Gabbana, Etro , even rare off-world jewelers. You were twirling barefoot in front of the mirror, holding up earrings and necklaces, draping sheer gowns across your body with dreamy little gasps.

“Sylus, look at this one,” you beamed, holding up a gown studded with red crystal feathers. “It looks like your brooch!”

He was lounging against the headboard, shirt half-unbuttoned, long legs stretched out beneath the scattered shopping bags. His glowing red eyes followed your every move, sharp and unreadable, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips.

“I already knew you’d pick that one,” he said. “It’s the one that makes you look like you belong on a throne. My throne.”

You giggled, twirling again. “You’re so dramatic. It’s your birthday, not a coronation.”

He arched a brow. “Everything I do is a coronation. And you’re the crown.”

That shut you up a little. Your cheeks flushed as you reached for another necklace, this one gleaming with dark pearls and fire-gold chain. You looked so soft, so utterly enchanted with the process of choosing, matching, imagining. It was the happiest Sylus ever saw you.

“You spoil me too much,” you murmured, your lips forming a gentle pout subconsciously, trying on another pair of earrings. “You never even check the prices…”

“I never check the price because it doesn’t matter,” he said coolly. “You’re mine. The only thing that matters is seeing you shine.”

You pouted, cheeks warm. “You say that like I’m a possession.”

He tilted his head slightly, voice dropping an octave. “No. You’re a prize.”

You padded over to him, dress in hand, crawling across the bed to sit on his lap without asking, not that you ever had to. He welcomed you easily, arms sliding around your waist as you tucked your head beneath his chin.

“I just want to look really pretty tonight,” you whispered against his collar. “It’s your birthday…”

He tipped your chin up, red eyes glowing. “You could show up in one of my shirts and bare feet, and I’d still have to stop myself from killing every man who looked at you.”

You grinned, heart thudding. “That’s hot.”

“I know,” he murmured smugly, brushing his thumb across your bottom lip. “Now try the heels. I want to see the full look. And if you fall, I’ll catch you.”

“Because I’m fragile and precious?” you teased.

He leaned in, eyes with limitless love, a gentle kiss to your lips. “Because you’re mine.”

𝘾𝙖𝙡𝙚𝙗 ⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

He didn’t even raise his voice when he grounded you.

He just keyed in a new passcode to the penthouse. Installed biometric locks. Pulled a couple string to have your access revoked in the deepspace hunter association. He said it all so sweetly too, pressing a kiss to your temple as he helped you out of your uniform and into soft silk lounge clothes instead.

“You’re not going back out there,” Caleb murmured, stroking your hair as you trembled from the withdrawal of action. “Not when I’ve worked this hard to bring you home.”

You had called him a control freak. Had fought. Screamed.

And he had just smiled, that same smile you grew up with. “Yeah,” he said. “I’ve always been this way. I just didn’t want to scare you off before.”

It wasn’t a prison. It was a penthouse in Skyhaven, glass walls, sun-kissed terraces, gardens in the clouds. You were spoiled, adored, and fussed over until you stopped pacing like a caged bird and started perching on his lap instead.

And now, you couldn’t imagine anything else.

“Baby, you’re gonna short-circuit my brain if you keep coming out lookin’ like that.”

His voice was warm, teasing, as he lounged on the boutique’s velvet couch, still dressed in full Farspace Colonel regalia. He hadn’t even unbuckled his harness yet, came straight from a strategy meeting just to be here with you.

You stepped out in a deep purple gown that shimmered like a nebula when you twirled, your grin wide as you modeled for him. The boutique was exclusive, Skyhaven elite only, and currently empty aside from the two of you and a terrified assistant Caleb had already waved off.

“How about this one?” you asked sweetly, turning to show the daring back cut.

He let out a low whistle, one hand braced against his jaw. “If you show up to the banquet in that, I’m gonna spend the entire night reminding everyone there’s only one bed you sleep in.”

You laughed, padding over to him in your heels as he opened his arms instantly, tugging you down onto his lap with that boyish grin that always made your heart flutter.

“Caleb,” you giggled, wrapping your arms around his neck, “You’re so dramatic.”

“I’m not dramatic,” he said, nuzzling your cheek. “I’m possessive. There’s a difference. Look it up, pipsqueak.”

You puffed your cheeks. “Don’t call me that here!”

“I call you that everywhere,” he said proudly, brushing your hair back with his gloved hand. “You’re still the little baby who yelled out for gege for every little thing and cried when gege didn’t give you enough attention.”

“I did not cry!”

“Sure, sweetheart,” he said, kissing the tip of your nose. “Whatever helps you sleep at night. Which you’ll be doing in my arms, wearing one of these pretty dresses, because I’m buying all of them.”

You blinked. “All?”

He kissed your temple. “Mmhmm. And when you get tired, I’ll carry you home like always. Deal?”

You sighed, melting into his chest, heart so full it might burst. “Deal.”

And as you tried on dress after dress, twirling and giggling and showing off, he watched you like he always did, like you were his whole damn world.

Because you were.

And he was never letting you forget it.

[ruvigapo]

"Hello"

"Hi"

Ko-fi

[tbaluver]

omg are they gonna have a cat rerun banner or a cat mini game cafe event again 😼

[deepspacenova]

The Space Between Then and Now

Last year, you brought flowers to the cemetery. This year, you're bringing yourself to him. (Or, you're determined to make up for lost time with Caleb on his birthday)

read on ao3

➻➻ ABOUT | 6000 words. caleb x fem!reader.

➻➻ TAGS | MDNI. friends to lovers. banter. love confessions. angst with a happy ending. unresolved romantic tension. smut. porn with feelings.

NOTE: I Happy birthday to our dearest, most devoted and pathetic simp of a man, Caleb! Please enjoy my take on the first time with MC that he desereves xx

You arrived just after the sky had softened into a warm, muted glow, the sunshine filtering through clouds thick with showers that would likely fall in the afternoon.

It was quiet in the way only midday during a Linkon summer could be. The rustle of trees, distant traffic, and the soft whirr of cicadas rising from somewhere nearby.

The walkway curved gently as you made your way inside, taking notice of the details that had changed since you were last here.

On the surface, your surroundings hadn’t changed much. In fact, you were certain that anyone who passed through wouldn’t look twice at the subtle shifts that stood out to you like night and day.

Like death and life.

Or, maybe it was because the change came from you rather than the world around you. Either way, you slowed as you reached the end, hesitating when the light started to shift and wash rays of sunshine over the view ahead.

You kept your gaze steady. Familiar lines, angles, and planes meeting your eye, sharp edges worn smooth in the places your fingers always landed first.

Your breath caught in your throat, just for a second. Then you exhaled.

“Hi, Caleb,” you said quietly.

All that he was in your mind came to a halt as you read his name carved in stone.

You were pulling the door of your storage unit open when your phone buzzed.

You fumbled for your phone, eyes flicking over the bins and boxes around you, all washed in the harsh white glow of the automatic ceiling lights. The melancholy in your chest lifted the moment you saw the name flash across the screen. 

“Calling me before dinner time?” You started checking the top of each box to scan the labels. “Did you get fired or something?”

“That’s the first thing you say to me?” His voice was warm and light and not nearly as bothered as his words. “Not ‘I’m so happy you called, Caleb.’ ‘I’m so glad to hear your beautiful voice, Caleb.’”

You snorted as you took stock of the most important pieces of your young adulthood, tucked away and labeled with faded marker — Art projects. Boyband phase. School binders. “If you ever heard me say something like that you’d be concerned and you know it.”

“Okay, yeah. I would.” A conceding hum as you wound through a few more boxes and headed to your destination. “Still, the first thing you assume when I call is that I'm in trouble?”

“You’re the one who trained me to be suspicious.”

“Not of me.” His indignant chuckle crackled through the receiver. “I’m the only one you shouldn’t have to be suspicious of in the-“

His voice cut off when an echoing thump reverberated through the unit.

Your elbow had accidentally knocked over one of the boxes. All you could do was wince when his concerned voice asked, “What was that?”

You hesitated for half a second, trying to ignore the throb of pain in your arm as you tucked the phone between your shoulder and ear and did your best to cover. “Nothing I’m just… I’m cooking.”

