#caleb xia fluff

[chezeni]

Caleb would, without a doubt, continue trying until he has a daughter with you.

It doesn’t matter how long it takes, or how many tries it takes. If you’re okay with it, he’s more than willing to pounce on you to make the most of your ovulation week.

Those attempts would mean that in the long run, the two of you would bring three sons into the world, each of whom, comically enough, was an exact little copy of their father with the most minuscule hints of you.

Your oldest, Theo, was born about two years after your marriage. He had Caleb’s sunset eyes and facial structure, only taking after you in the colour of your hair. He took pride in caring for his younger brothers and was proudly Caleb’s right-hand man in smaller tasks where he needed assistance. Both refused to let you help around the house when they were there.

A year later, you had Jamie, who had your eyes but resembled Caleb in all other aspects—hair, nose, etc.

Then came your youngest son, Reian, a year after Jamie—a quiet two-year-old who was Caleb’s exact copy. At his birth, Caleb had looked up at you with a soft grin as he’d cradled the baby against his muscled chest.

“Seems like third time isn’t the charm, honey, your genes just can’t beat mine.” He’d murmured teasingly, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead as the nurse sent him a side-eye.

Now, with the kids at six, five and four respectively, you and Caleb tried for one more.

While he loves his sons with his whole heart and would kill for them at a moment’s notice, he never stopped thinking about how precious it would be to have a little you running around your expansive home in Skyhaven.

With all the noise his boys cause, it felt strange to think about how there’d been a time when it was just him living alone in this very house. It wasn’t ’ 'til you’d moved in with him, thawed away at his frozen aerospace militant heart slowly that the place felt more homey.

Still, the house felt… lacking to Caleb. It was too skewed at one gender while poor you had to deal with your three—four, if you count your almost equally childish husband—boys.

Caleb had made sure each of his sons was dutiful and kindhearted, especially towards their mama. Still, there was a light-hearted culture of jest in the house, since they’d unfortunately inherited Caleb’s terrible sense of humour, and it was mostly peaceful unless they’d planned otherwise, like when the three thought it’d be hilarious to march one by one into your bedroom after dividing Caleb’s Fleet uniform amongst each other and yell like drill sergeants to wake you up.

But during the night, when it was just the two of you behind a locked door and hands over the other’s mouth, he caught himself acting on certain rumours he’d heard that would supposedly make a girl. Be it a certain position, or whispering some kind of prayer into your ear during the act. It’d surprised him, having never been superstitious in his life but now resorting to old wives’ tales with little feasible evidence behind them.

You’d giggled when he’d shared it with you one night as he treated you to a snack and some water, holding you against his chest and murmuring into your hair. “Maybe you’re getting old.” You laughed softly. “I’ve only ever seen old ladies believing in things like that, my love.”

He scoffed softly, smiling down at you. “Don’t you also want a girl? The boys are lovely, sweetheart, and I don’t mean to sound ungrateful or anything, but a cute little girl.” He pouts. “I just know she’d be so adorable, honey.”

Whatever it was that Caleb had tried to do, it’d somehow worked. Not even a year later, you welcomed a daughter into the house, and Caleb’s years-long wish had come true oh, so perfectly. He was bad enough during the pregnancy when you’d found out you were having a girl at about 20 weeks, but now that she was here? You’d have to pry that sweet little ball of cuteness away from him with a crowbar the way he’d insisted on holding her all the time.

He was ecstatic, and how could he not be? His little angel had her mother’s nose, a full head of slightly wavy hair and his eyes. One look at her and he’d cried for days, even more so when she finally came home with you.

“Thank you, honey. She’s so sweet to me already, and so adorable. Our boys are adorable too but—” He pauses, looking down at her in awe when she yawns softly, an exaggerated pout over his lips as he looks down at her comfortably curled up on his chest. “Oh, my sweet baby girl.”

…And when you did try to take her from him?

“N-no! Please! Wait two more minutes.” He begged softly, gently kissing her little forehead. So dramatic, you thought, smiling fondly. After Ailea was born, she’d stolen Caleb’s heart, and it was difficult to take her back into your arms to feed her when Caleb refused to let her go. “She doesn’t look hungry to me, honey, I think you’re just trying to steal my little angel from me.“

“She’s my baby too…”

But he’d already turned back to little Ailea, once more engrossed in his daughter’s cute giggles. “You’re okay, my sweet girl, aren’t you? My perfect angel doesn’t even fuss like her stinky brothers did.”

“Hey!” Came a resounding protest from the living room. Caleb smiles. “They know I love them just as much.” He murmurs to Ailea.

[cosmicamor]

⌞ 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐁 𝐗𝐈𝐀 ⌝

❛ 𝐢 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐨𝐟 𝐮𝐬. ❜

★ . . . 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐎𝐔𝐒

spotify playlist ⭑ p links (coming soon)

★ . . . 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐁𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐒

…coming soon

★ . . . 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒

…coming soon

★ . . . 𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐑𝐁𝐒

…coming soon

★ . . . 𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐒

…coming soon

୭ back to main masterlist ┆ join my taglist here .ᐟ

[swanlikely]

Current Brainrot: PDA VS. Boyfriend Caleb!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And honestly?

You wouldn’t have it any other way.

[reit0o]

caleb gets cuteness aggression whenever he sees you

caleb tries and I mean he tries to take you seriously when you complain about him taking the last slice. but he won't ever admit that he does it just so to see you all riled up. the way your eyebrows furrow and face pouts while you try to lecture him is almost too adorable

caleb loves when you spent the day helping him build his new airplane model. he purposely picks a difficult design because he loves seeing your concentrated expression as your hold the pieces together, waiting for the glue to dry. and when you get frustrated, he just chuckles softly and holds it together with you

caleb needs to see you in clothes all the time. he almost gets offended when you sit down on his couch after a long day instead of immediately changing into his soft cotton shirt. he goes through his wardrobe once a month, looking for things he doesn't wear anymore just to see what he can add to your side of the closet. there's nothing like seeing you in your most vulnerable state, dressed in his clothes, thinking all mine

caleb loosens the jars in his house ever so slightly just so you can get the satisfaction of opening them yourself. you boast about how you don't need his help anymore because you're a strong hunter now. but he just looks at you lovingly, because he loves celebrating your victories

caleb adores watching you struggle not to fall asleep during late night movies. he doesnt say anything, just nudges you into his chest and strokes your arm until your breathing slows down. he feels like the luckiest person with you curled up against him, quietly counting your lashes as he pulls you in closer like his own plushie

[humanjarvis]

imagine gideon calling you pip-squeak. 

he and caleb are walking you back from the movie theater when you trip on the stairs outside your building. “watch your step, pip-squeak,” he teases, chuckling lightly.

you get the ick for a second, but play it off with a groan. “ugh, not another one!”

and caleb agrees. not another one. he bristles as you both laugh, your leftover drink and popcorn in his hand when he’d really rather they be lodged in gideon’s esophagus. 

after making sure you’re okay, he hugs you goodbye and angles your body away from gideon, leveling his friend with an icy glare. when he speaks, though, his voice is jarringly tender. “goodnight, pip-squeak,” he says, patting your hair with those doting strokes of his. 

“goodnight,” you sigh into his chest, blissfully unaware of the psychological evisceration happening above you. 

when your apartment door shuts, caleb doesn’t even have to open his mouth before gideon speaks. “sorry, man.”

[orphicmeliora]

LETTERS UNSENT

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

So you learned to endure it.

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

Years later, fate intervenes.

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

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

But Caleb doesn’t let go.

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

He’s here to chase you down.

And he won’t stop until you’re his.

WORD COUNT: 11.1k

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

You used to love love.

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

You believed in love the way children believe in magic.

But you grew up.

And love? It grew fangs.

Now, you love to hate it.

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

So you buried your own.

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

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

And still…

Despite it all…

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

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

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

Because if love ever finds you again…

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

Or straight into its arms.

You hear his voice before you see him.

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

You turn slowly.

And there he is.

Caleb.

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

He sees you.

Really sees you.

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

A beat passes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

God, he’s flirting.

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

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

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

“Because I missed you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Touché.

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

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

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

His jaw tenses. “I deserved that.”

“You did.”

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

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

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

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

Your heart skips. “Oh.”

“You sound disappointed.”

“I’m not.” Lie. “Just surprised.”

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

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

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

“Smart of you.”

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

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

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

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

The letters.

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

Especially not Caleb.

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

“None of your business.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

The third time is worse.

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

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

“I don’t flinch.”

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

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

His voice goes quiet. “You.”

The word hits you like a punch.

“You wanted Emcee for years.”

“I was stupid for years.”

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

“That’s convenient,” you say coldly.

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

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

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

You turn your head. Just barely.

Caleb’s jaw clenches, his hand falling away.

He sits back without a word.

—

The fourth time, it’s raining.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because it means he’s telling the truth.

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

He doesn’t follow.

But he waits.

He always waits now.

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

You agree to go with him to the observatory.

Big mistake.

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

You don’t take it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then: “Say that again.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’ll use it against me.”

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

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

“I don’t know what you’d do anymore.”

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

But he doesn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

You snort. “Well. You were wrong.”

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

“Damn right I am.”

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

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

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

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

You hate him for knowing exactly how to undo you.

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

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

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

Except for one person.

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

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

I founded the club she's heard great things about

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

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

I stopped CPR, after all it's no use

The spirit was gone, we would never come to

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

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

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

You jump.

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

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

You blink. “You heard that?”

“I always do.”

Of course he did.

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

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

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

You bristle. “Did I say that?”

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

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

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

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

Your heart stutters. “You never said anything.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

You stop. He almost slams into you.

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

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

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

But pride wraps around your tongue like a noose.

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

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

“No,” Caleb whispers. “It’s not.”

You should have locked the damn drawer.

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

No. No.

His head lifts as the door shuts behind you.

And your world implodes.

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

He’s holding your soul in his hands.

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

Your breath catches. Your throat closes.

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

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

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

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

“I can’t.”

You turn to bolt, pure instinct.

And that’s when gravity betrays you.

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

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

“Caleb—!”

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

Your back hits the wall.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The look in his eyes breaks something in you.

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

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

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

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

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

His mouth brushes against your temple.

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

You don’t kiss him.

But you don’t pull away either.

You can’t.

Because suddenly, you're not cold anymore.

You’re burning.

He stays.

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

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

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

You shove him.

He barely budges.

You shove him again.

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

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

“Let me go,” you say, breathless.

“No.”

Your breath hitches.

“No?” you echo.

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

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

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

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

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

His eyes search yours.

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

You open your mouth.

But nothing comes out.

So he kisses you.

Not a soft, hesitant brush of lips.

It’s a claiming.

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

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

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

“I hate you.”

He smiles, soft and ruined. “I know.”

“I hate how much I wanted that.”

“I hope you did.”

“I’m still not making this easy.”

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

And still—

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

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

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

You never agreed to date him.

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

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

That night, he texts you at 2am.

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

You throw your phone across the bed.

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

Nope.

Just here to take you to lunch.

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

You hold strong—for a while.

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

You try to nudge him awake.

You fail.

Hard.

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

You don’t sleep.

Your body is screaming.

But your heart?

It’s terrified.

—

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

You freeze in the doorway.

He sees you.

And smiles.

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

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

You almost do.

But you don’t.

Not yet.

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

You’re not.

Because Caleb is everywhere now.

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

You keep your walls up.

But he keeps coming.

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

—

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

You open the door.

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

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

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

Your stomach drops. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not people.”

He stalks closer.

You step back.

He follows.

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

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

“I know.”

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

He grabs your wrist.

Not rough. Just certain.

“Look at me.”

You don’t.

So he tips your chin up with two fingers.

His eyes are burning.

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

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

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

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

Your breath hitches.

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

The heat between you is unbearable.

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

You want to.

God, you ache to.

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

He leans in, nose brushing yours.

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

But he doesn’t kiss you.

Not this time.

He lets you go.

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

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

The second thing you notice is the heat.

Not the weather. Not the blanket.

Him.

Your breath stills.

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

Which—he doesn’t.

He shouldn’t.

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

You remember falling asleep with your back to him.

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

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

Your cheeks burn.

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

You try to slip away quietly.

You wiggle.

No movement.

You nudge his hand.

His grip tightens.

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

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

And then he nibbles.

You whimper.

It betrays you instantly.

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

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

And then—

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

You go still.

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

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

His thigh rocks just slightly forward. Pressure, heat.

You squeak.

His arms tighten like steel bands.

He’s caging you in.

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

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

Your brain short-circuits.

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

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

Then his hips shift. Just barely.

But enough.

“Caleb!”

His eyes snap open.

You expect guilt.

What you get is heat.

Raw, focused, and dangerous.

He blinks once. Then twice. Then—

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

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

You do, actually.

Because it’s been hell for you, too.

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

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

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

You throw a pillow at his face.

“Out,” you snap.

He catches it effortlessly. “No breakfast first?”

You march to the door.

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

You slam the door in his face.

It doesn’t stop your knees from buckling.

It happens fast.

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

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

And then Caleb moves.

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

You gasp.

His eyes meet yours.

