#caleb/reader

[thesevro]

my bsf goin' crazyy

Love & Deepspace Caleb/Fem!MC MC/Reader is also a DAA pilot cadet Content tags: penetration, p in v sex, AFAB Female reader, non-consensual drug use (aphrodisiacs), spiking, virginity loss, cunnilingus, confessions, overstimulation, Caleb gets all mean and edges you a bit too 5.2k words because these two are emotional PREVIEW: “If you don’t nail me to the bed with your dick right this second I swear on Gran’s life I’ll crash into your craft on the next aerial pursuit—” EXPLICIT CONTENT BENEATH THE CUT. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

Links: Trans Male Version Cis Male Version (in progress)

—

“Ohh, you got another box!” 

You run up to Caleb and poke him in the side until he opens one of the pink boxes full of Valentine's chocolates. The delight in your smile has him grinning back at you.

“I’m praying this happens again next year,” you tell him with a mouth full of chocolate. He presses another chocolate into your mouth as you open your mouth to speak and you smack at him but continue your words nonetheless. He snickers at your big-backed, chipmunk-like expression. “What a way to be welcomed to the Administration.” 

“I don’t think I want this to keep happening,” he says, tone teasing, “I feel so bad for the poor girl who didn’t get any. Now she has to share with me.”

He pouts down at you.

You know he isn’t really sad about it.

“Calm it, I already know you’re for the community.” He side-eyes you at that. “It’s tradition for them. Even I’m thinking of giving a box to someone next Valentine’s. Everyone here is a hot pilot-in-training.” 

You don’t notice the way he suddenly goes alert. Your hand hovers over the box as you contemplate which chocolate to shove into your mouth next.

“Huh.” He pretends to give your words some thought. “Who’s this someone you want to give chocolates to?”

“Let me think. You, of course,” you say casually. “Since you’re a good friend and all, and your height makes you kind of cute. But I wanna make sure all the cuties here at the DAA feel special, so I think I’ll be buying in bulk.”

He’d bash his head into the next wall if you weren’t here right now.

“I’m flattered,” he deadpans. “Will that be your way of confessing to someone?”

“We’re flight cadets. I might have considered doing that in university, but at this point I just want to make new friends.” You shake your head at him, picking up a chocolate and pushing it onto his tongue. He gets the feeling you’re trying to shut him up. But you did pick his favorite, and he ends up savoring the tang of lemon that spreads through his senses. “We’re here to be fighter pilots. Don’t tell me you’re still thinking like a teenager!”

—

“Caleb.”

His head tilts upward. He turns back, a smile already coming over his face at the sound of your voice. He tilts his head backward to meet your gaze as you stand over him. Lucky that you didn't get caught wearing another cadet’s jacket. His larger Aerospace Av jacket clearly doesn’t fit on you. But he likes the way it looks, keeping his favorite girl warm.

“Why so serious, pipsqueak?” he teases, curious about your lowered tone. 

“Was there—” you swallow, the intensity of your gaze fading as you look away from him. Almost like you’re embarrassed. “Was there something in those chocolates?” 

“Huh?” 

You shove your hands deeper into the pockets of your casual sweats, and your eyes dart around the room, where other cadets are busy closing flight reports or enjoying their own boxes of Valentine’s chocolates. You lean down and whisper into his ear.

“What the fuck,” he says, appalled. He looks up at you like what you just whispered in his ear could only be a lie.

“I’ve been trying to—” your words falter. While he feels like tracking the person who drugged the chocolates, tying a boulder to their ankle and lifting him them with his Evol to throw them into the nearby river, the image that crosses his mind is impossible to resist. You were trying to satisfy yourself? 

Your fingers between your legs. Your thighs spread apart. Your wetness, your moans—

“Just—listen, we’ve always been close. I don’t wanna file a medical report for this!” you say in a whispered shout. “I’ll report the girl, there are still some chocolates left and I can write up the ratio between aphrodisiac and regular chocolate later but—nobody can know about this.”

He blinks. Caleb touches your forearm in concern, rising from his seat.

“But you let me know about it?”

“Because I need—” None of your words are flowing coherently. Each sentence is embarrassment incarnate. And you seem to look at him differently, your eyes having glazed over the moment he touched you. He watches the open part of your moist lips. “I need h-help.”

He gawks at you. Mouth closed, but expression indelibly shocked. “You need help. You… you need my help? You need help from me?”

You fidget, agitation burgeoning with each passing millisecond. “It hurts so much. No matter what I do, it won’t go away.”

No matter what you do.

It hurts.

That awakens an instinct inherent to Caleb. 

“You know what, never mind.” Your words become a quick, jumbled mess. “I’ll tough it out. It’s too much to ask for, I’m sorry, it’s so weird and I shouldn’t have asked, I guess just don’t come in my room—”

“There’s nobody in my room. Let’s go.” 

He takes your hand. 

—

He closes the door with urgency. Like you’re injured and all he has to do is bandage you up quickly.

“Caleb, are you sure?”

He hesitates. He can’t look at you, because he knows if he does he’ll do all the things he has ever wanted to do. Even if you need it, he will make no room for his selfishness.

“You know, you can leave if you want!” You laugh. The distance between him and you only stretches from his bunk to the door. It would only take several steps to cross, but he knows that the actions he’ll commit that will follow are impossible. “I mean, I don’t think I can go back to my room anymore since even my legs are hurting now, but if you can keep the rest of your bunkmates out of the room for a few hours I might be able to—”

“Do you think I’m not good enough to help you?” 

He finally crosses the space. 

When he approaches, you almost feel trapped. His gaze is almost as powerful as his Evol, rooting you to the space in front of his bed. He stalks towards you like a predator closing in on a vulnerable mouse. 