He sucked in a dramatic hiss. “Yikes. Well how about you quit ‘cooking’ while your kitchen is still intact? I'll order you some take out.”

“Ass,” you laughed, both relieved he fell for your cover and offended he was so averse to your cooking. “Joke’s on you, I’ll make you pay for your favorite and eat it in front of you when we video chat later.”

“That’s just cruel.” His pouting tone crackled through the receiver as you crouched in front of a seperate group of boxes taped with care — no names, no labels. These boxes were too important to ever need identifiers. Too important for you to forget their contents.

“Besides,” he continued. “It’s June first now. You should be cuttin' me some slack.”

Opening the first box to reveal a year’s worth of aviation subscription magazines and an old-style compass, you feigned a confused hum. “What’s so important about June?”

The second box contained a few textbooks, a stack of notebooks, paper airplanes in various states of folding, sketches of aircrafts, and a basketball jersey worn thin at the collar.

“Don’t tease, pip-squeak. You know what June is.”

The third box contained the scattered pieces of an FY-26 model aircraft, a graduation cap, an Aerospace Academy Diploma, and sitting right at the top: a DAA acceptance letter.

“Um, summer?”

Something behind your ribcage squeezed when you took in the pile of frames in the last box. They were carefully stacked, edges cushioned with folded T-shirts you’d probably meant to donate. You peeled one back and picked up the top frame, fingertip ghosting over the glass that protected Caleb’s 19-year-old, wind-tousled face. 

“Um, no. How about-“ his voice shifted to a squeaky, child-like pitch, “June is my favorite month of the year because that’s when Caleb was born.”

“That’s it, no cake for you,” you conceded with a groan.

“So there will be cake?”

Your mouth curled into a reluctant grin at the boyish question as you turned over another frame: your arms wrapped around Caleb, who was decked out in a flight uniform in front the hangar of his first life-sized aircraft. “I’m afraid that’s classified information, Caleb.”

“Uh, that's Colonel Caleb. And nothing is classified when it comes to me," he said matter-of-factly. "I'm not above pullin' rank."

"That's really cute, but I outrank you in ways your little Fleet title could never touch."

A pause as he considered his options, and then, wisely, "Fine, you win. Bossy."

He was quiet for a moment after that, and just as you opened your mouth to ask when he’d be leaving work for the day, his voice cut in, lower now, careful. “I just wanted to see if-“ Another pause. And then, quieter, “You know you don't have to plan anything big for me, right? It’s impossible for me not to love anything we do together.”

You picked up another frame, tracing the bridge of his 17-year-old nose, the ghost of his freckles, the slope of his cheek pressed against yours. Every frame was a timestamp of who he used to be, and who you were with him. Each year a heartbeat, stitched to your chest in a pattern only the two of you could ever decode.

Sometimes it was almost jarring, hearing his voice now. Older, sharper, shaped by years that had carved more out of him than you think you'd ever know. But there was something soft buried beneath it, some fragile remnant of the young man in these photos. That hesitation, his unspoken question that lingered in the air, it bridged the gap between the past in your hands and the present on the other end of the line. It made you hopeful that he wanted this birthday to be different, too. To mean something different.

“Yeah, I know,” you said softly, gently tucking the frames back into place and closing the box. “It’s actually going to be just the two of us.”

The roughened sound of his next words traced over you like velvet. "You're all mine, then?"

“Just you and me.”

"Can't wait." 

By the time you'd both finished growing up, you and Caleb could fill entire notebooks with the number of unspoken rules between you.

Some were born out of necessity, others out of pure accident. But by the time you were both well into being teenagers, it seemed that every year a new rule needed to be scribbled in. 

Age 15: Don’t comment on how deep his voice has gotten or how big his muscles are.

Age 16: Don’t barge into each other’s rooms without knocking first, just in case he's changing or...

Age 17: Don’t press your backside into Caleb in the early morning when you sleep over in his bed.

Age 18: Don’t tell him about any confession notes you receive from guys at school.

Age 19: Don’t break out in goosebumps when he touches you, fixes your hair, adjusts your collar, ties your shoes...

You'd both done so well at playing years of mental chess, it wasn't until he was gone, until every part of your soul had crumbled, that the chessboard tipped over, and you started to put the pieces together. Realized what it all meant. That you'd wanted to bend those rules so many times. That every don't you never dared to break could've so easily been rewritten as a do. 

Ever since your work trip to Skyhaven and your subsequent dealings with the Fleet all those months ago, you and Caleb had reached a new sort of limbo. Both settling back into your old rhythm and... not.

Because when he takes you out to lunch while he has business in Linkon, he doesn't sit across from you at the table anymore, he sits next to you with an arm draped across the back of your chair or booth, the softness of his bicep brushing the nape of your neck. 

Because when you take him out with you and your friends, he doesn't order your drink and stand nearby, he's pressed up against your back and holding your drink for you, chin brushing your temple when he holds a conversation.

Because when he sleeps over on a weekend, he doesn't wake you with the smell of cooking breakfast, he sits on your bed, filling it with the scent of juniper and apple and him, brushes your hair aside, and coos a soft, 'Mornin' pip' until you're awake."

It had been taking you back to all the times he visited from the Aerospace Academy when you were in high school. Those long weekends when no one could pry you away from each other's company. 

It was comforting, it was intimate, and just like back then...

You're all mine, then?

It was getting to you.

Every touch, inside joke, every show of affection made your mind spin further and further until you were left with a tangled web. Wondering if these past months were him picking back up where you left off or...

You're all mine, then?

Trying to break the stalemate between you. 

You hated the Farspace Fleet. What they were up to, how they treated people, everything they stood for. And yet you'd reunited with Caleb because of what they did. You'd discovered that while you'd always known Caleb was there for you, you didn't think he understood that you were there for him too. That the thing suspended between you had always been a window, not a mirror.

And honestly? Caleb had held up that one-way mirror so securely, so expertly, that you never even knew it was there until his rain-drenched body collapsed into your arms on a park bench and the glass finally shattered around you.

It made you realize he needed you, even if he didn't want to. Even if he'd convinced himself he couldn't. 

It made you realize that you wanted to be the one to stand beside him, to support and protect him too.

You're all mine, then?

It made you realize you wanted to be all his. 

The thing about Caleb was that he'd always taken the lead when it came to your safety, your well-being. But with almost every other aspect of your relationship, he took your lead. His own happiness, well-being, and feelings a closed book unless you pried it open when he least expected it.

Which meant you were going to need to think up a strategy. A distraction. A temptation so thorough Caleb would grab the book and help you crack it open himself.

Caleb had long ago appointed himself as your knight.

It was time to show him you'd forged yourself into his sword. 

The sky outside had softened into a warm, muted glow, the moon backlighting the clouds thick with showers that never fell that afternoon.

It was quiet in the way only an evening during a Skyhaven summer could be. The sound of rain hitting glass. The soft whirr of planes flying by.

The walkway curved gently as you made your way inside, taking notice of the details that had changed since you were last here.

On the surface, your surroundings hadn’t changed much. In fact, you were certain that anyone who passed through wouldn’t look twice at the subtle shifts that stood out to you like day and night.

Like life and death.

Or, maybe it was because the change came from you rather than the world around you. Either way, you slowed as you reached the end, hesitating when the light started to shift. Moonlight glimmering over the view ahead.

You kept your gaze steady. Familiar lines, angles, and planes meeting your eye, sharp edges worn smooth in the places your fingers always landed first.

Your breath caught in your throat, just for a second. Then you exhaled.

“Hi, Caleb,” you said quietly.

All that he was in your mind came to a halt as he turned to face you with a smile that your lips instinctively mimicked.

Lopsided, unhurried, the kind that deepened the freckles across his cheeks and lit faint creases at the corners of his eyes. You’d seen him only a dozen minutes ago, but you already missed the way he looked at you. Steady, open, like you were still the only thing in the room worth seeing.

“About time you showed up. Any longer and I would've eaten...."

You'd never say that your birthday plans for Caleb had unfolded the way you'd intended them to — you hadn't anticipated a downpour on the way here, for one; had hoped to be the one waiting for him in the kitchen rather than the other way around, for another — but you'd happily admit that you'd donned this iridescent periwinkle slip of satin and ribbons with the exact goal of leaving Caleb staring at you like this. Eyes huge and hungry. Knuckles tightening by his sides. Like you were a gift he was desperate to unwrap. 