They are ravenous.

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

Your breath catches.

And then he kisses you.

Hard.

Not sweet. Not tentative.

Possessive.

Like he’s claiming what was always his.

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

He doesn’t let you go.

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

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

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

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

“Oh god—”

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

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

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

But your body?

Your body is already his.

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

You don’t.

You can’t.

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

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

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

His self-control shatters.

And you let it.

Because there’s no going back now.

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

His forehead presses to yours, both of you trembling, not just from adrenaline but from something deeper. Something that feels like standing on the edge of a cliff after running your whole life just to avoid the fall.

He whispers your name like a secret, like a vow. It breaks you a little, how he says it. Like he’s tasting the weight of it for the first time.

Then he moves.

Your legs wrap around his waist without thought—instinct meeting inevitability. You're holding on to the only thing in the room that feels real. He lifts you as if he was made to, the heat between you palpable, a pulse that beats beneath your skin, echoing every missed chance and quiet longing.

The kiss deepens. Desperate, molten, tasting of years swallowed down and swallowed whole. His hands are everywhere—anchoring, memorizing, shaking just slightly from how hard he’s holding back.

He carries you through the house like a man possessed. Not with lust, but with ache. The bedroom door shuts with a thud behind you, and suddenly the air is full of promises, unspoken but heavy. When your back meets the mattress, he follows—solid and unyielding. Not crushing, but overwhelming in the way only someone you've loved for too long can be.

His weight is warmth, his gaze all hunger and reverence. His hands slide beneath your clothes, not to strip, but to feel. His palm over your heart. His fingers brushing your ribs like counting the years apart. Every touch says: I missed this. I missed you.

“You still gonna pretend you don’t want this?” he murmurs, his voice low, scraping over the tenderest parts of you.

You try to breathe out a laugh, but it catches on something in your throat—emotion, maybe. Want, definitely.

His mouth presses to your skin in a trail that’s less possession and more devotion. His touch follows, mapping you slowly, like he's rediscovering a land he once called home. You feel yourself arch into him, answer him without words, because words were never big enough for this.

He whispers things you’ll remember later—soft confessions and raw need laced with regret for every year wasted. You shiver when his breath touches your skin, when his fingers slide across bare inches you didn't mean to offer but couldn't deny.

And then... silence. Not because the moment ends. But because it begins.

Everything else fades.

There are no sharp lines, only sensation—heat and trembling limbs, quiet gasps, and the way your fingers fist into his shirt like you’ll fall apart without him there to catch you.

You lose time in the haze of it. In the rhythm of closeness, of skin against skin, of hearts beating so loud they drown out thought. You feel unraveled. Revered. Completely undone. Not by action, but by intent.

After, when the quiet stretches between you and your breath finally slows, he doesn’t let go. He stays draped over you, face buried in the crook of your neck like he’s terrified you’ll vanish if he opens his eyes.

“This isn’t over,” he says. His voice is hoarse, a whisper etched with everything he’s never said aloud. “I’m not letting you go. Not this time.”

And for the first time, you let yourself believe it.

Not because of what just happened.

But because of everything that didn’t need to.

You lost track of how long ago the sun set.

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

And Caleb?

Caleb is still going.

He hovers above you, eyes dark with something starved—like he’s been waiting his whole life for this and now that he has you, he doesn’t know how to stop. His hands roam as if relearning the shape of you again and again, like the memory alone will never be enough.

“We’re not done,” he murmurs, brushing hair from your damp forehead. “Not yet.”

You try to protest, but all that leaves you is a soft, aching sound.

He smiles—soft, wicked, reverent.

And leans in to kiss you like it’s the first time all over again.

You're floating.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I missed you.”

“I’ll never let you go again.”

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

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

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

But not the ache. Not the possessiveness.

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

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

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

“Caleb—”

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

Your breath hitches.

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

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

And just when you think he’s finally done—

He shifts again.

Rolls you beneath him.

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

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

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

You should tell him to stop.

You don’t.

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

And now?

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

The morning after feels… dangerous.

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

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

Oh, you want to punch him.

Or kiss him.

Or both.

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

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

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

“Consider it payback.”

You squint at him. “For what?”

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

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

Your stomach drops.

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

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

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

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

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

“Do not finish that sentence, Caleb.”

He only grins wider.

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

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

He freezes.

Slowly, slowly, he turns. “Where?”

You bite your lip.

“The drawer by my bed. Bottom one.”

He’s gone before you even blink.

Your heart is pounding.

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

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

When he finishes, he just looks at you.

You’re not sure what you expect.

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

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

Your knees buckle.

But he’s already crossing the room.

Already crowding you against the wall, hands gripping your thighs, lifting you effortlessly until your back hits wood and your legs wrap around him like muscle memory.

“Caleb—” you gasp, but he silences you with a kiss that’s pure possession.

“No more running. No more letters.” He grinds against you, voice rasping. “You want to scream my name? Do it now. Right here. Where I can answer every word.”

And you do.

God help you, you do.

—

You don't know how you made it through round... whatever number that was. Your body's a puddle, your skin still humming, but Caleb is finally calm. Sated, for now. The hunger in his eyes has simmered down into something deeper—something dangerous in its quiet intensity.

He’s seated now, bare chest gleaming faintly in the afternoon light, legs spread with an unmistakable air of ownership. You’re half-draped across his torso, wearing one of his shirts that swallows you whole. He holds you with one arm looped securely around your waist, the other hand delicately unfolding that last letter. The most intimate one. The one you never meant anyone—especially him—to see.

You try not to squirm as he reads it again, slowly, as if committing every line to memory.

You can feel his eyes on the page—but his attention is on you.

“You wrote this two years ago,” he says softly, thumb brushing idle circles against your inner thigh. “I was at the edge of the solar belt. Couldn’t sleep that night. I felt… off. Like I was missing something.”

You glance down, ashamed. “Don’t romanticize it.”

“I’m not,” he replies simply. “I’m aligning timelines.”

Your heart stutters. His hand stills.

“Do you want me to stop reading?” he asks, genuine this time.

You consider it. Swallow. Then shake your head.

He nods, kisses your temple.

Another beat of silence. The room smells of skin and paper and sunlight.

Then, quietly, with a low chuckle, he murmurs:

“I should have known,” he mutters, “you liked being chased. You always did, even as a kid. Remember all those games of tag?”

You remember.

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

You squirm, face heating. “That’s different.”

“It was always you,” he says softly. “Even when I didn’t know what I was looking for. I’d follow you through fields, parks, school halls. You’d run, I’d chase. Every time.”

His voice dips, husky but no longer carnal. “You were never hiding from me. You were waiting for me to catch up.”

Your throat tightens.

“And I did.” He sets the letter aside. “Finally.”

The intensity softens into something almost unbearably tender. His fingers curl beneath your chin and tilt your face up.

“No more letters,” he murmurs. “If there’s something you want… tell me. If you need something… I’ll listen. If you feel too much—good. So do I.”

You try to look away, but he won’t let you.

“You’ve already stripped yourself bare,” he whispers, brushing your hair back. “Now let me carry the weight.”

And just like that, your defenses crumble—slowly, quietly, like a dam leaking at the seams.

You rest your forehead against his. His lips ghost over yours. There’s no urgency. No fire.

Just heat. Banked and waiting.

And when he pulls you closer, tucks you against his chest, and lets out a slow breath—you swear you can feel his heartbeat echo your own.

The world outside is quiet, but inside your home, chaos reigns.

“Hey! Give that back!” you shout, laughing breathlessly as you chase after Caleb, who’s casually sauntering around your kitchen—your kitchen—holding your favorite coffee mug high above his head like a trophy.

Bastard. 

“This?” Caleb grins, the morning light making his messy hair look unfairly golden, like he just strolled out of a dream. “You mean our mug now. Community property.”

“That’s not how this works!” You make a wild grab for it, but he just shifts it higher, smirking like he’s enjoying this a little too much.

Maybe it’s the fact that he’s only in a loose pair of joggers, the drawstring barely tied, his chest bare and warm and still a little damp from his earlier shower. Maybe it’s the way he looks at you—like you’re the only thing in the world worth teasing, worth chasing. Whatever it is, your heart flutters violently in your chest.

“Caleb, I swear—” you lunge for him again.

He catches you effortlessly, laughing as he spins you around until your back is pressed against his chest, trapping you in his arms. The mug dangles in front of you tauntingly. His scent envelops you—fresh soap, coffee, and something that’s just him.

“Say please,” he whispers into your ear, his breath warm, sending a shiver racing down your spine.

You wriggle in his arms, only managing to grind yourself back against his hips in the most scandalous way. Caleb’s arms tighten, his low groan rumbling against your back.

You freeze, heat flooding your cheeks. Damn him.

Caleb chuckles, feeling the way you stiffen. “Careful, sweetheart. You’re playing with fire this early in the morning.”

“You started it,” you mutter, glaring over your shoulder.

He grins lazily, shameless. “I’ll finish it, too.”

Before you can retort, he finally, finally relinquishes the mug, setting it gently on the counter. You think you’re safe—until he sweeps you off your feet in one effortless move, carrying you bridal style toward the couch.

“Caleb! Put me down!” you yelp, pounding your fists against his chest, but he’s unbothered, humming a tune under his breath like this is the most normal thing in the world.

“Shhh. We’re doing Sunday properly,” he says, plopping down onto the couch and settling you firmly on his lap, caging you in with his arms. “Coffee. Couch. Cuddles. Mandatory.”

You open your mouth to protest, but his hand cups the back of your head, gently guiding you to rest against his shoulder. His touch is slow, deliberate, almost reverent.

You can feel the tension humming between you—thick, electric—but somehow, it doesn’t feel urgent. It feels… safe. Warm. Like you could fall asleep right here and Caleb would keep the whole world away from you.

You sigh, feeling your body relax against him despite yourself.

“This isn’t fair,” you grumble.

“What’s not fair?” he asks, voice low and teasing as he presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“You being so… so…” You gesture vaguely, words failing you. How do you describe this? Caleb being infuriating and sweet and annoyingly perfect, all wrapped up in one stupidly handsome package?

“So what?” he presses, feigning innocence. His hand strokes lazily up and down your spine, his touch feather-light.

You groan into his chest. “Everything.”

He laughs—really laughs—and the sound rumbles deep in his chest, vibrating against you. You can’t help the small smile that creeps across your face. You hate how easy it is to be soft with him. How easy it is to fall harder when you promised yourself you’d be careful.

“You’re stuck with me now, sweetheart,” Caleb says, dropping his forehead against yours, his eyes shining with something raw and unspoken. “Might as well get used to it.”

Your heart thuds painfully against your ribs, and for once, you don’t have a snarky reply. Just this—this impossible, chaotic, beautiful morning. His arms around you. His laugh in your ears. His heartbeat steady beneath your hand.

Maybe you are stuck with him.

Maybe you want to be.

And when Caleb presses a soft, lingering kiss to your lips—tender, warm, unbearably sweet—you know you’re completely, hopelessly, irreversibly his.

And judging by the way he smiles against your mouth, he's known it all along.

Your lunch is burning.

You know it is—because you can smell the faint scent of charred vegetables—and yet, you can’t do anything about it.

Because Caleb.

Because Caleb, who has one arm lazily wrapped around your waist, caging you against the counter, a spatula abandoned nearby. Because Caleb, who keeps murmuring absolutely mortifying things against your ear in that deep, smug voice of his, his lips brushing your skin with every word.

Because Caleb, who somehow—somehow—has memorized every single humiliating word you ever wrote to him.

You try not to die of embarrassment right there.

“You know,” Caleb drawls, his voice a slow purr against your ear, “you were really dramatic back in middle school. I believe it went something like—” he clears his throat exaggeratedly, clearly having way too much fun, “‘Dear Caleb, I hate you so much I hope you trip and fall into a mud puddle in front of the entire school. Maybe then you’ll stop being so full of yourself.’”

You groan, shoving your sleeves over your face, mortified. “Stopppp.” You’re basically trying to melt into the counter at this point.

But Caleb’s laughing, warm and delighted, peeling your sleeves down to expose your burning face. He lives for this now, clearly. Every time you squirm, he looks like he’s won the lottery.

“And then—then,” he continues gleefully, ignoring your protests, “in high school, when I got a little popular… You wrote, ‘Congratulations, Prince Charming. Maybe one day you’ll notice the loyal commoner you left in the dust. But no worries. I’m totally fine. Totally. Absolutely fine. Not like I ever cared anyway.’”

He recites it with dramatic flair, clutching his chest like a wounded lover. You are dying inside.

“Oh my God, Caleb,” you hiss, trying to hide your face again. “Shut up! I was, like, fifteen! I didn’t know anything about anything!”

He laughs again, low and fond, his chest vibrating against your back. “You knew enough to break my heart, sweetheart,” he murmurs, and you feel the serious undercurrent beneath all the teasing—the raw affection.

You twist in his grip, attempting to shove him away, but he just effortlessly manhandles you into his lap instead. One strong arm loops around your waist, the other sneaks into your hair, stroking it slowly, tangling his fingers through the strands.

