#caleb !

[mwphisto]

It was an accident, you swear it was just a misclick.

Two texts that came in at the same time, one from your group chat with Tara and Simone, the other from Caleb. What you thought was being sent to your girls got sent to Caleb instead...

"What do you think of this?" A picture of you standing in your full length mirror, your bedroom dimly lit, a scandalous little black nightgown hanging off of your body. You never treated yourself like this, never felt the need to buy such short, silky nightgowns covered in frilly lace and a sleek satin shine. But Tara had convinced you.

Something about having a nice figure, just in case of an emergency, and that you'd look soooo hot in such an item. Hell, she even offered to pay for it, hand picking the little thing herself and well... now you owned it and now your face was red-hot as you stared at yourself.

“Holy shit, Pips.” You glance down at your phone, brows furrowing at the use of that nickname. Why in the world would Tara… oh. Oh no. Your mouth dropped open, realizing your fatal mistake way too late.

“Caleb! Oh my god! I’m so sorry!” Rapid fire, your hands trembling as you sent message after message. “I didn’t mean to send that to you! I was just trying it on, my friends convinced me to buy the damn thing!” You fell onto your bed, staring at your phone in genuine horror. Luckily, it was just Caleb. No one else. But still.

"No need to apologize, Pips." the text bubble popped up again a moment later. "You look gorgeous, good thing you listened to them." Now? Your face was hot for a different reason. "These friends are also girls, right? Don't tell me you're sending this to other men..."

"Of course they're girls! Who do you think I am lol." You swallow, fingers still shaking as you typed another message. "I appreciate the compliments but I really am sorry for the jump scare. Just delete the picture from our chat, forget you ever saw it."

Delete it? Forget? You've lost your mind. Still... "No worries, pips."

Caleb clicks the image again, cheeks flushed and pants uncomfortably tight. It's like he's looking at a real life goddess. He's zooming in shamelessly, committing every dip and curve to his memory. The way the lace hugs your breasts, the thin straps revealing you're not wearing bra at all. The nightgown itself ends just below the apex of your thighs. One little movement and...

"You're going to ruin me, pipsqueak." Caleb's fingers are undoing his zipper, eyes still glued to every pixel that makes up your dips and curves on his phone screen. "I should feel guilty, shouldn't I?" His voice is bouncing back at him, you had disappeared from the chat, likely sending your friends the picture that was intended for them.

He's freeing himself from his briefs, yanking open his bedside drawer to pull out one of the pairs of panties he had snatched from your apartment the last time he visited Linkon.

"Such a pervert, can't help it."

[beechu-beechu]

The fuckass bob nation has welcome yet another member <//3 Poor baby, her teenage years were rough. At least Caleb was always there, though

[p1psqueaks]

LOVE AND DEEPSPACE — THEIR FAVORITE PLACE TO KISS YOU

a/b: completely self-indulgent, enjoy <3

ZAYNE - forehead

There’s a stillness that always seems to follow Zayne around.

It’s not heavy or suffocating — more like the hush that blankets the world just after a fresh snowfall. A kind of quiet that asks for nothing but offers everything.

You’re tucked against him now, your head resting just below his collarbone as the two of you sit together on the worn-out couch in his apartment. The lamp in the corner casts a warm, gentle glow, painting his usually sharp features in softer strokes. You can feel the steady beat of his heart under your ear, a rhythm so calm it slows your own racing thoughts.

Zayne’s hand moves in slow, lazy circles across your back, each pass a wordless reassurance. He doesn’t speak much — he never has to. He has always been fluent in silence, and you’ve learned to understand the language of his touch, his gaze, the way he holds you like the whole world narrows down to this: you, and him, and nothing else.

Then, there’s the kiss.

It’s so natural, you barely notice the shift until his hand finds the back of your head, fingers threading into your hair with the utmost care. He tilts his chin down, and you feel the brush of his breath against your hairline. You don’t move — you don’t dare — as his lips press, slow and lingering, against the center of your forehead.

It’s not rushed. It’s not a fleeting gesture meant to fill silence or pass time. It’s deliberate. Reverent.

Zayne has kissed you other ways before — knuckles, temple, a quick, rare press to your lips — but the forehead… that’s where he always returns. Like it’s sacred. Like it means something more.

You close your eyes, sinking into it, letting yourself feel the way his kiss melts into your skin. It's not just affection; it’s a promise. A steady, wordless vow that he’s here, that you’re safe, that no matter what storms rage outside the little cocoon you’ve built together, he’ll be your shelter.

When he pulls away, it’s by centimeters, not inches. He doesn’t go far, his forehead leaning against yours now, his breath mingling with your own. One hand stays cupped around the back of your head, the other cradling your cheek, his thumb brushing slow arcs over your skin. His touch is warm, grounding.

“You always do that,” you whisper, not really expecting an answer. Your voice is soft, like speaking any louder would shatter the fragile peace between you.

Zayne hums low in his chest, a sound more felt than heard. “Because it’s where you think too much,” he murmurs, voice roughened from disuse and thick with something unspoken. “And I want you to know it’s okay to rest.”

The words settle over you, heavy and tender at the same time. You breathe in through your nose, catching the faint, familiar scent of him — something clean, understated, and wholly Zayne — and nod against him.

His hands never leave you, like if he did, you might slip away. Like if he did, he might lose something he’s not ready to let go of.

Zayne leans in again, another press of lips to your forehead, slower this time, and you realize it’s not just his favorite place to kiss you — it’s his way of telling you he loves you, even when the words are too heavy to speak aloud.

You shift closer, fingers twisting into the fabric of his shirt. His arms tighten around you without hesitation.

You stay like that for a long time, in the hush of the room, in the soft cocoon of his quiet love.

And when you finally fall asleep in his arms, it’s with the ghost of his last kiss still warm against your skin.

XAVIER - hands

It’s the smallest things that betray Xavier the most.

Not the way he speaks — he’s too careful for that, words measured, deliberate — but the way he moves. The glances he thinks you don’t catch, the way he leans in just a fraction when you’re near, the way his fingers hover a heartbeat longer when he hands you something. It’s like he’s always reaching, but never assuming. Like he’s afraid one wrong move will chase you away.

Tonight, he’s more still than usual. The two of you are curled up on the floor of his apartment, a blanket pooled around you and an abandoned book lying face-down nearby. The overhead lights are off, leaving only the soft spill of streetlamps filtering through the window, throwing faint shadows across the room.

You sit close enough that your knees are brushing, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from him. Still, he doesn’t reach for you right away — doesn’t pull you in or hold you like he wants to.

Instead, he finds your hand.

It’s so subtle you almost miss it — his fingers brushing against yours, tentative at first, like he’s asking a question without speaking. You answer by turning your palm up, offering it to him.

Xavier’s touch is careful as he takes your hand in both of his, like it’s something fragile and precious, something he has no right to but can’t bear to let go of. He’s quiet for a moment, studying the way your fingers fit against his, his thumb grazing the delicate lines in your palm.

Then he lifts your hand slowly, reverently, to his lips.

It’s not rushed or automatic — it’s intentional. Xavier presses a kiss to your knuckles first, a ghost of a touch, barely there but leaving a weight behind anyway. He lingers there, breath warm against your skin, before turning your hand just slightly to press another kiss to your palm.

Your heart stumbles in your chest.

There’s a kind of quiet worship in the way he does it — not flashy or showy, but deep, earnest. Like in his mind, this is where his affection belongs. Not in grand gestures or public declarations, but here, in the places that most people overlook.

He keeps your hand close even after, holding it lightly in his lap as his thumb traces slow, thoughtful circles over the back of it. You can feel his heartbeat against your wrist, steady and grounding.

Xavier ducks his head, a small, almost sheepish smile curving his lips. He presses another kiss — this time a little firmer, a little more sure — to the base of your thumb before he finally answers.

“I like your hands,” he says, simple but earnest. “They’re… honest.”

You blink, tilting your head. “Honest?”

His thumb moves again, feather-light. “They’re not guarded like the rest of you.” His voice is soft, but there’s a certainty there that leaves you breathless. “When you’re nervous, you fidget. When you’re happy, you can’t stay still. When you’re hurting, you clench your fists. You try to hide it everywhere else, but not here.”

He gives your hand a gentle squeeze, eyes flickering up to meet yours — not shy this time, but steady, sure.

“I like being able to hold the parts of you that don’t lie.”

You swallow thickly, your fingers tightening around his without even thinking. Xavier’s smile softens, and he leans down one last time, pressing a kiss to your knuckles like a seal on a promise he’ll never say aloud.

Neither of you speaks after that. You don’t need to.

You stay there, hand in his, wrapped in the quiet certainty of his affection — no words, no expectations, just the simple, unspoken truth of his lips against your skin.

RAFAYEL - cheeks

Rafayel was never one for subtlety.

Where others might slip love between the cracks — in a lingering glance or a brush of fingers — Rafayel made sure you felt it, saw it, wore it like a second skin.

You’re perched on the edge of the kitchen counter now, legs swinging as Rafayel rummages noisily through the fridge. It’s one of those lazy mornings where time feels stretchy and slow, and the world outside your little apartment might as well not exist. The smell of coffee hangs in the air, and there’s an empty plate between you where a half-eaten pastry once sat — Rafayel, of course, having stolen the last bite with a mischievous grin and zero remorse.

He shuts the fridge with a dramatic sigh, holding up a sad-looking carton of milk. “We’re out. Tragedy,” he announces solemnly, as if this is the worst news he’s ever delivered.

You bite back a smile. “You finished it last night, remember?”

“I refuse to be held accountable for anything I do after midnight,” Rafayel says loftily, abandoning the milk on the counter and crossing the room in three easy strides. He plants himself right in front of you, hands braced on either side of your hips, caging you in — not that you mind.

You know what’s coming before it even happens.

There’s a particular gleam in his eye — the one he gets right before he does something outrageous and completely, irrevocably him.

And then, without any preamble, Rafayel dips forward and presses a loud, exaggerated kiss to your left cheek. Mwah.

