#switch caleb
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mihanisms · 4 months ago
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words can't explain how badly i love it when caleb's freak is matched in fics.
cause me, personally? his behavior is not new, baby get in shotgun with the rest of the obsessively possessive characters i'm insane about in the backseats. i will match his freak. dare i say OUTDO his freak.
he wants to lock us up to keep us safe, to keep us his, to completely eliminate any and all possible threats? dude, his fried chicken is fucking bomb. and he's rich. and handsome. and buff. and soooo hot. he's our childhood friend who's done everything for us, dedicated his entire being to making sure we're kept safe and content, literally built his personality to perfectly slot into ours and you're saying....no? you'd have to rip me away from the door of his house with how long i would never come out of it.
he's freaky in bed? even better!! whatever he wants to do is fine, as long as it's reciprocated. he wants to fuck doggy style, missionary, cowgirl, any and every position for how many hours because he's stressed? missed you after he came back from a week-long mission? got horny from seeing your bite-ridden thighs walking around the house? sure, fine, a great time — and now you have him on the bed, writhing with every lick you give to his oversensitive cock. he's panting out your name, wanting to be consumed by your touch as much as he wants to drown you in his, and you take full advantage of this.
you remember how he was able to cuff you 4 days ago and edge you until you were crying and begging for release, and give him the exact same treatment. if he resists? well, he can't ever say no when you look up at him with those wide eyes, pressing your chest against his, and shit, was that a lace bralette peeking out from under your shirt- before he knows it, he's being led away by you with a hazy, dreamy look on his face. he's fucking whipped.
tldr; caleb is a character made for freaks like me. i love him so much
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berrryparfait · 2 months ago
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❝ you're sleeping on the couch tonight. ❞ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁
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♥︎ featuring: sylus, zayne, rafayel, xavier, caleb x fem!reader
— ༉‧₊ᐟ premise: how he reacts to you telling him to sleep on the couch after an argument. 「but the couch is so hard...」
— ༉‧₊ᐟ tags/cws: fluff and slight angst, yall got into a petty argument earlier that day and he's worried it's spiraled into something serious, you're just being sassy tho (and maybe a little emotional), innuendo
— ♫₊ᐟ soundtrack: interlude: i'm not angry anymore – paramore
✧ a/n: inspired by @/erikadayshawn's jjk tiktok (¯ ³¯)♡ i seriously love her so much she's so damn good (ノД`)
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You’re still butthurt about it, and you’re going to make sure he knows it. Sure, it was a petty argument and it happened hours ago, but you refuse to be the one making amends this time. If he’s so certain you were in the wrong, he can sleep outside for all you care!
Maybe you’re being a little toxic by avoiding communication, but you’ve been in your feelings all day while he was out and about doing god knows what (***he was working)—so the space next to you on the bed is currently occupied by your Jellycat.
“You’re sleeping on the couch tonight,” you huff, refusing to turn around as you hear the bedsheets stir.
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You can’t see him, but you just know he’s giving you that same haha-you’re-hilarious look you’ve practically memorized by now. He’s standing at the side of the bed, one hand on his hip and an eyebrow raised at your curled-up form.
“This is my bed, sweetie.” He sounds amused, yet something tells you he feels as if you’re being ridiculous. Nevertheless, that velvety, husky voice of his nearly has you caving.
“I don’t care. I want to sleep alone tonight.”
He sighs, long and exaggerated. Does he pity you? Or is he annoyed at you? “You’re upset about our quarrel. It’s best we settle it now rather than bottle it up and let it fester.”
His maturity and composure jabs at your pride—you’ve never been one to act reasonably in the face of embarrassment. “...You just want to sleep on the bed.”
When you turn to look at him, he’s staring at you with an asshole smirk on his face. His tone is placating when he responds, “The couch is hard, Kitten. And besides, I forgive you.”
FORGIVE YOU?! Oh, he’ll be forgiving you all right— You smack him flaccidly on the arm and he pulls away with a chuckle, flashing that dashing smile of his. Canines.
“Go back to sleep. You can deal with me later.” He crawls under the blanket with nothing but a pair of pajama pants on, smelling of soap and fresh flowers.
