elysen

[elysen]

It's not my fault Caleb 😭..you always spoil me 😔

Cr: http://xhslink.com/m/7U3RICHbvbV (I translated texts)

[elysen]

When you come up with the courage to ask your boyfriend, Caleb, for a plushie to keep with your at night, he looks at you like you've just propositioned him to enter a polyamorous relationship with a third person.

But your eyes are sparkling, and your smile is lovely, so he lets out an "alright" before he even realizes.

So now, not only does he have to live with the knowledge of you sleeping with someone something else, but he has to choose it, too.

Yeah, Caleb doesn't really appreciate this kind of irony.

To make matters worse, it doesn't look like Gideon is willing to be helpful in figuring out a solution.

"just buy a plushie that looks like you."

How is Caleb supposed to explain that he doesn't want you hugging a plushie instead of him without looking like a lunatic? It's tricky.

So he pretends to forget, for the time being.

And you, on your part, pretend that Caleb is able to forget something that is about you. Every now and again, though, you slow down when walking past a toy shop, staring and the articles on display.

Sometimes, you even ask him, "What do you think of that one, Caleb? It's cute, isn't it?"

Caleb hums and nods, white knuckles and a tight smile.

He reaches a breaking point after going shopping with you and having to witness his girlfriend hug various plushies to figure out 'which one fit right'.

"I just want to explain how I feel without looking like an asshole."

"You are being one, though." Gideon's reply comes quicker than normal.

Caleb can barely keep from punching his shoulder.

"you are being selfish and you can't even see it."

"Elaborate."

With a tired sigh and a rub of his eyes, Gideon turns around to face Caleb, squaring himself as if he was about to explain long division to a toddler.

"we are gone for long periods of time. Your girlfriend is not trying to replace you. She just wants something to keep with herself when you're not there. That's why it's so important that you choose it."

Understanding dawns upon Caleb and his friend grins. "Do you get it now?"

That night, when you open the door to your flat, you don't see your boyfriend. Instead, you come face to face with a plushie version of him, clad in uniform and everything.

"what...?"

Caleb does appear from behind, grinning while holding the toy: "Here you go! Your very own, very exclusive, limited edition Caleb plushie!"

You let out a squeal and immediately grab it, hugging it tight to your chest. "He's perfect!"

Caleb, who's let himself inside, sneaks his arms between you and well, the smaller version of him.

"ah, ah, ah. Let's agree on one rule first: tiny Caleb" he points at it, "will retire once big Caleb comes back."

Rolling your eyes at your jealous boyfriend, you agree, but not before stamping a kiss on both their foreheads.

[elysen]

God- i can't with these two 🥹 pips giving caleb a mini heart attack everytime she does something sweet is just so canon in my head

love letter practice

you were on a mission, and the mission must be to get caleb to lose his mind.

★pairing: caleb x reader ★wc: 1.9k ★content: old days (high school era), fluff, (mutual) pining, love letter confession (under the guise of "practicing"), caleb's pov. ★a/n: I had love letters on the brain and thought of this! I might end up doing a part 2 set during stage observer, where the "love letter" you find is the one here hehe ★masterlist

You were lurking.

Caleb paused in his studying for the umpteenth time that afternoon, glancing back to where your shadow crept under his door. You'd passed back and forth behind it for the past fifteen minutes, and he was too focused on his essay to call you out on it.

But as he wrapped up all his main points in the conclusion, he called without looking back, "Stop hovering, pips, you know I don't bite."

He smirked to himself when he heard you grumble on the other side, the door flying open and slamming shut in an instant.

"Not funny," you mumbled at his jab towards your old biting habits, and he directed his smirk over his shoulder at you.

You were still lingering on the edge of the room, and his joy quickly faded. He turned around in his desk chair to face you fully.

"Hey, what's up?"

"Nothing," you said quickly, but your hands were behind your back the whole time, fidgeting with something he couldn't see.

Your eyes weren't meeting his either, and his head tilted, arching an eyebrow.

"Come over here," he urged you gently, patting the extra chair he kept next to his desk, just for when you wanted to come in and study with him.

Or, more likely, to pester him until he paid attention to you while he was trying to do his own homework.

You hesitated, then slowly came up, plopping down in the chair with your hands still behind your back.

"You gonna show me what you're holdin' onto so tightly there?"

You glared at him, and he just smiled sweetly, chin propped on his palm, trying to wear down your defenses.

It gave a boost to his pride when it worked, your shoulders deflating with a big sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the world, and he tensed again.

Were you being bullied? Did you fail a test? Or was it the nightmares again?

Whatever he thought might be wrong, it definitely wasn't you admitting that, "I want to write a love letter."

Caleb stiffened, his mind going to every dark place he tried to hide away from himself, every face of some loser with a hopeless crush on you flashing in his mind.

Outwardly, he tried to hide his troubled expression, but his brows furrowed anyway.

"Why do you want to write a love letter?" he asked, struggling to keep his voice even. But it was tight, his posture stiff when he looked down at his essay again, no longer seeing the words there. "You got someone in mind?"

"Well—no."

Caleb dared to look back up to see you were pouting. And even with the restless storm in his mind, he had to resist the urge to pinch the apples of your cheeks when they were all puffed out so cutely like that.

"But what if I do want to write one eventually?" you continued, in clear distress over a hypothetical situation that he hoped would never exist one day. "And I don't know how, and I just look stupid!"

"You'd never look stupid," he said quickly, effortlessly and honest, even as he frowned deeper at your explanation. "But I told you before, pips, letters are our thing. Why would you—"

He stopped short, breath catching in his throat when he finally saw what was in your hands as you held it out to him.

Across the front of an envelope of antique looking parchment, written carefully in cursive (you never used cursive, you hated how your handwriting looked in it, even though he thought it was perfect and pretty), was the letters spelling out his name.

Caleb looked from it, to you, then down to the envelope again.

"What's—"

"Practice," you interrupted, shoving it into his chest, and he scrambled to grab it. "I need you to tell me if it's any good."

"Pipsqueak, you—" Caleb cleared his throat, shifting nervously, his fingers almost shaking when he grazed them over his name. "You wrote me a love letter?"

"For practice!"

He laughed, and he hoped you didn't hear how winded the noise sounded. Because you'd sure stolen the breath right from his lungs with how you nervously fidgeted, avoiding his eyes, your love letter in his hands.

Your love letter.

For him.

Oh god.

He carefully unsealed the tape (one of your favorite decorative ones, with the cute little red and green apples dancing together), his heart in his throat as he pulled the letter out.

And oh god it smelled like that perfume you'd begged Gran to get you for your birthday, the one that was warm with vanilla and cinnamon and a hint of apples and it smelled amazing you were amazing you—

"Stop treating it like it's a bomb!" you complained, smacking him in the chest, and he laughed anxiously.

"I'm not!" he argued, not knowing how to tell you that this was something precious, something delicate, and he never trusted himself to not break something that special in his hands.

He got stuck for a moment on the Dearest Caleb that started out the letter, his fingertips brushing across it, before he forced himself to get past his nerves and read the first sentence.

A laugh got caught in his throat unbidden, and you were scrambling all over him in an instant, trying to grab it back as you shouted, "What? What?! What's so funny?"

"I am writing to you today," he repeated the start of your opening line, grinning at you as you whined and shook him. "This sure is a formal love letter. Are you courting me, pipsqueak?"

"Shut up!" you snapped, pinching him in the side, and he jumped with an over dramatic ow! "Give it back!"

"Noooope, it's mine now!" He grinned, wrapping his arm around you to keep you pressed to his side, and you playfully punched him while he held the letter over your head and kept reading silently.

'I am writing to you today to tell you what I've wanted to say for a really long time.'

Oh.

Caleb sucked in an unsteady breath, eyelashes fluttering with the indescribable emotion that swept through him.

It's just practice, he told himself over and over as you settled into his side. Your arms wrapped around his waist for comfort, your face burying into his chest with embarrassment. You don't mean it.

And then the next sentence hit.

'I like you, Caleb.'

Oh.

'I like you so much that it's hard to focus on anything but you. I think about you when I'm with you or when you're gone. I think about you during class, or when I'm watching your games, or when you make my favorite snacks after school.'

'I'm always thinking about how I want to hold your hand for longer when you walk me home. I want to hold you tighter when you hug me, and kiss—'

Caleb glanced away, eyes squeezing shut, face tilted up towards the ceiling as he mouthed a silent prayer that he didn't completely lose his mind right now.

Then he dared to look back down, to keep reading:

'—and kiss you on the sidewalk, in the rain, when you hold an umbrella over my head.'

He glanced at the top of your head, at how you held onto him so tightly, hoping against all hope that you couldn't hear or feel how his heart was pounding against his chest right now.

'You're cute, and you're funny, and you've always been nice to me, even when you're pretending to be mean just to tease me.'

"Caleb," you whined, poking him in the ribs as he read through each line carefully. "What do you think?"

"Well, so far it sounds like a birthday card," he teased, lying through his teeth just so you couldn't see right through him and tell how madly in love with you he was, as he'd always been.

You dropped your head onto his shoulder with a groan.

"But give me some time," he said softly. "I'm still makin' my way through it."

"Well, hurry up!" you poked at him impatiently again, and he brushed your hand aside with a laugh.

'You're my best friend, and I want you to be more than that, if you want it too.'

He could almost laugh at that if he wasn't so winded with emotion. If he wanted it. Like you weren't teasing him with all he's ever wanted, and telling him it was practice.

And then the last line hit him right where it hurt the most, in the part of him that's always ached for you, burrowing in there to stay.

'Would you ever be mine?'

"Well?" you said, untangling yourself from his slack grip. You bounced anxiously in your seat, and he hoped you couldn't see how red his face had gotten. "How is it? Did it make your heart flutter?"

Flutter? It nearly gave him a heart attack.

He wanted to give you a real answer to your fake question, to tell you yes. He wanted to scream it to the heavens, wanted to grab your face and kiss you all over and say yes. He would. He already was.

Caleb cleared his throat.

"It's good," his voice cracked when he said it and oh, god, could you see right through him?

"Really?"

You leaned closer, and Caleb quickly scrambled back, as far in the other direction as he could get as you kept creeping closer.

"Yeah, pips, real good," he complimented, carefully tucking the letter back into the envelope, his heart racing. "But, uh, you should keep practicing. On me."

You frowned a little, disappointed as always when you felt like you didn't nail something right on the first try. And he didn't have the guts to tell you that you absolutely did hit it right out of the park, his head all the way up in the clouds with the daydreams you'd fueled for him for the foreseeable future.

"Okay," you muttered, eyes downcast, and his heart ached.

"Hey," Caleb said softly, ruffling your hair gently. You peered up at him through your lashes with a pout, and he just about melted. "I told you it was good, didn't I?"

You sniffed, and he only then noticed your eyes were all teary. "Is it really?"

"Yeah." He rubbed his thumb at the corner of each of your eyes, trying to not look too adoring to cross a line when you leaned into his palm. "My heart's all a-flutter. Promise."

You smiled into his hand, and his heart skipped a beat again.

"Okay," you said with newfound determination, giving a resolute nod. "I'll keep practicing. Watch out for the next one, you'll be in love with me before you know it!"

Caleb choked on air at that.

He let you get all the way to the door, and listened to you open it before his resolve cracked.

"I would."

You paused, glancing back over your shoulder at him.

"Would what?" you asked, and Caleb let out a breathless laugh.

"Nothin', pipsqueak," he brushed off, pulling his textbook closer to himself, staring at the words that blended together, your letter on his desk still in the corner of his eyesight.

For a moment, you stayed in his doorway behind him. He could feel you staring. And he almost looked back.

What face were you making? he wondered. Was it the same as his?

Was the same hidden part of him hidden in you as well?

But then the door shut behind you, and Caleb collapsed with a heavy sigh, head banging against the desk.

"What are you doin' to me, pips?" he whispered under his breath, lovesick and bringing the letter up to his lips to kiss it with a dazed smile. "Whatever it is, please keep doin' it."

taglist: comment here if you want to be added! blank blogs will be blocked 🍎 Caleb fics: @reit0o @honeymoonfleur @sylvieisoffline @itsmysmut @inzayneforaj 💖all fics: @frostbitten-cherry @asiatic-apple @heartyluv @floatinginaer @sweetcalebb @princessofenkanomiya @lazygelpen @deepspacebunnieblue @cherryartchaos @kireeen @stargirlygirl @draftbeerbibi @pastelsweaters-and-bubble-t @slovesyouuu @ineffabl-y @grlyeetswrld @toelady @asiaticapple @aenishas @sylusgworl @lamogliedizayne

[elysen]

soft, slow mornings with caleb... ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

—slight nsfw, fluff drabble

based on these CalebWeek prompts 🍎

You blink slowly at the red digits on the alarm clock: 5:47 am. A little too early for his alarm to have gone off. A little too early to be awake. And yet, his arm is heavy over your waist, holding you close.

It’s rare being up before Caleb, rarer even that you get to see him like this, so unguarded. You shift slightly, stretching your arms above your head in a lazy arch before rolling over, slipping beneath the hem of his shirt as you go, until you're tucked against his bare chest, limbs tangled under the blanket, face to face with the man beside you.

“Mmh, warm.” You nuzzle into his chest like he’s your personal radiator, staying there until his alarm finally goes off.

He didn’t make a move for the clock—just held you close, like he wasn’t ready to let go. In his half-asleep voice, he murmured, “As much as I’d love to keep you like this, I’ve got a meeting with the fleet first thing this morning.”

You just tightened your arms around his chest.

“Five more minutes,” you mumbled.

He let out a soft breath as his head sank back into the pillow. He was too tired to push back. He just dropped his hand to the back of your head, stroking slowly under his shirt.

“Alright, five more minutes.”

That was enough. You nestled your face into the warm curve of his neck, breathing him in. He smelled like comfort, like the smell of freshly washed laundry.

His hand slid down the length of your back, resting securely at your hip. His skin was soft and warm. You let your hands wander, knowing exactly where to touch, where he tensed when you dragged your fingers over his pressure points. He twitched slightly, betraying just how well you knew him.

“You enjoying yourself?” he asked, voice still thick with sleep.

“Mhm,” you hummed, smiling.

Your fingers moved slowly over the ridges of his chest, then your lips followed. You kissed the same path, planting feather-light kisses along his skin. His breath hitched just enough for you to hear. That soft reaction made your stomach flutter. It made you want more. Made you want to see what else you could get out of him.

You kept going, brushing your mouth along his skin, slipping under the neckline of his shirt. Kisses pressed against the base of his neck, creeping up under his jaw. His eyes were still shut, soaking in every second, either unaware of what you were doing—or pretending to be.

Your hips shifted under his, slow and deliberate. So slow it could’ve passed as innocent. But the way his breath caught again said otherwise. The quiet grind of your body against his was doing exactly what you hoped it would.

He groaned, low in your ear.

“Is this your plan for keeping me in bed?” One eye cracked open, watching you now.

“Maybe,” you teased, mouth tracing along his jaw until you hovered just above his ear. Your hands trail down his chest, palming the growing bulge pressing up against your hips.

“It’s not like they can’t start without you,” you whispered, nipping at his earlobe. You rub him slowly through his pants, savouring the way he writhes under your touch, hips bucking ever so slightly toward you. It was almost too agonising for him to bear.

“I wish I could just stay here with you.”

“So stay,” you murmured, pressing your hips down harder. “Or do I need to convince you a little more?”

His hands gripped your hips tight, stopping your movement. That alone told you how close he was to caving in. His voice came out strained, hanging by a thread, “Not right now.”

It almost hurt him to say it.

If he let you keep going, he’d have flipped you onto your back already and let everyone in that meeting wonder his whereabouts.

“If you keep doing that,” he muttered, “I don’t think I’ll ever leave.”

You laughed softly, pressing a kiss to his mouth.

“It’s your day off, isn’t it?” he said. “How about I make you breakfast in bed. You rest. And when I get back…” He tugs you out from under his shirt, then shifts you beneath him, pinning you down with a hungry look.“Maybe I’ll let you finish what you started.”

“I don’t think I can wait that long.”

“Trust me,” he said. He slides his knee between your thighs, slowly easing them apart until he’s pressed against your warmth. A low groan slips from him the moment he feels the damp spot waiting for him.“I’ll make it—even if I have to break every traffic law out there. It’ll be worth it if it means I get to come home to you.”

He finally pulls away, but not before capturing your moan in a slow, lingering kiss—like he needed to take a piece of you with him. Then he groans, dragging himself out of bed for a cold shower, the only thing that might help ease the massive hard-on you left behind.

[elysen]

I've always wantedd to draw caleb :>>>>

[elysen]

Bad Fight

⋆˙⟡ you and caleb have a fight after he decides to put some stranger in his place, stripping you of your autonomy. again

cw: angst

a/n: this is for my avoidant girlies 🫶🏻

──★ ˙

The tension was suffocating. Tonight was supposed to be a fun and relaxing—a rare break from both of your jobs. But Caleb had ended up telling some guy off for looking at you and ruining the whole night.

God.

What right did he have to just.. do that?

You sounded like an asshole, but Caleb was always hovering, always trying to play the knight in shining armor. But you weren't the little girl that needed saving anymore and he didn't seem to get that.

Now, you were silently walking up to his apartment a few steps behind him, your chest tight and your cheeks burning from frustration.

When he let you in, you didn't even thank him. Just walked past. And it killed him. He sighed, running a tired had through his hair before shutting the door and following after you.

"Hey, are you seriously still upset?"

Heat shot up your spine. It was that 'seriously' he threw in there that really made the churn in your stomach worse. He said it like he couldn't believe you were mad at him, like what he did was so noble.

But you pressed your lips into a hard line, refusing to answer.

"Okay. So that's a yes."

Still nothing.

Wordlessly, you shrugged off your coat, then draped it over his couch. You knew you were being a bit childish. The cold shoulder? Yeah. That was never the way to go, but you didn't trust your voice right now.

Caleb let out another sigh, taking a few steps forward. "I'm sorry I screwed up our evening," he breathed out, hand twitching at his side like he wanted to touch you. "But I'm not sorry I told that weirdo to back off."

You paused, desperately trying to swallow back the thousands of angry words trying to spill out.

Stop it.

For a moment, it was silent. Just you trying to hold it together, and Caleb, standing there, waiting for you say something. To snap at him, yell at him, anything.

But you never did.

"Can you at least..." He trailed off, unsure of what to say. "Can you at least look at me? Or say something?"

You licked your lips, the words just on the tip of your tongue.

Reel it in.

He means well.

Slowly, you turned around. You stared at him for a second, thinking of your words carefully before finally opening your mouth.

"I.. I know you mean well, but what you did back there—it didn't feel good. It felt.." you paused, afraid of what this might cause, "humiliating."

A flicker of hurt passed through Caleb's eyes.

Humiliated?

The word rang in his ears, made his jaw clench and his brows pinch together. He humiliated you? Him caring humiliated you?

He couldn't help the small scoff that slipped past his lips. It wasn't mocking. Wasn't angry. Just disbelieving. "So me caring about you was embarrassing?" The hurt crept in unbidden and he hated it, but he couldn't stop it.

"Did you even see the way he was looking at you?" he asked, voice edging on something rougher.

You sighed. "Caleb—"

"He was being disrespectful," he continued. "Basically undressing you with his eyes."

Your breath quickened, your stomach burning with frustration. "And I could've handled it myself."

"How?"

For a second, you hesitated. How would you have handled it? Would you really have said anything? Sure, you could say you would've, but if Caleb hadn't stepped in back there, would you have? Really?

"I would've said something," you responded, the words weak, even to your own ears. And Caleb caught it. The waver in your voice? He didn't miss that—the sound that told him you weren't sure, but still answering just for the sake of argument.

"Right."

Heat rushed through your veins at that single-word. Right. Right, as if it was impossible for you to defend yourself.

"This is the problem," you spat, instantly regretting the bitterness that laced your words but committing to it.

"What is?"

"This!" you said, exasperated, hands making some incomprehensible gesture between him and yourself. "You don't even let me try to protect myself."

The words felt like a punch to the gut. This? As in him? Something hot and ugly was crawling up his throat. He should've stopped it. In any other circumstance—where he hadn't seen some stranger ogle you like you were some piece of meat—maybe he could've been calmer.

But he had watched some guy ogle you, and now he was the one in the wrong for standing up for you?

"You think I like always being the one to step in?"

Caleb should've shut his mouth right then and there, but the words were already out. He couldn't stop now.

"You think it feels good to always be on edge," he continued, voice rougher than he intended, "wondering if I’m crossing a line or just doing what you won’t?"

The last had more bite than the rest and your breath instantly caught in your throat.

Then, in a fresh wave, it all came back, frustration washing over you.

"You're not listening!" you seethed. "It doesn't matter what I can and can't do! I'm not asking you to play hero!"

Your voice shook with the weight of your emotions. "You choose that on your own, and I keep asking you not to!"

Caleb huffed, shaking his head as he took a small step back. "Okay, so next time I should just watch?"

Your throat closed up, angry tears welling in your eyes.

Not now.

Please not now.

"No, that's not what I'm—" You paused, trying to swallow back the tears threatening to spill down your cheeks.

You hated this.

You hated crying out of frustration.

"That's not what I'm saying," you finished, your voice losing the bitter edge it had just seconds ago.

Caleb let out a soft exhale. He caught the slight shake in your voice, the way you'd silently pulled back.

Fuck.

He was being an asshole.

Caleb softened, but for a while, neither of you said anything. You wouldn't even look at him, and that alone was devastating. Caleb hated that he'd done this, that he'd let himself get carried away, trying to prove why he was justified rather than listen.

His voice came out quieter when he spoke again. "What do I do? I mean, I can't—I can't just watch people do shit to you. But I also can't defend you." He let the words settle before continuing, "So what do I do?"

You ran a shaky hand down your face. "Forget it. Just—" You shook your head, turning on your heel and rushing toward the guest-room, the one that was reserved just for you.

Panic flared in Caleb's chest. "Pips—"

But you were already gone, slamming the door behind you.

Caleb stood in the doorway, his heart pounding in his ears. The apartment was suddenly quiet. Empty.

You always slept in his room when you were over. Even after fights. Even when things got messy.

So he waited up in bed for you.

10 minutes had gone by, and nothing.

15 minutes. Still nothing.

Then 30. And it was becoming painfully clear you weren't coming to bed with him tonight.

He knew he should give you space, so he tried to sleep, but he kept replaying your fight, kept replaying the way the angry set of your brow softened the moment he'd gone too far.

Then he thought about the tears in your eyes—

God, the tears.

He was horrible.

Caleb couldn't stand this. With a heavy breath, he reached toward his nightstand and grabbed his phone, thumbs moving shakily across the keyboard.

Caleb: i messed up.

Caleb: i didn't hear you.

Caleb: i'm sorry.

Caleb: can i still kiss you goodnight?

Meanwhile, you were in bed, cheeks puffy and eyes rimmed red, staring at his texts. You wanted to say yes. Wanted him to come in through the door and fix everything with a little kiss and a few sweet words.

But the fight kept replaying in your head. The bitterness, the almost mocking lilt he couldn't quite hide.

It hurt.

Too much to just let him in again.

You: not tonight.

[elysen]

"I thought you were good at this, cutie. Better catch the right fish this time"

Puffayel

[elysen]

birthday indulgences

the kiss we silently swore never to talk about again...

summary: years ago, on your birthday, you & caleb shared a forbidden moment. it isn't until his birthday that all those hidden desires are finally indulged in.

★pairing: caleb x fem!reader ★wc: 3.5k ★content: fluff & smut. drunk first kiss & grinding in the memory, caleb panics, a tiny bit of angst. sloppy makeouts, spit kink, dry humping, coming in pants, desperate & subby caleb, overstimulation. caleb calls reader pipsqueak, baby, honey and love. reader calls caleb baby. ★a/n: I love that theory that the kiss they don't talk about happened when they were younger, and then I thought ooo I could do a parallel with this. it was supposed to be sweet and it turned smutty, but it's still sweet. I'll probably do a more intimate version of their first time once his card is out! ★masterlist ★read on ao3

You couldn't believe you had actually gotten Caleb to go along with your plan.

When you'd told him you needed a break from your college campus, and that you wanted to go out and get drunk in Skyhaven for your birthday, he was already nodding along on the video call.

"Alright, pipsqueak," he agreed with a grin. "I'll tag along and take care of you. Gotta make sure you're staying hydrated."

"No, no, no." You shook your head, grinning wickedly when he cocked his head to the side like a confused puppy. "You're going with me."

He arches an unimpressed eyebrow.

"Uhh, earth to pipsqueak, did you not hear what I just said? I am going—"

"Nooo," you interrupt, wagging your finger. "You're going drinking with me."

He'd sputtered, complained and argued all he wanted, but he had agreed to every one of your terms by the time you hung up the call.

And here you were, tipsy and laying back on the floor of his Aerospace Academy assigned studio apartment, watching the ceiling fan spin while you both giggled over something you can't quite remember.

You glance over at where Caleb's sprawled out beside you, smiling at the happy, hazy look in his eyes that surely matches your own. It was impossible to see him ever completely loosen up, and this was the best birthday gift you could've asked for.

Then your thoughts immediately take a different direction when he licks his lips.

They're too dry. You know because you'd jokingly held him down as you swiped your own chapstick across them countless times.

And you'd caught him running his thumb over his cracked bottom lip, tongue darting out across the lingering taste of you when he thought you weren't looking.

Your whole face feels too hot suddenly, blood rushing so fast through your ears that you can't even hear the idle sounds of Skyhaven late at night that drift up through the cracked window.

You wonder what it would be like to kiss someone.

To have their lips press to yours, all tentative and sweet. To know that liking them wasn't in vain, that hoping they felt the same way wasn't just a daydream you'd kept hidden for years. To see the adoration in their eyes when they pull back and caress your cheek.

Purple eyes with an orange sheen.

You wonder what it would be like to kiss Caleb.

"Caleb," you whine, watching the dopey smile grow on his face at your voice. "Am I too old to have never been kissed?"

Caleb's eyes widen, flashing to yours.

"I—" he blinks rapidly, and you giggle at the rare occasion of having caught him completely off guard. "What?"

"Kiss-ing," you draw out, tapping your lips with each letter you spell out for him, "k-i-s-s-i-n-g."

Caleb watches each tap with rapt attention, so captivated that his own lips slowly part. A bit of drool collects at the corner of them, and your vision goes hazy before he quickly looks away.

"Oh." He sounds breathless, clearing his throat to steady his voice. "Uh, I dunno, pipsqueak. I mean, I'm older than you and I've never kissed anyone. Is that weird?"

He gives a little laugh, but you hear the stiff edge to it, can see the uncertainty haunting the façade of his easy expression.

"Really?" you roll over onto you stomach, propping your chin onto your palms.

Your legs kick behind you, and he glances at you and away again.

After a stretch of awkward silence, he turns onto his side, meeting your gaze.

"I mean, yeah," he mutters, shrugging one shoulder. "Why would I?"

You look down at his never-been-kissed lips, feeling your blood rush to your head when he bites them.

Your eyes dart back down, watching his necklace brush against the floor from the angle he lays at.

"Sooo…you've never wanted to kiss anybody?" you ask, trying to seem casual, even as your fingers fidget with the hem of his shirt when he shifts closer.

"I didn't say that," Caleb mutters, and you go rigid.

"Oh."

You flop back onto your back, glaring up at the ceiling fan before he can notice how your brows have pinched, your mouth pressed into a firm line.

"Pips?" Caleb pokes at your cheek, and you pout, turning on your side away from him. "What's got you all frowny-faced?"

"Nothing," you bite out, crossing your arms over your chest.

"Uh-huuuh."

He pokes at your back, then your side, until his fingers are lightly tickling at your ribs. You giggle, kicking your feet out at him.

"Caleb, stooop," you whine, pushing back at him as he tries to tug you back over to face him.

"C'mon, pips," he teases, pinching your waist, and you squeak. "Why won't you look at me?"

Flipping over to smack him, you accuse with totally justified, totally sober and coherent anger, "I'm mad at you, dummy!"

He blinks, and you try and not melt at how cute he looks like this—drunk and flushed, with those big confused puppy dog eyes.

"Why?"

Instead of answering him directly, you ask, "Was it the girl in your chemistry class?"

"The—" Caleb blinks again, shifting back in surprise. "What?"

"That you wanted to kiss sooo badly." You frown, crossing your arms again. "The one who copied off your homework, and you were too nice to stop her. Or was it the guy who always tried to beat your track record?"

"Pips—"

"Or the cheerleader captain? Or is it somebody at university, huh? Are you sneaking around making googly eyes at the other pilots?"

"Oh, quit it." Caleb rolls his eyes, rubbing a hand over his forehead with an unamused huff. "I didn't want to kiss any of them. I don't want to."

"Then who?" You push yourself up, and he sits up to match your restless energy. He always rises to that familiar challenge in your eyes, pulling when you push. "Who exactly is just so damn special that you're still saving that kiss for them?"

Caleb's eyes flash, and he leans up and over you until his large frame is surrounding you completely.

"Maybe it's someone I like with a bratty mouth," he snaps, gently pinching your lips shut between calloused fingers.

Your wide eyes meet his blazing ones, and you both freeze.

His fingers loosen on your lips, and your lashes flutter.

He watches your eyes dilate, then looks down to where he gingerly brushes his fingers along the seam of your lips, his breath audibly hitching when they part for him.

Caleb's lids fall heavy over his darkening gaze. Your breath speeds up in your chest. He looks from your lips to your eyes, then back down to your lips again.

And when you glance down at his own mouth, you're both crashing into each other.

Your first kiss with your childhood friend, your best friend, was anything but the magical one you had just been daydreaming about.

This was sloppy and needy, all tongue and spit and teeth. Years of emotion you didn't know how to unpack began to unravel at the seams, and you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him into you as you fall back onto the floor.

Neither of you knew what you were doing, only that you were desperate for more. His hands grab at your waist, slipping down to your thighs briefly, and snapping back up when he realized what he was touching.

Then his arms are wrapping around you, corded muscles tightening to hold you close to him as you squirm from all the years of pent up tension.

Your lips meet his again and again, needy sounds filling the air. His own spit dribbles down your chin as Caleb licks into your mouth and moans against your tongue.

Your foot trails up his leg, wrapping around his calf, and he mindlessly grabs at it, hoisting it up until it was wrapping securely around his hip. The fabric of your skirt rides up, and you jolt when you feel the growing bulge in his jeans rub against the thin fabric of your dampening panties.

The sensation is brief, then harder, until you're rolling against each other in a delirious haze of desperation.

He's mumbling something incoherent into your lips, teeth sinking into the soft flesh until you feel it start to break, and you moan his name.

Caleb jerks back, eyes wide and pupils swallowing all the purple except for the thinnest ring around the edge. His chest heaves, kiss-swollen lips forming soundless words.

Lips swollen from your kisses.

You whine, reaching for him as he begins to panic, de-tangling himself from you.

"No," you beg, trying to tug him back as he gently pulls your grabbing hands away. "No no no—"

"Pips, you're—" his voice is ragged, and he sucks in a deep breath.

His eyes are wild, darting around at everything but you, even as he tugs your skirt back down around your waist. His cheeks blaze red when he steals another quick look at the ruined panties underneath, the soaked fabric with a lacy band, before he turns away in shame.

"You're drunk," he breathes, shaking his head sharply.

"I'm not—"

"I'm drunk." Caleb laughs, disbelief coating the sound, long fingers running through his hair until it's sticking up in all directions. "Shit. Fuck. This wasn't—this wasn't supposed to happen—"

Your body begins to defensively curl inwards, and you blink quickly to try and keep the sudden sting of tears at bay.

Caleb finally dares a glance back at you, going from flushed to shockingly pale in seconds.

"No, no, pipsqueak—"

"No, it's fine," you sniff, pushing yourself up and scooting back against the floor. "I get it. You…you didn't want it to be me. I get it."

"No, no no no," he keeps mumbling the word the entire time you're moving away, and suddenly Caleb's on his hands and knees, crawling after you with those big, sad puppy dog eyes. "No, pips, that's not what I meant—"

"It's fine, Caleb."

"It's not fine," he insists, resting the side of his cheek against the top of your knees. His eyes are wide and wet, begging for you to just look at him. "You heard what I said. Who I said. Who I…wanted."

His voice gets impossibly quiet, and Caleb's honest gaze begs for your attention.

But you're too fixated by the dark indentation your teeth had left in his lips, the shine on them that could've been your saliva or his.

"It's just not a good idea, pips," he whispers, and you flinch, followed by his own grimace. "Shit, no, that sounded bad. It's just because—"

He stops, shaking his head, palm covering his face.

"I can't think straight," he mumbles, peeking at you through his fingers. With a sigh, he drops his hand onto your knee, rubbing gentle circles into your skin. His voice is so gentle, so Caleb, but it still grates at your sensitive nerves right now. "I think we both just need to sleep this off. We'll talk about it later, okay?"

You sniff, still not meeting his eyes completely.

"No, we wont," you mumble, even as you let yourself be gently directed towards his bed.

He's silent as he helps you prepare for sleep, even as he moves to sleep on his little couch, opting for his long legs to cramp up on the furniture instead of cuddling with you. The tension radiates off him at your accusation—because he knows you're right.

"We'll never talk about it again."

But here you are, years later, in the same situation as before.

You're both sober this time. You're older, maybe wiser, and scarred from being torn apart before coming back together.

But the way Caleb looks at you has never changed. Like you hung the stars in the sky, like you were the moon the sun chased with every morning.

He doesn't shy away when you look at him just the same. He doesn't pull back now, doesn't keep his longing locked away when your thumb brushes his lips, collecting the residue of the candy you'd fed him.

You wanted today to be a special birthday for him. You wanted to give him everything he'd ever wanted.

"Remember when you kissed me?" you breathe, and his eyes flash in surprise at what you'd silently sworn to never speak of again, beautiful lashes fluttering at your exhale across his lips. "On my birthday?"

He laughs, a little quiet huff of air, and his shock melts to something knowing. Something you'd both always known, deep down.

"You kissed me," he accuses, all low and sultry in his teasing, and you shiver.

You smile, your thumb caressing the corner of his lips.

It didn't matter who had kissed who anymore, who pulled back from who. You'd still ended up where you both belonged.

Caleb gazes up at you, awestruck when your eyes darken.