You scramble for words. “No, I don’t want to force you into doing anything. I know you’re a virgin!” A nervous laugh bubbles in your throat. “It’s not like I’m your girlfriend.”

He finally reaches you, but doesn’t stop when his space invades yours. The backs of your knees hit the bed. You feel the breaths from his words as he speaks. “Yeah, I know I’ve never touched anyone. But it’s because I want it to be someone close to me. Someone who's always been close to me.”

He tilts his head at you. The aphrodisiac truly works wonders. His proximity has altered the levels of oxytocin flowing through your core, has pushed the rush of four different hormones to unreached heights all at once. Your body detects him in ways you’ve only just now discovered possible.

“You need to get fucked?” he asks.

You swallow as you look into his eyes. “Only if you’re willing, Caleb.”

He looks down. You realize he’s looking at your lips. “Push me away if you want me to stop.” 

His fingers come up to hold your chin. Caleb steals your first kiss.

The aphrodisiac has explosions of need and feeling bursting in your body. You immediately pull him closer, mewling with pleasure as you kiss him back. He makes a noise against your lips. He uses his weight to press you forward, a hand coming to the back of your knee, and takes your legs out from under you.

Caleb presses a hand to the back of your head to cushion your fall, but none of it registers in your head. You spread your legs for him, the ferocity of his lips on yours on his a fiery rush. Soon he realizes he can finally release a hunger he’s been hiding from you nearly all his life. He shifts on the bed and grips your hips to grind you into his cock. Through the stupidly thick layers of fabric, you feel his hardness drag against your folds. 

“I want to see you,” you say into his mouth. You tug at his shirt and he rips it off, allowing for only a millisecond to exist where his lips aren’t on yours. You caress the hard planes of his torso and he shivers at your touch. Half-naked above you, he grinds his dick against your combat trousers, moaning at the stimulation and the feel of your mouth on his. 

“Take my shirt off,” you tell him. His breathing is labored. Synapses connecting rapidly all so he can memorize every millisecond of these moments with you beneath him, of how it feels to kiss you, to be between your legs and to have the permission to bare your body to his waiting eyes.

“(Name)...” He gives a pleasured sigh at the very sight of you. “You're so beautiful.” 

He moves to give you one last kiss. It’s chaste. When his lips leave yours, he kisses downward along your skin, savoring how the skin on your collarbones feels on lips. How the rise of your soft breasts fills his eyes, and how they fit into his hands as he cups one to bring your nipple to his mouth. He tongues it in an experimental circle, inexperienced and unfamiliar with what you like. But when you breathe a lovely sigh of his name, legs tightening around his waist, he knows he’s doing all the right things. He slides further down your body, lips parting from your nipple with a soft pop.

Smooth as butter on a hot knife, Caleb kisses every inch of your skin for the first time, until his head is between your thighs. He smirks up at you, fingers curling around your trousers and around the waistband of your panties. He catches a glimpse of pink.

“Let me taste what you’ve been doing to yourself.”

—

You’ve never known Caleb to be this cruel. 

He let you cum on his tongue. But he wouldn’t let up until you were kicking at him, pushing his face away and sobbing for him to stop at the overstimulation. He kept on insisting he had to stretch you out for his dick. And you didn’t really believe him, because no man could ever be so big.

He was.

When he pulled it out of his fatigues you practically jumped on him, overstimulation all but forgetten as the aphrodisiac kicked hormone production in your body into overdrive once more, but he knew you’d hurt yourself if he let you take control. 

Caleb has pinned you to the bed. Cock wet with lube, and only the tip inside you.

He has you begging and begging for his dick, struggling against his Evol as your cunt weeps, mind and nerves stimulated past the point of pain by the aphrodisiac.

“Please please pleasepleaseplease I need it—” you gasp, arching into him, bed squeaking wildly as you try to shove the rest of him inside. Why does he have to be so cruel? Can’t he see you’re in pain? That the aphrodisiac is ruining you, frying your neurons until all you can think about is his dick, his big, stupid fat fucking dick—

“Need what?” he still has the gall to ask. You squeeze around his tip. Tight enough you might just be trying to suck him in. His face twists at the feel but he still manages to be dumbly cocky. “You gotta tell me how I can help you pipsqueak.” 

“I need your dick!” you beg. Tears prick your eyes as the throb in your cunt spreads through the rest of your body until you feel like a fresh, aching bruise—nothing has ever hurt like this. You don’t think he can see it. Low-grade aphrodisiacs, the kind most can afford in Skyhaven, don’t typically have this effect according to the cases you’ve read. Whichever girl put this type of aphrodisiac in his chocolate must have drained her trust fund just for it.

It’s why he has the nerve to be so mean. He doesn’t know how much it hurts. Well. Quite good, then, that you’ve little sense of dignity left and will beg for it until he’s fucking his cum into you.

“I need to feel you fuck me,” you say in a sobbed sigh. Rendered immobile still by his Evol, you can only wiggle your hips pathetically, trying to slip him inside you. You even push out your breasts and make sure his eyes fall on them. Through the haze of it all, you see him watch as they jiggle with your movements. “I want you to fill me up with your cum. I want to hear you moan in my ear as I take your cock and have you fuck me so hard all I can think about is how big my best friend is inside me.”

You start babbling, unaware of the serious expression that has taken over his face the second the words ‘best friend’ left your mouth, “I want your babies, I want to be so full of your cum I get pregnant tomorrow, I need it I need it I need it—”

“You think I’ll be good enough for you? Will just your best friend’s dick be enough?” 