You laugh, scrunching your face up, but he’s already moving to the other side — mwah — and then back again, alternating between your cheeks with comical, over-the-top kisses, like he’s a kid blowing raspberries. Each kiss is punctuated by a silly sound, a slight nuzzle of his nose against your skin, a soft laugh rumbling in his chest.

“Raf—!” you giggle, squirming, but there’s no real protest in it.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his smile wide and unapologetic, and you realize — he looks giddy. Like loving you is the best joke he’s ever been in on, and he’s not afraid to be foolish about it.

“You have the most kissable cheeks,” he declares, as if this is an established, undeniable fact. His fingers brush your jaw, thumbs lightly grazing the apples of your cheeks. “Soft. Squishy. Absolutely perfect for me.”

You roll your eyes playfully. “They’re just cheeks.”

“No,” Rafayel says with mock seriousness, tapping your nose with the tip of his finger. “They’re your cheeks. Therefore, they are precious commodities. I’m merely ensuring they’re properly appreciated.”

You shake your head, laughing under your breath, but the warmth blooming in your chest is impossible to hide. Rafayel sees it, of course — he sees everything.

He leans in again, this time slower, more deliberate. The next kiss he presses to your cheek is softer, lingering. He’s not teasing now — not exactly. He’s indulging.

One kiss. Two. His breath warms your skin, his nose brushing the curve of your cheekbone, and for a second, the world shrinks down to the feeling of him — the solid weight of his hands, the faint scratch of his stubble, the way he hums low in his throat like he’s memorizing this moment.

When he finally pulls back, it’s just far enough for your eyes to meet. His smile has gentled, and there’s a kind of quiet pride in the way he looks at you, as if loving you this openly is something he refuses to be embarrassed about.

“I like your cheeks,” he says simply, as if that explains everything.

You lean forward, resting your forehead lightly against his. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you adore me for it,” he quips, smug but tender, as his thumb brushes another slow line along your cheekbone.

You do. You really, really do.

And when Rafayel grins and swoops in for one more playful mwah — just because he can — you let him. You always do.

Because if Rafayel’s love is loud and silly and painted in kisses across your cheeks, you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

SYLUS - lips

With Sylus, it’s never rushed.

It’s deliberate — patient — like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you and is in no hurry to let you recover.

You’re standing close now, closer than usual, caught in the gravity that always seems to pull the two of you together. The world outside fades until it’s nothing more than a distant hum behind the closed doors of his bedroom. It’s quiet here, but not silent — there’s the faint rustle of the curtains moving in the breeze, the muted tap of rain against the window.

And Sylus, standing just in front of you, looking at you like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

His hand is light on your waist, fingertips barely brushing the fabric of your shirt. It would be easy to step away — easy to break the spell — but you don’t. You can’t. You’re caught, tangled up in the intensity of his gaze, in the slow, measured way he moves closer.

Sylus is not a man who squanders touch. Every movement he makes is intentional — crafted. And when he kisses you, it’s no different.

He reaches up, brushing a loose strand of hair away from your face. His knuckles graze your skin, light and slow, sending shivers down your spine. His hand lingers, cradling the side of your face with a gentleness that feels at odds with the sharp, confident man he is to the rest of the world.

You feel his breath first — warm, steady — and then he leans in.

The kiss is soft at first, almost teasing, a mere whisper of lips against yours. Like he’s tasting the moment, savoring it. He pulls back a fraction, just enough that you can see the faint curve of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth — not arrogant, not playful, but sure. Like he knows exactly how badly you want more.

And then he kisses you again, firmer this time.

Sylus kisses like he’s crafting something, like each press of his mouth is shaping a memory. His other hand finds the small of your back, drawing you in so there’s no space left between you, and it’s all heat and closeness and the steady, unyielding pressure of his lips moving against yours.

He doesn’t rush. He doesn’t need to. There’s an ease to him, a slow-burning confidence that makes you melt in his hands. His lips are warm and sure, coaxing rather than demanding, every brush and press speaking a language older than words — I’m here. I want you. You’re mine.

When he finally pulls back, it’s by inches. His thumb grazes your cheekbone in a slow, absent-minded caress as he looks down at you, his breathing slightly heavier than before, though he hides it well.

“You always kiss me like that,” you whisper, voice low and a little breathless.

Sylus hums, a low, satisfied sound deep in his chest. His thumb keeps moving, slow circles against your skin. “Of course.”

“Why?”

He leans in again, not quite kissing you this time, but close enough that you can feel the ghost of his words against your mouth.

“Because,” he murmurs, “your lips are where you argue. Where you smile. Where you speak every reckless thought in that mind of yours.” His mouth curves, a soft, private smile. “It’s the first place I want to claim. And the last.”

The words leave you breathless.

You don’t get the chance to respond — not that you could — because Sylus kisses you again, a little deeper, a little slower, as if sealing the truth of his words with the press of his mouth against yours.

And when he finally eases back, he stays close, forehead resting lightly against yours, his hands still cradling you like you’re something precious.

CALEB - neck

You should’ve seen it coming the moment Caleb sidled up to you with that grin.

The one that’s all boyish mischief and just a little too wide to be innocent. You’re standing at the kitchen counter trying — trying — to focus on chopping vegetables for dinner, but it’s hard to concentrate with him hovering like that.

“What are you doing?” you ask, without looking, because you can feel the trouble radiating off him like a low hum.

“Nothing,” Caleb says, far too quickly to be believable.

You pause, knife in hand, and glance at him. He’s way too close now, arms folded, leaning his weight lazily against the counter. His eyes sparkle — and not from the overhead lights.

Before you can say anything else, Caleb dips in — fast — and plants a loud, obnoxious kiss to the side of your neck.

You squawk, flinching instinctively as he does it again, this time really exaggerating it with a playful “Mwah!” like he’s a cartoon character.

“Caleb—!” you yelp, twisting away with a laugh. He follows easily, grinning wider, crowding your space with the kind of reckless confidence only Caleb can pull off.

“What?” he says innocently. “It’s your fault for having such a perfect neck.”

You huff a breath, trying to glare, but the laughter bubbling in your chest betrays you. “I’m trying to cook.”

“And I’m trying to shower my girlfriend in affection,” he says, as if it’s a noble, world-saving cause. “You’re not gonna win this one, pipsqueak.”

He leans in again, but this time — this time — the kiss is different.

Softer. Slower. The exaggerated “mwah” is gone, replaced by a warm press of lips just under your jaw, feather-light but lingering.

Your breath catches — barely — but it’s enough for Caleb to notice. Of course he notices.

“See?” he murmurs against your skin, his voice low and coaxing. “Told you. Perfect.”

You swallow, feeling your pulse kick up a notch. Caleb’s hand comes up to brush your hair aside, clearing a path. He trails a few more kisses along the curve of your neck — not rushed, not teasing now — each one slower, more deliberate.

The silly energy from before is still there, tucked under the surface, but it’s tempered now by something heavier. Warmer.

You tilt your head slightly without thinking, giving him better access, and he chuckles, a soft, pleased sound that vibrates against your skin.

“Didn’t even have to ask,” he murmurs, his breath fanning out over your neck.

Your hands — the ones that were holding the knife and cutting board so dutifully before — find their way to his shoulders, grounding yourself against the growing warmth curling through you.

Caleb’s kisses travel downward, slow and maddening, pressing into the sensitive hollow between your neck and shoulder. He lingers there, lips barely moving, and you feel the faint scrape of his teeth — just enough to make your breath hitch.

His hands settle at your waist, thumbs tracing lazy circles through the fabric of your shirt. He’s not rushing — he’s savoring — and it’s all too easy to forget the rest of the world when he kisses you like this.

When he finally pulls back, it’s only by a breath, his forehead brushing yours, his grin softer now — more tender than teasing.

“Best seat in the house,” he says, tapping a finger lightly against your pulse point. “Right here.”

You roll your eyes, but it’s impossible not to smile, not when Caleb’s looking at you like you’re the only thing he ever wants to see.

“Hopeless,” you murmur, voice a little unsteady from how very effective he is.

“Completely,” Caleb agrees cheerfully, before leaning in to steal another kiss — this time from your lips — quick, sweet, and just enough to leave you breathless.

The vegetables are forgotten. Dinner can wait.

After all, when Caleb’s got you trapped between the counter and his arms, pressing slow, burning kisses to your neck like you’re his favorite thing in the world — how could you possibly think about anything else?

[neigepomme]

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

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

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

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

“mmh, no honey, i won't be long.”

“honey? i was looking for you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[nanamisgirly]

inspired by the song guess by Charli XCX feat.Billie :)

the party is soft and slow—a small group of friends, scattered between floor cushions and low sofas, sunlight bleeding through the windows. it's an easy, quiet afternoon. 

well, for you, at least. because, apparently, caleb is fighting for his life.

you're perched on his thighs—stretched out on the couch, back flush against his chest. his hands are draped on your stomach keeping you in place as his face is hidden behind your shoulder, his fluffy hair tickling your cheek.

he hasn't said a word in minutes…

not since you bend forward to grab your drink from the coffee table in front of you. your jeans dipped low enough to flash the lace of your panties—his panties. the one with the tiny bows, the one he picked out for you so thoroughly in Tokyo.

poor boy :(( he's trying so hard to act normal in front of your friends, trying not to get a full boner over a pair of panties…

“is caleb okay?” someone asks, a little concerned. 