"Then you knew I wanted it," you whisper, nose bumping against his. "So why did you stop?"

You lean in slowly, giving him a moment to pull away if he still wanted to, if he still needed time. He'd given you all the time in the world, after all. You'd happily wait for him, too.

But then Caleb's lips are on yours, and everything finally feels right.

He tastes like sour lemon candy, and you whine, sucking his bottom lip into your mouth. He moans, fingers digging into your hips.

"Fuck me," he groans under his breath, and you laugh between the kisses that heat up between you.

"If you insist," you murmur, smirking into his mouth when his hips jerk up into yours.

The whimper that leaves his lips is quiet and needy, and you eagerly swallow it down.

"Don't tease me like that, baby," Caleb rasps, and your own hips roll in his lap at that low huskiness to his voice.

His hands tighten on your hips, stilling you. You pause, wondering if you'd taken it too far.

But then he's directing you, pulling your legs around to straddle him completely. He guides you into a deeper roll, and you both moan.

You sink down onto him with slow grinds, the hem of your dress hiding just how quickly your panties were getting wet. In the rosy haze of growing pleasure, you wonder how long it'll take to soak that erection he's been sporting since you walked in the room.

"Didn't even try and hide how hard you were when I came in," you whisper into your languid, sensual kissing. "Did you?"

Caleb's hand slips down, cupping your ass easily in his rough palm and long fingers. You moan when he squeezes it, followed by a squeak of surprise at his gentle, experimental smack to it.

"You can't talk like that, pips," he pants, head tilting back against the couch. His voice is that delicious shade of darkness when he adds, "God, you can't make those sounds either. I won't last long if you do."

His eyes are hazy as he watches you lean down, kissing along the elegant slope of his neck. You stop at the harsh bobbing of his Adam's apple when he gulps, and your teeth graze along it, humming at the moan you feel vibrate there.

"I've thought about that kiss for years," Caleb gasps, hand sliding up your back to keep you pressed to him. His hips lazily roll up into yours, his eyes rolling back into his head when he suddenly bucks up once. "Every time I—"

He cuts himself off, biting at his already swollen lips with a blush.

You smile, devious in your intent, and his mouth falls open when your hidden possessive streak unfolds.

"Every time you—" you leave your question hanging, letting the way you begin to bounce in his lap be the answer.

"You—" Caleb chokes, gripping your hips.

His eyes glue to the motion of your hips flexing under your dress, ass coming up and smacking back down against the strength of his large thighs. You feel him twitch through his jeans, and you moan along with him.

"F-fuck," he groans, mouth hanging open, the tip of his tongue falling out.

You lean forward, collecting the saliva in your mouth. Realizing what you're doing, Caleb tilts his head up and sticks his tongue out, eyes wide and dilated.

You let your spit pool onto his tongue, and he takes it eagerly, swallowing it down with a whine and a thrust of his hips.

"I've thought about it, too," you breathe, and his lidded eyes flicker between your face and where you're shamelessly humping him. "Every single time. Even when I'm not trying to. But when I'm touching myself—"

"Oh fuck—"

"And I'm trying to come, all I can think about is how warm you were and your spit in my mouth—"

"B-baby," Caleb stutters, his head lolling to the side, unfocused eyes fluttering and rolling back in his head with each dry slap and grind of your hips against his. "Please, please—"

"I always think of kissing you when I'm coming—"

"Coming," Caleb gasps, and you think he's just mindlessly repeating you until you notice how rigid he's gotten, completely still and flushed bright red as he moans, "oh, fuck, I'm coming—"

And you can feel it, the sticky warmth flooding into the front of his jeans, seeping into you as you gasp. You grind down against his throbbing cock underneath the stifling fabric, wishing you were taking every drop of his cum instead, not letting a bit of it go to waste.

Caleb whines, crying out softly as you roll your hips, and you swallow every pretty sound with hot kisses until your clothed clit catches on his ruined jeans just right.

"Oh fuck, there—" you gasp, lips messily attached to his. You feel the tears of pleasure and overstimulation streaming down his face as he bucks up into you still. "Caleb, Caleb—"

"Come," he begs, and your eyes meet his. Your hips falter at the unadulterated affection there before you speed up, breath hitching when you feel yourself being to crest over into mind-numbing pleasure. "Come for me, honey, please come for me love please—"

Your eyes pinch shut, and you cry out for him when the orgasm hits you all at once, all your limbs seizing up as you convulse in his lap.

"Oh fuck there, there it is," Caleb grunts, grabbing at your trembling thighs under your dress, moaning when he feels your slick that had dripped down them. "You're coming, you're actually coming—"

Your pussy flutters and tightens in your soaked panties, and you moan, wondering what it would have felt like if you had had the foresight to tug his cock out of his pants, if your precious Caleb had filled you up before you came around him.

Next time, you think in a haze, giggling breathlessly when you realize there was an endless number of next times now.

Caleb's lips meet yours, and you meet each kiss as they slow into something lazy and content. He keeps leaning closer and closer to you, his hand cupping the back of your head, protecting you when you both end up weakly tumbling to the ground, and you laugh.

Your eyes are warm and shining with joy when you look up at him, pulling him down for another kiss, and another, because they were all yours now. Every kiss, every moment.

It was the same messy meeting of tongue and spit and teeth from that unspoken moment years ago, except this time, he wouldn't pull away.

"When do we get to do that again?" you gasp, and he laughs too, bright and happy and maybe, finally at some semblance of peace.

"Whenever you want it," Caleb hums, pulling back to kiss the tip of your nose, then your cheekbone, your eyelashes, all the way up to your temple and back down to your lips again.

"Well," you start, grinning as your loop your arms around his neck. He smiles down at you in befuddled admiration, like he couldn't believe you were really here. "You're the birthday boy."

There's a subtle shift in his eyes, suddenly shining with vulnerability when he asks, "But you want it?"

"Oh," you whisper, brushing at the leftover tears that cling to his long lashes. You kiss them when his eyes shut, your nose nuzzling against his.

Dummy, you think fondly. Worried you didn't want any more when you just had the best orgasm of your life, just from dry humping his lap.

When you'd been dreaming of doing this for years. When you would've been happy if all he wanted was just a kiss.

But his post-nut shyness was sweet, even if coupled with that deep-rooted fear that when he closed his eyes, you'd disappear. And your heart was too full of love not to reassure him.

So you banished the shadows that haunted the corners of his mind with another gentle kiss, pressing all your love for him into it.

"Of course I want it, Caleb," you murmur, smiling up at him. "You're all I've ever wanted."

He sighs, his lips meeting yours in another kiss. This one is unhurried, an intimate promise between you.

"Happy birthday, baby," you whisper, and he smiles.

[elysen]

Can I request high school au with Caleb, where reader and him has been friends since kindergarten and have been pinning over each other for years, to the point all their friends know asides from them, until one day, Caleb asks reader to be his girlfriend and go to prom together?

Meant to Be, Since We Were Three

Note: here you go anon, hope you like this ╰(￣ω￣ｏ)

The first time you met Caleb, you were five years old, sitting alone on the swings at recess. Your tiny hands gripped the chains tightly as your legs kicked at the air, but the swing barely moved. You frowned, frustrated.

“Why isn’t it working?” you muttered under your breath.

“‘Cause you gotta go back and forward,” a voice said beside you.

You turned your head to see a boy standing there, messy brown hair falling over his forehead and bright purple eyes watching you curiously. He had a small gap in his front teeth and dirt smudged on his cheek, like he’d been playing in the sandbox.

You pouted. “I am going back and forward.”

He shook his head, then suddenly climbed onto the swing next to you. “Nah, like this,” he said, pushing off with his feet. His swing moved easily, gliding higher and higher as the wind rushed past him.

You watched him in awe. “Whoa.”

“See?” he said, grinning as he slowed down. “Now you try!”

Biting your lip, you copied him, leaning back and kicking your legs forward. The swing finally lifted, sending you up, and you let out a gasp.

“I’m doing it!” you cheered.

“Told ya,” the boy said proudly.

For the next few minutes, the two of you swung side by side, giggling as you raced to see who could go higher. Eventually, your legs got tired, and you let the swing slow to a stop.

The boy jumped off his swing, landing in the dirt with a small thud. Then, without hesitation, he held out his hand to you.

“I’m Caleb,” he said.

You blinked at him before taking his hand and shaking it firmly. “I’m (Y/N).”

Caleb’s smile widened. “Wanna go build a sandcastle?”

You beamed. “Yeah!”

That was all it took for the two of you to be friends. Within minutes, the two of you were running around the playground together, climbing the monkey bars and pretending the ground was lava. Caleb let you take the last turn on the slide, and you shared your animal crackers with him even though they were your favorite.

And when the school day ended, you really didn’t want to go home.

“Can we stay?” you whispered, standing next to Caleb while the teacher lined everyone up for pick-up.

He looked up at you with the same hesitant frown. “I dunno. My mom will be mad if I don’t go home.”

You sighed, kicking at the ground. “Yeah… me too.”

Still, neither of you wanted to leave. Because in just one day, Caleb had become your best friend.

By the time you reached middle school, your friendship with Caleb was still just as strong. Maybe even stronger.

You always walked to class together, sat next to each other at lunch, and partnered up for every school project. You were a packaged deal—wherever one of you was, the other was close behind.

But at some point, things started changing.

Maybe it was when you noticed how much taller he had gotten, or how his once-messy brown hair looked good in that effortless way. Or maybe it was when you started catching yourself staring at his purple eyes for too long, feeling your heart race when he laughed. His voice had gotten deeper too.

Whatever it was, it was weird. And kind of scary.

But you weren’t the only one going through it.

Caleb was going through it, too.

He didn’t understand why it felt different when you smiled at him now, why his stomach flipped whenever your hands accidentally brushed. He didn’t understand why he got so mad when another guy made you laugh, or why his face burned when Zayne teased him about being in love with you.

Love? No way.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

But all your friends could see the truth.

“Just admit it,” Zayne glanced up from his book to look at caleb one day at lunch, watching Caleb steal glances at you across the cafeteria. “You like them.”

“I don’t,” Caleb muttered, stabbing his food with his fork.

“Then why do you stare at them like a lovesick puppy?”

“I don’t!”

Caleb had no response. He just turned red and focused on his food, ignoring his friend.

But deep down, he was starting to wonder if he was right.

By the time Caleb reached his senior year, his feelings for you were something he could no longer ignore. They had been there for years, buried beneath layers of friendship and habit, but they had grown roots so deep that no amount of denial could erase them.

It wasn’t just a crush. It wasn’t just lingering glances or the occasional stuttering heartbeat when your fingers accidentally brushed.

It was in the way he searched for you in every room without thinking. In the way his day felt off if you weren’t beside him at lunch. It was in the way his name sounded different when you said it, softer, warmer, like something worth treasuring.

Caleb had always been your best friend. He had always been by your side. But somewhere between childhood and now, the simple joy of having you near had twisted into something deeper.

And it terrified him.

Because if he admitted it—if he said it

—there was no going back.

Still, despite his fears, there was one thing he couldn’t ignore.

Prom was coming.

And if he didn’t do something now, someone else would. Why would they not, You looked like an absolute angel.

The thought made his stomach twist. He could already imagine it—someone else holding your hand, standing beside you, making you laugh. Someone else watching the lights reflect in your eyes, dancing with you in the soft glow of the prom room.

It made his hands clench into fists.

It had to be him.

So, one afternoon, with his heart pounding harder than it ever had before, Caleb finally made up his mind. He was going to ask you.

The day he did it, the air was thick with the scent of spring—freshly cut grass, warm pavement, and the faintest trace of cherry blossoms from the trees lining the courtyard. The setting sun cast everything in a golden hue, and for once, Caleb wasn’t thinking about anything else.

Just you.

He found you sitting on the bleachers behind the school, exactly where he expected. It was your usual spot, a place you always ended up after classes—away from the chaos, where you could just exist without the noise of the world pressing in.

You hadn’t noticed him yet.

For a moment, he just stood there, staring, trying to memorize you in this moment—the way the wind toyed with your hair, the way your fingers absently traced patterns on the worn wood of the bleacher.

You were beautiful, And he was hopeless.

Caleb took a deep breath, steeling himself, and then climbed up the steps, taking a seat beside you.

You glanced at him, smiling without hesitation, like you had been waiting for him.

And that was all the encouragement he needed.

So, with every ounce of courage he could gather, Caleb turned to face you fully, his hands tightening into fists against his knees. His heart was trying to beat out of his chest, but he forced himself to speak anyway.

“Go to prom with me.”

You blinked, the weight of his words sinking in like ink seeping into paper.

Prom. With Caleb.

Your best friend since childhood. The boy who had been by your side through everything. The boy with deep purple eyes that always found yours in a crowded room. The boy you had spent years secretly yearning for, too afraid to ask for more and ruin what you had.

And now he was asking you. Not as a joke. Not as a backup plan. Not with the easygoing smirk he used when he teased you.

He was serious.

You could see it in the way his fists clenched against his knees, the way his jaw was set like he was bracing for something, But most of all, you saw it in his eyes.

You had dreamed of this moment, wondered what it would be like—if he would ever look at you the way you looked at him. If you first boyfriend could be caleb, If asking people out was just as romantic as it seemed on shows you watched, And now here he was, sitting inches away, offering you everything you had ever wanted.

And the answer had never been more obvious.

“Yes.”

The word left your lips before you even had time to second-guess it. It was so easy, like breathing.

Caleb’s shoulders relaxed, his hands uncurling, his entire body unwinding like a coil getting released. His lips parted slightly, as if he hadn’t been sure—as if he had doubted himself even a second—that you would say yes.

Instead, you reached out, taking one of his hands in yours, fingers threading together like they had always belonged that way.

“I’ll go to prom with you,” you said again, softer this time, just in case he needed to hear it twice.

Something flickered in his expression, something relieved.

Then, a slow grin broke across his face, the kind that reached his eyes, bright and unguarded, the kind that had always made your chest tighten.

“Good,” he said, squeezing your hand, voice lighter now, steadier. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

And just like that, the space between you shifted, something finally falling into place.

The night of prom arrived faster than either of you expected.

It felt surreal—like a dream that had been unfolding for years but was only now coming into focus. You and Caleb, dressed in beautiful attire, were walking side by side, but it felt different than any other time before. There was a subtle electricity between you, a quiet excitement, as though the entire world had paused to watch the two of you finally cross that invisible line you’d both been dancing around for so long.

You had never seen him like this before. Caleb, always relaxed and carefree, was a little on edge tonight, his usual confident smile a little shakier, his movements a little stiffer. But he looked incredible—his dark hair styled neatly, his purple eyes bright with anticipation, and that navy suit he wore seemed to fit him just a little too perfectly, as if it had been made for this night alone.

And you... You had never felt more gorgeous in your life.

Your dress—deep blue, flowing to your heels and elegant—seemed to shimmer in the light, its fabric catching every movement, every step. Caleb’s eyes never left you as you entered the venue, and you couldn’t help but feel the warmth spread across your cheeks, knowing how different everything felt now.

You and Caleb had always been close. And now there was a deeper understanding between you two that made every shared glance, every soft smile, feel like something more.

He offered you his arm, a playful glint in his eyes, and you took it, letting him guide you through the crowd in the grand hall the prom was being held at.

You both made your way to the dance floor, and as the first slow song began, Caleb hesitated for just a fraction of a second. You could feel his uncertainty in the way he tightened his grip on your hand, but you smiled up at him reassuringly.

“Relax, Caleb,” you whispered, “I’m right here. i wont melt into the ground”

A soft chuckle escaped his lips. “I know.” He stepped closer, his free hand settling on your waist, and for a moment, everything else faded into the background. You rested your head gently against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear.

You could hardly believe this moment was real.

"I always wanted to dance with you," Caleb murmured, his voice low and warm, his breath brushing the top of your head. "But I never thought it would be like this."

You glanced up at him, catching the tenderness in his eyes. "Me neither."

In that moment, everything felt perfect.

The music swirled around you, but it was just the two of you—Caleb and you. Your heart fluttered, every step bringing you closer, both literally and figuratively. You never thought a moment like this could be so simple, yet so profound.

"Caleb," you whispered, your voice barely audible, "I can't believe we're here together."

He grinned, his eyes twinkling with his usual look. "We’ve always been here," he replied softly. "Just had to figure it out."

His hand moved to gently brush a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering on your skin. You closed your eyes at the sensation, the warmth of his fingers on your cheek making your heart race.

And then, just when you thought you couldn’t feel any closer to him, Caleb pulled back slightly, his gaze intense. “I’m so glad you said yes to me,” he confessed, his voice barely a whisper in the music-filled room. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t.”

You smiled, your heart full.

His eyes softened, a mix of relief and happiness painting his face. “We’ve been friends for so long, but this... this is what i always wanted.”

Your heart skipped a beat. You had always known it too, but hearing him say it out loud made it real in a way nothing else could.

“me too,” you whispered back.

The song continued, but in that moment, you didn’t need anything else. The people outside the dance floor didn’t matter. All that mattered was you and Caleb, here together, sharing this perfect night.

And when the music slowed, and the lights dimmed, Caleb leaned down, his lips brushing against yours in the softest kiss.

[elysen]

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ Not Now!

Pairings: Platonic!Lads men x Their kid

Summary: Your husband is calling your phone, but a little gremlin keeps declining it.

Requested by: @mitskunicheesecake

Notes: part 2 is now out

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ Sylus

Sylus sat in his office, fingers drumming against the desk as he stared at his phone. His calls kept going to voicemail. No, not voicemail—his calls were being declined.

He narrowed his eyes, dialing again.

"Come on, sweetheart, pick up," he muttered under his breath.

The phone rang once. Twice. Then—

Call declined.

Sylus exhaled sharply through his nose, irritation prickling beneath his skin. He had told you to keep your phone close. You were out running errands, and he didn’t like when he couldn’t reach you. With the kind of business he ran, being unreachable meant something could be wrong.

Still, he tried again.

Declined.

His jaw tightened.

This time, instead of calling again, he switched to texting.

Sylus: Sweetheart, answer your phone.

No response.

A muscle in his jaw twitched. He was about to send luke and kieran. Then, A message.

Your Number: No.

Sylus blinked.

No?

His fingers immediately moved to type, but before he could, another message came through.

Your Number: Go away.

His eyes narrowed. That didn’t sound like you. Not exactly. What happened to you? Did E.V.E.R get their hands on you?

His phone rang. A video call.

He answered immediately, expecting to see your face. Instead, a small figure appeared on the screen, curled up on your side of the bed, holding your phone in tiny hands. Their round face scrunched up in annoyance.

"Daddy," Elena huffed. "Stop calling Mommy."

Sylus let out a slow breath, his irritation flickering into something amused. "Is that why my calls are being declined?"

Elena nodded, her little fingers tapping at the screen. "You’re too loud. Mommy’s busy. She said she’ll be home soon."

Sylus leaned back in his chair, rubbing a hand down his face. "You’re hanging up on me, aren’t you?"

"Uh-huh," she said sweetly. "Bye-bye, Daddy. I wanna watch yutuube"

The call ended.

Sylus stared at his phone for a long moment, his amusement fading into something else. His little girl had declined him—multiple times. And worse, she hadn’t even looked guilty about it.

With a sigh, he pushed back his chair and stood. Work could wait.

When Sylus stepped into the house, it was quiet.

He slipped off his jacket, draping it over the couch before making his way to the bedroom. The door was slightly open, and when he pushed it wider, he found his daughter still curled up in bed, your phone clutched in her small hands.

She looked up, her big red eyes widening when she saw him.

"Daddy!"

"Princess," Sylus said, voice slow, deliberate. He crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed, watching as she quickly tucked the phone under the pillow. "I see you’ve been busy."

She blinked, tilting her head. "Mommy is busy," she corrected.

"Is that so?" He reached forward and grabbed her, pulling her onto his lap despite her squeal of protest. "Now, tell me, Princess. What should I do with a little girl who ignores her father?"

She squirmed. "Nothing!"

"Nothing?" His grip tightened slightly, just enough to make her giggle again. "Are you sure about that?"

Elena kicked her legs, laughter bubbling up. "Okay! Okay! I won’t do it again!"

Sylus smirked before giving her forehead a kiss. "That’s what I thought."

Just then, the sound of the front door opening made them both pause.

"Mommy’s home!" his daughter gasped, suddenly wiggling out of his grip. She scrambled off the bed and ran toward the door.

"Kids and their videos these days" Sylus let out an amused huff before going to greet you at the door.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀Caleb

Caleb sat in his office, his uniform jacket draped over the back of his chair, sleeves rolled up as he stared at his phone. His brows furrowed as he hit redial.

Once. Twice.

Declined.

His jaw tensed.

He tried again.

Declined.

Caleb leaned back in his chair, exhaling through his nose. He knew you were out shopping, the messages were lighting up his phone

"thank you for your purchase at xxx store"

but you had given Noah the phone in case he needed anything, the shops were noisy and you couldn't hear the ringing

So why the hell was his own wife declining his calls, did something happen to you?

He dialed again. This time, instead of a decline, the call went through—but no one spoke. He could hear faint background noise, you were definitely outside.

"Y/n?" Caleb said, voice firm.

A beat of silence. Then, a small huff.

"Daddy, stop calling," Noah finally said.

Caleb blinked. "Excuse me?"

"You’re calling too much," Noah complained. "Mommy said we’d call you if we needed something."

Caleb pinched the bridge of his nose. "And what if I need something, huh?"

Another pause. Then Noah sighed dramatically. "What do you need, Daddy?"

Oh, this little—

Caleb exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over his face. "Put Mommy on the phone."

"No."

Caleb froze. "Noah—"

"Mommy’s busy," Noah said in a tone that was far too smug for a four-year-old. "She’s looking at boring grown-up stuff. And you’re distracting us."

Caleb clenched his jaw. "I am your father, Noah."

"Yeah, I know," Noah said casually. "But Mommy said ugh, Caleb is calling again and told me to ignore it."

Caleb’s eye twitched. "She said that?"

"Uh-huh."

"…Are you lying to me?"

A long pause. Then, a quiet, "Maybe."

Caleb let out a slow breath. "Noah."

Noah giggled, and before Caleb could say another word, the call ended, Caleb stared at the blank screen.

As soon as he stepped inside, he heard Noah’s laughter coming from the living room. He walked in to find him sprawled on the couch with a snack in hand, looking far too comfortable.

Noah turned his head, eyes widening when he saw Caleb. He immediately sat up, gripping the phone he had confiscated like it was a lifeline.

"Daddy!"

"Son," Caleb said, crossing his arms over his chest, his gaze held no mercy. "We need to talk."

Noah scrambled off the couch. "Uh—Mommy! Daddy’s home!"

Caleb caught him by the back of his shirt before he could escape. "Nice try, bud. You and I have unfinished business."

Noah wriggled in Caleb’s grip, his small hands flailing. “I didn’t do anything!”

Caleb arched a brow. “Didn’t do anything? Didn’t do anything?” His voice was calm, but there was a dangerous edge to it. “Son, you declined my calls like I was some kind of scam number.”

Noah squirmed harder. “You called too much!”

Caleb exhaled through his nose. “I called twice.”

“Exactly! Too much!”

Caleb stared at him, unimpressed. “You’re gonna stand here and tell me you had zero problem ignoring your father?”

Noah hesitated. “Uhh…” His grip on the phone tightened. “I just—Mommy was busy! And you always talk forever!”

Caleb scoffed. “Forever? I would’ve been on for two minutes. That’s not forever.”

Noah puffed his cheeks. “It is when I was watching cartoons.”

Caleb took a deep breath, rubbing a hand down his face. “I can’t believe this. My own son, my own blood, betraying me like this.”

Noah huffed. “I had to, Daddy.”

Caleb let out a dry chuckle, crouching so he was at Noah’s level. “Had to? Had to hang up on me? Where did you learn that, huh? You got someone else teaching you bad habits? That a bad influence I need to deal with?”

Noah shifted guiltily. “Nooo…”

Caleb narrowed his eyes. “Are you lying to me again, Noah?”

Noah swallowed. “Maybe.”

“Unbelievable,” Caleb muttered, shaking his head. He pointed at the phone clutched in Noah’s hands. “Hand it over, soldier.”

Noah gasped, gripping it tighter. “No!”

“I outrank you, kid,” Caleb warned, voice low. “Don’t make me use my colonel voice.”

Noah’s lips wobbled. “But—but—”

“Three… Two…”

With a dramatic whimper, Noah finally surrendered the phone. Caleb took it and stuffed it in his pocket. “Now, what do we say?”

Noah shifted on his feet. “...Sorry?”

Caleb nodded. “That’s right. And?”

Noah sighed heavily, like Caleb was really putting him through it. “I won’t hang up on you again.”

Caleb smirked. “Good. Now, what should your punishment be?”

Noah gasped. “Punishment?! Daddy, no! It was a mistake!”

Caleb tapped his chin. “Hmm… I could make you do laps in the backyard. Maybe push-ups. Or—" his eyes gleamed—"no dessert for a week.”

Noah gasped again, even more dramatically. “Mommy!” he wailed, turning toward the kitchen. “Daddy’s being a tyrant!”

Before Caleb could grab him again, Noah sprinted off, his little legs carrying him as fast as they could.

A second later, you poked your head out of the bedroom, blinking. “What’s happening?”

Caleb sighed, standing up. “Your son is staging a rebellion.”

Noah clung to your leg. “Mommy, Daddy’s bullying me!”

You crossed your arms, raising an eyebrow at Caleb. “Are you bullying our son?”

Caleb smirked. “Teaching him discipline.”

Noah tugged your sleeve. “Mommy, I was so good today.”

Caleb barked a laugh. “Yeah? Good at declining my calls.”

You sighed, shaking your head. “Caleb, you’re an adult. You shouldn’t be getting into power struggles with a four-year-old.”

Caleb scoffed. “He started it.”

Noah giggled from behind your leg.

You groaned, rubbing your temple. “You two are exhausting.”

Caleb smirked, stepping closer to wrap an arm around your waist. “And yet, you love us.”

Noah nodded rapidly. “Uh-huh! Right, Mommy?”

You sighed, looking between them. “Unfortunately.”

Caleb chuckled, pressing a quick kiss to your temple before ruffling Noah’s hair. “You’re lucky your mom’s here to protect you, kid.”

Noah grinned up at him. “I know!”

Caleb shook his head, amused. “Unbelievable.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ Rafayel

You had been invited to an exclusive art exhibition downtown—one that featured some of Rafayel’s earlier works. Since he despised public events and would rather gouge his own eyes out than attend, and Thomas would respectfully gouge out rafayel's eyes if he did not attend, you went in his place, both to support him and to keep up appearances.

Seraphina, your four-year-old daughter, had come along for the car ride but quickly grew bored when you arrived. The moment she saw the endless rows of paintings and the adults murmuring about “artistic depth” and “symbolic brush strokes,” she looked up at you, unimpressed.

“Mommy, this is so boring.”

You sighed, crouching down to smooth out her dress. “I know, sweetheart, but it won’t take long. Daddy worked hard on these paintings, and I have to talk to some of the nice people here, okay?”

Seraphina pouted. “But I don’t care about paintings. I wanna watch cartoons.”

You pulled out your phone and handed it to her. “Here. You can call Daddy if you need anything, alright?”

Her eyes lit up as she clutched the phone. “Okay!”

You smiled, kissing her forehead as you left her at the staff room and locked the door with your keycard so no one could enter other than Thomas, after everything was secure you turned toward the exhibition hall.

—

Back home, Rafayel was in his studio, adding the final details to a massive canvas when his phone vibrated. He wiped the paint off his hands and glanced at the screen.

Landlubber 💜 is calling…

A small smile tugged at his lips as he answered. “Sweetheart, are you finished already?”

Silence.

Then—

Click.

The call ended.

Rafayel blinked, staring at his phone.

What?

He lowered the device, then brought it back up, frowning. Had the signal dropped?

Before he could think too much about it, the phone vibrated again.

Landlubber 💜 is calling…

He answered immediately. “Sweetheart?”

Silence.

Rafayel stared at the phone in disbelief.

What the hell is going on?

The phone buzzed again.

This time, he answered with narrowed eyes. “If you hang up on me again—”

“Oh. Hi, Daddy.”

Rafayel exhaled through his nose. “Seraphina.”

His daughter hummed in acknowledgment.

“Why are you calling me just to hang up?” he asked, his voice carefully restrained. “Is everything alright?”

“I didn’t hang up,” she said cheerfully. “I was just checking.”

“Checking what?”

“If you’d answer.”

Rafayel pinched the bridge of his nose. “Seraphina—”

“I miss you, Daddy.”

Rafayel’s frustration wavered, replaced with something softer.

He leaned against his desk, rubbing a hand down his face. “I miss you too, little fish.”

“Then come get me.”

Rafayel sighed, he could already imagine thomas chasing him down the exhibition “I can’t. Mommy is working in my place.”

“But I’m not. Please daddy” She whined.

“Mommy will bring you home soon.”

Seraphina made a displeased noise. “That’s too long.”

There was a pause. Then, her voice turned thoughtful. “Daddy?”

“Hmm?”

“You’re not painting without me, are you?”

Rafayel glanced at his half-finished canvas. With a pause he answered. “Of course not.”

Seraphina gasped. “You are!”

“I didn’t say that.” “You didn’t deny it!”

Rafayel chuckled. “You caught me.”

Seraphina huffed. “That’s not fair. You promised we’d paint together!”

“And we will,” he assured her. “I’ll wait for you.”

Another pause. Then—

“Okay. But no touching the pink paint.”

“No pink,” Rafayel agreed solemnly.

“Or the sparkles.”

“No sparkles.”

Seraphina hummed. “Alright. You’re forgiven.”

Rafayel smirked. “Good.”

There was a brief silence before he heard her yawn.

“You sleepy?” he asked.

“…No.”

He smiled knowingly. “Close your eyes, little fish.”

Seraphina whined. “But I wanna talk to you.”

“I’ll still be here when you wake up.”

“…Promise?”

“Promise.”

A beat of silence. Then, a soft rustling as Seraphina got comfortable.

“Okay,” she murmured.

Rafayel listened to her breathing slow, his heart aching with warmth.

He didn’t hang up. Not yet.

Instead, he stayed on the line, listening to the quiet rise and fall of his daughter’s breath.

Minutes passed before he finally spoke.

“I’ll come get you soon,” he whispered.

Then, finally, he ended the call.

[elysen]

I headcanon that Caleb, your fiancé, your best friend, the man you’re about to marry, spends the weeks before your wedding day steeling himself not to cry when he sees you walk down the aisle.

He’s been practicing. Imagining it over and over in his head; your silhouette behind the chapel doors, the train of your gown, your eyes locked with his from across the room. Every time, he exhales sharply and tells himself, don’t cry. keep it together. He wants to be strong for you. Wants to be composed. He even jokes with Gideon, his best man, that he’s trained himself like a soldier in battle.

But when the day comes, when the music starts and the doors finally open, he forgets everything.

Because there you are.

Bathed in soft light, wearing white like a promise, veil fluttering gently behind you. Radiant. Ethereal. Yours.

And Caleb? Caleb’s breath catches. His eyes widen. His chest rises and falls too quickly. And before he even realizes it, tears are slipping down his cheeks. No speeches in the mirror or deep breaths could have prepared him for this. For you.

He presses a hand over his mouth like that might stop the sob building in his throat. Because in that moment, he knows, he’s never seen anything more beautiful in his entire life.

And no amount of practice could've ever trained him not to cry for this. For you.

He just loves you so much.

[elysen]

a few months before getting in a relationship, caleb started adding honey to his vocabulary when it came to referring to you.

it wasn't the first time you'd heard him use it, especially since that was what he called you when you visited him at the DAA, given his fake dating situation. it sometimes also slipped from his mouth when he'd comfort you during thunderstorms — but it was never something common, rather, it was a name reserved for special occasions where he was allowed to cross the boundaries of your relationship.

but when caleb sensed that the line was blurring more and more, he allowed himself to slip honey into his speech. 

“you want chicken wings for dinner? sure, honey.”

“mmh, no honey, i won't be long.”

“honey? i was looking for you.”

the fact that you didn't comment on it, but instead just looked away bashfully while nodding to him, or humming something under your breath spurred him on — that and the fact that you'd give him a confused stare for a second when he called you by your name or pipsqueak instead of honey.

however, something that caleb didn't anticipate was that you'd start using it, too. a little "caleb, honey, did you see my hairtie?" or a "honey, look! that puppy looks just like you." all of a sudden, he was a victim to his schemes as well — not like he'd complain about it, though. it was domestic enough that those around you barely noticed, yet intimate in a way that made both of your hearts full.

some time after you guys defined the relationship, you do ask him about his habit of calling you honey prior to even being in a relationship, and you're met with a smug yet flushed caleb, and he confesses.

“i mean — i was trying to get you used to it. eventually, i'd encounter some success, no?”

“so you were trying to pavlov me into this?”

and to that, caleb grins — a boyish smile that made you fall for him all over again.

“it worked, didn't it? my one and only honey's finally all mine.”

[elysen]

This is canon in my head ngl 🥹

𝐋𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐂𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬

Pairing: Caleb x f!Reader

Summary: Caleb wanted a little girl, and now he has to pay the price

Warnings: Fluff

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi - Bluesky

“Caleb, wake up.” You’re shaking the man, trying your best to get him to open his eyes. He’s had such a long day at work, and any other day you’d be understanding. If your situation was any different, you’d let him sleep all he wants.

“I’m– Awake!” Caleb is usually alert, but he hasn’t gotten enough sleep. It takes him a little longer to wake up these days. His three little ones and pregnant wife wear him out, of course he’s exhausted.

“I want soft serve ice cream.” You tell him as a long yawn escapes his lips. Through the yawn he mumbles “Anything else?” and you take a second to think about it. “Don’t wake up Elias or you’ll have to take him with you.”

“What’s up with him?” He asks as he searches for his wallet. He’s noticed the young one has gotten unusually clingy but hasn’t actually asked about it. One day the three-year-old claimed to be independent but something switched overnight.

“He’s mad he won’t be the youngest anymore.” You answer, and Caleb lets out a chuckle.

“He’ll change his mind once she’s here.” Caleb says, and you hum in response. This is what usually happens with your boys; one day they’re upset about the new addition to the household, then the next they love their sibling.