You don’t pick up on the scorn in his tone. The hatred for the phrase ‘best friend.’ It’s too subtle, so unlike Caleb that you could never conjure a universe where he’d speak to you that way. You simply beg, again. Not as nicely though.

“If you don’t nail me to the bed with your dick right this second I swear on Gran’s life I’ll crash into your craft on the next aerial pursuit—”

“Be quiet for me for a second.”

He tuts. The moment you feel his hips shift, you shut your mouth. Your legs tighten around the backs of his thighs. He begins to slide inside.

“Oh,” you moan softly. Caleb focuses on it. Your open mouth, your mussed hair. The way your body writhes impatiently beneath him. You’re already such a mess and he hasn’t even started. Three inches in, he feels the precum dribbling out his cockhead. When he realizes all of it is filling you up he nearly blows his load then and there.

“You’re so hot,” he groans, breaths fanning across your face with his first thrust. Your name is reverence on his tongue as he moans it into the air.

It’s your first time. You know for a fact it’s his, too. The stretch of his cock is heightened, impossibly good. You hold him close and whimper. You never would have thought it could feel like this. 

“Don’t make those sounds,” he whispers, unmoving. It’s then that you become conscious of the unmistakable, harsh throb of his dick inside you. He’s close already. “Fuck, (Name),” he sighs again.

“Caleb,” you say. Something in your voice has him pulling back from your neck to cradle your face. Your eyes still glisten with tears. He softens, forehead touching yours.

“You gotta give me a few minutes,” he chuckles, voice low. “Think I’ll cum if I move.” 

“I don’t have minutes,” you shoot back at him in a whisper, but having his dick inside you has returned some of your coherence. “Caleb, please—”

“Shhhh,” he soothes, his hand gripping your hip. His thumb rubs circles into your skin. “It’s okay babygirl. I’ll make sure you cum more times than I will.

“I’ll move, okay?” he tells you, lips brushing yours with the words.

His hips shift. You both groan as he thrusts back inside, a slow, scooping motion that rubs against a spot inside you even your fingers have barely touched. 

There’s so much grace to his movements. Strength in the very way he holds his body. You feel safe beneath him, solid. You know he’ll take care of you, as he has a million times in the past and always will. 

Your core burns, but you let him take it slow. Nothing will be able to take away the sense of safety and love that fills you in this moment. He throws his head back and you hold the back of his neck, cupping his face with a hand as he fights the waves of an impending orgasm. Caleb only provides a few moments for restraint. Once the approach of his orgasm dwindles, his hunger soon takes over.

“Am I…” he swallows, watching with furrowed brows as you pant beneath him, savoring the sight of your face twisted in pleasure all because of him. His hips ram into yours. The feel is hard. Bruising. His skin slaps wetly into yours with every thrust. “Am I the only man who’s seen you like this?” 

Your mind goes blank. You blink up at him, attempting to comprehend, but he never stops pounding into you with this newfound rhythm. Your body gets looser and looser until you’re practically limp beneath him, mouth open, only able to take his cock and nothing else. You grasp weakly at his bicep for purchase.

“Was I the first one you thought about when the aphrodisiac kicked in?” he pants out. “I should be the only one you think about doing these things with.

“Now that I…” he huffs, swearing under his breath. “Now that I have you like this… nobody else will ever be able to. I’m the only one who will ever get to see you this way.”

“W-what?” you stammer, raising your voice against the slick noises of him beating your clenching hole with his dick. “B-but isn’t this just sex—”

Something flashes across his features. You know him so well, but you can’t identify the emotion that fills his eyes now. 

“Really?” he asks. His voice has deepened. 

You start to ask him a question, but he leans back and pushes a hand under the small of your back. He lifts you easily and uses his Evol to drag a pillow under your back. You shiver at how deep he gets with the change in angle. But that isn’t where he lets this end. He unwraps your legs from around his waist to push them up and over his shoulders. 

He fucks you into the rickety bunk mattress, and you cry out louder than the bed can squeak. Your eyes roll into the back of your skull. You dig your nails into his hips, reaching for him wherever you can, the feel of him so deep inside you unbearable. Your pussy gushes, so wet for his dick that every thrust he makes gives a sloshing, sloppy noise. 

“Caleb, st-stop—I can’t—”

“I’ll make you see that nobody can make you feel as good as I do.” He gives a rough chuckle. “Even if I’m just your best friend.” 

He leans forward, your legs still hooked to his shoulders, bending you in half until every single inch of him fucks into you with every thrust. Your back arches and you struggle as sensation overwhelms you. Your walls squeeze his fat cock, so warm that he feels he might cum at the next thrust. And the next. And the next.

His eyes barely leave your face. Your embarrassment begins to grow with it. You close your eyes, breaking away from his gaze. Try to cover your face with a hand. 

Caleb immediately reacts. He leans, folding you until your feet are just above his head, your pussy practically tilted to the heavens. Like this, he’s able to reach for you and pin your hands away from your face.

“Don’t be selfish,” he says. Almost commanding you. “I want to see how good I make my girl feel.” 

You sob. His girl. Yes, you're his, you're his. Your climax is building rapidly, the sheer stretch of him overwhelms your brain. The noises he makes above you are so delicious. You can’t believe you can make him feel this good. Caleb is vocal about his pleasure, moaning unabashedly with each thrust. In between his sweet, noisy moans he murmurs nearly drunken praise about how good you feel wrapped around his dick, how tight you are, how prettily your hole is taking his cock.

“C-can you feel—mmmghh” —You squeeze tight around him— “Can you feel how wet I am for you?” 

His body lurches. Some of his weight is lifted from your hands as his head rolls back and he gives a loud, sexy moan. 