"Would've eaten..."

It was the hour where evening surrendered to night and the world quieted. Dinner had been long eaten. Cake frosting had been swiped along cheeks and noses with laughter. You’d taken Caleb on a tour of an apartment that you'd turned into his apartment: his living room and bedroom scattered with every frame from your box, a stack of aviation magazines he needed to catch up on by his coffee table, paper cranes peeking out from nooks and crannies, the worn navy throw you'd always stolen in high school draped across the couch, and, carefully reassembled from fractured pieces and painted to match its memory, the FY-26 model, his first and his favorite.

You'd caught a sort of lost and dazed look in his eyes every once in a while. As if he wasn't sure he could trust what he was seeing. In fact, it was quite similar to his expression now.

"You..."

Your heart high-jumped to your throat and you almost backed out. Almost ran back to the safety of the bathroom down the hall.

But if there was one thing you could count on, it was how well you knew Caleb. So instead, you squared your shoulders, lifted your chin, and held his gaze.

“I, what?” You tried for something nonchalant, something coquettish and casual, but the blood flooding up to your cheeks was a dead giveaway that you were completely out of your element.

His eyes descended upon your dress. “You… Look blue.” His brows pinched in a wince almost instantly, and he raised a hand to run through his hair. “Your dress, I mean.”

“It reminded me of the summer sky. Of June," you replied smoothly, fingers brushing the hem of the satin where it clung to your thigh. “Someone recently informed me it’s my favorite month.”

A spark of something illuminated his eyes as the initial shock wore off. Amusement? Interest? He scanned you again, slower this time and a greedy sort of lust flickered across across his face

“Pip-squeak,” he rasps, as if his voice is caught on something in the back of his throat. “Are you saying this is for me?”

You parted your lips to respond, but this time, you were the one who couldn’t make a sound. All you could do was nod, slow and shaky, your breath catching as your chest rose and fell in sharp, uneven pulls.

A sound escaped him then, a low and guttural, half-whimper, half-groan as he tilted his head back to face the ceiling, as if the sight of you was something he had to physically wrestle himself against. And for a moment, he looked wrecked. Unsteady in a way you rarely got to see. And it was next to impossible to keep your expression from turning satisfied or smug.

But when his gaze dropped back down to you, there was a tightness in his jaw and his features schooled again into the mask he always wore when things felt too close. When he felt too much.

You weren’t going to let him retreat behind it.

So you took a step forward, close enough to feel the heat between you buzz in the air. And slowly, deliberately, you lowered your left shoulder, letting the satin ribbon of your strap slide over the slope of your shoulder until it fell off.

“It’s just you and me,” you reminded, all but erasing the line you were inviting him to cross.

“Is this...?” he trailed off, the disbelief all over his face. And then he moved, so fast you could've mistaken it for teleportation. In the kitchen one breath, and standing in front of you the next, like gravity had dragged him forward before thought could stop him. His jaw was twitching again. “You alright, pip-squeak?”

The words were an excuse. A reassurance. A lifeline he was giving you the option to grab onto. Begging you to say 'no' so he could slither back into his armor and hide behind the mask of the protector again. 

You nodded. “And… I'm all yours." You watched the way his violet-gold eyes turned molten as he remembered his words from a few weeks ago. "If you want?"

Slowly, his fingertip reached out to graze yours before it traced down the slip's hem, down the sensitive skin of your thigh. The first overtly sexual advance he'd ever made. 

It was your turn for a half-whimper as that thought and sensation swirled together and pooled hotly between your legs.

But that little breath was never finished, never fully exhaled. Instead, it was captured, consumed by Caleb when his arm shot out, cupped the back of your neck, and drew you into a deep, bone-crushing kiss. 

Fueled by his urgency you sealed your arms around his neck, molding your body to the shape of his from top to toe as you kissed him back.

Without breaking contact, he hooked a trembling forearm beneath your leg, the other banding around your back, and lifted you. Wrapping you around him. You barely registered the motion until he lowered you both to the couch, Caleb's thighs appearing beneath you and your legs bracketing his sides.

Not once did he stop taking hard, deep pulls of your upper lip, your tongue, your lower lip into his mouth. 

The sensation was everything. He was everything. His palm guiding the angle of your head, his heart thumping against yours, his belt buckle digging into your stomach, his hardness brushing your- 

“Wait," he gasped, gently prying your faces apart for a split second only sigh and find his way back like a magnet.

"Wait." he stamped another kiss onto your lips. Another. "Hold on.”

He tried again, this time tilting his head so his heavy pants and puffy lips were pressed into your forehead instead. A jagged exhale. “Take it easy on a man,” he mumbled weakly.

You tilted your head up as well, looking at him hungrily. Caleb shook his head in wonder, swiped his thumbs over your jaw and kissed you again. 

“I need to... Let me come once, Pip-squeak,” he rasped against your lips. “And I’ll last longer. Will you- is that alright? I’ll make it good. I promise.”

You were sliding off him and onto your knees before he finished asking the question.

You undid his belt buckle in two sharp jerks. Caleb groaned as you pulled at the buttons of his trousers and dragged his underwear down at the same time. His cock popped out, red and swollen, gleaming at the tip.

He pulled your hair from your eyes, watched your mouth stretch around him, start working him back and forth. The silky length of him bumped the back of your throat and the muscle tightened, forcing you to retreat. 

A deep wrinkle slashed across his forehead as you took him again, ready this time. Exhaling to push deeper when he nudged your throat. His eyes shut, and his mouth parted. You’ve never seen him like this, and you struggled to keep your eyes open, your head tilted back, to watch how his body responded to you. 

“‘If I want’,” he stuttered your words back to you, the guttural quality of his voice curling heat around the throbbing center of you. “Can’t believe you would even ask me that.” 

Caleb caressed your hair, drawing back the flyaway strands clinging to your face. "This isn't real. This has to be a dream..." His eyes closed a sliver, and he studied you with that dazed look again.

You twisted your fingers around the base of him, working the head with your mouth to give yourself a break. Flicking the tip with your tongue, you fucked it gently between your lips, lapping at it almost shyly as you felt the other strap of your dress flick down your shoulder.

With no straps to support it, the thin top of your slip folded right over and your breasts were uncovered.

It took you a little too long to realize both his hands were still tangled in your hair and that only his Evol could've done that, but by then the intensity of his gaze on your puckered nipples had arrested your attention. As well as his Adam's apple, which bobbed on a swallow when his hand slid down to cup your chin and scan your face.

"You've always been in my dreams. It didn't matter if I was awake or asleep," he murmured. "Gorgeous, brilliant, clever. My cunning little bird, always ten steps ahead of me." The sentence ended on a breathy chuckle as he looked at the room you'd made into your own little world, acknowledging the fact that you'd maneuvered him right into your own version of paradise. 

"Everything I do always leads back to you." His hips rocked forward, gaining momentum as he started fucking your mouth again, spelling every word of affection and praise you've ever wanted to hear across your cheek, your chest, your inner thighs. He caught his breath between talking. His face flushed. You could see how it was affecting him. "The only constant in my life. The only thing that never fades."

"No one else exists for me but you. This, pip-squeak?” He forced himself down your throat until you gagged. "It's the center of the damn universe, it's... It's you and me."

You moaned around his cock, heat building between your legs, listening to his unhinged monologue. What else could you get him to admit with just the slow glide of your throat?

His eyes squeezed shut as he came with a rough jerk, his hips lurching as his release spilled down your throat, a drop trickling down to your chin. 

You barely had time to react before the hum of his Evol surrounded you, and you were yanked back onto his lap. It was quick and jerky, the master of gravity, untethered and unsteady.

He looked at you with that wonder in his eyes again, and this time, when he kissed you, it was all sex. His tongue licked from your chin into your mouth, tasting every drop of himself. He squeezed your right breast, pinching your nipple before he let go. You cried out, and he repeated it until you were so sensitive that when his lips and teeth replaced his hand, you arched up and gasped a strangled, “Caleb.”

He smiled, unguarded, all teeth. An real smile. You melted. His thumb traced your lower lip tenderly. “I've always been obsessed with you.”