You pout at him, cheeks still on fire. “You’re so annoying.”

His grin softens into something devastatingly tender. His eyes burn bright and molten as he stares at you, like you’re the only thing in the entire world.

“Not done yet,” he murmurs.

Your stomach drops.

You already know what's coming. The worst part.

Caleb leans down, nuzzles against your temple, and in a low, sinful voice, whispers, “And then there were the ones where you couldn’t stop thinking about me at night.”

You jerk, mortified, but he tightens his hold on you, trapping you snug against him. His lips graze your ear.

“You had so many thoughts about me,” he says, voice dropping impossibly lower. “About what you wanted me to do to you. About what you wanted to do to me.” He chuckles darkly when you squeak and try to wriggle away.

“I can quote those too, if you want,” he teases mercilessly. “Maybe I should start with the one where you described me tying you up with my DAA-issued tactical belt—”

“CALEB!!” you shriek, smacking his chest as he throws his head back laughing.

You bury your face in his shoulder, absolutely vibrating with secondhand embarrassment, whimpering, “I’m going to die. I’m actually going to die.”

“No, you’re not,” he says, pressing kisses to your hairline, your forehead, your temple, over and over again until your trembling subsides into quiet giggles. His arms are warm and unrelenting around you.

You risk peeking up at him—and freeze.

He’s staring down at you with a look so filled with adoration it physically steals the air from your lungs. His hand cups your jaw so gently it makes your heart ache.

“You’re my life,” Caleb says, voice rough with feeling. “You’ve always been my life. You just didn’t know it yet.”

You blink up at him, stunned, your heart threatening to burst out of your chest.

Slowly, shyly, you rest your forehead against his, your hands sliding up to his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart beneath your palms.

Caleb exhales shakily, as if the moment is too big even for him.

The smell of burnt food lingers, the sun pours golden light across the kitchen, and you sit there, tangled up in him, the most chaotic, beautiful, utterly yours thing you’ve ever had.

“Guess I’m stuck with you, huh?” you whisper, a teasing glint in your eye.

Caleb’s smile turns crooked, boyish.

“Forever, sweetheart,” he murmurs.

And then he kisses you, slow and deep and soft, like a promise he’s waited a lifetime to keep.

—

Later that night, you're curled up on the couch together, tangled in a heap of limbs and fluffy throw blankets, a low movie playing in the background.

You’re half-dozing, feeling deliciously warm and safe against Caleb’s chest, his heartbeat lulling you into a haze. His hand strokes lazily through your hair, fingertips dragging slow, lazy patterns against your scalp.

You’re just about to slip under completely when—

"Sweetheart?" Caleb’s voice, deceptively casual.

You hum in response, not even bothering to open your eyes.

"What's this? Another letter?"

You tense immediately.

No.

No no no.

Your eyes snap open in horror just in time to see Caleb, that absolute devil, pulling out one of the more battered, worn pieces of paper from somewhere.

You gasp, trying to grab for it, but he holds it way above your head, smirking like the cat who caught the canary.

"Caleb!" you shriek, flailing. "Put it away! You can't—!"

He just laughs and pins you down easily with one hand on your waist, straddling your thighs to trap you in place.

“I think the people deserve to hear this one,” he teases, that wicked glint in his eye. “Specifically, me.”

He clears his throat dramatically while you writhe helplessly beneath him.

"‘It’s not fair,’" Caleb reads aloud, smirking as he drags his gaze down your squirming body. "‘It’s not fair how he fills out his uniform. How his gloves tighten around his fingers. How I can’t stop thinking about what those hands would feel like on my skin. How I dream about him tying my wrists, whispering filthy promises against my neck—’"

"CALEB!!" you wail, smacking your hands against his chest in a feeble attempt to stop him. Your face is boiling hot.

But Caleb, the menace, the absolute menace, just grins wider, loving every second of your humiliation.

"And it goes on," he says gleefully, ignoring your mortified whimper. "‘How I'd let him do anything to me. How I'd beg him to lose control. How much I crave him, every breath, every heartbeat, like I'm dying of thirst in a desert and he's the only water I'll ever want.’"

Your soul tries to physically leave your body.

You slap your hands over your face, wishing for death.

"Please," you moan into your palms, "Caleb, please stop—"

But he just chuckles darkly, leaning down until his nose brushes yours, his voice dropping to a sinful murmur.

“You really should have mailed this one, sweetheart,” he says, eyes smoldering. "Would’ve saved us a lot of time."

You whimper, still hiding your face. He peels your hands away from your burning cheeks gently but firmly, making you meet his gaze.

Caleb’s smile turns unbearably tender as he cradles your flushed face between his palms, thumbs brushing over your cheekbones.

"I memorized every word," he says softly. "Every single one. They're engraved into me now. Just like you."

Your heart stutters painfully in your chest.

You can't look away from him—those devastating sunset eyes drinking you in like you hung the stars.

He dips his head lower, kissing the corner of your mouth, slow and reverent.

“You’re mine,” Caleb murmurs, voice rough with possessiveness and love. “You always were.”

You melt completely, boneless in his hold, helpless against him—as you’ve always been.

"Caleb..." you whisper, voice trembling.

He smiles that slow, infuriating, dangerous smile—and promptly starts tickling you, laughing when you shriek and try to wriggle free, your earlier mortification forgotten in a burst of chaotic laughter and flailing limbs.

You scream his name, half furious, half in love.

Caleb just laughs like it’s the happiest sound in the world.

It’s late.

Not the deep velvet of midnight, but that quiet hour when the world seems suspended in hush. The city hums softly beyond the windows, and the room is awash in the muted amber of a bedside lamp. You're tangled together beneath the sheets—not in passion this time, but in something far more dangerous.

Vulnerability.

Caleb lies on his side, propped up on one elbow, watching you with that look again—the one that's too tender, too knowing. His fingers trail lazily across your arm, like he can’t stop touching you even now. Like he’s making sure you’re still here.

“I should’ve reached out sooner,” he says.

You stay quiet. Not because you're angry. Because you're afraid of what might come next.

“I didn’t date her,” he adds, so casually it nearly slips by.

You blink.

“What?”

“She wasn’t mine,” he says. “Never was. I thought…” He hesitates. “I thought she might be the only person who could understand what I was becoming. The training. The pressure. But it was never romantic. Not even close.”

Your throat feels tight. You shift, pulling the blanket up like armor.

“Then why didn’t you call? Or message? Or—anything, Caleb? You just vanished.”

He exhales, slow and jagged.

“I was afraid,” he admits.

You glance up, surprised.

He stares at the ceiling, jaw clenched. “Not of the missions. Not of the fleet. I was afraid that if I talked to you, really talked to you, I’d drop everything just to be near you. I was already teetering. One video call and I would’ve been done for.”

Your heart twists painfully.

“You idiot,” you whisper. “I would’ve taken you. In any form.”

“I didn’t want you to take less of me.” He looks at you then, eyes bare, voice rough. “I wanted to be worthy of what you wrote in those letters. Of the way you looked at me when we were kids.”

You want to scream. Or cry. Or maybe just bury your face in his chest until the years melt away.

“You were worthy, Caleb. You just… didn’t believe it.”

A silence settles. Not heavy. Just real.

He pulls you closer. One hand cradling your head to his chest, the other tangled in your fingers beneath the sheets. You listen to his heartbeat again.

Stronger now.

Steady.

“For the record,” he murmurs, “when I read the one about the lake—when we were sixteen—I nearly lost it. I remember that night. I didn’t know what to do with the way I felt back then.”

You squeeze his hand. “You pushed me into the water.”

“You screamed my name so loud, half the neighborhood heard.”

You smile despite yourself.

Then softer, quieter:

“I used to dream about that moment, you know? If you ever found the letters. If you ever came back.”

“And now that I have?”

Your smile fades. You tilt your head up and find him waiting. Bare. Present.

“I don’t want dreams anymore,” you whisper.

“Good,” Caleb says, leaning down until his lips barely brush yours. “Because I’m not leaving this time. And I don’t need letters. I have you.”

And when he kisses you, it’s not a claim.

It’s a promise.

The shuttle touches down with a soft hiss, and before the hatch even fully opens, you're hit with the scent of your hometown—familiar, grounding, sweetened by nostalgia. The air is different here. Softer. Like time slows down just enough to let you breathe.

Caleb steps out behind you, his duffel slung lazily over one shoulder. His eyes sweep over the old landing port, the cracked pavement, the overgrown grass curling at the edges of fences long forgotten. He doesn't say anything for a moment.

Then, quietly: “It’s smaller than I remember.”

You huff a laugh. “Because we’re bigger now.”

He looks at you—really looks. “You are.”

There’s a weight to those words you don’t touch yet. Not here. Not now.

The town unfolds before you like a photograph—faded but warm. You walk the familiar streets side by side, shoulders brushing, passing your old school, the corner store where you used to pool pocket change for sweets, the park where you’d play tag until dusk.

“I remember this tree,” Caleb murmurs, stopping beneath the one with the warped trunk. “You used to climb it like a gremlin.”

“You fell out of it once,” you remind him. “Cried for hours.”

He laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “And you didn’t leave my side.”

A beat of silence.

“You always stayed,” he says.

You glance at him, the late afternoon sun haloing his profile. “You just didn’t always notice.”

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, his hand brushes yours. Then lingers. Then takes it fully.

You don’t let go.

The path takes you past your childhood home. Your heart kicks up. The windows are still the same. The porch swing still crooked. You half expect to hear your mother calling you in for dinner. Caleb pauses beside you.

“I remember sneaking out through your window,” he says with a crooked grin. “You made me carry that squeaky chair so we wouldn’t get caught.”

“You always stepped on the wrong floorboard anyway,” you mutter. “We always got caught.”

“Worth it,” he murmurs. “Every single time.”

You don’t speak again until you're standing at the edge of the lake—the one you wrote about. The one where you screamed his name across the water. It looks just like it did then.

The sun dips low, painting the surface gold.

You watch the light scatter across the waves, lost in thought.

“I didn’t know you loved me then,” he says, voice quiet. “But I felt it. In every laugh. Every fight. Every stupid dare. I felt it. I just didn’t have the words.”

Your throat tightens.

“I didn’t either,” you say. “So I wrote them instead.”

He turns to you slowly. “No more letters,” he whispers.

Then, gently, reverently, Caleb cups your face.

You close your eyes.

The kiss is soft this time. Not a promise or a possession. Just a memory, coming full circle.

Just two people who finally stopped running.

NOTES: guys I'm so embarrassed, I can't believe I posted the unedited version!!! I didn't like how instead of talking through their issues these two went to bang instead, AHHH this is so embarrassing!!!

[hioriri]

♡ nom!

l&ds men and their reaction when you randomly nom them (love bites!)

featuring ☆ xavier, zayne, rafayel, sylus, & caleb

tag(s) ☆ fluff!!

XAVIER would act dramatically as a response, just like as if he had gotten bitten by a giant shark. he's gotten used to you randomly biting him at the most random places, and really doesn't mind it. he thinks it's a cute habit of yours.

ZAYNE would be a little confused. that is, until you explain what it means in a non-sexual way. he's not so scared to bite you occasionally, but it's mostly you biting him out of boredom or for funsies.

RAFAYEL would bite you back as soon as you nom him. zero hesitation at all. at this point, there's a literal competition (or war) between the two of you to see who can nom the most at the end of the day. if he bit too hard, he'd apologize several times and shower you with small kisses.

SYLUS would have a teasing look on his face. he doesn't care at all with what you do to him, he's just so in love with you. he'd lightly bite you back on your wrist. it's so gentle that you can barely feel anything, you can clearly tell he's being careful, all because he doesn't want to hurt you on purpose.

CALEB would already bite back in response. you've been nomming him ever since the two of you were children, except it's different now because back then the two of you didn't know what it meant. now, he'd bite you out of the blue, anytime, anywhere.

©hioriri / please do not copy, repost, or translate. likes and reblogs are accepted and appreciated!

[aeyumicore]

caleb finds your prenatal gummies

how does caleb react when he finds the bottle of prenatal vitamins you’ve been taking—but not because you're pregnant?

━ .ᐟ✧ PAIRING: caleb x female reader (afab) ━ ✧.˖ WORD COUNT: 1.9k ━ .ᐟ✧ WARNINGS: none really , pure fluff, but vague mentions of unprotected sex, talks of of pregnancy and having children, use of 'pip-squeak' ━ ✧.˖ LINKS: ao3 | twt

got inspired to write this as i was taking my supplements yesterday :') non-smut for a change ahhhh. enjoy!

THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL NEVER POST MY FICS ON OTHER TUMBLR BLOGS. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND ON AO3.

”Always so messy.”

Caleb speaks to himself, voice a low amused mutter as he deftly clears off the kitchen counter. You were staying the weekend in Skyhaven, evident by the random items strewn about his massive home. 

Yet, Caleb can’t help but smile as he eyes your belongings carelessly discarded all over his kitchen and living room. Your favorite fuzzy blanket draped over the couch’s armrest, grazing the floor. Your shoes haphazardly taken off by the front door, right next to, but not on, the dedicated shoe rack. Coasters left behind on the kitchen bar, still sticky with dripped apple soda.

