incoming-spacesquid - Tumblr blog

incoming-spacesquid · 5 days ago

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wolves among the flock

It'd be easier to realize you were a wolf in sheep's clothing, clinging to the loyal dog that tended to the flock.

pairing: Caleb x Fem!Reader/MC wc: 4.5k tw/tags: codependency, obsession, possessiveness, self-doubt/insecurity. MC frequently described as unsettling. judgment/gossip from outside characters about MC. brief mention of violence (caleb towards side character). angst. brief suggestive themes. a/n: this is really a character study of MC and her relationship with caleb while growing up alongside him. I'm fascinated by the idea of her being seen as unsettling, based on anecdotes on how she used to be a blank slate in the lab. this fic digs into dark themes and explores MC's doubt around her place in Caleb's life, so be warned if those things may upset you <3 cross-posted on ao3 || masterlist

Something has always been wrong with you.

You feel it. Deep in your soul, coiling through the blood in your veins, thrumming under your skin. You hope it doesn't show in the unblinking nature of your watchful eyes, in the way your teeth bare a little too much when you try to smile like the other kids do.

But they see through it. They all do.

The whispers follow your steps down the school hallways. You hear that something's missing in the hushed cadence of Grandma whispering into the phone's receiver.

You sit on the top of the stairs, hidden in the shadows, knees pulled to your chest as you wonder what weight those soft words carry. What silent statements are being exchanged when looks are shared between your teacher and your guardian at school conferences.

"She has some of the top scores in her class. She's a smart kid," they say, and hesitate. "Just…quiet."

Gran nods, and smiles down at you. A tight-lipped smile, with almost enough reassurance in her eyes to outshine that assessment, that disappointment. Trying to figure out what was wrong. How to fix it.

On the playground, you draw circles in the sand with a stick. The kids take wider circles around you. A large berth to evade that vacant look in your eyes, in case it was contagious.

Maybe it was.

Who knows? Maybe they'd catch it if they got too close.

If one of them touched you, maybe they'd be like you. All empty eyes and unsettling smile.

Or maybe you'd just suck all the life out of them. Maybe—

"Pipsqueak!"

Your head lifts, eyes finding your sun.

There he stands, at the center of everything, with scraped knees and a band-aid across a lightly freckled nose. His hair is in desperate need of a trim, a smudge of dirt on his cheek from roughhousing with the other kids, the ones closer to his age. The ones who Gran encourages him to spend more time with.

So he does. Because if he doesn't, he'll have scheduled playdates. He'll be taken away from you for an afternoon, or a whole day.

Instead, he gives it ten minutes of playtime. You feel listless, floating in empty space, but you wait. You try not to count the seconds in your head until he returns, tugging you gently back into his orbit.

His fingers wiggle out towards you, and your eyes—too expressionless, too empty, too wrong—flash down to his hand, extended to you this whole time.

Waiting for you to drain his life too.

You hesitate.

He catches it, the slight shift of your smaller body away from him, and he frowns. His other hand rests on his knee, leaning towards you, hand thrust right in front of your eyes. He keeps waving it right there each time you try to turn away.

"Pips, c'mon," he encourages, poking you in your round, freckled cheek.

A smile catches on his face when you huff, and your lips feel like they're tugged up by gravity in return. You think about blaming him for using his Evol, but it's not that. It's just him.

Your Caleb, easing that baring of teeth into something softer. Something less wrong.

He'll catch it, you think when you lift your hand. You stop. He'll catch all that wrong if you're not careful.

That's what all the other kids say. They talk about it when you're in the back of the class, not noticing you in the dark, waiting for your sun to return.

Poor Caleb, they say. All that light with the shadow trailing behind. His brilliant galaxy eyes mirrored by the wide, unblinking stare peering around from behind him. Couldn't get rid of her if he tried.

The gentle call of your name has you looking up again to see him crouched in front of you. He's frowning, so you're frowning, because you don't like it when his smile goes away. You don't like it at all when clouds try to make him a bit less bright. You want him to shine, always, and you want to always be the one to see it.

His hand is still there, inches from yours. His fingers are a bit longer; always have been, and always would be.

He could just take yours if he wanted. He could tug you after him, make you play. It's not like you would complain. You would do whatever he wanted.

But your Caleb was always like this. He always wanted you to choose.

And you always wanted to choose him.

He'll catch it.

One day, your golden boy would catch all the darkness curled up inside you.

You hesitate again. Then you look up and oh, no.

Now his eyes are big and wet, the purple shining all glossy like the gazes of those puppies in the sad commercials on TV, the ones that make you run from the living room when they play. It reminds you of something else, something you can't name, and it makes your skin crawl and you hate it.

Seeing it on Caleb was even worse. Too real, too much like that unnameable thing.

It hurt.

Your fingers land in his, and his despair at you not wanting to play with him anymore evaporates like puffy clouds. You relish in the sunshine of his gaze fully focused on you, feeling the warmth of it in your chest when he holds onto you tight, pulling you up after him, and away.

Away from the kids who sneer, the adults who whisper. Away from what you know you should be but can't, have never been able to be.

Each step away, and you feel a bit lighter, a bit warmer. Each time he squeezes your hand and smiles back at you, you feel less wrong.

He'll catch it.

You feel bad, because you feel good. Because he makes you happy, he makes you forget, he makes you normal.

You feel bad, because you know he's taking the darkness from inside your heart to give you his sunlight. You know he'll succumb to that emptiness, that darkness, too.

You don't want him to lose his light.

You just want to be as much a part of him as he's a part of you.

It's not as bad once you're a bit older, a few years down the line.

The feeling is still there, that unnameable yawning chasm in your chest, along with the heart that flutters and struggles to beat.

But you've buried enough of what's unsettling that your smiles aren't all sharp teeth, ready to tear into flesh. Your lips are shut tight to hide them, and the smiles are small, but it's better.

Even better when Caleb's gravity pulled them from you.

Those smiles were real. Those ones had you fighting to keep the points of your teeth hidden, had you smiling wider when he poked and tugged at your cheeks until the points of your canines showed.

He never looked scared. Never looked like he would do anything but offer his own skin to your lips and say, here. Bite down. I'm not afraid.

Caleb never did say it, but you saw it. It was in the gentleness of his gaze, the way his palm always found yours when he walked you home after school.

It was there in the way he pinched your cheeks, poked each freckle to count them instead of counting the stars when you stayed up too late, gazing out his window. So close to your sharp bite, and never flinching.

He would let you bite if you wanted to. He'd let you do it until you had enough, or until you got tired. He wouldn't shake you off, even then.

You knew. He knew you knew.

And you did bite, a few times. It got worse in those years when he started going to a different school than you.

You'd look at the marks left on his hand, and you wouldn't feel bad. He'd look at them too, and wouldn't hide it.

He'd just smile, ruffle your hair, and buy you candy from the corner-store with the money he'd earned with the little jobs he did around the neighborhood. He could do that now (older, bigger, one step ahead), and he'd always spend it on you. For your happiness, for your smile.

You wondered if it was an obligation. You wondered if it was just habit.

But your smile would make him smile, too, and it was so bright. So, so bright, and all for you.

And sometimes you think that maybe, just maybe, he revolves around you too.

Kids don't shun you as much, once you and Caleb are in the same school again. But you're still weird.

Your eyes aren't as wide and empty, but there's something just a little bit off. Practice doesn't quite make perfect after all.

So they still don't really like you—but they don't hate you, at least.

And of course, Caleb does help. Because if he likes you so much, if he truly adores you, then there must be something about you to like.

So some of them try and talk to you. Except you don't really know how to talk. Not to them, not to anybody that's not your Caleb.

You know very well, at this point, you're way too old for this. You've grown too much, your body changing and shaping in the places that tell you that you need to be your own person. You need to stop being his shadow.

Gran said he wouldn't want you to tag along forever.

It made Caleb mad when she said it.

He hid it well, with a smile as charming as ever. But you saw the flash in his eyes, the tension in his jaw. The twitch of his fingers around his fork, holding on too tight.

Anger looked wrong on him, like how a smile used to look wrong on you.

You liked how it looked.

You felt wrong again, for liking it.

You felt worse, knowing that you liked him not just angry, but angry for you.

Like you were really part of the flock. Like he was really made to look after you, to guard you from harm.

To protect you from the wolf, from yourself.

"No one's gonna take me away from you," he tells you when you sneak into his room late that night.

Both your backs rest against the foot of the bed, knees bumping together. Your head finds his shoulder, and his head rests on yours. You always fit like this. Comfortable. Right.

The well-loved apple plushie rests between your arms, his longer fingers idly picking at a small hole worn into the red fabric.

"How do you know?" you ask, and he frowns deeper, brows pulled together.

You like the anger less when you know something you said brought it back.

"I just do," he mutters, and looks back at you. His irritation is gone so fast with one look at you, replaced by a bright smile. "It's gravity, Pipsqueak. We don't gotta worry about it."

Smiling back is a new, happy habit now.

You find that you like it more than the anger, when your smile makes his own just a bit brighter.

You keep growing older, and so does he. You're tall, but he's taller. He's bigger, stronger. Pretty growing up, and even prettier now, in a way that makes your throat tight and your heart hurt, more than it usually does. Different than it usually does.

He's always just a bit ahead of you. Always reaching back with a smile.

When he walks you home after school, on the days he doesn't have practice for some sports team or another, the other girls giggle when he passes them.

Sometimes you want to giggle, too.

When he looks for you after scoring a point in a game, eyes lighting up when he finds you cheering for him in the crowd. Fingers even longer now, rougher, pushing back the hair from his sweaty forehead before waving with a grin.

Your classmates sigh around you, and you feel the same flutter in your heart that they must when you get to be the one who waves back.

One of them leans over to you, daring to steal your attention after Caleb scores another point. You frown when you have to look away from Caleb's searching gaze again, denying you the rush of it meeting yours.

"We're all heading out to the lake this weekend." The girl in your class, whose name you don't even know, smiles at you. Even as she glances towards where you were supposed to be looking right now. "You should totally come!"

"I—"

The buzzer sounds, cutting you off. You frown, glancing around the gym as people start to rise. Caleb must still be on the court, and your gaze cuts through the busy crowd, searching for him as surely as he searches for you.

"Bring Caleb!"

You flinch as the words land next to your ear, a command more than a question, with another giggle that makes your stomach turn.

Why would she want Caleb?

You stand, pushing your way out of the bleachers, following that familiar instinct, that tug of gravity to him.

You find him with all the others pulled into his gravity, helpless but to be drawn to him. His friends slap him on the back in approval of his winning point—the one you'd missed, your nails biting into your palms at the realization.

Girls are there, too. Pretty girls, older than you. They smile up at him, and bat their eyelashes and giggle the way that you want to giggle, and you dig into your palms even tighter.

Why do they all want Caleb?

It's a stupid question, really. Of course they want the sun to shine down on them, to warm their skin, to light up their days.

Your sun.

"Caleb!"

It's selfish to call out to him.

You know it is, when his universe is bigger than yours, when he deserves to explore all it has to offer.

When you know he'll come running right back anyway just at the first call of your voice.

And here he comes. Running, bright-eyed and eager, smile splitting across his face so wide it looks like it hurts.

"Did you see that last one, Pipsqueak?" He asks as he leans down towards you, another clump of sweaty hair falling in front of his eyes.

Surrounded by all that approval, that praise and worship, and he only sought yours.

You smile and push the stubborn strands of hair back from his sunset eyes before he has to.

You realize belatedly, when his lips twitch higher at the brush of your fingertips against his forehead, that he didn't even try to fix it himself. He knew you would.

And then you remember the answer to his question.

You remember you're not the only one circling him. And that maybe you're just the one that he's used to.

Obligation? You remember those questions that used to linger, like the indentation of your teeth in his skin, back when you both were smaller. Habit?

And there it is again: your name, falling softly from his lips. Like he was never meant to say anything else.

No matter what he called you, you'd look. You loved whatever he did call you, whichever nickname he latched onto, the affection that laced through each syllable.

But your actual name, any slight variation of it—that's what always brought you right back, with an inexplicable force that nearly had you crashing into him.

Or wanting to.

Your mouth opens, and closes. You struggle in resisting his gravity, in knowing you were just another speck of cosmic dust floating around in it. Knowing you shouldn't be selfish.

Knowing how selfish you'd always be.

Why did they all want your Caleb?

"Hey." There's a gentle tug on your chin when your gaze wanders again, callused thumb turning your face back to him. Clouds cover the rays of sun in his gaze again. Because of you. He'd catch your wrong. He'd lose his light. "What's up?"

You suck in a breath, feel it piercing your lungs, and the words rushing out feel like knives in your tongue.

"Want to go to the lake this weekend?"

You hated the lake.

Watching as they all flock to him, tugging his precious attention away every time it barely started to drift back to you.

You hated this.

They laugh at something he said, and he smiles at them.

You hated them.

In one of the longer lulls where he can't glance back at you—somebody clinging to his arm and taking all the attention that was your birthright, with another two giggling—you sulk off to the little public bathroom nearby. You pull your legs up on the closed toilet seat in the stall, staring at the graffiti on the door, words spelling out crushes and curses alike.

They all had crushes on Caleb, didn't they?

And you—

"Did you see that look in her eyes?" Laughter between a couple girls echoes into the empty bathroom with the bang of the opening door, and you hug your legs tighter. "It's scary."

"Haven't you heard about when she was younger?" You watch their shadows pass on the ground, stopping at the sinks. "She's always looked like that, but it used to be worse."

"Worse?" A sharp laugh, and your skin crawls, because you know. You know what they laugh about. You've always known. "How could it be worse?"

"She looked soulless. And when she smiled, she just showed her teeth—like this!" More laughter, and you hug your knees tighter. Nails digging into your skin, chills down your spine. "We thought she'd bite us."

"Did she?"

"No, but Jake said she bit Caleb."

"What?"

"I mean, we don't know if she did. But he saw the marks once."

"Ugh, poor Caleb." You don't like how they say his name. Don't like how they draw it out, how they sigh the string of letters meant for your mouth. "He's stuck with her. Couldn't get rid of her if he wants to."

You feel it again.

"Do you think he wants to?"

Laughter echoes.

You feel the wrong under your skin, thrumming. Coiling. Aching.

He's your Caleb.

"Wouldn't you? She's like a ghost! God, could you imagine living with that?"

He's your Caleb.

"Oh, man! Waking up in the middle of the night and seeing her in the mirror—"

Your feet slap against the floor, the world burning too bright when you slam the stall door open.

The screams that echo when you glower into the reflection they're vainly gazing into is far too satisfying.

They stare, petrified, as you walk up between them to wash your hands.

It doesn't make you feel better. Doesn't wash away the feeling of wanting to rip their throats out any less.

You shake the water off your fingers, feeling the points of your teeth grate together when they yelp and jump back at the flying droplets.

You don't remember walking out. You don't remember how far you got from the lake before he was there; arms around you, voice urging next to your ear.

"Pipsqueak?" You don't stop moving, not even at the press of his warm palm against your heated cheek. He pokes gently at the freckles that didn't fade as much as his, the ones he used to count like stars. "Pips, hey. Hey. Slow down."

You do, because he doesn't make you. Because he always gives you the choice.

Is it because he's always known what your choice will be?

Your head shakes.