Your laughter turned to breath at the admission, the most oversimplified definition of the bone-deep, soul-deep strands that connected you. 

“I've always loved you." You weren't sure if it was a correction or an addendum as you felt him trace the curve of your neck, shoulder, down your arm, with a possessive palm. Dragging the slip down further so it pooled at the top of your hips.

Caleb’s eyes flicked down immediately. 

You breathed deeper, putting on a bit of a show as your chest sank and swelled upon each inhale. You’d never felt more beautiful. More connected. More seen. 

His fingers stroked your right nipple and he lowered his head, taking the left between his lips. His tongue swirled around the globe, and he teased you with a drag of his teeth. Only letting go when your breath caught on a whimper. 

"But you already knew that, didn't you?” He said, dragging his fingers down your collarbone, between your breasts, to the bottom, most intimate part of your abdomen. "That I was made for you."

“There's no one else for me," you agreed, orbiting closer and closer to desperation with every word that tumbled from his lips. "You're the only one who- I only know what love is because of you.” You pressed down, seeking friction against his thigh. “I need- Touch me. Do something.”

He bunched up your slip, and air rushed out of his lungs. You widened your legs across his lap, inviting him closer, heart racing. 

His violet-gold eyes locked onto yours. “If I wake up to find this is all a dream, I’m going to be furious."

Your laugh morphed into a moan as his middle finger grazed your wetness, sliding straight down your middle. He leaned forward to guide your back onto the couch, then rose back up to watch your naked, dripping center writhe against his half-clothed thighs.

“Please,” you begged, shivering just from his touch.

“Like this?” he asked, sliding himself back to devour the space between your legs with his mouth. 

You moaned, bracing one foot between his shoulder blades and the other on the rug below, lifting yourself up as Caleb pressed his mouth down.

You built a rhythm, tilting your hips until his tongue touched that point on your clit that made your eyes roll back. You gyrated your hips so he kept teasing it, harder and faster, back and forth, up and down. The perfect point of pressure, over and over, until you were trembling between his hands while he held you.

A pillow dug into your squirming shoulders, your left foot hung awkwardly over the couch, your toes grappled for stability. But you barely registered any of that as the pressure gathering behind your belly intensified.

“Yes, yes,” You pleaded. “I need- I’m so—"

You went silent as your entire body tensed up. 

Caleb sucked harder as you rode your orgasm. And when you started shaking from the sensitivity, he lifted your hips higher, your whole body levitating from the couch as he positioned you mid-air with his Evol, a more comfortable angle for him to spread your ass cheeks apart and drag his tongue between them. 

“Oh,” your gasp pitched into a breathy sort of squeal at the sensation.

“Perfect,” Caleb’s voice had become a permanent, deep rasp as your mind and body continued to fly, free to focus on all your senses without any tethers. Safe to lose all abandon in the space he carved for you between the earth and the heavens. “Every part of you.” 

As your blurred gaze tried to focus on the ceiling above you, you heard movement and the rustle of fabric before you felt a hot, toned chest press into yours, shaky breaths and puffy lips against the side of your neck, and two strong arms band around your back and thigh. One hand curled around the nape of your neck, the other possessively cupping your sex.

He sank with you until the backs of your thighs and elbows rested on the pilled carpet. His knees and forearms bracketing yours in a warm embrace, anchoring you beneath him as the support of his Evol dissipated and he continued to torture you with the rub of his calloused palm concentrated in small, quick movements against your clit.

Your thighs quaked so hard you could barely feel them, legs closing together on instinct.

"What do you think you're doing?" He cooed, prying them apart forcefully. Caleb's lips hovered, bumping against yours with every spoken word. "Let me enjoy this. Let me savor you."

You could only gasp as he drove his fingers into you, stretching you open for him a fraction more with each stroke. He worked your harder, faster, flicking your clit with his thumb every time he penetrated you. 

"Sweet," he whispered, capturing your tongue with his lips and slowly releasing it on a suck.

Your teeth sank into his bottom lip before he could pull away, dragging him back to you.

"Sour," he growled as you threw your head back, the sensation between your legs starting to close in on you again.

"Delicious." He fused his lips to yours once more. Kissing you once, twice, three times. You squeezed your eyes shut so hard, spots of light splashed behind your eyelids as he continued to torture you with the steady glide of his fingers.

You were so wet, Caleb’s fingers moved with unfettered access as you approached your peak. You cried out for mercy as he held his fingers inside of you, hooked and pressing on that point that made you see stars.

“Look at you,” he awed, his voice a distant murmur, locked beyond the gates of your internal pleasure. "I've always been able to hold myself back. Every time you looked at me... with those eyes…”

You clenched around him so tightly, your entire body coiled up, as if struck by lightning. 

And then you imploded. 

A rush of liquid released from between your legs as your body trembled through its release. You panted, floating up in the clouds, your mind filled with fog, drifting somewhere above your body. The only semblance of focus you could muster was on the sound of your name and the self-condemning words that tumbled like confessed sins from lips that scattered trails of kisses from your throat to your ribcage.

"I've always been strong enough..."

“Make it too easy to forget who I’m supposed to be... what I’m supposed to do…”

"... don't know if I can protect you anymore...”

His body seemed to be separated from his mind as he continued to stroke and hold you through it, murmuring vulnerable words against your damp skin. Your hands caressed over every part of him you could reach, his hair, the nape of his neck, his biceps, his chest, his lower back, his backside and back up again.

You wondered how long he'd been holding this in, how long it had been since he'd last been able to truly confide in someone, as you waited for your quaking body to calm and your senses to sharpen again. 

"Caleb," you said, quiet but firm. Your palms found their way to his cheeks and brought his eyes to meet your open gaze. "You've never needed to be anything to deserve my love for you."

His nostrils flared and his jaw tightened, like he was shielding himself from your words. Like he couldn't allow himself to believe you.

You decided to give him no other choice. Pressing his hips down with one of your palms, you lined him up against you and guided his cock into you with the other.

"Gods," Caleb groaned in surrender, his face filling with pleasure, forehead falling against yours.

"You don't need to earn a place in my life. You deserve to tell me what you want and how you feel. You deserve to have friends." Tilting your hips up and down as you moved yourself on him, you kept your words steady. As raw and honest as the feeling of him inside you. "You deserve to be home."

"Can't resist you, Pips." His hand hooked beneath your thigh, wrapping it around him and taking over from a different angle. Chanting more confessions with every thrust. "All I ever wanted... was to give you everything. For your life to be safe… and happy."

His eyes were pools of melted gold and amethyst, each jewel an offering to you as he studied you in unwavering worship. He moved back and forth, gliding faster and faster, and when you thought he couldn’t possibly get any closer, he dragged his hips backwards and thrust again.

"Only if you're in it," you whimpered, realizing he was going to make you come again. 

"Tell me you don't want me." Caleb kissed your cheekbone, your eyelid. Pressed his nose to your temple and whispered in your ear, “Tell me to stop.”

When you remained silent, he fucked you harder. Your back arched up into the air and Caleb circled his arms behind you to sit you up, still fully intertwined. He sat back on his knees and dropped you onto his lap, the force of gravity deepening your connection. 

Your thighs landed on either side of Caleb’s, stretched wide to accommodate his muscled thighs. His face was red, his hair stuck up in every direction, beads of sweat gleaming on his arms and chest. 

“Need you... need you..." He sped up, pulsing up into you.

"It's okay," you whispered, basking in the admission.

You held him, your mouths brushing when he finally broke apart, penetrating deeper than you’d ever experienced before. Like all that had held him back was you accepting that dark, desperate thing within him.

You braced yourself on his shoulders, sinking your nails deep so you didn’t fall as you shuddered through one last small release, insides pulsing as Caleb's release trickled down your thigh. 

You both collapsed onto the floor, breathless. 

"I don't know if I can let you go now," he muttered, like a realization. Like an apology. 

Your pulse stuttered in your ears, loud as thunder, and still not louder than the hush between you, the silence of something you'd finally broken open.

You turned your face to him, cheek resting against the carpet where the cool helped anchor the fire still licking under your skin. “Then don’t, dummy,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes with an amused grin.

The shock of the insult did exactly what you'd intended, snapping him right back to that life-long tether between you. 