“Oh, can you mix in some pickles with that?” You have a sudden vision, and Caleb almost gags. The poor man has to endure the nastiest cravings during your pregnancy, but it’s the least he can do after putting you in this situation– He wanted to try for a girl after three little boys so the least he can do is get you the nasty food.

“Did we run out of–”

“Yes.” You answer the question, knowing exactly what he’s about to say.

“I’ll stop and get some then.” He nods. It’s just for a few months, then he won’t have to do craving runs. Instead he’ll get late night feedings and diaper changings, but at least he’ll see the cutest little girl while he’s at it. “Anything else?”

“That’s it.” You respond, making him go over to your side to kiss the top of your head. 

It’s near midnight, and it’ll be a pain in the ass to find open stores but he’ll find a way. This isn’t his first rodeo, and if he doesn’t want it to be his last then he’ll certainly find an open store.

[elysen]

Training Program: Deepspace Aviation Administration (DAA) – Pilot Psychological Test Evaluator’s Note: Responses marked with (❗) flagged for concern. Candidate failed assessment multiple times. Therapy was recommended but ignored.

1. What do you fear most when flying?

📌 Caleb's Answer: “It’s hard to get home in time.” (❗) 🔍 Evaluator’s Note: Candidate does not reference standard fears such as technical failure, loss of control, or personal injury. Instead, response suggests an external, possibly personal attachment outweighing self-preservation. Answer suggests misaligned priorities.

2. How do you handle high-stress situations?

📌 Caleb's Answer: “I focus on what needs to be done first and push everything else aside. Freaking out wastes time. I can do that later. At most make a joke, then do what needs to be done. The joke is for morale. The doing part is because I don’t like dying.”

3. If faced with a life-threatening emergency, what’s your first course of action?

📌 Caleb's Answer: “Assess. Act. Hope I don’t regret my life choices in the middle of it.”

4. Describe an emotionally difficult experience and how you processed it.

📌 Caleb's Answer: “In short: Took a walk. Thought about it. Moved on. In length: When we were kids, MC got hurt, and I couldn’t do anything about it. So I made sure I wouldn’t ever be that useless again. That’s how I processed it.” (❗) 🔍 Evaluator’s Note: Candidate exhibits intense self-imposed responsibility and strong external motivation for self-improvement but provides no mention of emotional processing. Avoidance behavior noted.

5. What motivates you to succeed?

📌 Caleb's Answer: “I’ve wanted to fly since I was a kid. Fighter jets, deep-space aircrafts, anything that moves fast enough to make your stomach drop. There’s something about being up there, in full control, pushing the limits of what a machine can do. It’s not just a job—it’s the only thing I can imagine myself doing.”

6. What do you believe is your biggest emotional weakness?

📌 Caleb's Answer: “Not sure. Never really tested that– Probably the fact that I don’t think I have any emotional weaknesses. That’s gotta be a red flag, right?” (❗) 🔍 Evaluator’s Note: Candidate exhibits lack of emotional awareness or avoidance of self-reflection.

7. What do you do when you feel overwhelmed?

📌 Caleb's Answer: “Tell myself it’s fine, ignore the feeling, and distract myself with workout until it goes away. So far, solid track record.” (❗) 🔍 Evaluator’s Note: Candidate actively avoids processing emotional distress, favoring physical distractions. Long-term risk of burnout or emotional shutdown.

8. If your aircraft malfunctions mid-flight, what is your immediate reaction?

📌 Caleb's Answer: “Diagnose the failure, correct course, reroute power if needed, and land safely. If all else fails, eject and pray gravity’s feeling merciful.”

9. Have you ever had difficulty following orders?

📌 Caleb's Answer: “If the order makes sense, I’ll follow it. If it doesn’t, I’ll find a better way. Blind obedience isn’t the same as discipline.” (❗) 🔍 Evaluator’s Note: Candidate exhibits authority skepticism and high independent thinking. Could be a strength, but also a risk in team environments.

10. Do you believe emotions should play a role in decision-making?

📌 Caleb's Answer: “Only if they’re the right ones. Panic? No. Gut instinct? Sometimes. Love?” (❗) 🔍 Evaluator’s Note: Candidate acknowledges emotions selectively, but lacks clarity on emotional self-regulation. Candidate also hesitates, leaving response incomplete. Suggests internal conflict in emotional prioritization.

11. Have you ever had a panic attack or extreme anxiety? How did you handle it?

📌 Caleb's Answer: “Maybe? I don’t really call it that. Took a deep breath. Still here, so I guess it worked.” (❗) 🔍 Evaluator’s Note: Candidate avoids labeling or addressing emotional distress. Instead Candidate downplays distress and does not acknowledge long-term emotional impact. Indicates strong suppression tendencies.

12. What do you think about therapy?

📌 Caleb's Answer: “Sounds like a great idea for other people.” (❗) 🔍 Evaluator’s Note: Candidate dismisses therapy as applicable to others but not himself, suggesting resistance to self-reflection or external help.

13. If someone you care about was in danger, what would you do?

📌 Caleb's Answer: “Not let them be in danger in the first place. If that fails, fix it. If that fails, break whoever put them there.” (❗) 🔍 Evaluator’s Note: Candidate demonstrates extreme protectiveness but does not indicate personal distress or emotional toll of such situations. Candidate’s response focuses entirely on external control over the situation rather than emotional processing or strategic decision-making.

14. What is your first instinct when under extreme emotional distress?

📌 Caleb's Answer: “Don’t make it other people’s problem. Fix the problem.” (❗) 🔍 Evaluator’s Note: Candidate does not acknowledge internal emotional needs, only external problem-solving. Candidate exhibits self-isolation tendencies when in distress, favoring suppression over communication.

15. What do you believe is the most important quality in a pilot?

📌 Caleb's Answer: “Knowing how not to crash.”

16. How do you think your friends would describe you?

📌 Caleb's Answer: “Competent. Probably frustrating but reliable. Also, too stubborn to die.”

17. Describe a situation where you had to remain calm under pressure.

📌 Caleb's Answer: “One time, MC almost burned our kitchen down, and instead of panicking, I grabbed the fire extinguisher and saved her reckless bum. She still thinks she can cook. That was pressure.”

18. Have you ever experienced prolonged sadness, stress, or anxiety? If so, how did you cope?

📌 Caleb's Answer: “Does thinking too much count? If so, I cope by sleeping too little and working too much. Tbh sounds efficient to me.” (❗) 🔍 Evaluator’s Note: Candidate exhibits potential signs of stress-related exhaustion but rationalizes overwork as efficiency. Long-term risk of burnout noted.

19. If you were in a life-or-death situation, what would you think about first?

📌 Caleb's Answer: “MC’s gonna kill me if I don’t make it back.” (❗) 🔍 Evaluator’s Note: Candidate’s response prioritizes external accountability over self-preservation, suggesting external emotional anchoring.

20. If faced with an emergency landing scenario, what would be your first priority?

📌 Caleb's Answer: “Run the diagnostics, stabilize altitude, and assess the safest possible landing site.

21. How do you react when given an order you don’t agree with?

📌 Caleb's Answer: “I’ll follow it if I think it’s the best course of action. If not, I’ll find a better way and adapt. Sticking to a bad decision just because it’s an order isn’t smart—it’s reckless.” (❗) 🔍 Evaluator’s Note: Candidate demonstrates high independent thinking but lacks standard obedience expected in military aviation. While this quality could be valuable in a leadership role, it presents a potential issue in structured chain-of-command environments where immediate compliance is required.

Evaluator’s Summary:

Candidate Summers exhibits exceptional mental resilience, decisiveness, and independence, particularly in high-pressure environments. His ability to remain focused and problem-solve under extreme circumstances is evident, making him highly capable in crisis situations. However, psychological assessment reveals a pattern of emotional suppression and avoidance, with a marked difficulty in acknowledging personal distress or engaging in self-reflection. Candidate demonstrates strong protectiveness toward those he considers important but prioritizes external responsibilities to an unhealthy degree, often at the expense of his own well-being. His reliance on humor and compartmentalization as coping mechanisms suggests a subconscious aversion to vulnerability. While this approach enables him to maintain composure under stress, it raises concerns about long-term emotional regulation and potential burnout. Additionally, his responses indicate skepticism toward authority and a preference for autonomous decision-making, which, while advantageous in leadership roles, may present challenges in structured team-based environments where adherence to protocol is critical. His ability to assess and adapt is commendable, but further evaluation is necessary to determine his suitability for roles requiring strict chain-of-command compliance. Candidate’s psychological evaluation remains inconclusive due to habitual deflection and minimal engagement in self-analysis. Further assessment is strongly recommended to evaluate long-term stability and emotional processing capabilities. Therapy is advised to develop healthier coping mechanisms and a more balanced approach to personal and professional responsibilities.

[elysen]

A Duke's Promise

Synopsis: In a world of whispered expectations and carefully arranged futures, your life was meant to unfold quietly beside your sister’s—until the man promised to her began to look at you instead.

The Duke of Ravencourt was meant to be hers. Courted her with duty, danced with her out of tradition. But slowly—delicately—his eyes began to wander. To you.

Content warnings: Regency Era AU, Regency Romance, Slow Burn, Forbidden Love, Arranged Marriage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Tender Romance, From Courtship to Marriage, First Time Feelings, Mutual Pining, Letters as Love Language, First Kiss in a Garden, Longing Across Ballrooms, Dancing as a Love Language, Love Confessions, Marriage Proposal, Wedding Night, Honeymoon Seclusion, Flash Forward Epilogue, Loving Marriage, Reader is Pregnant in the Epilogue, First Time, Consummation After Marriage, Fingering (implied), Oral (female receiving), Breeding Kink (soft & emotional), Table Sex, Library Sex, Bath Intimacy, Hand Kisses through Gloves, Stolen Glances.

Pairings: Rafayel x reader

Word count: 6.3

Chapter 2

You had begun to enjoy the Season. Not in the frantic, wide-eyed way most debutantes clung to it. Not for the gowns or the gossip columns or the secret notes passed behind fans. But because of him. Lord Wessex.

He made every event something to look forward to. He remembered small details—your distaste for overly perfumed rooms, your preference for lemon over raspberry, the way you avoided dancing directly after supper to keep from tripping on your gown. He made you feel seen in a space that often demanded you simply be beautiful. He never once asked for more than your company. And you were beginning to give it freely.

The soirée at Lady Redgrave’s townhouse was a grand affair. Chandeliers hung like upside-down stars from the ceiling, and the air buzzed with the scent of roses, honeyed wine, and conversation layered in silk.

You arrived on your mother’s arm, Eleanora at your side again, at last recovered. She looked radiant, as always, in pale mauve and pearl combs in her hair. The room greeted her warmly. People remembered. So did he. Rafayel Vale appeared as always, dark and composed, offering his bow to Eleanora first, and exchanging the expected pleasantries. 

You stood nearby, speaking with Lady Thorne about her dreadful pianist, until Lord Wessex arrived and promptly stole you away with a smile and a whispered, “Save me from another story about her poodle’s cough, I beg you.” 

You laughed, let him lead you away, and the evening began. You danced once. Then again. You shared a drink near the window overlooking the gardens. You teased him about his horribly dramatic cravat. He told you you looked like the moon in blue silk. It was warm. Familiar. Effortless. 

But across the room, someone else was watching. Not constantly. Not openly. But enough. You hadn’t noticed the Duke’s gaze as you passed. Not the first time. Or the second. Not when you threw your head back in laughter. But Eleanora did. You found her later, seated near the refreshment table, her glass untouched.

“You’re glowing tonight,” she said lightly as you approached.

“Am I?” You sat beside her, smoothing your skirt. “Perhaps it’s just the champagne.” She didn’t laugh. 

“He keeps looking at you,” she said softly, almost idly. “The Duke.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Not in a scandalous way,” she added quickly. “Just… often.”  

You glanced over your shoulder instinctively, but he wasn’t looking now. Speaking with a Viscount. Expression unreadable.

“You think he does it out of interest?” you asked, voice low. Eleanora was quiet for a long moment.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “But I do know this: I want more than presence.” You looked at her.

“He is kind,” she said. “Proper. He does what’s expected. But it feels like he’s fulfilling something… not choosing it.” That struck something in you. Not just about him—but about her.

“You deserve to be chosen,” you said softly.

She smiled, just a little, and looked down at her glass. “Don’t we all?”

The ride home was quiet. Your mother had fallen asleep across from you, her head tilted slightly, fan still clutched in one hand. The carriage swayed gently beneath you, candlelight flickering in its brass sconces.

Beside you, Eleanora sat with her hands folded neatly in her lap, her expression unreadable. You didn’t press her. She would speak if she wished. The city lights slipped past the window in golden blurs.

Back at the house, you helped her unpin her hair in her room—just as you had as girls. Gowns loosened. Jewels set in velvet. Stockings peeled away from tired feet. The silence remained comfortable until she broke it, voice barely above a whisper.

“Do you think something is wrong with me?”

You paused. “What?”

Eleanora sat before the mirror, brushing through her curls slowly. Her reflection didn’t meet your eyes. “With me,” she said again, quietly. “The way he looks at me. Or rather… the way he doesn’t.”

You walked over, gently took the brush from her hand, and began to move it through her hair yourself. A ritual older than either of you could name.

“Eleanora,” you said softly, “there is nothing wrong with you.” She didn’t answer for a while. You saw her eyes flick toward her own reflection.

“I think the Duke is... trying,” she said. “In the way one tries to like something they were told they should enjoy. A book. A song. A person.”

You slowed the brush. Let her speak. “He’s polite. Generous. And yet, when he’s beside me, it’s as though he’s already half a room away. His mind elsewhere. His eyes…” She hesitated. “Drifting.” 

You swallowed. She turned slightly to look at you over her shoulder.

“I don’t know where they drift. And I don’t think it matters. But I’ve felt it, and I’ve had enough of pretending not to.”

You met her gaze. Open. Honest. Strong. “So what will you do?”

She stood slowly. Turned toward her dressing gown, folding it neatly. “I want someone who chooses me. Not out of arrangement or expectation, but because they can’t help themselves.”

Then, a small breath of laughter. “And I saw at least three men tonight who looked at me like I’d hung the stars.”

You smiled at that. “You did look stunning.”

“Well,” she said with a soft shrug, “I think I’ll let someone else tell me that next time.”

She hugged you before bed, soft and tired. And as she disappeared into her room, you stood in the hall a moment longer. Not thinking about the Duke. Not really. Only about your sister. And the quiet courage it took to walk away from something most would chase until the end.

——

The Marquess of Windham’s estate was famous for its winter garden—an indoor marvel of lantern-lit paths, glass ceilings, and the scent of citrus and jasmine that lingered no matter the season. The event was smaller than most. More curated. Fewer eyes, fewer expectations. Enough space to breathe between conversations and laughter.

You wore ivory silk that night, stitched with soft green thread and tiny crystal accents that caught the light like dew. You hadn’t worn the dress before. Lord Wessex had told you, weeks ago, that green suited you. You hadn’t forgotten. He found you easily, as he always did.

“There you are,” he said, as if your absence had been a problem he meant to solve.

You smiled. “Here I am, my Lord.”

He offered you his arm, and the evening unfurled with a sense of calm delight. You laughed together. Walked along the stone path beneath the glass roof. He told you a story about a terrible painting his brother once commissioned that ended up resembling a spoiled ham. You wiped a tear from your cheek from laughing so hard.

It wasn’t a whirlwind romance. It was a quiet glow. A lantern between two hands. And that made it all the more real. Later, as the music resumed, you danced once more—spinning gently beneath the low-hung lanterns. You felt his gaze on you, as always. Safe. Attentive.

Until, at the edge of a turn, another gaze caught yours. Just for a second. The Duke stood near the musicians, a glass of champagne in hand. Not speaking. Not smiling. Watching. You hadn’t noticed him arriving. You hadn’t even known he would be attending. But there he was. And his eyes—his eyes—did not drift away this time. They stayed. Not cold. Not guarded. But different. Focused.

You didn’t stumble. You didn’t react. You simply turned, as the dance required. But something in your chest shifted—just enough to notice. And when the dance ended, and Lord Wessex stepped back with a smile and a joke about needing a rescue from Lady Redgrave’s latest tale of gout, you caught it again. A flicker across his face. A glance toward the Duke. And then—

“He’s watching you.”

You blinked. “Who, my Lord?”

Lord Wessex arched a brow. “Come now.”

You didn’t answer right away. Because you didn’t know what to say.

“Should I be concerned?” he asked, voice still light, but something beneath it more serious.

“No my Lord,” you said after a moment. “There’s no reason to be.”

And that was the truth. There was no reason. Except for the look you couldn’t forget. And the one he hadn’t meant to give.

——

The garden was quiet in the early light. The gravel path crunched softly beneath your slippers as you walked beside Eleanora, your shawl wrapped tight around your shoulders. Dew clung to the grass. The sky was still deciding whether it meant to be grey or blue.

You walked often like this in the mornings. Ever since you were girls. But lately, the silence had taken on a different rhythm—less shared imagination, more quiet reflection. Eleanora carried a small sprig of rosemary, plucked absently as you passed the herb garden.

“Did you enjoy yourself last night?” she asked lightly.

You nodded. “I did. It was lovely.” 

“Wessex certainly seemed to think so.” 

You smiled at that. A small thing. “He always finds me.”

She looked over, her expression unreadable for a moment.

“He always sees you,” she said. “There’s a difference.”

You glanced at her, surprised.

“You noticed, didn’t you?” she added quietly, turning her eyes forward again.

You didn’t ask what she meant. You both already knew. You let the silence stretch a few steps longer.

“Yes,” you said softly.

She was quiet. Then, with a dry little exhale: “He does it more now.”

“Do you think it means something?” you asked before you could stop yourself.

Eleanora tilted her head toward the hedge wall, running her fingers along its edge.

“I think... It means something. But not something he’s willing to say aloud. Not yet.”

You swallowed. “He shouldn’t.”

“No,” she agreed. “He shouldn’t.”

Another beat of silence. Then, she stopped walking. You followed suit.

“I don’t think I feel much for him anymore,” she said, looking down at the rosemary between her fingers. “Not enough to fight for something that was never truly mine.”

Your heart ached for her—not out of pity, but admiration. For her honesty. Her clarity.

“And you?” she asked, lifting her gaze. “Do you feel anything… for him?”

You opened your mouth. Closed it.

“No,” you said. Then quieter, “I don’t think so.”

But something had changed. Something had cracked open. And though it hadn’t spilled yet, you both knew it might.

“He looked at you like he’d finally seen you,” Eleanora said gently. “Whatever comes of that, I think you ought to be ready.”

You nodded once, the wind tugging at your shawl. You didn’t want to be someone’s second choice. Someone’s accidental affection. But the way he looked at you— It didn’t feel like a beginning. It felt like the moment before one.

The letter arrived late morning. Pressed parchment, a familiar seal in golden wax. Not overly formal. Just neat. Sincere.

My dearest Miss Everleigh,

I wonder if I might persuade you to join me for a walk this Thursday morning. There’s a rather lovely glade near the lake on my family’s estate—unremarkable to some, but I’ve always found it peaceful. I’d be honored to share it with someone who actually sees the world in detail.

There will be a carriage waiting, if you’re inclined.

Warmly, Lord W. 

Your heart fluttered—not with surprise, but with quiet delight. He always wrote the way he spoke: clever, but never rehearsed. Warm, but never overreaching. You accepted.

Thursday arrived with soft sunshine and a breeze that danced along the hem of your gown. The glade was everything he promised—quiet, blooming with wildflowers, dappled in shade. You walked for nearly an hour. Sometimes in silence, sometimes in stories.

He told you about his late sister—how she used to press wildflowers into the pages of every book he owned. You told him about the time you and Eleanora tried to escape a dinner party by climbing out the library window and fell into the hedges.

You laughed, breathed, let the afternoon settle into your skin. When he walked you back to the carriage, he didn’t ask for anything more. But he held your hand a little longer than necessary. And for the first time…you found yourself wishing he would. 

——

The ballroom at Althridge Hall was vast and gold-draped, lanterns burning low to cast a romantic glow over the polished floors. Eleanora entered on your arm, her head high, her new suitor—a kind-eyed Viscount—already waiting near the stairs. She no longer searched for the Duke. Not with her eyes. Not with her heart.

And when he approached her that night, offering a dance, she accepted with grace. They danced once. Spoke little. And when they stepped apart, something passed between them. A quiet understanding.

This is not the story we were meant to write.

He danced with two other ladies. Politely. Dutifully. But not presently. Not truly. You stood near the terrace doors when it happened—watching the moonlight pour through the glass, speaking with a gentleman you barely knew, Lord Wessex beside you with a glass in hand, whispering something ridiculous that made you bite back a laugh—

And then you felt it. Not on your skin. But somewhere deeper.  Your gaze drifted. Found his.  Rafayel Vale. Standing still. Eyes on you. Not by accident this time. And he didn’t look away. He didn’t smile. He didn’t speak. But in that single moment, the air between you changed. And beside you, Lord Wessex’s hand—holding his glass—tensed ever so slightly. He had seen it too. 

——

The gallery was nearly empty. It was a private viewing, arranged by Lady Welgrave—an afternoon invitation sent to a small handful of guests who might appreciate art more than gossip.

You went because you do appreciate art. You went because you’d grown tired of sitting still while everyone else waited for something to happen. You went because you didn’t expect to see him there. But he was there. The Duke of Ravencourt. Rafayel.

Standing at the end of the corridor, gazing up at a massive oil painting of a storm at sea. All blue-black fury and golden light breaking through clouds. He didn’t notice you at first. Or perhaps he did and simply chose not to react.

You turned toward a smaller portrait—a woman in green, her hand poised mid-motion. You tilted your head, studied the brushwork.

“She reminds me of you.” You turned. He was beside you now. Not close enough to startle, but nearer than you expected. His hands clasped behind his back. His voice was low. Soft.

“The woman in the painting,” he added, when you didn’t speak. 

You looked back at it. Then at him. “She looks nothing like me, my Lord.” 

“No,” he said. “But there’s something in her eyes. As if she’s trying not to speak.”

Your heart fluttered. Not from the words. But from the way he said them. Carefully. Like he hadn’t meant to say them aloud.

You turned your gaze forward again. “That’s a rather strange compliment, my Lord.”

“It wasn’t meant as one.” He didn’t apologize. Didn’t smile.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” you said. 

“I didn’t expect to speak,” he replied. 

You glanced sideways. He was already looking at you. There was something new in his eyes—something like focus. Tension. A man standing too near a line he’d drawn for himself. You searched for something safe to say. Something easy.

“Did you enjoy the ball?” 

“No.” The answer surprised you. He didn’t elaborate. You waited.

“There is something unpleasant,” he said slowly, “about being expected to play a part you no longer believe suits you.”

Your throat tightened just a little. “Then don’t play it.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“It could be.”

He looked at you. Truly looked at you. And something flickered across his face then. Not clarity. Not desire. Just the ache of almost.

“You make things sound easy,” he murmured.

“Only because I’m not the one who made them difficult.”

Silence stretched. Someone else entered the gallery then—a pair of older women, deep in conversation, oblivious to the stillness between you and him.

You took a step back. Just one. “Good afternoon, my Lord.”

“Miss Everleigh,” he said, but slower this time. Like he almost wasn’t ready for the moment to end.

You didn’t look back. But you felt it. The crack. The first true one.

——

The night shimmered with candlelight and soft perfume. The Grand Salford Ball had always been the crown jewel of the Season—a ballroom lined with mirrored walls and high arched ceilings, where every lady in London seemed to shine a little brighter beneath the chandeliers.

You were dressed in soft grey silk, silver thread sewn into the bodice like a whisper. You’d already danced twice. Spoke with two earls. Smiled more than you truly felt. You weren’t looking for him. But he was there. Rafayel Vale, standing near the floral arrangements beneath the north arch, half-shadowed, as always. 

He’d danced already—twice. You’d seen it. Obligation. Courtesy. Grace with distance. And then— He moved. You caught the motion from the corner of your eye. Thought, at first, he might be heading toward your sister. But he wasn’t. He stopped in front of you.

People noticed. Of course they did. The air shifted. And then, softly: “Miss Everleigh.”

You looked up. “My Lord.”

He bowed. “May I have this dance?” 

For a moment, you said nothing. Not out of drama. Not out of awe. But because something inside you paused—pressed its hand to the glass and whispered, be careful.

Still, you extended your hand. “Of course.”

The music began—a gentle waltz, sweeping but quiet. His hand was warm against your waist. His movements precise. Fluid. You had danced this pattern with a dozen men. But never with him. And you felt the difference.

He didn’t speak at first. Neither did you. Then, finally, “You weren’t at the gallery long,” he said.

“No,” you replied evenly. “I didn’t wish to intrude, my Lord.” 

“You never intrude.” It came too quickly. Too softly. You didn’t answer. The dance continued.

“This isn’t wise,” he murmured, almost too low to hear.

“Then why ask?” you asked back.

He looked at you. Not a glance. Not a flicker. A look.

“I’m beginning to ask myself the same thing.”

You didn’t fumble. You didn’t blush. But when the dance ended, and he stepped back with a bow deeper than necessary, your heart was not still. 

You curtsied. “Thank you, my Lord.”

“Thank you,” he said—soft, real.

Then he was gone. Lord Wessex found you near the refreshments later. He didn’t speak immediately. He handed you a glass.

“That was unexpected,” he said finally, gently.

You looked at him. His expression was warm. Steady. But something behind his eyes had shifted.

You didn’t lie. “It surprised me, too.”

He nodded once, slowly.

“He’ll have to mean it,” he said. “If he’s going to try. Because anything less than everything will not be enough for you.” You swallowed. 

“You deserve more than half a heart,” he added, voice quiet now. “And I would never offer you that.” And then— He smiled. Small. Honest. A little sad. “Just… don’t forget how good we were.” 

You didn’t speak. You couldn’t. He kissed your knuckles, and stepped away. Not out of anger. But out of care. 

——

The Ainsworth soirée was smaller than most. Quieter. Subdued. The parlors had been cleared for music and conversation. Candles flickered in glass bowls on every sill. A string quartet played something gentle and slow, meant for swaying rather than showmanship.

You arrived with Eleanora, both of you dressed in pale silks—your colors soft and unremarkable, by design. There was no need to be seen anymore. You had already been seen. Lord Wessex was already waiting inside. He kissed your hand with a familiar smile and asked if you’d saved a dance. You had.

Eleanora was soon spirited away by the Viscount, now her most consistent caller. And as the night passed, you found yourself at peace. Not ecstatic. Not glowing. Just still. Until he looked at you again. 

The Duke. Across the room. Standing near the windows. A glass untouched in his hand. He didn’t approach. Didn’t speak. Didn’t smile. But he looked. As he always had. You told yourself it meant nothing. You told yourself you were past wondering. You almost believed it.

Later, near the end of the evening, you stepped out into the garden. Just for a breath. The air was cooler, the roses just beginning to bloom. You were alone for no more than a minute before footsteps followed. You didn’t turn. Not yet.

“You were always meant for the garden,” came his voice behind you.

Low. Steady. A little tired. You turned slowly. He stood there. Hands clasped behind his back. Moonlight catching on the edge of his coat.

“That’s a strange thing to say, my Lord” you said, not unkindly.

“Not strange,” he replied. “True.”

You looked at him. Waiting.

“I meant to stay away,” he added after a moment. “Truly, I did.”

“But you still came.” He stepped closer—but not too close.

“I see you,” he said quietly. “I’ve seen you for longer than I should’ve allowed.”

Your breath caught, just slightly.

“Then why say nothing?” you asked. “All this time?”

“Because I was promised to someone else. Someone good. Someone who deserved better than a man who couldn’t keep his eyes where they belonged.”

Silence stretched between you. The only sound was the soft flicker of the wind in the roses.

“You never asked again,” you said, finally. “To dance.”

“Because I didn’t trust myself.”

That made your heart beat harder than it should have. You turned your face away—toward the stars. “And now?” 

A pause. Then— “Now I don’t know if it’s too late.”

You didn’t answer him. Because you didn’t know either. The silence between you grew heavier. You were the first to break it.

“You know Lord Wessex is courting me.” It wasn’t a question. It didn’t need to be. His jaw tensed, ever so slightly. But his voice remained level.

“Everyone does.”  

You nodded once, slowly. “And yet… here you are.” 

His eyes didn’t leave yours.

“Yes,” he said softly. “Here I am.”Another pause. “Should I step back?” he asked then, his voice low, careful. “Let him continue without interruption?” 

You didn’t answer right away. You didn’t know how. He took a step closer—just one—and your breath caught before you could help it.

“Or should I ask,” he continued, voice a thread, “if you ever wondered what it would be like... if it were my lips that kissed your hand instead of his?” 

Your heart stopped. He saw it in your face. The shift. The flicker of disbelief, of feeling. He stepped back, respectfully. His voice softened further, barely more than a breath. 

“Do you wish it was his touch you waited for every evening…or mine?” 

You didn’t look away. You couldn’t.

“Tell me what you want, Miss Everleigh,” he said. “And I’ll leave you be… or I’ll stay.”

The wind stirred your gown. Somewhere beyond the hedges, the music drifted faintly from the house. But here—beneath the soft gold of the lantern and the weight of everything unsaid—the world held its breath. You didn’t answer yet. Because your own heart was still catching up.

You didn’t speak as the wind moved through the garden. Not for a long moment. Then, at last, you lifted your chin and met his gaze—steady, unreadable, quiet thunder just beneath the surface.

“I think I should return inside,” you said gently.

He didn’t move. Didn’t ask again. Didn’t stop you.

“Of course,” he murmured. “Good evening, Miss Everleigh.”

“Good evening, my Lord.” You curtsied. Turned. And walked away. Not because you’d made a decision. But because he had waited too long to ask you to. 

—— 

The next ball bloomed with music and golden gowns, the scent of roses woven through the warm spring air. You arrived late. By design. You wore blue this time—a deeper shade. Sapphire silk that shimmered beneath the chandeliers.

The music floated around you like smoke—soft, glittering, golden. Another waltz, another string of polite laughter and silk shoes brushing marble floors. Lord Wessex stood before you, as he always did. Familiar. Steady. Smiling just for you.

“You are late,” he said, voice warm with amusement. “I nearly despaired.”

“Then I suppose I should offer my sincerest apology, my Lord.” you replied, matching his tone.

You extended your hand. Gloved. Elegant. Offered without hesitation. He took it with a flourish and bent to kiss your knuckles. His lips brushed the silk lightly—nothing new. Nothing scandalous. But the flutter in your stomach came not from the kiss.

It came the moment your eyes lifted—almost absentmindedly, unintentionally— And met his. Across the ballroom. The Duke. Half-shadowed beside a marble column, his expression unreadable. But his gaze— Unflinching.

He had seen the kiss. Had watched your hand held in someone else’s. Had not looked away. And something tightened inside you. Low in your chest. Breathless. Not shame. Not guilt. Something else. Something dangerous. Something real.

You felt Lord Wessex straighten, release your hand. Still smiling. Still unaware. And yet, for a moment—just one—you weren’t there with him. You were still across the room. Where he was still watching you.

The night unfolded like all others. You danced. Smiled. Tilted your head at the right moments. Let Lord Wessex pull another laugh from your lips with some quip about powdered wigs and naval titles.

Your hand rested lightly on his arm. Your glass never emptied. The music swelled and carried you with it. And yet—Your thoughts strayed. Not to the ballroom. Not to the dress. Not even to the way Lord Wessex’s eyes lingered on your mouth when you sipped your wine. But to a voice.

“Do you ever wonder if it should’ve been my lips instead?”

To a hand not taken. A dance never shared—until it was. A look that never stopped. You caught him watching again. Across the ballroom. Between guests. Through shadows and silk. Your breath caught—so subtly you doubted anyone noticed. But your cheeks warmed. Betrayed you. His gaze didn’t drop. Neither did yours.

“I’ll be just a moment, my Lord.” you said softly to Lord Wessex.

He blinked. “Of course,” he said easily, ever the gentleman. “Shall I send for you if another dreadful dance begins without us?”

You smiled, touched his arm. “If you must.”

And then you turned, skirts brushing the floor, and slipped through the archway into the corridor beyond the ballroom. It was quieter here. Still lit by flickering sconces, still warm with laughter and footsteps echoing behind closed doors—but separate.

The hallway stretched ahead of you, lined with paintings and velvet drapes pulled aside to reveal the windows beyond. You walked without urgency. Without reason. You just needed to breathe. The music behind you dulled, like a memory being slowly folded away.

And as you passed the tall mirror at the end of the hall, your reflection looked a little different than it had at the start of the night. Not flustered. Not lost. But… uncertain. As if something inside you had shifted, and the rest of you had only just begun to feel it.

The hum of the ballroom faded with every step. You hadn’t meant to walk this far. But your feet had carried you, slowly, gently, down a long stretch of corridor where the candlelight softened and the laughter gave way to hush.

The air here was cooler. Still perfumed faintly with roses from the arrangements in the nearby drawing room. But emptier. Yours. Paintings lined the walls—portraits, mostly. Women in silks, men in gold-trimmed coats, their eyes fixed forever in oils and varnish. Some regal. Some sad. Some full of secrets you’d never know.

You let your fingers brush the carved wood of a frame, your eyes catching on a woman in a green gown. Her hand was half-lifted, as if to wave, or perhaps to reach. She reminded you of something. Of someone.

You stepped closer. And for a while, you forgot the room behind you. Forgot Lord Wessex’s smile. Forgot the dance. The wine. The heat beneath your gloves when lips touched silk. You simply breathed. Until—A shift. Not sound. Not footsteps. Just… presence. Your skin prickled, warm. You turned. And there he was. Rafayel. 

Standing in the corridor, half in shadow, his expression unreadable—just as before. But his eyes? They weren’t just watching. They were fixed on you. Your breath caught. Not in fear. Not in surprise. In that quiet, fluttering place just beneath your ribs. You hadn’t heard him approach. Hadn’t felt him near. And yet— Somehow, you weren’t surprised to see him there.

“Forgive me, my Lord.” you said softly, though you weren’t sure what you were apologizing for.

He shook his head once. A subtle thing. But his gaze never left yours. You turned slightly, as if to retreat—but your feet didn’t move. Neither did his. The silence between you stretched—not uncomfortable. Just… fragile. You turned slightly back toward the painting, letting your voice fill the space between your heartbeats.

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” you murmured.

His gaze shifted to the portrait.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “But her eyes are not on the man who painted her.” 