“D-don’t talk like that pipsqueak,” he pants. 

“Make me cum then,” you answer. You’re so close it hurts. “Make me shut up.” 

He takes your challenge in stride. He leans forward until the backs of your thighs are pressed into his chest and he’s practically thrusting vertically downward into your pussy. You feel his balls kiss your ass gently as he adjusts to the position. Then his musculature steadies above you, his hips piledriving downward. His balls slap into the skin of your ass. 

“In this position, you can’t escape me,” he says, thrusts merciless and wet. His gaze encompasses you, impossible to avoid. You blink up, tears on your lashes, into the beautiful supernova of his eyes. “I’ll keep you here until you drench my dick in your cum three times, pretty pipsqueak.” 

With these words, he wraps his arms around you, his arms coming around your legs so that the entirety of him envelopes you in his embrace. He cradles your head and brings his lips to yours. You press passion into his mouth, your tongue sucking on his until he pulls your head backward to further expose you and drive his tongue into your mouth. You moan as he sucks on your lips. 

“My gorgeous girl,” he moans into your skin. “You’re mine, yeah?” 

“I’m all yours, Caleb,” you say. “Only yours now.” 

“Only now?” 

He changes the pace, moving his hips in circles so that his pelvis grinds into your throbbing clit. You can’t help but squirm at the stimulation when all he was giving you was his dick earlier.

“What about tonight?” he asks. His voice reflects this new insecurity of his, but there’s an edge to it. It’s possessive. Dangerous. “What about tomorrow?”

“Caleb, why do you keep talking like this—”

He’s too greedy to let you reply. And too afraid to. With eager fingers, he reaches between your thighs to swiftly gather your mixed fluids and finger your aching clit with his thumb. Without hesitation, his thrusts return to that hard, pounding rhythm at the very same time. You squeal. 

“Caleb!” you scream. “Caleb!” 

You feel him grin against your neck. But you aren’t really all there anymore. Your back begins to arch off the bed. Head lolling, hands clawing at his shoulders. He doesn’t bother to try shushing you. The barrack master can eat shit for all he cares when you’re like this, screaming his name until your voice is raw and hoarse enough that it cracks down the middle with your moans.

“I’m gonna cum,” you whimper. “Caleb, you feel so good, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum—”

He pulls back to watch. It’s almost like taming a wild mare as he presses his forehead to yours and you buck against him, writhing wildly with the effects of the aphrodisiac heightening your pleasure and his unrelenting fingers on your clit. You squeeze around him, impossibly tight. He feels his balls draw upward. Drool spills from the corner of his mouth as his eyes roll back into his head. Your moans and his mix together as your sounds spill into the air.

He tries to draw in that pupil of focus once more so that he can memorize you as you cum on his cock. Eyes fluttering, he looks back down at you. His eyes trace your breasts, how they bounce forward with each of his thrusts and how your nipples have peaked from the stimulation. Your beautiful face is open with pleasure. Lips bitten and raw because of kisses he gave you, trembling with high-pitched cries of his name. It’s all you can say through your pleasure. Almost as if you worship the man bringing pleasure to your core.

“I’ve loved you,” he murmurs in an almost incoherent slur as you cum around him, with your hands holding tightly onto his and your pulse beneath his fingertips, “Every moment we’ve been alive. I am so in love with you it hurts. Knowing that you just won’t feel the same. You can’t. But if this is what I’ll get, if this is what you’ll let me have and you let me take care of you like this, then I can just forget. I’ll pretend that you love me too when it’s just the two of us like this.” 

When you look up at him, your orgasm fading, you see that same emotion return to his face. He’s looked at you this way so many times before that his confession now gives way to finally show you what it is. You lift a hand to his cheek and he presses into your touch, desperate, fearful perhaps of the way this will end, his eyes closing, his face pained.

You give yourself a few moments to recover. You’ve never reached such pleasure before. And it’s him who gave all of it to you. As he always does. Caleb—calm, encouraging, and bright. Your beloved provider. 

“Caleb.” Your voice is so soft, so soothing that the pain on his face eases a bit. “All I have are words. But that’s not enough for me to show you just what I feel for you.” 

He opens his eyes to return your gaze. He waits for you to continue. But he seems to be drawing in on himself, as if he’s preparing for the hurt your words will bring. You, more than anything, want to prove him wrong.

“What do I need to do?” you ask. “What do I need to say? What can I show you that will prove I have always felt just the same?” 

He leans back and adjusts your legs. You wrap them around his waist once more. But he doesn’t come back to hunch over you and hold you close to him. He’s stopped moving completely. Caleb turns his face away from you, countenance rife with embarrassment.

“I don’t need your consolation,” he says. 

“You’re right, you don’t.” You hold his hands in yours, rising slowly, and he helps you until you’re fully upright in the seat of his lap. Still, he won’t look at you. “You need the truth.” 

You grasp his hands in yours, pulling them towards your chest. You pepper kisses along his skin, cherishing the hands that have fed you, held you, helped you, and cared for you. 

“Yeah, I might have jumped on a grenade for you before,” you begin. He can’t help but shake his head at your words, because while you did do that at 13:29 on a hot afternoon in April, he can’t help but narrow your consolation down to something insincere. You hold his face so he can’t look away from you, continuing, “But when we were kids, you were the only one I wanted my partner as. You were the only one I’d snatch extra candy for from Ms. Xia. I’d win every stupid game the other kids wanted to beat me at so none of them could be your partner. And you always kept losing your basketball a secret from me, but I was the one who’d climb the tree in our backyard just to get it back every time you lost it because it was your favorite one.” You smile at his expression. “You always thought it was the wind, huh? 