“oh…yeah,” you purr, one hand reaching up to run your fingers through his messy curls, voice dripping with false sympathy. “he's probably tired. had a long shift last night.” 

caleb lets out a shaky breath behind you—trying to will his dick soft by sheer force of embarrassment. you can feel caleb's thighs tensing under you, his arms pulling you closer, fingers gripping tighter around the softness of your stomach. 

you let him take all your weight on his crotch, feeling him twitch and struggle to keep his cool. if he looked up now, everyone would see how red his face is, how glassy his eyes are, how swollen his lips are from biting back the noise you're dragging out of him with nothing but your body weight and a lace tease.

and as if it wasn't enough, you feel a bit more playful and grind just a little—innocent enough for everyone else in the room, but enough for a whimper to crack out of his throat, swallowed instantly into your skin—biting right onto your shoulder to keep from moaning.

in the tiniest, broken voice, he whispers “babe…don't be mean...it's already hard to know you're wearing the lacy black pair with the little bows…the ones i bought you…”

you hum softly, dragging your teeth along his earlobe. “poor sweet boy," you mock. "do you wanna put ‘em in your mouth? pull ’em all down south? is that what you're thinking about while our friends are right here?”

he shudders—breath coming in fast. one of his hand come to hold onto your hips debating whether to beg or bolt.

and you rock again—harder this time. he gasps, teeth sinking into your skin, muffling a desperate little moan.

you're fulling smiling now, sipping from your glass like nothing's happening while he drowns beneath you. “keep it together, baby.” you coo, voice syrup-sweet. “be good for me yeah? don't wanna embarrass yourself in front of all your friends. just sit there all pretty and nice.”

he lets out a choked little noise and buries his face deeper into your neck—trying so hard not to rut against you like a desperate animal.

“behave yourself, be sweet and quiet and maybe, maybe, i'll let you eat tonight." 

caleb nods frantically, eyes squeezed shut—trying not to blow his load just from your fat ass sitting heavy on his cock and the thought of nuzzling into your clothed cunt like an obedient puppy :(

[caleignii]

Gamer!Caleb/Fan!Reader

mentions of: smut, fingering, pussy eating lol, p in v, possessive behavior, creampie, jealousy, cumming, breeding, masturbation, rough sex, orgasm, praising kink, sexual overstimulation, caleb is totally a pervert.

summary: as he came to your coffee shop one day, you never thought that you'll meet your favorite streamer caleb?!

a/n: LOLOLOL, OMG HAPPY JUNELEBBB. I've been lazy for almost twoo weeks WHAAAT??? UGHH idek what to do neext. This one is my longest fic so faarr so have fun readingg! Might post the part two of PossessiveMechanic!Caleb tomorrow lolll, stay tuned!!!

A soft ding was heard on your phone.

As you are currently in the kitchen looking for some snacks, you turned to check your phone. A “Mid night stream since y'all fav streamer had been busy from Cappleb” was shown on the notifications not long ago.

Since your favorite streamer, Caleb, or should we call him Cappleb, hasn't been online for nearly four days, you're thrilled and your excitement is visible on your face.

Before you knew his page, you were busy scrolling into Chrome, when the phone suddenly jumped on your hands landing towards your face.

His adorable face, which nearly looked like a puppy due to his eyes, was what drew your attention when you unintentionally clicked on a few tabs and found his page.

At first, you enjoyed watching him stream about his gaming activities. It was clear that he loved airplanes so much that he occasionally even makes replicas of little aircraft instead of his usual gaming streams. Some airplanes on a shelf that can be seen in his background were precisely aligned and appeared to have been well-maintained.

After you become comfy with him, as you haven't missed any of his streams, you began interacting with him in his comments by asking, "How are uuuuu??” or occasionally making remarks about how accurate and skilled he is when playing Valorant.

Feeling flustered when he notices your little comment, “Doin' pretty well angel, how 'boutcha?”

After awhile, you came to the position of one of his most top fans, and a badge next to your name that notifies him anytime you sign up for his streams. Sometimes if your wallet is feeling a bit too full, you'd send him some stars to fund his streams.

cutiaples [Top Fan 🍎]: sent 1000 stars! ⭐⭐⭐

“WHAT IN THE HOLY GYAAAAT! That's a lottt.” he stopped in his game to look in the comments.

cutiaples [Top Fan 🍎]: you've been playing nonstop for 4 hours, thought this would make u smile cute boy ;3

“Wait-wait-wait, my mind's still processing... Thank you so much baby!!!” you were stunned when he called you baby, blood immediately rising to your cheeks.

The look on his face is everything, slightly widened eyes, corner of his lips turning upwards, and the way he giggles. It made you feel like your stomach was moving around.

Right now, when you clicked on the notifications that directed you to his stream, you saw him wearing a black sweatshirt that fits him perfectly and headphones resting around his neck. You observed him as he is presently working on finishing his desktop so that his game may be seen.

You can't help but be impressed by his features, including his fluffy hair, the way his brows move unintentionally, and the way his Adams apple rises and falls with each swallow. The fact that he looks so good without even trying makes you blush.

The whole time you just watch him playing some silly game, laughing off when he does something funny.

Saying farewell to his viewers as he stopped his stream at around 4:00 AM, and you forgot that you still had work to do in the morning.

“Y'aaall don't miss me muuch! Bye-byeee!” his smile is clearly warming, along with his eyes that threaten to close in any second.

You were clearly sleep deprived after staying up all night, as evidenced by your drooping eyes and distracted thoughts. You have repeatedly tried blinking forcefully in the hopes that it might reduce your drowsiness, but it has didn't worked.

“A cup of large iced-americano and a slice of apple-pie, order coming up!” you came back to your senses hearing your manager's instruction.

As you brew the coffee yourself you can't help but to yawn.

“Didn't sleep much huh? Who kept you up all night? Wish that was me tho” your coworker Frank commented.

“None of your business, get back to work we aren't supposed to be chatting, do you want us to get scolded or what.” you shot him back clearly annoyed.

“Jeeezz calm down, here's the apple-pie by the way. Serve it to table fourteen.”

When you reached the designated table, dropping the tray onto the table to a man wearing a cap looking slightly suspicious by how cautious he is acting.

“Here's your large iced-americano along with an apple-pie lemme know if you need something else, enjoy your order!”

“Excuse me, Miss? I think there's something missing in my order.”

As you turn back, you can't help but feel a sense of familiarity against him.

“May I see your receipt please?” when he handed the slightly crumbled paper, you caught a glimpse of his face under the cap he was wearing.

CALEB!?

IS IT REALLY HIM?

“S-sure, it seems like the Lemon chiffon cake is missing. Let me get it for you right ahead” When you returned to the kitchen you tried to think of something else. What if he just looks like him? It'll be embarrassing if I straight up greet him, right?

“Im sorry for our mistake, here's your Lemon chiffon cake Sir. Is there anything else you need?”

“Nopee but thanks anyway!”

You swore share the same voice!

“Clean up table six!” as you came back to your senses you proceeded to go back working.

Following a long day, you were left to clear the final two tables. As you reached to pick it up, you noticed something gleaming beneath the table that definitely drew your attention. Someone appears to have dropped this wallet. A brown pocketbook with blue and orange accents on the edges, as well as the tiny apple charm that had been shining from the earlier sunlight.

You opened it to check for identification or documentation pertaining to the owner. When you opened it, there was $248 inside, along with a piece of lemon-flavored candy. Going on to eventually locate an ID.

Caleb Xia, 25 Years Old, Registered Pilot in the Deepspace Aviation Administration.

Your heart nearly leapt out of your chest.

Caleb? It is him.

You stared at the ID, unable to look away. That soft smile in the picture, the same one you’d seen countless times during his streams, made everything click into place. Your hands trembled slightly as you clutched the wallet. What were the odds?

The wallet felt warm in your hands, still echoing traces of its owner.

Caleb.

Your breath caught when you saw his name—just a thin layer of leather and circumstance separating you from a person you’d admired for so long.

A streamer you watched religiously, heart fluttering at every “hey angel” typed to someone you assumed he'd never meet.

But now, he was here.

In your café.

Ordering lemon chiffon cake and smiling with those same crescent-moon eyes that used to light up your screen at 2 AM.

You didn’t say anything. How could you?

How could you tell him that the barista who brought his coffee was the same person who sent him stars with whispered admiration behind every coin?

That the girl wiping tables and yawning at dawn was the same voice that told him he was doing great mid-Valo match?

No.

You kept it to yourself.

You tucked his wallet safely into a sealed bag, placed it beneath the counter, and watched as the night slipped away like steam off hot coffee.

He came back the next morning, this time with his cap gone and a quiet confidence in his step.

“I think I left something behind,” he said.

You didn’t meet his eyes at first. You were afraid he’d see too much in yours.

“A brown wallet with a little apple charm, have you guys perhaps seen it?”

“Yeah,” you murmured, retrieving it for him. “We held it for you. Thought you might come back.”

“Thanks,” he said, eyes soft with gratitude. “Would’ve been a disaster if I lost it.”

You handed it over, your fingers brushing for a moment. He smiled, and something in your chest lurched.

He started showing up more often after that.

Sometimes for the lemon chiffon. Sometimes for the espresso.

But after a while, you noticed—he didn’t even pretend to look at the menu anymore.

He came to talk.

"Rough night?" he'd ask, noticing your eye bags.

"Yeah, just… couldn’t sleep."

Couldn't? No, you wouldn't sleep cuz he was streaming til 3AM.

"You too, huh?"

He’d sit by the window while the sun stretched across the floor like golden thread. You’d steal glances while pouring milk, wiping counters, pretending not to notice how the light caught in his hair.

You learned things.

He loved planes—real ones.

Not just models. Not just flight sims. He had studied aviation since he was sixteen. He told you about his training, the nights he’d sleep under textbooks, the mornings he’d wake up with paper cuts and dreams of blue skies.

“I wanted to fly away from everything back then,” he admitted once, eyes far away.

You wanted to ask what he was flying from—but you didn’t. Some silences are more sacred than sound.

He became a part of the place. A low hum in your routine.

Sometimes you’d sit across from him after your shift, swapping stories over lukewarm pastries.

You'd tell him about your dream to study design, about how this café was only a stepping stone. He listened, chin in his hand, like every word you spoke mattered.

But still, he didn’t know.

Didn’t know that after your shifts, you raced home, slipped into your blanket cocoon, and waited for his stream to go live.

Didn’t know you still logged in as cutiaples, heart skipping when he read comments, even if they weren’t yours.