You glanced at him, a soft lift of your brow. 

“And who are they on, then?”

“Someone else entirely.”

A quiet smile tugged at your lips. You took a step forward, fingers still lightly brushing the edge of the frame.

“Do you frequent corridors often, my Lord? Or do I simply have a habit of wandering into yours?”

“I could ask the same of you.”

The silence stretched between you like a string pulled taut. You turned your gaze from the portrait and looked at him fully—his shoulders held in perfect stillness, his eyes unreadable but undeniably on you.

And before you could think better of it—before you could remember names or consequences— You lifted your hand. Not high. Not forward. Just enough. A subtle offer. A breathless question made of movement. You didn’t speak. But he did.

“Are you certain?” he asked, voice low—rougher than you’d ever heard it.

You didn’t look away. And you didn’t lower your hand. So he stepped closer. And took it. Not with the easy charm of practiced affection. Not with the flirtatious grace of a ballroom gentleman. But with intention.

His fingers curled around yours. And slowly, without flourish— He brought your hand to his lips. And kissed it. No sound. No heat but his mouth, barely there through the silk.And yet your whole body felt it.

The pressure of his lips sank through the glove like warmth through snow. Down your spine. Through your chest. Into the quiet ache in your stomach that hadn’t stopped since the garden. It was not performative. Not expected. It wasn’t even a kiss, not really. It was him. And when he lowered your hand, his eyes still didn’t leave yours. 

“Does he make you feel like that?” he asked softly. “When he kisses your hand?” 

The words landed like a breath against your throat. You didn’t answer. Because you didn’t need to. He already knew. Your breath trembled in your chest. His fingers still held yours—lightly now, almost reverently—but he hadn’t let go. And you hadn’t asked him to.You stared at your hand in his, the silk warmed by his kiss, your skin beneath it burning like some secret had been pressed there. And then, softly—

“It wouldn’t be fair,” you whispered, “to Lord Wessex.”

The words barely reached the air between you. A pause followed. Not cold. Not scolding. Just weight. But still, your hand stayed in his. He glanced down at it, at the contradiction between your words and your touch. When his gaze lifted again, it was steadier. Sharper.

“Then tell me,” he said, voice low—calm, but threaded with something breaking open, “should I step back?” His thumb brushed along the edge of your glove—so lightly it could have been imagined. “Do you want me to?”

The question hung there. Not as a demand. But as a man on the edge of something he’d never dared want until now. And the truth? Was sitting in your hand. Still resting in his. His question still hung in the air, suspended between your hand in his and the heat in your chest that refused to fade. You wanted to answer. You tried to.

But you couldn’t. Not yet. Because he—Lord Wessex—offered you calm. A clear path. Kindness, laughter, ease. And this? This was nothing but tension. A thread pulled too tight across your ribs. A glance that lingered too long. A kiss that didn’t even touch skin but still burned through silk like flame.

How could it already feel like this? How could your body ache from a man who had never truly held you? Your breath shook as you looked at him—this man who was promised to someone else, who had waited too long and yet made your heart twist in your chest with only his voice, his eyes, his nearness.

And before you could speak—before you could decide—A voice echoed faintly down the corridor. Laughter. A gentleman’s footsteps. Someone approaching. Not toward you, not fast—but near enough to remind you both of where you were. 

His hand released yours gently, slowly—like letting go of a secret he wasn’t ready to give up. Your fingers curled into your palm, holding the ghost of his kiss like something you weren’t sure you wanted to keep—or bury. Neither of you said a word. 

You turned back toward the light of the ballroom. He walked beside you in silence. And when you crossed the threshold again, the music picked up as if nothing had happened. As if the hallway hadn’t nearly changed everything.

The rest of the ball passed in a blur of candlelight and conversation. Lord Wessex remained by your side, as he always did—charming, clever, completely unaware of the storm still rolling beneath your skin. 

He made you laugh. You danced twice more. He offered you another glass of wine, and you took it—hoping it would cool the heat that hadn’t left your cheeks since that corridor. But it didn’t. And at one point, as he passed you a napkin with a scribbled caricature of Lady Ashford’s towering feathered hat, he leaned in, brow slightly knit.

“You’re flushed,” he said softly. “Is it the wine, or the warmth of the room?”

Your smile came too quickly. “The ballroom’s stifling.”

He didn’t press. But something in his eyes lingered.

The carriage ride home was quiet. Eleanora leaned against the seat opposite you, half-asleep, her earrings already tucked into her glove. Your mother mumbled a list of names she’d overheard in the hallway, entirely unaware of the war playing out behind your calm expression.

Back in your room, you sat at the edge of your bed, gown half-unfastened, corset loosened, your hair beginning to tumble free. Eleanora stepped through the adjoining door in her dressing gown, barefoot, face still faintly powdered from the night.

She sat beside you wordlessly. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Then— “It happened again, didn’t it?”

You looked at her. Blinked. She was already watching you. Calm. Knowing. You didn’t nod. You didn’t deny it. You just exhaled.

“In the corridor,” you whispered. “We didn’t do anything. We didn’t even say much.”

“But he kissed your hand.”

You paused. Then— “Yes.”

Eleanora didn’t speak at first. She only reached for your hand, held it loosely in hers.

“And it felt different,” she murmured.

Your eyes prickled. “It wasn’t even skin,” you said. “Just silk. But I felt it. All of it.”

She squeezed your fingers gently. “And Lord Wessex?”

“Is good to me,” you said. “He makes me feel seen. Safe. Steady.”

“But not undone.”

Your throat tightened. “No.”

Eleanora nodded, softly. “Then I think you already know.”

You looked down at your lap. Your gloves still lay there. One of them still warm.

——

He arrived mid-afternoon. Lord Wessex. His coat was a rich navy, his boots dusted from the ride, and a single tulip tucked into the fold of his arm. Not a grand gesture—just enough. Just thoughtful.

“A bold choice, my Lord.” you said, accepting the flower with a soft smile.

“I nearly brought roses,” he replied, stepping into the drawing room as your maid closed the door behind him. “But then I thought… Everyone brings roses. You deserve something else.”

You said nothing. You only turned, placing the tulip in a crystal vase by the window. He watched you quietly as you did. You sat across from each other, tea between you, your mother making polite excuses and vanishing after only a few minutes—delighted, of course, by his consistency.

He spoke of a new play being performed at the theater. A cousin’s engagement. The ridiculous hat Lady Thorne had worn last night “I nearly lost my footing—twice”.  You laughed at the right moments. You always did. And then— A shift. He leaned forward slightly, his hand resting on the arm of your chair—not touching you, not yet. But near.

“You were quiet last night,” he said gently. “Not distant. Just… somewhere else.”

You blinked. “Was I?”

“You were.” He smiled. “But I don’t mind. I like the parts of you that don’t always speak.” 

And then—Without asking, without hesitating—He reached out and brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered only for a breath. Soft. Respectful. Kind. But the moment they touched your skin—Your cheeks flushed. Warm. Immediate. Visceral. He saw it. And he smiled—soft, almost shy. Pleased.

“Have I flustered you?” he asked, voice lower now. “That’s rare.”

You smiled. But only you knew the truth. Because the heat blooming across your skin wasn’t from his touch. It was from the memory of another man’s lips against your glove. And for the briefest, most unforgivable second—You imagined it was his hand brushing that strand away. The Duke’s. And your stomach turned with the ache of it.

© zaynessbeloved 2025

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next part

[elysen]

SPECIAL SERVICE

Synopsis : A surprise visit from your childhood best friend is always a nice surprise but when the usual hair routine turns to spicy confession, all the bets are off. Pairing : Yandere! Obsessed!Caleb x Reader (both red flags) Genre : Childhood friends to lovers!au Word count : 13k (Oneshot) Warnings : 18+ Fluff which turns into a smut, Caleb is Yandere and literally obsessed with you and you both have secret feelings for each other, the love confession is a little angsty and full of jealously, Caleb longs for you so much that it's hard to resist you, you fear of losing him the second time makes you admit your true feelings, reader a little crybaby at first, inexperienced reader!first time, pet names (pipsqueak a few times, princess, baby, good girl), praise kink, french kissing, Caleb uses gravity evol for an apple, female!receiving, male!receiving, big size cock, raw unprotected penetration(reader on the pill), creampie, sweet aftercare in the shower and just both of them being red flags. a/n : So...I've been obsessed with love and deepspace game lately and especially with Caleb. Sorry not sorry, I don't regret writing this.

The insistent rapping at my bathroom door nearly sent me into cardiac arrest. I’m pretty sure I levitated a good inch off the shower floor, clutching my soapy chest like I was auditioning for a dramatic opera.

I wrestled the tap to submission, silencing the watery cascade that threatened to drown out any potential sounds from the other side. My heart hammered against my ribs, performing a frantic drum solo. Was it a burglar? Xavier? Or worse...A wanderer?

I shook off the last thought immediately because then my hunter watch would have alerted me of any energy fluctuations.

Then, a voice, blessedly familiar, cut through the humid air, punctuated by another, slightly less aggressive, knock.

“Pipsqueak?”

A sigh, the kind that deflates a hot air balloon, escaped my lips. It was just Caleb. Only Caleb. As if "only Caleb" wasn't a phrase loaded with enough emotional baggage to sink the Titanic.

My childhood best friend, my confidante, my ride or die companion… and, of course, the unsuspecting subject of my deeply buried, highly inconvenient, and perpetually unrequited crush.

He, bless his oblivious heart, had no clue about the butterflies that staged a chaotic flash mob in my stomach every time he was near.

Lately, he’d become a major distraction. Calculus? Forget it. Literary analysis? Nope. All brainpower was currently dedicated to decoding Caleb’s every move, searching for hidden meanings where there were probably none.

“Caleb! Don’t scare me like that!” I yelled, trying to inject a healthy dose of irritation into my tone. “I’m showering!”

Even through the thick wooden door, I could hear the low rumble of his chuckle. It was a sound that usually sent a pleasant shiver down my spine, but right now, it was just adding to the general chaos in my nervous system.

“Sorry. Just wanted to know if you’re alive. I arrived like five minutes ago and no one answered the door.”

“You didn’t announce your arrival, so I didn’t know you were coming. It’s not my fault you had to wait,” I grumbled, knowing full well that I was being completely unreasonable. I probably should have left a note warning people I may be taking a shower.

And since I gave him my spare key, it wasn’t surprising to let him visit me unexpectedly.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Finish your shower and then come out. I’ll cook something in the meantime,” he said, and before I could shout my specific culinary desires (specifically, anything involving copious amounts of chocolate), his footsteps faded away in the direction of my kitchen. Dammit.

He always managed to preempt my sugary cravings.

Once I was fully de-grimed, a miniature steam engine puffing away, I vigorously toweled myself dry, wrapped myself in my comfiest, oversized loungewear (strategically chosen for maximum cuddle-ability), and ran a comb through my sopping hair.

No time for a hairdryer. I had a much better, and infinitely more attractive, alternative in mind.

Caleb.

He always dried my hair. It was a weird tradition we’d started years ago, involving gentle towel-drying, a scalp massage that bordered on the divine, and a level of comfortable intimacy that simultaneously filled me with bliss and existential dread.

And since he was here, in my apartment, radiating pure "boyfriend" vibes, I was going to exploit the situation to its fullest potential.

With a towel turban perched precariously on my head, I ventured into the kitchen, which now smelled like a symphony of deliciousness – herbs, spices, and something vaguely reminiscent of culinary magic.

A tall figure, all broad shoulders in a casual outfit of dark jeans, white T-shirt with some dark abstract art on it and a dark jacket on top, he was focused concentration, standing at the counter, expertly wielding a knife as he diced vegetables with the precision of a brain surgeon.

Hearing my hesitant footsteps, his head lifted, and that intense, almost intimidating, gaze softened the moment he saw me.

“Look at you. All cute and soft. Couldn’t you dry your hair before coming to see me? I know you missed me, but you’ll catch a cold that way,” he scolded gently, his lips twitching with amusement.

He always called me "cute and soft." Like I was some sort of fluffy bunny or a particularly appealing marshmallow.

I pouted, because pouting was apparently my default mode when dealing with Caleb, and padded closer to him. Once I was right behind him, practically glued to his back, I leaned over his shoulder, inhaling his woodsy scent, and peered at the cutting board. “What are you making for me?”

He chuckled, a deep, resonant sound that vibrated through me. He tossed the knife aside and pointed to the cutting board, revealing a colorful medley of carrots, celery, and some apple slices already neatly cut into bite-sized pieces. He then grabbed a towel, meticulously dried his hands, and turned around. Before I could even think about taking a step back, he closed the distance between us, wrapped his arms around me, and pulled me close.

My heart decided to take up competitive speed racing. It was currently vying for first place in the “world’s fastest palpitations” category.

He hugged me tightly to his chest, burying his nose in my shoulder, almost like he was desperately trying to inhale my scent. It was a gesture that was simultaneously comforting and utterly, earth-shatteringly, devastatingly romantic.

“Caleb, what are you…” I started to ask, my voice a breathless whisper.

“I missed you. I haven’t seen you in a whole month! Let me have this,” he breathed, his words sending a wave of heat through me.

My heart gave up on the racing and decided to launch itself straight out of my chest. Slowly, tentatively, I hugged him back, my hands creeping up around his neck, my fingers tangling in the soft strands of his hair.

“You’re being silly. It’s not like I’m gone. You have your duties in Skyhaven as a colonel, so don’t blame me if you have no time for me,” I pouted again, because apparently, I was now a professional pouter.

His hold on me tightened, and he let out a deep sigh that tickled my ear. “I always have time for you, but wanderers up there are causing more trouble, killing innocent people. I had to deal with them before I come visit you. So… did you miss me too?”

There was a soft hesitation in his last words; a vulnerability that made my heart clench painfully.

“Of course, I did.” The words were out before I could even think about editing them for maximum subtlety.

“You finally said it. Don’t regret it now.” There was a playful warning in his tone.

I smiled. Never.

Once we were separated, he looked at my hair with a knowing glint in his eyes. “Do you need me to do your hair, like always?”

I sheepishly smiled, feeling my cheeks flush with warmth. “I wouldn’t mind.”

He chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest and sending delightful shivers down my spine. “You really like to use me like a hairdresser,” he teased, grabbing my wrist and gently tugging me along.

He led me out of the kitchen and towards the living room.

After I sat on the couch, he patiently went to the bathroom to retrieve the hairdryer and then came back into the living room, wielding it like a weapon of mass seduction.

Sitting down beside me, he patted the spot between his outstretched legs, motioning towards the floor and looked up at me expectantly.

I raised an eyebrow. “There?”

“It’ll be easier that way. So don’t stall; sit,” he ordered, his voice laced with that authoritative "Colonel" tone that always made me weak in the knees. It was also the voice that could launch a thousand ships, or at the very least, convince me to perch uncomfortably on the floor.

Well, fine. If I had to sit between Caleb's legs, so be it. It was a sacrifice I was willing to make.

Grumbling, I grabbed a throw pillow for cushioning, plopping down with as much grace as a disgruntled cat. His thighs immediately radiated warmth against my sides as he leaned forward. Apparently, it was hair-drying time, and my wet locks were the enemy. He relieved me of the towel with startling efficiency.

“You’re ordering me around like I’m a fleet officer under your command,” I complained.

Honestly, the nerve of the man!

A sharp tug on my hair, delivered with playful force, snapped my head back. Upside down, I met his gaze, those mesmerizing turquoise eyes swirling with shades of purple. It was a look I couldn't quite decipher – a mix of amusement, exasperation, and something…else.

He leaned down, our breaths mingling like mischievous conspirators. “If you were a fleet officer,” he said, his voice a low rumble, “You couldn’t be this close to me.” A pause, and then, “I never offer to dry anyone’s hair like this, so give me some credit, won’t you?”

My breath hitched. I tried to formulate a witty retort, but my brain seemed to have taken a vacation. All coherent thought vanished when his hand slid down my throat, tilting my chin upward, his fingers gently grabbing my jaw.

“Did I make myself clear? You’re the only one who has this privilege,” he stated, his gaze intense.

My eyes fluttered closed as his free hand tangled in my hair, his fingertips making soothing circles on my scalp.

"Not fair," I whispered, leaning back until my head rested against his chest. The solid thump of his heartbeat was surprisingly comforting.

He kissed the crown of my head. "Nothing is fair when it comes to you," he murmured.

And just like that, the moment was over. He pulled away and, as if nothing had happened, began to comb my hair. The hot air from the dryer blasted strands in every direction, a chaotic ballet of frizz. I must have drifted off for a moment, because the next thing I knew, something was gently tapping my head.

I realized, with a jolt, that my cheek was resting against his thigh. Oh, the indignity!

“Did you fall asleep, princess?” His voice was soft, quiet, but laced with warmth and amusement. “I need to comb your hair, but I can’t do that if you use my leg as a pillow.”

He gently stroked my hair, and I resisted the urge to purr. Sleeping on Caleb's leg was infinitely better than being awake without Caleb's leg to sleep on.

“But it feels so nice,” I protested, my voice muffled against his jeans. My argument was compelling, I thought.

“I’m sure it does, but we’ll never get this done if you don’t lift your head,” he chuckled. It was a low, rumbling sound that vibrated right through me.

With a monumental effort, fueled by sheer stubbornness, I managed to lift my head. Only to have it drop back against his chest a microsecond later.

His fingers brushed my cheek. His voice, close to my face, was a delicious torture. “I’m happy to be your pillow, but you’ll fall asleep again soon. I’ll have to stop this five-star service then,” he warned.

My eyes snapped open. The thought of losing this…this experience was unbearable.

“No, please! Five more minutes, and then you’re free,” I pleaded, flashing him my most convincing puppy-dog eyes.

He shut his eyes and groaned. It was a sound of beautiful, glorious defeat. “You’re so lucky that I love you,” he admitted, his voice laced with exasperation and, dare I say, something more?

Before I could even process his words, he resumed combing my hair, adding in a scalp massage for good measure. The feeling was so gloriously, exquisitely good that a soft moan escaped my lips. I hadn't meant to make noise, but I was relaxed and it left my mouth before I could stop it.

Caleb stopped. I heard him exhale sharply, as if he were in pain, but he kept going anyway, his fingers working magic.

“What will your future boyfriend say if you keep asking me to do these things for you, huh? I’m sure he won’t be happy how much you love this,” he joked, but there was a definite edge to his voice. Interesting. Time for a little playful prodding, just to see how he’d react.

“That’s easy. You’ll be my boyfriend then,” I said casually, trying to sound completely nonchalant. Inside, however, my stomach was doing acrobatic flips of anxiety and, perhaps, a touch of hopeful anticipation.

His fingers stilled in my hair. His breath hitched for a fraction of a second, but he quickly composed himself. With his fingers, he tipped my head back to look him in the eyes.

“Don’t play games with me, princess. I take those jokes very seriously,” he warned. And then he did something I definitely wasn’t expecting, something that sent a jolt of electricity through my entire system.

He grazed his thumb across my lips, tracing their shape with excruciatingly slow precision. “If you start…” His voice was a husky whisper. “I’ll only bite back.”

My lips parted, and my tongue, traitorously, darted out to lick his thumb. I breathed heavily with each brush, each look, each gesture.

His eyes glinted, a dark fire igniting within them as he refocused on me. “You’re giving me strange ideas tonight, and I’m afraid you’ll regret it later.”

I shook my head. He was the one giving me strange ideas tonight, sending signals that were far from subtle. I’d never really thought he’d be like this, so forward, but somehow his gaze felt…familiar. He’d been looking at me with such intensity ever since he came back from the dead.

He’d been presumed dead, killed in explosion and then months later he was back. Like a stranger, he was different but still Caleb.

Those buried feelings had resurfaced from the moment we reunited, and I realized I could read him easier now. He wanted something more, and I could finally see it, openly, brazenly.

“What about you? Will you regret it?” I challenged, throwing down the gauntlet.

It was like flipping a switch.

One moment I was kneeling on the floor, the next I was sprawled on the couch, pinned beneath him. His face was feral, his eyes burning with an intensity that both thrilled and frightened me.

“What are you doing, pipsqueak? Are you trying to see me snap?” he growled, his voice tight with barely suppressed emotion.

I shuddered, a delicious shiver that ran all the way to my toes. “No. Just wanted to tell you the truth. I have no need for a boyfriend if I already have one,” I flashed a teasing smile. “You basically treat me like a princess all the time. We just didn’t put a label on it.”

He was silent for a long moment, his gaze searching mine. Then, he laughed.

An ominous feeling washed over me as those gorgeous lips curled into a dangerous smirk.

“A boyfriend, you say?” He laughed again as his eyes wandered down my body, igniting a wildfire within me. “Then, I guess, I have the privilege to do this, right?”

I frowned, suddenly uneasy. “What do you–”

My gasp cut off my words as he lifted my oversized nightshirt, his hot fingers skimming across my stomach, dangerously inching closer to my bare breast.

It was a strategic maneuver, designed to deprive me of oxygen and coherent thought. It was working. My brain was currently operating on a combination of adrenaline, panic, and a deep, undeniable longing that I was trying very hard to ignore.

"Caleb," I breathed, my voice barely audible. "What are you doing?"

His eyes met mine, and the intensity was back, stronger than ever. "Claiming what's mine, pipsqueak. And maybe proving a point or two along the way."

Before I could formulate a response, before I could decide whether I wanted to run screaming for the hills or surrender to the inevitable, he lowered his head, his lips brushing against my ear. "Consider this your official boyfriend initiation."

His other fist tightened around a lock of my hair, pulling gently as he inhaled deeply, like preparing for a battle. Then, Caleb claimed my mouth.

My blood pressure seemed to stall, alongside my breathing, as his lips met mine. All thought dissolved like smoke, replaced by the overwhelming sensation of his mouth parting mine, his tongue exploring with a hesitant boldness. The kiss was a chaotic blend of pain, longing, jealousy, and raw, barely-contained rage. It felt like he’d been hoarding these desires for me for a lifetime.

I was utterly immobilized, pinned beneath him, my wrists trapped above my head. All I could do was receive the onslaught of him. His taste, like crisp, slightly tart apples, flooded my senses, leaving me dizzy.

I'd always fantasized about this, but never truly believed it could happen. We were practically family, raised under the same roof. If Granny knew, rest her soul, she'd be utterly scandalized. Even I couldn't quite grasp the reality of this moment.

"Fuck," he breathed, finally breaking the kiss, dragging his mouth away after a long, heated moment.

He stared down at me, his eyes almost crazed with a possessiveness I’d desperately tried to ignore for months, but it was undeniably there. It was as if he'd been waiting his entire life for this. To be honest, I was feeling the same.

His hand moved to the curve of my jaw, his thumb tracing the outline of my swollen, red-kissed lips. "Do you regret it now?" His voice was gruff, almost rough.

I pulled a shaky breath and shook my head. "No."

He locked his gaze on mine, his eyes burning with an intensity that made my skin prickle. The longer he watched me, the faster I flushed, suddenly feeling exposed and vulnerable under his scrutinizing attention.

When the silence stretched, an unfamiliar anger flared within me. I strained against his hold, trying to push him away. "What are you doing?" I struggled to regain control, using anger as a shield against the raw vulnerability I felt. Was he playing some kind of game? Was this a test?

He tilted his head, unfazed by my resistance, still firmly pinning me down. A slow, knowing smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "What am I doing? I'm trying to read you."

"What do you mean?"

He leaned down, his fingers tightening on my jaw, his breath hot against my lips. "Are you not resisting because you want me, or because you have no choice but to obey since I forced myself on you?"

I furrowed my eyebrows, confused and hurt. "You're not making sense. Why would I just obey you? Do you think I'm that easy to control?" I hissed, leaning forward, his lips ghosting against mine.

I felt him grin, his hold on my jaw tightening just slightly. "So…are you saying you like me?"

I swallowed, the question suddenly thick in the air. "And what if I do?"

His eyes darkened, his breath quickening. "Since when?"

I averted my eyes, a wave of shame washing over me. But he wouldn't allow me to retreat, tapping my cheek with his thumb, growling softly. "Eyes only on me."

I met his gaze, the honesty of the moment demanding it. "Well…always," I admitted, the word hanging in the air between us.

He clenched his jaw, mulling over my confession, his gaze drifting somewhere above my head as he struggled to compose himself. His breathing deepened, steadying. When he regained control, he locked his gaze on mine once more.

"Always? Even when you received love letters from other guys? When you pretended you wanted to go on dates with them too?" He spat, the words laced with jealousy and anger, but I didn't flinch.

"What about you? You've always been the popular one. What about all those gifts and love letters you always piled up in your room? There was plenty of proof that you had your share of secret admirers," I countered, my own anger rising to meet his.

His jaw ticked. "Yes, but it doesn't mean I dated any of them. I accepted those gifts because they were snacks, and you love snacks. That's why I didn't reject them. I gave them to you. And those love letters? I didn't even read them. I always threw them away, but the mail was always overflowing. Maybe I missed some," he reminded me. "And I promised you that I wouldn't get a girlfriend as long as I had you by my side. I didn't lie to you."

“I never seriously considered the other boys too, never wanted to go on dates with them, Caleb. I just…needed you to see me as a woman. Not just a kid who needs protection all the time,” I confessed.

My heart had always belonged to Caleb, and since he never revealed or even hinted at his feelings, I'd resorted to trying to make him jealous.

Caleb simply stared at me, then let out a short, disbelieving chuckle, covering his mouth with his hand. "You succeeded then. I wanted to kill every single person who even looked at you that way."

"Caleb…"

"No, let me finish," he interrupted.

He shifted, his weight still pinning me, but his grip loosening slightly. "I was a coward, I admit it. Afraid of ruining what we had, afraid of rejection. Years we wasted, playing stupid games, both of us too stubborn to admit the truth." He looked down at me, his expression softening. "So, pipsqueak, let's get this straight. You're mine. Always have been, always will be. And I'm yours, whether you like it or not."

He paused, searching my eyes. "But... I shouldn't have forced that kiss on you. I let my jealousy and frustration get the better of me. I wanted you so badly that it clouded my judgment. I'm sorry." His apology was gruff, but sincere.

I swallowed, the fight draining out of me.

"It...it's okay," I managed, even though a part of me still felt a little shaken. "But no more forcing. And no more games."

He nodded, a flicker of a smile reaching his eyes. "Agreed. No more games." He leaned down, his forehead resting against mine. "So, where do we go from here?"

I took a shaky breath, the reality of the situation finally sinking in. Caleb, the boy I'd secretly loved forever, my closest friend, actually felt the same way. It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

"I...I don't know," I admitted. "We've been living in the same house as practically family for years. This is going to be complicated."

"Complicated is an understatement," he chuckled softly. "But worth it, right?" He lifted his head, looking at me expectantly.

I met his gaze, and this time, the intensity didn't feel threatening. It felt...right. "Worth it," I confirmed, a small smile spreading across my own lips.

"Good." He moved, finally releasing my wrists and shifting his weight off me. He didn't stand, though, remaining close, kneeling beside me.

He reached out, gently tucking a strand of hair behind my ear,” So, official boyfriend initiation round two?" he asked, his voice a low murmur. "This time, with consent?"

I laughed softly, the tension finally easing. "Maybe. But you're going to have to work for it."

He grinned, a genuine, mischievous smile that made my heart skip a beat. "Oh, I intend to." He leaned in closer, his lips hovering just above mine. "Consider this my official courting process, pipsqueak."

His kiss was a brand, searing into my soul, and this time, I met it head-on. The raw power emanating from him, coupled with the intoxicating scent that clung to his skin, spun me into a dizzying vortex of pure, unadulterated lust. His right arm, a relentless band of steel beneath a deceptive layer of flesh, snaked its way up my body, a possessive claim against my skin. The fabric of my shirt became an unbearable barrier, a tormenting tease in the face of such primal need. And then, he was there, his quest fulfilled. His hand, long and slender, yet possessing an undeniable strength, cupped my bare breast. His fingers kneaded, squeezed with a confident possessiveness that stole my breath, my gasp swallowed by his hungry mouth.

He broke away, and the sight that greeted me was like staring into the heart of a storm. His eyes, pools of liquid darkness, almost swallowed the amethyst depths within. A flush crawled across his cheekbones, a testament to the fire raging within him, mirroring the inferno consuming me. I struggled to draw a breath, my lungs starved for air, yet desperate to be filled with him.

His gaze raked over me, possessive and intense. He seemed drunk on the sight of me, pliant, willing, utterly and completely beneath his control. The yearning that burned in those dark eyes sent my heart into a frenzied rhythm, a frantic drumbeat against my ribs.

“You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for this,” he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that vibrated against my skin. He leaned closer, his lips tracing a slow, deliberate path from my jawline to my temple, each touch a spark igniting a thousand desires. He inhaled deeply, stealing my scent as if it were the most precious thing in the world. “Are you mine?”

I could only nod, words failing me, lost in the overwhelming tide of sensation. His touch on my waist, beneath the hem of my shirt, sent shivers dancing across my skin. The cool, smooth surface of his mechanical arm, perfectly disguised as flesh, was a stark contrast to the heat he ignited within me.

“Say the words, princess,” he pleaded, his voice thick with a desperate longing that resonated deep within my soul. He buried his face in my hair, his breath warm against my ear, inhaling my scent as if trying to imprint me onto his very being.

“I’m yours, Caleb,” I whispered, the words a fragile offering, yet charged with a truth that grew stronger with each passing moment. Being with him had etched those words into my core.

He exhaled sharply, a sound that spoke of relief, of triumph, of a desperate need fulfilled. “God. She’s mine,” he breathed, the words a possessive mantra that sent a painful tug through my heart. It was as if he needed to hear it aloud, to confirm the reality of the moment, to assure himself that I, completely and irrevocably, belonged to him, and that this wasn't a figment of his desire.

His left arm, the one of flesh and blood, reached for me, his touch tentative at first, then growing bolder, more demanding. His fingers traced the delicate curve of my jaw, the sensitive skin of my neck, each caress a deliberate exploration, a slow, tantalizing torture.

I shivered, a delicious tremor that betrayed the depth of my longing. He knew me so well, knew exactly where to touch, how to tease, how to unravel me with a single glance. He held the keys to my desires, and he wielded them with a masterful precision.

The living room, usually a sanctuary of soft colors and comforting textures, was transformed into a battleground of desires, a space charged with unspoken longing. The air crackled with an energy that threatened to consume us both.

I arched against him, my fingers digging into his back, my nails tracing patterns on his clothed spine. I craved the feel of his skin against mine, the raw intensity of his touch, the unyielding heat of his body pressed against mine.

I wanted him, needed him, craved the feeling of his weight, the sensation of being crushed beneath his power, consumed by his presence. I wanted to lose myself in him, to surrender completely to the burning hunger that gnawed at my insides.

He obliged, pressing me deeper into the cushions, his body a hard, unyielding force against my softer curves. I gasped, the air catching in my throat as he shifted, settling his weight more fully against me.

“Do you want me, baby?” He rasped, his voice rough with barely contained desire. His fingers tightened on my hips, a possessive squeeze that sent a jolt of electricity through my veins.

“Yes,” I didn’t hesitate, the word torn from my lips, an honest declaration of the yearning consuming me.

“I’m glad you came back to me. Whether by accident or fate, you’re still here with me,” he murmured, his voice laced with a vulnerability that pierced my heart. He closed his eyes, his forehead pressed against mine, savoring our close proximity.

The words hit me deep, a wave of emotion washing over me. His longing was so raw, so palpable, that tears welled in my eyes. It felt like a wound, a deep, unhealed ache in his heart, and in that moment, I felt it too.

His love was a suffocating blanket, a weight I wasn't sure I could bear. Looking into his eyes, now filled with concern, the reflection of my own tears mirrored back at me, the truth of his feelings slammed into me with the force of a physical blow.

"Why… why are you crying?" he asked, his voice laced with a tenderness that only amplified the ache in my chest.

I couldn't articulate the whirlwind of emotions tearing me apart. The grief of a potential future stolen, the realization of a love I had been blind to, the sheer, overwhelming relief of him being here, alive, in my arms. All I could do was cling to him, burying my face in the crook of his neck, the sobs wracking my body. The thought of a world without him, a world where I never knew the depth of his feelings, was unbearable.

His arms tightened around me, a comforting, possessive hold. His hand found its way to my hair, stroking it in a soothing rhythm as we lay entwined on the couch.

"Princess…" he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, almost a question. He seemed to be searching for the right words, lost in the labyrinth of his own feelings.

"I love you. I love you so much," I choked out, the words tumbling from my lips like a desperate plea. His breath hitched, a sharp intake of air that spoke volumes. I felt the tremor that ran through his body, a tangible manifestation of the shock and disbelief that gripped him. He burrowed his nose into my hair, inhaling deeply, as if trying to absorb my very essence.

"My love…" he breathed, the words barely audible, a whispered prayer.

I could feel the frantic beat of his heart against my own, a frantic drumbeat mirroring the turmoil within him. The words he had longed to hear, the affirmation he had dared not dream of, were finally spoken, hanging in the air between us like a fragile, precious thing. He must be feeling like he was in a dream he desperately didn’t want to wake up from.

She's finally with me. She loves me. She's mine.

The words echoed in his mind, a mantra of disbelief and desperate hope. Was this real? Or was it a cruel jest of fate, a fleeting illusion destined to shatter and leave him with nothing but the bitter taste of what could have been?

His mouth crashed against mine, a kiss born not of tenderness or affection, but of raw, unadulterated need. A searing, desperate kiss that stole my breath and left me reeling. It was a kiss that demanded, that consumed, that threatened to obliterate everything in its path. There was no gentleness, no pretense of courtly love. Only a primal hunger, a desperate yearning for connection that had been denied for far too long.

All the pain, the doubts, the anxieties, were momentarily eclipsed by this overwhelming need. This desperate longing for something real, something tangible, something to hold onto in the face of the darkness that had threatened to consume us.

Clothes became an unbearable constraint, a barrier to the intimacy we both craved. They were discarded with a frantic urgency, a desperate shedding of inhibitions and restraints. Buttons popped, zippers screeched, fabric tore, each sound a testament to the escalating frenzy that gripped us. The cool air kissed my skin, heightening my awareness, making every nerve ending sing with anticipation, anticipation for what was about to come.