"Excuse me?" Caleb let out a breathless chuckle, the sound low and disbelieving. "Would a dummy know how to make you come three times?"

"Two and a half," you corrected, shifting to lay your head on his chest. Caleb’s arm immediately curled tightly around you.

“If you're coherent enough to round down, I definitely owe you another,” he muttered, giving your side a playful pinch.

A quiet silence settled between you, comfortable, intimate. Nothing but the soothing sound of the summer's endless rain pattering against the windows. 

“Don’t let me go,” you said again, this time in a soft, sleepy voice as you nestled into his neck. “I don’t want you to.”

[seichimi]

Toploading ✨

[xinyuehui]

Come home. ⸺

[jane-the-good]

Wander In Wonder: CALEB

WORD COUNT: 3.7 K

SUMMARY: Fantasy AU! You escape the confines of your life in search of one that is your own choosing. Caleb finds you along the path he was destined to keep and offers to guide you to live a life of safety and peace

AN: Caleb wasn’t here for Wander in Wonder, so I made it happen ◡̈ I love piecing the tiny details of the Caleb we know and love into things like this. I really wish this was real for him!!

CONTENT WARNINGS: smut, oral sex, mentions of explosions, combat fighting, death ♡

AO3 caleb masterlist

The cold is a living thing, curling around your skin, creeping into your bones, burrowing deep. It does not simply cling, it seeps, sinking past flesh and sinew, winding itself through your ribs with roots breaking through it’s cracked stone. You press your back against the rough bark of a tree, but there is no shelter here, no warmth. The wind howls through the trees, a mournful, unrelenting thing, whispering through the hollows of your ears, stealing what little breath you have left.

Your limbs are leaden, heavy with exhaustion, your breath thin as if the air itself refuses to fill your lungs. Every step that brought you here was a battle, against the waves, against the cold, against the weight of your own survival. You left the island behind, the place you once called a sanctuary. Now, with distance stretching with you and that lonely shore, you see it for what it truly was.

Not a refuge, but a cage.

Not safety, but solitude.

In the vast, endless dark of this unfamiliar land, you wonder which was worse.

The night presses close, the wind a whispering thing, threading through the trees. You clutch at your chest, fingers digging into the skin above your heart. The sacred gem pulses beneath your ribs, its light faint against the cold that has turned your body to ice. Someone is coming. Someone who will carve it from your flesh, who will steal its power and leave your corpse in the dirt.

Your vision wavers, your eyelids too heavy to hold open. The cold is a tide, dragging you under. You let it take you.

Firelight flickers, carving shapes into the dark. Warmth surrounds you, strange yet soothing, pressing against the cold that had seeped into your bones. The scent of burning wood curls through the air, and the dull ache in your limbs is softened by a heat that is not your own. You shift, barely, and realize, your body is pressed against bare skin.

Your eyes snap open. A man sits beside you, his chest bare, his arms wrapped around you, anchoring you to the present with his warmth. His grip is steady, his touch so careful. He does not flinch when you meet his gaze. He only watches, calm and unreadable, his dark eyes deep as an ocean.

“You were close to death,” he says, voice low releasing embers still holding heat. His eyes flicker with something unreadable, not pity, not fear, but understanding.

You do not fear him. There is no greed in his expression, no shadow of the hunger that has chased you across land and sea. The gift within your heart reveals truths, and in him, you see something rare, something safe.

“Who are you?”

He exhales through his nose, as if already tired of the question. “My title is Protector of the Sacred Path.” The words come out stiff, almost begrudging, in a role he never truly chose, “But my name is Caleb.” His voice softens, as if that’s the part that actually matters. “And you?”

You hesitate. The question shouldn’t be difficult, but it is. You’ve spent so long being something to someone else, a runaway, a target, a vessel for the thing inside you, that you never stopped to consider who you might be if given the choice.

“I don’t know yet,” you admit.

Caleb studies you, and for a moment, you think he might press further. But he smiles, small, understanding. “Fair enough.”

A silence settles, broken only by the distant crackle of the fire. He speaks again.

“If you’re running from something, you’ll always have an eye looking over your shoulder.”

You let out a breath. “I don’t think I have a choice.”

His expression flickers in thought but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he nods. “Okay. I’ll help where I can.” His voice carries a quiet certainty, holding a promise he doesn’t expect gratitude for.

Gentler, “Where can I take you?”

You swallow, feeling the weight of your answer. You are exhausted, frayed at the edges. Your entire life has been spent fleeing, surviving. Safety has always been an illusion, a concept dangled just out of reach.

And yet, when you look at him, the thought doesn’t feel so impossible.

“To safety,” you whisper at last.

His gaze holds yours for a moment longer, something knowing in his eyes. He nods.

“Then that’s where we’ll go.”

A ghost of a smile plays at his lips, not mocking, not dismissive, just quiet, understanding exactly what you mean. "I know the perfect place. A place to live a life. one that’s yours.”

You study him, searching for deception, but there is none. Only patience. Only quiet resolve. The fire crackles, warmth reaching into the empty spaces you had long stopped trying to fill.

“And what do you call this place?" you ask, tilting your head slightly.

His smile deepens, though it still holds something wistful, something you cannot yet name. "You'll see."

A beat of silence stretches, but it is not uncomfortable. It is something else entirely, something fragile, gasping for the first breath after nearly drowning. Neither of you acknowledge it. Neither of you have to.

Instead, he stands. A pause, a breath, a choice. He offers you a hand, and you take it.

Through tangled forests and winding roads. Through ruined cities swallowed by ivy and the bones of bridges long since collapsed. He moves as a shadow at your side, constant and unwavering. He is sharp edges and quiet loyalty, a presence carved in heartbeats. He does not ask for explanations. He does not flinch from the weight you carry. When danger rises, he meets it with steel and certainty. When the cold creeps in, he presses closer. He is a promise of warmth.

At first, it is survival. A necessary truce. Two souls moving in the same direction simply because neither has anywhere else to go. But the road is long, and silence is a fragile thing. It breaks in small, stolen moments.

Awoken so thirsty in the middle of the, you feel him shuffle from beside you. The cold winds slipping through the gaps of what was, just a moment ago, guarded by his chest. He hands you your shared vessel of water. “There’s not very much left, but it’s warm.” Your fingers brush his as you take it. You both still, as if waiting for something unspoken to surface. But it does not. Not yet.

A day beneath a sky stretched wide and endless, the hush of wind through empty fields. He finds an overgrown orchard and plucks a piece of fruit, tossing it to you with a half-smile. “They taste ancient, in a really bad way.” You take a bite. It tastes like dust. He was right. But it also tastes like laughter held too long behind teeth.

A moment at dusk, when the world is painted in shades of dying light. The fire flickers low, casting long shadows, stretching time thin. You remember the first moment you saw him. The silence is not heavy, but fragile glass on the verge of breaking.

You feel his gaze before you meet it, a pull as inevitable as the tide drawn to the shore. He’s watching you, not like a question, but like an answer he hasn’t yet learned how to say.

“Didn’t know you hummed,” he says, voice quiet, rough from the long day of hiking.

You blink, caught off guard. “I didn’t either.”

His lips twitch, almost in a smile, but something softer. “Why?”

You hesitate, fingers curling around the worn fabric of your stolen cloak. “I think…” You exhale, shaking your head. “Maybe , for the first time in a long time, I don’t feel like I have to be quiet.”

He doesn’t look away. Doesn’t let you fold into yourself the way you usually do when words feel like too much. Instead, he leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, the short depth between you shrinking with each breath.

“I really like it,” he murmurs.

The words settle deep, an unexpected warmth blooming in your chest. It’s terrifying, how easily he gets past your walls, how his presence has become something steady, something certain, and necessary.

The fire crackles. The wind stirs the trees. And still, neither of you move.

When he reaches out, you’re not surprised, you know he isn’t either, yet he is still slow and careful, as if giving you time to pull away. He cups your jaw, his thumb brushing over your cheek, tracing a path so light it could be mistaken for hesitation. But there is no hesitation. Only the unbearable tension of something long overdue.

You tilt your head. His eyes search yours, and you don’t know if he’s asking for permission or waiting for you to break first.

You break.