You were greedy for the version of him that was just yours, outside the glowing screen.

Then one night, it happened.

He mentioned you on stream.

“There’s this girl,” he said suddenly, eyes flicking nervously to the side of the camera. “She works at this café I go to. She's… cool. Funny. And she listens.”

The chat lit up instantly.

BabyzAyneee: OHHHH HE’S IN LOVE

ladsADICTS [Top Fan 🍎]: SHE BETTER NOT HURT U CAP

calebxsmuncherr: drop the @ drop the @ drop the @

He chuckled, rubbing his neck.

“I dunno. It’s weird. She has no idea who I am, which is kinda… nice.”

You froze.

He didn’t know.

Of course he didn’t.

You didn’t comment.

You didn’t even log in.

You just watched. Quietly.

Because he wasn’t talking to cutiaples anymore. He was talking about you.

The real you.

The one with frizzy hair after a twelve-hour shift. The one who spilled oat milk once on his sleeve. The one who laughed a little too hard at his dumb plane puns.

The next day, you found him waiting before your shift even started.

“Hey,” he said, holding something behind his back.

“What’s that?”

He revealed a small gift bag. “Don’t get excited, it’s dumb. But I found this apple that reminded me of you.”

You peeked inside.

Green apple.

You stared up at him, and in your chest, something cracked open.

“Do you believe in coincidences?” you asked softly.

He tilted his head. “Like... destiny wearing a fake mustache?”

You laughed, even though your heart was pounding.

“I have something to tell you,” you said.

And there, beneath the humming of espresso machines and clink of ceramic mugs, you told him.

“I know you” you blabbered.

You told him everything.

That you were cutiaples. That you’d been watching since before you met. That you were terrified of how real this all became.

He was quiet.

Then he smiled. Slowly. Softly. Like sunrise after a storm.

“No wonder your username felt... familiar.”

“You’re not mad?”

He shook his head. “Mad? No. Just kinda stunned.”

You both sat there, letting the world fall away.

Then he added, “So… my top fan’s the same girl I’ve been falling for. That’s kinda poetic, don’t you think?”

After bumping into each other again—this time intentionally, as he started frequenting the café “for the pie”—you exchanged numbers. Conversations grew from small talk into long, late-night texts. He’d occasionally send you a meme or a blurry pic of the model airplane he was working on with the caption:

“Don’t laugh at its nose 😤”

You’d tease him playfully and call him “Captain Puppyboy” just to fluster him. Eventually, he invited you to co-stream with him—just for fun. Nervous, you agreed.

The chat exploded when you appeared on stream beside him for the first time, cozy on his couch.

OrbitingYourHeart: cutiaples in the flesh???

GalaxyGf4Hire: WAIT THEY’RE SITTING SO CLOSE

Iwmiwmeow: SHIP CONFIRMED??

giDIEon [Top Fan 🍎]: IM JEALOUS BROOO

You both laughed it off, but neither of you denied anything.

As you both play, currently focused on delivering content in real time while managing interactions. Caleb noticed some comments.

frankieer: YOOOOOO, remember that time we almost dated? Wild days. Didn't know yer meeting w some guy now.

He read it aloud, which caused him to lose focus on the game. You, however, forced you to look at what he was reading.

“Who was that?” you paused the game.

“I dunno, i guess some random dude. D'you know him?”

“Lemme see... frankiee?? Frank? The hell are you saying?” the annoyance in your voice alarmed his mind.

“Who's that babe?” he automatically raises an eyebrow, as you've never mentioned someone naming 'Frank' before.

“He's my coworker, flirting with me at any chance he gets.” his head turned back to the screen as his eyebrows knitted together.

“Yeah right.” you couldn't tell the expression on his face,

He turned off his screen so fast, livestream off, tabs off, mic muted, everything, leaving the viewers dumbfounded and shocked.

“Baby—” you were interrupted when he abruptly jolted you into his arms and took you to your shared bedroom.

“Caleb, baby I swear that wasn't true. Please don't believe him. Babe I'm sorryyyy.” while he laid you down on the bed, attempting to coo him.

“You know that you're mine right?” as you nodded to his response.

“Then allow me to further claim you.” as he smashed his soft lips with yours, calloused fingers roaming around the curves of your body. Caleb lifted you up, legs wrapping around his waist.

The kiss went deeply, his fingers tangling in your hair. He could taste himself on your lips, could feel your breath against his skin.

He unclasped youe bra, his mouth capturing one nipple. He sucked and licked, his hand teasing the other. Your breathing quickened, hands tangling in his hair.

“Caleb I want more, please” as the heat in your inner thighs began throbbing.

“And who am I to decline? My pretty baby wants more hmmm?” smirk showing on his lips. “Yes, yes pleasee?”

Caleb complied, his other hand slipping under her skirt to find you wet and ready. He groaned as his fingers slipped inside, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing it in slow, circular motions.

Your hips bucked against his hand, breath coming in ragged gasps. "Caleb," you moaned, head falling back. "You feel so good."

Caleb's fingers moved faster, his thumb pressing harder against your clit. "You're so wet," he growled. "I can't wait to taste you."

As your eyes flew open, gaze locked onto Caleb's. "Yes," you breathed, voice filled with desperation. "Please."

Caleb withdrew his fingers, bringing them to his mouth and sucking on them slowly. Eyes darkened with desire as you watched him, body aching for his touch.

Caleb leaned down, his mouth finding her wetness. He licked slowly, his tongue exploring every inch of your gummy walls. You gasped, hands fisting in his hair as you ground herself against his face.

"Oh God, Caleb," you moaned, hips moving in time with his tongue. "Right... ngghhh there, yes."

Caleb sucked on your clit, his fingers sliding back inside of you. Fingers moving in and out, his thumb pressing against your g-spot. Your body tensed, breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

"Caleb," your cried out, orgasm crashing over like a wave. "Yes, yes, yes."

Caleb didn't stop, his mouth and fingers continuing to work until you were boneless and panting. He kissed his way back up to your body, his lips finding yours in a passionate kiss.

When you wrapped your legs around him, hands working at his belt. "I want you inside me," you murmured against his lips.

He groaned, his cock hard and aching. As he pushed the skirt up, his fingers finding the wetness once again. He slipped two fingers inside, thumb rubbing your little button that has a bundle of nerves.

"You're ready for me," he growled, voice thick with desire. "You're so ready for my cock."

As you nodded, eyes locked onto his. "Yes, I am," you whispered. "Give it to me, Caleb."

Caleb withdrew his fingers, his cock taking their place. He pushed inside slowly, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Haaaah... baby so biigg nghhh” nails digging into his back as you adjusted to his size.

“You feel so good,” Caleb murmured, his hips moving in slow, shallow thrusts.

”So tight and wet.”

You wrapped your legs around him tighter, hips moving in time with his. "Harder," you whispered, voice filled with desperation. "Fuck me harder, Caleb."

His hips moving faster, his cock slamming into your walls with force.

“Fuuuuckk” body moving in time with his.

"Yes, yes," you cried out, head falling back. "Right there, don't stop."

Caleb's hands gripped your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh as he pounded into you. The room filled with the sounds of their bodies slapping together, moans and groans echoing through the apartment.

"You feel so good," Caleb growled, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "Your pussy is so tight around my cock."

His thrusts becoming faster, deeper. Your moans were louder now, body writhing beneath him. He could feel her getting closer, could feel her muscles tightening around him.

"Caleb," you gasped, "I'm close."

Your body is moving again, orgasm building once again. "Caleb," you cried out, body convulsing as you came. "Yes, yes, yes."

Caleb leaned down, his mouth capturing yours in a fierce kiss. He could feel her orgasm, could feel her body convulsing against his. He thrust into her a few more times before he came, his body shuddering with pleasure.

His hips slamming into yours. The bed creaked beneath them, bodies moving in perfect sync. "Fuck, yes," you cried, nails raking down Caleb's back.

Caleb's cock swelled inside you, his body tensing. "Baby ngggh," he groaned, his hips stuttering. You felt him pulse inside, his cock filling your pussy completely. Your own orgasm crashing over. Both of your bodies shook together, breaths ragged. When Caleb collapsed on top of fragile form, bodies slick with sweat.

Both lay together, bodies still joined. His cock softened inside, cum dripping out of your swelling cunt. You smiled, eyes locked on Caleb's. "Are you jellyy because of that??," you murmured. Caleb grinned, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your skin. "Hmmmp!" he pouted, his voice soft. Both stayed like that for a while, bodies entwined, their hearts beating as one.

You were no longer just cutiaples, his top fan.

You were his favorite person.

In every timeline.

On every stream.

And in every quiet, ordinary moment in between.

[clairewritesfanfics]

maybe that's why he didn't mourn

Granny had witnessed a lot of things

[p1psqueaks]

LOVE AND DEEPSPACE — HE CONFESSES HIS LOVE FOR YOU

a/n: A MAN WHO YEARNS IS A MAN WHO EARNS !! also sorry if some of these sound repetitive, i was trying to make it fit the request

ZAYNE

You don’t remember exactly when you fell in love with Zayne.

Maybe it was the first time you caught him smiling — one of those rare, quiet things, tugging at the corner of his mouth like a secret only you got to see. Or maybe it was the way he remembered things about you: not the big, obvious stuff, but the little things — the way you take your coffee, the songs you hum when you’re distracted, the way your hand hovers just a second longer over old books.

It’s a quiet sort of adoration you carry for him. A fragile, sacred thing you keep pressed between your ribs where no one, especially not him, could see. You’re careful with it. You don’t flirt, you don’t push, you don’t hope.

Because how could someone like Zayne —sharp-eyed, steady, impossible Zayne — ever look at you and see what you so desperately feel?

You think you’re obvious sometimes. You catch yourself glancing at him for too long, leaning a little closer when he talks, laughing too quickly at his rare, dry jokes. But he never reacts. Never lingers. Never looks at you with anything other than that patient, unwavering calm.

So you resign yourself to the quietness of it. To loving him the way you love the stars —beautiful and distant and entirely untouchable.