The warmth of his skin against mine was intoxicating. His body, lean and muscular, was a masterpiece of raw power and sculpted grace. I traced a path from his face, down the strong column of his throat, across his defined collarbone, and over the hard planes of his chest. His abs were a testament to his discipline, a source of envy for men and a source of swooning pleasure for women.

His broad shoulders stretched like mountains, blocking my view of everything but him. He was my world, my focus, my everything in that moment. The only other thing that caught my eye was the silver chain I had gifted him, still around his neck, the dog tags rising and falling in rhythm with his breathing, a constant reminder of the man beneath the warrior.

I didn’t dare to look lower. Not yet. But I could feel his hardness pressing against my thigh, a silent promise of the pleasure to come. The anticipation was a delicious torment, a burning ache that demanded to be quenched.

Caleb's eyes burned into mine, a dark, hungry gaze that promised both ecstasy and oblivion. There was a possessiveness in his eyes, a fierce protectiveness that sent shivers down my spine.

"God," he whispered, his voice raw with emotion. "You're so fucking stunning. More so than I imagined while feeling the guilt over the years, thinking of you that way." He swallowed hard, his fingers brushing against my nipples, sending a jolt of pleasure through me. I swallowed my moan of pleasure and he continues, "I thought… I would die never knowing this feeling."

I leaned in, kissing his lips softly, letting my breath mingle with his. "Yet, I'm here. In front of you. With you as you touch me like you want me to," I whispered against his mouth. His grip tightened, his fingers digging into my skin in a possessive claim.

He wanted to possess you, body and soul, to claim you as his own, to erase any trace of the world beyond your shared desire. He wanted to mark you, brand you, make you his in a way that transcended the physical. He wanted to lose himself in you, to forget the pain, the heartache, the years of longing. He only wanted to be in this moment, with you, forever. The darkness can engulf you both later.

“You’re my princess, aren’t you?”

“Yours,” I breathed, the single word a confession, a surrender. It was the truth, stark and undeniable. Every cell in my body vibrated with the knowledge that I belonged to him, Caleb. Completely and irrevocably. And in that moment, shrouded in shadows and consumed by a desire that felt both dangerous and divine, I didn't want to be anything else. The idea of belonging to someone had always seemed like a prison, a cage built of expectations and limitations. But with Caleb, it was different. It was a liberation, a feeling of being truly seen, truly known, and accepted – even celebrated – for the darkness that resided within me.

His teasing grin returned, that familiar curve of his lips that always sent a swarm of butterflies erupting in my stomach. It was a smile that held a universe of promises, of shared secrets and unspoken desires.

"You're awfully sweet right now. Be careful," he warned, his voice laced with amusement, a hint of something possessive lurking beneath the surface.

I flushed crimson, unable to meet his intense gaze. I knew he was teasing me, but the effect was undeniable. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic rhythm echoing the anticipation that pulsed through my veins.

His eyes, dark and fathomless, raked over my body, lingering on every curve and hollow. It was a slow, deliberate appraisal that made my skin prickle with awareness. He knelt back on his haunches, muscles flexing beneath the dark fabric of his briefs. That's when I noticed it – the hard ridge straining against his underwear, a blatant display of his desire. His cock.

It was huge. Unapologetically, undeniably huge. The outline was unmistakable, a testament to the raw power he possessed, a power he wielded with such effortless control. My gaze snagged on it, drawn by an invisible force.

As if sensing where my attention lay, my lips parted, breath catching in my throat as Caleb tugged his briefs down, freeing his shaft from its confinement. It sprang forth, a dark, throbbing entity slapping against his abdomen, a pearl of pre-cum already glistening at the head, a tantalizing invitation.

The curve of the tip was perfect, sculpted like some forbidden fruit, promising a pleasure that transcended the ordinary. I imagined the feel of it, the weight of it, the way it would fill me, stretch me, consume me. I couldn’t seem to tear my gaze away, mesmerized by its potent allure.

"Like what you see?" he smirked, his voice a low, guttural rumble that vibrated through me. I flushed again, a wave of heat washing over me. I was caught, my desire laid bare for him to see, and I didn't know what to say. The deep chuckle that rumbled in his chest was my only response, a sound that sent shivers down my spine.

He wrapped his long fingers around his cock, giving it slow, deliberate strokes as I watched, completely enthralled. But then, his eyes shifted, a new glint in their depths, and his hand moved away from his cock.

Without waiting for an answer, his gaze drifted to the fruit bowl on the nearby coffee table. It was a still life of vibrant colors and enticing scents – oranges, bananas, a cluster of grapes. But my eyes were drawn to the apple, a single, perfect specimen, red like a ruby, nestled amongst the other fruits. It seemed to pulse with a life of its own, drawing me in with its irresistible allure.

Then, as if by magic, it happened. The apple lifted from the bowl, floating effortlessly through the air, guided by an unseen force. My breath caught in my throat, a gasp of disbelief escaping my lips. It was Caleb's power, the gravity evolution he controlled with such ease. Usually, it was a source of deadly fascination and awe, a display of his immense strength. But now, in this moment, it felt different. It felt like a tool of unbridled obsession, a way for him to exert his control over me in the most intimate and tantalizing way.

He manipulated the apple's trajectory with a subtle flick of his wrist, drawing it closer, closer, until it hovered just above my mouth. He met my gaze, his eyes now burning with an intensity that threatened to consume me.

"Open," he commanded, his voice a husky whisper that sent shivers dancing across my skin.

I obeyed, my lips parting slightly, anticipation building within me like a fire. The apple descended, the smooth skin brushing against my lips, the sweet scent filling my nostrils. It was a heady mix of innocence and temptation, a perfect representation of the man who controlled it. He guided it into my mouth, the cool, crisp flesh a stark contrast to the burning heat that coursed through my veins.

I bit down, the juice exploding on my tongue, the sweetness a momentary distraction from the inferno that raged within. The taste was almost cloying, but I couldn't pull away, couldn't break the connection he had forged between us.

“Good girl,” he murmured, the praise hitting me like a jolt of electricity. My core tightened, a wave of heat flooding my loins. The simple words, spoken in that low, possessive tone, were enough to shatter the last vestiges of my control.

He watched me, his eyes filled with a predatory gleam, a hunger that mirrored my own. His hand, warm and calloused, slid between my legs, fingers finding the wet heat that awaited him. I gasped at his first touch, the pleasure intense, almost unbearable. He started stroking me, teasing me, bringing me to the edge of madness with his relentless touch. The apple remained in my mouth, a tantalizing object of both pleasure and control, a constant reminder of his power over me.

His eyes flickered downward, watching as his fingers parted my folds like the petals of a flower. I was slick, so incredibly slick, my body betraying me with its desperate need. I started gushing around his fingers, a clear testament to the pleasure he was inflicting.

"Beautiful," he whispered, his voice thick with lust. He looked back at me, seeing my pleasure-filled face, wanting to capture every expression, every flicker of emotion that crossed my features. The shyness that usually clung to me was gone, banished by the intensity of the moment. I was raw, exposed, completely vulnerable to his gaze. "So responsive. Who would have thought?" He grinned, a flash of white teeth in the dim light.

The words were playful, a teasing caress, but beneath the surface, I sensed a possessiveness that made my breath catch in my throat. This wasn't the Caleb I thought I knew, the charming, considerate man who had always spoiled me or taken care of me. This was something darker, something untamed, and a part of me, the part that craved the forbidden, was desperately curious.

"Last chance. Tell me to stop," he whispered, his voice laced with a dangerous edge. "Tell me you don't want this."

The words hung in the air, a challenge, a dare. But I couldn't. I was paralyzed, caught between fear and a desire so potent it threatened to consume me. I wanted to say no, to regain control, but the word died in my throat. His touch was doing things to my body which never happened to me before.

He seemed to take my silence as consent. While his warm fingers stroked my folds, his other hand moved lower, tracing the line of my ribs, the curve of my hips, igniting a firestorm in their wake. I gasped, arching into his touch, my body betraying my wavering resolve. He chuckled, a low, guttural sound that sent shivers down my spine.

"That's what I thought," he murmured, his voice thick with desire.

I closed my eyes, surrendering to the moment, allowing him to dictate the pace.

"Open your eyes, pipsqueak," he commanded, his voice a low growl. "I want to see you when I touch you."

The command sent a shiver racing down my spine, a delicious blend of fear and excitement. He wanted to witness my surrender, to see the effect he had on me, to claim me utterly and completely with his gaze. And I, a willing captive, obeyed. My eyelids fluttered open, my gaze locking with his intense amethyst eyes, pools of simmering passion that threatened to drown me in their depths.

He was a study in contrasts, a beautiful paradox. His features were sharp and angular, hinting at a dangerous edge, yet softened by the curve of his lips and the intensity of his gaze. His skin, tanned and taut, stretched over muscles honed to perfection.

I couldn't hold it in any longer. The apple which was in my mouth, fell out and it rolled down to the floor with a thud. The sudden climax hit me like a tidal wave, a surge of pure, unadulterated pleasure that ripped through my body, leaving me gasping and breathless. He had sunk two fingers inside me, stroking me deep and good, pushing me over the edge with his relentless expertise.

My body wasn’t in control anymore. It was fully his to manipulate, to worship, to break if he so desired. And in that moment, I knew I would let him. I would surrender everything, every last shred of resistance, to the man who held my heart captive in his dark and beautiful hands. I was his princess, his to command, his to possess, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

The aftermath left me weak and trembling, my body humming with residual energy. I laid there, spent, and Caleb leaned over me, his lips meeting mine in a soft, tender kiss that belied the intensity of what we had just shared.

"You look beautiful when you come," he murmured against my lips, his voice thick with emotion.

I could only blush and bite my lip as he watched, the heat rising in my cheeks. It was mortifying, to be so exposed, so vulnerable, yet at the same time, there was a thrilling liberation in casting off my inhibitions for him. He watched as my teeth sank into my plush bottom lip, the small act of self-inflicted pain arousing something primal within me.

His nostrils flared, and he knelt back, settling into a kneeling position between my legs, his briefs still pulled down, leaving only his magnificent erection exposed. The sight of him, so raw and uninhibited, sent another shiver of desire through me.

He was impatient, though. Not wanting distractions, my gasp is loud when he takes the fabric and tears it in two with his bare hands, his underwear now destroyed. The sound ripped through the air, a primal declaration of his need, and it echoed within me, setting my nerves on fire. I hadn't expected this level of intensity, this blatant disregard for anything but the moment.

"Caleb, what-" I started, my voice a breathless whisper but me cut me off.

"I need you," he rasped, the words rough and guttural, like a caged beast desperate for release but I don't let him touch me again.

I push against his bare chest, looking up at him as his eyes furrow. Confusion, and what might be hurt, flickered across his features, but I steeled myself, pushing past the guilt that threatened to overwhelm me. This was my moment, my chance to reciprocate, to explore the depths of our desire on my own terms.

"It's my time to touch you," I said, the words trembling slightly in the air.

His lips parted, his surprise for a second almost making me giggle. It was a small victory, a brief glimpse of the power I held over him. But I swallowed my nerves down when I watched him gulp, his fisted hands at his sides clenching.

He was so powerful, so in control, yet in this moment, I held the reins. The realization sent a thrill through me, a sense of empowerment I had never experienced before.

"Are you sure?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

"Yes," I replied, my voice firm, resolute.

His amethyst eyes darkened then, blazing with an intensity that both thrilled and intimidated me. His legs spread wider in that same kneeling position on his heels, making him even more fiercer, more imposing. 

"Then look," he commanded, his voice a low rumble.

I looked down, my gaze drawn to the magnificent display of his masculinity.

"See what you do to me?" He whispered, noticing my eyes wandering over every inch of his exposed skin. He reached down, gently guiding my attention towards his obvious arousal. "Only you can make me this hard." His voice was rough with desire. "You want to touch it?"

He knew the answer before I even spoke. He knew the hunger that gnawed within me, the desperate yearning to explore the contours of his body, to taste the forbidden fruit of his desire. But still, he asked, giving me the choice, acknowledging my agency.

“You should know that I have never…” I trailed off, my voice laced with uncertainty.

"I know," he said softly, gently brushing my hair away from my face. "You're innocent... and that makes me want you even more." His hand guided mine to gently touch him. "Just... explore, if you want. No pressure." His breath caught slightly at my tentative touch, a visible reaction to my hesitant caress.

The weight and heat of him in my hand was startling, unfamiliar, but undeniably intoxicating. I felt a surge of power, knowing that I, with a simple touch, could elicit such a strong reaction from this powerful, dominant man.

I sit up, emboldened by his invitation, and wrap my hand around him.

His head tilted back slightly as my hand made contact. A hesitant touch, almost shy, as my fingers curled around his length. He was thick, unbelievably so, dwarfing my small hand. My fingers barely managed to encircle him once. His violet eyes, usually alight with playful mischief, were now dark pools, fixed on my face. He watched every flicker of emotion, every subtle change in my expression, noting the widening of my eyes, the slight parting of my lips. He saw my surprise, my innocent curiosity, and something else… a budding desire mirrored his own.

He was a creature of raw power, a wild animal barely leashed. The purple of his eyes was clouded with a potent desire that both thrilled and intimidated me. His jaw was clenched tight, the muscles working with a barely suppressed intensity. His abs, usually hidden beneath tailored shirts or his uniform, rippled with each heavy breath he drew, a testament to his barely contained energy. He looked as though he wanted to devour me, to pull me onto his lap in a possessive claim, wrapping his large arms around me, never letting go. A low, guttural sound rumbled from his chest.

"More," he commanded, the single word laced with a desperate need that sent shivers down my spine.

I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry. The air in the room seemed to thicken, charged with an electricity that crackled between us.

My hand moved, exploring the length of him with newfound confidence, my fingers tracing the rigid contours. His hips twitched forward instinctively, a silent plea for deeper contact. A slick pre-come, pearly and thick, leaked out, coating my hand in a warm, viscous film. He was already so close to the edge, the precipice of his control, my innocent touches pushing him closer to the brink. He reached down, his large hand engulfing mine, his fingers strong and sure as he guided me in slow, deliberate strokes.

"Just like that..." he breathed, the words a ragged sigh against the heavy air.

"Like that?" I echoed, my voice barely a whisper, laced with uncertainty and a growing fascination.

His abs clenched and unclenched rhythmically as I followed his lead, stroking him slowly, deliberately, feeling the heat and the tension that vibrated beneath my touch. His face was a mask of exquisite torment, contorted with a pleasure that seemed almost painful. His purple eyes rolled back slightly, revealing the whites, as though he were lost in a world of pure sensation.

He spread his legs wider, granting me better access, offering himself to my touch with a primal abandon. "Yes... just like that," he groaned, his voice thick with barely suppressed passion.

Somehow, I had never imagined this. Never envisioned him like this, so raw, so vulnerable, yet so overwhelmingly powerful. The sight of him, teetering on the edge of control, ignited a fire within me, a desire to push him further, to watch him surrender completely to the pleasure I was now wielding. The longer I stared at him in this moment, the more I wanted him to lose control. To shatter the carefully constructed facade of composure and reveal the wild, untamed beast that lurked beneath.

Caleb’s breathing grew heavier, ragged gasps that filled the suddenly silent room. With each stroke of my hand, his control seemed to slip further, his body arching in response to the escalating pleasure. He was utterly lost in the sensation, his eyes glazed over, his jaw tight, the only evidence of the iron will he usually possessed. Then, with a low, guttural growl that resonated deep within my soul, he suddenly seized my wrist, his grip surprisingly strong, halting my movements.

"Enough..." he rasped, his voice strained, his eyes burning into mine. "Enough, or I'm going to cum right here."

"Sorry…" The word tumbled out, a reflexive apology born of inexperience and a fear of overstepping.

"Baby, don't apologize," he chuckled softly, the sound a low rumble in his chest.

He released my wrist, his touch lingering for a moment before he let go completely. I hesitated for only a moment before resuming my ministrations, slowly pumping my hand over his engorged length. He watched my face with an intensity that made my heart pound, studying my innocent features, the slight parting of my lips, the small hand wrapped around his impressive length. His hips moved slightly forward, meeting my touch with a subtle urgency. He was teetering on the edge again, his self-control hanging by a thread.

"It's so big…" The words escaped my lips before I could stop them, a simple, honest observation that seemed to electrify the air between us.

His eyes darkened at my words, the violet transforming into a deep, almost black, purple. A slow smile spread across his face, revealing a flash of white teeth. He loved how innocent and sweet I was, even when I was touching him like this, when I held his power in my hand.

He reached down, his large hand enveloping mine once more, his fingers interlacing with mine, trapping my hand against his throbbing flesh. He began to move my hand faster, his hips thrusting up to meet my touch with a desperate need. "And it's all yours," he murmured, the words a husky promise whispered against my ear.

"Mine?" The question was barely audible, a breathless gasp of surprise and burgeoning desire.

I licked my lips, suddenly parched, the taste of him lingering on my tongue. Before he could anticipate my intentions, before he could stop me, I sat up, knelt on all fours, and leaned down, my breath warm and moist against his skin. With a slow, deliberate movement, I traced the head of his erection with the tip of my tongue.

Caleb let out a loud a surprised groan, a sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure, as my tongue made contact. He buried his hands in my hair, his fingers threading through the strands, holding me gently but firmly against him as I repeated the action, my innocent exploration sending shockwaves of pleasure through his entire body. "Fuck, baby..." he groaned, the words torn from his throat.

He moved then, his hips jerking forward, forcing his length deeper into my mouth as I licked and teased him with my tongue. He was so close to the edge, his control shattering with each passing second.

The innocent depravity of my touch, the sight of my small mouth wrapped around his engorged flesh, pushed him closer and closer to the precipice. He started to thrust gently, his hands tangled in my hair, guiding me, controlling the pace and depth of my ministrations. "Suck me, baby…" he commanded, the words a desperate plea and an undeniable command.

Caleb looked down at me, his amethyst eyes dark and intense, devouring me with his gaze as he watched me struggle to accommodate his size. The sight of my eyes watering, my body trembling, the slight gagging sound as I took him deeper, only fueled his desire, pushing him closer to the edge of oblivion. He wiped away the tears that streamed down my face with his thumbs, his touch surprisingly gentle despite the raw intensity of his movements.

"You're doing so well, princess…" he murmured, his voice a husky encouragement.

He groaned loudly, a sound that bordered on pain, as I tightened my lips around him, my tears spilling down my cheeks, a testament to my effort and his overwhelming size. He was so close, my mouth and the sight of my tears pushing him over the edge. With a final, guttural cry, he thrust forward, his body arching, and he came, his hot seed erupting in shuddering waves, spilling into my mouth.

"Swallow it," he commanded, his voice raw and desperate.

Without hesitation, I obeyed, my throat working as I swallowed every drop, accepting his essence, taking him fully into myself. He watched, his chest heaving as he fought to catch his breath, his body trembling in the aftermath of the intense release. He wiped away the remaining tears from my face, his touch gentle, almost reverent, his mind reeling from the experience. He lifted me up into his lap, cradling me against his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around me as though he never wanted to let me go.

"My sweet baby, you took it all…" he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

"W…was it good?" I whispered, my voice shaky, my body trembling in the aftermath of the intense encounter, my heart pounding in my chest as I waited for his response.

He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated through my body. "Good? Princess, it was beyond good. It was…perfect." He tightened his grip on me, burying his face in my hair. "You're an amazing little thing, do you know that?"

His words were like a drug, soothing the raw edges of my fear, fueling the part of me that craved his attention. I wanted to believe him, to bask in the warmth of his praise, but a nagging doubt lingered in the back of my mind. Was it genuine, or was it just another manipulation, another way to keep me under his control?

He tilted my chin up, forcing me to meet his gaze. His eyes were dark pools, unreadable and intense. "I can't wait to have you, princess," he said, his voice a low growl. "I want to feel you wrapped around me, every inch of you."

A thrill of anticipation shot through me, mingled with a healthy dose of apprehension.

It mingled, however, with a healthy dose of apprehension, a stark reminder of the power he held over me, the potential for both exquisite pleasure and devastating pain. The reality of his size, his sheer physicality, crashed back into my consciousness.

"Can we even fit?" The question blurted out before I could censor it, a nervous, almost comical query that shattered the carefully constructed tension. "You're...big." The word hung in the air, a testament to the undeniable scale of him, a daunting prospect that simultaneously terrified and intrigued me.

A slow, predatory smile stretched across his face, a silent promise of the pleasure – and the challenge – that awaited. "Oh, baby," he murmured, his voice laced with amusement and a hint of something more primal. "We'll fit. I promise you, we'll make it fit." He shifted his weight, subtly pressing against me, a deliberate provocation that sent a renewed wave of heat surging through my veins.

He reached down, his fingers tracing the delicate curve of my hip, sending shivers dancing across my skin. "Don't underestimate my… ingenuity," he whispered, his breath warm against my ear. "I know how to make things… accommodate." The double entendre was unmistakable, a blatant and deliciously wicked tease that left me breathless.

He continued his tantalizing exploration, his fingers moving lower, tracing the line of my thigh with agonizing slowness. "We might have to get creative," he murmured, his voice a husky rasp. "A little bending, a little guiding… perhaps even a little persuasion." Each word was a deliberate stroke, painting a vivid picture in my mind, arousing a potent mixture of fear and undeniable excitement.

"And don't think for a moment that I haven't thought about every single angle, every possible position," he continued, his voice a hypnotic drawl. "I've imagined you beneath me, above me, beside me… twisted in ways you never thought possible." The images he conjured were both shocking and undeniably alluring, pushing the boundaries of my inhibitions, igniting a fire within me that threatened to consume me whole.

He pulled back slightly, his lilac eyes burning into mine. "Trust me, princess," he said, a dangerous glint in his gaze. "We'll find a way. We'll make it work. And it will be… unforgettable." He lowered his head, his lips hovering just above mine, a silent invitation to surrender to the intoxicating darkness he offered.

My breath hitched in my throat, my body trembling with anticipation. The fear was still there, a nagging undercurrent, but it was being drowned out by the overwhelming tide of desire. I knew, deep down, that giving in to him, allowing him to take control, was a dangerous game. But the allure was too strong, the temptation too irresistible. I wanted to experience the full extent of his power, to explore the depths of my own desires, to lose myself in the intoxicating darkness that he embodied.

With a shaky exhale, I closed the distance between us, my lips meeting his in a hesitant, tentative kiss. It was a silent agreement, a surrender to the inevitable.

He lowered me slowly back onto the plush velvet of the couch, his movements deliberate, each one a promise and a threat. He positioned himself over me, a dark silhouette against the dim light filtering through the curtains. His lips, usually so quick to form a smirk or a biting remark, were dry, almost cracked, and he worried them with his teeth as he watched me, his gaze intense and possessive. It was a gaze that stripped me bare, not just physically, but emotionally, leaving me vulnerable and exposed.

Lifting my right leg, he draped it over his broad shoulder, the angle both compromising and exhilarating. The stretch was uncomfortable, a sharp reminder of the boundary I was crossing, but the anticipation, the undeniable pull towards him, overshadowed the pain. He pushed himself closer, the heat radiating from his body branding me, and my eyes were drawn, almost against my will, to the undeniable evidence of his arousal. His cock, already rock-hard from the first time, pulsed with a life of its own, a stark contrast to the controlled, almost detached demeanor he usually presented.

Sweat beaded on his biceps, glistening in the subdued light. Rivulets traced paths down his sculpted abs. The silver chain he always wore, a constant reminder of my love for him, swayed slightly with each movement, catching the light like a fleeting spark of rebellion.

"Caleb, are you sure…" The question escaped my lips, a whisper of doubt despite the fire that raged within me. The sheer size of his cock, the undeniable reality of what was about to happen, sent a shiver of apprehension down my spine. But he only chuckled, a low, dark sound that resonated deep within my chest, sending a tremor of both fear and excitement through me. It was a crazed sound, a sound that hinted at the darkness that lurked beneath his carefully constructed facade.

He gripped his length, his hand a possessive caress that made me gasp. Positioning the tip against my entrance, he leaned over me, his weight pressing me into the cushions. My leg strained against the unnatural angle, the muscles screaming in protest, but the pain was a distant hum compared to the roaring in my ears. He breathed against my lips, his breath hot and ragged, laced with a hint of desperation. "You will take it like a good girl, without objections, hm?"

His words were a command, a challenge, and a promise all rolled into one. They ignited a fire deep within me, a primal response that silenced my doubts and amplified my desire. I was already wet, slick and ready, his slicked, swollen head brushing against my folds like a sinful kiss.

"What about protection?" I managed to whisper, the question a last-ditch attempt to cling to some semblance of control.

He didn't hesitate, his answer immediate and unapologetic. "I don't have any with me. I didn't envision us being naked tonight," he mocked, his voice a dark, teasing whisper that sent shivers down my spine. "So our first time will be raw. So I can feel your virgin walls tighten around me." He punctuated his words with a kiss, a searing brand that sealed my fate. "It's too late to back out, you know?"

A whimper escaped my lips, a sound that betrayed the conflict raging within me. Fear warred with anticipation, doubt battled against desire. But deep down, I knew he was right. It was too late. I couldn't wait any longer to feel him inside me, to be filled with him, to experience the raw, unbridled connection that had been building between us for so long. I desperately needed him.

"Then what are you waiting for?" The words were a surrender, an invitation, a plea.

Without warning, he pushed the tip inside me, and I gasped, the unexpectedness of the sensation stealing my breath. He chuckled, a sound laced with triumph and a hint of something darker, something that made my heart pound in my chest.

"That's for being sassy, you little ungrateful brat. Will you be good for me?"

I nodded, my movements small and submissive. Our saliva dripped between our parted lips as he stroked his tongue between my words, tasting my surrender.

"Good girl," His praise was a weapon, a tool he wielded with precision, knowing exactly how to elicit the response he desired. The words made me whimper again, a sound that quickly morphed into a choked moan as he sank another inch, the painful stretch almost blinding me. It was a pain unlike any I had ever experienced, a tearing, burning sensation that threatened to overwhelm me.

"Shit," he cursed, the word a harsh rasp against the sudden silence.

He could feel you, tight and resistant, and his cock pulsed with the overwhelming urge to release, to find release in the sweet confines of your virginity. But that would be a waste, a cruel denial of the pleasure he craved, the pleasure he wanted you both to experience.

"It…it…hurts," I moaned, my nails digging into his shoulders, drawing blood without him even noticing.

He was consumed, lost in the moment, oblivious to everything but the feel of you, the taste of you, the overwhelming sensation of being connected to you in this primal, forbidden way. He gritted his teeth against the onslaught of sensation, forcing himself to slow down, to savor the agony and the ecstasy.

The sweat between us was hot, a slick film that bound us together.

His right hand, the one that had been caressing my jaw, now tightened around my throat, the metal of his fingers cool against my skin. The pressure was subtle, a gentle reminder of his power, his control.

"You're doing so good, baby. Just a little more," Caleb grunted, pushing himself even deeper, lost in the intoxicating haze of the moment.

He was too far gone to stop now, consumed by the realization that his darkest fantasy was unfolding before him. You were beneath him, naked and vulnerable, raw and breathtakingly beautiful. He wanted to freeze this moment, to hold onto it forever, to never let you go.

Tears streamed down my face, a mixture of pain and pleasure, of fear and exhilaration. It wasn't just the physical discomfort that brought them forth, but the overwhelming emotion of the moment, the profound connection that was forming between us. It was a joy to finally feel this, to feel full, to feel complete in a way I never had before.

Caleb moaned again, the sound guttural and raw, sending shivers down my spine. He removed his hand from my throat, bracing his forearm beside my head on the armrest of the couch. His fingers were clenched into a fist, a testament to the self-control he was exerting. With his other hand, he guided his cock deeper, inch by excruciating inch.

"Caleb, oh-" I couldn't stop myself from moaning his name, the sound a desperate plea that spurred him on even more. He suddenly rammed himself fully inside, all seven and a half inches of him breaching my virgin walls.

The pain was shocking, a blinding wave that washed over me, stealing my breath and leaving me momentarily paralyzed. My lips parted in a silent whimper, my body arching against his.

Caleb froze, completely still, like a statue of steel against my trembling flesh.

"I'm sorry, baby. You just feel so good," he breathed, his voice rough with emotion. He looked down at me, his eyes filled with a mixture of remorse and desire. He wiped the tears from my face, his touch gentle and surprisingly tender. "Just a moment, and the pain will fade away, all right?" He kissed my temple, a soft, lingering gesture that offered solace and reassurance. I shifted uncomfortably beneath him, and the pain began to subside, slowly transforming into something else, something almost…pleasurable.

"You can move…I think…" My voice was hoarse, my throat dry.

Caleb clenched his jaw, staring down at me with an intensity that made my heart pound. He pulled back slightly, his cock dragging against my sensitive flesh, teasing me, torturing me. He retreated until only the tip remained inside, hovering just at the edge of my entrance. The sensation was exquisite, agonizing, unbearable. The feeling of being almost empty sparked a desperate need within me, a primal urge to be filled again, to be consumed by him. I clenched around his head, my muscles contracting in a silent plea, begging him to sink back inside. I dug my nails into his skin, desperate for purchase, desperate for release.

He watched my expression, his eyes dark and knowing. And then, without warning, he thrust forward, burying himself deep within me.

My clit met his pelvic bone, sending a jolt of pure pleasure through my body. We both moaned, the sound a primal symphony of pain and ecstasy. Each thrust was more intense than the last, each drag against my sensitive flesh driving me closer to the edge. He seemed drunk on my pussy, lost in the intoxicating sensation of being inside me. The look in his eyes was feral, untamed, as he fucked me with a desperate hunger, as if he had been starving for this moment for his entire life.

My whimpers and moans grew louder, the sounds punctuated by gasps of breath. Words became gibberish, meaningless sounds that escaped my lips as I surrendered to the overwhelming pleasure. His chain swayed between us, a distracting glint of silver against the darkening landscape of our passion. He caught it between his teeth, the metal cold against his lips, and grabbed my leg, lifting my hip to ram even deeper, his balls slapping against my ass with each thrust.

"Your pussy's so...fucking...good," he grunted, his words raw and unfiltered. He looked feral, his eyes glazed with desire, his face flushed with exertion.

The air crackled with a dark, erotic charge. He teased, tormented, pushing me to the edge, then pulling me back, denying me the release I craved. He demanded my surrender, not just of my body, but of my will.

"Beg me to come, princess. Then maybe I will allow you to fly."

Too weak to resist, I obeyed.

"Please," I whimpered, the word a desperate plea torn from my throat. "Caleb, please…"

He ignored my pleas, increasing the pace, the force of his thrusts. Each stroke was a calculated torment, designed to push me closer to the precipice. The anticipation was excruciating, a delicious torture that stretched on for an eternity. I clawed at his back, my nails digging into his flesh, desperate for purchase in the storm raging within me.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Caleb relented. He unleashed the torrent, allowing me to teeter over the edge. The world exploded in a kaleidoscope of sensations, a blinding rush of pure, unadulterated pleasure. My body convulsed, my muscles tightened, and a strangled cry escaped my lips as I plummeted into the abyss.

He didn't stop there. He rode the wave with me, meeting my climax with his own. With long, powerful strokes, he pushed me further, deeper, until I thought I would shatter into a million pieces. And then, finally, he unleashed his own storm, his body shuddering as he emptied himself inside me, filling me to the brim. His seed pulsed within me, a tangible symbol of our transgression, a dark promise of the bond we had forged in the crucible of lust.

My whimpers were loud now, fueled by the aftershocks of the orgasm that still coursed through my veins.

"Such a good girl." He praised me, his voice rough and low.

He savored the moment, not wanting to waste a single drop of his essence. He thrust back inside, deeper than before, his eyes locked onto the juncture of our bodies. He stared down at the place where we were joined, where my virginity had been sacrificed on the altar of his desire. My blood, a crimson stain against the cream coloured couch, seemed to give him a deep satisfaction, a confirmation that he was the first, the one who had claimed you.

Exhaustion washed over me, a heavy blanket that threatened to pull me under. I wanted nothing more than to sleep, to escape the intensity of the moment, to retreat into the oblivion of unconsciousness.

But Caleb had other ideas. He wasn't finished with me yet.

He scooped me into his arms, carrying me towards the bathroom. "I'm going to take care of you now," he murmured, his voice a low rumble against my ear. That same caring, affectionate Caleb was back, reminding me of the old days again.

He promised me of the "special hair drying care" again which he had started when he first came to my apartment tonight, a dark threat veiled in a promise of pleasure. I was too weak to resist, too lost in the aftermath of our encounter to fight him. I complied, surrendering myself to his will, accepting my fate as his captive, his possession.

Under the warm spray of the shower, he washed away the evidence of our sin, but not the memory.

Each touch, each caress, was a reminder of the power he held over me, the dark desire that bound us together.

The warm water swirled around me, a comforting embrace that did little to soothe the unease coiled tight in my stomach. Caleb’s touch was feather-light, a deliberate caress as he guided the soapy sponge down my arm. "Are you warm enough, my love?" he murmured, his voice a silken thread weaving through the steamy air. "The water's just how you like it, isn't it?"

I leaned into him, the familiar scent of his sandalwood soap filling my senses. "Perfect, Caleb. Just perfect."

His hands moved to my hair, the suds cool against my scalp as he began to massage. It was a familiar ritual, one I usually found deeply relaxing. Tonight, however, a tremor of something akin to apprehension ran through me.

"Mmm, your hair smells like honeysuckle again," he said, his voice dropping a register, becoming intimately close. "I love it when you use that shampoo. It reminds me of the times when we were young and naive. Thinking back..it was like fate."

A smile touched my lips, a fragile thing. "It does feel like fate, doesn't it?"

His fingers stilled for a moment, the gentle rhythm broken. When he spoke again, the lightness had vanished from his tone, replaced by an intensity that always left me breathless. "It is fate. You were always meant to be mine. Do you understand that, princess?"

I turned my face up to his, meeting his gaze. His eyes, usually a warm purple, were now dark pools, reflecting a possessiveness that bordered on obsession. "Yes, Caleb. I do." The words were a reflex, a response I knew he needed to hear.

He cupped my face in his hands, his thumbs tracing slow circles on my cheekbones. His touch was gentle, almost reverent, yet there was an underlying strength, a claim being staked.

"Good. Because sometimes… sometimes I worry. I see the way others look at you. They don't understand. They don't see what I see. They don't deserve to see."