You were a menace. But he wouldn’t trade your specific brand of chaos for anything in the entire universe. 

You were the one that made this lonely empty house a home, after all.

His grin widens as he remembers just how clean your own apartment in Linkon always is. Naturally, he comes to the conclusion that you only act like this when you know he’s there to pick up after you. To take care of you.

The most important job he’s ever had. 

The sound of the shower continues to run upstairs while Caleb tidies up the living spaces. He quickly returns ingredients back to their designated cabinets, abandoned after you so thoughtfully cooked dinner for him last night. As he shuts the cabinet, he sighs, eyes catching sight of the various vitamin bottles you’d left on the counter, nearly hidden by the rice cooker.

He gathers them up in his large palms, finding a spot for them in his own cabinet of medicine and supplements. 

One by one, he meticulously puts them onto the shelf.

Omega-3, vitamin C, collagen, creatine, prenatal gummies, vitamin B-12—

Wait.

Prenatal gummies?  

Caleb’s violet eyes widen, his breath stuck in his throat, as he reads those red words over and over.

Prenatal gummies for pregnant or nursing women. With folic acid and DHA. Whatever that meant.

His heartbeat quickens as his mind races a mile a minute, his thoughts landing abruptly on the only plausible explanation.

Were you really…pregnant? 

Was it possible? Yes. 

On more than one occasion, definitely way more times than he could count on two hands, he hadn’t been…careful. You’d begged for it, but he should have known better. It was his job to protect you.

But it’d always been on non-fertile days, or that’s what your little period-tracking calendar had always said. 

No, Caleb thinks in a sheer panic. Please no. I can’t be a dad. Not right now. Maybe not ever. 

He’d barely been able to protect you at the lab. He couldn’t possibly let down someone else—a child, a baby. Your baby. That you’d made together. 

He would not survive failing your child. Through heaven and hell, that is something he’d never be able to recover from. 

Caleb runs a shaky hand through his dark brown hair, his normally controlled and collected Colonel’s mask completely and utterly shattered at his feet.

Right now, he was just Caleb, the man who dedicated his entire life, who’d give up anything and everything, to protect you—and would do so until his last breath. 

And this Caleb had never been more terrified in his entire life. Through an entire life of experimentation, through traveling the Deepspace Tunnel, through an explosion that nearly claimed his life, he’d never been more scared than he was right now.

Fatherhood.

The world felt like it was closing in on him—every time he’d failed you replaying in the ever expanding black hole that was his mind. 

The lab. Losing you during the Chronorift Disaster. Every bully, every knee scraped. Ever. The Toring chip. The list goes on and on. 

His chest tightened until he could hardly breathe, his knuckles white with the force at which he gripped the bottle of prenatals. 

He wasn’t equipped for this. 

And yet…he couldn’t deny how many times he’d thought about this life, with you. A life of mundane and blissful domesticity. No Fleet politics, no Wanderers, no imminent danger at every fucking corner. 

A life you’d created together. When he’d grown up thinking there was no such thing. That there would never be a world that the two of you could truly call yours.

“Caleb?”

Your voice pulls him out of his all-consuming thoughts. His head snaps up to see you coming down the stairs, your hair wet, body swimming in one of his big shirts. Your face, beautiful as ever, is laced with concern as you see how uncharacteristically pale he is.

When his eyes meet yours, you can’t help but smile, always so happy to see his face and sparkling nebulous eyes—even when he looked like he’d just seen a ghost. Your smile doesn’t fade as you approach him, palms instinctively coming to rest on his chest when you reach him. 

And just like that, he wasn’t so scared anymore. 

The thought of a little you running around. With that smile?

A mini version of the most precious thing in his life. One that’d undoubtedly drive him insane with that same attitude he loved so dearly. 

That had your laugh as he pointed out different types of planes soaring through the sky. Or your mischievous curiosity as he taught him how to fly his very first jet.

Yeah. He could get used to the idea of that. 

“Did something happen? You look like you’re about to be sick,” you raise an eyebrow at him. It’s then he finally releases the plastic bottle of supplements, setting it down on the counter with a soft ‘clack’. 

Your eyes immediately drift to the source of the intrusive sound, widening when they see what he was so fixated on.

”Caleb it’s—”

You’re cut off by your own squeal, Caleb’s big palms gently but firmly gripping either side of your waist, pulling you so close you could hear his pounding heart. 

“Am I—I mean are we actually…Are you pregnant?”

You can’t help but giggle at his frantic words, stumbling over himself with none of the usual poise and polish of the Farspace Fleet’s revered colonel. 

Caleb’s hand moves from your waist to your tummy, his thumb stroking softly against the fabric of his ratty shirt. His palm cups against your naval without thinking, already instinctively providing a protective barrier between the most important things to him and the rest of the world.

”I…I don’t know if I’d be any good at this,” he whispers, nebulous eyes bright with emotion, “I don’t know if I’d be a good dad.”

Your eyes widen at his vulnerable admission, not expecting it in the least. You’d never expressly discussed starting a family that extended beyond the two of you, but it’d always felt like something Caleb wanted. A stark contrast to his words, you always knew Caleb would be an amazing dad, if that was what the two of you decided you wanted.

Before you can interrupt, Caleb continues, “But—God help me…I will never let anything happen to you. Either of you.”

Your heart flutters at the sincerity of his solemn vow, and you find yourself unable to form the words you should say.

”Caleb…you….” you trail off with a gulp, unsure how to verbalize the torrent of emotions you have for this unbelievably incredible man.

“You’d be the best father.” Your quiet whisper rings whole-heartedly, voice thick with adoration and a bubbling anticipation for your future with him.

Caleb watches you with rapt attention, his heartbeat still hammering like the thrum of a hummingbird’s wings amidst the silence between you two. You’re about to open your mouth again—tell him you’re not pregnant, when he picks you up and backs away from the kitchen counter so he can spin you around. His strong hands are secure under your armpits, the smile on his face so effortlessly Caleb.

Behind the thin mist of fear in his eyes, this was the brightest you’d ever seen Caleb.

You can’t help but burst into a fit of giggles, clutching his muscled shoulders.

“Caleb, put me down!” you demand through your unabashed laugh of delight.

”No,” Caleb grins, “You’re never walking anywhere ever again—never lifting a single finger. Not while you’re carrying our baby.” He suddenly swings you so that his arm is hooked under your knees, carrying you like a prince would a princess.

You smile so wide your cheeks hurt, but you know you have to tell him the truth. You couldn’t bear to disappoint him, but what’s worse was giving him false hope.

Reaching up to tenderly cup his face with your hands, your voice shakes, “Caleb…”

Caleb smiles warmly at you, his cheeks leaning into your touch, “Yeah, princess?”

You bite your lip at how adorably he resembles a happy puppy, his earlier fear seeming to have evaporated into pure excitement. 

You find tears inexplicably forming in your eyes, grieving a pregnancy that was never even there to begin with. Blinking them back, you rip off the bandaid.

“I’m not pregnant.”

Seeing the befuddled expression in his features, his amethyst eyes squinting with unanswered questions, you continue, “The prenatals aren’t for that. A friend recommended them for my skin. Since work’s been a little stressful and I’ve been breaking out.”

You clutch his jacket, staring at his chest—waiting for him to speak. To express disappointment. Maybe even scold you for letting him believe, even if only for a minute. 

“You’re stressed? How come you didn’t tell me? What’s going on at work?”

Caleb only stares at you with genuine concern, still not setting you down, holding you tighter. Your heart hammers at the worry laced in his voice, drowning in emotions that that was what he was most concerned about. 

Your troubles.

“N-Nothing serious, it’s just workplace politics—anyways! The point is I’m not pregnant, okay? I’m sorry. Please don’t be mad.” 

You can’t stop the apology from tumbling out, even when you know you have nothing to be sorry for. But just seeing how excited he’d been is enough to make you feel like a monster for being the one to squash it. 

Caleb sets you down so that you’re sitting on the counter, his thick body positioned between your thighs. Your heart can’t help but sink at the simple action that felt like it signified so much more. That he was disappointed with you.

But suddenly Caleb flicks your forehead with his index finger.

“Hey!” 

“Dummy,” he mutters, thumb soothing the area he’d flicked, “Why are you sorry?” 

“I—you were so excited,” you say sheepishly, “I probably should’ve mentioned I started taking them before you found them yourself.” 

Caleb chuckles, almost in disbelief, hooking your hair behind your ear. Before he can respond, you whisper, “You’re really not mad?”

“How could I be mad?”

His hand abandons the edge of the counter, once again coming to rest over your stomach. His thumb strokes you reassuringly.

“Just knowing that you think I…” he trails off, his own voice murky with emotions. 

“That I’d be worthy of being the father of your children.” 

You place your hand over his, squeezing gently. It felt almost comical—the two of you in the kitchen, hands pressed over your stomach like there was anything there. 

“Besides, I’m not in a rush,” he smiles gently, taking your chin into his fingers and brushing his lips against yours. 

“We have a whole lifetime to make our own little pip-squeak.” 

© aeyumicore 2025.

.ᐟ✧ THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND AO3. i am not @/aeyumicores or @/aeyumiicore or any variations of my blog name.

✧.˖ i do not permit translations or reposts of my work on tumblr, ao3, or others. please do not reuse my blogpost headers, dividers, or layouts. these are original designs of my own.

[sanjisblackasswife]

I think Caleb is the kind of guy that would learn English for you.

You and him would have a language barrier, you speak English and he speaks Chinese but that wouldn’t stop him from learning English to talk to you. He would take classes, and each time you see him he has already learned more sentences to impress you with.

“We should..go…to the….uh…” He begins to shape out a building with his hands, still struggling to make out the words he knows he can say, but it just won’t come out, “Mo…movie! Movie theater!”

His accent is so heavy and shaky, as opposed to when he speaks confidently in his native language you start just smiling at him when he speaks to you as if he were a puppy opening his eyes for the first time.

“Yes.” You giggle holding his warmed cheeks, he was already melting into your touch, “Yes let’s go to the movies.”

He made sure to take you to a romance flick, not only because he knows you love them, but to also grab a few pointers and phrases to let you know how much he really loves you.

English be damned he’s willing to learn every language you know .

[sleepy-little-stars]

andy speaks: a very self-indulgent fic 😞 as a humanities girlie, I just rlly want my silly nerdy stem bf ☹️ hot nerdy stem bf pls pls pls come my way 🙏 zayne will have his version of this too!! bcuz muehehe why have one stem bf when u can have two. TWO?! 😻 n poseidon raf is in the drafts 🙂‍↕️

stem bf!caleb who’s such a nerd trapped in a hot guy’s body, it drives you insane. he could be standing in front of you looking all hot with that pilot uniform of his but the moment he opens his mouth? you just wanna jump him there and then. 

“how much do you love me?” caleb hums in response to your question. he has his arms around you, swaying the both of you ever so slightly from side to side. 

“honestly? like about 9.8 meters per second squared. in other words, gravity is pulling me towards you.” he grins before leaning in to kiss your cheek. 

“could’ve just said you love me to the moon and back.”

“flowery words are your thing, sweets. not mine.”

stem!bf caleb who invites you for a date night at his dorm.

you show up with snacks and a list of movies you want to watch with him, such as barbie because you are going to sit him down and explain how barbie is one of the best movies of the century and the message it conveys to women and little girls around the world— wait.. why is he surrounded with legos?

“what’s with the legos?” 

“it’s not just legos, pip. it’s the 7,500 pieces millenium falcon. come on, help me with it.” he pulled you down beside him on the carpet, your legs deposited on top of his lap and an arm enclosing you to his chest.

“so, you invited me here to make me do labor.” you grumbled seemingly annoyed yet the hand reaching out for the building manual says otherwise. caleb merely chuckles at your faux demise, pecking your temple. “don’t worry. we can watch barbie as we build. and.. we’ll do a powerpoint night tomorrow. deal?”

“deal.” and so you spent the entire night wrestling with tiny building blocks to help complete his beloved spaceship. 

stem bf!caleb who keeps every paper plane you give him. when unfolded, the paper is filled with your words of love dedicated to him. 

stem!bf caleb who is your very own human calculator. you always bring him with you during grocery runs so you can easily keep track of the total as you shop. 

“caleb, add this.”

“bread is $2.49.. your current total is now $11.27.”

“thanks, babe. now, let’s go get chips.”

stem!bf caleb who watches all your favorite films or shows in his free times. he remembers all the times you mentioned them in passing. 

“since when did you watch girl, interrupted?” 

“last night. you were talking about it the other day and i didn’t really know how to respond so i watched it. now, tell me all about lisa again. her character was really something— ah!” he got cut off by you throwing your arms around him and peppering his face with kisses.

stem bf! caleb who yaps about science theories during cuddle time. your head is on his chest, his arms tight around you.

“time slows down when the gravity increases. that’s what you call gravitational time dilation. like, imagine you’re on top of a very high mountain. time would pass faster for you than for someone at sea level because the gravity is weaker the farther you are from the center— babe?” caleb looks down, lips quirked upon seeing you dozed off. he pinches your nose, earning a sleepy whine from you. “stop.” 

