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el4ise · 1 month ago

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this is peak literature (cried to this)

his resolve .ᐟ ⋆˙

★ summary- caleb x fem!reader. Caleb has never known safety, but he’s learned what it means to protect it. So when he finds four guys cornering you, he knows he can finally do something about it. Because you're the reason he fights—the only thing that makes surviving feel like something more. Just a small, terrified boy, trying to protect someone even smaller than him.

★ wc- 3.4k

based on these calebweek prompts 🍎

The park near your house was the perfect place for finding unusual flowers—the kind that didn’t usually make it into flower crowns or get crushed into pigments for paint, but held their own kind of charm. They were perfect for breathing life into Caleb’s and your little ‘secret base’, as you called it. Your personal touch.

Today was different from normal. You had snuck out early, your plan carefully plotted. You wanted to surprise him with a flower garland—something beautiful and a little messy like the both of you—to hang above the entrance of your shared haven. A quiet declaration that ’this place was ours.’

The park was always alive with soft background noise—murmurs of old ladies working out on the creaky fitness equipment, the tinny laughter of toddlers being pushed on swings by their mothers, and the steady hum of everyday life. But you didn’t head toward the open areas. You turned a sharp corner and slipped through the patch of thinned-out shrubs, worn down from all the times the two of you had snuck through, until you reached it: a little corner garden, hidden just out of sight. The community had planted it to help wildflowers grow freely.

The waft of the flowers was both overwhelming and alluring. It always smelled sweet here, sweet enough to make your chest ache. You leaned in, wide-eyed, fingertips brushing gently over the blooms. Primrose. Sunroots. Asters. You picked the fullest ones, stems breaking with a soft snap as you tucked them into your dirt-streaked hand, careful not to overpluck from any one patch.

The only other kids nearby were four older boys from the neighbourhood loitering around on the swings. You kept adding to your bundle, unaware of the swing’s squeal as it came to a stop. Unaware of the gritty sound of gravel underfoot, drawing closer—until they stood right behind you, shadows obscuring the sight in front of you.

“You’re that girl,” a voice said behind you. Older. It belonged to one of the four from the swings. “The orphan.”

The word cracked against your spine like a branch splitting.

“The one who clings to that boy like his tail. Caleb, right?”

You turned slowly, unsure if you should respond. But before you could speak, one of them stepped forward and grinned. There was something sharp and cruel beneath it, something that made your stomach twist.

“What are you even doing here?” another scoffed, then looked down at your bundle of flowers. “Trying to play house in the dirt like some stray?”

Then one of them kicked the flowers out of your hand.

You dropped to your knees instantly, grabbing at them, but they were already crushed. One of the petals tore in your hand. You sat there, crestfallen, eyes lingering only on the scattered remains lying defeated at your feet.

“Guess it doesn’t matter,” another boy sneered. “Nobody’s gonna care what some charity case brat wanted to hang up. You and that moron Caleb—no wonder you stick together. Freaks find freaks.”

Laughter broke among them. Your knees stayed rooted to the ground, the weight of their words clinging to your back like wet clothes. You didn’t dare look up.

“What’re you doing?”

The voice cut through clean like a blade.

Caleb turned to her, kneeling beside the scattered flowers. He crouched beside you, eyes scanning the crushed remains before landing gently on yours.

“You okay?”

You nodded, just barely. Your voice caught in your throat, unable to form a sound, eyes grazing past his shoulder at the boys who were still watching.

The boy frowned. “We were just talking to her.”

Caleb stepped closer.

“Didn’t sound like talking.”

Caleb didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t scowl or shout. But something in his presence shifted, almost quiet and terrifying, like the still air before a thunderstorm.

Your eyes scoured him, your only sign of guidance, unsure of what to do next.

“I’m just gonna have a chat with these guys,” he said, brushing a bit of dirt off your knee. “Don't worry about me, pipsqueak, I’ll be back soon.”

Then he reached up and gave your nose a gentle squeeze, the smallest curve tugging at his lips.

“Why don’t you start hanging these around our base?” he added, nudging your shoulder gently in the other direction. “Make it look nice and pretty when I get back.”

You hesitate and take a step back, anxiety clouding your thoughts with each movement at the mere idea of Caleb might do—or worse, what might happen to him. The crushing thought of him coming back injured made you glance over your shoulder, but before the thought could fully form, gravity seemed to drag you forward, and you stumbled into the garden.