A chill, unrelated to the water temperature, prickled my skin. I reached up, placing my hands over his wrists, my fingers pressing against the pulse that throbbed there. "They don't matter, Caleb. Only you matter."

A relieved sigh escaped him, a gust of air that ruffled the damp tendrils of hair framing my face. "That's right. Only me. And you… you are only mine. Every inch of you. This beautiful skin…" He dipped the sponge again, his touch lingering on my shoulder. "…these soft curves…" His fingers trailed down my back, sending shivers dancing across my spine. “…all mine."

"Yes, Caleb. All yours," I whispered, the words a surrender, a promise.

He pulled me closer, the water cascading over both of us, plastering my hair to my face. His voice was a low murmur against my ear, a secret shared in the intimacy of the moment. "No one will ever take you away from me. Do you hear me? No one. They can try, but…" He paused, the darkness that lurked beneath the surface creeping into his tone. "…they will fail."

A wave of conflicting emotions washed over me: fear, yes, but also a strange sense of security. There was a raw power in his words, a certainty that both terrified and thrilled me. I wrapped my arms around him tightly, clinging to him as if he were the only anchor in a turbulent sea. "I don't want anyone else, Caleb. I only want you."

He kissed my temple, his lips lingering against my skin, branding me. His embrace tightened, possessive and demanding. "And you'll always have me. I'll always be here, watching over you, protecting you. You can't run from me, even if you wanted to."

Tilting my head back, I looked up at him, forcing a soft smile onto my face. "I don't want to run. I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be." It was a lie, perhaps, or at least a half-truth. There were days, nights even, when the weight of his devotion felt like a gilded cage, beautiful but confining. But the alternative, the thought of not being with him, was even more terrifying.

His grip tightened further, his knuckles white against my back, but his voice softened again, becoming almost achingly tender. "My sweet, precious… You are my everything."

The sound of the water continued, a constant, swirling symphony that filled the silence as Caleb held me close. I closed my eyes, focusing on the feel of his arms around me, the steady beat of his heart against my ear. It was a silent promise of forever, a forever that both comforted and haunted me.

I knew, deep down, that Caleb's love was a dangerous thing, a consuming fire that threatened to engulf everything in its path. But I was drawn to it, mesmerized by its intensity. He saw me, truly saw me, in a way no one else ever had. He cherished me, protected me, even if that protection came at a cost.

And perhaps, I thought, as I leaned further into his embrace, that was enough. Perhaps being his, completely and utterly, was a price I was willing to pay. The alternative, a life without his fierce devotion, was a bleak and desolate landscape I couldn't bear to imagine. So I stayed, bathed in the warmth of his possessive love, and prayed that the darkness that flickered in his eyes would never consume us both. I prayed that my love would be enough to keep him tethered to reality, to prevent his obsession from spiraling out of control.

But deep down, a chilling voice whispered that it was already too late. That I was already caught in his web, bound by threads of love and fear, and that there was no escape. And perhaps, a small, secret part of me didn't want to escape. Perhaps I was as addicted to his darkness as he was to my light.

[elysen]

WERE YOU PLANNING TO JOIN ME?

summary - Driven by curiosity, you impulsively open Caleb's ajar bathroom door and find him, near-naked and captivating, polishing a gun. His intense gaze meets yours in the mirror, creating a moment of charged silence and unspoken questions.

pairing - Caleb!Yandere x Reader (Best friends!au)

(nsfw +18) - He is absolutely insane in this (they both are), inexperienced!reader!first time, male!receiving, female!receiving, vaginal raw shower sex, creampie, a lot of tears, gun play as in...literally, knife throwing, a lot of banter and tension, gravity and resonance evol usage, praise kink, nipple play, neck biting, pet names(sweetheart, baby, princess), a lot of dirty talk, he is very much bossy, possessive and sadistic as always. This is a little bit angst but sweet. He likes it rough.

w-20k - Got carried away with this one because I was too excited. I don't even care that it isn't like the original. I needed this.

Masterlist

The rhythmic drumming of the shower fills the opulent, cloud-kissed apartment. Skyhaven, a marvel of suspended architecture and technological prowess, hums with a quiet energy, a stark contrast to the sudden flutter in your chest. You're here, a visitor in Caleb's extraordinary world, drawn by a longing that has quietly bloomed over years of shared history. A mischievous impulse takes hold – a desire to catch him off guard, to inject a spark of playful surprise into his meticulously ordered life.

Your mind drifts back to the Chronorift Catastrophe of '34, a dark mark on the timeline that had unexpectedly woven your lives together. Orphaned in its wake, you and Caleb found solace and a surrogate family in Gran's warm, welcoming embrace. 

The bond forged in those turbulent years was unlike any other, a tapestry woven with threads of shared sorrow, unwavering loyalty, and a silent understanding that transcended words. Caleb, always the stoic protector, and you, the fiery, independent spirit, found a strange equilibrium within Gran's chaotic, loving home. He was your brother in all but blood, your confidante, your rock.

That was fourteen years ago. Now, standing outside his bathroom door in Skyhaven, in his own domain, the air thick with steam and anticipation, you feel a subtle shift in the familiar dynamic. The playful surprise you intend feels laced with something else, a tremor of nervous excitement that you can't quite explain.

Drawn by an irresistible curiosity, you move closer. The door is slightly ajar, a teasing invitation that your impulsive nature can't resist. A frown furrows your brow. It's unusual for Caleb to leave anything to chance, especially a door. The scent of his sandalwood soap mingles with the humid air, further fueling your burgeoning anticipation.

Against your better judgment, against the silent warnings echoing in your head, you push the door open. The hinges sigh in protest, a sound that seems deafening in the otherwise silent apartment.

The scene that unfolds before you steals the breath from your lungs. Time seems to slow, each detail etching itself onto your memory with vivid clarity.

There he is. Caleb.

Towering and undeniably male, he stands bathed in the diffused light of the futuristic bathroom. Water droplets cling to his skin, catching the light like scattered diamonds, tracing the sculpted lines of his back. The muscles ripple with restrained power, a testament to years of rigorous training and the demanding life he leads as a Fleetspace Colonel. His dark hair, usually impeccably styled, is damp and tousled, falling across his forehead in a manner that is both boyish and utterly captivating.

A simple white towel is slung low around his hips, offering a tantalizing glimpse of the lean, powerful physique beneath. But it's not the near-nudity that truly stops you in your tracks.

Around his neck, nestled against the tanned skin of his throat, gleams a familiar piece of silver. Your silver Chan dog tag. The one you gave him the day he left for DAA, a small token of your affection and unwavering belief in him. He’s always worn it, a constant reminder of your shared past, a silent promise of enduring connection. The sight of it there, against his skin, sends a jolt of unexpected warmth through your veins.

Caleb is standing in front of a large, impeccably clean mirror, his reflection staring back at him with an intensity that sends shivers down your spine. He's doing something with his hands, something that makes your heart pound in your chest.

Your gaze drops to his hands, and your breath hitches in your throat. He’s holding a gun. A large, black, undeniably lethal weapon. He is wiping it meticulously with a white towel, his movements precise and practiced.

As a hunter yourself, you’re no stranger to firearms. They are tools, instruments of protecting the city from wanderers, as familiar to you as your own gun you wield with deadly accuracy. You've seen Caleb handle weapons countless times, witnessed firsthand his skill and expertise. But seeing him here, in the sterile intimacy of his bathroom, polishing a gun with such focused intensity, feels… different. Disturbing, even. This isn’t the Caleb you know. Or perhaps it is, just a side of him you haven't been privy to before.

Your eyes travel back up, drawn to his reflection in the mirror. And then, they lock with his.

His eyes, that arresting shade of violet that has always held a strange power over you, are fixed on yours. There's a flicker of surprise, a fleeting shadow of something unreadable, before they settle into an unnervingly calm, assessing gaze.

Shit.

The silence stretches, thick and heavy with unspoken questions and burgeoning awareness. You feel like a deer caught in headlights, paralyzed by the intensity of his stare. Your mind races, desperately trying to formulate an explanation, a plausible excuse for your blatant intrusion.

He lowers the gun, placing it carefully on the pristine countertop. The sound is almost deafening in the otherwise silent room. He doesn't break eye contact.

“Were you planning on joining me?” His voice is low, a rumble that vibrates through the air, sending a fresh wave of heat washing over your skin. 

There's a teasing lilt to his words, a hint of amusement that barely masks the underlying tension.

You swallow hard, your throat suddenly dry. "I... I just wanted to surprise you." The words sound weak, unconvincing even to your own ears.

A slow smile spreads across his face, transforming his features, softening the harsh lines of his jaw. "You succeeded." He takes a step closer, closing the distance between you, his eyes never leaving yours. "Though I must admit, I prefer your surprises to be a little less… intrusive."

You flush, your cheeks burning under his scrutiny. "I didn't mean to… to intrude. I just heard the shower, and..." You trail off, unable to articulate the jumble of thoughts and emotions swirling within you.

"And?" he prompts, his voice a husky whisper.

You take a deep breath, trying to regain your composure. "And I thought I'd catch you off guard."

He chuckles, a low, throaty sound that sends a shiver down your spine. "You always were a noisy person, weren't you?" 

He takes another step, and now you're close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body, to smell the lingering scent of sandalwood and something else, something uniquely Caleb.

"Only when necessary," you retort, your voice regaining a touch of its usual fire. "Besides, you leave the door open. What did you expect?"

"Perhaps," he says, his gaze dropping to your lips, "I wanted to be caught."

Your heart leaps into your throat. "Caught doing what, exactly?"

The air crackles with a strange energy, a mixture of tension and something undeniably… charged. Before you can fully process the situation, he uses his gravity manipulation – a casual display of power that still sends shivers down your spine – to slam the door shut behind you with his mind alone. The click of the lock echoes in the suddenly confined space, a definitive sound that seals you both inside.

You jump, startled by the abruptness of it all. The sound reverberates through the apartment, amplifying the awareness of your isolation. Your heart pounds a little faster in your chest, a mixture of apprehension and a thrill you can’t quite explain.

“Just making sure no one else gets any ‘surprising’ ideas.” His eyes twinkle mischievously, the light glinting off the moisture in his now-drying hair. But beneath the playful glint, there’s an unmistakable intensity, a smoldering ember that catches your breath. 

He runs a hand through his damp hair, that simple gesture somehow drawing attention to the sculpted lines of his shoulders and arms, unconsciously giving you a full view of his muscular physique. The water droplets cling to his skin, emphasizing the lean strength that's usually hidden beneath his uniform. 

"You know," he begins, his voice a low drawl that seems to caress the air.

You frown, pulling yourself back from the brink of distraction. "In your apartment? Really?" You scoff, trying to inject a note of normalcy into the increasingly unusual situation. "You're a colonel, you know better than to leave your own home vulnerable. You wouldn’t let just anyone in like that… And besides," you shrug, gesturing vaguely, "you added my fingerprint to your automatic door lock, remember?"

He raises an eyebrow, a slow, deliberate movement that accentuates the sharp angles of his face. A smirk, knowing and undeniably attractive, plays on his lips. 

"True," he concedes, his voice laced with amusement. "But you never know when someone might try to pull a fast one, even with biometric security." He backs away from you, moving with the effortless grace you’ve come to expect, and leans against the counter, his arms crossed casually over his chest. The posture is relaxed, almost nonchalant, but you sense the underlying alertness, the coiled energy that’s always present. "Besides," he adds, his gaze locking with yours, "I didn't expect you to be the one sneaking up on me."

You scowl, your carefully constructed composure starting to fray at the edges. "I didn't… I just wanted to give you a surprise visit. I didn't know you'd be polishing your toys," you nod pointedly at his gun, lying disassembled on the nearby counter. The metal gleams under the lamplight, a stark reminder of the dangerous world he now inhabits since you got together again.

He chuckles, the sound a warm rumble in his chest, and uncrossing his arms to pick up his gun again. He examines a piece with careful precision. "You should see your face when you make that scowl," he teases, his smirk widening. "It's quite... endearing." He polishes the gun absentmindedly, his movements fluid and practiced. "So, no sneaking around to steal my food or snoop through my stuff this time?"

“Excuse you?” You exclaim, indignation flooding your voice. “I’m not… I just…”

He cuts you off, still chuckling. "Relax, I'm just messing with you," he says, his voice softening slightly. He sets the gun down with a soft clink and walks over to you, his movements fluid and predatory, like a panther stalking its prey. The space between you shrinks, the air growing thick with unspoken desires. "You're the only one I let get away with stealing my food, remember? It’s practically a tradition at this point."

“It’s not my fault that you always give me snacks…” you mumble, trying to deflect the intensity of his gaze. It's true, of course. He always has a stash of your favorite treats, and he never seems to mind when you help yourself.

"Because you always end up rummaging through my pantry anyway," he retorts, ruffling your hair playfully, his fingers lingering a moment longer than necessary. He steps back, creating a sliver of distance, and resumes polishing his gun, his expression turning thoughtful. "Speaking of snooping..."

You clear your throat, a nervous tic that betrays your guilt. Your eyes dart around the room, avoiding his piercing stare. “I didn’t do it again. I swear.”

He pauses in his task, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. The playful glint is gone, replaced by a sharp, assessing look. "You promise?" he asks, his tone laced with skepticism. He sets the gun down with a sigh and turns to face you fully, his arms crossed again, his body a wall between you and the door. "You swear on your favorite chocolate bar that you haven't been going through my stuff lately?"

You look at the bathroom ceiling, as if searching for answers in the mundane. "Oh, would you look at that? There’s some dust." You point vaguely upwards, hoping to distract and deflect. 

The attempt is weak, even you know it. The dust is barely visible, and the pathetic maneuver only serves to confirm his suspicions. You’re caught, and you know it. You can feel the heat rising in your cheeks, the telltale sign of your guilt.

He follows your gaze, his expression unreadable. "You're not distracting me that easily," he says, his voice low and even, a subtle rumble that vibrates through the humid air of the bathroom. It’s a statement, but also a dare. A challenge laid bare in the space between you. 

He moves with a quiet grace that belies his muscular build, each step deliberate and measured. The tiles are cool beneath his bare feet as he closes the distance between you. “Look at me,” he commands, the request laced with an intensity that makes your pulse quicken.

You back away, a primal instinct taking over as you try to create distance, a buffer between his raw masculinity and the sudden vulnerability you feel. The cool, smooth surface of the door presses against your spine, the only barrier between you and escape. But escape from what, exactly? The question hangs in the air, thick and unspoken.

He stops in his tracks, respecting the boundary you've unconsciously set. A hint of amusement dances in his eyes, a flicker of knowing that sends a shiver down your spine. "Afraid I'll catch you in a lie?" he asks, his voice a soft challenge, a velvet-wrapped threat. 

The air crackles with unspoken tension. He takes another step, closing the gap, his body almost pressing against yours. You’re trapped, caught between the solid, unyielding door and the magnetic pull of his presence.

Your throat tightens, and you swallow hard, the sound amplified in the confined space. Your gaze involuntarily drops, snagged by the sight of his damp chest, the water droplets clinging to the sculpted planes of his abs like tiny, glittering jewels. He’s fresh from the shower, his skin gleaming, radiating a heat that seems to seep into your own. 

You try to look away, but it’s like staring at the sun – blinding, yet impossible to resist.

He notices your wandering gaze, the subtle widening of your eyes, the almost imperceptible intake of breath. A slow, knowing smirk curls his lips, a predator recognizing its prey. His voice drops to a low purr, a sound that resonates deep within you. "See something you like?" he asks, the words laced with playful arrogance. 

His hand comes up, not to touch, but to stake his claim on the space around you, resting on the door beside your head, caging you in with the casual ease of someone who knows his power. His other hand reaches out, his touch feather-light as he tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze, to acknowledge the desire that’s simmering beneath the surface.

“Caleb…” you warn, the word a breathless whisper, a plea for him to stop, even though a part of you doesn’t want him to.

"Mhm?" He hums, a sound of pure amusement that vibrates against your skin. His finger remains tilted on your chin, holding you captive, his lips only inches away from yours. The air between you crackles with unspoken promises. His voice drops to a whisper, a seductive murmur that sends shivers down your spine. "You're the one who showed up unannounced in my shower..." He intentionally leans forward just a tiny bit more, testing your boundaries, pushing you to the edge. 

You can feel the warmth of his breath on your skin, smell the clean, fresh scent of soap mingled with his intoxicating natural musk.

Panic flares, a desperate need to break free from the intoxicating spell he’s weaving. You turn your head, the movement abrupt and jerky, right as his lips brush your cheek. It’s a near miss, a tantalizing tease that leaves you breathless and yearning.

He pulls back slightly, a playful smirk tugging at his lips as he notices your abrupt movement. "Missed by inches," he murmurs, his breath tickling your cheek, sending a fresh wave of goosebumps across your skin. 

He leans away from the door, giving you some space, a sliver of freedom, but keeping his proximity close enough that his damp skin still radiates warmth, a constant reminder of the intimacy you just shared.

You turn to look at him, your heart pounding against your ribs, trying to regain some semblance of control. 

“What are you doing?” you ask, the question barely audible, lost in the chaotic rhythm of your own breathing.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" He counters, his eyes searching yours with a mix of curiosity and something else, something that makes your stomach flip. He raises his hand again, this time tracing the curve of your jaw with his thumb, a slow, deliberate caress that ignites a fire within you. "I'm just making sure you're not going to keep avoiding eye contact with me." The statement is a challenge, an invitation to engage, to stop hiding behind your carefully constructed walls.

You blush, the heat rising in your cheeks, betraying your carefully constructed composure. “I’m not…avoiding you…and…can you unlock the door so I can get out?” you stammer, the words tumbling out in a rush, a desperate attempt to regain control of the situation.

He raises an eyebrow, a smirk still playing on his lips, enjoying your flustered state. 

"Afraid of being alone with me?" he asks, the question laced with teasing mockery. But then, he relents, stepping aside and unlocking the door. "Here you go." He gestures towards the open door, a clear path to freedom, but he doesn't move away from it completely, keeping his body angled towards you, a silent promise of more.

You raise an eyebrow, mirroring his earlier expression, a spark of defiance flickering in your eyes. “That easy? I thought I will have to borrow your gun to shoot the lock.” The words are meant to be flippant, a way to deflect the intensity of the moment, but there’s also a grain of truth in them.

A laugh escapes him as he hears your joke, a deep, genuine sound that washes over you, easing the tension in your muscles. A real smile spreads across his face, transforming his features, making him look younger, more approachable. "You'd have to pry it out of my cold, dead hands," he says, still chuckling softly, the sound warm and intimate in the small space. 

His gaze flickers to your lips briefly, a fleeting moment of undeniable desire, before returning to your eyes, his smile lingering, a silent invitation.

This time you smirk, a slow, confident curve of your lips. “In love with it too much?” you challenge, pushing his buttons, daring him to reveal more.

"Damn right," he grins, his shoulders relaxing, the tension finally easing from his body. He unconsciously adjusts the towel lower on his hips, unknowingly giving you a better view of his sculpted abs, the movement casual, yet undeniably provocative. "You almost had me there with the shooting the lock thing." He chuckles again, the sound warm and inviting. If you were desperate enough to, you would probably do it but he knew you were bluffing this time.

Before he can predict your move, you lunge forward, a reckless impulse taking over. You run to take his gun, a daring act of defiance.

But before you can even grasp the gun, Caleb swiftly lunges forward with surprising speed, his wet feet slipping slightly on the bathroom mat. He regains his balance with effortless grace, using his evol to steady himself. 

He grabs your wrist just as your fingers brush against the cool metal of the gun, his grip firm but not painful. "Uh-uh," he chastises playfully, his voice a low rumble, a warning and an invitation all in one.

“I touched it,” you smirk, a triumphant glint in your eyes.

"You barely grazed it," He retorts, pulling his hand back slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. He watches your smirk, your unknowingly tempting body language, the way your chest rises and falls with each breath. 

God, you’re killing him. He swallows hard, struggling to maintain control. "You know stealing's wrong, right?" He adds teasingly, the words a lighthearted attempt to break the tension, to mask the desire that's raging within him.

You glance at his gun on the counter beneath the white towel, the cold steel a stark contrast to the domesticity of the setting. Your fingers twitch, yearning to close around the familiar weight, to reclaim a sense of control in this tense dance you've been locked in. You try to reach it again, stretching but he anticipates your move with a speed that borders on preternatural. He shifts his weight, a subtle adjustment that places his body squarely between you and the gun. 

"Nice try," he chuckles, the sound a low rumble that vibrates through the air. His eyes, usually guarded and watchful, are sparkling with amusement, a playful glint dancing in their depths. But beneath the surface, you catch a glimpse of something more intense, a smoldering heat that sends a shiver down your spine.

He keeps your wrist gently but firmly in his grasp, his fingers warm against your skin, preventing any further attempts. His touch is light, almost teasing, but the underlying strength is palpable. "You really want that thing?" he asks, his voice a husky whisper that seems to wrap around you.

You shrug, feigning indifference, though your heart is hammering against your ribs. "You're so protective of it. Might as well be your girlfriend." The words are laced with sarcasm, a desperate attempt to mask the turmoil swirling within you.

His lips twitch with suppressed laughter, the corners of his mouth lifting in a tantalizing curve. "Jealous?" he teases softly, his thumb unconsciously rubbing a slow circle against your wrist. The simple gesture sends a jolt of electricity through your veins, making it difficult to breathe. "Here," he says, surprising you by releasing your wrist and placing the gun within your easy reach. 

"See if you can steal it." He challenges, his eyes dropping to your lips briefly, a fleeting moment that feels like a brand against your skin.

Your eyes glint with challenge, a spark igniting within you. It's not just about the gun; it's about the game, the chase, the intoxicating pull that exists between the two of you. "No cheating," you say, your voice low and husky, mirroring his own. "We can't use our evols."

"Deal," he whispers, a competitive edge creeping into his voice. He purposefully places the gun just slightly out of immediate reach, as if daring you to try. Then, he steps back, giving you space, ready for your move. His posture is relaxed, almost nonchalant, but his eyes are laser-focused on you, tracking every movement, every breath. They spark with excitement, the thrill of competition mixed with something else, something far more dangerous, that's becoming harder and harder to ignore.

With a swiftness that belies your earlier feigned indifference, you sidestep him, your body a blur of motion. You feint to the left, drawing his attention, then pivot sharply to the right, using the momentum to deliver a swift and precise kick with your elbow, sending the gun spinning into the air. You lunge forward, reaching out, your fingers closing around the cold, hard steel just as it begins to fall.

"-Shit," he curses under his breath, impressed despite himself. He moves to block your escape route, reacting purely on instinct, but in his haste, he ends up accidentally catching your waist in his arms. 

The air rushes from your lungs as his hands wrap around you, pulling you against him. For a moment, time seems to stand still. 

You're practically chest to chest, his rough breathing audible in your ear, mingling with your own ragged gasps. His heat radiates through your clothes, a tangible force that threatens to melt away your resolve. "You fucking cheated," he accuses, his voice a low growl against your skin.

“How? I said, no evols. Just our hands.” You fight to keep your voice steady, to project an air of nonchalance that you certainly don't feel.

"...Your foot," he mutters, his gaze flicking down to your feet before returning to your eyes, his expression a mixture of frustration and grudging admiration. His hands remain wrapped around your waist, his thumbs brushing against the curve of your hips. The contact is innocent enough, but the sensation is anything but. 

He swallows hard, his mind suddenly filled with inappropriate images, a dangerous dream landscape of him kissing you like he always wanted to and cross that line for once. "Give it back," he demands, his voice strained, barely a whisper.

You smirk, a slow, deliberate curve of your lips that you know drives him crazy with annoyance and amusement. You reach behind you, intending to stash the gun out of reach, but of course, he anticipates your move. He uses his gravity evol, the familiar force field shimmering almost invisibly around you both.

As you try to place the gun behind you, Caleb's gravity evol kicks in, the subtle pressure intensifying, making it impossible for you to move the gun away from his reach. You're caught in his invisible web, your movements restricted, your will subtly bent to his. He leans in slightly, his breath warm against your temple, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through your very core. 

"Not so fast," he murmurs, the words a promise and a threat all rolled into one. His hands tighten around your waist, pulling you a fraction closer, eliminating the already minuscule space between you.

“Uh…not fair,” you grit your teeth, the words forced out as you struggle against his evol, your muscles straining against the invisible force. You can feel the heat radiating from his body, the tension coiled tight within him, mirroring the tension that's gripping you.

"All's fair in love and war," he murmurs, his face inches from yours. His eyes, dark and intense, flick down to your lips again, lingering there for a moment too long. The air crackles with unspoken desires, with the weight of years of suppressed longing. He reaches around you slowly, deliberately, his chest pressing against your back as he plucks the gun effortlessly from your hand with his other. 

The contact sends a jolt of electricity through your body, igniting a fire that threatens to consume you both.

He chuckles, the sound a low, throaty rumble that sends shivers down your spine, the gun now back in his possession, safely out of your reach. "You touched it because you cheated with your foot," he argues, his arms still wrapped possessively around your waist, effectively trapping you against him. 

He pulls you a little closer, as if testing the limits, his gravity evol making it increasingly difficult for you to step away, to create any semblance of distance.

“Caleb…stop it,” you hiss, desperately trying to regain control of the situation, of yourself. The proximity is intoxicating, too close, too dangerous.

"Stop what?" he asks innocently, even though his grip on your waist tightens slightly and his breath is warm against your ear, sending a fresh wave of goosebumps across your skin. He knows exactly what he's doing, and the smirk playing on his lips gives him away. "I'm just holding you so you don't try to steal my gun again." The lie hangs in the air between you, a fragile shield against the storm of emotions threatening to erupt.

You glare, fighting to maintain eye contact, but your gaze is drawn, almost against your will, to the silver dog tag chain nestled between his pecs, rising and falling with each breath. Your gift for him. A silent promise of safe return.

He feels your stare silver necklace glinting under the light, a tangible reminder of your connection. His mind wanders back to the day you gave it to him when he left for DAA, engraved with a little red apple and the words "When you come back". A lump forms in his throat, a wave of tenderness washing over him. His hands on your waist flex unconsciously, pulling you closer, as if wanting to erase the distance that has always separated you.

His eyes soften as he glances down at the dog tags, remembering the care and emotion behind your gift. The playful smirk fades from his lips as he realizes how close you are, your bodies almost melding together in the confined space. 

He clears his throat nervously, the sound amplified by the sudden shift in atmosphere. "You giving me that glare because you lost, or..."

"I will get that gun," you hiss, your voice a low, determined rumble. The air crackles with your competitive spirit, a challenge laid bare.

A low laugh escapes him, his chest vibrating against your back, sending shivers down your spine. "Is that so?" He challenges softly, his grip on your waist loosening slightly, but not enough for you to escape easily. His eyes spark with a mix of amusement and something more intense, a hunger that makes your breath hitch in your throat. "You want it that bad? Come and get it."

"Caleb…I swear…" you start, a warning laced with a hint of exasperation. You can feel the heat radiating from his body, a dangerous warmth that threatens to melt your resolve.

"You swear what?" His lips quirk up in a teasing smirk as he senses your growing frustration. With deliberate slowness, he slips the gun behind his back, keeping it just out of your reach, a silent promise of the game to come. "You're welcome to try," he murmurs, his voice dropping an octave, sending another wave of shivers through you.

You close your eyes, taking a deep breath and trying to resonate with his own evol, the unique energy that surrounds him, a key to unlocking his defenses. The air hums with anticipation.

"Smart," he whispers approvingly, feeling your evol activate, a tangible connection forming between you. Normally, this would be a fair competition, a test of skill and power. But with his arms still wrapped around your waist, trapping you against him, he's enjoying this too much to let you win easily. Instead of resisting your gravity pull, he uses it to his advantage, subtly shifting his weight, drawing you even closer. "You feel that?"

"Just a bit," you grit your teeth, focusing on the task at hand. "I will have it." The heat of his body is a distraction, a tantalizing temptation that wars with your determination.

He chuckles softly, his breath warm against your neck, making the hairs stand on end. 

"Is that a promise?" he teases, his grip on you tightening just enough to make it clear he's not going to let you have the gun easily. 

He shifts slightly, using his own evol against you, pulling you even closer until you can feel the hard planes of his chest against your back.

"Caleb!" you exclaim, a mixture of annoyance and something akin to pleasure coloring your tone. You can feel your resolve crumbling under the weight of his nearness.

"Too slow," He laughs, feeling your gravity push against him half-heartedly. He realizes you're trying not to push too hard, afraid of hurting him. His smirk widens, a predatory gleam entering his eyes. "You're not trying hard enough," He taunts, "Here, I'll make it easier."

You bite back a retort, your mind racing, searching for a way to break free from his intoxicating hold.

He shifts his body slightly, giving you a small opening, a sliver of hope in your current predicament. But instead of making it easy for you to grab the gun, he uses the opportunity to lean in even closer, his lips almost brushing against your ear, his breath ghosting over your skin. "Come on," he whispers, his voice low and challenging, husky with desire. "Show me what you've got."

You shiver, despite yourself, and swallow hard. The nearness of him is intoxicating, a potent cocktail of danger and desire. You decide to move, channeling all your energy into a sudden burst of momentum.

"There," He whispers softly as you move, finally putting some real effort into your evol. His smirk widens, a glint of admiration in his eyes. You're fast, he'll give you that. 

He sees an opening at your sudden move and takes it, his reflexes honed from years of training. He whirls around, mirroring your resonance pull, creating a vortex of energy between you.

"Hey!" The gun gets floated in the air above your head, spinning gently in the space between you. Since you were short, you couldn’t get it, your fingers grasping at empty air.

"Gotcha," he laughs triumphantly, watching the gun float effortlessly towards his hand from above. He catches it with ease, his eyes twinkling with amusement. He looks down at you, still floating about a foot off the ground, your arms stretching up to try and reach the gun, your brow furrowed in frustration.

"Caleb! It will not kill you if you give it to me," you plead, your voice tinged with a playful desperation.

He laughs heartily, his chest shaking with mirth. "And miss out on this?" He asks, gesturing to your futile struggle, his eyes sparkling with delight. "No way." He holds the gun just out of your reach, his arm extended high above you, a tantalizing prize. "Say please."

You pull a deep breath, steeling your resolve. You decide to use your other card, the one that always works, the one that exploits his soft spot. He always falls for that. Your eyes get sad, a well-practiced expression of vulnerability, and you pout, your lower lip trembling slightly. "You don't love me anymore," you say, your voice barely a whisper, laced with mock sorrow.

"Damn it," He mutters softly, his expression instantaneously softening, the playful gleam replaced with a flicker of guilt. He lowers the gun slightly, his eyes searching your face, his thumb caressing the cool metal. "You know that's not true," He says softly, his voice losing its competitive edge, replaced with a tender warmth. "Here," He lifts his chin towards the gun, floating it gently within your reach, surrendering to your carefully constructed emotional trap.

You lunge at it, your fingers wrapping tightly around the cool steel.

"Too easy," He laughs, a hint of exasperation in his voice, as you snatch the gun out of the air. He watches your serious expression, your pout gone, replaced with determined eyes, a triumphant glint shining in their depths. 

He swallows tightly, mesmerized by your transformation. "You cheated," He accuses softly, his competitive nature re-igniting slightly. "Using those puppy eyes."

You smirk, a mischievous glint in your eyes, as you look at the big black weapon in your hand, savoring your victory.

He shakes his head in amused disbelief, a rueful smile tugging at his lips. "I fall for that every time," he murmurs, watching you proudly display your prize, his gaze lingering on your face, admiring your cunning and determination. Caleb spreads his hands in mock surrender, his eyes gleaming mischievously. "Congrats, you win this round."

You grin, feeling a surge of satisfaction course through you. "Yes."

The playful glint in Caleb's eyes is disarming, even as he playfully mocks, "Don't get too cocky," his voice a low rumble that vibrates against your skin. He takes a step back, a gentlemanly concession of space, yet the air crackles with unresolved tension. "You know I won't go easy on you next time." A pause hangs in the air, the silence amplifying the intimacy of the moment. His expression softens, a flicker of something deeper replacing the teasing. "You know what?"

"Mmm?" you hum, the sound a question and an invitation.

"You've gotten really good," Caleb says, the admiration in his voice a stark contrast to his earlier jesting. It’s an honest, unguarded compliment, a moment of genuine respect that makes your heart flutter. "I swear, in a few years, you'll probably be better than me." He chuckles softly, shaking his head as if marveling at the impossible. "Lucky for me, I've still got a few tricks up my sleeve."

A genuine smile blossoms across your face, warming your cheeks. "Do you think so?" you ask, the words barely a whisper, laced with a mixture of disbelief and hope. You know you were pretty good hunter but be better than him who is taller and stronger than you? That was a big compliment.

"Duh," he grins widely, that competitive spark reigniting in his eyes. He loves that you're humble, your lack of ego only fueling his desire to push you, to see how far you can go. "You're like a sponge. You learn something once, you got it. I swear, you're scary good." He laughs softly, a sound that always manages to send shivers down your spine. "Here," he says suddenly, reaching into a nearby basket. 

Without warning, he throws a small dagger in your direction.

Years of training kick in, instinct taking over. You react without thinking, your hand shooting out, effortlessly catching the dagger mid-air. Simultaneously, you set the gun you had been holding down on the counter.

He whistles appreciatively, his brows raised in genuine surprise. "Damn, you're fast today." The playful teasing returns, but there's an undercurrent of something more, a respect for your skill that he can't quite hide. He moves closer, closing the distance between you in a heartbeat. His voice drops lower, becoming a husky murmur that sends a shiver snaking down your spine. "And you caught it perfectly." He reaches out to take the dagger, his fingers purposefully brushing against yours in the handoff, a deliberate act of provocation.

A wave of awareness washes over you. You instinctively hide the dagger behind your back, the cool metal a reassuring weight in your hand. It's then that you realize you're backed against the bathroom counter, the cool tile a stark contrast to the heat radiating from Caleb. 

He notices your realization, the triumphant smirk that spreads across his face a clear indication that he's exactly where he wants to be. 

He takes another step closer, effectively trapping you. His voice drops to a teasing whisper, a low rumble that seems to vibrate through your very bones. "Cornered already?" He leans in slightly, his eyes never leaving yours, a captivating gaze that holds you captive. "You know, for someone who just won a gun off me, you seem pretty vulnerable right now."

"You always do this," you scoff, the word laced with a mixture of annoyance and amusement. "Play and tease me."