The moment your lips meet, the world exhales. It is not desperate, not rushed. It is quiet, steady, the kind of kiss that doesn’t demand, but simply is. His fingers tighten against your skin, as if grounding himself, as if making sure you’re real. You thread your hand into his shirt, holding onto him using the weight of the moment as an anchor.

When you part, the absence is almost unbearable. He lingers, his forehead resting against yours, breath unsteady.

“Seizing what’s yours looks gorgeous on you.” He speaks without even thinking about processing his words. “I’m so proud.”

You climb on to his lap, to make him more proud. Enjoying how the sounds of the leaves fade when his mouth is on yours. His arms hold you with treasure and care, not wanting to let you go but giving you the freedom to move as your please. The rock under your bent knees scrapes each time you grind on his lap, but he will take of any wounds later.

You pull away from his lips to better worship is jaw and his neck and his collarbone and his chest.

“It was very kind of you to save me that day.” Your hands caress the sides of his torso with care before you guide his blouse over his head. “I thanked you many times, but I don’t really know if you felt it yet”

You pull at the laces on his pants.

He exhales a quiet laugh, but there’s something raw in his expression, something that flickers. restraint and surrender. “Should we slow down?” he asks, and there’s no reluctance in his voice, only care. One of his hands finds yours, stopping your movements with a featherlight touch.

“I don’t know,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper. “I really don’t want to.”

You both know how hard he is, the inevitability of it, the way you’ve been circling each other for so long that stopping now would feel like denying gravity.

“We don’t have to go to the stars,” you murmur. “We can just explore the path.”

You shift his hand from yours, guiding it to rest at the crown of your head, before resuming the deliberate task of unlacing his pants.

His fingers curl at the nape of your neck, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. “I can never deny you,” he breathes.

The sound that escapes him when he’s finally freed from the constraint of his pants is nothing short of beautiful, raw, helpless, edged with relief and want. It ripples through you, sinking deep, settling low. And in that moment, you understand, this must be how he felt when he told you he liked your humming. Like hearing something so unexpectedly intimate, so undeniably yours, that it becomes a song he never wants to forget.

You gently grasp his base with both of your hands so you can kitten lick the tip, trying to discover what he likes the best. You lift your gaze to meet his eyes, searching for a flicker of reaction. He stands frozen, caught in disbelief and awe. You slide one long lick along the underside of the base before wrapping your lips around him.

“Darling, you are an other worldly treasure.” His head falls back.

You hum in response while sliding him in and out of your mouth. His hand on your hair tightens when you swirl your tounge around his tip. His moan settles between your thighs and climbs up your spine.

You glide one hand to cradle his balls and he involuntarily thrusts forward, sending him to the back of your throat, forcing you choke.

“I’m sorry, love, are you alright?” And when he pulls away just enough to meet your gaze, his thumb brushing against your cheek, his voice is nothing but devotion.

You swirl your tongue again and his head leans forward in blissed defeat. His breathing picks up and you feel him pulse against your tongue. His moans are so encouraging, you feel them in your own core. He is so close.

and just when you think you have him in the palm of your hand,

His hand pulls, swift, sure, from your hair to your shoulder, guiding you away with a touch that is both careful and desperate. And then he is on you, over you, pressing you down beneath him. The tide pulling the shore into its depths.

His lips find yours in a hunger that has been simmering beneath the surface, now set free. It is not a question. It is not hesitation. It is the inevitability of gravity, of two bodies drawn together, of something too long restrained finally breaking loose.

“I have never actually thanked you, for falling into my life” He grinds against you

His hand slides up your thigh, a slow, deliberate ascent, before guiding your leg around his back, anchoring you to him, as if you could ever drift away. His mouth maps its way down, pressing reverence into fabric, into skin, through your breaths. And when he finally stops, his breath is warm against your pulse, against the place where need and anticipation blur into something electric. Your leg drapes over his shoulder in a claim.

His voice is barely a whisper, but it hums through you like a vow.

“Please, let me make it up to you.”

You would do anything for him.

“Anything you desire.”

His mouth finds you almost instantly, a breath, a press, a kiss through fabric that leaves you unraveling beneath him. The sensation is so consuming, you barely register the hand ghosting up your hip, the slow, practiced tug of your underwear slipping lower, lower. Only when he pulls back do you realize, he’s peeling them from your legs, his gaze dark, reverent. Drawn by instinct alone, he lifts them to his nose, breathing you in like something sacred before leaning down once more, intent on finishing what he started.

You already knew his tongue is divine at teasing you with words, this is so different.

“Caleb.” You arch in bliss.

One hand finds your clit, teasing, circling, setting you alight, while the other wraps around himself, stroking in time with the rhythm he’s building. His moans are a melody against your skin, low and reverent, vibrating through you until you can’t tell where you end and he begins. When you breathe, it barely feels like breathing at all, just a sharp, shattered thing, like air tangled with want and oblivion.

“Come with me darling.” He is desperate and demanding.

You see the stars, but not just the ones you expected. There are infinitely more, stretching vast and endless, and for the first time, you’re not just looking at them. You’re feeling them. You’re part of them. And the only thing more breathtaking than their glow is the quiet, steady presence of him with you.

You return to earth in gasping breaths, your body still singing with the echoes of him. He shifts, gathering you into his arms, pressing you, cherishing how precious and irreplaceable he has known you to be.

“I’m so grateful for you,” he murmurs, his voice rugged with something deeper than exhaustion.

Your fingers trace your name onto his chest. “I was just thinking the same thing.”

He hums, pulling you onto him, wrapping the cloak from beneath you around both of your bodies, cocooning you in warmth. His hand moves in slow, absent strokes along your back, grounding you, soothing you. The weight of the day settles over you both, but for once, it doesn’t feel heavy. It feels safe. Because you are here. Because he is holding you.

It would be easier to call this survival. Easier to blame the loneliness, the way time and distance have frayed you both down to something raw, and searching. But the thought lingers, soft and certain words. Was it not someplace I left for, and instead someone? What if it was always meant to be this?

You do not know the answer. Perhaps you never will. But as you walk beside him, step for step, heartbeat for heartbeat, you know this: you are not alone. Not anymore. And for the first time in a long, long time, maybe never again.

The sanctuary is within reach when they come for you.

They strike as wraiths in the dark, wrenching you from Caleb’s grasp before you can scream. His warmth vanishes in an instant, replaced by the crushing grip of your captors. Rough hands pin you down, the cold press of steel against your chest. Then, pain. White-hot, searing, as they carve toward the gem buried within you. You thrash, but their hold is unyielding. Your own screams rip through the night, swallowed by the clash of steel, the guttural cries of men falling, falling to him.

Caleb fights as a man possessed. His voice cuts through the chaos, raw with fury, desperation, his only focus is you. He carves a path through them, reaching for you. He’s almost there. Just a little more, just a moment longer, 

Then, an explosion. The world tilts. A shockwave tears through the field, slamming into you in a tidal wave. Sound collapses into a void. The night turns to ruin.

When your vision clears, the world is unrecognizable. Ash hangs in the air, thick as fog. The ground is littered with bodies, lifeless. Your stomach twists as you search for him. The second you see his body, the breath is stolen from your lungs.

Caleb.

He lies amidst the fallen, a broken thing in a world still reeling from battle. His body, too still. His arm, mangled, ruined, the ruin of it staining the earth beneath him. No, no, no,  The word thrums through you, a desperate, useless plea. Your limbs barely obey as you pull yourself toward him, the ground unsteady, your breath shattering in your chest. Your hands find his face, trembling violently, as if trying to will him back, as if trying to anchor him here, here, with you.

"Caleb," you whisper, in a voice that is barely there.

His skin is so cold. You didn’t know that was even possible for him.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. You were so close. For the first time in centuries, you let yourself believe, truly, foolishly believe, that you could have something safe, something real. That you could be more than a shadow passing through time. Caleb made you feel like a person, like you could live, not just endure. Like you deserved to. And now, now he’s slipping away.

The cruelest part is that you can’t follow.

And now he’s gone.

Tears blur your vision as you clutch him. You should have been the one to fall. You should have saved him. But you weren’t given that choice. You were cursed to endure, to outlast everyone, no matter how much it destroyed you.