“You have always been there for me.” Your fingers brush over the apple of his cheek. “But I think you sometimes forget I’ve always been here for you, too. It’s always been you and me, Caleb.”

You clutch his hands to your chest. “And here, at the DAA…” You swallow. “I think I’m learning to fall in love with you.”

There’s a flurry of movement, and you gasp as he gives your mouth a hard, bruising kiss. You’re pushed flat back onto the mattress as he moves his body over yours. 

“I love you,” he whispers into your mouth. Then he begins to thrust. There’s an ease to his movements, a sense of freedom. As if he’s finally let go. His hips undulate backward and forward, slowly. He savors this connection with you.

The kisses he presses into your lips are slow. Soft. You hold his face as he makes love to you, as he cherishes your body without that earlier hunger, that fearful desperation founded by the belief that he’d lose you the moment you left his bunk. That you’d be rid of him the second you—

“Don’t look away from me, Caleb.”

You pull him back from the spirals tracing dark, angry paths into his mind. He doesn’t shy away from your gaze. 

“Pipsqueak,” he says. He never thought he’d say this childish nickname like this. “(Name). I love you. So much more than you realize.” 

He doesn’t need you to say it back. He’ll wait as long as it takes, until you fall for him as deeply and as painfully and with as much yearning as he has for you.

“Inside me,” you whisper, giving him permission for something he’s dreamt of for years, the peak of intimacy he has always wanted to share with you. Only you. He presses his mouth to yours in gratitude.

That’s all it takes.

He doesn’t part from your mouth as he cums. As greedy as him, you swallow his moans as his cock marks your insides white with his cum. You caress his nape, your touch gentle on his cheek as he shudders through the most powerful orgasm he’s ever had in his life. His arms encircle you and he holds you until you're pressed chest-to-chest against him, his moans reverberating against your body. He can’t stop moaning your name against your lips, his voice raised in pitch, shaky. A pleasured sob of your name fills the air as it leaves his mouth. He savors every syllable of your name falling from his lips, because it’s the first time he’s said it this way. With all of the love he truly feels for you. With the intimacy he has always yearned to have you bask in. 

He collapses on a hand when he finishes. Tries not to fall on top of you. But you pull him in close and he lets himself go limp above your body. Your heartbeat thuds against his chest, rhythm rapid with the aftermath. There’s not a single centimeter of space against your body does that his doesn’t fill. You stroke his hair, fingers smoothing the disheveled locks. You feel him relax further, muscles losing their tension in your warm embrace.

“You love me?” you ask.

There’s a beat of silence.

“Even if you let me or you don’t,” he says, “I’ll always love you. I won’t ever stop showing it.”

“I think you more than showed me today,” you mutter.

He gives a little chuckle.

“Give me time?” you say. “I’m still learning that I’m falling in love with you.”

He nuzzles into your neck. His lips give your skin a gentle kiss. “You can take a hundred years and I wouldn’t regret a single second I spent waiting.” He wraps his arms around you. “I’ll wait for you, pips.” 

—

Some things I noticed about the way I wrote this

I couldn’t help but want to write from both their perspectives, so the story kinda jumps povs in terms of who’s feeling or doing what

I really wanna know your thoughts

Is it not smooth? Too many jumps from Caleb’s to MC’s pov? Let me know u freaky ahh

[luvcaleb]

DO YOU WANT MORE?

nsfw (18+). includes implied marathon sex, unprotected sex, breeding, breast play, squirting, caleb fucks roughly but still does tender gestures <3, nicknames (pipsqueak is possibly the worst they could've picked for a canon nickname but this is my attempt at making it sound hot). filthy smut from top to bottom. likes and reblogs will be very helpful !!

“C'mon, pipsqueak, raise your hips.”

Caleb squeezes your waist, his thrusts changing from a deep, persistent grind that makes you feel every inch of his cock to a fast-paced pounding. You've long lost feeling in your legs, and the only thing keeping you from sprawling on the bed is Caleb's tight grip on your hips, fucking into you relentlessly from behind.

“Ah...! Wait, Caleb, haah, no more...!”

Each thrust loudly snaps the bedframe against the wall, but it isn't enough to hide the squelching noises between your legs. Slick and cum drip down your thighs, staining the sheets into ruin. They get even messier with a few more thrusts as you gush around his cock unannounced, squirting into the cum-soaked bedsheets.

Caleb groans as your cunt squeezes around him, trying to coax out more of his hot cum. “Fuck, baby, you're so tight... Feels good when your cunt sucks on my cock...”

His hand slides to your squirting pussy, rubbing circles on your clit. More slick jets out of you, soaking his palm. Squealing, you try to crawl away him him, gripping tightly on the blankets that have been slipping off the bed.

The delicious pressure against your clit releases, but Caleb pulls you back to his cock. He straightens your back to press against his chest, bottoming out in a single thrust to hit the deepest spot in your pussy. “Ngh, why are you running away? Didn't you say you'd last longer than me, pips?” He pants against your ear, hand tenderly running along your side to soothe you, yet his hips don't stop their merciless thrusts. “Or are you tapping out now?”

Perhaps hours ago, you would have answered with a vehement refusal. But now, with drool dripping from your lips constantly agape from moaning, your clit too sensitive from his insistent flicking and rubbing, and your thoroughly-fucked cunt filled with his loads of cum, the idea of calling it quits sounds appealing.

“I'll do whatever you want, baby. Just say the word,” Caleb murmurs against your skin, his lips molding over your neck to suck another hickey among the marks he already made. “If you want to stop, I'll run the bath and take care of you. We'll cuddle on the sofa and watch that new movie you've been looking forward to.”