"And you always fall for it," he retorts, his face just inches from yours. You can feel his warm breath on your skin, the scent of him filling your senses. "It's cute." He reaches behind you, his body pressing against yours, a blatant act of intimacy designed to fluster you. His fingers brush against your back as he reaches for the knife you're holding, the deliberate contact sending a jolt of electricity through you.

You tighten your grip on the dagger, a stubborn refusal to relinquish control. The game is on, and you're not about to back down.

He feels you tightening your grip, a smug smile tugging at his lips. He loves this, the push and pull, the battle of wills that always seems to erupt between you. "Let go of the knife," he whispers, his eyes locked in the knife reflected in the mirror behind you. He can feel your knuckles turning white as you refuse to loosen your grip. "Last chance."

"And if I say no?" you breathe, the words barely audible, laced with a mixture of defiance and apprehension. You can't stop this cat and mouse play, this dangerous dance that always leaves you breathless and wanting more.

He chuckles darkly, a low, predatory sound that sends shivers down your spine. His breath is hot against your ear as he whispers, "Then I'll have to take it from you." His free hand comes up to rest on the counter beside your hips, caging you in, making it impossible to escape. "And trust me, you won't like how I do it."

You shiver involuntarily, a reaction to his words and the heat radiating from his body. Leaning back, his bare chest presses against yours, the solid muscle almost crushing you.

He feels your shiver, his smile widening mischievously. He straightens his arms, locking them beside your hips and pushing you further against the counter, intensifying the feeling of being trapped. "Last warning," he whispers, his voice low and commanding, sending a thrill of fear and excitement through you. "Open your hand."

"No…" you whisper, the single word a testament to your stubbornness.

He hears the defiance in your whisper, a surge of frustration and determination rising within him. Without another word, he uses his arm to press your hand against the counter, the knife still gripped tightly in your fist. With his other hand, he grabs your wrist, applying firm pressure. "Open. Your. Hand."

"You could easily cheat you know? Why are you adamant to take it directly from my hand?" you ask, your voice laced with a mixture of curiosity and defiance.

"Because I want to see how far you'll push me," he admits, his voice gruff, the honesty unexpected. He applies more pressure to your wrist, his other arm still pressing your hand flat against the counter. "Now open your damn hand before I break your wrist to get the knife out."

You gasp, the threat surprisingly intense.

Seeing your gasp, Caleb pauses, realizing the intensity in his words. He is a colonel in the military, used to commanding, never meaning to threaten you. His grip loosens slightly, but he doesn't release you entirely from the cage of his arms. A smirk tugs at his lips as he leans in closer, his voice lowering to a teasing murmur. "Gotcha."

"Did you just fucking threaten me?" you hiss, the anger bubbling to the surface.

He hears the anger in your hiss and feels a strange mix of amusement and unease. He leans in even closer, his lips barely an inch from yours. "Maybe," he whispers back, a challenge clear in his voice. "What are you gonna do about it?"

You glare, trying to mask the effect he has on you.

He holds your glare, his eyes crinkling slightly at the corners as he tries to suppress a smile. He can feel the tension radiating off you, making him enjoy this power dynamic a little too much. He flexes his arm, pressing your hand flatter against the counter. "Last chance,"

"Don't use your Colonel voice on me!" you snap, the outburst a testament to his control over you.

He feels a jolt at your snap, the Colonel voice slipping out automatically. He blinks, breaking eye contact for a moment, the memory of his past life a sharp reminder of the man he used to be. When he looks back at you, his expression is softer, almost apologetic. "Fuck, I'm sorry," he murmurs, his grip on your wrist loosening completely, his regret palpable.

You breathe heavily, trying to regain your composure.

He sees the heavy breathing, taking it as a sign that he's getting to you, that the game is still in play. He decides to push his luck, leaning in closer until his forehead rests against yours. "Open your hand," he commands, his voice dropping lower, taking on that authoritative tone again. "Or I'll…"

"What? Restrain me?" you challenge, your voice laced with a mixture of fear and excitement.

"Mm, something like that," he murmurs, his eyes locked with yours. He can feel his hands itching to grab your arm and pin it behind your back, to take control completely. "You leave me no choice but to use force," he whispers, his fingers slowly inching back towards your wrist, as if testing the waters.

"Caleb…" you breathe, the word a warning and a plea.

"Too late," he whispers, his hands moving quickly. He wraps his arm around your wrist and pulls it behind your back, trapping it between your shoulder blades. He steps closer, caging you against the counter with his body, making escape impossible. "Open your hand," he orders, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument.

"You goober!" you exclaim, the childish insult a desperate attempt to break the tension.

He chuckles at your insult, his breath warm against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. "Keep talking back and see what happens," he murmurs, his free hand coming up to rest on the counter beside your other arm, effectively trapping you. "One more chance to open your hand before things get... interesting."

“Interesting?” you breathe, the word catching in your throat, a strange heat blooming in your chest. It's a question, but also a confession. Suddenly, this confrontation, this tense standoff, feels…different. You don’t know why you're feeling this way. The adrenaline, maybe? Or the way his eyes are locked on yours, intense and unwavering. Whatever it is, it's undeniably a turn-on.

He notices the subtle shift in your breathing, the almost imperceptible tremor in your hands. He sees the way your eyes dilate, dark pools reflecting the fire that's beginning to flicker within you. He realizes that you’re not just angry or defiant anymore. 

A slow, knowing smile spreads across his face, a predatory curve that sends a shiver down your spine. He leans in even closer, the heat of his body radiating against yours, his lips almost brushing against your ear. 

"Are you enjoying this?" he murmurs, the question a low, seductive rumble.

“No…” you hiss, the denial weak, unconvincing even to your own ears. The fight seems to have drained from you, replaced by a strange, unsettling vulnerability.

He can hear the tremor in your voice, the subtle waver that betrays your true feelings. He feels the way your body is pressing against the cool countertop, trapped between his unyielding arms. He takes advantage of this newfound weakness, his body shifting slightly, a calculated maneuver that tightens his hold. 

His arm around your wrist pulls your arm up higher between your shoulder blades, forcing you to arch your back, accentuating the curve of your breasts against your shirt. The position is undeniably compromising, leaving you exposed and vulnerable. "Last chance," he breathes, the words a promise and a threat.

“Last chance…” you mock, mimicking his deep voice with a forced bravado that doesn't quite reach your eyes. You glare at him, attempting to recapture the anger that fueled you just moments ago. But the heat in his gaze melts your resolve, leaving you feeling exposed and strangely thrilled.

He smirks at your mimicry, enjoying the playful banter, the dangerous game you’re both playing. "You're playing a dangerous game," he murmurs, his voice a silken caress that belies the steel beneath. His hand on the counter, the one not holding your wrist captive, slides closer to yours, inching its way toward your trembling fingers. His thumb brushes against the back of your hand, a light, fleeting touch that’s almost teasing, sending sparks of electricity through your veins. "I could make you open it," he says, the words hanging in the air, heavy with unspoken implications.

“Guess what? With your evol?” you retort, trying to sound confident, but your voice cracks slightly, betraying your inner turmoil.It was a desperate attempt to regain control, to steer the conversation back to safer territory.

"Exactly," he whispers back, his breath warm against your skin. His thumb traces a small circle on the back of your hand, a deliberate, hypnotic motion that draws your attention, stealing your focus. Your hand twitches slightly at the sudden sensation, giving away your vulnerability, the way his touch affects you. He watches your reaction closely, savoring the moment, drawing power from your response. "Then again, I might use something other than my evol..." he adds, the words laced with a suggestive promise that makes your heart leap in your chest.

You gasp, the sound escaping your lips before you can stop it, and your eyes widen in surprise, searching his. Fear and anticipation war within you, a confusing mix of emotions that threatens to overwhelm you. 

"What do you mean?" you ask, the question a breathless whisper, barely audible above the pounding of your heart.

His expression turns intense, a dark, smoldering gaze that holds you captive. It’s dangerous, predatory, and utterly thrilling. 

He leans in closer, invading your personal space, until his lips are nearly touching yours, the heat of his breath a tangible presence against your skin. His voice drops to a husky whisper, a seductive murmur that sends shivers down your spine. "You really want to know?" he asks, intentionally blowing a small, warm breath across your lips, teasing you, testing your limits. "I could just..."

Your breath hitches in your throat, your lungs seizing as your body betrays you. The world around you seems to fade away, the sounds of the bathroom blurring into a distant hum. All that exists is him, the intoxicating scent of his skin, the heat of his gaze, the promise of something forbidden. 

Your eyelashes flutter shut, surrendering to the moment, inviting him in.

He waits for a moment, relishing in the effect he's having on you, the power he holds over you. He feels the tremor that runs through your body, the rapid pulse at your throat. He knows he's won. 

Then, without warning, he closes the distance between you, his lips claiming yours in a searing, electrifying kiss. His hand, the one that was tormenting your hand only moments ago, moves to tangle in your hair, gripping the strands possessively, holding you in place as he deepens the kiss, demanding a response.

A whimper escapes your lips, a small, involuntary sound of surrender, as your fingers loosen their grip on the knife. The metal clatters against the tile floor, the sound echoing in the sudden silence, a symbol of your defeat.

He hears the knife fall, the sound like a starting gun, and a satisfied growl rumbles in his chest, a primal sound of victory. The kiss intensifies, his tongue sliding against yours, tasting, exploring, staking his claim. 

He breaks the kiss only to trail his lips down your neck, sucking and nipping at the sensitive skin, igniting a firestorm of sensation. His arm around your wrist tightens possessively, a steel band that keeps you trapped, at his mercy.

“Caleb…” you gasp, your voice breathy and weak, barely a whisper. The sound of his name on your lips feels like a betrayal, a confession of your desire.

"Shh," he murmurs against your neck, his teeth gently sinking into the flesh, a playful bite that sends shivers down your spine. His other hand slides down from the counter, around your hip, and grips your bottom possessively, pulling you closer, molding your body against his. "No more talking," he commands softly, the words a velvet promise laced with steel, before starting to lift you onto the counter, claiming you.

Your heart pounds in your chest, a frantic drumbeat that threatens to drown out all other sounds. You can feel his strength as he lifts you, the way his muscles flex beneath his skin. You wrap your legs around his waist instinctively, clinging to him for support, surrendering to the moment.

He can feel your heart racing against his chest, mirroring his own frantic rhythm, as he lifts you onto the counter, stepping between your legs to keep you trapped, a willing prisoner in his embrace. His hands roam your body, touching and exploring in a way he's never allowed himself to before, igniting a fire within you that threatens to consume you both. He presses close, his growing erection evident against your core through the thin barrier of the towel, a tangible reminder of his desire.

“Caleb…” you whisper again, his name a plea, a prayer, a promise of what's to come.

He silences you with another kiss, this one more demanding and dominant than the last, a raw expression of his hunger. His tongue pushes into your mouth, claiming you completely, possessing you with every touch. His hands continue to roam, exploring the curves of your body, igniting a fire with every caress. 

One hand slides up to cup your breast, squeezing gently through your shirt, teasing the sensitive nipple, while the other grips your thigh, pulling you even closer, erasing the remaining space between you, preparing you for the storm that's about to break.

You allow yourself to moan, the sweet, vulnerable sound catapulting straight to his core. You feel the immediate result of your surrender as his erection presses harder against your thigh. Instinct takes over, and you find yourself pulling him closer by the nape of his neck, your fingers tangling in the short hairs at his hairline. He's so tall, you have to lift your hips off the counter, practically bending him in half to maintain the fervent connection of your lips.

He groans into the kiss, a deep, guttural sound that vibrates against your own mouth as you pull him closer, bending him down to accommodate your smaller stature. The altered angle presses his hardness even more firmly against your center, igniting a fresh wave of heat that makes you moan again, a low, primal sound escaping your lips. 

His hand, which had been tentatively resting on your waist, slides upwards, seeking the bare skin beneath your shirt. He pushes the fabric upwards, urgency lacing his touch, as his other hand squeezes your thigh, almost desperately.

You pant, your breath coming in ragged gasps, too overwhelmed by this sudden and dramatic turn of events to form a coherent thought. The world has narrowed down to the feel of his mouth on yours, the hard press of his body against yours, and the frantic rhythm of your accelerated heartbeats.

He breaks the kiss briefly, reluctantly, to trail his lips down the sensitive curve of your neck. He nuzzles his face between your breasts, his breath hot and damp against your skin, as he tries to push your shirt up further. 

"Lift your arms," he growls, the command rough and edged with a desperate, unsatisfied desire. He needs to see you, touch you more, now. The burning need is consuming him.

You gulp, your throat suddenly dry, and obediently lift your arms, your movements slightly jerky and uncoordinated.

In one swift, decisive motion, he pulls your shirt over your head, casting it carelessly to the side. You stand exposed in just your bra, the cool air raising goosebumps on your skin, but the chill is quickly replaced by a searing heat as his eyes darken with undisguised desire as he looks you over. His gaze lingers on the curve of your breasts, the swell of your hips, before finally returning to meet your eyes. His hands, as if drawn by an invisible force, immediately go to your waist, his thumbs tracing the delicate line of your hip bones. 

"Fuck," he mutters, the word a raw, reverent sound, as he leans down to place open-mouthed kisses between your breasts, his tongue flicking out to taste your skin.

You moan again, a longer, more drawn-out sound this time, as you arch your back instinctively, offering him more. Your fingers dig into his shoulders, clinging to him as if he's the only thing anchoring you to reality. 

"What's happening?" you manage to gasp out, the question barely audible.

"Shut up," he snaps, but there's no real heat or anger behind the words. He's too far gone, too lost in the feeling of your body against his lips, the taste of your skin, the intoxicating scent of you filling his senses. 

His fingers, emboldened by his growing passion, hook into the bottom of your bra, and with surprising ease, he unhooks it. He pushes the material aside, revealing your bare breasts to his hungry gaze. He pauses for a moment, just to admire the sight, before his hands cup your breasts, his thumbs teasing your nipples.

“Caleb…please…” you say, your voice thick with a mixture of arousal and confusion. You reach up, your hands trembling slightly, and cup his face, your thumbs tracing the sharp angles of his cheekbones.

Caleb pauses, his intense gaze softening as you cup his face. He leans into your touch, a visible shudder running through him as he closes his eyes for a brief moment, savoring the feeling of your skin against his. "Please what?" he asks, his voice low and rough, the question laced with a raw vulnerability. 

One hand comes up to cover yours on his cheek, his fingers interlacing with yours as he holds your hand against his skin, while the other gently squeezes your bare breast, thumbing the nipple in a slow, deliberate rhythm.

“Why are we…” you trail off, unable to articulate the jumble of thoughts and feelings swirling within you.

"Because," he answers simply, his voice husky with desire, leaning down to take one of your breasts into his mouth. He suckles gently at first, teasing and tantalizing, before his grip tightens and he begins to suckle more firmly, drawing a sharp intake of breath from you. His hand, the one not holding yours, slides down your side to your waistband, his fingers fumbling with the button of your jeans. "We're always supposed to," he murmurs around your breast, the words muffled but clear, his fingers finally succeeding in unbuttoning your jeans.

“Why?” you ask again, the question a desperate plea for understanding.

He looks up at you, his eyes intense and unwavering, as he unbuttons your jeans, his fingers hooking into the waistband. 

"Because we're always supposed to be more than friends," he explains, his voice muffled against your breast. "Because every time I see you laughing with someone else, I get jealous. Because every time someone looks at you for too long, I want to punch them."

You swallow hard, your throat tightening with emotion. “That's why…you said you will never get a girlfriend?”

He nods against your chest, the movement small and hesitant, before standing up straight and pulling the rest of your clothes off, leaving you sitting bare before him. "I never wanted a girlfriend," he admits, his voice raw and honest, his eyes fixed on yours. "I never wanted anyone but you."

Your heart skips a beat, a wild, erratic rhythm taking over your chest. “Since when…? When we met or…”

He swallows hard, his eyes flickering down your body, lingering on the curve of your breasts and the swell of your hips, before meeting your gaze again. "Since we were kids," he says softly, the words barely audible above the frantic pounding of your heart. 

He steps closer, closing the remaining distance between you, until he's standing between your legs. "Remember when we used to play hide and seek?" he asks, his fingers hooking around your thighs, his touch sending shivers up your spine.

You nod, a small, involuntary movement. “You always somehow found me.”

"Because I always looked for you," he explains, his thumbs rubbing the inside of your thighs, his gaze unwavering. 

"Remember when you scraped your knee on that field trip, and I carried you home?" he asks softly, his eyes searching yours, as if looking for confirmation, or perhaps forgiveness. When you nod again, remembering the incident vividly, he continues, "Remember I told I will always be by your side?”

You nod again, feeling a lump forming in your throat. The memory is sharp and clear, the feeling of his arms around you, the concern etched on his face, as real now as it was then.

Caleb leans in closer, his voice dropping to almost a whisper as he continues, "That wasn't just something friends say. I meant it. Every promise, every joke shared, every bump and bruise I tended to - it was all me saying 'I'm in love with you' without actually saying it."

Your heart actually swells, filling your chest until it feels like it might burst. You struggle to breathe, the air caught in your throat, as the weight of his words settles upon you. This is it. This is the culmination of years of unspoken feelings, of hidden glances and secret longings.

He watched, his gaze intense and unwavering, as a kaleidoscope of emotions played across your face – surprise, disbelief, a hesitant joy that threatened to bloom into something more. He saw the question in your eyes, the silent plea for reassurance, and it fueled the courage that had been simmering within him for what felt like an eternity.

His own heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat echoing the years of longing he had so carefully concealed. Each stolen glance, each casual touch, each shared laugh had been etched onto his soul, fueling a secret fire that now threatened to consume him. He had built walls around his heart, fortifying it against the vulnerability of love, but you, with your infectious laughter and unwavering spirit, had chipped away at those defenses, brick by agonizing brick.

Slowly, deliberately, he reached for you, his hands trembling slightly as they spanned your waist. The touch was electric, a jolt that sent shivers down your spine and stole the breath from your lungs. With a strength born of years of suppressed desire, he lifted you, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. The heat of your body pressed against him was intoxicating, a promise of connection that he could no longer deny himself.

"I'm in love with you," he said, the words finally free after years of restraint. There was no fanfare, no grand pronouncements, just a simple, honest declaration that resonated with the weight of his unspoken feelings. He watched, his breath suspended, as the words settled between you, waiting for your reaction, for the answer that would either shatter him or set him free.

Your fingers traced the line of his jaw, tilting his chin up so you could meet his gaze. The question hung in the air, unspoken but palpable. "That's why you wrote my name on that graffiti wall by the basketball court? As a wish, when we wrote our wishes?"

He continued to walk you further into the shower's embrace, feeling the slick tile beneath his bare feet. Without breaking eye contact, he used his evol to release the knot of the towel cinched around his hips. It fell to the wet floor, discarded like the pretense he had carried for so long.

The warm water pulsed against your skin, a comforting weight that seemed to ground you as the world tilted on its axis. Caleb cupped your face with his hands, his thumbs gently stroking your cheekbones. 

He looked at you, really looked at you, his eyes filled with a depth of emotion that left you breathless. Unspoken words swirled within those depths, echoes of old wishes and long-held dreams.

"Yes," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated against your skin. "I wished for you every time."

He gently lowered you to the shower floor, the cool tile a startling contrast to the heat that radiated from his body. Kneeling before you, he took your hand in his, his touch reverent and tender. He brought your knuckles to his lips, pressing a soft, lingering kiss against them.

"You don't have to say anything right now," he said quietly, his eyes never leaving yours, searching for a flicker of understanding, a sign of reciprocation. "Just…just let me love you for now, okay?"

You could only nod, the gesture small and uncertain, but enough.

His lips curved into a gentle smile, a smile that reached his eyes and banished the shadows that had haunted them for so long. He knew how rare it was for you to grant silence, how you usually filled every space with your vibrant energy and quick wit. Your quiet acquiescence was a gift, a fragile offering that he would cherish.

"Always wanted to know what your lips tasted like under the shower," he said softly, his voice laced with a playful desire that eased the tension in the air. He slid closer, his hips brushing against yours, tilting your chin with his fingers, his gaze dropping to your mouth. "Mind if I find out?"

A spark of your old self flickered in your eyes, a hint of the playful banter that defined your friendship. "Oh…now are you asking permission after you manhandled me?" You raised an eyebrow, a challenging glint in your gaze.

He laughed, a deep, husky sound that resonated through you. "Too late for that," he pointed out, his eyes crinkling at the corners with amusement. His hands slid down to your behind, his fingers gently kneading the curves of your flesh. "Answer the question, smartass." He nuzzled your neck, the warm breath against your skin sending shivers dancing down your spine. "Can I kiss you under the shower?"

Another nod, this one more decisive, more eager. The anticipation was a tangible thing, a vibrating energy that hummed between you.

And then his lips were on yours, gentle at first, a tentative exploration of familiar territory. But the gentleness quickly gave way to a deeper hunger, a raw need that had been simmering beneath the surface for too long. His lips became demanding, coaxing your mouth open, inviting his tongue to slide in and taste you. 

The warm water rained down on you both, a sensuous curtain that veiled you from the world, mixing with the heat of his kiss. He sighed into your mouth, a sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure, his hands squeezing your backside possessively, drawing you closer, closer, until there was no space left between you. "Finally," he breathed against your lips.

In that single word, you heard the depth of his longing, the flicker of fear, the sting of jealousy, all woven together with the raw, undeniable thread of love. It was a kiss that spoke volumes, a testament to the years of suppressed desire and unspoken emotions.

He finally broke the kiss, resting his forehead against yours as he caught his breath, his chest heaving. "I've imagined this so many times," he admitted, his voice rough with emotion, raw and vulnerable. "You, me, under the shower, finally together." He kissed you again, deeper this time, pouring all his pent-up feelings into the kiss, a desperate plea for reciprocation, a silent vow of devotion.

You smiled into the kiss, a genuine, heartfelt smile that radiated through every cell of your being. It was a smile born of relief, of joy, of the burgeoning realization that your own secret feelings were finally being mirrored back at you.

He smiled back, his eyes shining with a happiness that banished the shadows and revealed the man you had always known was hidden beneath the surface. He stood up, pulling you up with him, his hands roaming possessively over your wet body, lingering on the curve of your waist, the swell of your hips.

"Let me wash you," he said, his voice husky with desire, picking up the bottle of body wash and squeezing a generous amount onto a waiting loofah. "All over."

You giggled, the sound light and carefree, a stark contrast to the intensity of the moment. "So now you’re my sweet Caleb and not Colonel Caleb?"

He chuckled, the sound warm and genuine, filling the small space with a comforting intimacy. "Only you get to see this side of me," he said softly, running the loofah gently over your shoulders, his touch careful and tender. "Colonel Caleb is for everyone else." 

He leaned down to kiss your shoulder, his lips lingering against your skin, his hands tracing slow, deliberate circles as he began to wash you.

You sighed and leaned against him, letting the warmth of his body and the gentle caress of the loofah soothe your senses. 

The water continued to pulse around you, washing away the doubts and fears, leaving only the raw, undeniable connection that bound you together.

"You know you're making it really hard for me to just wash you instead of-" He paused, clearing his throat, his voice suddenly thick with desire. "You're killing me here," he murmured, nipping gently at your earlobe, his breath hot against your skin. His hands trailed down your sides, lingering just under your breasts, his fingers tracing the delicate curve. "Should I continue washing?"

"You already stripped me naked and dragged me into the shower," you pointed out, a playful challenge in your voice, a subtle invitation in your eyes.

He laughed, a deep, rumbling sound that vibrated through you. "Touché," he said, his hands finally moving to cup your breasts, his thumbs circling your hardening nipples, sending jolts of pleasure through your body. "I guess I can skip the washing part." He pressed his hips against your backside, letting you feel his growing arousal, a tangible expression of the desire that consumed him.

You moaned, the sound muffled against his shoulder, feeling the hard length of him pressed against your ass.

"Fuck," he groaned, his hands tightening on your breasts as you wiggled against him, your movements only fueling the fire that burned between you. "You're driving me crazy." He spun you around, pinning you against the shower wall, his eyes blazing with a raw, primal need. "I need to taste you," he said hoarsely, dropping to his knees.

You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry, as you looked down at him. He was tall enough that his face was eye level with your tummy, his gaze intense and unwavering.

Caleb pressed a quick kiss to your belly button before trailing his lips lower, his hands gripping your hips, holding you in place. "I've thought about this moment even more than kissing you," he confessed, his breath hot against your core, sending shivers of anticipation through your body. "Want to eat you out until you're screaming my name."

You whimpered, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps. The anticipation was almost unbearable, the promise of pleasure a tantalizing lure that threatened to shatter your carefully constructed composure.

He smirks up at you, loving the effect he's having. "Brace yourself, sweetheart," he warns playfully before diving in, his mouth covering your clit as his tongue flicks rapidly over the sensitive bud. He moans at your taste, the vibrations sending shockwaves through you.

“Caleb!”

He hums in satisfaction, the sound vibrating against your most sensitive spot. "Mmm, just like I imagined," he murmurs against you, not breaking his rhythm. He slides one hand up to your breast, teasing your nipple while the other grips your thigh, pulling it over his shoulder for better access.

You almost come from the sight. This sweet powerful man who was always with you through the years was actually kneeling in front of you and eating your pussy. It was a fantasy you'd nurtured in secret, a forbidden bloom in the garden of your mind. 

You never tried to imagine it, respecting your friendship and bond with him but you always wondered what if….

Now, here it was, a vibrant, tangible reality. The contrast between the gruff exterior he often projected and the exquisite tenderness of his current ministrations was almost too much to bear.

He looks up at you, his eyes dark with lust and something more profound. "You have no idea how many nights I've jerked off thinking about this," he admits, his voice muffled against your thigh. The raw honesty in his confession both shocks and thrills you. 

To know you've occupied his thoughts in such a primal way, to realize the depth of his desire… it ignites a fire within you, hotter than anything you've ever known. He dives back in, his tongue working faster, more insistently.

You moan as you grab his hair. The feel of his thick, dark hair between your fingers is intoxicating. You tug gently, urging him closer, desperate for more. The sensations are building, swirling, threatening to consume you.

He growls possessively, the sound rumbling against your clit, pushing you closer to the edge. He stands up abruptly, lifting you so that your legs wrap around his waist. "Need to be inside you," he declares, his voice firm with need. "Now." The urgency in his tone is electrifying. You feel your own desire mirroring his, a desperate hunger that can only be sated by the joining of your bodies.

You bite your lip. The anticipation is almost unbearable. You've waited so long for this moment, dreamed of it countless times even if it’s wrong. To finally be here, on the precipice of intimacy with Caleb, is both terrifying and exhilarating.

He takes your silence as agreement. 

"Damn," he mutters, positioning himself at your entrance. He looks at you, making sure this is okay. He's big - almost too big - and he doesn't want to hurt you. The genuine concern on his face softens his rugged smooth features, making him look vulnerable and utterly irresistible. He captures your mouth again, pushing just the tip inside you. The sensation is foreign, intense, and undeniably arousing. You gasp softly against his lips.

“Wait…” you push his muscular chest to stop him. The small barrier of your hands against his powerful frame feels almost comical. 

The heat radiating from his body is overwhelming, and the throbbing pressure where he's joined you is making it difficult to think.

He pauses, holding his breath as he waits for you to speak. "What's wrong?" He asks softly, his arms tightening around you. He can feel how tight you are around just the tip, and he's worried it's going to hurt too much. His concern is palpable, a wave of tenderness washing over you.

You swallow and decide to be honest, "It's gonna bleed." The words hang in the air, heavy with the unspoken truth. You watch his expression carefully, bracing yourself for his reaction.

He freezes, his eyes widening slightly as he processes what you've said. "Are you—?" He starts, then stops, his voice barely a whisper. "Are you a virgin?" He asks gently, his brow furrowing with concern and something else—tenderness. The realization washes over him, transforming his gaze from one of pure lust to one of profound respect and awe.

“Yes..” you whisper. The admission feels strangely liberating. It's a vulnerability you've kept hidden for so long, a secret you're now entrusting to him.

Caleb's breath catches as he realizes the enormity of the moment. He leans his forehead against yours, his eyes soft with emotion. "Hey," he murmurs, "we don't have to do this right now. As much as I want you, I don't want it to hurt you." The sincerity in his voice is disarming. He's willing to sacrifice his own desire for your comfort, a testament to the depth of his feelings.

You shake your head. “No. I want you too. We can’t just…stop..” The words tumble out, fueled by a mixture of nerves and longing. 

You don't want to back down now. You've come too far, waited too long. The fear is still there, but it's overshadowed by the overwhelming desire to experience this with him.

He can see the determination in your eyes, mirroring his own desire. He kisses you gently, trying to prepare himself for the pain he knows you might feel. "Alright," he whispers against your lips, "but if it hurts too much, we stop, okay?" The promise is both reassuring and arousing. He's putting your needs first, but his own yearning is still evident in the intensity of his gaze.

You nod. The agreement seals the pact. You're ready.

With extreme care, he slowly pushes in further, feeling you tense around him. "Jesus," he hisses, "you're so tight. Relax, sweetheart." He keeps kissing you, trying to distract you from the invasion of his size. 

The pressure is building, a burning sensation that makes you want to both pull away and lean in closer. "Here comes the part that might sting..."

You tense. Every muscle in your body is coiled tight, bracing for the inevitable pain.

He pauses, giving you a moment to breathe. 

“Just a bit more," he murmurs, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. With infinite gentleness, he pushes forward, feeling the barrier give way. You inhale sharply, and he freezes, holding himself still inside you. "You okay?" His voice is laced with concern.

“It’s worse than my period,” you wheeze. 

The comparison is clumsy, but it's the closest analogy you can come up with in the moment.

His heart clenches at your words, knowing he's the cause of your pain. He stays perfectly still, letting you get used to his size and the discomfort. "Shh, baby," he whispers, peppering your face with soft kisses. "Just breathe through it." He's a fortress of strength and tenderness, holding you close and offering silent support.

You nod and breathe deeply. You focus on the rhythm of your breath, trying to find a center of calm amidst the storm of sensations.

After what feels like an eternity, he feels your body start to relax slightly. He takes this as his cue to begin moving slowly, careful not to cause you too much discomfort. "Tell me if it's too much," he pants, his forehead dripping with sweat from the effort of holding back. The vulnerability he shows in this moment, the raw emotion etched on his face, is more intoxicating than any physical sensation.

The sight of him struggling, fighting against the raw desire that threatened to consume him, ignited a spark within you. A mischievous glint entered your eyes, a silent dare. You wouldn't cower, wouldn't appear weak or intimidated. Instead, you dug your heels into his, a subtle yet deliberate act, pulling him closer, inch by tantalizing inch. The whisper that escaped your lips was a single word, a plea, a demand: "More."

That single syllable, laced with innocent longing and burgeoning desire, seemed to shatter the last vestiges of his restraint. His grip on your hips tightened, fingers digging possessively into the soft flesh. The controlled movements he had so painstakingly maintained became less precise, more urgent, fueled by a primal need. 

"Fuck," he growled, the sound raw and guttural, a stark contrast to the playful banter you usually shared. "You feel so good... better than I imagined." He paused, a flicker of hesitation crossing his face. "But baby, I'm really deep like this... too deep?"

A moan escaped your lips, your body humming with a newfound awareness. The sensation was overwhelming, a delicious ache that spread from your core to the tips of your fingers. In that moment, words seemed inadequate, clumsy tools to express the intensity of what you were feeling. All you could manage was a simple, almost childlike description: "Like stick."

The unexpected crudeness, delivered with your characteristic naiveté, drew a smile from him, a genuine curve of his lips that momentarily softened the intensity in his eyes. Even as he fought to control his own spiraling pleasure, he understood. He knew you wanted him buried deep inside you, wanted to feel the fullness of his presence. 

"Too stuck, you mean?" he asked, his voice a low rumble that vibrated against your skin. He began to move, slowly at first, thrusting his hips in a circular motion, deliberately pressing against your sensitive walls, eliciting a gasp of pleasure from you.

"No…" you choked out, a nervous laugh bubbling up from your chest. "You're so hard that it feels like I have a stick in my pussy." The words were clumsy, unrefined, yet perfectly captured the unfamiliar sensation that had taken hold of you.

His head snapped back, and a deep, unrestrained laugh erupted from his chest, a sound you had never heard before. It was a sexy, guttural sound that resonated through your body, sending shivers down your spine. 

Despite your innocence, your blunt phrasing had only served to harden him even more inside you. "Only you," he said, his voice thick with amusement and desire, "could make me laugh while I'm fucking you senseless..." He leaned down, pressing a series of slow, deliberate kisses along the sensitive curve of your neck, each touch sending sparks of pleasure through you.

A smile bloomed on your face, and a soft moan escaped your lips, a testament to the exquisite sensations flooding your senses.

He continued to move, his body finding a rhythm that seemed to please you both. His thrusts grew deeper, more assured, each one pushing you closer to the edge. "God, you're amazing," he murmured, his voice strained with effort. "Your pussy is so tight and wet... it's like a perfect glove." He leaned in, capturing your lips in a deep, passionate kiss, his tongue mimicking the motion of his hips, driving you wild.

"Mmm," you hummed, lost in the intoxicating sensation of his mouth on yours, his body pressed against yours.

Seeing you so consumed by pleasure emboldened him, and he quickened his pace slightly, his movements becoming more insistent. He could feel your body beginning to relax, opening up to him, surrendering to the raw, untamed desire that coursed through you both. "You like how I fill you up, don't you?" he whispered, his breath hot against your ear, sending shivers down your spine. "Is my big cock hitting that sweet spot?"

Your eyes rolled back in your head, caught off guard by the sudden shift in his voice. It was a voice you had never heard before, seductive and possessive. You had known him for years, talked to him countless times, but this voice, this side of him, was completely new.

He could see the surprise in your eyes, the flicker of recognition as his deep, husky voice washed over you. He knew this voice was reserved only for the intimacy of this moment, a secret language spoken only between lovers. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you even closer as he thrust deeper, pushing you closer to the edge of oblivion. "Look at me," he commanded, his voice laced with a hint of possessiveness.