It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter if he knows. It couldn't change the truth that he's your world, that he's all you've ever wanted.

Your hand isn't even halfway reaching for him when he's already taken it.

"Let's go home, yeah?" Caleb murmurs, brows knit together in concern. It warms that hollow feeling in your chest, and you sink into it.

It's only when you nod that you feel the streak of tears dripping off your chin.

What you hate most about the lake is how it changes things.

How it changes you.

Suddenly you're much too aware of Caleb's place in the universe. How he has wings untested, never stretched to fly, because he's stuck on the ground with you.

You are selfish, and he lets you be. He loves you so much that he lets you take and take, and you love him so much that you don't want to. You don't want to be that selfish. Not anymore, not when he can have everything.

So you try to grow some distance between you, even as it tears you apart.

It's easier when he graduates high school. Easier to tell yourself he's got that whole wide world, that he deserves for it to all be all his.

Easier to realize you were a wolf in sheep's clothing, clinging to the loyal dog that tended to the flock.

You learn better, how to pretend to be normal. You get so good at smiles and burying the thrumming and aching so deep below your skin that you start to feel normal.

The wolf still adores what it cannot be, what it cannot have. You still adore your Caleb. Still bask in the sun when it returns home.

You still have your moments when you want to sink your teeth in until he stays, until he forgets about ever leaving again.

But you get better at being better.

Or just better at pretending, you think whenever you feel his absence again. Readjusting to it, aching with it so deeply that you think you might die.

Eventually, you're so good at what you've become that you start to really believe it.

You get your own life, you make your own friends. There's a dream you've always had stirrings of, one you start to believe in.

You throw yourself into college, then a career, and you find purpose within it until you're circling farther and farther out of his orbit. Until you feel like you're finally what they've all always wanted you to be.

And your Caleb flies higher, and higher, until he doesn't come home.

Until you realize he wasn't the sun, but had gotten so close to it that he came crashing and burning back down.

Darkness returns.

It is all you know.

And when he comes crashing back into your own orbit, he doesn't bring the light back with him.

There's a look in his eyes that you don't recognize. The face you had memorized like the back of your hand twists in ways that make your heart stutter, make your mind spin, your stomach turn.

He says the things you used to feel, things that you realize you still feel. It's easier to accept, when your obsession and desperation are reflected back at you. When it's even darker and hungrier in him than it had ever been in you.

You sink deeper into it. You sink your teeth into that longing, drunk off every taste you get of being his center of gravity.

You don't know what's changed, exactly.

You don't even know if anything had changed at all. The longer you circle each other, the more times you come dangerously close to crashing together. And the more you wonder how it couldn't have always been this way.

And it's addictive, when you finally fall apart, to fall back together.

The touch of his lips against your aching skin; the sweet, desperate call of your name from them.

To sink your teeth into your entire world; to feel him do the same to his.

To feel him be the same. To know you had always been the same.

One night, tangled up in the sheets and in him, you hear his quiet whisper of confession. One of many sins committed in your name, finally revealed into the dark.

"Remember when you had just started high school?" Caleb's fingers trail up and down your spine with the words, tracing each notch, reverent in how it made you. "And that kid asked you out as a prank?"

You rifle through your memories, thoughts sluggish under the warm comfort of his touch.

"Mm," you hum in acknowledgment when you've found the mental image. "I didn't know you had come up behind me until he and his friends ran away. Must've been some glare you sent them, but you were just smiling at me when I turned around."

"Yeah," it's a deep sigh, still husky in the evidence of how you'd come together. His arm wraps around your waist, dull nails gently scratching at your soft skin, and you shiver when they dig in. "I broke his nose."

You freeze, fingers pausing where they trace circles over the rapid beat of his heart through his heated skin. "You...what?"

"It was so easy," he mumbles, voice taking on that new shade of darkness. Emptiness so familiar in yourself that it makes you shiver in pleasure you'd never voice out loud. "All it took was an extra twist of gravity when he tripped during a track meet. Fell forward just a bit too hard, enough for it to snap."

You swallow thickly, wrapping your arms around him tight. Pressing your skin to his until you could never be apart again.

Caleb's eyes meet yours in the night, searching for fear.

He smiles, hesitant; then sinking into relief, adoration, when he never sees it.

Another night beckons another confession. Another moment where gravity bent so easily under his fingertips, just for you. Even if you never knew.

What nearly drives you crazy is that you were never supposed to know. He would've kept himself as your sun forever, leaving you happily oblivious of the black hole he'd created as a buffer around you.

He slowly combs back through your memories. Happy memories with him, overshadowing the things he did in the dark. All in your name, all to protect you.

Sometimes you trace the familiar lines of his face, the crinkle of his eyes when he smiles, and wonder, was it really always there? His darkness always lurking, always lingering, just as sure as yours.

Or perhaps his obsession ran even deeper than yours. Sinking into the marrow of his bones, as crucial to his bloodstream as his love for you, rushing through his veins to keep his heart beating.

Were you truly too dazzled by the radiance of his smile to notice his teeth were as sharp as yours?

What if I told you I was always like this?

Maybe you had just been too blind from gazing into your own sun to see all the darkness the light cast on his own.

Too in love with one side of him to see both, to see that you were never the only wolf hiding among the flock.

#caleb x reader #caleb x mc #love and deepspace #lads caleb #tobi supporting friends

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incoming-spacesquid · 5 days ago

Text

Extended Leave ♡ (Part One) 18+

2,639 words

▪︎ Fem!Caleb x Fem!Reader ▪︎ AU ▪︎ 18+ No minors pls ▪︎ inspired by this drabble I wrote on my other acc

Fem!Caleb comes to stay with you for a few days. She's too comfortable and intense, but you like it don't you?

Tags/cws: fem!Caleb, fem!reader, AU, pilot!caleb, childhood friends to whatever this is, slow burn, domestic intimacy, soft butch x soft femme, mutual pining, unspoken feelings, quiet yearning, hurt/comfort, fluff?, tension and tenderness, soft dom!Caleb, sapphic romance, military leave, found family, period comfort, implied masturbation, repressed desire, emotional intimacy, subtle possessiveness, soft angst, slice of life, bed sharing, love languages (acts of service), fem!caleb barely hiding the level her obsession–for now >;)

Note: for my au purposes, reader and caleb are not related, but you were both raised by your grandmothers who were lifelong friends. Her being your jie jie was a running joke of sorts that stuck, more for her though...

She said she was only going to stay for a few days, but it's been two weeks with her in your apartment. She's made herself at home. Fixed your doorframe, the shelf in your bathroom, she does all your dishes, your laundry, cooks all your meals, like a butch housewife on steroids. She's barely unpacked except a few things here and there. Her toothbrush next to yours, her muscle teas folded neatly on the couch, boots and Jordan's by the door, DAA jacket on the coat rack. Caleb is everywhere.

It's not like you mind, you secretly hoped she would stay longer than she said. You like the way her intentionality warps the space.

Like when she folds your towels in thirds, not halves, because "that’s how they do it in base housing." Or how she rearranged the spice cabinet so you can reach what you use most, and made your rice cooker a permanent spot on the counter. You still feel a little flutter when she says your name from the kitchen, like it belongs to her mouth.

She texts you sometimes while you’re in the same room. Just things like:

your hair looks good today, pips. (*^_^*)

made some soup, aren't you hungry? ＼(・o・)／

your cycle's coming soon right? need jie jie to buy you anything? (´ω｀*)

She hasn’t brought up going home again.

You haven’t asked.

She watches you like she used to. Quietly, but with that unbearable fondness that used to make you feel like a doll on a shelf. Or one of her model planes. Caleb has always seen you too clearly, too tenderly, and with the kind of devotion that makes you want to laugh or flee the room. It's unnerving. It’s familiar. It's her.

You come out of your shower to find your favorite pajamas already laid out on your bed. Your phone buzzes again.

you left your conditioner open again mei mei

i closed it for you. don’t want it to dry up or spill...

(��︹︺)

You shook your head. Shaking away the odd feeling. You haven't called her jie jie since you were like 15. It didn't fit.

You remember one of the first times you said it, or half-whined it, really. You were sprawled across her lap in your grandparents' tiny shared garden, red popsicle in one hand, your other clutching her shirt sleeve. She was trying to atone after you cried and cried because she left you alone to play with some boys who were older than you. Because she was "Playground King".

"No one else can have you, jie jie," you’d said. You were sticky and sunburned and serious. She patted your cheeks after you said that, before pinkie promising that you would get your wish. You were only 11 then.

You two were so touchy back then. Even when she left for the DAA. When did that change? Was it your fault? Were you pushing her away somehow with your awkward unsureness?

A sudden knock on your door frame pulls you out of your thoughts.

"Caleb, I'm not dressed!" You call.

There's a pause.

"I know, pips, that's why I knocked."

Then.

"You've been quiet today. Sit with me when you're done, okay?" She doesn't wait for you to answer before she's walking away.

When you're dressed, you find her lying on the couch, looking up at the ceiling and biting her pinky nail at the corner. She doesn't look at you.

"You wanna lay down with me and tell me what's wrong, pretty girl? Or am I gonna have to keep wonderin'?"

You hesitate in the hallway, tugging the sleeves of your shirt down like it’ll armor you against whatever strange, heavy feeling is leaking in through the walls lately.

When you pad over, she doesn’t move, just pats her chest once with the flat of her hand like a silent invitation.

"C’mere."

You move like memory, taking one look at her long body on your small couch before you lay down. You rest your head on her chest, snake arms around her waist. Trying not to think about it. A sigh leaves as you smell her old spice lavender deodorant and your body wash on her skin.

Her strong biceps wrap around you, one of her hands finding the back of your head. She rubs circles into the nape of your neck.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to. I just don't feel right when you don't feel right," she whispers.

"You smell like you're covering your scent up with mine." You blurt.

"I like smelling like you." She says it so matter-of-fact like there's no use in denying it.

She doesn’t press you when you go quiet again, just adjusts herself underneath you so your head fits better against her collarbone. Her fingers still trace idle shapes at your nape, and you know it's an old habit. You used to love when she did that during your meltdowns. Her hand would never leave your back until you were breathing right.

Now it makes your throat feel thick… with something.

"I keep thinking about when we were little," you say, voice soft against the fabric of her shirt. “Like... when we played house and you made me be the dog every time.”

“You made yourself the dog,” she counters, tone lazy. “Said it was less pressure.”

You can feel her laugh vibrate through her ribs.

“You were so bossy,” you murmur.

“You were such a crybaby.”

You snort. “You liked it. Because then you could save the day. ”

“I did,” she admits. “Still do.”

That part settles weird in your stomach. It shouldn’t, but it does. There’s always something about the way she says things. She says things as if she knows you better than you know yourself. And maybe she does.

You shift against her, suddenly warm all over. Her arm tightens instinctively.

"Don't go," she says quickly, like your movement threatened to end this.

“I wasn’t.”

“Okay. Good.”

There’s a pause.

“I miss it, you know?” she adds after a while. “The old days. When you needed me more.”

“I still need you,” you admit before you can stop yourself. “I just… I don’t know how to need you the same way anymore.”

Her hand stills against your hair. Then: “I’ll take whatever way you can.”

Your breath hitches.

You close your eyes. You don’t say ‘me too’. You don’t say ‘please stay’. You don’t say ‘I’m scared of what happens if I want this more than I should’.

Instead, you listen to her heartbeat and the rain starting against the windows.

“You didn’t eat much today,” she says eventually, quietly. “Can I bring you something? I made miso and eggs.”

“I’m okay.”

“You sure?”

You nod against her chest. “Just tired.”

She hums. “Then rest.”

And you do. Not because she said so, but because you feel like you can.

☆☆☆☆

You wake up in your bed, a sharp pain in your abdomen, and groan. Not this… that would explain why you felt so mushy.

You press your palm into your belly and curl toward the wall. Everything feels slow, like you’re stuck underwater. You close your eyes and try to breathe through it, but another cramp rolls through, sharp and hot, and you groan again, quieter.

You don’t remember falling asleep here. You don’t remember Caleb leaving the couch.

But then, there’s a knock. Softer than before.

You don’t answer.

The door creaks open anyway. You don’t even have the energy to scold her.

“I heard you,” she says.

You open your eyes a crack to see her silhouette against the doorway. Her voice is low, careful. “Bad?”

You nod without speaking. She takes that as an invitation.

She crosses the room, kneels beside the bed, reaches to brush a piece of hair from your face. Her hand lingers on your cheek longer than it needs to.

"Can I help you?" she asks softly. “Lay with you?”

You hesitate. Only for a moment. Then nod again.

She moves with a kind of military precision. Gentle, but sure. Caleb always does things like she’s been practicing them. Maybe she has.

She lifts the blanket, lifts your hips oh-so-carefully to lay a towel you didn't notice she had under you. Then she slides in behind you. Her arms wrap around you immediately, warmth locking in. You let her. You don't know why, except that it feels like the safest place in the world. Like when you were younger.

Her hand drifts to your lower belly, warm palm over the ache. “Here?”

You hum.

She starts to rub slow, firm circles with the heel of her hand. She’s done this before. She always knew how to touch you, even when you didn’t know how to ask. The massage is gentle at first, then deeper. The tension in your muscles starts to uncoil, just slightly.

“You should’ve told me,” she murmurs. “I would’ve made ginger tea. Or held you sooner.”

“You already do too much,” you whisper, eyes fluttering shut.

“You let me,” she says, and leans in to kiss your bare shoulder.

You tense.

Then you don't. You relax into her.

Her lips linger for a second too long. She doesn’t apologize.

Her voice is right at your ear now. “Let me stay, pips. For real this time.”

You can’t answer. You don’t know how to tell her no, and you’re not even sure you want to.

Caleb's hand strokes down your side now, steady, soothing. Her breath at your nape. You hear the quiet, obsessive love in her every movement. The kind that watched you grow. The kind that never moved on.

"You said no one else could have me," she says after a beat, the words barely above a whisper. “You remember that?”

You do.

You remember everything.

But you pretend to be asleep.

Even as she tucks you closer, whispering:

“I still belong to you, mei mei.”

You're not asleep, but if pretending means you don’t have to answer yet, you’ll pretend until your lungs give out.

Caleb doesn’t move.

She breathes against the back of your neck like she's syncing to your rhythm on purpose, like she wants to keep time inside your body. The way she used to when you'd cry too hard to speak and she'd count your inhales with her fingers on your back.

She thinks you’re asleep. Maybe she wants you to be.

"You're still so small," she murmurs, more to herself than you. Her hand doesn’t move from your belly. "You always looked like this. Fragile. But I know better. I know how strong you are."

A pause. Her voice lowers, darker, mixed with something:

"But when you let me take care of you, you go soft again. Just for me."

Your heart stutters.

You should move. Say something. Break the silence.

Instead, your fingers curl in the blanket.

Caleb shifts. Barely, but you feel her everywhere. Her nose skims your shoulder. Another kiss, featherlight this time, just beneath your ear.

"I don’t want anyone else to see you like this," she says. "You understand?"

There’s no threat or anger in her tone. Only quiet sincerity. That makes it worse. Better. You can't be sure.

She presses her hand more firmly against your abdomen, and you breathe out, a little shudder in your chest you can’t help.

She notices.

"Shh," she coos, hand returning to soft strokes. "I know. Hurts. I’ll make it better."