Until today.

It starts the same as any other late evening. The sun has long since dipped below the horizon, the sky outside bleeding dark against the windows. You’re at headquarters, lingering over paperwork you don’t really need to be doing, pretending you aren’t waiting for him to pass by.

But tonight, Zayne doesn’t pass by.

He stops.

You don’t look up right away — you’re afraid if you meet his eyes, he’ll see everything you're trying so hard to hide. But you can feel him there, standing still, like he’s anchoring himself to the spot.

“Can we talk?” His voice is low, careful. It’s not a request.

Your heart trips over itself, but you nod. “Yeah. Of course.”

He moves to sit across from you, hands braced on his knees. He doesn’t fidget; Zayne never fidgets. But there’s a tension around him tonight, a quiet strain that unsettles you more than any sharp word or raised voice could.

For a moment, he says nothing. Just looks at you with those unreadable eyes, the ones you’ve tried so hard not to drown in.

“I’m not good at this,” he says finally, voice tight. “Feelings. Words.”

You smile, soft and aching. “I know.”

And you do know. You’ve known it since the beginning. Another reason why you could never expect anything more from him.

He exhales, sharp and quiet. His hands curl into fists against his knees.

“But that doesn’t mean I don’t have them,” he says. “I do.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, hard. It hurts, but it keeps you grounded.

“Zayne, you don’t have to—”

“I do,” he cuts in, sharper than usual. Then his voice softens, almost pleading. “I do.”

Your breath stutters in your chest.

He drags a hand through his hair, a rare sign of unease. “I thought if I waited, you’d see it. If I stayed close enough, protected you enough, you’d know.”

You blink, stunned. What?

“But you didn’t.” His voice breaks a little on the last word, and you swear the world tilts.

“Zayne…” Your voice is barely a whisper, fragile and unsteady.

“I’m in love with you,” he says, like it costs him something, like it matters. And the way he’s looking at you — raw, open, desperate — you realize it does.

Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. He keeps going, filling the silence like he’s afraid if he stops, you’ll slip away.

“I tried to be patient. Tried to give you space. I thought — maybe you didn’t feel the same. Maybe you couldn’t.” He laughs, a rough, broken sound. “But I can’t keep pretending I’m okay with just being near you.”

He leans forward, hands braced on the table now, like he’s anchoring himself to you.

“I love you,” he says again, quieter. “I don’t know how to stop.”

It’s overwhelming. It’s terrifying. It’s everything you’ve ever wanted and everything you’ve convinced yourself you could never have.

You sit there, heart hammering, the words echoing inside you, cracking through every wall you’ve ever built.

And then — then — it clicks.

All the moments you thought were meaningless — the way he always sat just a little closer than necessary, how his hand would linger an extra second when he handed you something, how he looked at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention.

He’s been loving you this whole time.

Your chair scrapes against the floor as you push it back, standing on legs that feel too weak to hold you. His eyes track you, but he doesn’t move.

You reach out, tentative, fingers brushing against his. His hand turns instinctively, catching yours, grounding you.

“I—” Your voice shakes. You swallow, try again. “I love you too.”

For a second, neither of you moves. Just breathe, just exist, tethered by the thin thread of your joined hands.

And then he’s standing too, pulling you into him, arms wrapping around you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. You press your face into his chest, feeling the thud of his heart under your palms.

“I didn’t think—” You start, but he cuts you off, pressing his forehead against yours.

“You don’t have to think,” he murmurs. “Just stay.”

And you do.

For the first time, you allow yourself to stay.

XAVIER

You don’t know when it started — falling for Xavier.

Maybe it was gradual, like the slow fade of dusk into night, quiet and inevitable. Or maybe it was instant, the first time he looked at you with those dark, uncertain eyes and gave you one of those half-smiles that always seemed like a secret he didn’t know how to share.

You’re not sure. All you know is that it’s there —deep, rooted, impossible to ignore.

And you tell yourself he could never feel the same.

Because Xavier is… Xavier. Brilliant and quiet and achingly kind in a way that sneaks up on you. He’s the kind of person you could spend a lifetime deciphering and still not uncover all the hidden corners. You adore him — so much that it aches sometimes — but you tuck it all away. Keep it safe and hidden.

You think you're obvious. How could you not be? The way you light up when he walks into a room, the way your gaze always finds him first, the way you linger when you should walk away.

But he never says anything. Never acts like he notices. And part of you believes that’s answer enough.

So you stay quiet. You stay close. You love him the way you might love a painting in a museum— beautiful, unreachable, behind glass you don't dare to touch.

Until tonight.

It’s late. Too late for either of you to still be here, but somehow you are. The halls are empty, the hum of the city outside a distant murmur. You’re sitting in the quiet of the common room, a forgotten file in your lap, pretending to read.

Xavier’s across from you, a book balanced in his hands, though you can tell he hasn’t turned a page in a while.

You’re used to this, the comfortable silence that lives between you. But tonight, it feels… different. Tighter. Like the air is too heavy, like something’s straining to break free.

You chance a glance at him, and find he’s already looking at you.

Your breath catches.

He doesn’t look away. He doesn’t even pretend.

“Hey,” he says, voice low and rough.

“Hey,” you echo, trying to smile, to keep it light.

But something in his expression holds you still. There’s a tension there, a hesitance you’ve never seen before, like he’s standing on the edge of something and doesn’t know if he should jump.

“I’ve been trying to figure out how to say this,” he mutters, more to himself than to you.

You blink, confused. “Say what?”

He exhales sharply, fingers tightening around the book before he sets it aside with more force than necessary. His hands clench in his lap.

“That I’m in love with you,” he says, almost too fast, like the words have been bottled up for so long that now that they’re out, he can’t stop them. “I — God, I am. I have been for a while. And it’s—”

He cuts himself off, dragging a hand through his hair, a rare crack in his usually calm exterior.

“I kept thinking you must know,” he says, softer now, almost pleading. “That you must’ve figured it out. I thought I was being obvious.”

Your heart is a wild, thrumming thing in your chest. You’re sure he can hear it.

“You…” You struggle to find your voice. “You love me?”

His eyes, dark and raw, find yours again. “Yeah,” he breathes. “Yeah, I do.”

You sit there, frozen, the words crashing over you, rearranging everything you thought you knew.

Because suddenly, all the little things — the way he always found reasons to be near you, the way his gaze lingered when he thought you weren’t looking, the way he smiled softer, laughed quieter when it was just the two of you— they all come into focus.

He’s been loving you this whole time.

It’s overwhelming. Terrifying. Wonderful.

“I didn’t think…” You shake your head, blinking against the sting in your eyes. “I didn’t think someone like you could ever—”

“Don’t.” His voice is rough, trembling with an emotion he usually keeps so tightly guarded. “Don’t do that. Don’t act like you’re not — like you’re not you. I love you. Not because you’re perfect or because I think you’re some idea of something. I love you because you’re you.”

He stands then, almost like he can’t sit still anymore, and paces a short, agitated line in front of you before stopping, turning to face you.

“And I’m scared,” he admits, voice cracking. “I’m scared I screwed this up by not saying it sooner. But I couldn’t — I didn’t want to ruin what we have. I couldn’t stand the idea of you… pulling away.”

You’re standing too before you even realize it, hands trembling at your sides. He’s so close, you can feel the heat of him, the quiet urgency in his breathing.

You reach out, tentative, unsure, and your fingers brush his. His hand turns, catches yours, threads your fingers together like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“I love you too,” you whisper, the words catching on a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “I have for so long.”

For a moment, neither of you moves. And then he’s pulling you into him, arms wrapping around you in a hold that’s fierce and desperate and grounding all at once. You bury your face in his shoulder, breathing him in, feeling the way his heart races under your palms.

He presses his face into your hair, voice muffled but still so achingly tender.

“I should’ve told you sooner,” he murmurs. “I should’ve—”

“It’s okay,” you whisper back. “We’re here now.”

And he holds you tighter, like he’s never letting go

RAFAYEL

You love Rafayel the way one might love a sunset — fiercely, hopelessly, knowing you can never hold it in your hands.

It’s not difficult to fall for him. He’s all sharp edges and brilliant color, a storm of laughter and teasing words, but there’s a tenderness beneath it all that you catch glimpses of when he thinks you aren’t looking.

You adore him quietly, carefully.

Maybe a little obviously, though you tell yourself you’re subtle enough. A lingering glance here, a softened laugh there. You memorize the way he runs a hand through his hair when he’s tired, the rare vulnerability that creeps into his voice when he talks about his art, the way he looks at the world — like he’s always halfway in love with it.

And you’re convinced he could never feel the same.

Because he’s Rafayel — bold, brilliant, impossible. And you? You’re just... you. Not the sort of person who catches the attention of someone like him, no matter how many times you catch your breath when he’s near or how much of your heart you’ve already given away without ever meaning to.

You’ve made your peace with it. Or you tell yourself you have.

The gallery is quiet. Closing time passed an hour ago, but you linger, sitting in the center of the main room, the lights dimmed to a low, golden hush.

You’re pretending to be absorbed in one of his latest pieces — a swirling storm of color and shadow that somehow feels alive — when you hear him.

“Still here, Cutie?” His voice is light, teasing, but there’s an edge to it, a tightness you don’t usually hear.

You turn, offering a small smile. “Couldn’t leave without seeing this one again.”

He’s standing a few feet away, hands shoved into his pockets, the lines of his body tense. There’s a furrow between his brows, and his usual easy smirk is nowhere to be found.

“Rafayel?” you ask, soft.

He stares at you, silent, like he’s trying to work something out in his head. Then, before you can blink, he moves — crossing the space between you in a few long strides.

You stand automatically, heart leaping into your throat.

“I’ve tried to be patient,” he says, and his voice— his voice is thick with emotion, almost trembling. “Tried to wait for you to see it. Feel it.”

You blink, confused. “See what?”

He laughs — bitter, low, almost broken. “Us. Me. You. The way I…” He shakes his head, jaw tightening, like the words are fighting him.