“you promised to listen to me talk. are you breaking promises now, pip?” caleb leans closer to bite at your cheek, grinning widely when you push his face away. “i’ll let you yap later. nap comes first.”

“is that a promise?” 

“yes.”

“okay. i love you.”

“.. love you too.” 

“good night.”

“hm.”

“you know, einstein’s theory of relativity—” 

“sleep, caleb.” 

[magicdustsworld]

Would you believe if I say husband!Caleb is petty?

You've been in a pretty bad mood since this morning and all of your anger is targeted at him. However, rather than blowing up and taking the whole Linkon city down with you—you are hell bent on giving him the cold shoulder.

Caleb has tried everything in order to weasel back into your good graces; but you seem to not budge at all. Therefore, he does what any responsible, mature husband would do.

He tightens every single jar in the kitchen and places them in the highest rack.

It doesn't take long for the inevitable to occur. Sooner than he predicted, he hears the sound of your frustrated grumble floating from the kitchen. Barely hiding the conceit blooming in his chest, he strolls towards the damsel in distress—you.

"Fuck this," you curse under your breath, trying to twist the lid of pasta sauce jar with all your might.

No luck.

Caleb leans on the door, folding his arms over his chest and one of the most condescending smirks lines his lips. Watching as your expression shifts from stubborn determination to murderous rage in a matter of seconds.

"Got a problem, pipsqueak?"

You freeze for a second. The next, you whip around—death burning in your eyes. "You—" inhaling a sharp breath, voice deceptively low. "You did this on purpose."

Rather than admitting, he lifts a brow, "Did what? Store things out of your adorable little reach? That's just called good kitchen organization."

The corner of your lip curls down into a sneer—blood curdling in your veins. Stomping over to him, you thrust the jar to his chest, "Open it."

For all what Caleb is, he does take the jar from you but makes no effort to open it. Instead, he tilts his head, "No apology?"

"For what?"

"For freezing me the whole morning?" He says, tapping the lid. "You want me to do something then you gotta play nice, pipsqueak."

Again with that nickname...

Your fingers twitch, like you are considering the possibility of smacking some sense into him but choose against it. It is clear that he is enjoying this game he is playing—seeking out ways to prove just how dependent you are on him regarding everyday things. And although you don't want to ask for his help, you have little choice in the matter. Besides, with the way he is looking at you presently, the reason as to why you were mad at him is suddenly lost.

Taking a controlled deep breath, you school your expression into the most fake smile ever and say through gritted teeth, "My insufferable, dearest husband, will you please open the jar for me?"

Caleb grins, twisting the lid off with ease; an act which leaves you infuriated rather than impressed. "See? That wasn't so hard now, was it?"

Instantly you snatch it back, whispering something incomprehensible under your breath although Caleb catches the wisp of a word like jar opener. However, before you can walk away, your husband reaches for your wrist, tugging you back.

"Next time you are mad at me..." He pauses, weighing his next words carefully, "...just say so, hmm?"

With that, he seals his request with a chaste kiss to your forehead.

Your heartbeat seems to have increased by a mile—thumping inside your ribcage so hard that you can hear it. A heat spread over your cheek and ears. You let out a huff to shroud the fluster in your being.

"Next time, I am poisoning your food."

To which, Caleb laughs—that stupidly annoying laughter that makes you weak in your knees—before stealing another kiss on your lips.

"Then I'll just have to eat it, pipsqueak."

I've recently played lnds and I am obsessed with it 🥹

[elieenaliak]

Caleb who falls in love with a picky eater

Caleb who from a very young age knows that you’re not willing to touch most foods. he- not so- secretly observed you at lunch every-single-day for years to see what parts of you lunch you end up neglecting and now when he once again can cook for you, he is back at his not so subtle glances.

Caleb who never teases you about being picky, after all that’s what made him start cooking. making your life nicer is his biggest reward - nailing the flavours that you love and not even touching the ones that you don't like. He prefers to eat your leftovers as well- long finished his meal, he patiently waits for you to finish and give all that's you couldn't take anymore- with the portion size he is giving you, you might think you are an Olympic weightlifter.

Caleb who attempts -and succeeds- at bribing you through his food- he did win your heart through stomach after all- he is very giddy about it, giggling like a schoolgirl whenever he thinks about it - you love his food.

Caleb who knows it’s his life’s mission to make sure you are well fed.

Caleb who cooks for you three proper meals everyday, with no skip. you had to put a lock on kitchen door, to physically restrict him from cooking when he is sick, which did end up with him wailing about his "sugar" dying out of hunger.

Caleb who telepathically knows what you are going to prefer on specific days- Raining? Oh, he is already preparing soup, but not "just" soup. no, he is preparing "that one"- the Thai chicken soup, that you two tried once(3 years ago), while on a trip in Japan, the one you called delicious five times (he counted) -just to suggest it politely after.

Caleb who will take away any items off of a dish in any events-everywhere, all the time- you two visit before you even ask, hell even before you even can think about it, if he is not the cook.( his food, after all does not contain anything you have no taste for) nothing to be embarrassed about! food is meant to be enjoyed! and he will do anything, just for you not to worry.

Caleb who will quite literally do anything- backflip, sell his soul, be a monk, go bald, can even explode!- to make sure you’re happy, healthy, and not hungry!!

[swanlikely]

Current Brainrot: Brat Enabler Caleb!

Author's Note: The poll ended 50/50, so I made the executive (and very self-indulgent) decision to go with Brat Enabler Caleb! because sometimes I just wanna be spoiled, okay? Please check out the artist! (Artist & Her Ko-fi!)

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

CW: AFAB! reader, pet names, penetration, overstimulation, praise, light D/S dynamics, slight dacryphilia, and 'usage' of his bionic arm.

Caleb loves you like it’s coded into him. Like it’s in his blood, his bones, his circuitry.

He does it without effort, like breathing. Like the pulse of a machine: constant, precise, unyielding.

And he’d give you anything. Anything. Just one pout, one whimper, one soft little “Caleb, please”—and he’s dropping whatever he’s doing to hand it over. A brat’s dream. He doesn’t care if it’s indulgent or excessive or unnecessary. If you want it? You get it.

He’s always there. Cooking your favorite meals with one hand while the other; his right, sleek and gleaming with matte black plating—rests on the curve of your hip as you sit on the counter and sneak bites. That arm, the one people used to flinch at, has never once made you nervous. It’s part of him. Him, who tucks you in like you’re something breakable, who lifts you like you weigh nothing, who touches you with inhuman control and completely human care.

And right now, he’s using both hands: one warm, flesh and blood; the other cool, mechanical precision; to ruin you in the most delicious ways.

You’re spread out under him, legs trembling, body already gone boneless from orgasm after orgasm. You’ve stopped counting. It doesn’t matter. Caleb never stops at one. Or two. Or three.

His thick cock is buried in you, slow and steady, dragging against the places that make your vision flicker. One hand cradles your jaw; his real one, calloused and gentle. The other, his metal arm; is between your legs, thumb pressed to your clit, writing his name into you in soft, pretty patterns.

C. A. L. E. B.

Over and over again. Cold metal, careful pressure, devastating control.

Your skin is flushed, sticky with sweat. Your hands tremble where they grip at his broad shoulders, desperately trying to ground yourself. One of your legs is hooked over his waist, the other shaking helplessly against the mattress, every muscle twitching with the tension he’s building back up in you.

You're crying now, sobbing openly, your voice gone hoarse from how much you’ve moaned and gasped and begged. But he’s not stopping. He’s adoring. Reverent.

“Fuck Pips,” he groans, voice wrecked with how hard he’s holding back. “You’re everything.”

His thumb strokes another letter and you keen, your hips jerking. “Can’t—Caleb—too much, it’s too—”

“Yes, you can,” he coos, leaning in to kiss your parted lips. His tongue traces yours, measured and possessive, like he has all the time in the world. “You can take it. You are taking it. You always do.”

The flex of his hips deepens; calculated, but heavier now. Like he’s letting himself feel just a little more, just enough to tip you further. You feel him everywhere: inside you, against your clit, in the weight of his chest brushing yours, the tremble in his breath. He smells like sweat and heat and you. “You wanted this, remember? You asked for it. And you know I’d never say no to you.”

You grip at his back, your nails catching on the seam where flesh meets metal. He shudders; groans low in his throat, more sound than word.

“You’re fuckin’ perfect,” he mutters, burying his face in your neck. “So pretty when you cry for me. So sweet, you were made for this. Made for me.”

You weep at the reminder—how easy it is with him. How good he is to you. The worship, the rapture, the indulgence of it all. The fact that you don’t even have to earn it. You just have to be.

His robotic hand doesn’t falter. Ever. Each movement is exactly what you need, no more, no less. Meticulous. Devoted.

You can feel it building again; your body tightening, coiling, heat spilling down your spine like liquid fire. Your walls flutter around him, desperate and close and so overstimulated. He feels it. He always does.

His voice drops into a growl, desperate and reverent all at once.

“Give it to me. C’mon, Pips—give it to me. Let me feel you fall apart.”

And you do.

You come again; shaking, sobbing, gripping him like a lifeline. Your cries fill the room, gasping and broken, and he keeps moving, keeps whispering, like your pleasure is something holy.

He was bullying your poor sloppy cunt, but in the sweetest way a man could: just enough to make it mean something, dragging it out so every pulse of pleasure felt personal. A gift he was determined to give you again and again, until you had no words left but his name.

“That’s it,” he breathes. “That’s my girl. Mine. Always.”

Only when you’ve gone limp beneath him, body completely undone, does he finally let himself go. His hips stutter, cock twitching deep inside you as he moans your name like a prayer. He stays buried, locked to you, his metal hand stroking your thigh now, pleasant and patient.

He kisses your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your swollen mouth.

“Breathe, baby,” he says softly, like he didn’t just wreck you with love and machinery and absolute, overwhelming need. “You did so good. My pretty girl.”

And even though you’re trembling, tears drying on your cheeks, the only thing you can do is nod: because it’s true.

Caleb would do anything for you. Break himself in half. Hold you together. Build you a new world with his bare hands.

And you would let him.

Because no one loves like he does.

No one ever will.

[umamaki]

Caleb who is just so fucking big that he has trouble physically fitting into your life. He’s as buff as he is tall, and as hot as it makes him, it’s becoming an inconvenience to you both. Good luck having him over if you own anything less than a king bed. Despite the amount of times his weight alone has split the bedframe, you still haven’t upgraded your sleeping situation. Even laying on his side he’s taking up more than half your mattress. You will typically lay on top of him, but even that gets uncomfortable after a while. Especially after he’s just fucked you to oblivion, assuredly leaving your entire lower half sore for the next day or three. You’ll wake up in the morning somehow underneath him, being suffocated from his huge biceps having unknowingly wrapping themselves around your small frame. Not to mention that his shoulders alone practically measure the width of your shower. He’s just too big. You don’t even entertain the idea of shower sex at your apartment. The glass panes let you watch him struggle to bend down to just get his head under the showerhead, and you feel like some sort of voyer watching him. It’s perverted, it’s creepy. Yet it’s extremely arousing, the way he barely fits into a shower you use so comfortably. And all you can do is watch him and wait until he comes out to finally satisfy your heat.

[erensfeed]

THE PARALLELS ARE INSANE.

I LOVE ME SOME OF WHATEVER THIS IS/WHATEVER CALEB AND ZAYNE ARE (GONNA BE) TO EACH OTHER

[cosmoszyn]

the other half (of an airpod) | caleb.

✩ synopsis: you distractedly leave the other half of your airpod on the kitchen counter while you watch porn in your room, prompting your roommate's curiosity.

✩ pairing: roommate!caleb x afab!reader / wc: 7.9k

✩ cw: porn watching, pet names (pip, baby, honey), masturbation, cunnilingus, fingering, p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampie, caleb’s pull out game is WEAK, and he kinda invades ur privacy idk, emotional sex, porn with plot, caleb doesnt shut the fuck up during sex, eventual romance

✩ crossposted in my ao3

✩ a/n: a day late to caleb's bday lol :p

It was a normal evening.

It was supposed to be a normal evening.

You were just doing the same things you routinely do whenever your work busted your ass–a regimen that consists of your vibrator on one hand, and your phone on the other. And of course, one airpod in and the other one out, just in case your roommate, Caleb, calls you from the living room. 

Unfortunately, you needed to fall back into that routine tonight. Again. For the fifth time this week. And so, immediately after coming home, with both airpods in your ears, you make your bed with one hand gripping on your phone in your dimly lit room, scrolling through dozens of videos at a porn website–trying and failing to find one that fits whatever sexual fantasy you are up tonight.

Roleplay? Not really.

BDSM? Eh, maybe for another day.

Voyeurism? Feels a little boring tonight.

Distractedly and way too grossly absorbed in your mission, you make your way to the kitchen to grab yourself a glass of water while you’re already on the seventh page of the website.