You don’t stop her.

You don’t quite want to stop anything. You start to question how much you'd let her get away with.

☆☆☆☆☆

It’s been three weeks.

You stopped asking when she was going home sometime last week, right around the time she stopped pretending the couch was hers.

There was no announcement. No big conversation. Just one night where she yawned big and loud, stretched her arms over her head and said, “Ugh, I’m too tall for that couch, I think I bruised my spine,” then flopped beside you like it had always been the plan. Her bicep was your pillow. She offered it like an apology.

The next night, she didn’t even make a show of it. She climbed into bed like it was muscle memory, like she belonged there.

And… well, you didn’t stop her.

Now, it’s routine. She makes breakfast. Teas for both of you. Hers black tea, yours ginger and sweetened with honey, sprinkles of cinnamon. Does your laundry without asking, folds your underwear too neatly. Shrugs when you say that you can't find certain pairs.

She hums when she brushes your hair. Touches your lower back when she passes behind you in the kitchen. She buys your favorite snacks without being told.

You’re used to her presence now, but it’s dangerous how easy it is.

Tonight, as you eat in silence, you finally ask: “When do you have to report back?”

Caleb blinks. Then freezes. Then sets her spoon down with too much care.

“...So. Funny story.”

You raise an eyebrow.

She clears her throat. “My official leave is… four months.”

You blink.

“What?”

“Yeah,” she rubs the back of her neck. “Technically I said I needed the time for, um, family medical leave. I might’ve heavily implied that someone was sick?”

You stare at her.

“Caleb. You lied to your commanding officer? That could get you discharged!!”

She winces. “I know! panicked! I didn’t know how to ask for time without making it a whole thing. I just… wanted to be around. You know, in case you needed me. I couldn't risk it being denied or not being long enough.”

You don’t know what to say.

She fidgets with the hem of her shorts. “I can find another place if it’s weird. I just… I didn’t want you to be alone.”

You don’t tell her to leave.

☆☆☆☆☆

That night, you wake up from a dream you’d never say out loud.

Caleb’s breath is soft and even next to you. Her arm’s thrown across your waist, and you can still feel the press of her thigh near yours. You’re too warm. Too… tense.

You slip out of bed as quietly as you can. Your heart is still thudding from the dream—something about her mouth, her hands, the way she said your name.

You lock the bathroom door. The water runs hot. You sit on the edge of the tub for a moment, trying to will it away. Then you give in.

It’s not fast, not frantic. Just quiet, soft gasps as you bite into the back of your hand. You think about her hands. Her voice. The way she looks at you when she thinks you’re not watching. You come quicker than expected, thighs trembling.

You breathe heavy through the after feeling, still flushed when you step out.

Towel in hand, you hear the buzz of your phone.

A message.

are you trying to make me insane with those sounds?

let me help next time. ♡ <<(≡・x・≡)>> ¿?

Your stomach drops.

Another ping.

(jk just teasing you dw) (^з^)-☆

pls don't stay up too late you'll feel sick in the morning >:/

You stay in the shower freaking out and putting back on your pajamas. Glaring at the panties you were wearing in your bed like it was their fault before tossing them into the laundry basket.

When you leave the bathroom and head back to the bedroom, you stand frozen in the doorway, heat rushing to your ears. She's still in bed. The blankets barely rumpled. Her eyes are closed.

You don’t know if she’s asleep.

You don’t know if she was really teasing.

And you don’t know if you want her to be. But you climb into bed, leaving enough space so the two of you don't touch. And you close your eyes tight. Fuck.

| 📖 pt 2 -> here

#fem!caleb #fem caleb #fem caleb au #love and deepspace fanfiction #love and deepspace #tobi likes that nerdy dork #ESPECIALLY WHEN TURNED INTO A WOMAN

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incoming-spacesquid · 5 days ago

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HI I LOVE THEM BOTH OKAY BYE

meet my oc’s ♡

I spend a lot of my time drawing/yapping about them so I might as well tell you about them!

miss blue greene

description: 5’5, light brown hair, green eyes

pairing: Zayne!!, Caleb

song for her ship: Zayne - sweet nothing // Taylor swift, Caleb - loml // Taylor swift

other: blue is my ray of sunshine, sweetie honey, just wants the best for everyone. she is who I draw the most I would say! She is the one on my main account where I pull most from so you will see me talk about her with all the boys from time to time but her main focus is Dr. Zaynie <3 (even tho I draw her with Caleb A LOT)

miss hibiscus fuentes-garcia

description: 5’7, deep purple/burgundy hair that’s usually always in her face, lavender grey eyes but in lads they are more of a silver gold

pairing: lumiere Xavier

song for her ship: Two Slow Dancers - Mitski

other: where blue is my sunshine, Hibi is the storm. She is the hare to Xavier’s bunny, the unsettling presence in the room though she means you no harm. Hibi is the same as the regular mc from lads except she has a cloakin/invisibilty evol as well. I love to say that she had a lumiere obsession as a younger girl (Caleb hated it) but eventually grew out of it. (kinda)

#oc info #lads mc #love and deepspace #LOVE EM BOTH #LETS GOOOO #my friend makes great folks that are amazing #tobi supporting friends #tobi is totally not bias shush

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incoming-spacesquid · 5 days ago

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drowsy 🪼

— (rafayel)

my baby my babyyyy or however it goes

#lads rafayel #rafayel love and deepspace #lads #maaaan this so pretty #god damn pretty ass mermaid man #art #tobi likes the fish man

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incoming-spacesquid · 5 days ago

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maaan im a sucker for a werewolf story

mated for life

werewolf!caleb x fem!reader

⭑.ᐟ 1k follower special

summary: tonight is a blood moon, the night when werewolves mate for life. back in your tiny town on break from college, you don't suspect anything to happen. but when the moon's mysterious glow draws you deep into the forest, you're in for a sharp-clawed treat.

contains: nsfw, smut, monsterfucking, knotting, unprotected sex (don't be like them!), p in v, oral (f!receiving), lowk primal kink, lowk dubcon (not really), about 8 pages of plot before porn (promise it's worth it), blood and biting, lowk yandere caleb, implied rutting, your bestie is a masc lesbian (and a werewolf), your dad died, caleb is also a mechanic, omegaverse-werewolf au fusion, sex on camera, 9.2k words

The buttery scent of pancakes wafts through the small house, luring you downstairs to the kitchen. Waltzing in, your mom is at the stove, flipping breakfast.

“Morning, Mom,” you say from behind her.

Turning around, she smiles at you warmly and responds, “Good morning, darling.” You set your tote bag down on the island bench.

“Need any help?” You offer.

She shakes her head and insists, “All good, baby. Take a seat. Breakfast will be ready soon.” Obedient, you pull out one of the bench’s stools, the legs scraping against the tiled floor. The sound makes you wince and sends chills spiralling throughout your system.

Sitting down, you prop your phone against the fruit bowl, turn on the camera, and start fixing your hair. But it refuses to be tamed. Ponytail, pigtails, half-up half-down, and you still look like you did when you were six. Grumbling, you decide on a low tail. Rat, it is today.

“Did you have a good sleep, love bug?” Your mother asks while plating the pancakes.

“Yeah, it was alright,” you say lazily while locking your phone and slipping it in your back pocket; the final syllable gets caught in a yawn. With a melodic chuckle, she sets down the steaming pancakes in front of you. They’re all funny-shaped, golden-brown and slathered in butter, making your cholesterol levels screech in terror. You’ve been so good lately, but a little treat won’t hurt, right?

The maple syrup clinks against the marble bench, alongside freshly cut strawberries and cookies and cream ice cream.

“Mom!” You exclaim as she dumps a spoonful of the cold creamy goodness on your plate.

“What?” She laughs. “You love ice cream and pancakes.”

“Mom,” you sigh. “You know, having this much sugar in the morning isn’t good for you. What if I crash out by midday?”

Filling the seat beside you and scooping out some ice cream for herself, she counters, “Consider it as your motivation for today.”

You grumble, “Fine,” while grabbing a handful of strawberry slices and dumping them on your pancakes; you’re confident they’ll make up for your lack of dietary discipline.

Your Mom has a mega sweet tooth. Always has and always will. She used to make you a breakfast like this almost every weekend when you were a kid. But as the years passed, life got busy, and so did she. The last time she went all out for you like this must have been a year ago, just before Dad died.

Ah, the ol’ man. You miss him. Not a day goes by that you don’t think of him, with his eccentric ways and big heart. You were always a daddy’s girl growing up. Every night, he would tell you a bedtime story. But instead of a fictional tale about glamorous princesses and heroic knights, he would tell you myths about werewolves.

But aren’t werewolves fictional? Your Dad sure didn’t think so. They were his life’s work. That’s why he moved here anyway, to your tiny town surrounded by dense woodland. He believed that they lurked amongst the townspeople and investigated several werewolf sightings and suspected activities during his career.

When he died, he left all of his precious journals and unfinished articles to you. He taught you everything you know about a supernatural entity you’re uncertain even exists. Mother says that Dad got too close to the source and was silenced, but you don’t believe that. It’s all some hokey-pokey bullshit to justify the death of a good man.

Mourning his loss brought you and Mom together, but it also tore you apart. And with the significance of tonight, the hairs on the back of your neck are standing up.

Her fork clinks against her plate as she says earnestly, “I want you to be careful when you go into town, alright? And especially when you come back tonight.”

“Mom, it’s just a blood moon,” you huff.

“Exactly. After your Dad died—”

“I know, I know. You can’t lose me. I can’t lose you either, okay?” You sigh, glancing over at her grim face. She stares at you, assessing the weight of your words before returning to her half-eaten pancakes. You do the same, gobbling them up, otherwise you’ll be late for your hangout.

Today, you’re seeing your best friend, Gwen, to get some footage for your film project due at the end of the summer holidays. You’re a year into your degree and have decided to take media production as a free elective this semester. And oh boy, what a mistake that was.

Don’t get me wrong, film-making, podcasting, and photography are cool. But you would rather have a thesis paper due then spend your time off filming shit and compiling it into a short piece.

Your theme is: the sublimity of the mundane. Not an enthralling choice, but you were not about to pick The cyclical nature of existence or The futility of infatuation. That second one, though, you could talk about. A little too much for your liking.

Licking your lips, you stand up and carry your plate to the sink. After quickly washing your hands and fixing your outfit, you grab your bag and run to the door.

“Bye, Mom!” You call as you lock the front door before hopping into your car and reversing out of the driveway.

You and Gwen meet at the heart of the town: the moon statue. The copper and bronze have long since oxidised, turning the monument a deep green. It’s a sight to behold, a wolf howling at the full moon. Pulling out your compact camera, you hit record and tape an eye-level shot of the statue. It’s mundane enough, right? Something beautiful that’s long since lost its shine. And yet, it possesses this magnetic quality.

Lowering your camera, your eyes are glued to the craters of the moon and the wolf’s curves. Unprompted, it calls to you, whispering incoherently in your ears. But you understand.

Do not turn away.

You can hear the wolf howling, its cry to the celestial body above. The pattering of paws on the soil, chasing unity as darkness consumes the land once more.

Mindlessly, you twirl the wolf pendant on your necklace between your fingers. It was given to you by your father on your 18th birthday— the age he said, when werewolves could discover their life-long mates and create everlasting bonds with them. You’d be lying if you said you’ve never thought about the guys your age in town who might be looking for their mate. And fantasised about someone specifically discovering that you’re theirs.

Your thoughts are interrupted by a poke to your shoulder. You gaze up and grin immediately.

“Gwen!” You throw yourself into her muscular arms, basking in her warmth. She giggles in your ear and hugs you tightly before drawing back.

Squeezing your upper arms, she grins, “Missed me, huh?” You shove her playfully, both of you laughing as you start walking along the main shopping strip.

“How’s college been?” She asks. You roll your eyes, making her laugh.

“Busy. But good. It’s just this assignment, you know? I’m actually cooked,” you admit.

She chuckles, “You’ll be fine, Y/n. Smartest girl I know.” You place your finger on your lips, shushing her as you narrowly avoid an elderly couple walking hand-in-hand.

“And you?” You prompt her. Gwen shrugs.

“Oh, come on! How’s your apprenticeship? How’s the shop?”

She huffs, “Same as always. Mr Ropen's car broke down last week—”

“Again?!” You ask in shock. She nods, smirking. You two veer into the local organic café.

Stepping inside, the AC blows cool air over you, providing sweet relief from the hot summer air. You whip out your camera and start recording the food display window and the staff at work.

Gwen stands behind you, sighing, “I told him to give up on it, but he’s a stubborn ol’ codger, ya know?”

You giggle, “I know.” The movement shakes the video a little, so you stop recording and slot your camera back in your pocket. You two waltz up to the counter and peruse the menu, only to order the exact same thing as always.

“A double espresso caramel frappé for me and an iced mocha for the lady,” Gwen winks at the worker on the till.

“Gwen,” you bemoan as she taps her card all cocky. The staff member doesn’t even bat an eyelash as your bestie wraps her arm around your shoulders and leads you over to the little table in the corner by the window; the one you two sit at whenever you come here.

She insists that you sit down while she attends to the drinks, walking away before you have time to protest. Sighing, you scoot closer to the little round table and gaze out the window.

The sun glints off car roofs and the jewellery of passersby. You see familiar faces, like your eighth-grade English teacher, and Gwen’s ex-girlfriend (one of them anyway), as well as unfamiliar faces. It’s been almost a year since you’ve been back here. The last time you returned, it was for your father’s funeral and to support your mother afterwards.

The cloudless sky hunts down your gloominess, vanquishing it as Gwen returns with your mocha in hand.

“Thanks, babe,” you say teasingly.

She grins across from you, “You're welcome, princess.” Taking a sip from your paper straw, you’re met with sugary bliss. You moan in pleasure, giving her twinkling eyes and paying compliments to the chef.

You two chat about life for a while: getting older, inflation, your latest obsessions. Your particularly animated speech about your latest TV show is interrupted by Gwen’s blaring ringtone.

“Sorry,” she apologises as she answers the call. On the other end, you make out that deep rumble you’ve been trying not to think about.

“Fuck off, Caleb. It’s my day off. I told you not to bother me,” your friend snaps.

The awkwardness sets in as you start looking around, attempting to give her some privacy but also yearning to hear Caleb’s voice. Pulling out your camera, you start filming your empty cups and pan to a view of the café.

All the while, Gwen spits out, “You’re not my alph— boss. You’re not my boss, Caleb, so get fucked.” Clearing your throat, you press the stop button and place your camera on the table. You prop it up and hope that the lens is focused on you before hitting record again.

“No! I don’t care if you told the client it would be done by tomorrow. I’m not coming in!” She abruptly stands up, and your eyes go wide seeing Gwen’s rapidly heaving chest. Her chair clanks on the floor, drawing the patrons’ curious eyes as she gives you a look before heading outside.

Several minutes pass before your best friend returns, and she seems positively peeved.

Plonking down in her chair (which you picked up while she was gone), she runs her hand down her face as she grumbles, “Sorry, babe. Caleb’s got a stick up his ass today. I gotta head to the shop ‘n finish up on an ignition coil change. D’you wanna come?”

“Will he be there?” You ask, nervous for her answer.

She groans, “’Course he will, fuckin’ prick.” Chuckling forcedly, you agree to accompany her to the shop.