You cave. You’re no longer angry, but exhausted—and so relieved he’s here. How your tender heart aches for his company, even when you’re mad at him… Soft sniffles emerge from your side of the bed, and he reaches for you with warm, gentle hands.
“Aww… C’mere, sweetie���” He wraps his arms around your waist and you relax into his touch, his chest against your back comforting—grounding. “I’m sorry about earlier. How about I take you to that French restaurant for dinner tomorrow night? Would you like that?”
“...Whatever,” you mumble as his fingers wander beneath the waistband of your shorts.
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He just stands there in silence, taken aback. “...Is there something you want to talk about?” he asks, ever the logical, problem-solving boy from your childhood.
“No.”
A few beats pass before he mutters, “...Alright then. I’ll sleep on the couch.”
You close your eyes and force yourself to fall back asleep as you listen to his footsteps in the living room, swallowing the guilt rising in your throat. He settles onto the wide couch and rests his head on one of the stiff decorative pillows, utterly spent from a crushing day at the hospital.
Am I overreacting? He must be drained as hell… Am I a shitty girlfriend? Doubts and worries swarm your mind as you toss and turn on the half-empty king bed, your heart squeezing at the thought of him having to spend the night alone out there. What if he catches a cold? What if he starts hating me? What if he gets eaten by a skin-walker?
You shove your fuzzy bedroom slippers on and trudge into the living room, trying your best to maintain your nettled expression. He opens his eyes at the sound of you stomping across the carpeted floor and stares at you, speechless.
“Aren’t you gonna try to make amends with me?! You really don’t want to sleep in the bed?!”
He fumbles for words, pushing himself up with his elbows. “Y-You said you didn’t want to talk—”
“Well I didn’t mean it!” you squeal, holding back tears.
He senses that your emotions are all jumbled up right now, and gets up on his feet to put his arms around you. “Okay. Okay, let’s talk about it,” he says, calm and soothing. His hand massages the back of your head as you wail into his t-shirt. “Shh… It’s all right. I’m here.”
You look up at him with red eyes and pouty lips, too caught up in his embrace to be riled up anymore. “I was upset about our fight in the morning…”
He presses a kiss to your forehead and gently wipes the tears from your cheeks. “I’m sorry for what I said, baby. Will you forgive me?”
You’ve been waiting all day to say “yes”.
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“Oh, hell nah—”
“Too bad, Raf! That’s what you get for pissing me off,” you spit, glaring daggers at him as he physically exhibits the five stages of grief.
“But-But the couch is so pokey and hard and—” He flails his arms around in protest, remembering the backache he had to deal with for a week after taking a nap on the couch.
You won’t be hearing any of it. Serves him right. “You should’ve thought of that earlier before saying my makeup looked weird!”
“But it did! Your contour was asymmetrical and your lips were way too overlined!”
Raw indignation rivalling the power of the sun bubbles in your gut, waiting for a chance to explode. How dare he pretend he knows anything about makeup?! “GET. OUT.”
He grumbles like a child before storming out of the bedroom and flopping onto the couch, both of you throwing silent tantrums while listening to your stomachs churn. Fuck. I could really use some Wingstop right now.
Half an hour passes before your phone dings. Notification from Rafayel. You’ve calmed down by now, so you begrudgingly open his message.
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Wait a minute, is he...? Oh my god, he totally is. You've known him long enough to tell when he's down for sexy time.
You waltz into the living room with your head held high and say, "C'mon. We're going to get Wingstop."
The way the hope in his eyes disappears nearly has you cracking up. "I hate you," he sneers.
"I love you too."
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He pauses, unsure of what to say. “...Is this about earlier?”
You don’t respond.
He climbs onto the bed anyway and gets under the covers with you, pulling you close and pressing his face into your hair. “Please don’t be mad at me. I can’t go to bed with you mad at me,” he whispers, fear lacing his words.
Though your heart squeezes, you lock in and wriggle out of his embrace, knowing exactly how much it’ll sting. It’s his fault for constantly forgetting to let you know when he’ll be working overtime. Some nights, you sit on the couch and blankly stare at the wall, worry eating you alive from the inside.
“Please, talk to me—”
“There’s nothing to talk about. I need some space tonight.”
You can tell he’s holding back tears when he agrees to leave you alone, sliding off the mattress like a heavy weight sinking from a rock underwater. “...I’ll be outside if you need anything.”