“Preparin’ for bed this early?” Your roommate calls out to you in the living room, albeit muffled by the earbuds. You pull one airpod from your ear and place them unsuspectingly on the counter as you pour yourself a glass.

 “Hmm? What was that?” You ask while fixated on the device.

Caleb repeats the question, glancing at you from the sofa, “You’re sleepin’ early. Tired?”

“Oh, yeah. Sleepy as hell,” you murmur, returning to your room with one hand on your phone that’s on the ninth page of the website, a glass full of water, and one airpod forgotten on the kitchen counter.

“Alright, g’night,” Caleb says with a wave of his hand, watching you disappear from his peripheral vision.

And it was supposed to be a normal evening.

Because as you were burying yourself atop the blankets, tapping on the perfect ‘amateur sex and creampied by new boyfriend!’ video you found at the start of the tenth page to indulge yourself with, Caleb waltzes his way through the kitchen and sees the other half of your airpod sitting invitingly on the countertop. 

You pull a small vibrator from underneath your pillow, clicking it open to the lowest setting. The couple in the video begins shakily, both their upper faces out of the frame, lenses focusing on their unhurried kissing. With a gulp, you lightly press the toy against your clothed crotch, hovering over your clit.

Curiously, Caleb picks up the airpod on the counter.

The video pauses, but you ignore the warning sign, tapping the other half of your airpod to play it again. The man in the video glides his fingers over the skin of his partner, hands grazing over her perky nipples, eliciting a whine from her, and down, down, and down to her covered and sopping cunt. He drags his fingertips lazily over the cute baby blue panties, collecting the dampness from her slit. Your breath hitches, pulling your underwear to the side as you press the vibrator closer to your clit with one hand and the other grabbing the hem of your shirt, biting onto it.

Caleb presses the airpod against his ear.

Another pause, but you tap the other half again exasperatedly.

Caleb could barely make out the noises. He thought it was just the usual white noise for sleeping that you would play in the background. After all, the sound of air conditioning from the video in the first seconds could be classified as that. But as soon as the noises from the AC were overshadowed by the slow and heavy breathing then to small kisses to the most obscene and downright filthy moans, he freezes.

The woman is begging through high-pitched whines. Pleading that her partner pushes his fucking fingers in her, instead of teasing her like she wasn’t his girlfriend. The man lowly chuckles in her ear, slipping his hands into her panties, lips hovering across her cheek.

“Hm? Girlfriend? Since when?”

“N-Not fair! I already–ah! Asked you ‘ta be m-mine!”

“Really? My sweetheart asked?”

“Mmm! Mmhmm!”

“But why should I touch you here? You filthy girl. Letting yourself be touched by your friend. You’d let anyone touch you, huh? That’s how needy you are, hm? D’you need my fingers? Where do you need it? Use your big girl words, baby.”

Caleb’s cheeks flush and heat rushes everywhere in his body.

It was supposed to be a normal evening.

Until it wasn’t.

Without another second to waste, he pads through the small space of your apartment.

You pull your panties down to your thighs, spreading your legs atop your mattress, pressing the vibrator harder to your clit. With a shaky exhale, you let go of your phone on your breasts, grabbing another longer vibrator underneath your pillow. You press the longer one into your entrance, tapping on the power thrice–to its maximum setting, and slowly push into your wet cunt. You bite back a moan, saliva collecting on the hem of your shirt. The woman in the video moans louder as her partner pushes another finger in her vagina, the other hand deliberately circling around her clit.

“Oh my good girl likes when I rub it here and fuck my fingers into her huh?”

Your eyes roll to the back of your head as the longer vibrator hits the hilt.

A knock to the door.

“Hey uh pip?”

Fuck.

Your eyes fly open as you spit out your shirt, hands frozen in your crotch. “Y-Yeah, Caleb? What’s up?” You say shakily, in between breaths.

“You left your other airpod out in the kitchen, you need it?” 

Shit. Shit. SHIT.

“No! Uh– fuck– Just leave it by the shelf near the door!” You yell out, helplessly ignoring the relentless vibrating of the toy inside you and unable to pull it away from your clit.

Shit, did you lock the door?

“Are you sure? It might be important–”

“I’m fucking sure, Caleb! Don’t listen to my shit!” You choke, fingers trembling over your toys settled in your pussy while the video continues to play in the background.

“Oh baby she’s clenching for me, you close? Hmm?”

“Just put it on the shelf!” You repeat, finding the strength to pull the toys out–to no avail.

“I’ll just come in, okay? I’ll give you your airpod–”

“Don’t you fucking dare–!”

Caleb swings the door open.

“Hi,” you gulp.

“P-Please don’t stop, please! Put it back in!”

He sees you breathing heavily with one airpod in your ear, moonlight filtering through your sheer curtains, and beads of sweat trickling down your temple. 

“Hey,” Caleb replies, darting his eyes on your body.

Fully engulfed under the sheets.

“Just leave my airpod by the dresser,” you exhale, eyes glazing over the shadows of his taut muscles behind his shirt.

“Okay,” he breathes out, his gaze never leaving your figure and feet planted to the floor as if he didn’t hear what you asked him to do. “You seem to be panting heavily. You okay?” He asks, words rolling off his tongue slowly. You swallow thickly, “Of course, yeah. J-Just a little hot. I think my AC’s acting up,” you grit.

“Really?” Caleb raises his hand to the direction of the wind, “Seems fine to me.”

“She’s begging so prettily for me, aren’t ‘cha? You want me to put it back in?”

“Oh.”

He stares at you, eyes unreadable. There was no movement underneath the sheets, your lips are slightly parted, and a half lidded look on your irises. 

“Caleb,” you call out.

He takes a step forward, “Yes?”

He can feel his bulge hardening as he waits expectantly for your words.

“Ngh- ugh- thank you! Thank you! Fuck that feels good!” 

“The other half of the airpod. Leave it by the dresser,” you say casually like you don’t have a woman moaning in your ear and a vibrator shoved up your clenching pussy.

Caleb huffs, eyes lingering at the earbud “Right.”

“Don’t put it in,” you warn, noticing the way he watches the earbud like a hawk. “Why not?” Caleb asks. You resist the urge to roll your eyes, “Just don’t or else I’ll get mad.”

“Feels good, baby? Right here feels good?”

Caleb fiddles with the airpods between his fingers, signalling the on and off of the video. You bite the inside of your cheek, waiting patiently for your roommate to leave you alone.

“I’m cumming! I’m cumming! I–”

“Fine,” he relents, placing the lone device on your dresser. You expect him to leave. 

“Where’s your phone?” He asks, shifting his weight to his other foot.

“Caleb.”

He throws his arms in the air, “Just askin’ geez.”

Perspiration continues to trickle down the sides of your face with an evident blush on your cheeks.

“Why don’t we take your sheets off? You’re sweatin’ like crazy,” he murmurs, stalking over your trembling figure.

“No, Caleb! Stop right there!” You beg.

“Oh my good girl came a lot, didn’t she? Hm? She came a lot, didn’t she?”

Oh fuck.

“What? I’ll just help you out, ‘s all,” he shrugs, fixated on your blushing skin, lips slightly parted, and glazed eyes staring at his biceps.

You must think he’s dumb enough not to hear the low vibrations of your toy from underneath the piles of sheets.

“Y-You–fuck–you can help me by leaving and locking the door on your way out,” you huff. He blinks at you as he stands beside your bed, his shadow looming over you. “No need to be hostile,” he says, reaching to the end of the blanket. “I’m sure you’re just having trouble sleeping, right? I’ll just lay beside you like we always do when we were kids,” he continued, gently pulling the sheet away from your iron grip.

“Please fuck me next, god please.”

You gulp. “Caleb, stop,” you beg, eyes looking up at him pleadingly.

He tilts his head in curiosity, “Why? I’ll just lay beside you, I promise.”

“Aren’t ‘cha greedy, your pussy’s just swallowin’ me up and clenchin’ hard.”

Caleb tugs the duvet from you as you protest, “It’s embarrassing, I’m a grown woman already–!”

He drags the sheets away from you, exposing your figure. 

There you are in your full glory–a smaller vibrator and phone tossed to your side as it continues to show two people fucking like bunnies and panties down to your thighs. Your legs are quivering with every rhythmic vibration from the shoved toy in your pussy, clit swollen, and lips drenched.

“Caleb!” You hiss, both from the cold air and embarrassment, scrambling to pull out the toys away from your crotch. “You assho–!”

“Oh baby. Don’t even think about finishing that sentence.”

You freeze in your tracks, slowly darting your gaze to your childhood friend standing across your bed, his pupils blown out and lips slightly parted. You swear you could almost see him stick out his tongue and pant like a dog in heat. At this point, you can barely feel any pleasure from the toy in your cunt, just pure torture and discomfort.

“Ugh! F-Fuck! Hah… You feel so fuckin’ good!”

“C-Caleb?” You whisper, hands itching to grab the blanket and pull out your vibrator from your legs. Your voice cuts Caleb out from his daze. 

“Oh baby,” he repeats in a pout, kneeling to your mattress, prompting you to pull yourself away from him, “What are you doing? What are you doin’ with this– this… atrocious thing?” He asks, peering into your crotch. “And what are you doin’ watching this disgusting thing?” He continues, stealing a glimpse of your phone before shutting it close, zipping the sultry moans in your ear.

“You could’ve just asked me to help you, baby. Right? You should know that,” he rambles, fingers hovering closer.

“Don’t–!”

“Shh, shhh it’s okay. It’s okay. Caleb’s got you,” he yaps, as if his brain is shut and dead, eyes on laser focus and preying on your poor clenching pussy. 

“Caleb!” You call out, shaking him out from a trance. Caleb shakes his head, turning to you, “Yes?” He asks, as if he isn’t settling between your legs. “Leave, please,” you beg, tears forming in your eyes. He frowns and he does his stupid head tilt thing that he always seems to do to get what he wants from you. 

“Why?” He demands.

“I-It’s weird! And god I just want some time alone and you’re here looking at my pathetic state–it’s not even hot and sexy!” You complain, pulling the blanket to your lap. He raises a brow at you but you dart your gaze elsewhere, fixating on the crinkles of your sheets underneath your palms. 

“Hey,” he begins.

You don’t budge.

“Hey.”

Caleb takes your chin between his fingers and gently pulls it forward, urging you to look at him. “Who said you look pathetic and ‘not hot and sexy’? Hm?” He murmurs, inching closer to you. “I’m more appalled you didn’t come to me for help.”

“We’re friends, Caleb. Friends don’t ask you to help you get an orgasm!” You retort with furrowed brows and a scowl.

“I do.”

“What–?”

You could only stare at him owlishly and your mouth agape. 

“You know I’d do anythin’ you ask me to, baby,” he coos, “This one isn’t any different.”

“Oh god, no. This would make things weirder between us and I don’t want that. Not in a million years, Caleb. No way…” The words slowly die in your throat as he only peers into your personal space earnestly, his breath fanning your cheeks. 

“Things have never been normal for us, ever. And I’ve had enough with holdin’ back. So you can either let me help you or we remain tiptoeing around each other forever,” he whispers, thumb caressing your cheek.

You swallow thickly, weighing your options. You glance from Caleb’s eyes to his lips, heart thumping against your chest wildly. The incessant vibrating between your crotch turned into agony minutes ago and there seems to be no other way around the situation. With a soft sigh and a bite inside your cheek, you slowly peel the blanket away from you, exposing your shaking legs.

Caleb merely spares a glance on your vulnerable crotch, removing the lone airpod in your ear. “You trust me to take care of you?” He asks in a low voice. You shy away from his intense stare, nodding. 

“I need your big girl words, baby,” he muttered, grabbing your chin again, turning you to him, “Do you trust me to take care of you?”

You slowly blink at him, drowning in the cosmos of his eyes and studying every freckle, mole, and blemish on his skin. With bated breath, you say, “Yes, Caleb. Please… Please take care of me.”

“Then we won’t need this,” he declares, pulling himself away from you and wasting no time to pull out the vibrator from your vagina. “Careful!” You hiss from the soreness, clawing into your sheets. 

Your roommate chuckles, “I’m sorry, baby. We had to get it out of the way.”

But before you could glare at him, his palms reached for your cheeks, cradling your face with adoration that you were sure you could melt from. “Let me take care of you, okay?” He mumbled, leaning his forehead on yours, pupils dilated and boring into yours. You were floored at the sudden drop of atmosphere within the room, but you were not one to complain. Not when you have the man you’ve thought of when watching all those porn for the past months is within your reach.

“And for me to take care of you, you’ll let me do anything, right?” He asks. You could barely muster a reply with the way you forgot to breathe in the close proximity of your supposed roommate.

“Caleb…”

He mentions your name back, the tip of his nose grazing against yours, “Hmm?” He steals a glimpse of your lips before looking back at your irises.

“Can you just kiss me?” You exhale. 

Caleb smiles, one that reaches his eyes, turning them into small squints. Without hesitation, his lips touch yours, barely brushing each other. Until he grabs the back of your head and locks his mouth into yours, eliciting a moan from you. He feels like he might actually ascend into heaven. He dreamt of this moment for as long as he can remember, always daydreaming and losing himself on the thought of how your whimpers would sound like. How your lips felt like. And now that Caleb is here and you’re here with him, he feels like he might actually be in the clouds.