The tall metal gate loomed before you, and the sharp click of its lock echoed in your ears, sealing your fate.

Dread began to pool in your stomach. Your plans from earlier vanished swiftly from your mind. The bouquet slipped from your hands, dirt clinging to the once-vibrant petals. Panic rising, you lunged for the gate, trying desperately to pry it open with your bare hands. But it held firm. Locked.

Your hopeless struggle left you with nothing other than guilt-ridden fear.

Your knees, now sore and reddened, buckled beneath you. You crawled back to the mound of dirt where the flowers had fallen, now bruised and broken, and collapsed limply beside them.

Part of you feels like this was your punishment for sneaking out. Now forced to sit alone, swimming in guilt for the foolish decision to leave after lunch against Gran’s and his wishes.

You only wanted to do something nice for him. But the cost of that decision left you locked away at the edge of your garden, cut off from the world beyond the stupid gate. And Caleb—the one always eager to take care of you—was now out there fighting your battles.

Tears welled, blurring your vision. You sniffled, trying not to break down completely, trying not to seem even more like a helpless case in need of saving. But every passing minute drove you deeper into despair.

The sun dipped lower, casting hues of gold and pink across the sky. Its last rays clung to the walls of your house like soft brushstrokes. The flowers in your hand drooped, nearly bare now as you sheepishly plucked the petals one by one, letting them pool around you. Just as you reached for the last one, the familiar creak of the gate split the silence.

It swung open slowly.

And there he was—Caleb. Stiffly stepping into the garden, flashing you a weak smile.

His hair was dishevelled, dirt-streaked his knees, and a purple bruise was beginning to bloom on his cheek. One hand clutched his stomach; his wince betraying the pain he tried to hide behind that familiar, reassuring grin.

Your legs sprang into motion as you stumbled forward, knees weak and numb as you tried to regain your balance. Small hands clung to his rumpled clothes, searching desperately for more injuries, for an explanation.

“Caleb, what happened to you?”

A short, humourless laugh escaped him as he braced himself against the wall. “It just got a little rough,” he muttered. “You don’t need to worry about the details. All you need to know is—they won’t be bothering you anymore.”

You searched his face for something—pain, fear, even regret, but found none. You didn’t care about the kids who had been teasing you. The only thing that mattered was the boy in front of you, wincing with every breath as he tried his best to bite down any pain he was feeling.

“Cale—”

“What happened to your knees?” he interrupted, hunched over anxiously, examining the light marks and abrasions turning into bright red sores.

“I tried climbing over the gate,” you weakly admitted.

“Didn’t I tell you to stay put? Come on, let’s go inside before it starts to get infected.”

“But—”

“I said don’t worry about me,” he cut in again, softer this time. “I’m okay, I promise.”

He was lying. And you both knew it. But you didn’t fight him on it. Instead, you let him loop an arm around your shoulders and guide you into the back door of the kitchen.

The kitchen smelled faintly of antiseptic. The quiet hum of the fridge filled the silence as you sat on the wooden chair.

Caleb had already cleaned your wounds, applied antiseptic, and plastered your knees with care—even drawing a little smiley face on one of the bandages as if that could somehow undo the chaos of the day.

Even when he was hurt, he still took it upon himself to tend to you. You always had his full, undivided attention.

He commended your bravery and promised to make your favourite snack as a reward. The skin around your nails reddened from the constant picking, and your legs could do nothing but swing from the wooden chair. Brave? That was the last word you’d use to describe yourself.

No. Liar. Selfish. Weak.

A brave person wouldn’t let someone they care about get hurt in their place.

“This is all my fault,” you whispered. “I shouldn’t have snuck out.”

You sniffled, wiping your nose roughly on your sleeve.

“I just wanted to make our base look pretty… add something of my own. But instead, you got hurt because of me. Why didn’t you let me stay?”

The last word cracked, almost squeaked out, betraying the tears pushing up behind your eyes.

Caleb didn't say anything at first. He just wiped your cheeks with the edge of his shirt.

“How come when I see you, you always have tears running down your face?”

“You got seriously hurt, Caleb!”

“And you think I would’ve let you fight them all alone?”

You hiccuped. “No… but we could’ve gone home together, where it’s safe. Or fought them together.”

Silence hovered between you for a moment. Caleb’s brow softened as he let out a long, tired breath.

“Look at me,” he said, flexing his arm in a half-hearted show of strength. “I may not look it, but I’m strong. Stronger than you think. I don’t need you going out looking for trouble when I’m around.”