Am I too hard on him? You’re angry at him for stressing you out—and you wonder if he even realizes that you’re only stressed for his own good. Still, how can anyone stay mad at him? He’s the purest, kindest, most sincere person you know. Forcing him to sleep on the couch feels like kicking a small puppy.
Quietly, you creep into the living room, where he’s curled up on the couch with his eyes closed. I’m too hard on him.
You crawl into the space between him and the backrest, his arms immediately reacting to your presence like a bug caught in a Venus flytrap. His eyes flutter open, and his grip tightens around your midriff. “I’m sorry… I’ll call you in advance next time. I promise…”
He must’ve had a long day at work, because he sounds utterly exhausted. Broken. “Baby… You can talk to me—about work, about anything.”
“I know. I’m just glad you’re here, even if I haven’t been,” he says, his thumb tracing slow circles on the bare skin of your torso. “I want you to know you’re always on my mind—no matter where I am, no matter what I’m doing. You’re the reason I come home at all.”
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“Don’t be like that, Pips. Let’s talk about it.” He rests a hand on your hip, warmth seeping through the blanket.
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
He scoffs, though his voice is void of hostility. “Clearly. Listen, I don’t want this to turn into something serious, okay?”
When you don’t respond, a crease forms between his brows. Is it too late? Have you already started to see him in a different light? Nausea churns in his stomach as he slowly inches away from the bed, afraid to even make a sound.
His thoughts spiral like a swarm of moths in his head, dark and foreboding. She’s better off without me…at least for now.
You doze off a few minutes later, when all of a sudden, you hear the front door shut. Panicked, you jolt upright and slip on your slippers, fearing the worst. Oh my god. Oh my god—
Still in your pajamas, you run out of your apartment and down the stairwell, praying he’s just round the corner— 
“Pips?”
You still, the icy cage around your heart beginning to thaw at the sight of him. He’s standing in the middle of the pavement, his breath fogging in the cold air.
Tears well in your eyes as you scream, “Where are you going?!”
“...To the convenience store? I was going to get you some Buldak—” You cut him off by seizing him in your arms, relief flooding you like a river bursting through a broken dam. He chuckles, wrapping you in his jacket and resting his chin on top of your head. “I’d never leave you, Pipsqueak. You should know that by now.”
“I-I don’t want Buldak. Let’s just go back inside,” you say between sniffles, clutching his shirt with such force it might tear.
“...Can I sleep on the bed now?”
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— ⋆˙⟡ ©berrryparfait
《 please do not copy / plagiarize / translate my works or publish them on any other platforms. 》
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inkykeiji · 6 months ago
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i think, if it were up to caleb (and it is, in his big brother brain), you’d never get anything done, because he would always either be doing it for you, or stopping you from doing it altogether.
that sharp tongue is always equipped with a rationale to go along with his decision, too. it’s either too dangerous, or too silly, or something you ‘don’t need to do, because he’s there’. he has a talent for twisting any and every situation to his benefit, with seemingly sound justification for his final verdict. and it is final, no ifs, ands, or buts about it.
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bolackloamtbyyyshaker9000 · 2 months ago
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If SnowCrow is canon, SnowApple should be too. Actually, let's go with SnowAppleCrow instead; the snowman ⛄, the crow 🐦‍⬛, and the naughty stepbro 🍎.
Zayne can be in the middle to show his dominance (insert tposing here)
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mapsthewanderer · 4 days ago
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Details: 1700ish words. Saw a shibari LaDS art piece some time ago that lit my brain on fire and I tried to doodle something based on it (still working on it)—but hey, out came this fic too. Still can’t find the original artist (pls drop it in the comments if you know) but this one’s for the soft trauma-kink crowd. Because with everything Caleb and the mc have been through, even with his evol, even with the way he can pin you with a flick of thought—jute rope play should be too much. And yet? Maybe it’s exactly right. This is just a smol tease because, let’s be real, I want these two to become shibari masters lolol. Anyway: Turn back now if you value your innocence. Edit: found the shibari artist on X (I don’t own X, but check out) @relmofnope
Features: MC/you (gender neutral, but probably someone with trauma like the MC tbh) x Caleb. Switch x switch. Filthy freaky stuff? Probably, yes. 18+. Past ghosts n soft angst. Husband material Caleb. Switch Caleb. Possessive Caleb. Dirty talk. Sexual tension and banter. Gravity evol mentioned (not used). Shibari newbies. Kink exploration. Healing via rope? Emotional smut. Caleb (unexpectedly) loving the feeling of rope on his body. And: Caleb coming embarrassingly fast… fully clothed (icon behavior tbh)
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Shibari | Caleb smut
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You signed up for the box on a whim—half a joke, half a dare—somewhere between too many kisses and not enough sleep. A late night. A shared drink. Your legs over his lap, his hand on your knee. Some pop-up ad promising “exploration” and “monthly curated surprises.” A kink box. Why not?