It’s a quick walk back to your cars, and you tail her through the few streets of your small town. As Xia Automotive comes into view, you’re positive your soul has ascended. You should be thrilled to finally see him, the man you’ve had a crush on since you were 12 years old. Instead, dread pools in your tummy.

Entering the driveway, you park in the back corner. Cutting the engine, you throw your keys on the dash as you mentally prepare for what’s about to happen.

Allow me to clarify, nothing’s happened between you and Caleb.

And that’s the problem.

You’ve been in love with him for years now, but it’s always been one-sided (or so you think). Every time he’s ever acknowledged your presence (eleven times; every single one is recorded in your diary), it was in this older brother manner. And fair enough, he is a few years your senior. But you’re not a little girl anymore. You’re a young woman and you have womanly needs.

Leaving town for college wasn’t only about pursuing a career, but also about getting some breathing room from your parents and Caleb. Moving away gave you the chance to re-evaluate your feelings for him and release them. However, that wasn’t as effective as you were hoping it to be.

You’ve never met a man who rivals Caleb. To you, they merely lurk in his shadow. And it’s not just you. Much of the town’s young ladies loooooooovvve Caleb. He’s so charismatic and friendly. He has this way of making you feel like you’re the only one whenever you’re with him; it’s intoxicating. And obviously, he’s the most handsome hunk around.

There’s just one more problem: Caleb’s strictly celibate. You might be thinking, a man like that? There’s no way. But as far as you know, he’s never… been around, if you know what I mean. No dating, no girlfriends, no hook-ups, nothing. Not for a lack of admirers, but because he claims that he’s simply waiting for the right person.

Bullshit.

“Remember, Y/n. He’s gay,” you say to yourself with your eyes closed, hyping yourself up.

“He’s definitely gay. 110% gay, but in the closet. And he thinks you’re a weirdo.” You add that last part for a confidence boost. Opening your eyes, you gaze at yourself in the rearview mirror with renewed vigour.

“He’s gay,” you murmur with the finality of an affirmation.

Stepping out of your car, you walk over to the shop’s front and duck inside the garage. There are a couple of cars on hoists, while others are missing bumpers or car doors. Avoiding the myriad of tools and tyres, you find Gwen.

She’s in the cramped office, going off her nut at—

“You fuckin’ asshole!” She yells while slamming the door open. Storming over to you, she pulls you into her side and squishes your cheeks together. It’s too late to run now. Out walks Caleb. A furrow in his brow, sweat dripping down his soot-covered arms, black tank and straight cut jeans that cling to his meaty thighs.

You can’t stop your eyes from trailing over his delicious form as your bestie shouts, “Look who I was hanging out with! You interrupted our romantic date!”

Caleb scoffs, “Please, Gwen. Like you’re her type.” He folds his arms across his chest, muscles flexing as he grits his teeth (you almost drool). Those sleep-deprived eyes rest on you, drinking you in as much as you did him. You feel hot beneath his gaze, the blood rising to your cheeks despite your efforts to will it away. The last thing you want is to look like a red-faced loser in front of your crush!

Gwen almost growls, “I could be.”

“Gwen!” You squeak.

Her callused fingers press harder into your cheeks as she snickers, “Don’t forget, Caleb. We’re best friends. There’s nothing we don’t know about each other.” Leaning down, she nudges your temple with her nose, grinning widely. The sight makes the vein in Caleb’s jaw pop. He’s clenching his teeth so hard that you think for a moment you can hear them grating against each other.

“Gwen,” you whine. The sound is needy, erotic, almost. It makes Caleb’s eyes widen. Only he should be making you elicit those kinds of sounds—

“You proved your point, okay! You’re super hot!” Chuckling throatily, your best friend releases you. You stumble forward, but catch yourself quickly. The way Caleb steps closer reflexively doesn’t go unnoticed.

Gwen ruffles your hair as she beams, “Why don’t you tell Caleb about how we used to shower together?”

“Gwen!!” You shriek, certain that your face is so red you could tell people you just ran a marathon.

Caleb’s voice booms over the buzzing of drills and clattering of ratchets as he commands, “Go to your station, Gwendolyn.” Ouch.

“Tch. Whatever,” she grumbles, trudging off to a beat-up blue car nearby.

For a long moment, you avoid Caleb’s piercing gaze. He’s gay, he thinks you’re a weirdo, he’s gay, he thinks you’re a weirdo, you repeat in your mind.

You flinch as he says sternly, “Is that true?” Gazing up at him, you blink dumbly.

“What? Oh, uh, well, yeah. I mean, like, we um showered together when we were kids, yeah,” you reply sheepishly. If Caleb didn’t think you were a weirdo before this, he must think you’re one now.

He presses on with, “Just when you were kids?”

You laugh awkwardly, “Well, duh, like, we’re not… involved if that’s what you’re thinking.” Caleb nods, analysing your words while scrutinising your behaviour. How you shift uncomfortably on your feet and gnaw at your lower lip. That drives him up the wall, especially with the blood moon tonight. Finally, he huffs, his shoulders slumping and features relaxing as he draws closer to you.

He seems to be back to his usual self as he remarks, “I didn’t know you were back in town.”

“Yeah,” you mumble, rubbing your neck as you glance down at your feet.

“Miss me?” He jokes. But it’s not really a joke, neither to you nor to him.

“Of course I missed you,” you respond with a little too much sincerity. You hope it goes over his head (and unfortunately for you, it doesn’t).

Fidgeting with your wolf pendant, you say nervously, “I should, uh, let you get back to work. You seem really busy.” Caleb shakes his head, shifting even closer to you. There’s barely a hair’s breadth between your bodies now, making your heart race.

“You've been okay?” He asks, concerned. His hand raises, long fingers just touching a loose strand of your hair.

“You look a bit tired,” he states. Pulling back, you don’t miss the hurt flickering in his violet eyes.

You brush it off with, “I could say the same about you.” The crease in his brow returns as his hand drops to his side.

“What’s with the attitude?” He counters, an undercurrent of annoyance in his tone. You shake your head and avert your eyes to the office behind him. Pin board with paperwork, cluttered desk— Caleb moves to the side, blocking your view of the private room and filling it with himself instead.

You bluff, “There’s no attitude. I just don’t wanna bother you. Like, we’re not even friends, you know?”

“Can you even hear yourself right now?” He retorts, jaw tight.

Meeting his harsh gaze, you mumble, “What?”

“We’re not even friends? Is that what you think?” He reaches out and grabs your upper arm, squeezing the fat and muscle firmly in his rough palms.

“Caleb—”

“Forget it.” He lets go of you as quickly as he took hold of you and moves back, putting much-needed distance between you two.

He sighs, pissed off with himself, “I’m sorry, pips. Just had a hard day. Why don’t I order you some takeout? It’s already one.”

“Oh, no, that’s okay,” you try to convince him, waving your hands in a dismissive gesture. But it doesn’t get through as he whips out his phone and starts dialling your favourite noodle place (there’s only one in town). He orders your favourite, unprompted and recited from memory (one conversation you had when you were in ninth grade and were asking him to show you how to use chopsticks properly). Flashing you a captivating grin, he leaves you to your own devices as he resumes fitting a new car door.

You dart over to Gwen and scold her for making you two look like a couple in front of Caleb. But she doesn’t apologise. Instead, she rambles about how much of dick he is until your food arrives. The delivery driver drops it off by the front counter, and you pick it up from the receptionist.

Heading back over to your best friend, she grumbles, “How come you get to eat and I don’t?”

You giggle, “’Cause you’re working.”

“Mouthy shit.” That makes you laugh harder.

The rest of the afternoon goes by smoothly. After enjoying your takeout, you bid Gwen adieu and even stop briefly to say goodbye to Caleb and his Dad, who’s the head mechanic and owner of the shop. Next, you drive around town, stopping at all of the spots you think are worthy of being filmed for your project. You even snag a still of the sunset over the trees from a nearby lookout point.

By the time you return home, it’s dark out and you’re absolutely exhausted. Taking off your outside clothes, you flop down on your bed before groaning about showering.

The night is balmy, heat sticking to your freshly cleaned and moisturised skin as you pull on your sleep shorts and a tank top. You feel uncomfortable, suffocated, even as your ceiling fan cooks you like a chicken in a fan-forced oven.

As the sky gets even darker, the humidity shows no signs of letting up. It’s around 8pm when you decide to record an update for your short film. You turn your drawers inside out and search your day clothes anxiously for your camera. Sighing, you grab your car keys and make your way downstairs, reasoning that you must have left it in your car earlier. You slip on your slides before heading out.

Unlocking your car, it doesn’t take long to find your lost possession (it was in the glovebox). Straightening up, you lock your vehicle and start walking back to the house when you see it.

High in the sky, shimmering like a ruby… or a pearl dipped in blood. The moon, a total lunar eclipse. It takes your breath away. Magical. Your hands move on their own, pressing record and holding the camera up to capture the natural wonder gazing down upon you. It calls to you, something buried, primal.

Come closer, child.

You obey mindlessly, like an angel to God’s commands. Your feet carry you into the woods beside your house, through the shadowy shrubbery with no map. Your heart pounds in your chest, the rushing of blood deafeningly loud in your ears as you avoid trees and duck beneath branches.

Holding your camera steady, you film your journey into the wilderness. You seem to know the way; some ancient knowledge awakens and guides you to the moon. Time seems to stop as the woodland chatter surrounds you, the crickets’ croaking and occasional hoots not instilling the fear inside you that they should be.

Soon, you reach a small clearing. It’s not even a clearing, more like a small circle of unoccupied grass in the midst of thriving vegetation. You stand there, camera facing skyward as you zoom in on the celestial body above. The stars decorate the black sky, but their light is inferior to the central glowing beauty.

The animals’ buzz quietens, near silence rippling throughout your surroundings before you hear it. Twigs snapping and the violent rustling of shrubs. You have no time to react before it’s upon you.

Fur, brown fur, you make out in the dim moonlight. But such a discovery is marred by your screams as it slams into you, sending you to the ground as sharp teeth sink into your neck.

Blood, your blood, coating its muzzle as it rears back. In a frenzy, the creature bites you again and again. Its teeth carve its mark into your neck and collarbones before trailing down one arm. The woodland hum picks back up, loud but not loud enough to mask your cries of pain.

Rich, purple eyes lock on yours as it chomps on your bicep. Your very life force forms a ring around its gums and trickles down those sharp canines as it lets up.

“A-ah,” you groan, tears rolling down your cheek as it stares at you, long pink tongue lapping at your spilled blood.

It growls, like it’s defending its territory. Your sorrow obscures your vision, but make no mistake. It’s clear what creature has attacked you.

A werewolf.

Dipping its head, the wolf licks up your arm and décolletage, not letting one drop of blood go to waste. Pain throbs throughout your entire being, yet the repetitive lapping of your wounds is soothing, almost like it’s cleaning them. How considerate.

The creature paws at your tank top, sharp claws tearing it to shreds. You scream as the hot air hits your exposed skin, some of your most prized possessions on show. Your arms shoot up to your chest and cover your breasts, but the wolf doesn’t like that. It growls at you, teeth bared and red drool dripping from the corners of its mouth.

You shake your head frantically, but it doesn’t care. The werewolf nuzzles your crossed arms, eventually pushing them aside before licking your breasts. It laps at your nipples, switching from one tit to the other indecisively. You push at its broad shoulders, only to find a solid wall of muscle and soft fuzz.

“Please!” You cry out as it nips on the fat of your breast, drawing blood. Grabbing its head, you attempt to push it off, but to no avail. Those wild eyes gaze up at you, observing your every reaction.

Shifting to your other breast, it bites again, but more gently. Your breath catches in your throat, only a red mark left behind while crimson trickles down your other nipple. You wriggle beneath the werewolf’s large body, trying to escape. Noticing your efforts, the beast drops its weight onto you, keeping your legs and hips in place.

Its searing mouth closes around your small bud, and you scream, waiting for it to bite your nipple off. But instead, the werewolf rolls its tongue around it. And for a second, it almost feels… good.

In your anaemic daze, you’ve convinced yourself that this is pleasurable. Pathetic. But, as the creature sucks on your sensitive peak, a moan is torn from your throat. The sound echoes throughout the night, so breathy and desperate, you’re unsure if it was yours.

Right now, the ecstasy coursing through your veins feels pretty real.

Those razor-sharp claws scrape down the smooth skin of your tummy. The wolf is careful not to scratch you, the sensations instead adding to your growing panting and muffled whines. No longer are you pushing it off. Now, you’re pulling it closer, scratching beneath its pointed ears.

The creature pulls off your tit and shakes its head from side to side, like a dog does when it sneezes. The gesture makes you giggle a little.

All of the fear you’d been feeling is swiftly melting into liquid heat, swishing about your limbs and draining to your cunt. Again, you scratch its ears, making the werewolf purr. It’s a low, rumbling sound emanating from its chest. The hum puts you at ease while you stare into its galaxy eyes. Your body eases into the grass, and your breathing stabilises as a silly idea comes to mind.

The werewolf’s eyes are just like Caleb’s. Deep and dazzling. You’re curious what would happen if you called it his name. Would the creature know what you’re saying? How would it respond, if it responded at all? Does the creature already have a name?

It leans forward, its furry chest against your soft, bloodied one as it nuzzles your cheek. The werewolf’s purr resonates with your heart, the vibrations reverberating throughout your body. It licks your cheek, and you cup its muzzle as you laugh. Turning your head, it licks your lips.

“Did you just kiss me?” You ask it, not really expecting a response. But the wolf makes a noise, which you assume to mean ‘yes’ as it laps at your lips again.

You stroke its head, your fingers running through its mane. The wolf’s purr grows louder as it begins licking your neck again. You wince, fingertips pressing into its shoulder blades as its hot tongue makes contact with its bite marks.

Back down your body, the werewolf laps and carefully nibbles. Each time its teeth make contact with your delicate flesh, you cry out in pleasure, not pain. As the creature reaches your hips and rips off your shorts, you’ve never felt more self-conscious. Your thighs squish together, teddy bear panties not safe from the wolf’s hunger.

It grabs your knees and separates them, the power of its grasp demanding compliance. The werewolf lifts one of your legs and brings your calf to its snout. You’re expecting another cautious lap of its tongue, but instead, it bites down hard into your muscle. You scream, body recoiling, but its grip is vice-like, keeping you right there to satiate itself.

“Please stop! It hurts!” You wail, a new batch of tears welling in your eyes. It pulls off your flesh and licks the wound before travelling down to your inner thigh. There, it etches its teeth into your soft flesh again, but briefly this time. You sob as the wolf looks up at you. For a second, you think you see a crease in its brow, dissatisfaction on its face at your agony. It prods at your fat with its wet nose affectionately before reaching your most sensitive spot.

Moments pass as you stare at each other. Your heart thumps in your throat, and you wipe your eyes, but more tears come. You’re sure it didn’t mean any harm; it’s just marking what belongs to it. But still, the pain is insufferable.

The werewolf maintains eye contact as it leans down, damp nose on your cute cotton panties. It takes a whiff, pupils dilating slightly from your intoxicating scent. Shamelessly, the creature sniffs up and down your clothed cunt, nose tip pressing into the growing wet patch at your entrance.

You can’t help it! If you could, then you would, but once again, your anguish is transforming into burning desire.