His hips stop, having pulled all the way out, the tip barely brushing against your cunt. “But if you don't want to stop...”

Slowly, his hand travels up your torso, squeezing your tits. He plays with your nipples, evoking another gasp out of you. “I'll make you feel good. Fuck any other thought out of your mind so you'll only think of me.”

You whine as his cock rubs along your wet folds, catching on the strings of cum dripping from your pussy. The tip circles around your clit, teases at your opening, just putting it in enough to make you feel its thick girth, but he pulls out too soon.

“What will you choose, baby?”

Your hazy mind can't come up with clear thoughts, foggy from the pleasure. But forming an answer is the easiest thing to do—it's not like he left you with any other choice, anyway.

“Please fuck me, Caleb,” you sob, clinging at the arm cupping your breast. “Please put your cock inside me. Fuck me even if I tell you to stop. Cum... please cum more inside m- ahh!”

You're roughly flipped onto your back, but he holds your head softly to lay you down on the pillow. It's only at this moment that you get to see Caleb's face, brows furrowed, sweat dripping down his temples, his lip bitten red from the strain of holding back. “Shit... you really do know how to rile me up, pipsqueak.”

He looms over you, muscled arms caging you on the bed, chest heaving up and down as he pants. He fixes his position, resting his weight on his knees, and he uses his hands to spread your legs wider. His eyes are dark with lust while he stares at your abused hole, spilling cum on the sheets below you.

“Maybe this time, I really will fuck you pregnant.”

The statement doesn't even register in your mind because he immediately thrusts inside, pounding at your cervix. You gasp, aimlessly grasping at anything you could hold onto as you lose your mind, a fresh stream of cum soaking his cock.

His abs ripple with each thrust, the dirtiest groans and pants leaving his lips. “Fuck, you're so cute... cumming already when I just put it in.” Caleb leans closer, catching both of your wrists to make you wrap your arms around his neck instead of the dirty sheets. “When did you become such a pervert?” He drops his head to suck at your tits, licking your nipples.

It's your fault, you want to say, but all that leaves your mouth are noises you didn't think you were capable of making until Caleb touched you for the first time months ago, and he hasn't stopped since. You heard couples would be insatiable for the first few weeks of dating, but it feels like you're never going to go past that phase.

“Can't even speak because my dick's too good, huh?” Caleb chuckles, thumb resting on your lips. He rubs the tip of your tongue, pleased when you dart out to lick him. “You're the absolute cutest...”

The sounds between your bodies are downright lewd. His cum sloshes inside you every time he fucks you to the bed, forming a creamy ring at the base of his cock. He's filled you up so much with his huge cock and cum, that you wonder how you even have the space to breathe.

Caleb's the type to try to be quiet, but he's not holding back his moans now, groaning his pleasure against your ear.

“This feels too good, shit... Feel like I'm gonna cum soon...” He tucks the hair covering your face behind your ear, pressing a gentle kiss at the corner of your teary eyes, so different from the rough fucking he's giving to your pussy. “I'm gonna blow my load inside you. You want that, don't you?”

You nod desperately, leaning your face on his hand that's cupping your cheek. He smiles, nuzzling against you, but the sweet moment lasts only for a few seconds before he thrusts even faster, chasing his release.

“Fuck, here it comes, I'm cumming...” Caleb drives his cock the deepest it can go, his balls slapping against your ass. “Oh, fuuuuck, I'm cumming!”

Thick, hot strings of cum coat your insides once more, crammed into the tight space of your cunt. Your squirt splashes against his pelvis and abs as you moan high and reedy, scratching lines down his back. He hisses at the slight pain, spurting more cum at the feeling, and he collapses on your body, making sure not to suffocate you with his weight.

“Ah... damn... I don't think I've cum that hard in a while...” He ruffles through your hair, soothingly patting your head. “You doing okay?”

“You're too intense,” you say, your voice weak and groggy. You wrap your arms around him, content to fall asleep and let Caleb take care of things from here.

“Hey, don't fall asleep now.” He pokes your cheek, trying to stir you awake. When you open your eyes, you see Caleb smiling, the one that means he's up to no good. “After all that you said, do you really think this will end with just one round?”

[vellatrelle]

Something something about Caleb and underwear

[monogamia]

“Nine months,” Caleb murmured, staring at the tiny baby in his arms. His baby. Their baby. His eyes were shining with awe—but his voice carried a hint of betrayal. “Nine months inside your mom’s womb… only to come out looking exactly like me.”

You rolled your eyes, the corner of your lips curling up into a soft smile. Your attention remained fixed on the minimally interesting documentary playing on the TV. “Good job, baby.”

“Good job?” He continued to pace in circles while cradling the baby. Caleb ran a finger along his son’s cheek, gently poking it, amazed by how soft and chubby it was. “It’s not that I don’t like him—he’s cute, and I love him. But I wanted a mini-you running around the house, giving me headaches. Instead, I replicated myself.”

“Yeah, sometimes genetics do that.” You replied, starting to feel a little sorry for your husband. “Besides, he hasn’t even turned one month old yet, maybe he’ll pick up my personality or some other trait of mine?”

Caleb sat down next to you, careful not to disturb the pillows surrounding you. “You think?” He spoke a little too loudly, then flinched as he felt the baby stir, waking up. Slowly, his tiny eyelids fluttered open, granting his dad a glimpse of his purple irises.

There was a long silence between you, the only sound being the narrator’s voice echoing through the room.

You took a deep breath, trying to suppress a laugh. Caleb held one of the baby’s tiny hands, attempting to entertain him. “Your genes didn’t even try…”

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

Good enough

Tags: Caleb x fem!Reader, smut, unprotected angry sex, Caleb’s back and he’s jealous, breeding kink, mdni, not proofread sorry, this shit is NASTY i fear.