“I thought you knew,” he says, softer now, almost defeated. “I thought I was obvious. I’ve never exactly been subtle, have I?”

Your heart is pounding so hard it’s a wonder he can’t hear it.

He steps closer, so close you could reach out and touch him, but you don’t. You’re frozen, waiting for something you can’t even name.

“I’m in love with you.” The words drop into the space between you like stones in a still pond. “And I have been for longer than I care to admit.”

Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

He laughs again, a soft, self-deprecating sound. “I’m not good at hiding things. Every look, every touch, every time I called you ‘darling’ or ‘beloved’ — I wasn’t playing. I meant every word.”

You’re shaking, you realize. Just a little.

“You love me,” you whisper, like you don’t dare believe it.

He huffs, frustrated. “Yes. Yes.” His hand lifts, almost touches your cheek, but falls back to his side. “And I’m terrified. Because you’ve spent all this time looking at me like I’m the stars and you’re just a passerby. Like you couldn’t possibly be allowed to reach out and touch. And I…” His voice cracks. “I would let you burn me alive if it meant you’d look at me the way I look at you.”

It hits you all at once.

The teasing that was always just a little softer with you. The way his eyes lingered when you thought he was being flippant. The gentleness threaded through every sharp-edged word he ever gave you.

He’s been loving you all along.

And you were too blind, too scared to see it.

Tears blur your vision, but you don’t move to hide them. You just step forward, closing the last bit of space between you, and reach for him.

Rafayel’s breath stutters as you lay your hand over his heart, feeling it hammer wildly under your palm.

“I love you too,” you whisper. “I just never thought you could—”

His hand snaps up, catching yours, holding it against his chest like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

“You are the only thing,” he says, fierce and trembling, “that has ever made me believe in forever.”

You laugh, watery and shaking, and he leans down, forehead pressing against yours, the air between you shivering with everything you’ve never said.

“I love you,” he murmurs again, like a vow. “And I’m not going to let you doubt it ever again.”

You nod, closing your eyes, feeling the weight of it, the overwhelming, beautiful truth of it.

You’re his. He’s yours. And this time, there’s no mistaking it.

SYLUS

Loving Sylus isn’t hard. He’s magnetic, all sharp smiles and easy arrogance, the kind of man who walks into a room and changes the gravity of it. He teases you mercilessly, throws smirks like careless sparks, and you catch each one like it’s precious.

You adore him — quietly, carefully.

Sometimes you wonder if it’s obvious, if he notices how you fold under his grin, how your heart stumbles whenever he leans in too close or calls you darling in that low, amused voice. But then he’ll laugh and turn away, leaving you to chase the echo of it alone.

You tell yourself it’s fine. That he couldn’t possibly feel the same. Sylus is effortless and sure in a way you could never hope to match.

You think you’re being subtle — that he doesn’t see.

You’re wrong.

It happens one evening when you least expect it.

You’re at Elysium, the lights dimmed low, most of the operatives long gone. You’re sitting on one of the lounge sofas, thumbing through reports you can’t bring yourself to focus on, when Sylus drops down beside you with the kind of fluid grace he wears like second skin.

“Burning the midnight oil, sweetie?” he drawls, voice low and teasing.

You glance at him, trying to keep it casual, even though your heart is already picking up speed. “Someone has to.”

He leans back, arms spread across the back of the sofa, fingertips just barely brushing your shoulder.

You pretend not to notice. He pretends not to notice you pretending.

“You know,” he says, voice a touch softer, “for someone who works so hard, you sure are bad at hiding things.”

You blink, startled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Sylus tilts his head, studying you with that maddeningly amused expression. “It means you’re not as good at pretending as you think you are.”

Your stomach twists painfully. He knows. God, how long has he known?

You look away, cheeks burning, about to make some excuse — some terrible, awkward excuse — when his hand brushes yours, deliberate this time, and stills you.

“Look at me,” he murmurs, and there’s something in his voice now — something heavier, less playful.

You do, because how could you not?

He’s closer than you realized, eyes darker than usual, no trace of a smirk in sight.

“I’ve been waiting,” Sylus says, low and steady. “Waiting for you to figure it out. Thought maybe you’d catch on after the fifth time I found an excuse to be wherever you were. Or the tenth time I called you darling and looked at you like you hung the stars yourself.”

Your breath stutters.

He gives a soft, humorless laugh. “But you’re stubborn. And worse, you don’t believe you’re worth being loved by someone like me.”

You open your mouth to protest, but he’s already leaning in, voice dropping even lower, even rougher.

“So let’s make it simple,” he murmurs. “I’m in love with you.”

The world tilts. Your heart seizes.

“You—” You can’t seem to find your voice. “You’re just teasing—”

“Not this time.” His hand finds yours again, warm and steady. “This time, I’m dead serious.”

You search his face, desperate, disbelieving — and find no hint of his usual mischief there. Just something raw and terrifying and real.

He squeezes your hand, grounding you.

“I love you,” Sylus says, slower this time, deliberate. “I love the way you look at me when you think I’m not paying attention. I love the way you challenge me without even realizing it. I love how you make me want things I didn’t think I could have.”

You’re shaking, and he must feel it, because his thumb brushes soothingly over your knuckles.

“Say something,” he says, voice softer now. “Please.”

You swallow, hard, and it still feels impossible — like if you speak, the moment will shatter.

“I love you too,” you whisper.

And just like that, the tension breaks.

Sylus exhales — a breathless, almost disbelieving sound — and then he’s pulling you toward him, not roughly, but with the kind of certainty that makes your knees weak. His hand cradles the back of your head, his forehead resting against yours.

“Took you long enough,” he murmurs, but there’s no bite in it — just a kind of aching tenderness.

You laugh, a watery, broken thing, and feel him smile against your skin.

“You really love me?” you whisper, still fragile with disbelief.

He leans back just enough to look at you properly, eyes bright and unbearably fond.

“More than I know what to do with,” he says, smiling — not the usual smirk, but something real, something yours.

And when he kisses you — slow, careful, devastating — it feels like coming home

CALEB

It was never a question, not really. Falling for him was as easy as breathing. Caleb, with his boyish smile and the sunlight in his laugh, the way he could find beauty in the ugliest moments and make you feel like maybe, just maybe, you were part of that beauty, too.

Sometimes you think it must show, that surely he must feel the way you unravel every time he leans too close, the way your heart trips when he looks at you and the whole world blurs at the edges.

But he never says anything. He stays the same— teasing, bright, devastatingly kind — and you stay tucked in your corner of impossible wishes, convinced he could never love you back.

Because Caleb is Caleb — light and easy and good. And you’re just someone who loves him too much to risk ruining what little you have.

You tell yourself it’s enough. It has to be.

And then, one night, it all falls apart.

The apartment is quiet, the rest of the world hushed and far away. You’re curled up on one of the old sofas, a book forgotten in your lap, your mind somewhere else entirely.

You don’t even hear him until he’s standing right in front of you.

You blink up at him, startled, and your heart stumbles at the sight of him — disheveled, restless, not the usual carefree Caleb you know. There’s something raw about him tonight, something stripped down and aching.

He looks at you like he’s been holding his breath for a very long time.

“Caleb?” you whisper.

For a second, he just stares at you. And then —then — he drops to his knees in front of you, his hands gripping the edge of the sofa like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he doesn’t hold onto something.

Your whole body stills.

“I can’t do it anymore,” he says, voice low and wrecked. “I can’t keep pretending.”

You can’t breathe. “Pretending what?”

“That I don’t love you.”

The world tilts, and you’re sure he can hear the way your heartbeat fractures under your ribs.

“I’ve tried,” he continues, and now his voice is shaking, his hands trembling where they grip the couch. “I’ve tried so damn hard to be patient. To stay close without wanting too much. I told myself it was enough just to be near you.”

He laughs, a hollow, broken sound. “But it’s not. It’s not enough, and it never was.”

Your hands are fists in your lap, nails biting into your palms to keep yourself from reaching for him, from believing this is real.

“I thought maybe you knew,” he says, softer now, desperate. “I thought maybe you saw it —the way I look at you when you’re not watching, the way I come alive when you’re near. I thought maybe you felt it too.”

You can’t speak. Can’t move.

“I love you,” he says again, fierce, raw. “God, I love you. And it’s killing me not to tell you, not to have you.”

And then, slowly, like he can’t stand not touching you for another second, he reaches out, taking your hands in his, prying them open, cradling them like they’re something fragile and precious.

“Tell me you don’t feel it,” he pleads, voice barely more than a whisper. “Tell me you don’t want me, and I’ll walk away. I swear I will.”

You stare at him — at Caleb, your Caleb —kneeling in front of you, holding your hands like they’re lifelines, looking at you like you’re the center of his whole universe.

And suddenly it all crashes into place.

The way his eyes soften when they meet yours. The way he always found a reason to linger, to stay close, to make you laugh just when you needed it most. The way he yearned — oh, how had you never seen it before?

He’s been loving you all along.

You reach for him before you even think about it, your hands trembling as they cup his face, your fingers threading into his hair.

His eyes flutter shut, a shudder wrecking through him.

“I love you,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “I love you so much.”

He exhales, a sound of pure, shattered relief, and then he’s surging forward, pulling you into him, burying his face in your shoulder, arms locked around you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

You cling to him just as tightly, feeling the way he trembles, the way his breath stutters against your skin.

“I thought I’d lost my chance,” he breathes. “I thought I was too late.”

“Never,” you whisper. “You’re never too late.”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, and the desperation in his eyes nearly undoes you.

“I’m yours,” he says, voice fierce and trembling. “If you’ll have me, I’m yours.”

You nod, tears spilling over now, and he kisses you like it’s the first time he’s breathed in months — deep and aching and real.

When you finally pull apart, he presses his forehead to yours, still holding you like he doesn’t quite trust the world not to take you away.

“I love you,” he murmurs again, over and over, like a prayer.