The wolf licks up your panties, tasting your arousal through the flimsy fabric. Its tongue is so wet and spit spills from its mouth, ecstatic to be intimate with you; your underwear turns translucent. The werewolf is content to lap at your covered pussy for a short while… until it yearns for more.

You shudder as its claw cuts through the fabric. Pulling your ruined panties off, you gasp, your cunt bare to the creature. Your slick glistens beneath the blood moon, pussy so perfect in the glowing light. The werewolf gazes at you hungrily, eyes asking for consent. You nod, and that’s all it needs to dive in.

Your back arches as you scream, your hands flying down to grab at its long fur. The pleasure is unreal. Completely blinding, you can barely keep your eyes open as the wolf’s nose bumps your clit before it licks and sucks the little nub.

If someone told you three hours ago that you would be trusting your most private parts to a werewolf, you would have made fun of them for how insane they are. But now that you are, you wouldn’t have made any other choice. Do you belong in a mental asylum? Probably. But, do you belong here? Right now? Beneath this hungry beast devouring your cunt like it's the finest meal the creature has had in days? Absolutely.

Its tongue slips into your hole, and you swear you’re delusional. There is no way you’re not dreaming. But as your head lolls to the side, you catch a glimpse of your compact camera. That’s right! You must have dropped it when the werewolf body slammed into you.

Forcing your eyes to stay open for more than two seconds is no easy feat, but you manage to do so long enough to realise that the lens is facing you and the rather lewd undertakings you’re engaging in. Now, that’s two things you weren’t expecting to add to and cross off your bucket list. 1) Have sex with a werewolf and 2) record yourself having sex (with a werewolf). Your damn camera better be recording all of this or—

“F-fuck!” You moan, your hips bucking into the creature’s ravenous mouth. It doesn’t fatigue, too caught up in the bliss of consuming your slippery cunt.

The wolf keeps licking and sucking and fucking your hole with its tongue and repeating the entire cycle over and over until you’re screaming, “’M gonna cum! ‘M cumming!” And cum you do.

Never before have you experienced such an intense orgasm. The pleasure spasms throughout your body, making you shake on the werewolf’s tongue as you finish all over its face. It growls and groans into your fluttering pussy, licking up your juices like they’re the sweetest nectar. The wolf doesn’t stop until you’re begging it to from overstimulation.

“Please! Please, please, it’s too much,” you whimper, trying to scoot away from the beast. But it holds you steadily in place, not allowing you to move an inch away from its hungry tongue.

You cry out while pulling on its ears, “Please! Please! You’re hurting me.” The werewolf seems to sober up. It draws back, muzzle soaked in your slick and glancing up at you. You shiver as its tongue, the tongue that was just inside of you, darts across its snout to clean itself up.

The creature climbs back up your body, taking a moment to suck on your tits before nuzzling your jaw tenderly. You pat its head and scratch its ears lightly as a reward.

“That felt really good,” you pant, your noses bumping together. Its chest heaves, sticky-warm exhales fanning across your face. That heavenly tongue licks your lips, effectively distracting you from its paw pumping its canine cock. The other grabs at your thighs and hooks one leg over its hip. Your spine curves as a guttural moan is torn from your throat at the sensation of his tip running up your slit.

Wrapping one arm around its shoulders, you gaze down, your forehead bopping its snout. You can make out its girthy cock in the shadows, and promptly realise that the werewolf is not an ‘it’ but a ‘him’. He circles your swollen clit with his angular tip, making you whimper at the sensitivity. It’s painful, but addictive at the same time.

Lying back, you cup the creature’s face with your free hand and murmur, “I want this. I want you. Please.” You cry out as his head pushes inside your tight hole. He growls, the sound carnal as he slides further in. You can feel every vein and ridge rubbing against your gummy walls. The way his cock slims and then curves out takes you by surprise. Your moans are uncontrollable as you reach the fattest part, and then it tapers toward the base.

The werewolf nuzzles your temple with his nose, just like your friend did to you earlier today. Her affection was innocent, but his was claiming. It's a gentle gesture, but with how his cock keeps sliding in, it feels like he’s conquering your body and soul.

Bottoming out is a blessing, because if he was any longer, you would have been severely fucked. But oops, you’re still going to be. And you realise as much when he starts rutting into you. No buildup to the main event, he’s fucking you at a brutal pace with considerably brutal force. His hips force every breath out of your lungs. He pummels you into the grass, fucking you so hard you could dig yourselves into a hole.

Those twilight eyes stare at you, and the werewolf groans, “Sorry.” It’s barely comprehensible, the syllables slurred and rough, like it got stuck in his throat on the way out. But you understand just fine.

The squelching of your sex rings throughout the night, joining the choir of chirps and buzzing from all around you. Natural, that’s what this feels like.

Between your incoherent whines and moans, you register that not only are you fucking a werewolf, you’re fucking a werewolf during a blood moon. Meaning, you’re not only fucking, but you’re mating, for life. However, the werewolf is no stranger. He’s familiar and as warm as you always hoped he would be.

You gasp, “Caleb!” after a particularly rough thrust. Those violets widen, and he stops, his jaw slackening as he stares at you like a mad woman. Moaning, you wiggle your hips, desperate and proud of it for his cock. He shakes his head and licks your lips; a loving kiss.

You mewl, “Caleb, it’s okay. I… I want you to keep going.” He gazes at you for another moment, his cock throbbing inside your snug cunt. You moan, feeling his pre dripping into you.

“Please,” you whine. He drops his head and rests it in the bitten crook of your neck before resuming his back-breaking thrusts. Your legs tighten around his hips, ankle digging into the dimples above his ass to keep most of his length inside.

He grunts against your skin, claws digging into the ground beside your head and tearing up the shrubs. You’re sweating, his body insulating yours and making your skin all sticky. Your fingers tug at his soft brown fur, anchoring yourself to this plane of existence as your release nears. His pelvis knocks your clit, making you jolt in pleasure.

“Please, Caleb! Right there, baby,” you whimper, your body starting to shake from exertion and blood loss. He lifts up, one hand snaking down between your bodies to circle your needy bud. Even if Caleb can’t fuck you gently right now, he remains careful when rubbing your clit, ensuring his claws don’t snag on your delicate folds. It only takes a few more tight circles until you’re falling over the edge into sweet oblivion.

Screams and cries of pleasure pour forth from your pink lips, unrecognisable as yours but distinctively erotic. And as soon as you’re cumming, Caleb’s cumming, too.

His knot swells rapidly, locking your bodies together as he spills bucket loads of white hot release into you. It fills your womb, making it impossible for you not to get pregnant (or at least he hopes so). Growls rip out of his chest, interjecting a residual purr.

The moon bears witness to the consummation of your mate bond, sealing it in blood and cum (what a mix). The hot air sears your damp skin. You’re burning up beneath Caleb as he collapses on top of you, muscular arms tight around your smaller frame. His heart beats as rapidly as yours, together, in sync. It keeps you tethered through the ecstasy-induced delirium.

Your injuries are catching up to you. It’s clear like the obsidian sky above as Caleb feels your hold on him weakening. Driven by his own insatiable hunger, he wants to go again and again until sunrise. But you’re losing consciousness. And he can’t talk right now. So he chooses the next best option and licks your cheek.

You giggle quietly, the sound airy and concerning. He draws back, paws on either side of your face as he gazes at you worriedly. You’ve got this blissed out smile on your lips as you encircle his wrist with your fingers. His cock twitches inside of you, making you moan softly.

“I love you,” you sigh, your eyes closing from exhaustion. Oh, how he wishes he could return your words! But he can’t, not on a night like this, when his animal instincts are at an all-time high.

The last thing you hear is a hushed whimper from your werewolf. It pulls on your heartstrings, sparking a yearning within to kiss his pain better. Feeling heavy, you drift off into a dreamless slumber.

…˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚…

Warmth. Your hand is warm. No, your hand is hot; it’s **the rest of your body that is warm. The ground beneath you is soft, moulding to your curves, like a mattress. Birds chirp in the distance, and a pillow cushions your head. Your pillow, you can tell by the silk case.

Groaning, you roll onto your back; whatever was keeping your hand blazingly hot is absent now. There’s a dull ache spreading throughout your body, throbbing like you got hit by a truck. Or worse.

Memories of last night fill your mind. Fragments of the blood moon and the werewolf attacking you surface and morph into desperate, forbidden sex. It-it couldn’t be real. You’re in complete denial, despite the pain you’re in. Because there’s just no way you fucked a werewolf. AND there is certainly no way you fucked a werewolf who you thought was Caleb.

Fluttering your eyes open, you sincerely hope that all of that was a dream. But as you try to sit up, reality crashes down upon you.

“No, don’t move.” You groan in confusion as you’re gently pushed back down on the bed by your shoulders, a swathe of brown hair clouding your vision.

“Caleb,” you croak out. He cringes at how hoarse you sound. Pulling back slightly, you two stare at each other. His tired eyes swim with anguish and concern, while you’re certain yours are filled with confusion.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he murmurs, “How’re you feeling, pips?”

“Sore,” you admit. He nods, guilt weighing on his conscience. Leaning over, he grabs a cup of water from your nightstand and helps prop you up enough to drink it. The crystal liquid is cool; it soothes your parched vocal cords and replenishes some of your strength. He sets the cup down as you lie back and glance around your room. It looks exactly how it did when you left last night.

You ask confused, “What happened last night? Why’re you here?” Panic flickers across Caleb’s handsome face, but it’s long gone before you can mention it.

He clears his throat before answering with a question of his own, “How much do you remember?”

You laugh dryly, averting your eyes to the fluffy blankets covering your body, “Too much.”

Caleb commands you, “Tell me.” Your brow creases as you try to sit upright again, but he holds you down once more.

“Can’t you tell me like this?” His tone isn’t as harsh this time. You sigh, giving up on your futile attempt at autonomy. With one hand, you lift the cosy blanket just enough to see the bandages peeking out of your haphazardly thrown-on night gown. Last night really did happen then, huh?

“I, uh, got lost,” you say, avoiding his gaze.

Caleb scoffs, “You got lost?”

You grumble, “What’s it to you? And you didn’t even answer my initial question. Why are you here?” Side-eyeing him, you catch how he rolls his eyes and his shoulders tense up.

He sighs, “Are you always this stubborn?”

“Caleb,” you groan. You two have never fought before. There’s never been a cause to, unless you count the disagreement you had at the shop yesterday. But even this didn’t feel like a fight, more like you two dodging around something you both remember. But there’s no way he knows what you were up to. Or should I say who? That couldn’t have been him, could it?

The werewolf had responded fondly to the name, but… But what?

Recalling your mantra (he thinks you’re a weirdo), you gather up the confidence to ask, “Was that really you last night?” You two gaze at each other for a long moment, assessing whether to come out and say it or continue beating around the bush.

He gulps, “So you remember then? What happened between us?” You nod, rendered speechless as you process the very real fact that 1) Caleb is a werewolf and 2) you’re mated to him for life.

Before he can say anything else, you chime in, “But I don’t understand. Why did you bite me? Why did you… do that with me?” He shakes his head, elbows on his knees, as he looks away to compose himself. His father is going to skin him alive once he finds out what Caleb did with you last night. But it’s worth it, because now, Caleb’s golden girl belongs to him.

“You’re my mate, always have been,” he finally shrugs, still averting his eyes to the ‘bewitching’ carpet. A quiet descends upon the room as you wait for him to continue, but Caleb is hellbent on doing literally anything else.

You ask, “How long have you known?”

He chuckles, but there’s no real joy behind it, “I’ve always had a feeling, but I didn’t know until you turned 18.” Meeting your eyes again, he explains, “Both mates have to be 18 before the bond is recognised. It protects both parties in situations like ours.”

“Oh,” you mumble. But then—

“Why didn’t you say anything?” You frown.

“Say anything?!” Caleb echoes. “What was I supposed to say? ‘Hey honey, by the way, I’m a werewolf and we’re destined for each other’?”

“That’s not what I mean,” you mutter while shaking your head. “You could have gotten closer to me. Texted me or something to make it more reasonable.”

“Reasonable?! What? Is our bond not reasonable to you?” He counters angrily. He’s never acted like this with you before.

Your voice is small as you say, “It’s so sudden. I didn’t expect you to reciprocate my feelings, is all. You could have clued me in earlier, is what I’m trying to say.” Seeing the way you shrink into your blankets, his heart pangs. All of his frustration dissipates as he turns to face you, one hand reaching out to rest over your heart beneath the covers.

“I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to scare you. I just… It’s just hard for me to control my emotions right now, okay?” He stares at you with puppy eyes, seconds away from getting down on his knees to beg for your forgiveness.

He continues in the same sorrowful tone, “But that’s not an excuse, I know. You’re right, I should have been more direct with you when I found out.”

“Why didn’t you? I mean, surely, you must know how I feel about you?” You pout. Caleb shifts closer, his hand on your chest now holding your cheek.

He explains, “I didn’t want to intrude on your life. You had so much going on at the time, with your Dad passing away and heading off to college.”

You accuse him, “So you let me suffer alone?”

“No! That’s not— Pipsqueak, I would never. You had Gwen. Throw me into the mix and it would have been too much.” Caleb’s breathing shallows, his heart thumping heavily in his chest.

He reassures you, “But I was always around, honey. Almost every night when you were still here, I was watching over you.” That seems to have the opposite effect of calming.

“You were watching me?!” You exclaim.

Caleb groans, hyper-aware of the hole he’s digging himself into, “No! Well, yes, but it was for your own safety.” More like for soothing his anxiety, but close enough, right? You stare at him, unsure of how to proceed with this new information.

“That’s how your father got into trouble,” he says earnestly.

“What? What does any of this have to do with my Dad?” You ask, pitch rising as your nerves do.

Shit! Caleb’s always been so good at concealing things, but now that you’re here, he’s incredibly awful at it.

He rubs the back of his neck with his free hand as he starts explaining, “He knew I was watching you. I knew he knew. And when I didn’t show on the blood moon, he came looking for me—” He stops abruptly, contemplating whether to continue telling this story.

You wrap your fingers around his wrist, just like you did last night, while gazing at him with serious eyes.

You say sombrely, “Please. If you know what happened to him, then please tell me.”

Your mate sighs, “Pips—”

“Please, Caleb! Please,” you insist.

His Adam’s apple bobs before he leans back and continues, “We were partway through a ritual when he stumbled upon us. I tried to reason with the elders, but they wouldn’t listen. The rumours surrounding our town are bad enough. If anyone found out about what we are, you can imagine the kind of damage it could do.”

“And, so you killed him,” you conclude, a lump forming in your throat.

Caleb’s eyes widen as he exclaims, “No! I mean, I didn’t kill him, no.”

“But, the elders. They decided his fate,” you choke out, tears bubbling along your waterline.

His shoulders slump as he murmurs, “Your dad was unshakeable once he got a lead, you know that, pips. If the elders didn’t do something, our secret would have been out by dawn. I don’t support their decision, but it’s justifiable.” You can’t hold back your cries any longer. They spew forth, ugly and burning hot.

“Honey,” your mate coos. He shifts forward, lying down beside you and embracing you tightly. You want to push him away, be angry at him for something, anything! But all you crave is his strong arms and broad chest as you mourn. It hurts, moving around, but you don’t care. It’s nothing compared to the pain your father must have felt in his final moments. To be killed by what he loved the most: werewolves.