His cheeks are burning as he continues to devour your lips, his heart beating against his ribcage. Your trembling fingers tangle into his hair, pushing him impossibly closer to you. He feels the wet patch from your panties on your thighs, making him groan against your mouth, lapping up the mixed spit. 

His hands roam across your chest, cupping your breasts over your shirt. Sighs and moans passed between your meeting lips, fingernails digging into the skin of his nape. With a gentle squeeze, he moves forward between your legs, making you lean back into the headboard. He massages your boobs, thumbs grazing over your perky nipples underneath the thin fabric of your shirt. “Oh baby they’re stiff,” he murmurs against your mouth. Caleb reaches from underneath, his hot fingertips trailing your skin until he finds your nipples. He pinches the buds, making you yelp in surprise. He grins, luring your tongue into his mouth and quickly clamping his lips around it, sucking on it. 

You can feel yourself getting warmer and weaker by the second, your grip loosening and slacking onto your sides as Caleb continues to guzzle your saliva down his throat. With feeble hands, you push away your roommate from completely swallowing you.

“Oh– ugh, enough, please,” you groan, tilting your head back as you shakily prop yourself up. Caleb merely smirks at your request, hands gripping into your hips, “Enough?” He mocks, “We just started.”

You look up at him with a frail scowl and he snickers, pulling away. “Don’t look at me like that, I’ll fulfill my promise, I swear,” he says, tugging his shirt and sweatpants off.

It takes everything in your system to not blatantly ogle at the shadows of his muscles–and you still fail. Admiring every dip and curve of his body, you bite the inside of your cheek, noticing the dog tag around his neck settling just above his massive pecs. He chuckles at your insistent gawking, “Come on, your turn.” 

You couldn’t even process what he just said, too caught up in drooling over his body that was carved by the gods that you didn’t even notice that he stripped you down bare. Your clothes are strewn across the room but you didn’t care, not when Caleb smashes his mouth against yours again. 

“Fuck I can’t look at you,” he murmurs and you feel your heart sink to your stomach.

What does he mean by that? Did he find you horrifying to look at? What he said was true though, after taking off every fabric from your skin, he went ahead and kissed you again without sparing you a glance.

“I might just fucking cum alone from seeing your body.”

Oh.

Oh.

“You stupid loser,” you grumble, biting his bottom lip. “What did I do?” Caleb suddenly asks, scrambling away to look at you with those large doe eyes that you hate (because you fall for it everytime).

“I thought you fucking hated me for a second back there,” you huff, gaze trailing down to the large tent in his boxers, “Telling me how you can’t look at me.”

Caleb shoots you an apologetic grin, his clammy hands reaching for your thighs and rubbing the skin up and down. “Silly girl,” he mumbles, hovering his lips against yours again, “I can’t look at you because you’ll see how pathetic I am when I cum in my fucking pants.”

You giggle and a sigh escapes your lips when Caleb’s meets yours again, feeling his smile with every glide of his tongue. Caleb never knew kissing you would feel this good, and he swears he can get off from just doing this alone with you for the entire night. But he has a mission to fulfill and he refuses to leave you hanging.

With profound determination, he palms your crotch gently, collecting the wetness in his hand. “Oh I just know you’ll feel good. My god,” he says.

“We’re not even halfway through this and you’re already clicking your heels together in excitement,” you joke and his chest bubbles up in laughter. 

“Can you blame me, baby? I’ve dreamt of this moment since forever,” he replies, inserting his tongue back into your mouth again. His index finger gently caresses over your slit, making you catch your breathing in your throat. You can only concentrate on one thing, and with so much going on–his finger slowly rubbing over your entrance, his tongue dancing with yours, and his other hand reaching over and massaging your breasts, you were far too gone. To the point where you actively have to think about breathing before your lungs could collapse.

All your efforts to will yourself to suspire was thrown out the window when Caleb’s middle finger grazed over your clit. You choke into his mouth, pulling away from him. 

“She’s sensitive, isn’t she?” Caleb coos as you throw your head into the crook of his neck, inhaling his musky perfume. He rubs the nub with his fingertips in circular motions, making your legs tremble heavily. Caleb plants open-mouthed kisses down your jaw, tongue slowly gliding the curvature of your skin. His lips latch onto every inch of your skin, noticing the way your breathing hitches with every suck on your body.

And down, down, down, he effortlessly runs his tongue on every crevice of your figure until he comes face-to-face with your boobs. He could cry at the sight alone.

“Unbelievable. Truly unbelievable,” he mumbles, staring at the mounds in your chest, fingers still rubbing your clit in circular motion like it’s his second nature. “You are unbelievably beautiful,” he grits, burying his face right between your breasts. You gasp, feeling him slowly lick long stripes between your nipples like he’s carving a path to them. 

As soon as his lips catch your left nipple, he groans and you choke a breath. 

“Hah– Caleb–”

“Hmm? You like it?” He mumbles in between your breasts.

You can’t even reply even if you wanted to, your hand flying to his neck and gripping onto it like your life depended on him. He continues to abuse your swollen clit, collecting your wetness from your entrance. “You’re shaking so much. That’s what you get for using a toy instead of calling for me,” he reprimands.

“Don’t scold me now, Caleb–ah!”

He pinches your nub and bites your nipple gently, earning a yelp from you and nails dig into his skin harder. “‘M sorry, baby. I just wanted to remind you, ‘s all,” he mumbles, focusing on your labored breaths. He spits out the swollen nipple, a trail of his saliva connecting to his chin as he leans forward to your other breast.

“Won’t scold you anymore, promise,” he continues, pressing your clit with the pad of his thumb and sucking on your right boob.

“O-oh shit! You– I can’t–!” You press your legs together, only for Caleb to pull it apart effortlessly with his one hand, pinning your left leg to the mattress. “I know baby, I know,” he coos, almost whining as he forces himself to remove his mouth from your addictive breasts, propping himself up. You fall your hands to your sides in naught. “It feels too good, right? Right?” He breathed lightly, eyes trailing down your body. He stares at your boobs, jiggling to the way you writhe under his touch, and the mixture of sweat and his saliva trickling down between the valley. He could feel his dick harden at the sight alone, urging him to swallow thickly and turn to your face instead.

Which was a mistake.

The moment he does, he is met with your gaping, trembling lips with drool slipping out on the side and half-lidded eyes staring up at him. You catch him peering at you and mindlessly, you outstretch your arms to him, making grabby hands.

“Oh how can I deny you? My sweet sweet baby,” he babbles, removing his hand from your thigh and interlocking his fingers with yours. Without warning, he inserts his ring finger to your entrance with his thumb still hovering over your clit, drawing a choked breath from you. 

“Baby you’re so warm, I can feel you so much,” he muses, “It makes me feel… things.”

You furrow your brows at him but before you can ask him, what the hell is he talking about, he yanks his finger out of you and settles it onto your hip, the other one still laced around yours, and lays on his stomach–face to face with your crotch. He watches your slick run down your folds albeit hypnotized. 

Glossy and looks inviting, it’s like it was his first time seeing pussy. But it’s yours. That changes everything, because he doesn’t count all the other ones he had before you. Simply ‘cause it’s not yours. Caleb sticks his tongue out and exhales heavily, feeling all the lust clouding his mind.  

“I’m going to fuck my tongue into you,” Caleb declares casually.

“Huh? Wha–!”

You couldn’t even cry out if you wanted to, not when he rams his tongue into your entrance without any other explanation. He whimpers, dazed and watery eyes flickering up at yours, gripping onto your hips like his lifeline. Caleb drags himself into the cold mattress, desperate for any relief in his boxers as he wraps his lips around your cunt, tongue flicking up to your clit. Your fingers grab a fistful of his hair, unknowingly planting him further into your pussy. 

“F-fuck,” you whine, throwing your head back, feeling him lay his tongue flat against your slit, slurping up all your sweet sweet juices. 

“I love how you taste, so so fuckin’ delicious,” he yaps, feeling the vibrations of his words in your vagina. Caleb buries tongue further into you, the tip of his nose pressing against your clit, “I could stay here forever, you’d let me do that right?” He asks, licking a long sloppy stripe into your entrance. You gnaw your bottom lip, wheezing from the way he was eating you out like you were his last meal. “Right? Right?” He huffs, swallowing and slurping at the same time like he was crazed. 

You open your mouth to answer but he wouldn’t even let you do that as he kitten licks and sucks your clit rhythmically. “Caleb, wait!” You choke, pulling his hair harder.

“Baby, you’d let me eat you all night, right?” He repeats, looking up at you with fawn written in his features. You blink at him, huffing and puffing, “I-I can’t–” 

“Wrong answer baby,” he grunts before diving back into you, cramming his wet muscle into you again. “Y-you didn’t even let me fuckin– hah! Finish my goddamn– hng sentence!” You exclaim, thrashing your hips into his greedy mouth, feeling the tip of his nose rub against your swollen nub again. Your legs shake profusely beside him, growing weaker with each second that Caleb fucks his tongue into you. 

“Don’t– mwa!-- need– mwa!-- to!” He replies in between messy kisses, exploring your cunt feverishly. 

“Oh f-fuuuck, feels good. Sho sho good,” you whine, pressing your head into the pillow in embarrassment. Caleb continues to eat you out like all his love for you could only be translated into your pussy, smearing his freckled face with all your juices while lapping every single liquid that you excrete. “I know baby, I know,” he mumbles and he feels your cunt sporadically twitch in his mouth. 

“Baby I think she’s close. Are you close, baby?” He heaved and you could only shake your head, “I-I dun’ know!”

He chuckles against your clit and that does it.

You’re spasming, gush of liquid rippling out of your pussy and straight into Caleb’s throat, guzzling them down like they’re sacred and all so holy. Your legs shake intensely from the onslaught of his tongue, seeing the kaleidoscopic colors and light behind your eyes as you muffle your screams into the cushion while you dig your nails into his scalp and knuckles. 

“F-fuh–! Caleb! E-enough!” You plead, jaw widely ajar as Caleb laps up your slobbering mess of a cunt. “Mmh, not yet. Please,” he begs back, rubbing circles in your hips. With a choked breath and all the remaining strength in your body, you pull his head away from your sensitive pussy. 

You exhale in short breaths as you memorize the sight from across you–your childhood friend kneeling between your legs with the dim light kissing his flushed skin. A slippery trail of your arousal drips down his chin, glistening under the moonlight. You mindlessly follow the movement of his chest, admiring his muscles and down to his crotch, noticing the wet patch on his boxers.

“I love how you taste,” Caleb declares in between pants, tongue licking a stripe on his lips. He seems spellbound, fixated on your half-lidded eyes and hair sprawled across the pillows. His heartbeat thumps wildly against his chest, wanting to pinch himself to realize that all of this is real. That he just ate you out ferociously, the same way he dreams about it every single night.

“I love you.”

“Huh?” 

You slip your fingers away from his grasp and detach his grip from your hip. He frowns at your actions, “I said I love you,” he declares. You ignore his words and the heavy scowl he’s sending in your direction, noticing the water forming in his eyes. Instead, you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down to crush you with his weight, his heavy bulge protruding against your stomach.

You burrow your nose into his scalp, fingers threading through his hair, “You sure about that? Or are you just saying that to have sex with me?” You mumble.

You can feel the glare Caleb is forming against your skin but you refuse to let him prop himself up.

“What do you mean? I don’t care if I don’t fuck you, I’m in love with you,” he grumbles, resisting the urge to bite the curve of your neck in annoyance. You hum in response, massaging your fingertips into his scalp, having him slowly melt into your touch. He was glad you were caressing him in all the right places, feeling all his irritation slip away momentarily.

“Well you’re in luck,” you murmur. He furrows his brows and you let him pull himself up, the palm of his hand beside you.

“What?” He asks questioningly, his dogtag dangling close to your breasts. You send him a soft smile, “I feel the same way, perchance.”

Caleb stares at you incredulously, “Perchance?”

You giggle, “I… I love you too, Caleb.”

Blink.

Once.

Twice.

Tears form in his eyes. 

“What…?” He gags.

“You don’t like it?” You raise a brow at him, biting the inside of your cheek. Before you can even register the salty liquid rolling down his face, he mangles himself into your limbs, burying into your skin. 

“C-Caleb?”

You were replied with muted sniffles and pecks of kisses in your neck. 

“Are you okay?” You ask again. He nods, wrapping his biceps around your shoulders and gripping you tight. “I-I just don’t think this will happen,” he admits.

“Why not?” You trace your name into his back followed by small hearts and his name. He just shrugs in response and you feel your collarbones turning damp because of his tears. You lowly chuckle, fingertips creeping up to his nape.

“Hmm.. So does that mean we won’t fuck anymore?” You ask, lips curving up in an amused smile. 

Caleb’s ears perk up, propping himself up with his elbow, “You’d let me do that?”

It was your turn to shrug, “That’s why you were here in the first place right?”