A sob rips from your chest as you press your forehead to his. "Please," you whisper. "Please, don’t leave me."

But the night gives no answer.

“No,” you whisper. “Not you. Not after everything.”

Your vision wavers, grief turning the world to nothing but shadow and ruin. You press your forehead to his, breath unsteady, heart aching in a way no magic, no curse, no wound has ever made it ache before. “Thank you,” you whisper, the words fractured, breaking apart as they leave you. “For everything. I never would have have experienced what living could be, without you.”

A sob tears through you more jagged than his broken dagger. Only one regret lingers, one thing left undone before fate rips him away. Your hands shake as they cradle his face, as you press your lips to his, soft and lingering, a farewell etched in sorrow.

Your heart clenches.

And then, it beats.

Once. Twice.

A pulse tears through your chest, light, warmth, and something else. Something ancient. Something eternal. The gem hums, its vibrations spilling outward, threading into his skin like tendrils of life. They wrap around his still form, caressing, binding, as if pulling him from the abyss with unseen hands that have always known him.

A gasp shatters the silence.

Caleb jerks upright, breath torn from his lungs as though ripped back from the brink. His fingers dig into your arms, grounding himself in the shock of existence. His eyes, wild, disoriented, lock onto yours.

"Why are you crying?" Are you hurt?” he asks, voice thick, oblivious.

A breathless laugh shakes through you, disbelief and relief tangling in your ribs. He doesn’t understand. Doesn’t realize he was gone. That you are the reason for his living.

Your heart beats again, but this time, not just for survival.

This time, it beats for him.

He pulls you into his arms, as if to shield you from a danger already past. Concern flickers in his gaze, as if the tears in your eyes are the only thing that matters..

The protector of the sacred path was destined to protect this path that you walked upon to seek understanding.

The power within you, the eternal blessing of the gem, was never meant to be stolen. Never meant to be wielded through blood and sacrifice.

Amplifying the reason it beats through unwavering, selfless, boundless, tender and unconditional devotion.

A heart cannot be ripped out, and divided to be shared.

It can only be given freely.

[grabby-smitten]

Not Caleb comparing MC to an injured kitten, using his evol on MC and then putting a tracking on MC’s wrist Oohhh… I smell the toxic fumes. I like it here.

“I got a collar with a bell. that way, it couldn’t escape without being noisy.”

I SCREAMED.

[mapsthewanderer]

Caffeine, chemistry and Caleb V

Synopsis: The café was supposed to be just another coffee shop. For a law student who enjoys her morning coffee and a shy newbie still learning the ropes, it should have been nothing more than part of the daily routine… But then there’s Caleb.

Details: 2000ish words. Non-MC!Reader as the law student. Expect flirting, a twist on jealousy, and—as always—plenty of banter and all those good vibes with the newbiedoobie. God, this has officially crossed the line into romcom territory

Parts: intial one shot, part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12

Tags: @gavin3469 @unstablemiss @i-messed-up-big-time @mipov101 @zukini-01

Getaway car | Pt. 5

It’s early.

Too early for your brain to be doing anything beyond standing upright and not missing the bus.

You’re at the stop, earbuds in, clutching your travel mug like it’s life support, the morning chill threading its way through your jacket. Class isn’t for another hour, but study hall opens early, and you’ve convinced yourself that being proactive will keep you from spiraling.

Because you’re supposed to be thinking about contract clauses and international trade standards. Instead, your brain keeps looping back to apples. To charms. To the quiet ache of “when u come back” etched into metal and meaning.

You shake it off. Law first. Feelings… later. Probably. Maybe.

But then.

The scent hits first—aggressively expensive cologne that suggests he either bathed in it or lost a bet at Sephora.

“Morning,” Harv says, dropping in beside you like the sidewalk personally invited him.

Harv’s tall, clean-cut in that pre-law catalog kind of way—messenger bag slung across his chest, coat perfectly tailored, nut-brown hair slicked back like he definitely uses product and probably reads his textbooks for fun. Charming. The kind of handsome that gets approving glances from professors and moms.

You blink. “Hey, Harv.”

With a quick adjustment of his strap, he flashes an easy smile. “Didn’t think I’d catch you this early. Headed to campus?”

“Yeah. Trying to pretend I’m someone with discipline and structure.”

Harv laughs. “Faking it till finals, huh?”

“Something like that.”

The two of you get off the bus together and start walking from the campus stop toward the law building—light conversation, easy pace. The sidewalks are still damp, the morning quiet in that soft, almost-forgiving kind of way.

Harv says something about a practice quiz later this week, and you nod along, half-listening, half-focused on trying to stay awake.

It’s normal. Predictable.

Fine.

Until it isn’t.

Because there—up ahead—someone rounds the corner.

Caleb.

AirPods in, white hoodie layered under his black leather jacket, one strap of his backpack slung over his shoulder, hands shoved in his pockets. That familiar walk—loose, confident, like he always knows exactly where he’s going… and that you’ll be watching him get there.

And you spot him before he spots you.

But the second he looks up, his steps slow—just a little.

His eyes land on you.

Then Harv.

Then back to you.

He pulls one earbud loose. “Didn’t know you were a morning person.”

You smile, adjusting your bag. “I contain multitudes.”

Caleb’s gaze flicks to Harv again, sharp but brief. “Heading to campus?”

The strap of his backpack shifts as he hikes it higher on his shoulder, like he’s about to keep walking—but then he pauses. Looks at you again. Lingers.

You wrap your hands around your travel mug, suddenly very aware of how lukewarm it’s gotten.

And then, smoothly—like it’s a reflex—he steps closer and leans in.

“Is that travel mug betrayal I see?”

You blink. “Excuse me?”

He plucks the mug right from your hands with an exaggerated frown, turning it in his palm like he’s inspecting evidence.

“You brought other tea onto my turf,” he says, feigning deep offense.

Caleb gives the string of your sad little store-bought tea bag a flick, the label fluttering like it’s personally offended him. “I’m wounded, Golden Girl.”

“I didn’t know I signed an exclusivity contract,” you say, trying to keep a straight face as you reach out to take the mug back.

Just a fraction closer now, Caleb leans in—fingers brushing a playful tug at your braid as he murmurs, “You didn’t read the fine print?”

You open your mouth—absolutely no thoughts, just spiraling—but Harv laughs lightly beside you, missing the edge.

“She’s got options,” he says, nudging your arm before glancing at Caleb. Then, without missing a beat, he snatches the mug right out of Caleb’s hands. “I’ve seen you at the coffee shop, right? Can’t expect her to stick to just one supplier forever.”

Caleb looks down at his now-empty hand, then back up—smile still there, but it’s taken on a razor-thin edge.

“Oh, I’m not worried,” Caleb says, plucking the mug from Harv’s hand. He hands it back to you, casual as ever, like it weighs nothing. “I’ve got the cookies.”

You squint. “The what?”

“The bribes,” Caleb replies. “You remember. Cinnamon chip? Still undefeated.”

You’re about to make a snarky reply when Harv chuckles again, looking between the two of you.

“Man baking for someone? That’s dangerously close to being whipped.”

The air shifts.

Caleb’s smile freezes. Not dramatically. Just enough for you to notice. “Oh, right,” he says smoothly, voice cool and even. “Because effort is embarrassing.”

Harv blinks. “Didn’t mean anything by it.”

Caleb shrugs, but it’s sharp. “Of course not.”

Harv shifts beside you, clearly picking up on the tension but choosing confidence over retreat. “Well,” he says with a light laugh, “this got a little intense for a sidewalk meetup.”

Caleb doesn’t respond—just watches him, unreadable.

But Harv presses on. “Let’s start over, hm? I’m Harv,” he adds, stretching out a hand like it’s a peace offering. “From class. Future litigator. Occasional morning person.”

Caleb looks at the hand. Doesn’t take it.

Instead, his eyes lift to yours again—no teasing now, no flirt.

Just something quiet. Real.

And then Caleb clicks his tongue, almost like he’s made a decision.

“You deserve better tea,” Caleb says softly. “I’ll see you later, Golden Girl.”

Then he walks away.

You watch his back retreat into the morning light, one shoulder rolling as he pockets his hands—like your body hasn’t caught up to what your heart just did.