And you’re mated to one of all things.

You sob, “A-are you goin-going to kil-kill me, too?”

Caleb shakes his head and mumbles in your matted hair, “’Course not, pips. You’re my mate.”

“How-how is t-that any dif-different?” You cry, but you already know the answer. Your Dad taught you just how sacred a werewolf’s mate is to them.

“You know just how different it is,” he remarks quietly. Drawing back, Caleb cups the back of your head and turns you to face him.

Staring into your bleary eyes, he says tenderly, “We’re going to be together forever. And as much as I’d like to keep secrets from you, I won’t be able to anymore.” Leaning forward, he kisses your forehead. The sensation of his lips on your skin calms you like no deep breathing ever has. It’s almost instant, the slowing of your cries into sniffles. You bury your face in his chest, basking in his woodsy-car grease scent, and was that a hint of—

“Apples?” You mumble, tears dripping onto your lips. Your mate gazes down at you, concerned.

“What was that, pips?”

“Apples,” you repeat. “You smell like apples.” A lazy grin spreads across his lips, and he tugs you even closer. You melt into his heat and security, confident that it was him holding your hand while you were sleeping.

After a few minutes, you’re feeling much better. The pain surrounding your father’s death is still very much there; it was an unfortunate situation no one wins in. But you feel capable of dealing with it.

Shifting in his arms, you tilt your head back and ask, “Where’s Mom?”

“I told her I’d take care of you, so she went to work,” he responds. Inching closer, he brushes his nose against yours. But it’s not all wet like last time. It's notably dry, and the gesture is soothing.

“Pips,” he almost whispers.

“Mhmm,” you hum, closing your eyes and just enjoying the feeling of being so intimate with someone you’ve had heart eyes for, for a long time.

“I’m sorry that I didn’t give you a choice last night. So I’m going to give you one now,” he says sincerely. You open your eyes and stare back at him, taking note of the anxiety pooling in his sunset eyes.

“Do you accept me as your mate?” The question hangs in the air for a few seconds. You don’t even need to think about your answer, but you wait momentarily to build suspense.

Giggling at the slight furrow in his brow, you nod, “I’ll always accept you, Caleb. Werewolf and all.” He almost tears up at your sweet words. That’s all he’s ever wanted to hear.

Unable to contain himself, your mate captures your unsuspecting lips in his. You squeal into his mouth as your eyes rival the size of saucers. It only takes a moment before you’re melting into his kiss, your hands tangling in his dishevelled locks while his bunch up the thin fabric covering your body. Lust poisons your veins, tempting you to take something so innocent further.

Angling your head, Caleb’s tongue slips between your parted lips and tastes every corner of your mouth. You return the favour, sucking on his tongue which makes him moan. Smirking, you break apart to catch your breath. Lips still brushing, spit connecting them in needy ropes, your exhale becomes his inhale and vice versa.

“Caleb,” you whine. In his embrace, your physical pain from last night is practically gone. Your thighs press together, the space between them craving to be filled with him.

He chuckles, “Up for round two already, honey?” You nod, oblivious to the logical side of you screaming about how you should be resting and taking it easy right now. It’s as if Caleb hears your raging thoughts because he just shakes his head and pulls you into his chest again.

“Maybe later, baby. When you’re all better,” he murmurs.

You grumble, “Seriously?” Your hand snakes down his body, so close to what you need most, when he grabs your wrist and tugs it up to his lips.

Leaving a searing kiss there, he mumbles into the flesh, “Don’t tempt me, pips. You need to rest.”

“Fine,” you groan, shifting to get comfortable in his grasp.

There’s a certain domesticity to this all, lying in the arms of your lover in the morning, traipsing along the edge of one more minute and it’s time to get up. It’s almost cinematic. Your camera!

Jolting up, you gaze over Caleb’s right-angled shoulders at your bedside table. And there it sits, your compact camera winking at you mischievously.

“You brought it with you?!” You exclaim, pointing to it. Your mate grumbles as he rolls over.

“That? Yeah, of course I did. You didn’t want me to leave our sex tape in the woods, did you?” He grins. You shove him cheekily, laughing as he gives you a pointed look.

You clarify, “So then, it was actually recording?” He nods, one hand trailing up your non-bandaged arm.

“Did you watch the footage?” You ask, your face reddening at the thought. Again, Caleb nods.

“I had a look after I bandaged you up.” His finger strokes your flushed cheeks, his cocky smile infuriating and embarrassing you at the same time. Huffing, you lie back down, but this time, you curl into his side while he shifts onto his back. With one beefy arm around your shoulders, your mate holds you tight. Your ear is pressed to his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

His voice is serious when he murmurs, “I didn’t get to tell you last night, but I love you. I love you with everything I have, pips. You’re irreplaceable to me.” Sighing into him, you tighten your grip on his black tank.

Quietly, you return his sentiment with, “I love you, too, Caleb.”

masterlist

1k special main menu

star girl's final words: thank you so much to everyone who voted! and thank you to every single one of my followers!!! you are all incredibly special to me and i appreciate all of your ongoing support. i hope you enjoyed this fic!

special thank you to my amazing mooties (few but overwhelmingly special to me): @bloomness, @cielito--lindo, @heartyluv, @starryeyed-apple, @tragicvictoriantears, @cuntphoric-main

#caleb x reader #lads caleb #love and deepspace #lads and werewolves its like a trap set for me #part-time caleb girlie (im kidding i love him i promise)

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incoming-spacesquid · 5 days ago

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can not ignore the art of this masterpiece

ZYANE APPRECIATIONNNNNNN😫🫶

#lads zayne #love and deepspace #that homie got a bangin nose man #zayne girlie in spirit only cause my wallet can only handle 3 T^T

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incoming-spacesquid · 5 days ago

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everything you need

summary: Due to your period pain, you have to cancel a date with Xavier. He stays by your side and comforts you throughout it.

★pairing: Xavier x Reader ★wc: 2.8k ★content: Reader has menstrual cycles (no mention of gender), description of periods (cramps, nausea, brief mentions of blood, taking medication for pain/nausea). Hurt/comfort, very soft, teeny bit of angst. Xavier takes care of Reader during their period, is generally supportive and the sweetest boyfriend. Xavier calls Reader Starlight, sweetheart, baby. Xavier's phone nickname is bunbun bf. References to Horizon’s Pulse. ★a/n: I finally played Horizon’s Pulse and cried. And then I wanted to write my first Xavier fic as a little follow-up to it, but it turned into a totally self-indulgent period comfort fic? But I love it, and hope it's comforting to others too <3 (I haven't played Feverish Attempts yet, so there's no spoilers for that in here) masterlist ★ read on ao3

Periods had always knocked you the fuck out.

It was something you had to gently make Xavier aware of once your relationship really progressed into something serious. Something that meant nights spent at each other’s place, which could bring with it issues if his apartment wasn't well-stocked for your monthly needs.

He hadn’t even blinked when you first brought it up. He only asked you what types of products you preferred, nodding intently when you listed off your favorite brands along with the other necessities—painkillers (most of his were unopened and expired, as he neglected his occasional injures and “never got sick”) and a heating pad (again, old, as in it's like he’s had the thing for decades old, just like the one Gran had back home).

“I can get bad cramps,” you reply, a bit awkwardly as you notice his brows furrow, light eyelashes fluttering with a look of concern. You weren’t embarrassed—you just didn’t want to worry him. You were used to it, but he wasn’t. “Like, really bad. Back in high school I’d miss classes, or full days. All I could do was lie down in the bathroom until it passed.”

“Does it still get that bad?” His voice is soft, his eyes pained. There’s something that flashes through them too quick, but the only evidence of the fleeting, haunted expression is how he reaches for your hand and holds on tight.

You hesitate. “Sometimes.”

He stares down at your hand in his, tracing his thumb down over your veins. It rubs over your pulse point, and he’s so quiet for a moment, you wonder if he’s counting the beats.

Why, though, you’re not sure.

“I won’t die from cramps, Xavier,” you laugh, and his face pinches again, turning downwards until all you can see is his fluffy hair.

He presses a kiss to where your heart races underneath his lips, then peers up at you through his long, elegant lashes. You stroke your free hand over his cheek, gazing into those pools of serene blue. He nuzzles into your hand, getting as lost in you.

“Promise?” he mumbles quietly, and you fail to stifle a snort at his cuteness.

“Mhm.” You nod, giggling again at his petulant pout towards your noncommittal answer. “Promise.”

He walks to your favorite convenience store a few blocks away that night, picking out all the things you’d listed, and more. There’s electrolyte drinks and little cookies, and three heating pads in the bags he brings back. They all have different cloths and settings, and he insists you try out each to decide which one helps best.

A couple mornings later is when the cramps hit. It’s a lighter period, pain and flow wise, and you’re grateful he doesn’t have to see it so bad that first time.

Xavier wasn’t exactly the type to hover—even if he got clingy, he knew you were capable. But maybe that was the reason why your menstrual cycle always seemed to stress him out a bit. He just didn’t seem to like the idea of your own body taking you out of commission.

Curled around your favorite heating pad on the couch—one with a cute little star pattern on the fabric, you were happy at the coincidence since you liked its heat settings the most—you sip at one of the juice boxes he’d gotten for you, while he gently massages your feet in his lap.

For a moment, he seems to hesitate. Then he asks, softly, the words almost lost in the calm air of the moment, “Do you want me to track it?”

You blink, glancing at him. “Track it?”

“Yeah.” Xavier shifts, pressing his thumb into your heel in pleasant circles before meeting your eyes. “If that would help you be prepared for when it comes. Only if you’re comfortable with it, though.”

You smile, heart swelling with affection for this man who’d stumbled into your life—or maybe you’d stumbled into his.

Or maybe everything had been leading you to each other all along.

You’d agreed, and that was that. Xavier tracked your cycle alongside you with your consent, gently reminding you of its possible effects on you when your emotions were too high, and realization may slip.

Somehow, those moments didn’t frustrate you. Maybe it was just the gentle ease with which Xavier spoke, his boundless patience and genuine grace, especially when it came to you.

So you weren’t really sure how you both managed to miss it this time.

You were glad it had fallen on the weekend, at least, so you didn’t have to either waste a sick day or be forced to tough it out, going into fighting Wanderers while already bleeding. But you were also pissed as hell that your cramps kept you bedridden for both your days off.

Worse, you had to cancel your day trip with Xavier out to a popular new hotpot restaurant on the farther edge of the city.

Even worse than that, he knew right away that something was wrong.

Xavier was never one to be upset over canceled plans. He was just as happy curling up on the couch with you, enjoying some favorite takeout with a cheesy movie on in the background.

You usually weren’t so upset at waylaid plans either. You could be as much a homebody as your cozy boyfriend, especially considering just how cozy he could be when you were all snuggled up.

(Recently, you even had to make a rule to keep him in another room as you were getting ready to go out, so you wouldn’t be pulled into a cuddle session that ended up in missed dinner reservations.)

But this date, you had been looking forward to. You’d set reminders on both your phones, and a heart nestled next to a star on the old-fashioned calendar hanging in his living room.

The food had sounded so good for the week leading up to it, and maybe that strong craving should’ve been a hint to check your own calendar system, in hindsight. But there hadn't been a mark for it on his, either. It had slipped both your minds this time around.

The pinching, throbbing pain in your abdomen waking you up on the Saturday you were set for your date let you know the gravity of your mistake.

“Fuck,” you hissed, clutching at your stomach as you pulled yourself up and into the bathroom, doubled over from the added nausea the pain brought with it.

It was a good thing you were sleeping in your own apartments that morning. Better not to scare Xavier with the potential of blood on his spotless white sheets or, worse, give him a heart attack if he woke up to find you curled up on the bathroom floor.

You don’t know how long your forehead was pressed to the cool tile, until you were able to pull yourself up enough to force down some pain reliever from the medicine cabinet. Stumbling back to bed with a cold washcloth pressed over the back of your neck, you grabbed for your phone to send him a quick text.

You blinked in surprise to find he had already sent two messages about an hour ago.

Morning, Starlight. Can I come over early Can't wait to see U

Your phone pings again, and you rub your eyes.

bunbun bf poked you R U awake

You poise your fingers to type a reply, pondering your excuses, but stop when another message bubble pops up from him.

It says read. U feeling okay

You sigh, rubbing your forehead. How does he already know?

I'm okay. Hey, think we can do our hotpot date another day? Just feeling tired. I think yesterday's mission wore me out more than I realized.

Mid-typing another response, your phone pings again.

Liar I'm coming over now

You groan, wondering if you wanted to push back on this, before tossing your phone to the side.

Maybe he could grab your soda crackers from the kitchen. You were still nauseous, and you didn’t have the strength to go crawling for them right now.

What felt like only a few seconds later had Xavier knocking on your front door, even before he used his thumbprint to let himself in. You wonder if he teleported down here.

“Sweetheart?”

His footprints lead straight to your bedroom, and you hear his breath catch the moment he sees you from the doorway.

Now you really wonder if he teleported, because he’s by your side in an instant, hand pressed to your forehead, gently turning your face so he can see you.

“What’s wrong?” His voice is hushed, sweet and gentle as ever. But you hear the undercurrent of worry that rushes his words just a bit, even quicker with panic the more he talks. “Are you sick? Are you in pain? Did you get injured yesterday? I didn’t notice anything.”

You shake your head, and his assessment scans down your body. He gently nudges away the sheets curled around your sweaty, clammy skin.

“Oh, Starlight,” he whispers, rubbing his warm palms around where you clutch at your abdomen. “I’m sorry, I must’ve forgotten to note it down. Shit.”

You manage to arch an eyebrow. Sure, Xavier could have quite the dirty mouth on him when the mood struck—especially when a certain mood struck—but something about this felt especially frustrated. An irritation turned inwards.

“Hey,” you murmur, nudging his thigh with your knee once you get it free of the sheets. “Don’t be mad at yourself. It must’ve come early. Or late, who knows. It happens.”

He sighs, focusing back in on you. His eyes are big and caring, blond hair shining with a golden sheen in the morning light that peeks through your curtains.

“What can I do for you?”

You just about melt at that, smiling weakly up at him.

“Can you get my crackers?”

He’s nodding, already moving towards the door. “Nauseous? Do you have your—”

“No, I’m out,” you sigh, pinching your nose as you remember you’d put off refilling your anti nausea medication. “Can you check for—”

“Gatorade, yeah, if there isn’t any I’ll order some,” he calls softly from rustling around in the kitchen, a place where you’d usually dread Xavier spending time in.

You don’t need to ask to know he’ll pay for rushed delivery if there isn’t any of your favorite flavor in your fridge. You also don’t need to tell him you’ll pay him back for it, knowing he’ll frown deeper and deeper at you until you relent.

Unfortunately, it’s a period that knocks you out. You’re out of commission for most the day, and that general feeling of malaise lingers into night.

Xavier refuses to leave your side. It lets him see firsthand how much you droop the closer you get to when your dinner reservation was, now canceled. Like a flower without sunlight, curling in on itself to drop all its petals, one by one.

He rubs his hand down your back or massages across your abdomen when you want it, and pulls back to give you space when you don’t. He plays your favorite music on his phone when you sniffle in the silence, and continues to hum the songs when his phone runs out of battery.