He didn’t have to be told twice. He pulls himself up between snivels and peels his boxers away. And the sight alone can bring you to your knees.

“Oh.” You inhale shakily, “You’re big.”

Caleb glances down to the direction of your eyes, “I guess it’s above average,” he says as-a-matter-of-factly. And you hate him for it. Because what does he mean that after all this time, after all the years of being roommates with him, this is what he’s hiding from you?! 

Your train of thought gets cut off as he strokes your cheek with the palm of his hand, hovering above you carefully. “Just so you know, I do this out of love for you,” he mentions, staring into your blown out pupils. 

“I know, I do too,” you reply, bringing a hand to his jaw. You steal a glimpse of his lips and he smiled, “Guess we’re even.”

Before you can even ask what he means, Caleb leans into you, locking his mouth against yours. Caleb feels like he could kiss you for eternity and still be insatiable, especially when he finally had a taste of you–hearing your soft whimpers and your attempts to muffle your sounds by swallowing them all as his tongue glides over your soft lips. Caleb sighs contentedly between your locked mouths, sucking on your bottom lip. You whine helplessly, slightly fluttering your eyelids only to be met with his pupils, staring right back at you while you kiss each other delicately. He slowly pulls away, breathlessly peering into your features–memorizing each mole, freckle, and scar.

You hated having him not in your mouth, however. So you close the distance between you two, tangling your legs around his hips and feeling his impossibly hard bulge into your stomach, meeting Caleb’s lips once more. 

Caleb pushes his thumb against your chin, shoving his tongue down your throat.

“Hah… Ca… Caleb,” you whine, cupping both his cheeks with the palms of your hand. He hums mindlessly, too engrossed with the way you taste.

“I think we should fuck.”

The gears in Caleb’s brain begin to churn. His eyes fly wide open, meeting your squinted gaze and grin. 

“Y-You think?” He mutters. 

You nod. 

He glances down and nods the same, gulping. Caleb takes his leaking tip, aligning himself against your slobbering entrance before huffing.

“Is this your first time?” You ask curiously and he shakes his head with shame written all over his features, “Unfortunately not.” 

“Then it’s okay, it’s not my first time either.”

He whips his head to your direction faster than the speed of light. Caleb gazes down at you with his purple puppy dog eyes and lips jutting out in dejection. “What do you mean it’s not your first time? You’ve had other people before me?” He seethes, jealousy bubbling up his chest and red eyes welling up, urging you to roll your eyes playfully, “I’m not your first time either, baby. We’re even.”

He didn’t even hear what you said. His clouded brain could only register the pet name you just called him and it bogged him how you could be oh so perfect.

“Okay,” he says casually, forgetting what the conversation was about.

Caleb returns to his mission, dragging the head of his cock to your entrance. You gulp, steadying your breathing as you feel him slowly collecting your liquid between your legs. And the second that his tip sinks into your cunt, he shivers. He could feel the tears forming back in his eyes again. He focuses on your crotch, drooling at the glistening and dripping cunt, With a shaky breath, “I-I’ll push myself in.”

Fat tears roll down Caleb’s cheeks as he eases his impossibly hard cock into your warm cunt. 

“O-oh, fuck,” he whines, creases forming between his eyebrows. He can’t even look at you and he’s glad that you’re suppressing all sounds from your throat. Because he’s sure the moment you let out the slightest moan, he’d cum without even burying himself halfway yet.

“Baby, you’re so warm inside,” he cries, choking back a groan. His eyes find the ceiling, praying to all the gods above of a miracle of letting him last for more than a minute inside you. “Caleb, baby, please push yourself in,” you beg.

And that’s all it took to thrust himself to the hilt.

“S-shit! Caleb!” 

“God. F-fuck,” he moans, eyes rolling to the back of his head. His grip on your hips tightens as the salty liquid runs down his cheeks, breathing unstable, and focused on your warm and snug cunt. He darts his gaze to the inky sky behind the sheer curtains in your room, silently praying to the gods to let him last at least a minute. 

Unfortunately, fate doesn’t seem to be on his side tonight. Because the moment he ends his prayer, he decides to gawk at you beneath him. Which ends up being his second mistake for the night. Your tear-glazed eyes bore into his with that half-lidded look that feels like he’s magnetized to you all over again, your swollen lips quivering at the biiig stretch he has in your tight and slick pussy.

Heat rushes to his cheeks and words coiled at his throat, “D-Don’t look at me like that,” he pleads, hips frozen in place. 

You pout, “Look like what?” You whisper, tears welling up in your eyes, light touches traveling down his back, turning to lightning shivers in his body.

He shudders, screwing his eyes shut.

“Caleb,” you call out, right hand reaching to his jaw. “Move. Please.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. Caleb removes his hands from your hips and instead presses firmly onto your thighs, pushing it open. 

“Open up for me more, baby. Come on,” he encourages, sprawling your legs out in a wide v shape. With his hands migrating to your ankles, he’s gawking straight between your legs. 

“Caleb–fuuck– You’re so slow–!” Caleb cuts you off with a harsh thrust, making your body jolt against the mattress, “I-I’m sorry but you gotta-hck! Understand how your pussy feels too good for me!” He retorts, bucking sloppily into you. You choke on your saliva as his sharp hips pivot, his cock burying deeper into your gummy walls, jerking into you back and forth like he’s lost all control. 

“Caleeeb, fuck right– ah!” You bite down your lip, his dick vigorously pummelling in and out of you, grip tightening around your ankles. “Ngh, babyyy,” you whimper, gasping at the immense pace he’s starting, fucking you mercilessly with eyes rolled to the back of his head. He presses his hands into the back of your thighs, pushing you forward in the meanest mating press, your legs hanging in the air above his shoulders.

“Oh shit Caleb! You’re shoo deep,” you moan, salty liquid finally running down your cheeks. Caleb notices, tilting his head forward and licks the tears away as if he wasn’t sobbing in pleasure himself. 

“Atta girl, atta girl,” he cries, pistoning into you deeper until you were certain your bodies would be carved into the mattress. “Feels good? This feels good, baby?” He asks, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. You couldn’t even give him an answer even if you wanted to. He pulls himself out and shoves all of his dick into you, your cunt continuing to clamp around him like he deserves to stay there forever.

“There you go,” he babbles, ramming into you as he nibbles into your skin, “There you go baby. Keep taking it like a good girl.” His praises send shivers down your spine, heat enveloping your bodies. Caleb chokes, plunging into you one last time before burying himself into you carefully. “I’m so proud of you,” he mumbles, grinding his hips against yours. “You make me so so proud.”

“Ngh Caleb, why’d you stop?”  You mewl, tangling your fingers into his hair, pulling him up to meet his eyes. You were met with your roommate sniveling and in his most pathetic state–all because of your pussy. “I never felt this way,” he blubbers. 

“Me too, honey,” you admit, scratching his scalp lightly. “Feels too good baby,” he whines, rutting into you like an animal in heat. Before you can even reply to his yammering, he leans forward, capturing your lips.

His tongue tangles against yours, moaning and writhing into your touch. With a guzzle of your saliva down his throat, he pulls away. You gaze into his blown out irises, electricity jolting between the distance. With a heavy exhale, Caleb slowly pulls out of your cunt, never breaking eye contact and drives into you. 

“Hngh! Hah– Caleb!”

“Oh baby, there we go. You like that?” He groans, pummelling into you unhurriedly, your melodic moans echoing in the steamy air. 

“You like that?” plap! “I know you like that, baby.” plap! “Right? Just–!” plap! “Nice and gentle and slow,” He continues to plunge into you forward with shallow and slow thrusts.

“Just take it like a good girl baby, you’re doin’ such a good job for me. There we go, there we go,” he continues as you only gaze up at him with fat tears both rolling down your cheeks, a soft smile grazing your features as his dick hits your sweet spot. “Let me pick up the pace okay? I’ll pick up the pace now,” he blabbers.

Your pussy clamps down on his dick greedily, sucking him impossibly deeper as his words turn into a string of cries and whimpers. “I know baby, I know. It’s okay,” he yaps, continuing to smother you with his kisses and propelling you forward into the mattress with his thrusts.

You don’t even understand half of what he’s saying, too absorbed with the feeling of his cock satisfying you more than any vibrator you own. Everything was just perfect–from his bruising touch, his whines above you, his tears dripping into your cheeks, mixing with yours. You wrap your arms around his tensed shoulders, pulling him closer into you. Your feverish strokes catches him off guard, eliciting a choked whimper from him, “Oh baby, I’m so fucking dizzy. I think my brain’s fucking empty.” 

If you think you were going insane, Caleb feels like he’s about to die and explode with the way he pounds into you, exerting more strength into fucking you than he’s ever before. He’s delightfully delirious, crying and out of his mind, still unsure if this was real. He can feel the tip of his cock pressing into your cervix, short pants of “Ah! Ah!” escaping your lips whenever he does.

“Baby, baby,” he calls out, eyes wide open and scrambling to look into yours, “I–fuck– n-not gonna last. Need y-you to–hah– cum,” he manages to say in between pants. You nod profusely, embracing him closer until the tip of his nose grazes against yours.

Caleb removes one iron grip from your thighs, his hands snaking between your bodies. He flicks his finger between your folds, exploring your swollen clit, making you arch your back in pleasure with a scream. His pace is frantic now, his mouth agape with drool and tears trickling down your skin. He was not kidding when he said he’s going braindead. Your limbs are going limp under his weight, rocking your hips forward to bring yourself the one thing that you crave for the whole evening.

“Caleb, m’gonna cum, m’gonna cum!” You exclaim, lashes fluttering as you stare up at him with salty tears continuously dribbling down your face. He gulps, “Come on, cum for me. Cum for me,” he hums, fingers rubbing in circular motion against your nub. 

You swear you could get lost in the cosmos of his eyes, drawing pure passion in his irises. And before you could notice the way his gaze softens, his thumb presses harder into your sensitive clit, urging you to gush out a week’s worth of pent-up frustration. You’re shivering in his embrace, wailing his name and thrashing as your climax rushes into you, pussy squelching and clenching around him.

“Oh fuck baby don’t squeeze, don’t squeeze!” He retreats his hand from your clit to your jaw, cradling it softly in contrast to his harsh thrusts.

How can you control your firm grip around him when he wouldn’t even let up with his unforgiving pace? 

“Shit! Baby I won’t be able to pull out, I-I’m sorry–! I–hck!” 

Your hardened nipples brush against Caleb’s pecs as you squirm underneath him, vision blurring with tears and ecstasy as you cup his face with your hands, fondling his damp cheeks. He purses his lips, nuzzling into your touch, mouth parted as low moans and groans fall from his lips.

“Caleb,” you call out, ignoring the slow burn in your crotch from the overstimulation. He looks straight into you, fingers trembling against you, “I love you.”

His cock twitches at your words. 

“I-I’m sorry!” He exclaims, while mercilessly pinning you in the mating press. 

Caleb pumps you full of his dick with his eyes boring into you and within a second, he climaxes, hard. Stripes of his cum shooting up your womb, his body growing limp as you feel the ribbons of hot release that splatters deep into your cunt. 

You were sure he wasn’t sorry at all.

Caleb sucks through his teeth sharply, gyrating into you one last time before forcing himself to slide out of you. He notices the slobbering mess of his cum spilling out of your pussy mixed with your wetness in between you, eliciting a snarky smirk in his face.

“Stop fuckin’ staring you perv,” you huff, making him turn to you. He gives you a dopey smile and kisses your tear-stained cheeks. One kiss turns into two, then into four, then it turns into him full on smothering you with sloppy open mouthed kisses all over your face.

“Caleb! Stop!” You exclaim between giggles, feeling his shit-eating grin across your skin. “How can you still have the energy for this?!” You demand, flailing underneath him which deemed futile. 

“Well– mwa! I just had– mwa! The most mindblowing– mwa! Toe-curling– mwa! Sex I’ve ever had– mwa! With– mwa! The girl I love– mwa! Because she left her airpod on the kitchen counter.”

“Hey! You were the one who barged in here and pulled my sheets away like a fucking maniac! If it were any other person I would’ve called the cops,” you grumble, flicking his nose exasperatingly. He plops down into you in response, crushing you with his weight and knocking the air out of your lungs.

“Well–heh… I got curious to what you were listenin’... Sorry,” he replied without any remorse. You audibly gasp, smacking his back, “So that’s why my video gets paused every damn second!” 

He only chuckles in response as you hurl your palms into his back in embarrassment, “What! Can you blame me for being curious? At least we got around to what we wanted anyway,” he argued, nuzzling his nose into your neck. You groan and roll your eyes at his words, featherlight touches reaching into his sweaty back. And with a soft exhale between your tangled limbs, you murmur into his ear, “You’re right. Thank you, my sweet boy.”

Let’s just say sparks of electricity shoot up his system again.

a/n: first time writing smut and i'm SPENT i fought for my life writing for this thing! didn't expect this to reach almost 8k words lmao. anywayz, likes, reblogs, and comments are highly appreciated! <3

🏷 : @browneyedgirl22 @mcdepressed290