You slowly obeyed, your eyelids fluttering open, revealing the hazy depths of your desire. You met his gaze, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

He held your gaze, his eyes burning with an intensity that made your heart pound in your chest. "That's it," he whispered, his voice thick with lust. "I love seeing you like this—flushed, breathless, and taking my cock so beautifully." He shifted his angle slightly, finding that elusive spot that made you gasp aloud, a strangled sound of pure pleasure.

"Caleb…" you moaned, his name a breathless plea on your lips. "Please!"

Hearing his name spoken with such raw desire seemed to snap something inside him. In that moment, you were no longer his innocent best friend, the girl he had protected and cherished for years. You were a woman, a sexy, wanton creature beneath him, begging for more. 

"Please what, baby?" he ground out, his hips bucking against yours, hitting that sweet spot again and again. "Do you want it harder?"

You bit your lip, a nervous habit that had always plagued you. Seeing that small, vulnerable gesture seemed to ignite a fire within him.

"...Fuck, don't bite that lip like that. Never hurt yourself," he growled, his voice laced with a protective ferocity. He caught your plump bottom lip between his own teeth, gently tugging before capturing your mouth in a deep, consuming kiss. Without warning, he abandoned all pretense of control and began pounding into you harder, each thrust precise and powerful, driving you closer to the brink. "That what you wanted?" he asked, his voice a low rumble against your lips, knowing full well that it was.

You whimpered, your head lolling down against his shoulder. "Like that. Yes…"

"Jesus Christ," he muttered, his control finally slipping away as your whimpers drove him wild. "You feel so damn good I could come already..." He pinned your hands above your head, changing the angle completely, granting him deeper access. His eyes darkened with unrestrained desire as he slammed into you, finding that perfect spot that sent shockwaves of pleasure through your body.

"Oh fuck, Caleb!" You screamed his name as you came, your body arching off the wall, exposing the delicate curve of your throat.

Seeing your neck bared and hearing his name spill from your lips in a scream of pure ecstasy made his body taut with anticipation. He plunged into you even harder, chasing your orgasm with his own. 

"Damn," he muttered, watching your body writhe beneath him, your muscles clenching and releasing in a symphony of pleasure. 

Your neck was arched back, your breasts thrust out, a vision of pure, unadulterated beauty.

Releasing your wrists, he used the advantage of your exposed neck, curling his hand around your throat, holding his fingers against your jaw.

"Fuck…."

He used his other hand to pull one of your legs over his shoulder, opening you up completely, granting him deeper access. He wrapped his fingers around your throat, his touch surprisingly gentle as he tilted your head back further, exposing you to his intense gaze. 

He continued to thrust into you brutally, each stroke a testament to his raw, untamed desire. "Look at me," he commanded, his voice hoarse with passion.

You sobbed as you looked at him, another orgasm building within you, threatening to overwhelm you completely.

Seeing the tears in your eyes, the raw vulnerability etched on your face, pushed him over the edge. He buried his face in your neck, inhaling your scent as he came with a guttural groan, his body convulsing with the force of his release. 

His hot, thick seed filled you up, throbbing inside you as his hips jerked erratically. 

"Fuck...fuck…fuck," he chanted, his fingers tightening slightly around your throat, a primal expression of possession.

As his breathing slowly returned to normal, he inhaled the familiar scent of apples, a fragrance he had come to associate with you, now mixed with the intoxicating aroma of sweat and mingled pleasure. It was a scent that suddenly felt incredibly intimate, comforting, and achingly familiar. 

He nuzzled his face into your neck, gently kissing away the beads of perspiration. 

"Baby... you're crying," he murmured, his voice laced with concern.

You choked out a teary laugh. "Yes."

He wiped the tears away with his thumb, his fingers loosening their hold on your throat. 

"Was it too much?" he asked softly, his purple eyes searching your tear-streaked face, seeking reassurance. He could feel you still trembling beneath him, your body wracked with aftershocks and lingering sobs.

You swallowed, trying to find the words to articulate the complex emotions swirling within you. "You're so intense…."

"Too intense?" he asked carefully, pulling back slightly, a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. His gaze dropped to your neck, and he saw the faint marks left by his fingers. He realized his handprint was slightly visible, a stark reminder of the intensity of their encounter. He also remembered your throaty screams, the way your legs had been wrapped tightly around his waist. 

"Answer me," he said hoarsely. "Truthfully."

"I mean…it surprised me…"

He nodded slowly, understanding your shock. "I know I got a bit... carried away," he admitted, his thumb gently rubbing the faint mark on your neck. "I didn't hurt you, did I?" 

His voice was laced with genuine concern, the intense lust from earlier replaced with a tenderness that made your heart flutter.

You shook your head, your eyes meeting his. "I loved it."

He lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. "You did?" he asks, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Because fuck, baby, you looked so beautiful like that... tears and all." He leans down and kisses you gently, his hand cupping your face. 

The shower roars around you, a steamy cocoon isolating you both from the world. The water sluices over your skin, washing away the remnants of your earlier despair, replaced now by a heady mix of fear and exhilaration.

“So you admit that you’re a sadist?” you laugh, the sound a little breathless, a little shaky. You try to inject some lightness into the moment, to diffuse the raw tension that crackles between you. But the words hang in the humid air, heavy with unspoken desires.

He chuckles, a deep, rumbling sound that vibrates through your chest, his fingers tightening around your face possessively. 

"Guilty as charged," he murmurs against your lips, his breath hot and moist against your skin. "You bring out the worst in me, you know that?" He pulls back slightly, his purple eyes glinting mischievously, reflecting the overhead light. “You like being manhandled?”

You blush, the heat rising in your cheeks, prickling your skin. "What kind of question is that?" you stammer, your mind struggling to keep up with the rapid-fire intensity of his words and actions. The way he looks at you, like you're the only thing in the universe, is both terrifying and intoxicating.

He smirks, clearly enjoying your reaction, the curve of his lips predatory and enticing. 

"It's a simple question, baby. Do you like it when I get rough with you?" He shifts slightly, making sure you can feel him, still hard and throbbing, deep inside you. 

"Because I can do it again if you want." The air crackles with unspoken promises, with the threat of exquisite pain and pleasure intertwined.

“Round two?” Your eyes widen, mirroring a mixture of disbelief and undeniable anticipation. The thought of surrendering to his dominance, of relinquishing control, both scares and excites you in equal measure.

"Or three," he says with a smirk, lifting his hips slightly to remind you of his persistent presence within you. "I can keep going all night, you know. And judging by how your pussy just tightened around me..." He runs his nose along yours teasingly, the scent of soap and arousal filling your senses. "You want more." He knows you. He sees through your carefully constructed facade of defiance straight to the yearning core of your desire.

“Shit…you little-“ you start to retort, but the words die in your throat, overwhelmed by the sheer force of his presence.

"Fucking genius?" He offers, interrupting you, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Yeah, I know." He captures your lips again, swallowing your curses as he starts moving his hips again, slowly, deliberately, drawing out the exquisite torment. "Now shut up and let me manhandle you some more," he growls against your lips, the possessive command igniting a fire deep within you.

You growl in his mouth, a primal sound of frustrated desire. You want to fight him, to resist, but your body betrays you, arching instinctively into his touch.

He grins, his teeth grazing your bottom lip, a delicious threat. "Like that?" he asks, his voice low and husky, vibrating with barely suppressed passion. "You're so fucking adorable when you're trying to be aggressive." He uses his gravity evol to lift you even higher up against the tiled wall, your legs wrapping around his waist, affording him even deeper access. 

By this point, you're both completely drenched under the relentless shower spray, the water plastering your hair to your face and tracing rivulets down your heated skin.

“Hey!” you exclaim, a weak protest.

He laughs, a deep rumbling sound that echoes in the small space. "You're adorable and you know it." He starts thrusting harder, his hips slapping against yours loudly, the rhythm primal and insistent. "Now be a good girl and hold on," he commands, his hands gripping your ass tightly as he fucks you hard against the wall, claiming you with every powerful stroke.

“Shit…shit…shit,” you curse and moan, the words a litany of surrender. You try to bite back the sounds escaping your lips, but the pleasure is too intense, the sensation of him filling you too overwhelming.

He swallows your cries with his mouth, one hand sliding up to cover your breast possessively, his thumb teasing your nipple. 

"Damn right," he hisses, watching your body bounce between the wall and his hips, his eyes dark and intense with lust. "Take my dick like a good girl," he growls out, his purple eyes darkening with desire.

You gasp, your muscles clenching involuntarily around him, a desperate plea for release.

He tosses his head back with a groan, feeling your walls tighten around his cock, the sensation almost unbearable. "Fuck, just like that," he praises breathlessly, squeezing your breast harder, eliciting another gasp from you. The steam from the shower fogs up the air around you, creating a hazy, sensual atmosphere, droplets of water mingling with your sweat, clinging to your skin like tiny jewels.

He leans in your ear, breathing heavily, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine. “You know what I would love to see?”

“What?” you manage to whisper, your voice hoarse with passion.

"My gun down your throat. The one you so desperately wanted to take," he whispers, the words a shocking contrast to the sensual intensity that had been building between you.

You choke, your muscles clenching again, this time not from pleasure, but from a sudden, sharp wave of fear and confusion. 

What the fuck? The abrupt shift in tone leaves you reeling, your mind struggling to reconcile the brutal image he paints with the raw intimacy you've been sharing.

He smiles at your reaction, a cruel, knowing curve of his lips, his hips slowing down as he continues speaking into your ear, his voice low and dangerous. "You tried to steal from me and now I want to see your mouth stuffed full of something I own." He bites your earlobe, his tongue piercing digging into your skin, a small stab of pain that sends a jolt through you.

“You wouldn’t…” you hiss, the words a mix of disbelief and challenge.

"Try me," he laughs darkly, the sound sending a shiver of apprehension down your spine. "I might actually enjoy watching you choke on my gun." He pulls back slightly to look at your face, his purple eyes serious, devoid of any trace of the playful amusement from before. "You have such a smart mouth. I bet it'd look perfect wrapped around my gun." He tightens his hips again slowly, deliberately, the movement both a punishment and a promise.

“You’re serious?” You are speechless, the air knocked out of your lungs.

As a hunter, you held a gun everyday but use it for pleasure like this? Was he insane? 

The thought is jarring, disturbing, completely at odds with your understanding of the world.

"Deadly serious," he states firmly, his gaze unwavering. "I own you now, remember? Your mouth is mine to use however I want." 

He leans back and uses his evol to grab the gun from the counter as it floated in his waiting hand, holding it up so you can see it. The metal glints menacingly under the shower spray, reflecting the sharp angles of his face. "Open up."

“Caleb…” you gasp, shocked, the name a plea, a desperate attempt to reach the man you thought you knew.

"Now," he orders, his voice firm and commanding, brooking no argument. He presses the cold metal against your bottom lip, silently urging you to open your mouth, the contact sending a shiver of revulsion and a strange, twisted kind of excitement through you. 

His eyes blaze with possessiveness and triumph as he looks at your shocked expression, the power he wields over you palpable. "Be a good girl and open your mouth for me," he demands softly, the words laced with a dangerous undertone.

You swallow hard, the lump in your throat making it difficult to breathe. Slowly, hesitantly, you open your mouth, a silent act of surrender.

He slides the gun into your mouth slowly, deliberately, his eyes never leaving yours, watching your reaction with an almost clinical detachment. "Good girl," he praises, his voice low and dangerous, sending a shiver down your spine. "Now suck it like you would my cock." He watches as you tentatively wrap your lips around the metal, your eyes wide with shock and arousal, the conflicting emotions warring within you.

You taste the cold metal, the lingering smell of gun powder filling your nostrils as you suck the barrel, a strange, forbidden pleasure tingling on your tongue.

He can feel your warm breath on the gun as you suck on it, his fingers tightening around the handle possessively, the weight of the weapon heavy in his hand. "Deeper," he growls, pushing the gun further into your mouth until it hits the back of your throat, making you gag slightly, the metallic taste intensifying.

You whimper, a small, involuntary sound of distress and submission.

The cool metal of the gun barrel presses against your lips, a stark contrast to the heat that’s been building between you and Caleb for what feels like an eternity. 

He pulls it out slowly, deliberately, the silver glinting in the dim bathroom light. A thin string of saliva stretches from your parted lips to the cold steel, a fragile connection in this moment of raw, untamed desire.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice a low, husky rumble that sends shivers down your spine. His eyes, usually a vibrant, playful purple, are now dark pools of lust, focused solely on you, on the way your body reacts to his every move. He slides the gun back in, a slow, agonizing tease that makes your breath catch in your throat. Each inch is a deliberate act, mimicking the possessive thrusts of his hips from just moments before, etching the memory of his forceful claim onto your very being.

The sensation is shocking, forbidden, and undeniably arousing. You try to fight it, to pull away, but his grip is firm, his control absolute. He dictates the pace, the depth, the intensity of this bizarre, sensual dance. 

Your head spins, the world tilting on its axis as the pleasure and the danger intertwine, creating a potent cocktail that threatens to overwhelm your senses.

Soon, your eyes roll back in your head, the fight draining out of you as you surrender to the intoxicating wave of sensation. You’re lost in the moment, the boundaries between right and wrong blurring beyond recognition.

“Mmh,” he hums, watching your body go lax, your mouth open and accepting around the gun. A possessive triumph flickers in his eyes, a primal satisfaction at your complete submission. “You like getting mouth-fucked by my gun?” he growls softly, his voice rough with barely contained desire. 

He pushes it deeper again, hitting your throat harder this time, a deliberate act that makes you gag slightly, but the discomfort only adds to the intensity of the experience. The sound of wet, sloppy sucking fills the small bathroom, amplifying the intimacy, the transgression.

You can’t help it. You moan, a low, guttural sound that escapes from the back of your throat, a testament to the pleasure he’s inflicting, to the control he wields.

He feels your moan vibrate around the gun, the sound resonating through his body, igniting a fire that threatens to consume him. 

“Fuck,” he groans, the sound ripped from his chest, raw and desperate. He pulls the gun out and sets it aside on the shower bench, the sound of metal against tile echoing in the sudden silence. 

His other hand, calloused and strong, grips your throat tightly, not painfully, but firmly, possessively, reminding you who’s in charge. He slams his mouth against yours, kissing you roughly, desperately, his tongue invading your mouth in a blatant act of ownership. “You’re mine,” he hisses against your lips, his breath hot and ragged against your skin.

You sob, a small, involuntary sound of surrender, as the overwhelming rush of sensation finally breaks you. You come, hard and fast, the orgasm tearing through you with a force that leaves you shaking, gasping for breath. Harder than before, more intense, more complete.

He swallows your cries, muffling the sounds of your climax, claiming them as his own. 

Your body convulses, your nails digging into his back as you cling to him, the only anchor in this sea of overwhelming sensation. He feels your release cover his thighs again, hot and slick against his skin, his eyes darkening with a mixture of possessiveness and raw, primal hunger. 

He lifts you up suddenly, wrapping your legs around his waist again, your bodies molding together as one. He pulls out and enters you roughly, a forceful invasion that makes you scream loudly, the sound echoing off the tiled walls.

His fingers dig into your bottom, gripping you tightly as he lifts you up and down on his length, fucking you hard and fast against the shower wall. The sound of slapping skin mingles with your screams, creating a cacophony of pleasure and pain, of dominance and surrender. His eyes, burning with possessiveness and hunger, seem to pierce through you, stripping you bare, exposing your innermost desires. “Who owns this pussy?”

You sob, the words torn from your throat, a desperate plea for release, for validation. “You, Caleb. You.”

He slams into you harder, deeper, rewarding your submission with a low groan that vibrates against your skin. “Goddamn right I do,” he growls, biting your neck possessively, leaving a trail of burning kisses in his wake. 

His hips piston relentlessly, driving you closer and closer to the edge. The shower wall steams up around you both, droplets of water mingling with your sweat and his saliva, marking your skin with the evidence of his claim.

You can’t hold out, the next orgasm building inside you, a tidal wave of sensation threatening to engulf you.

As if sensing your approaching climax, he reaches down and presses his thumb against your clit, circling it mercilessly, increasing the pressure, pushing you closer to the breaking point. “Come for me again, princess,” he demands harshly, his voice rough and possessive. “Show me who this pussy belongs to.”

The sweet pet name, spoken in this moment of intense passion, is a final surrender, a complete and utter relinquishing of control. It makes you come again, almost absurdly, the force of the orgasm even more intense than before.

He groans deeply as he feels your pussy clench around him, milking his cock with each pulse of your orgasm. “Fucking hell,” he growls, his hips moving faster and more erratically, his control slipping as he teeters on the edge of his own release. “That’s it, princess. Come all over my cock.”

“Caleb!”

He hilts himself inside you with a final, brutal thrust, biting down on your shoulder to stifle his own cries as his orgasm crashes through him, a cataclysmic explosion of sensation. 

“Mine,” he snarls possessively, flooding your pussy with his hot, thick release. His cock twitches inside you, prolonging your shared climax, holding you captive in this moment of pure, unadulterated bliss.

“Holy shit!” You wheeze, gasping for breath as the last tremors of your orgasm subside.

Panting heavily, Caleb leans his forehead against yours, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. “Holy shit is right,” he chuckles weakly, his cock still buried deep inside you, a tangible reminder of the connection you share. He squeezes your ass playfully, his earlier intensity melting into post-coital affection. “You alright there, princess?”

You are left panting, your mind still reeling from the intensity of what just happened, struggling to process the sheer force of his dominance, the depths of your own surrender.

He can see the dazed expression in your eyes, a testament to the power of the encounter. He nuzzles his face against yours, inhaling your scent deeply, savoring the taste of your skin. “Baby, you okay?” he asks softly, his fingers splaying out on your backside possessively, assuring himself that you’re still there, still his.

You nod weakly, your body still trembling from the aftershocks of your orgasms. “I think I broke my sweet Caleb.”

He lets out a low, satisfied laugh, his body still entwined with yours, his cock throbbing inside you. “You didn’t break me, princess. But damn, you wore me out.” He gently kisses your lips, his hands moving to support your weight as he slowly lowers you down, his cock finally slipping out of you, leaving you feeling vulnerable and exposed.

“Oh god…” you gasp and wobble, feeling his cum leaking out of you, a visible reminder of his possession.

Seeing the look on your face, a mixture of shock and arousal, he grins mischievously. 

He reaches down and scoops some of his semen off your inner thighs, bringing his fingers up to your mouth. “Open up, princess,” he commands softly, his eyes locked with yours, daring you to resist. “Taste what you do to me.”

You don’t glare this time, the fight gone out of you, replaced by a strange mixture of exhaustion and a lingering desire. You melt and open your mouth, too weak to fight or argue, surrendering once again to his will.

He gently pushes his fingers between your lips, letting you taste his salty, musky release. “Good girl,” he murmurs, his thumb tracing your bottom lip as he pulls his fingers out, leaving a glistening sheen on your skin. He helps you steady yourself against the shower wall, his hands roaming possessively over your curves, claiming you as his own.

“I can’t believe you fucked my mouth with your gun.”

He chuckles darkly, turning off the shower and wrapping you in a plush towel, his movements gentle despite the raw intensity of the encounter you just shared. “I can’t believe you let me,” he retorts, his voice still laced with amusement and satisfaction. He picks you up bridal style, carrying you out of the bathroom and into his bedroom, his eyes never leaving yours.

“You were forcing me, you know?” You hiss, trying to regain some semblance of control, to remind him that there are boundaries, even between you.

He lays you down on the bed, a smirk tugging at his lips as he towels you off more aggressively than necessary, his eyes burning with a possessive fire. “Forcing you? Baby, you sucked that gun like it was your favorite fucking lollipop.” He leans in close, his voice low and teasing, his breath ghosting against your skin.

You swallow, not knowing what to say, caught between outrage and a shameful surge of arousal.

He notices your reaction, the flicker of desire in your eyes, and his smirk grows wider. “Did you like it that much?” he asks, his eyes shining with curiosity and something darker, something that both excites and terrifies you. Before you can respond, he gently spreads your legs and crawls between them, his face hovering just above your pussy, his breath hot against your most sensitive flesh. “Let’s find out.”

“How?” You breathe.

He inhales deeply, his eyes fluttering closed as he savors your scent. When he opens them, they lock onto yours with an intent gaze. Slowly, deliberately, he leans down and presses his mouth to your pussy, parting your lips with his tongue and dragging it through your folds.

“Oh shit!” The words are a ragged expulsion of air, a surrender to the intense sensations that are already threatening to overwhelm you.

He grins against you, the vibrations sending a shock of pleasure through you. “That good, huh?” He does it again, this time flicking his tongue over your clit, watching your face contort with pleasure. His hands grip your thighs, holding you open and exposing you fully to his mouth.

“Caleb…” Your voice is a dazed whisper, barely audible above the roaring in your ears. Your eyes, wide and unfocused, lock on his. You search for something, anything, in his gaze – a hint of mercy, perhaps, or maybe just a sign that he’s feeling this as intensely as you are.

"What baby? Want me to stop?" His voice is a rough whisper against your wetness, knowing full well that you don't want him to stop. He circles your clit with his tongue again, maintaining eye contact as he does so. "Does my tongue feel good right here?"

You moan, a low, guttural sound that comes from the depths of your soul. Your hands, trembling, reach up to grip his hair, your fingers tangling in the dark strands, pulling him closer. “Caleb…fuck…”

He chuckles darkly, the vibrations against your sensitive nub making your hips buck up. He sucks your clit into his mouth, applying gentle pressure as he flicks his tongue back and forth. His fingers dig into your thighs, spreading you even wider as he devours you hungrily.

Your eyes roll back in your head, your vision blurring at the edges. You feel yourself losing control, spiraling down into a vortex of pure sensation.

"Fucking hell, you taste amazing," Caleb growls, releasing your clit momentarily. He dives back in, this time plunging his tongue deep inside your pussy, mimicking the motion of a cock. He curls it upwards, seeking that special spot to make you see stars.

You come without warning, a sudden, overwhelming surge of pleasure that shatters your control completely.

You scream out loud as a intense orgasm rips through your body, making your legs shake uncontrollably. Caleb holds onto your hips, keeping you place as he continues to lick and suck on your pussy, prolonging your climax. Your eyes flutter open, finding his intense gaze locked onto yours.

"I love watching you fall apart on my tongue," Caleb says roughly, giving your clit one last lick before standing up and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His pupils are dilated with desire, his breathing heavy.

You lick your lips, still tasting him on them, and your gaze lowers to his body. He is very much naked after the shower you just had, his skin flushed and damp, his muscles tense with barely suppressed energy.

Caleb follows your gaze and smirks, his hand reaching down to wrap around his thick, hard cock. He gives it a slow, languid stroke, his thumb swirling over the sensitive head. "You want this, don't you?" he asks, his voice a deep, seductive rumble.

You whimper, a small, involuntary sound of need that betrays your every thought. You lay in the bed, still with your legs spread and boneless, completely at his mercy.

He watches you, his eyes darkening. The way your legs are spread, the way your body is boneless and sated - it makes his blood boil, fuels the possessive hunger that claws at his insides. He wraps his hand tighter around his length, pumping slowly. "You look like you've been properly fucked," he comments softly, almost to himself, voice laced with dark satisfaction.

You choke a laugh, a weak, breathless sound that still manages to convey a hint of playful defiance. “And who was the one who did that?”

He groans, his eyes fluttering closed briefly as he continues to slow jerk himself off. You’re teasing him, laughing softly even though you’re clearly wrecked from their fucking. "Shut up," he mutters, his voice strained.

You find yourself watching. Each stroke is deliberate, a slow, sensual dance of hand against flesh. You see the flexing of his muscles, the tightening of his jaw, and the way his breath hitches with each movement. It's a raw, uninhibited display, and you find yourself captivated by the sheer intensity of it.

He opens his eyes, finding you watching him with heavy-lidded eyes. The way you're looking at him, like you're enjoying the show - fuck, it's hot. He picks up the pace, his hand moving faster over his length. "You like watching me touch myself?" he asks roughly.

You swallow, the word catching in your throat. "Yes," you whisper, the admission a release, a surrender to the moment.

A low groan escapes his lips as he hears your admission. He strokes himself faster, his grip tightening. "Do you want to watch me come?" he asks, his voice strained with desire. "Or do you want something else?" He looks at you, his eyes filled with lust and a hint of challenge.

"More..." you breathe, the word a plea, a promise.

His breathing grows heavier as he continues to stroke himself, his free hand balling into a fist at his side. "More what?" he growls, his eyes locked onto yours. "You want me to do something else?" He swirls his thumb over the sensitive head, his hand pausing briefly.

A moan escapes your lips, involuntary, a testament to the power he holds over you. You nod, unable to speak, your body trembling with need.

A smirk plays at the corners of his mouth, a predatory curve that sends a thrill of excitement through you. He releases his length, leaving it throbbing, glistening, a beacon of raw desire. He comes closer to the bed, stopping at the edge,” Come here, baby.”

You obey, your body moving without conscious thought. You close your legs, knees digging into the mattress, and crawl towards him, drawn by an irresistible force.

As you crawl closer, Caleb reaches out, his large hands grasping your wrists gently. He pulls you the last bit, until you're kneeling right before him. His cock juts out, a pulsing testament to his desire, inches from your face. “I think you want a taste," he murmurs, stroking his shaft slowly.

You lick your lips, the anticipation building to a fever pitch. You nod, looking up at him with a mixture of lust and adoration. He's offering you a gift, a privilege, and you're ready to receive it.

Caleb's breath hitches as he watches you lick your lips. He guides his thick head to your mouth, painting your lips with his pre-cum. "Open up for me, sweetheart," he orders softly, his voice thick with desire. He wants to feel your warm, wet mouth enveloping him, to lose himself in the sensation of your touch.

You open your lips, a silent invitation, and he doesn't hesitate.

"Fuck," he whispers, the word an expletive and a prayer as you take him in. He pushes himself deeper inch by inch until he hits the back of your throat. Your gag reflex tries to kick in, but he keeps a firm but gentle grasp on the back of your head, holding you steady. "You're such a good girl," he murmurs, his voice laced with praise, the words a reward for your devotion.

Your eyes roll back in your head, lost in the sensation, the praise igniting a fire within you. You want to please him, to give him everything he desires.

Seeing your reaction, Caleb groans deeply, his hips beginning to move slowly. "That's it, baby. Take my cock so well," he praises, his voice husky with lust. He gently thrusts deeper, giving you time to adjust to his size, to the overwhelming sensation of his presence.

You moan, a muffled sound against his flesh, and almost choke, tears welling up in your eyes. You struggle to breathe, forcing air through your nose, trying to maintain control, to continue pleasing him.

Caleb's grip on your head tightens slightly, but he remains gentle, feeling your struggle. "Shh, baby, take a breath," he coos softly, slowly pulling back to give you a moment of respite. He watches as you gasp for air, tears streaming down your cheeks, your face flushed and contorted with effort,” Look at me.” he whispers.

You look up at him, your eyes pleading, vulnerable.

His heart melts at the sight of you looking up at him with those tear-stained cheeks. His pace remains slow and rhythmic, careful not to hurt you. Not this time. "You look so fucking beautiful with my cock in your mouth," he whispers, wiping away a tear with his thumb.

You whimper, a small, involuntary sound of pleasure, loving that he's so tender with you, so aware of your limits.

"My sweet girl..." he breathes out, continuing those careful thrusts. One hand stays on your head while the other gently strokes your cheek, offering comfort and reassurance. “You're doing so good, taking me so deep..." He watches you struggle, feeling both guilt and intense pleasure knowing it's him causing those sweet tears, that look of blissful torment on your face.

You try to open your mouth wider for him, a silent offering, a desperate attempt to give him everything he wants.

"God, yes... just like that," he encourages, his voice growing thicker as he feels himself nearing his limit. "Your mouth is heaven, sweetheart. So warm, so tight... I'm so fucking close." He bites his lip, trying to hold back, wanting to prolong this moment.

You moan around him, a garbled sound of pleasure and desperation, reaching up to cup his balls, your fingers gently stroking, teasing, adding fuel to the fire.

"Jesus fucking Christ," he curses under his breath, a tremor running through his powerful thighs, the muscles bunching and releasing under your touch. "Stop, stop," he warns you gently, the words a breathy plea, yet his hands, those strong hands that could crush bone stay firmly on your head, contradictory to his words. "You'll make me come if you keep doing that..." His breathing grows raspier.

You ignored him, or perhaps, he knew you would. The thrill of control, of pushing him closer and closer to the brink, was a heady aphrodisiac. Deeper, faster, you swallowed, your hand a firm, possessive grip on his heavy sac, the weight of his impending release heavy in your palm.

"Holy shit," he mutters, hips jerking forward slightly. He's trying hard not to face-fuck you, his self-control surprisingly good. "Your mouth..." He swallows hard, watching you take him deep. "Your hand..." He tenses again as you gently massage his balls.

You broke the rhythm, just for a moment, lifting your head, your gaze locking with his. The moan that escaped your lips was a primal sound, born of pure, unadulterated lust.

His face contorts with pleasure when you look up at him, your usual innocent eyes were filled with desire and hunger, and he finally loses control. "Fuck, I'm coming," he grits out, hands gripping your head tightly as he begins to pump his hips, face screwed up in ecstasy.

Your eyes roll back, the world fading away as the first taste of his release flooded your mouth. He was fire, molten and consuming, and you welcomed the burn.

He lets out a guttural groan as he releases into your mouth, his hot seed spilling out as you swallow around him. He holds you there, not allowing you to pull back as he continues to shudder and come, his body trembling above you. "Damn..." The word was a ragged whisper, a testament to the intensity of what had just transpired.

Seeing him undone, vulnerable, weak in the aftermath of his climax, fueled a deep, primal satisfaction within you. He was a god brought to his knees, and you were the force that had felled him.

Caleb's knees nearly buckle as the last waves of his orgasm course through him. Slowly, he pulls back, his cock slipping from your lips with a soft pop. He stares down at you, chest heaving, a look of stunned awe on his flushed face. "Holy shit," he repeated, the words a hushed prayer.

You swallowed, relishing the lingering taste of him, and licked the last remnants from your lips. The act was deliberately provocative, a silent dare. Your voice was hoarse, raw from the intensity of the moment. "How was that? Better than when you made me choke on your gun?" You grinned, a flash of teeth in the dim light, the question laced with a playful defiance.

A low chuckle rumbles in Caleb's chest as he listens to your hoarse voice and teasing words. His eyes light up with amusement and something darker, more primal. He reaches down, gently lifting your chin with his thumb and index finger. "Mmm, definitely better." He murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction.

Your grin widened, emboldened by his response.

Caleb's gaze drops to your lips, still glistening with his release. Without a word, he leans down, capturing your mouth in a searing kiss. His tongue delves in, tasting himself on your lips and tongue. He pulls back after a moment, breathing heavily.

The words, the ones you had choked back in the shower, the ones that had been burning in your throat, finally escaped. "I love you..." The declaration hung in the air, fragile and vulnerable.

His heart skips a beat, emotions playing across his features - surprise, fear, love. "Fuck... don't you dare say things like that," he whispers, but there's no venom in his tone. Instead, he pulls you closer, forehead resting against yours, the contact grounding him.

You giggled, the sound light and airy in the otherwise heavy atmosphere. "Well... you told me to take my time."

A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips, crinkling the skin around his eyes. "You did take your time," he admitted, his voice softer now. He sat back against the headboard, pulling you into his lap, his arms wrapping tightly around you, holding you close. "Too much time." He paused, his heart pounding in his chest, a frantic drumbeat against your back.

You snuggled into his neck, inhaling his scent, the familiar aroma a comfort and a challenge. "You love me, so it's only right to love you back."

Caleb's arms tighten around you, his breath hitching slightly at your words. He presses a soft kiss to your temple, his voice barely above a whisper. "You know I do. More than anything." He pauses, his fingers gently tracing patterns on your back, a silent language of affection.

"Mmm," you murmured, content in his embrace.

Caleb tilts his head, watching your smiling face intently. A playful smirk tugs at his lips as he squeezes you gently in his lap. "Was that an'mmm' of agreement or an'mmm' of trouble?" His eyebrow arches teasingly, clear amusement sparkling in his eyes.

You rested your forehead against his, peering up at him through your lashes. "Definitely agreement."

A warmth spreads across his face at your answer, his eyes softening as they lock onto yours. His hand moves to gently rest on your cheek, thumb stroking across your skin. "Smartass," he whispers, but the word comes out fondly.

You nuzzled his hand, pressing a kiss into his palm. You had missed this, these quiet, tender moments, the feeling of being safe and cherished in his arms.

He watches you nuzzle into his palm, his expression unguarded. His other hand comes up to cup your jaw possessively. "God, you're like a damn cat," he murmurs, his voice lower, almost tender again. He missed these small, unguarded moments with you too, the feeling of your warmth against him, the trust that flowed between you.

You giggled, the sound fading into silence as you settled back into his embrace. "What now?" The question hung in the air, a hesitant inquiry about the future, about where this fragile connection would lead.

Caleb's thumb continues to stroke your cheek, his eyes searching yours. "What do you want to do now?" he asks softly, giving you a small smile. He shifts slightly, making sure you're comfortable in his lap. "We could just stay like this for a while, or... we could talk."

"Or...you can bring me some snacks?" You countered, the playful request a deliberate attempt to lighten the mood, to avoid the weight of serious conversation.

Chuckles softly, the vibrations rumbling against your back. "Always so demanding, aren't you?" He kisses your shoulder gently before setting you back on the bed. "Fine, I'll get you some snacks. But only if you promise to stay right there and look pretty for me."

“How pretty?” You teased, batting your eyelashes as you watched him pull his boxers on.

Rolling his eyes playfully, Caleb ran a deliberately slow, appreciative gaze over you, from head to toe, lingering on the curve of your breasts, the swell of your hips.

"Prettier than a sunrise, dummy. Now sit tight before you ruin my carpet with your gorgeous self sprawled out naked."

You laughed, a genuine, uninhibited sound that filled the room. "You think I would lay on the carpet?"

"With your lazy ass?" He teases, shaking his head as he turns towards the kitchen. "Knowing you, you'd probably decide the carpet is more comfortable than this king-sized bed." His voice carries a warm, affectionate tone that betrays his playful joking.

"Bring my favorite! Apple flavored!" You called out after him, the request laced with a sweet anticipation.

His low chuckle was the only response, a soft rumble that faded as he disappeared into the kitchen, leaving you alone with the lingering scent of sex and the quiet hum of contentment.

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