Xavier doesn’t comment when you turn over, just silently sets his book aside to hold you when you curl up on his chest. He doesn’t complain when the warmth of the heating pad begins to sear between you, doesn’t pull back when your tears stain his favorite white hoodie.

“Are you sad?” He asks quietly when your crying begins to ease. It may seem a silly question, but you know he wants to hear it from you, if there's anything in particular upsetting you.

You sniff. “No,” you mumble into his chest.

His thumbs massages circles into a tense muscle on your hip, and you sink into him. “Really?” He hums.

You stiffen, then sigh. “No.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

You shake your head. Then, a moment later, you confess anyway, feeling like you'll explode if you don't, “I just…I was looking forward to our date.”

“I know, baby,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “We can always go another time.”

You feel the tears brimming again. “I know. But I—I wanted to go today.”

“I know,” he murmurs again, soothing and unbothered by your jumbled feelings.

“I wanted to go so bad and I’m just so mad—I hate when this happens, I hate how it just knocks me out.”

Xavier continues to run his soothing touch along your back in circles, letting you talk until you start to make sense out of your emotions.

“It’s not your fault.”

“It’s not,” you confirm his gentle reassurance, sniffling again. “It still sucks, though.”

“It does,” he reaffirms. “It’s not fair.” Then, quieter, “I hate seeing you unwell.”

You hold him tighter. “I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for.” He hooks his finger under your chin, lifting your face for a gentle kiss. It’s chaste, a familiar, unhurried gesture of affection. “I just wish I could help more.”

“You do more than enough.”

Xavier just hums again, stroking your back and humming your favorite songs until you fall asleep.

In the morning, you wake to find him gone.

You frown, confused and more than a little sad at the empty side of the bed. At least the cramps have eased enough that you can actually pull yourself out of it.

After changing your product in the bathroom, you stumble out into the living room only to find you weren’t so alone after all.

On the counter sits a little flower pot, and Xavier fusses around it, trimming bits of yellowing leaves and gently drizzling a glass of water over it.

“Xavier?”

The water sloshes a bit at your sleepy voice, and he sets the glass down, turning to you with a smile.

“Hey,” he calls, reaching his hand out to you. “Morning.”

“Morning.” You take his hand, letting him tug you closer, returning his quick kiss of greeting. “What’s this?”

“Oh.” He turns back towards the flower, scratching the back of his head. His hair was still a bit messy with sleep, even if he must have gone out to see Jeremiah for this flower, because you don’t recognize it from his apartment’s collection. “It’s a surprise. So, uh…surprise?”

You smile up at him, curiously stroking at the plant’s leaves. “What kind is it?”

“You.”

You blink at him, tilting your head.

“Well, it looks like you. The flower you were on the planet.”

Oh, you think, turning back toward the flower, now seeing its little closed bud. The exhibition.

“I showed Jeremiah the picture book a little while ago, to try and get an accurate version.” Xavier places his hands on your hips, resting his chin on your shoulder. “It hasn’t bloomed yet, but I wanted to cheer you up.”

His grip on you tightens, and his hands slide forward to hug you fully from behind.

“I don’t like it when you’re sick,” he whispers, and your heart aches. But he's gotten better at openly expressing his emotions to you, and you're so proud of that.

“It’s just—”

“I know,” he murmurs, hiding his face into your neck. “Still, I hate seeing you like that. I hate seeing you in pain. It…”

He falls quiet for a moment, and your hands find his, holding them as tightly as he holds you.

“It scares me,” he whispers, breath shaking.

You turn in his arms, palms cupping his cheeks. Xavier tries to look away, and you gently nudge his face back to you, waiting patiently until he looks into your eyes.

“I just want you to get everything you need to bloom, and be healthy.” His eyes flicker away briefly, then back again. There’s something shy in his gaze, and you get to witness it shifting into a confident determination. “I want to give you everything you need.”

Your eyes begin to water, and you try to blink the emotion away. You remember that planet that never existed, how he had given you his own light to bloom under. How he asked you to come with him when you called for him with all your soul, how his own soul answered.

“Well.” You clear your throat, trying to get rid of the tear-choked knot in there. “Good.”

Your fingers trace his face, and you stare at him with so much adoration until he begins to faintly glow. You keep staring, until his light burns into your retinas. Until you can see him in the dark. Until he's all that you can see.

“It’s good, then,” you say again, smiling at him, and feeling like a flower that's finally blossomed when he smiles back. “That you’re everything I need.”

#xavier x reader #lads xavier x reader #lads x reader #tobi supporting friends

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incoming-spacesquid · 5 days ago

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WOOOO LOOK AT HER GOO SHES AMAZING hes there too i suppose (thats my homie please dont hate me TwT)

first of my sweetheart com series, rest will be posted on main since this is the only lads specific one, thank u to my wife ( @starryeyed-apple ) for trusting me with their love, feniver 4 eva is tattooed on my forehead now

#lads fanart #love and deepspace #lads oc #im here for her not him tho dont get it twisted #but he is my homie

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incoming-spacesquid · 5 days ago

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THIS IS SUPER CUTE BUD

OKAY I did this based off this template from Twitter and I just wanted to share it here. These are all my HC for my ship so pls b nice and know it can be different for u 🤍

Maybe I’ll do one for Zayne and Blue as well but this one took FOREVER but I love it

#love and deepspace #lads xavier #lads mc

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incoming-spacesquid · 5 days ago

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WOOOO ITS GONNA BE SUPER AWESOME WHEN ITS DONE I JUST KNOW IT

a wip of something comin

#lads caleb #caleb x mc #im here for her not him tho dont get it twisted #tobi supporting friends

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incoming-spacesquid · 5 days ago

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you're the only friend I need

summary: Caleb has always been your dearest friend, and so much more. Your world continues to revolve around his memory when you lose him, until he comes home to you.

★pairing: Caleb x Reader/MC ★wc: 5.2k ★content warning: fluff in flashbacks, nostalgia, longing, angst, grief/mourning (Caleb's temporary death), tension when he returns, emotional hurt/comfort. alcohol consumption. heavy use of pipsqueak/pips, Caleb calls Reader baby & honey one (1) time each. ★a/n: I feel like Ribs by Lorde is going to be my most played song this year because of Caleb & writing this fic. Been working on this one for a while! This song is just so Caleb-coded to me, it embodies all that painful nostalgia I love about him, and I wanted this fic to reflect that feeling <3 masterlist ★ read on ao3

It all replays. Effortlessly, in a never-ending loop each time you close your eyes. Every touch, every glance. As tangible as ever until you open your eyes again.

"Pips?"

You blink a few times, rapidly, before looking towards him. For a moment, your mind swims, blurring the familiar image before you.

"Yeah?"

Your voice sounds distant to your own ears, and you shake your head. You blink a few more times, until he becomes clear before you.

Tall, broad-shouldered. Face faintly freckled, framing the glow of those lilac and orange rose eyes. His warm, easy smile.

Caleb, you want to sigh in relief, and have no idea why.

His strong brows are furrowed as he leans forward to get a better look at you, trying to catch your eyes as you shift them away again.

"Sorry," you mumble quickly, giving another sharp shake of your head.

You smile, weakly at first, then stronger when your eyes meet his again. There's always a familiar rush of comfort when your gazes meet. Even when you just feel his eyes on you, it brings a certain kind of peace.

"Spaced out a bit," you add.

"A bit?"

He laughs, but it's worried, his head tilting to the side as he scans you from head to toe. As if there will be some secret revealed in the twitch of your fingers, in how quickly your weight shifts from one foot to the other.

Caleb would be the one to pick up on the slightest tell. Unraveling your darkest fears, so hidden even from yourself, just from the shift of your eyes or the bite of your lip.

"You were headin' all the way to the moon with that stare," he jokes, easing off that sweet, albeit overbearing concern when you smile at him again.

Still, there's comfort in how he hovers over you, in how his worry wraps around you and squeezes just tight enough to be pleasant. Familiar.

"Yeah—sorry," you mutter again, glancing around you.

The pounding of the bass is what hits you first, a sensation of the blaring music felt deep in your chest. You blink a few times more times, disoriented, swaying on your feet only for Caleb to step into your side, steadying you.

"Pipsqueak?"

Your drawn to his voice like a magnet, squinting at his face in the low light of the…bar?

Looking around again, your mind pulls together all the pieces to set the scene. Yeah, the bar—a popular one among students in Skyhaven, near enough to the Aerospace Academy's dorms that fledgling pilots could drown the sorrows of their finals or celebrate acing their flights.

Tonight, it was the latter—though you highly doubted it was ever anything else for Caleb. You were visiting for the weekend, a break from your own studies, and enthusiastically agreed to the night out for the both of you when his friends stopped by his room to ask.

God, where had your mind been?

"Have you been drinking too much?"

Caleb's eyes narrow down at the half-finished beer in your hands (was it your first or second?), and you automatically bring it to your chest, half-expecting him to snatch the affronting alcohol away. The drink in his own hands is barely sipped at by comparison.

"Nooo," you draw out petulantly, and his narrowed gaze turns to you.

You stick your tongue out at him, biting it in a growing smile when his own lips twitch upwards at your behavior.

"Alright, alright," he huffs, even as the suspicion doesn't completely leave his keen eyes—keener in everything they see when it came to you. "Just don't forget to bring me with you next time."

You return his smile, even if something buried deep within you aches at what he says.

"Bring you where?"

Caleb's hand lands softly on your head, the warmth from his palm seeping into your scalp when he ruffles your hair.

"The moon," he says with a grin, easing you and grounding you to both him and the moment. There's an infuriating, beloved sparkle of mischief in his eyes when he adds, "Duh."

"Aren't you supposed to be a real, certified Deepspace pilot soon?" you shoot back instead of focusing on that faint ache. You focus instead on his shining gaze directed at you, how he's fully attentive to every word you say, until that ache fades away. "You should be the one taking me to the moon."

He snorts, eyes crinkling with mirth.

Somebody shuffles past behind him, and he's forced to step closer to you. The heat of his body permeates into your own, and he leans down further to try and meet your wandering eyes.

"Why do you think I became a pilot in the first place?" he asks, tilting his head further down.

The magnetism of his gaze pulls your attention from the words you'd engraved on that metal around his neck.

"To be a big hotshot?" Your nose wrinkles up at him when he grins teasingly from baiting out your familiar snark. "That's what everybody else seems to think. Ooh, Caleb, he's so cool! Look at him coming off the plane, taking his helmet off, I'm gonna swoooon—"

"Oh, quiet, you," Caleb swiftly interrupts you, reaching up to gently pinch your nose. You smack at his hand, and he gives it a shake before letting go.

The pounding music increases in volume, and he shifts, his head tilting to the side so that his cheek brushes against yours. You freeze at the casual contact, and heat up when you feel his breath against your ear.

"Besides, why would I care what they think?"

Caleb's breath is warm, but his words are warmer, heating up your entire body from the inside out. You feel your cheeks get hot, and you can't help but wonder if he can feel it radiating off you, his own cheek still grazing against yours.

What would it feel like, you wonder idly, to have his lips there too? To have them press down, soft, then firm, to feel his breath turn to panting? What would he sound like if you—

You suck in a deep breath, smacking weakly at his chest, even as he doesn't budge in his proximity to you.

"You don't?" you mumble, a hint of petulance creeping into your attempt at teasing, even if you feel your heart race in time with the pulsing music.

Because you know how they all look at him. You know how they gaze longingly, how they admire him from afar or as close as they dare to get.

Even now, you can feel the attention that circulates him, grounding him as the center of gravity in the room, with all the little stars and planets stuck in his orbit.

You lean in closer, daring to get as close to the sun as you can without burning.

In a flash, you see the fingers coming to pinch you again, and you swiftly dodge it, wavering back and forth. He sets his drink down on the table closest to you, and reaches both hands towards your face to catch you.

When he does, you pout up at him, your lips further pushed out when he squeezes your cheeks in.

"Ca-leeeeb," you whine, putting down your own drink and pinching his cheek to mimic his actions, and he lets go of you with an easy laugh.

"I only care if you think I'm cool, pips," Caleb answers, his eyes warm and kind while he shakes his head at your huff of disbelief.

As if it was the most obvious thing in the world—maybe it was, to him. Maybe he didn't notice everybody else in the room as drawn to him as you.

"So?"

You stiffen, whipping your head away.

"So what?"

"Soooo," he drawls, picking his drink back up as he ducks his face into your view again, grinning, "Do you think I look cool? Coming off the plane with my helmet off—what did you say again? I'm gonna swoon, he's sooo handsome—"

"I didn't say that—"

"You thought it—"

"Did not!"

You wack at his chest, frustrated huffs turning into a steady stream of giggles as he wraps his hand around your wrist, tugging you towards him. You stumble towards him in the same moment he steps back to make room for you, crashing into somebody right as they try to skirt past behind him.

Caleb is pushed back forward, colliding into you, and you hiss at the suddenly unpleasant sensation of warm beer spilling all over you.

"Oh, shit."

Caleb's moving in an instant, setting down his glass—from nearly full to more than half-empty in a split second—and grabbing at a pile of napkins nearby.

There's mumbled apologies from whichever drunk classmate bumped into him, but it only earns a rare glare from your golden boy, instead of a charming smile and quick joke to defuse the tension.

"Sorry, pips, I'm so sorry—" he mumbles under his breath when his attention quickly rivets back to you, dabbing gently at your shirt.

But the napkins are not helping, and the layer of beer on your shirt is already soaked through and starting to make the cloth stick to your skin.

And it really sticks.

Caleb seems to notice at the same moment as you. He turns swiftly, backing you towards the corner, away from the eyes always glued to his every action.

Leaning over you, he uses his large frame to hide you from view, quickly unzipping his jacket and helping your arms through the sleeves.

"I'm so, so sorry," he's still rushing the apologies with every breath, zipping up the jacket all the way to your neck.

He rolls the cuffs of the sleeves up to your wrists, brows pinched with concern, face flushed down to his neck.

"Caleb," you urge softly, pulling his panicked gaze up to your eyes. His stiff shoulders relax slightly, just from the familiarity of your eyes looking back at him. "It's fine. People are drunk. I'm probably drunk. It happens."

He still frowns.

"It shouldn't," he mutters, before his hand finds yours, fingers easily falling into place around yours as he tugs you after him. "C'mon, let's get you home."

"What about—"

You stop, your mind suddenly feeling fuzzy again.

You get the uncanny feeling of being trapped in static, like an old-fashioned TV that sometimes sits in an antique shop window, playing the same image on repeat. It doesn't help that you swear this same song blasting in every corner of the bar has been looping on repeat for hours at this point.

Shaking your head, you blame it on the alcohol, focusing instead on the warm weight of Caleb's palm in yours, his fingers giving you a squeeze whenever he looks back at you.

"What about Gideon?" you finally manage once Caleb gets you through the doors, and you suck in a large lungful of cool, crisp Skyhaven air. "Your friends?"

"They'll be fine," he brushes off with a shake of his head, fixing the collar of his jacket on you when it sticks up from the sudden gust of wind. "Gideon's a big boy, he can handle himself. Promise."

"You should still let them know you're leaving," you insist, frowning.