Then Harv—oblivious, unfortunately—pipes up:

“So, uh…” He nods toward Caleb’s retreating form. “Is that your boyfriend, or just your very intense barista-slash-personal baker?”

You blink. The answer is so obviously neither, but your brain short-circuits under this kind pressure.

So you do what you do best:

Lie.

“Oh, I don’t know,” you say lightly, offering a shrug instead of a full answer. “Maybe he’s just having a weird morning.”

It’s just a stupid joke. A reflex. A weak shield. A small lie.

But Caleb stops.

Way down the block, already near the café entrance, he turns—just slightly—shoulders tight.

He doesn’t say anything.

Just glances back.

And you know he heard.

Harv keeps walking, launching into something about a mock trial and obligation like nothing happened.

But you feel it.

Still.

Behind your ribs.

The look he gave you.

The one that said: “Really?”

Your travel mug suddenly feels heavy in your hands. And for the rest of the walk, your tea tastes like regret.

——————————————————————————

Midday hits, and you’re still off.

You’ve been rereading the same paragraph of your contract law notes for ten minutes—something about standards and WTO frameworks that Professor Litt delivered like a dramatic monologue—and your tea still tastes like guilt. So you do the only thing that makes sense:

You text the newbie.

You: okay. so. caleb accused me of travel mug betrayal this morning. AND flirted. AND walked off like i ran him over with a civic… harv (guy from school) made a whipped joke and caleb left like… dramatically left

The typing bubble pops up instantly.

newbie: okay. first of all. i KNEW he was acting weird!! he’s been reorganizing the bakery shelf in alphabetical order … alphabetically… like a stressed librarian with biceps

You snort. Your heart still isn’t steady, but at least you’ve got the newbie to spiral with—by rapid-fire texting them like it’s a group project.

Until your phone starts ringing.

The newbie. Calling you.

They never call.

You don’t even think—you grab your phone, shoot a whispered “sorry!” toward Professor Litt, and duck out of the lecture hall like it’s on fire.

And you hit answer mid-stride.

“Everything okay—?”

But it’s not the newbie’s voice on the line.

“Hey,” Caleb says.

You freeze.

Outside. Hallway. Cold air. NOW.

“Uh. Hi?”

A pause.

“I didn’t mean to make things weird this morning,” he says, voice low. “But, uh… I have to ask.”

You lean against the wall, trying not to slide down it.

“Ask what?”

“That guy,” he says. “The one you were with. Harvey or Harvest or… something dumb.”

“Harv,” you correct automatically, then regret it immediately.

Caleb doesn’t laugh.

Another pause.

“I just… is that a thing?”

The silence stretches between you like a closing argument waiting for a verdict. But before your brain can spiral any further, your pre-lawyer instincts kick in.

“Wait,” you say, narrowing your eyes even though he can’t see it. “Why are you calling me from the newbie’s phone? Did you steal it?”

There’s a short laugh—low and slightly smug.

“Saw them texting you. Don’t worry, tho. I asked nicely.”

“So theft,” you say. “With a smile. Classic barista distraction tactic.”

“I prefer strategic borrowing,” he replies. “And technically, they handed it over. Under mild protest.”

“TELL HER I SAID YOU’RE A MENACE—” you hear the newbie yelling in the background.

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you sigh. “Okay, so you hijacked the phone. For what, exactly?”

Caleb’s voice dips again, back to that careful, unreadable quiet.

“I had to ask,” he says. “About Harv.”

You pause.

Then your voice sharpens.

“Oh, you get to ask now?”

He goes quiet.

“Because last I checked,” you continue, heat creeping into your voice, “you never answered my question. About the charm. The necklace. The thing you wear every damn day. But I’m supposed to explain a guy who walked me to class?”

Another pause. Then—

“Well,” Caleb says dryly, “my necklace isn’t a six-foot-tall law student with cheekbones and a dick.”

You blink. Stare at a vending machine like it’s responsible for this conversation.

“That’s your defense?” you deadpan.

“I’m just saying,” he mutters. “He looked like a threat.”

“To what?”

“To… the chaos balance we’ve got going.”

You press a hand to your forehead. “Caleb.”

He sighs. “I know.”

And just like that—he sounds softer again.

Like he gets it.

Like he knows he messed up.

Like he’s been spiraling too.

“I just didn’t like seeing you with him,” he says quietly. “Okay?”

You press your back to the wall, head tipped up toward the ceiling like you’re negotiating with the fluorescent lights.

“Caleb,” you murmur, “I can’t promise you anything.”

He’s quiet for a moment. Then: “I know.”

“All we’ve got right now is…” You trail off, trying to find something solid in the emotional soup of your life. “Vibes. Mildly reckless flirting. And maybe a new latte order with zero apple juice involved.”

There’s a beat.

Then—

“I have to give up the juice for you?” he teases, voice low and warm.

“Let’s not get sentimental about it,” you say. “It was a weird drink.”

On the other end, his laugh curls through the line—quiet, wrecking, unfairly good.

“I’m off in like ten minutes,” he says casually. “Was supposed to have… a… a date.”

Your stomach does a little tight twist. “Oh.”

“But…” his voice lowers again, almost sheepish, “I could be around. You know. If you stopped by.”

A pause.

“For the flirting. And the… non-apple-juice latte.”

You exhale slowly, a smile pulling at your mouth despite every warning your brain is flashing.

“I’ll see what I can do,” you say.

Which is law student code for:

I’ll be there.

And I might even stay.

You hang up.

And you swear under your breath.

What.

The.

Hell.

Cheeks burning as you slide down the wall, spine giving out like your body’s just as overwhelmed as your brain.

The tile is cold against your back, Professor Litt’s voice still echoing faintly through the door about GATS and international trade agreements, but it barely registers. You take a breath. Then another. Then—out of nowhere—you laugh. Quiet, disbelieving.

Because after all that? You still don’t even have Caleb’s number.

Eventually, you stand. Wipe your palms on your pants. Pull your expression back into something resembling composure.

Then you open the door and slip back into the lecture hall like nothing happened—like you didn’t just experience a full emotional mistrial in the hallway over a boy who smells like cinnamon and terrible decisions.

You slide into your seat. Professor Litt doesn’t even glance up as he drones on about WTO dispute settlements. And you do what any sane, responsible law student would do.

Pretend your heart isn’t still beating just a little too loud.

Your phone is still in your hand when the buzz comes through.

newbie: caleb is literally humming.

newbie: he just sang a taylor swift song to the steam wand. in falsetto. i don’t know if he’s okay. should i call a priest or just let him finish

You slam your forehead lightly against your laptop case.

From the front of the room, Professor Litt doesn’t even look up from his notes. “Careful with the dramatics,” he says, dry as ever. “Some of us are still pretending this material matters.”

A few students snort quietly. You sit up fast, mutter a half-hearted apology, and open your notes again.

Your phone buzzes. Again.

Time to spiral discreetly.

newbie: he’s got the soft apron fold today. you know the one. you’re doomed

You stare at the screen, cheeks still so warm, and text back with the last shred of dignity you have:

you: shut up i hate everything. i’ll be there in 20. tell the espresso machine to brace itself

Then you slide your phone into your pocket.

… And try very hard not to smile like an idiot the rest of the class.

——————————————————————————

Part 6

——————————————————————————

Writer’s note: Okey so confession time: This whole AU is basically built around one very specific arc that’s been itching my brain like a mosquito bite I refuse to stop scratching. I’ll get to it eventually, promise. TS’s Getaway Car is basically the gospel of Caleb’s brain until a certain point… and then—heh—there’s another song that’s like the final boss of inspiration for his arc. That one? That one comes later. And the law student? She might have picked the wrong barista to flirt with. I’ll shut up now lol.

You absolutely lovely, amazing people commenting, reblogging with the funniest tags (@blessdunrest, you crack me up every time), and liking the silly things I write. I appreciate you so much. Truly. You make sharing this chaos feel extra special. Okey then, thank you for reading ����🏻

[fraudulent-cheese]

Total Drama as random funny tags i found on @/Dear-ao3 Part 2!

[hemisphaericas]

Part 4 Nein Again doodles!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

[thebramblewood]

The less glamorous side of life in Vatore Manor. 🤣

[everlastingserenitys]

sure caleb, sure.