An: This one is for a dear friend of mine 🙂‍↕️ Thanks for making me pull out of my writer’s block. LOOK i’m so sorry if this is bad but i had to write SOMETHING to pull me out of this funk… i hope you all enjoy

How did you end up trapped underneath your half-cyborg best friend who was legally deceased while taking the meanest deep strokes of your life? Well, there’s a simple answer. Caleb knew Xavier was home.

Actually, he knew everything: the dates, the tender moments, the secret times, the nightly rendezvous. Pissed was an understatement.

Had you forgotten? Had you forgotten all the promises you two made each other when you were younger? Had you forgotten that you were fucking made for him? You had to have. That’s why you were stringing along 4 different guys. You were trying to fill a hole that only he could fill.

That had to be why.

Regardless, Caleb knew Xavier was the type to listen to you through the floorboards of his upstairs apartment. He was a lot alike Caleb in that sort of manner. They were both possessive freaks who couldn’t stand the thought of you being with somebody else.

That’s why Caleb was fucking you so hard — pounding your pretty pussy so deeply into the mattress that you were seeing stars with each mean thrust.

He used his size to his advantage. It was fitting. He’d always loved how much bigger he was than you. That’s how you received your adorned nickname: pipsqueak.

He planned on his first time with you being a lot more gentle than this. He planned on being sweet and loving. He planned on cherishing your body the way you deserve, but you just had to go and give yourself to 4 other guys before him.

“Stop crying.” His voice rumbled as his piercing gaze found yours — so much different than the sweet childhood friend you had. His hand covered your mouth as he hunched over your figure, still ramming his cock head into you ruthlessly. “I know you can take it. I’ve watched you take it before.”

Your eyes blinked back tears as you looked up at him. He was being so mean. You couldn’t believe this was the same doting Caleb that you grew up with, and you didn’t even want to think about the face he had been watching you…

“Fucking pussy’s made for me, and you’ve been letting other men try to make her feel good.” He growled as he used his less-than-human arm reach down and gently rub against your small button of nerves.

“Caleb-!” You choked out as your body writhed beneath him. You could feel every ridge and vein of his thick cock splitting you apart, making you wholly his and his alone.

“That’s right… Say my name, baby. Tell me who’s making you feel so good.” He prompted with a confident smirk before he hauled your legs up above his shoulders, sinking even deeper into your dripping cunt.

Clawing at the bed, your back arched as you tried to cope with the intrusion. He’s so fucking deep it feels like you’re going to choke on him. “Caleb-“ You sob as your cunt pitifully clenches around him.

Feeling you wrapped around him so sweetly, crying out his name as you’re so overwhelmed with pleasure has Caleb revitalized with a new vigor. His hips work in tight circles, pumping his fat cock in and out of you as your cunt makes the most obscene squelching noises he’s ever heard.

“Such a fucking noisy girl. I should’ve know you were going to be a crybaby.” He teased before placing open mouth kisses along your neck snd shoulder.

“W-wait Caleb- calebcalebcaleb. I’m gonna..” You pant out nervously as his metal fingers were still rubbing languid circled around your cunt, and his tip was smooshing globs of precum against your cervix.

His fingers suddenly pinch down on your clit, making you cry out from the sensation. Your body went taut as you were being dangled on the edge of pleasure. His robotic arm wasn’t quite letting you get there.

You thought his arm was literally malfunctioning until you heard him chuckle from your suffering.

“You’re going to cum when I saw you can, okay baby?” He asked in that same condescending tone he always used when you two were younger.

His hips continued to roll after he was sure that you weren’t going to fall off the deep end, and he let out deep guttural groans, feeling your pretty pussy soak him. It was like you were practically trying to suck him in. He couldn’t believe he had waited this long to sink into your cunt like this.

and the best part about it was he knew your stupid upstairs neighbor was listening! Xavier knew you were down here getting railed, and he couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

Hell, if he even tried, Caleb would use his evol and force him kneel beside the bed as he drilled you even harder.

Fuck, the thought of slutting you out in front of every single one of your little boyfriends had his stomach tightening. His hips snapped forward into you with a pace that could only be described as feral.

You were a complete babbling mess at this point — utterly cock drunk as Caleb had you folded in half, filling you up to the brim with his length.

“Ohhh, that’s my girl.” He purred as he saw your glossed over look. “It’s coming, baby. I’m going to give you want you need.” He promised as he pressed a sweet kiss to your forehead that completely contradicted the ruthless way his hips were rutting into you.

“C-caleb- Caleb no, wait.. Don’t cum inside-“ You stuttered out in a panic. You hadn’t been by the pharmacy yet to pick up birth control, so technically, this was all unprotected.

“Why?” He growled as his back curled over. He was fucking mounting you while holding your thighs in the prettiest mating press he’d ever seen. “You fucking let them fill you up. Am I not good enough to breed this pussy?”

His hips slammed into you. It felt like he was trying to push his way straight into your womb. It was mind-numbing pleasure, making black orbs and stars dance across your vision.

“Look at me, baby.” He ordered, dragging your face to look back up at him. You could barely see straight. It was all too much. “You’re going to let your best friend breed you, and you’re gonna fucking love it. You’re going to cum all over this fat cock until you can’t breathe. Understand?”

You dumbly nodded your head, halfway hearing his words. Your pussy was aching to cum. Your swollen puffy folds were greedily accepting him in with every thrust. You wanted this. Birth control be damned. Everyone else be damned.