With a sigh, Caleb fishes his phone out of the pocket of his jeans. It's an older pair, you recognize the worn hems, and how it's become way too tight across the butt, accentuating how round his—

You clear your throat, glancing away. Needed to take him shopping for some new clothes, the dork. What was he wearing worn out jeans for?

"Shopping?" Caleb says as he sends a text and slips his phone back away, and you start.

Had you said that out loud?

Oh no did you talk about his butt out loud too?

God, how drunk were you?

Caleb frowns at you, pressing his hands against your cheeks before he's suddenly leaning in. Your breath stutters through parted lips, eyes wide as you watch his own close as his forehead touches yours.

"You're too hot," he hums, completely innocent in his concern, unaware of how you now feel even hotter. Unbearably so. "How much did you have to drink again? I swear I was keeping track…"

He's mumbling to himself now, ignoring how flustered you're getting as he turns, crouching in front of you.

"What—"

"C'mon." He reaches his hand back to give a pat to your leg, and you jerk forward with a squeak when his fingers squeeze gently on your thigh. "Hop on."

Hop—

You clear your throat, pushing the sudden barrage of mental images from your mind as you drape yourself over his back, letting him lift you in a piggy back ride back home.

There's a few stopping points along the way.

Five minutes into the walk, and he's setting you down on a bench at your complaints that your feet are being pinched by your boots. He gently tugs the laces loose, pulling each one off. They hang from his fingers while he lets you climb back on his back.

Five more minutes later, your cheek is pressed against his as you start whining for—

"Ice cream?" Caleb repeats, a little laugh in the question. "Pips, it's 1 am."

"Soooo?" You pout, nuzzling your cheek against his, failing to hide a smile into his neck when you feel his breath hitch in his throat. "I want some."

He pivots easily, taking you in the other direction.

Caleb sets you back down, this time on the curb while he gets a frozen bar of your favorite flavor from the 24 hour convenience store. He sits next to you, rambling about zero-gravity tests and flight maneuvers as you happily devour your ice cream.

His mouth opens automatically when you place the last bite in his mouth, lips closing around the stick to pull it off with his tongue.

He doesn't seem to notice the tips of your fingers caught in his mouth, even as your gaze is glued to the sight of them popping out, a little shinier and warmer than before.

You clear your throat, averting your gaze when you feel him look at you.

"You don't even like ice cream," you grumble.

"Nope," he answers in his teasing, sing-song tone, shifting for you to climb back onto his back. "But I sure do like you, pips!"

Caleb laughs when you groan and bury your face back into his neck, like he thinks what he said was the most casual thing in the world.

Which maybe it was.

Or maybe it wasn't.

Your head spins, and you don't say anything else until he's gently setting you on your feet outside his dorm room.

"God, you really are drunk," he sighs softly when you stumble through the door, his arm easily hooking around your waist. His voice is even more hushed when he gently directs you towards the bathroom, his palm on your lower back big and warm, "Gotta get you out of that sticky shirt, honey."

His back leans against the other side of the door when you take a quick shower, still rambling about whatever came to mind, and asking every now and then if you're doing okay.

You emerge from the tiny bathroom with a cloud of steam, clean and happy in one of his old t-shirts. It's one of your favorites of his, tucked away in the side of his top drawer just for your visits.

"Remember the first time you got drunk?" Caleb asks when he tucks you into his bed, only for you to kick the sheets free and tug him in with you. He laughs, easily slipping in beside you in his own favorite, comfy pajamas.

"Mhm," you hum. "I was sixteen—"

"You were fifteen—"

"—and it was at Francesca's house down the street—"

"—it was Luke's house, and I had to carry you for three blocks—"

"—for a sleepover—"

"—it was a house party, pipsqueak—"

"—I'm talking!" You bark at his constant interruptions to correct you, and he bursts out laughing.

You curl up into his side, giggling along with him. Whenever there's a lull in your laughter, with barely enough time to catch your breath, one of you starts up again.

You hold each other tight with each wave of giggles, until your ribs start to burn and your cheeks ache.

When the moment of silence finally comes, Caleb inhales slowly.

"I watched you dance down an entire street before you almost fell, and I had to carry you the rest of the way home," he whispers. It sounds reverent, as if the memory will disappear the moment he speaks it out loud.

You glance up at Caleb, admiring the faraway look in his eyes he got whenever he was hypnotized by nostalgia. It seemed to be happening more often, the older you both got—him remembering you, even when you were right in front of him.

"You were spinning around that flickering streetlight down on West Cedar Street when you almost tripped over your own feet." He laughs softly, and you smile at the memory. You were drunk and young and happy, and Caleb never strayed from your side. "And you were laughing so much I thought you'd wake the whole neighborhood."

"Did not," you mumble, resting across his chest, your body jostled by his laughter.

"Did too," he stubbornly insists, even when you pout up at him. "It was even worse when we got home. Had to shush your little giggles alllll the way up to bed before we got caught."

You roll your eyes, smacking him lightly in the chest.

"How come you never forget anything, Caleb?" you whine.

He falls quiet, and you peer up at him curiously.

There's a different look in his eyes now, even farther away, but it shutters off when he catches you looking.

"How could I forget?" he asks, smiling down at you with a tenderness that makes your heart race in these quiet moments—too intimate for what you said you were to each other, and also not enough. Never enough. "How could I ever forget anything about you?"

Caleb squeezes you tighter, and you feel that static in your mind again. It makes your vision hazy, your head heavy, and sets your heart racing with fear.

"I'm scared, Caleb," you whisper, fingers curling tighter into his shirt.

He shifts underneath you, the gentle strength of his arms tugging you closer. You adjust on top of him until you can listen to the steady beat of his heart, until it settles your own heartbeat.

"Of what?" he asks quietly, fingertips tapping an idle pattern against the base of your spine.

It's comforting, and your eyes begin to droop.

"Of…" you yawn, turning to bury your face further against his chest. Your fingers curl around the chain of his necklace, warm from his body heat. "Of getting older."

Of getting older without you, echoes in your mind.

Which doesn't make sense. When you get older, so does he. That's just the way it goes.

But the words dance around your mind, flashing in your eyelids every time your eyes blink shut again. They get heavier, harder to open, and you hold onto him tighter.

No, you think distantly. Not yet. Please.

You don't know why you think it. He'll be here in the morning when you wake up.

Caleb will give you that dopey, sleepy smile, tug gently at your cheek until you're awake and shoving him away. You'll pester him about what he's going to make you for breakfast, and he'll tease you that you better get up because you snooze, you lose, pipsqueak, it'll all be gone by the time you get up. But he lets you sleep in a bit longer anyway.

"There's nothin' to be scared of, pips," Caleb's hushed voice brings you back to him in that moment, and your racing heart begins to calm. "I'm gettin' older, too. Hear how creaky my knees are gettin'?"

He bumps his knees against yours, and you scoff, kicking him back until your legs tangle together as he laughs.

You want to stay up. You want to keep laughing, until you're sore in the ribs again. Until you feel him nestled between them, always.

"I'm right here with you, baby."

Your stomach flips. It feels off-script, somehow, but you're not complaining.

With a yawn, you finally allow your eyes to close. "Every step?"

Lips brush against your forehead, and you calm.

"Every step."

You poke him in the chest, fighting one more wave of sleep like it was anesthesia—pointless and painful to resist.

"Chapped lips," you mumble, brows furrowing. "Need to get you more chapstick…and jeans, you dork…"

His laughter rumbling through his chest is the last thing you hear.

When you wake, it's with the absence of him.

You sleep again, for just one more glimpse.

You don't like going out for drinks anymore.

You do it, because they ask you to. Your coworkers look for the smile on your face when it's been gone for months, when they should know better than to think you'll ever be happy again, with half of you gone.

And when you stumble home, it's alone.

No stopping for 1 am ice cream, shoes carried for you as you're carried the whole way. There's no dancing down Cedar Street, twirling around the flicker of a streetlight, knowing who's following a few steps behind and laughing along with you.

These aren't the streets of your old neighborhood. You couldn't bear the thought of ever walking them again, even as familiar sidewalk chalk art and cracks in the pavement flicker through your mind as you trace your steps back to your apartment.

It always replays in your mind, sleeping or waking. Sometimes you could hardly tell the difference between those dreams and reality.

You still hear his voice, teasing you with every little thing you do. Even with the weight of the words that had been a gift to him, a promise between you, now dangling around your neck.

He should be here, you think with each beat of your heart, with every staggering step. Your hand sways out from your side, fingers grasping at empty air each time you waver. He should always be here.

It feels like driving through a tunnel, the lights flashing above you with every image of a memory as your mind rewinds back through time. You remember every promise broken, every fear come to realization.

I'm right here with you. You can't remember if that was dream, or memory. Or both. Every step.

Either way, it's a lie. A cruel reminder.

In just a few years, you'll be older than Caleb ever was.

You slowly crouch to the ground, arms brought around your knees. The gate to your apartment complex is in sight, a distance easily crossed, even when your steps falter.

But your chin rests on your knees, tears swimming in your vision. Muscles heavy and slack, no desire to get up and go to it. Because this may be your house, but it isn't home.

Strong arms, gentle embrace. Sure, steady, always open and waiting for you to return to them. Constant. Inevitable.

Gone.

Wiped from an existence that should have always revolved around him.

You could never go home again.

By some miracle, it all comes back to you.

He comes back to you.

When your dreams do become reality, it takes a while to accept it as so. To differentiate sleeping from waking, to fully realize he was once again in not just one, but both.

But it's hard. Fuck, it's so hard. Your breath still catches in your chest, impossibly tight each time your beloved ghost stands before you.

His name still sticks to the roof of your mouth when you see him, sometimes. Your tongue heavy with the syllables you'd laughed, and cried, and called, and whispered; in times of joy and times of grief.

Grief, you think the word over, turning it to inspect in your mind as you walk those old streets. Searching for a forgotten, familiar glimpse of him in every place where you grew up. Seeking another memory in every corner, every old favorite haunt.

Your name is still on the top of the wall of wishes—untouched by human fingers, only weathered by time.

You retrace your footsteps down that repaved street, only to find they've replaced the light bulb in the lamppost.

Down at the abandoned park, the old chains creak under the brush of your fingertips when you sink into the worn plastic seat of the swing.

You haven't answered his messages today, ignoring every phone call, and you wonder how long it'll take him to find you.

Unsurprisingly, it doesn't take that long at all.

"Hey," he calls, even if you feel his presence before you hear him. "I've been textin' you for hours. What are you doing all the way out here?"

You don't answer, your feet kicking at the ground you couldn't reach as a kid, when he used to use his Evol to push you higher and higher.

He's still talking, but he sounds far away, as trapped in your memories as he used to be.

"Hey." His voice is still gentle, but more insistent when he kneels before you.

His gloved thumb and forefinger find your chin to tilt your face towards him, and you realize he's still wearing that damned uniform. Fresh out of the fresh hell of his job that tries to keep him locked away from you, and here he is, running back home to you.

"Pips, you're worrying me here. Talk to me."

When you meet his gaze, his breath is sucked into his chest at whatever look is in your eyes.

Eyelashes fluttering, he whispers with a crack in his voice, "Please?"

The déjà vu hits you then. You remember the two of you, just like this once before. Your reason for being upset then seems so petty, so inconsequential now.

"I don't recognize you sometimes," you whisper, voice shaking. Your heart breaks when you see the hurt flash in his eyes before he blinks, quickly covering it up. "Or—or maybe I do. Maybe that's what scares me. That you look like my Caleb. You are still my Caleb."

You sniff, eyes watering, and Caleb strokes his thumb under your eyes to collect the fallen tears, the leather cool against your skin.

God, how desperately you wanted to go back in time.

Back to when things were so simple, when all you had to worry about was homework and what Caleb was making for dinner. When the only thing that could hurt either of you was falling off the swings, and you never had to be scared because Caleb always kept a few band aids of your favorite color in his pockets.

You miss riding your bicycles to the train tracks so you could watch the chemtrails the planes left across the spring's sunset sky. You miss hot summer nights when you curled up on the floor of his bedroom with the windows wide open, sharing the same pillow and blanket.

You miss the winters when he'd share one glove with you when you forgot yours, your bare hands linked together as you walked home after school. You miss having sleepovers with your best friend whenever you wanted, surrounded by a pile of plushies and laughing until your stomachs hurt, over some stupid joke you'd forget in weeks.

You miss stale beer staining your shirt and the warmth of his jacket around you, you miss piggy back rides and 1 am convenience store ice cream and sharing beds and laughing and you miss him.

Most of all, you miss the days when you believed that nothing could ever take him from your side.

"You're still my Caleb," you whisper again, and his eyes flash back up to yours, wide and unable to hide all the hope he tries to keep hidden from you. "But I see all the pieces of you they tried to take away."

He laughs dryly, looking away again.

"It doesn't fit right, does it?" he mumbles, moving to stroke his thumb over the back of your hand now. His head tilts, staring numbly at your hand in his. You realize belatedly that it's his right one. "All those broken little pieces."

Whatever broken part of your own soul calls out to what's broken in him.

"Hey," you whisper, nudging your knee against his. You remember being a ghost in the street, drunk and stumbling home all alone. "What would you do if I told you I felt that same way about myself?"

Caleb stiffens instantly. His brows pinch together, looking in pain at just the mere idea of that.

"I'd tell you you're wrong." Slowly, his fingers shift, until his pinkie twines around yours. Looking back up at you from his knees, adoring and supplicant, he whispers under his breath, "You're the best of the best."

How could he be so sure of your place, you think, and not his place in your heart? His spot by your side?

You reach for him, desperately, your hands knocking the military hat right off his head. Your fingers drag through his hair as you pull him closer, until he's resting against your chest, holding him close to your heart.

"You think so little of yourself," you whisper, pressing a kiss to the top of his head, and feeling the breath that shudders out of his chest against your own. "But I adore you."

Your fingers gently scrape at his scalp, your lips pressing to his temple.

"I always have."

You're both quiet for a moment. Enjoying the once overlooked, beautiful simplicity of just breathing together.

When Caleb eventually pulls back, it's with a smile.

But it's tight, the corners of his eyes not crinkling in their usual mirth.

Typical Caleb, overthinking even your heart on your sleeve, waiting for him to take what's always been his.

"But you got a big, wide world out there now." His hand comes towards your face, hesitant, then caressing your cheek when you lean into it. "Don'tcha, pips?"

You wouldn't know. Your world had ended when they took him from you.

But you just hum. With a forced casual shrug, you take his hand from your cheek.

You gently tug his glove off, fingers sliding up along his longer ones. Callouses from the lives you'd fought for rub together before they intertwine.

"Maybe," you admit with an utter lack of conviction. Its stark in comparison to the devotion that shines in your gaze up at him, and you see the hard edges that had encapsulated him softening. "But you're all I need."

Your head finds its place on Caleb's shoulder, and his slow sigh of relief ruffles your hair, followed by the light brush of lips there. His fingers tighten in your grip, and yours squeeze in response.

Until it hurts. Until he can feel it.

Until nothing could keep you apart again.

Then it loosens. Not to pull back, never to pull back. But it mellows out to something comfortable.

Not quite content, not yet. But close.

Knowing that someday, hopefully, you didn't have to hold on so tight just to hold each other at all.

Somehow, you know that he hears it this time, in the soft silence that falls between you.

You're all I'll ever need.

#caleb x reader #caleb x mc #lads caleb #tobi supporting friends

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