It arrives on a normal weekday. Brown cardboard. Plain tape. Nothing flashy. Nothing that screams “sex dungeon starter kit.” But it’s big. Hefted onto the kitchen counter with both hands like it’s got a brick or two inside. Caleb eyes it suspiciously. “This is the goodie box?” You nod. Shrug. “Uh-huh. We subscribed, remember?”
“Yeah, I thought it’d be, like, a trial-size bottle of lube and maybe a coupon for edible underwear. Not a whole-ass deadlift.”
You laugh. “It’s curated.”
“More like some marketer got high and thought, ‘you know what’s hot? Functional fitness. Nothing says sexy like a warm-up set in cardboard form’.” He peels the flaps back. “Alright… Let’s see the damage.” Inside—blindfolds, lube, flavored condoms. The usual suspects. Some dice, a board game. Harmless. Fun. But then—near the bottom, tucked beneath the glossy paper and a manual—crimson rope. Neatly coiled. Coarse, a little scratchy—meant to bite. Beautiful in its own way.
Caleb stills. “…Oh.”
You don’t say anything. Neither does he. But the air shifts. Not gone is the heat—the always-simmering hum that exists when you’re close to him—but something else creeps in. A silence. The kind of silence made by ghosts. The ghosts of what’s been done to you both. The kind made by pasts like yours. Like his.
“This was a dumb idea,” Caleb says, voice cracking. He tries to laugh it off. “We don’t need this shit.” His hand moves to close the box. But your hand catches his. Because somehow your mind’s already somewhere else.
Caleb’s hands. Caleb’s focus. Caleb’s rope, wrapping around you. Over your thighs. Knotting rope across your chest, your collarbones, the dip of your waist. Not to trap. But to frame. To worship. And suddenly, the want is louder than the fear.
“I—,” you murmur. “If I ever wanted to try this… it’d be with you.”
He pauses. Looks at the rope again. Then back at you. His eyes soft, unreadable. “Huh… okay. Then tie me up first. See how I do. Then we’ll talk about payback.” And just like that, his shirt’s off. In seconds, you’re both on the floor. He leans back on his hands, chest bare, waiting. You sit cross-legged, the manual open in your lap, tracing a diagram with your fingertip.
“What about… a chest harness,” you mutter. “Wraps here. Pulls under the arms. Knot lands in the center.” He grins. “Trying to string me up by the chest already? Damn. So efficient.”
“Well,” you murmur, unwinding the coil, “you’ve got a good chest for it.” You thumb the chain at his throat. “This’ll get in the way, tho.”
He watches you, eyes dark. “Don’t even think about taking it off.”
“Nah. Relax. Just borrowing the space.” Carefully, you slide the necklace down his back. Then you start slow. The rope is rough to the touch. His skin, smooth… warm. You work the rope around him—across muscle, under his arms, snug between his pecs. One knot. Then another. “You’re way too good at this,” he says under his breath. “Three knots in and I’m already hard.”
“… You’re always kinda hard, Caleb,” you smirk back.
“Well… I’m a simple man. Threaten me with a little asphyxiation, and I’m yours… Oh… Suddenly all those altitude boners make sense.” His abs twitch. His hips shift. The rope bites tighter, and he exhales. “Nnh… I knew you were gonna bully me.”
“Only sexually,” you reply fondly. He chuckles low—then drags one finger slowly across the rope where it crosses over his pec, following your knotwork. His finger keeps going—along the loop under his arm, back across his sternum. Tracing what you made. What binds him.