His eyes drifted to the window. He stared at the fading light, and for a second it looked like he wanted to say more. But whatever thoughts stirred behind his eyes stayed there—unspoken.

“Not everything ends in a fair fight.”

“Next time,” he said finally, turning back to you, his tone firm, “tell me. You don’t have to tell Gran everything. But let me know.”

His gaze held yours, unwavering.

“I don’t think I could forgive myself if you got hurt.”

“I’m sorry, Caleb.”

“Don’t apologise,” he said gently. “Just promise me. Promise you’ll tell me everything.”

He raised his pinky toward you.

You wrapped yours around him, tugging tight with all the strength in your small fingers.

“I promise.”

The evening had quietly settled over the kitchen by the time Gran returned home. At the dining table, you had already fallen asleep, leaning into his side, your arm still wrapped tightly around his, like you were trying to hold onto him even in your dreams.

Earlier, you’d practically begged him not to leave. Sleep had made your head bob, and eyelids heavy, but you fought it with everything you had, clinging to him as he fed you snacks. When he offered to carry you up to bed, you refused outright. Your grip on him only tightened.

You didn’t want to lose sight of him. Not again.

The kitchen was eerily still as Gran slipped into the seat across Caleb, quietly applying ointment to his injuries. There were no thoughts, no distractions, no outside noises leaking in, only the soft, steady rhythm of your breathing rising and falling beside him.

His usual easygoing demeanour had all but vanished, replaced with a hollow, strained stillness. His eyes tracked every motion of Gran’s hands, each cut and bruise slowly bandaged. There was no pretending when you weren’t awake. His limbs hung slack, lacking their usual tautness and strength. It felt like he’d just run a marathon, every muscle screaming with exhaustion.

Gran’s brow furrowed deeply when he lifted his shirt, revealing a particularly nasty bruise blooming just below his left rib.

“Caleb,” she murmured, her voice low and resigned. “I don’t want you getting into these fights anymore. When I took you in, I asked you to look after each other, but… this isn’t what I meant.”

His nostrils flared outward, fingers spread white against the edge of his seat.

“If I hadn’t been there,” he swallowed hard, “she would’ve gotten hurt. Badly.”

“Just look at the number of bruises on your legs.”

He winced as the ointment touched a deep scratch along his leg, muscles twitching against the sting.

“This is nothing,” he hissed.

But another flinch betrayed him when the ointment brushed against his arm, pain flashing through him in waves he couldn’t fully hide.

The events of that afternoon flooded his mind, threading through his thoughts like a shadow he couldn’t escape.

Any smart kid would’ve backed off the moment they saw the odds—four against one. The others were older, bigger, meaner. But Caleb didn’t flinch.

They were fast. Fast enough that two of them had grabbed him, wrenching his arms behind his back while the others took their turns. Each picked their blow with cruel precision, mocking him before finally knocking the wind from his lungs. When they were done, they dropped him like a broken toy—discarded, unwanted, like some street dog left to rot.

It didn't last long. It felt pitiful to drag out what already seemed like a losing battle. His knees and elbows took the worst of it, scraping hard against the gravel as he crumpled to the ground, helpless and abandoned.

His hands still prickled as he flexed his fingers, remembering the sharp sting of humiliation. He could still see them—laughing, sauntering away without a care, their figures shrinking as they disappeared from view.

He thought of the garden. Your safe place. The promise that he made to you every time his name trembled and failed to leave your lips.

He never knew his heart could sink that low, twisting deep in his chest, his stomach unravelling into a pit of guilt and helplessness with every step of that memory.

He remembered how powerless he felt in the lab—how his voice hadn’t mattered, how his body hadn’t been his own. But now… now he had freedom. And freedom was a weapon. A chance.

He’d be damned if he let that go to waste.

“What happened to those boys, Caleb? The lady on the corner said she looked out her window and saw four young boys crying, clutching their arms in pain. They were screaming loud enough for the next neighbourhood to hear.”

Her words fell through the silence like water flowing into a gutter. His mind was far away from the conversation.

Her words broke through his thoughts like a knife. “She said one of their arms was broken.”

Gran licked her thumb and gently wiped a smudge from his cheek, then gently cupped his face. He looked at her expressionlessly. There was no guilt, just a quiet acceptance of what he’d done. She peered at his face, looking for any hint of reasoning. His eyes didn’t waver, just stern and fixed, backed by a quiet determination. A look that said all how he was feeling, full of something far older than his years. He wasn't scared.