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

[eden-axe]

One Grey Hair

LADS Men x gn!MC

Summary: During your day to day life he finds a bit of grey in your hair. He realizes now that at least in this life you both get to grow old together.

I tried to make this as gender neutral as possible, but some parts indicate and afab MC apologies.

Xavier

Word Count: 616

Xavier is watering the plants first thing when he wakes up but he is thinking about you as you said you would be home later today. You went out last night for a girls night with Tara, Simone, and Yvonne and planned on staying over at Tara’s place.

As he is spacing out and mindlessly watering the plants he finally registers the smell of bacon and pancakes. He quickly puts down the watering can, almost tipping it over, as he runs over to the kitchen.

‘Did I start sleep cooking?’ He panics as he slides into the kitchen.

His wide eyes relax at the sight of you turning around with two plates of breakfast. You jump slightly, not expecting Xavier to be awake this early. You smile at him and give a small greeting as you walk over to the kitchen island to put the plates down.

As you walk by Xavier to the kitchen island, his pupils dilate as he gets a glimpse of your hair. A few strands of grey hair tucked behind your ear, to Xavier seeing these few grey hairs made you look even more beautiful.

He silently walks over to the kitchen island across from you and slowly picks at the food.

“You’re home early.” He quietly states, his eyes still locked onto your hair.

You look up from your own plate, “Oh, yeah. Yvonne offered me a ride home since she had to go to work later, and I wanted to get home soon since we had a date later. Remember? I wanted to get some actual rest since we barely got any sleep.”

You laugh lightly at the memories of last night. Xavier hums and asks how your night went. You go on about your night with the girls, a yawn in between each memory. Xavier listens, but watches the way the grey hair moves as you move your head along as you speak about the fun you had last night. He smiles at how excited you sounded about last night.

Soon you slowly stop talking as Xavier finishes eating, “Are you alright? Is something on my face?”

“What do you mean darling?” Xavier absent minded asks.

“Xavier!” you break his focus, “Seriously what are you staring at? You ate really slow today, and your mind is kinda elsewhere right now.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?” You tilt your head.

“Your hair, it’s greying.” Xavier smiles when he finally lets it set in.

You feel your face get hot as you turn away, “Yeah, Simone pointed it out last night and I thought about dying it to match my hair”

“Don’t!” He exclaims sitting up from the stool. He looks at your shocked face and coughs before sitting back down, “Don’t, it looks nice, I like it.”

“You do?”

He nods and walks over to you and sits besides you and reaches out to examine the grey hair up close. You watch him examine your hair as you continue your previous thought, “Yeah, well Tara, uh, she had your same enthusiasm about being against me dying my hair.”

He lets go of your hair and grabs the plates, “You go get rest, like you planned to. I’ll clean up here alright.”

You yawn and nod. Xavier smiles and kisses your temple and sends you off to bed.

When he hears the bedroom door shut he pulls out his phone. He scrolls through his contacts and finds Tara’s number and sends her a quick text. A simple, ‘Thx u 4 being a good friend’

Xavier then goes to finish the dishes as he lists out the rest of the morning chores he has to do before you get up later for your date.

Rafayel

Word Count: 645

After days of begging you finally let Rafayel dress you up and sketch you. He picked out one of his white shirts, and you decided to forego the bottoms as the shirt reached down to your mid thigh. You walk over to the couch as Rafayel finishes setting up the area with pillows, blankets, water, and snacks. He turns around when he hears the bedroom door open, and he stops in his place when he gets a look at you.

“Wow,” he whispered, his breath stolen from his lungs, “Just, wow.”

Your face burns as you smile at him. You walk over to his statue-like state and wrap your arms around his shoulders. “I’m guessing you like it?” You tease near his ear.

You hear him swallow as you kiss below his ear. He wraps his arms around your lower back as he says both of you side to side, “Cutie, you are divine. You have no idea how lucky I am.”

“I can guess,” You pull back and stare at him, “So shall we get started?”

Rafayel blushed and turned around to hide his flushed face, “Yes, um. Please sit, I'll grab my sketch book.”

You laugh as you take a seat on the couch. You sink into the lush pillows, and drape a cotton blanket over one of your legs. You bring your other leg up onto the couch, at the same time you bring one of your hands behind your head. You use your other hand to move your hair from your face before placing it back on your lap.

When you look up Rafayel is sitting on a stool staring at you. You smile back and nod at him to begin.

He immediately starts sketching. He takes his time looking over your features, and you can feel his gaze over your body as he slowly pencils in each shadow and highlights that painted over your form. Rafayel starts to make simple conversation about anything and everything with you: His aunt, memories and traditions of Lemuria, upcoming art shows Thomas has planned for him, and even your upcoming anniversary. You also make conversation about your own work, childhood, and previous anniversaries you both shared.

“Raf~” you cooed, “Don’t think I don’t know the difference between referencing and staring.” You covered your chest and laughed. You brought an orange slice to your lips as Rafayel quickly took his eyes off you and back to the paper.

“Well I just like to admire,” he takes another peak, “Can you really blame me?”

Soon your conversations start to slow as Rafayel starts to look at you for longer periods, his gaze unfocused as they reach your face. Soon enough he puts his pencil down as he gets up slowly, placing his sketchbook on the stool.

“Raf?” You start to feel uncomfortable as he stares down at you.

He lifts up your chin and tilts it to the side. Before you can even process what is happening you hear the click of a camera, and Rafayel’s phone in your face. He is taking multiple photos at different angles.

You grab his phone and pull him down onto the couch, “Love what has gotten into you?”

You look at his gallery and see the focus of the pictures, not of you, but silver strands of hair that are laid atop of your head. You reach up to touch where you guessed the grey hairs were, but Rafayel’s lips were resting along your temple.

When he pulled back he grabbed your left hand, and brought it to his mouth, “Please let me paint you. I need to capture your maturing beauty, you are aging like a fine wine cutie.” He kisses your wedding ring and looks at you with pleading eyes.

When you agree with a gentle sigh, he quickly runs over to grab his canvas and paints.

Zayne

Word Count: 1,181

You had convinced Zayne to go to the award ceremony the Akso Hospital was hosting, where he was going to be given another award for his performance and contribution to protocore syndrome.

“My love I don’t see the importance, I’ve been awarded things like this many times. What makes this time different?” Zayne asks as he looks at you through the mirror as he adjusts his tie.

You sigh and walk behind him, “It’s because you aren’t getting any younger, soon you won’t be able to attend these ceremonies with your old bones.”

He lets out a breath of amusement, “My love, I’m only 48, and my health is just fine. I will be able to attend more than enough award events for the coming years, much to my dismay.”

“Zayne,” you whine, and wrap your arms around Zayne’s arm, “I want to see people praise my lovely husband. I don’t normally have off the day of your ceremonies, and since you never want to go… Now is the perfect time to attend one.”

Zayne turns towards you and uses his free arm to pull you in closer, “If it will make my partner happy, then so be it.”

He pulls a jacket over your shoulders and leaned down to kiss you.

“Shall we go?”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“It’s stuffy here.” Zayne squeezes your hand as you both make your way to a less populated area of the banquet hall.

“You say that whenever you have to attend a meeting at the hospital.”

Zayne just laughs as you both find a small standing table near the wall.

Soon while you two are talking over non alcoholic drinks, Greyson comes over and taps Zayne’s arm, “Hey one of the hospital's sponsors wants to speak with you. Mr. Richard Smith.”

Zayne puts his drink down on the table, “Alright give me a moment,” He pats your hand that lays on the table, “I won’t be long. I’ll be back before the award announcement starts.”

You nod and kiss his hand, “Don’t worry Mr Popular, I’ll have Greyson keep me company until you return.”

Zayne laughs as you drag Greyson over to your side and shoo him away. It takes a moment to find Mr Smith, but the first thing he notices about him is liquor filled boasts. He was a man much older in age, and robust around the face. It takes Mr Smith a moment to realize the man of the hour is standing by his side. It took for his date, a much younger looking woman; She looked akin to a model with her figure.

“Ah Doctor Li, what a pleasure to finally meet the shining star of Akso Hospital. I hope all is well with you and your patients.” His breath is heavy, and thick.

Zayne internally recoils at the smell mixed with his dates perfume, but puts on a pleasant smile; The kind of smile he would give to his more stubborn, yet younger, patients, “Ah, yes I make sure all my patients are taken good care of before taking any time off for things such as this. I hear you are one of the hospital's sponsors.”

“Ah I don’t wish to take much credit from the work you all do here,” an obvious lie, “But indeed, I pay quite a hefty fee for this place to keep its high quality equipment.”

“Well I must thank you for your generosity then, without it many patients would not have the care they need.” While half sarcastic, Zayne understood that his words were true, so he was truly grateful for his selfish need to be praised by the public.

Mr Smith laughs and keeps the conversation, or rather one sided monologue, going for quite a while. Zayne tried to excuse himself, but could not find an appropriate time to leave, and slowly his irritation had grown too much. He just wanted to return back to your side.

“I’m very sorry Mr Smith,” Zayne’s voice was short, causing Mr Smith to be silent, “I came with my spouse, and I do not wish to leave them alone any longer. You understand, right?”

The older man moves his hand further down his date’s waist, “I can understand that desire, especially with this lovely lady by my side tonight.”

“I can imagine, so if you’ll—”

“But may I ask one more question Doctor,” before Zayne could respond Mr Smith continued, “Your spouse, their getting quite older now, their age is starting to show Doctor Zayne, especially on their body. Are you sure they are someone you want on your arm for these types of events.”

Zayne can feel an icy chill run down his wrists. He clenches his hand, “Mr Smith, if I might speak plainly for a moment.”

“But of course, we are all for honesty tonight!” He raises his half drunken glass.

Zayne grabs a glass from a passing waiter, “Well, I’d rather we not be as honest as you sir. As my partner’s physique is no one else’s concern but mine. And for your information, I think their appearance makes them look mature and elegant, and it's given their body plenty of experience for me to enjoy.”