“What, admiring my craftsmanship?” you tease. He doesn’t answer right away. Just looks down, then back up at you—mouth twitching. “Something like that…” A breath. “You’re the only person I’d let see me like this,” he says, quiet.
Maybe he just needed to know what it’s like—to be held without being taken. To give in without giving up. Cause you see it in the way his breath shallows. In the twitch of his thigh. In how his teeth dig into his bottom lip, like he’s holding in a sound every time the rope grazes his nipples. It’s not just safety he finds in the tension. It’s something hotter. Needier.
You loop one final time. Fasten the knot dead center between his pecs. It sits proud and perfect, snug against his heartbeat. His chest rises beneath it—muscle pressing against jute, skin pulled taut where the rope cinches. It’s like his body wants to swell around the knot, hold it, wear it. Caleb glances down. Breathes out like he wasn’t expecting it to feel that good. “Okay. That’s tight.”
“Character-building,” you reply, smug. Then he touches the knot at the center of his chest, presses it once. “Mhm… this part is my new favorite,” he murmurs. “It’s right over the heart.”
Then—his fingers wrap gently around your chin. Lifts your face. Studies you. “God,” he says, voice low, “look at you. All proud of your work. You like tying me up this much?”
You open your mouth to say something smart, but he doesn’t give you the chance. He releases you. Picks up the rest of the rope. Nods once—smirk back in place. “…Not that I mind being your test subject. But let me try to match the master.”
“C’mere,” he murmurs, already spreading his legs wider. He drags you in between them, lining you up—right where he’s thick and hard and not even trying to hide it. Then—gently—he lifts your knee and kisses the inside of it. “You don’t need this one, do you?” he murmurs. “Feels fair. You tied my chest—breathing area. I get to tie your runner.”
You laugh. “Caleb—”
“What?” His grin goes sharper. “Can’t have you sprinting off now.” Fingers slip under the hem of your shorts and the rope threads under your kneecap. Wraps tight. Three slow coils. Each knot sinks just enough. Not pain. Just presence. You look down at your leg. Then at the rope across his chest. Then back to him.
He’s looking at you differently now. Like he’s holding a match over something flammable. “Heh,” he mutters, trying to break the tension. “Was I a boy scout in a past life?”
He reaches to untie the knot.
You grab his wrist.
Then—you kiss him. Tongues slick, crashing together. It’s not sweet. It’s soaked in need—wet, heady, your teeth scraping his lip as your hands tangle in his hair. Hands slides to your back as he pants against your throat. “You like being tied up by me, don’t you?” His hand finds the rope still snug on your leg. Tugs it slow. “You want me to keep you like this? Wrapped up, marked, mine?”
Your breath stutters.
“Hmm… Gonna have to bind you tighter,” he murmurs, fingers ghosting your thigh, “just to keep you still when I make you beg.” He guides you down on the floor, crawls over you, ropes trailing his chest. “Should I keep you tied up?” he whispers, mouth at your jaw. “Just to be sure you stay mine?”
He tugs the knots again. You gasp. Clench. Shake. And Caleb—he’s looking at you like the rope wasn’t the thing that tied you to him. It just made what was already there… visible.
“Fuck—” he breathes, eyes flickering. “I’m—so hard right now.” His hand finds the rope across his chest again, fingers curling into the knot you tied. “From this. From you doing this to me.” A wrecked laugh escapes him as his mouth hovers near yours. “Who’d have thought old-fashioned restraint would be the thing for us…?”
You hum, watching the way his eyes drift—already scanning the discarded manual nearby. “Pretty sure I saw a hip harness in there too,” he muses. “Would be practical. Y’know… holding you… where I want you… Without using my cheat.”
You tilt your head. Smile slow. “Only if you get one too.”
That stops him. His breath catches. Eyes darken like a switch flipped. “Fuck—don’t say stuff like that,” he groans. “Keep talking like that and I’ll come without you even touching me.”
“Really?” you whisper, kissing the corner of his mouth as your hand moves lower, palm pressing against the heavy bulge in his pants. Still thick and pulsing through the fabric. One slow rub and he chokes on a noise that barely sounds human.
“Nhhh—” he warns, voice cracking, hips twitching into your hand. “I’m serious—don’t—”
But you kiss him again. One hand tangled in the rope at his chest—tugging, just enough to make him gasp. The other drags slow down the front of his jeans, thumb teasing the shape of him through the fabric. His breath catches. Your mouth takes the rest.