He wasn’t like kids his age who had the freedom to do as they pleased. Caleb had seen the horrors, what it was like to be powerless. To have choice ripped away. He knew things weren’t guaranteed in this life. He knew fear better than anyone else, and he didn’t flinch in the face of it anymore.

“I won’t lose,” he said, voice low. “Not to them. Not to anyone.”

I have someone I must protect.

He would break the world first, than lose you. Gran’s gaze softened with sorrow, with helpless guilt. No child should know the weight of survival like this. Fearing for his safety is a burden she wishes she could lift from him. The wounds on him serve only as a reminder of her inescapable remorse.

“I don’t want her to be in pain again,” he whispered, barely louder than a breath, the last word catching at the edge of his throat.

And she saw him, for a brief second before he turned away, casting a glance at the sleeping girl beside him before discreetly wiping his eye with the back of his hand.

She saw it clearly then: his legs dangling off the edge of the chair, and his tiny fists clenched tight around the hem of his stained shorts.

Just a small, terrified boy, trying to protect someone even smaller than him.

She carried them both to the couch, settling them gently before tucking a blanket around their small, tired bodies.

“You two only have each other in this world,” she whispered, brushing a strand of hair from his face. “She looks up to you, Caleb. When she sees you hurt, she hurts too. I need you to look after yourself, just as much as you look after her.”

She never knew if her words ever truly reached him. Deep down, she suspected he would never see things her way. To him, there was only one truth: that they had no one else. Just each other.

He gave her a silent nod.

She leaned down, kissing them both softly on the head.

“Goodnight, my dear.”

His eyelids felt heavy. With a small, sluggish shift, he tried to adjust his arm into a more comfortable position, but your hold only tightened. You burrowed closer, murmuring in your sleep, “Caleb… don’t go…”

He turned his head toward you. Your face was still blotchy from tears, the bottom of your nose marked with dried snot. His arm had long since gone numb beneath your weight, but he didn’t move.

Instead, he let out a long, tired sigh, resting his head back against the couch cushion.

He was the product of an experiment before he was ever a child. A child who met more tears than laughter. The sterile confines of the lab taught him his first lesson—that tears were worth less than the dust collected on the floor.

That feeling of helplessness was less a memory than a constant reminder. The image resurfaced in his sleep every night, the haunting picture of your unconscious body on the operating table, surrounded by people who treated you like nothing more than data. Watching it all unfold like he was living through a tragedy he had no power to stop.

He would always remember how gently he’d introduce himself to you, again and again, with a softness neither of you had ever been given. It was the only thing he could offer then—tenderness in a world that had given them none.

The promise you made in the safety of your shared haven was bound tighter that night. And so too was the vow Caleb made to himself.

A tethered kite can only soar so high. But he swore he would fly farther. Farther than the weight of fear, farther than the gravity that tried to keep him grounded. He’d make sure your days ended in laughter. That your joyful cries would finally outnumber the tears you no longer remember shedding. He would be your anchor when every adult had failed you. Your home, when the world gave you none.

To him, failure wasn't an option. Failure meant losing you.

His hand came to rest gently on your head, fingers brushing back the hair that had fallen along your cheek. Caleb looked at the dim reflection cast in the glow of the living room lamp—your image softened in its warm light, quiet and still, as if untouched by the chaos beyond these walls.

The steady rhythm of your breathing pulled him closer to sleep, like a lullaby only he could hear.

He wrapped the blanket more securely around you, drawing you into him as if the simple act could protect you from every shadow waiting just beyond reach.

His purpose came from you, and what had left that lab was a love born from survival.

He stroked the back of your head slowly, gently, each pass easing him closer to rest. Soft fragments of a promise lingered on his lips.

“Don't worry, I’m not going anywhere.”

If he could help it, he would shape the world into something safer for you. He would stand in the way of anything that tried to hurt you.

He would build something better.

A world so far out of reach that harm could never graze you again.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ likes, reblogs, and feedback are always appreciated! feel free to ask me anything or pop in and say hello ૮₍˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ₎ა

a/n- let's ignore the fact im already a few days behind in this calebweek. im still a firm believer josephine cared for caleb but their relationship was def rocky and not the same she had with MC. i love this prompt so much bc caleb was still a child when he took on his protective role, like they were both just babies. also if you see me spam post to catch up, no u didnt

as always hope you enjoyed reading!!

#sho yap sessions ( ˊᯅˋ)

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