Mr Smith and his date stare at him wide eyed. Zayne takes that as his cue to take his leave. As he walks back to the table where he left you. It did not take long to find you, and with the old man's words still ringing in his ears, he can’t help but study your appearance more than before. When he gets a good look at you from a distance that's when he notices the way your hair has started growing grey. He started to move quicker, and soon you both made eye contact, but then the lights dimmed and a melodic voice carried across the room, “Thank you all for attending this night's charity gala, and award ceremony dedicated to our lovely doctors.”

The audience claps and gathers closer, making it so Zayne cannot squeeze through back to you.

“Now for the first award we want to dedicate to our most prized doctor. He has contributed to many successful surgeries over the years, and helped us get one step closer to helping cure those with protocore syndrome. Please welcome to the stage Doctor Zayne.”

Zayne walks up to the stage, giving quick apologies as he pushes through the crowd to the stage. He grabs the mic and bows, giving a quick thank you, “I would also like to give a final thank you to my wonderful spouse who has been with me through it all. I hope to have many more years with them til we are old, grey, and can no longer accept awards.”

Zayne then takes the award and bow once more, then he immediately walks over to your side, Greyson long gone, and gives you a quick kiss. He then links your hands together and slowly makes his way out of the venue with you. With his words to Mr Smith ringing in his head, and he plans on acting on them.

Sylus

Word Count: 503

You park your bike in the garage, and as the garage door closes behind you, you drag your feet into the house. Your uniform felt uncomfortable. All you wanted was to take a shower and take a long rest with Sylus.

“Hon, I’m back!” You called out, making your way through each of the large rooms.

“I’m in the kitchen sweetie~” Sylus's voice carried. You slowly made your way into the kitchen where Sylus is. He is making a small fruit board when you enter. You reach out to Sylus and hug him from behind, and you are able to feel his chest rumble as he laughs at your tired state.

“Are you tired kitten?” He rubs your arm gently as you bury your face in between his shoulder blades.

You hum, hugging him tighter.

“Go lay down on the couch. I’ll join you in a moment, alright.”

You hum, but take your time letting him go. When you manage to drag yourself to the connecting living room you notice the couches state. It was covered in soft pillows and blankets; Even your favorite plush was on the couch, wrapped in one of the blankets.

You grab the plush and sit on the far side of the couch waiting for Sylus. You think about your long weekend and hug the plush tighter.

“I believe I told you to lay down sweetie.” He muses, holding the plate of fruit. You pat the couch and Sylus huffs a smile placing the food down on the coffee table. He picks you up with ease and lays down, placing you on top of him.

He reaches for an orange slice, “How was your trip?”

“Long,” you bite the slice he placed near your lips, “but successful.”

“That’s my prized hunter.” He kisses your head.

You continue to talk about your mission and how you and your team got lost due to a wanderer taking out the train lines. While you talked Sylus took to turning on the TV and putting on the show you both had started weeks prior. Soon enough he felt your body relax as your words got quieter and quieter as your attention gradually shifted from the stress of your work, to the enjoyment of your show.

Sylus is also watching the show, as he keeps his hands occupied with playing with the ends of your hair. Soon he realizes your hair has coiled around his hand and he looks down at his hand. That’s when he sees thin silver lines wrap around his fingers.

He slowly untangles his hand from your hair, then motions to Mephisto to get a close look at you. When Mephie perches on the couch, Sylus starts to single you the section of hair that has turned grey. He wants to look at this later, but also wants to enjoy this silent moment with you a while longer. He was glad that in this life, you both can finally live a full life, and that is his greatest happiness.

Caleb

Word Count: 475

Caleb wakes up with a silent jolt as his arm wakes him up with a sting. He always makes sure to sleep with his arm off the bed for this reason. He glances over to you to make sure you are still sleeping; He sees you laying on his chest, wrapped in his other arm, sleeping peacefully.

He flexes his unfeeling hand, his eyes narrow at the steel glowing in the neon lights of Skyhaven pouring through the window. He turns his head to you and watches your chest rise and fall steadily. He smiles and brushes your hair with his other hand, feeling the warmth of your face on his fingertips.

Caleb starts to feel you move and stills his movement. As you stir for a moment, you just end up snuggling closer into his chest. Caleb stays frozen until he feels confident you aren't going to wake up. He then moves his hand away from your face towards your hair.

He stares at your face as a small smile rests on your resting face. He mimics your smile content in the life he has managed to build with you. Then he slows his hand movement down as he starts to study the grey in your hair. It was tangled around other strands, but it has grown in count since the last time he checked.

He reaches out with his robotic hand to examine it closer, but when the metallic silver is put against the natural grey of your hair he pauses. His hand hovers over your face; He knows that this is a new arm, an arm no longer connected to Ever, but still a symbol of his imperfection compared to you.

Caleb starts to pull his hand away when it is quickly pulled to your face. He looks at his hand and sees you holding his hand onto your face.

None of you say anything, but when you kiss his prosthetic hand, he knows that you are scolding him with love.

“It’s nothing pips, you don’t need to worry,” He brushes his thumb on the apple of your cheek.

You hum at the contact, “Are you sure? I know you have something on your mind.”

“It’s just,” he pauses, taking another glance at your hair, “You’re old.”

You sit up, “What! I’m only 42!”

Caleb’s eyes widen, then pulls you down onto his chest, “No, no, no. That’s not what I meant honey.”

“Then what did you mean jerk?” You roll your eyes.

“I just meant that I’m glad we are able to grow old together,” He brings your grey hair to his face, “I never thought I’d be lucky enough to see this day.”

He lets go of your hair and hugs you tighter. Soon you both drift back to sleep, deciding that today is a good day to sleep in.

[clairewritesfanfics]

I CAN'T WAIT FOR HIS BIRTHDAY.

✋😩

LADS team, when are we getting smut for gege?!

[tbaluver]

GOOD LUCK TO ALL THE CALEB WANTERS !! 💝

@ilovemitsuya 🤍

[snowvee]

──── 𝑵𝑶-𝑹𝑬𝑻𝑼𝑹𝑵 𝑵𝑰𝑮𝑯𝑻

╰ 𝑪𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒃 LOVE AND DEEPSPACE: NO-RETURN NIGHT

[calebsdog]

Thinking about an enemy aircraft desperately trying to flee from the Farspace Colonel. They take off in the sky at high speeds, prepared to soar away and escape.

However, midair, the aircraft suddenly stops moving. It's hovering, not plummeting to the ground. All of the controls were working as they should. Visibly, there wasn't a single problem.

Caleb stands on the ground, the brim of his hat tipped over his eyes. Using his evol, he drags the aircraft back from the safety of the skies at a snail's pace. Drawing out the tension for nothing more than his own amusement. Knowing they were squirming like helpless bugs underneath his boot.

There is no running away from the Colonel. Don't bother trying.

[fawnslatte]

What Do They Pride Themselves At?

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 Sylus x Reader ˖ Rafayel x Reader ˖ Caleb x Reader.

𓂃 . 𐑞 Masterlist ˖ ࣪ . ‹3

𓂃 . 𐑞 Sylus ︶ ⟢

Traits and Characteristics: Sylus is a confident and sensual man, he gets what he wants with his quick wit and his tactical intimidation. His tall posture helps him with gaining respect at first glance, and he was handsome enough to turn heads left and right. His fighting abilities paired with his Evol, Energy Manipulation, made him a unconquerable force and one of the worst (or best) opponent someone ever wishes to face. His voice was deep and smooth, jaded around the edges in a way you have voiced how much you loved it. For all that, he is proud of.

Romance and Courting: Sylus romanced you with thorns and sincerity. His want to be closer to you and love you was something he worked hard for. He is a provider and a protector, willing to give you everything and anything you want. He is a charming talker and will give you as many compliments as much as he gives you warnings, instructions and advice. He is a contradiction of rough and gentle, your comfort being his first priority. His has a deep and profound understanding of your character and your relationship, in a way that actions and words don't need to be initiated for you to know that he loves you with his entire soul and heart. For all that, he is proud of.

𓂃 . 𐑞 Rafayel ︶ ⟢

Traits and Characteristics: Rafayel is a spontaneous and creative man, his silver-tongue has gotten him many successful deals and persuasions negotiations. He is carefree and does not let anything to get in the way of his expressiveness. The body of a swimmer, packing yet lithe, almost elegant garned him a lot of appreciative looks. His Evol, Fire Manipulation, was one of the strongest around, and he uses it to protect you from any harm that you may face. His passion for life is one that he genuinely cherishes. His art and you, that he is proud of.

Romance and Courting: Rafayel romanced you with subtle obsession and gentleness. He has a dark side that he doesn't want you to immediately see, in case you will rethink their entire relationship. He pursuits with caution but with sincerity, a well cultivated plan to get you to be comfortable around him. Dramatic actions and flairs, watching you smile with your heart and mirth in your eyes became one of the biggest reasons he's still breathing. A understanding bond that's meant to be unbreakable. For all that, he is proud of.

𓂃 . 𐑞 Caleb ︶ ⟢

Traits and Characteristics: Caleb is a nurturing and protective man, it wouldn't be a exaggeration to say that he does everything for you. He does have autonomy, a kind and generous person who helps his friends and comrades. He makes threats without even thinking about it. His Evol, Gravity Manipulation, gave him the advantage of shielding you from harm completely, and establishing his authority over people who think they can talk over him. Caring actions and cheerful disposition gained him many admirers on the way, along with many loyal subordinates and allies. For all that, he is proud of.

Romance and Courting: Caleb romanced you with the intensity of someone who is already yours and knows nothing else. Obsession, infatuation, overprotectiveness and absolute adoration, he wants to keep you safe above anything else, as protecting you is the ultimate goal in his life. Caring for you and spoiling you rotten with acts of service, he has you figured out like the palm of his hand. For all that, he is proud of.

𓂃 . 𐑞 © 2025 fawnslatte. ︶ ⟢

[mwphisto]

Caleb being so casually bricked up in his trailer is the most Caleb thing infold has genuinely ever scripted.