And he breaks.
His body jolts—hips rocking hard against your hand, stifled groan spilling into your mouth. His forehead presses to yours, shuddering as he comes right there in his pants, helpless and wrecked, your hand still working him gently through the aftershocks.
You pull back just enough to chuckle. “You came from that? Caleb…”
He pants. Nods once, dazed and flushed and utterly fucked-out. “You’re evil,” he breathes. “And mine. And I’d let you tie me up a hundred more times if it means I get to hear you laugh like that.”
You keep laughing against his lips. “Good. Now go clean up, rope boy.” His hand finds your thigh, still shaking slightly, a smirk threatening at the corner of his mouth. “Easy now, lil’ knotmaster… You made me come like a teenager,” he murmurs. “That should mean I’ve lost—but all it means is I’m gonna fuck you through every knot you give me.”
He kisses you. Deep. Dirty.
“So go on. Tie me up again. Then I’ll return the favor.”
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You're something beautiful, a contradiction
I wanna play the game, I want the friction
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Writer’s note: Watch the fire alarm go off and them sprinting outside in full shibari fit. Nobody asked for this, but here it is(: Been thinking about the follow-up… where Caleb gives up everything. You in full Shibari Master mode. It’s gonna be tense. Freaky. Ungodly. Uuuuugh
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prettyboykatsuki · 2 months ago
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trying to guilt trip caleb to fuck u but it’s not working (he’s fighting it with all the strength he has bc you’re too cheeky and bratty) and you’ve pulled out all the stops with the pout and the puppy dog eyes and the needling and it’s getting to the point where you’re swallowing hard and real frustrated tears are welling in your eyes. and he’s suddenly keenly aware of how hard he is and feeling dizzy with barely restrained lust. like you’re in his dorm room pawing at him with his class shirt on and he is just struggling
anon. god anon this ask is making me feel so weird because its also completely in line with my caleb dacryphilia delusions that live in my head rent free
i really like. i dont think its on purpose at first. like really. i dont think he even develops the Thing until after you've crossed the line and your relationship gets even more comfortable. a lot has changed for the two of you, and somehow you're more close then you've ever been before.
and you whine to him a lot more then you used to. even before dating, it was rare. unless you had something you really wanted - you were mostly concerned with wanting to appear grown up to him. wanted him to take you seriously.
but you're dating now, so it's different. you're so so whiny. and he loves it. he loves hearing you sigh dramatically, feeling you tug at his sleeve, weepily calling him gege when you don't get your way. it evokes such a visceral part of him he can't help but want to tease you a little just to hear it.
but he does feel guilty for ending up here. he likes that the lines been crossed but feels bad for corrupting your relationship all the same.
it's like some weird wire crosses in his brain. tangles, really. makes it hard for him to see sense when you're blubbering dramatically and asking him why he won't fuck you already.
ohhh its so bad. he feels so bad. like throat swelling up, breathing heavy, eyes kind of lidded while you're crying and pawing at him and grinding on his belt or something ridiculous and he's just sooo. he feels so so so guilty as he's using his thumb to wipe your tears (muscle memory, he thinks distantly) but he's just so turned on.
the lust he feels could burn a hole through his stomach its so all encompassing. so damning. did he really push you this much? or did you really want him this bad?
its this thought: are you really so comfortable with me that you'd be this defenseless?
that ultimately makes him cave. he just can't help it after. and he's so sweet to you, so kind - cooing while he's teasing you and saying he's sorry and groaning when your nails dig into his bag. it's so fucking cute. so cute how you wrap around him and refuse to let him leave, how easily you cry and whine.
its not quite nice. the sex is ultimately just as overpowering as it was the first time. not brutal but relentless. and not to dominate, just express exactly what he wanted, you.
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essektheylyss · 1 year ago
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I just remembered Ludinus telling Caleb outright that Trent "has his uses", and with regard to the Scourger program, which Trent himself designed and pitched, "desperate requirements might call for unsavory methods."
And given that we know now that Ludinus has been singlemindedly focused on the current goals of the Ruby Vanguard for a lot longer than the program would've been in existence, I'm just imagining a timeline in which Caleb and Beau had not gotten the program shuttered in 836 PD, and that entire force of highly-conditioned, high level arcane assassins was simply at Ludinus's disposal.
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veththeebrave · 4 months ago
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neigepomme · 4 months ago
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ok Caleb thoughts. he's constantly checking his phone to see if there is a new message from mc or if she replied. like CONSTANTLY. if she leaves him on delivered for like 3 hours probably crashes out and when she finally responds he's like "this will show her" and reply in 3 mins. Like he tries to leave you on delivered but his hands are ITCHING to respond. I also feel like he's the type to text mc "u up?" at 4 am and huffs and puffs when she's not AS IF ITS NOT 4 IN THE MORNIGN
I'M UP I SEE THE VISION I DO I DOOOO i adore the needy caleb agenda.. he probably tries to get all pouty and snarky but that is Nawt working.. you text him back and he's back to being all :D with you! he's truly so puppy coded in that aspect..
i also think he's the type of person to text you and then check your status in different apps when you don't respond, but he's also nonchalant (he isn't) so he double texts you.. and LMFAO U UP BWAHAHAHAHA he's so lame.. i think he'd try it once and when you're unimpressed, he'd be like "it's a joke haha :P"
what i think caleb does tho is ask you when you wake up, and he texts you "good morning lovely" a minute before you do.. he might be a freak but he's a really cute one so we shall forgive his offenses 🙏🙏
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utilitycaster · 4 months ago
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ok when will we get the other half of VM vs. the Mighty Nein and also I'd like to see these teams vs. Bells Hells
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undead-knick-knack · 4 months ago
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Can't believe I didn't think of this before
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morverenmaybewrites · 5 months ago
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Having a conversation with my friends about how we track our periods:
Friend1: Should we give those (physical) period trackers from the clinic?
Friend2: I just use Flo
Friend3: I also use Flo
I, who have suddenly grown suspiciously silent:
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xx-rpr · 1 month ago
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I know Astra's got beef with us specifically...workplace enemies and all that jazz....from one cosmic entity to another....
...
...
...
LEAVE MY BOYS ALONE AND SQUARE UP WITH ME ONE-ON-ONE!!!
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dirtyassvoiceactors · 19 days ago
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I love that Liam’s and Marisha’s go to difference to switching from c2 characters to c3 is going from
Beau & Caleb: ò_ó
To
Laudna & Orym: OuO
Like the Empire Siblings really are so grumpy i luv em
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l55374 · 2 months ago
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i just think its so frickin hilarious that i used to absolutely DESPISE caleb when i starting playing lads in jan of this year, but now i love him......HAHAHAA
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cherryapplefish · 3 months ago
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90 days isn’t enough.
These are the thoughts in my head as I watch you hunch over the table, putting together some new model kit you’d bought before you made your way here. You’d let yourself in with the key I gave you, walked right into my apartment like you did my heart so many years ago.
You glance up at me, eyes the color of sunrise meeting mine, and I inhale sharply. It’s odd because before, I’d never reacted in this way. I don’t really remember my breath stuttering nor my heart fluttering in our youth and yet everyday since you’ve been back, all I can think about is the way your breath had felt on my neck when we hugged for the first time in over a year.
You’d somehow grown taller. As if you needed to do that. And as if to prove my point, you break into a smile and stand, walking over to me and towering.
There’s a pinch in my neck as I tilt my head back to look up at you. I know you notice because I flinch just slightly and your smile twitches as if fighting to keep from widening.
“C’mon pipsqueak,” you call as you reach out. Your hand is warm around mine. Bigger. Always bigger. It’ll always be bigger because you’re older than me, you’ll remind me. For a moment I pause, glancing down at where your fingers are curled through mine.
“Pips,” you call again, a question in your tone and I smile. It feels like something blooms in my chest, a flower, my heart, affection? I’m not sure but seeing the look in your eyes has me on cloud 9. Since when had I yearned for your gaze to always be on me? Only be on me?
I see it in your face too. You feel the same things I do and you always say you’re better at pretending you don’t care but Caleb, deep down, I’ve always known of the affection you held for me. I’ve always known of my place in your heart.
“Caleb,” I call softly, watch the way affection blooms from your chest up to your face, turns your cheeks red at how gently I say your name.
“Thank you for coming home.”
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