Caleb gritted his teeth together as he gave you a few more good harsh thrusts for good measure. He then crushed his body against yours, burying himself all the way to your womb before his cock started to jerk and pulse inside of you, shooting rope after rope of his thick potent cum. The only thing on his mind was the need to see you, his childhood best friend, round with his baby.

He needed to see the look on each other of those pricks’ faces when they realized you were spoken for.

The cherry on top was when he felt your walls clenching around him, happily milking his cock for everything he had while you sobbed and hiccuped his name. It seemed like his childhood best friend was maybe just as twisted as he was. He’d have to give her an extra good reward for being such a good girl.

As the room went still and quiet ��� only filled with shared breaths and pants for air, the sound of someone stabbing a sword through the ceiling was heard, and Caleb chuckled deeply. He had definitely pissed Xavier off.

[bibbysstuff]

Mc in Lingeries, Li addition

[calebpups]

PAIRINGS. . . xavier, caleb, sylus, zayne, rafayel x reader

CW. . . wearing pheromone perfume around them for the first time.

CALEB

caleb went still the second he hugged you, like he’d just gotten hit with something intoxicating. he pulled back just a little, blinking at you, then leaned in again, burying his face in your neck.

“holy sh—pips,” he groaned dramatically, arms wrapping tighter around your waist. “you smell like heaven and sin had a baby.”

you burst out laughing. “you’re so dramatic.”

he just nuzzled you again, lips brushing the sensitive skin beneath your ear. “i’m serious. i want to crawl under your skin right now.”

you swatted at his arm, flustered. “it’s just perfume!”

“whatever it is, it’s a problem.” he kissed your jaw, then lower. “'cause now i wanna kiss you for, like, three hours straight. minimum.”

RAFAYEL

he was painting—focused, shirtless, streaks of color on his arms—when you crept up behind him and wrapped your arms around his waist.

he stilled.

then he turned his head slightly, inhaling, like a wolf catching a scent in the wind.

“did you just cast a spell on me?”

you bite back a smile as he ducked down, nosing along your neck, groaning softly. he slinged an arm around your waist pressing you to his side.

“delicious. is that new?”

you just smirked. “wouldn’t you like to know.”

he laughed under his breath, mouth finding your neck, your shoulder, wherever he could get. “if you wore this to mess with me, it’s working. i want to paint you now. naked, preferably.”

SYLUS

you barely walked past him before sylus turned his head, eyes narrowing like he just picked up on something forbidden.

he stepped closer, towering over you, his hand curling gently under your chin. “...you smell dangerous,” he said lowly, his voice already laced with heat.

he tilted your head up, heart fluttering as he leaned in, his mouth brushing against the back of your ear. he moved lower, lips grazing your neck, then the space just under your jaw.

“what is that scent?” he murmured, like it was bothering him. like it was consuming him.

“do you like it?”

he huffed a soft laugh against your skin, kissing your throat like he was losing control. “you’re not allowed to wear it around anyone but me. understood?”

XAVIER

you slipped under the covers beside him, thinking he was asleep. he wasn’t.

the second your body curled into his, his arm came around your waist, slow and sure. he inhaled once, then again.

“…what is that?” he muttered, voice rough with sleep. he buried his face in your neck without waiting for an answer.

you giggled and his arm only tightens around you.

“not funny,” he mumbled, lips brushing your throat. “you smell like trouble.”

“you’re imagining things.”

“i’m not.” he kissed your collarbone, again and again, slower. “we’re not leaving this bed today.”

ZAYNE

you stepped into zayne’s office for your monthly check-up, but the second you approached his desk, he looked up like you’d just walked in wearing nothing but your birthday suit.

before you could sit at your usual chair, his hand found your wrist and guided you into his lap instead.

he didn’t say anything, just leaned in and breathed you in like he needed the scent to live.

“…what did you put on?” he asked, lips brushing the underside of your jaw. “you’ve never smelled like this before.”

you pretended to play dumb. “what do you mean?”

he exhaled a low chuckle, his voice raspier than usual. “don’t play with me. this—this is lethal.”

then he kissed your neck, slow and open mouthed. “fuck, you’re gonna get me fired.”

masterlist ⋆˚꩜ send me a kofi !

[aleksatia]

10 Ways You Ruin His Day (and 10 Ways You Ruin His Self-Control)

I originally made this list as character notes for future stories — I love digging deep into their dynamics and really breaking them down. But honestly? I couldn’t not share. Would love to hear your thoughts too: what do you think drives them absolutely mad, and what turns them into helpless fluff puddles? 🖤

🍎 Top 10 Things That Make Caleb Absolutely, Irrevocably Mad

1 He doesn’t know where you are Even when it makes sense. Even when you’re safe. Even when he’s on the far side of a tunnel with no signal and too much time to think. The silence eats at him, turns every breath into a countdown. By the time he’s back, no one on the base dares talk to him until you’re in his line of sight again.

2 You come home with a bouquet of flowers from another man It’s not jealousy, really. It’s… fury dressed in olive green. You’re standing there, smiling, saying some poor man gave you flowers because you saved his life. Great. Fantastic. Caleb’s thrilled that his girlfriend is both competent and accidentally irresistible. But now he has to pretend this isn’t bothering him while mentally comparing the man's face to strategic punching surfaces.

3 You climb on unstable furniture to reach something You know, nothing fancy—just a stack of books on top of a chair that’s on top of a bench. And you? Balancing like a gremlin in fuzzy socks. He walks in and suddenly the war flashbacks begin. You think it’s funny. He thinks it’s a workplace hazard, and you are the HR violation.

4 You rearrange his model planes He adores you. Worships the ground you walk on. Would throw himself in front of an oncoming dropship for you. But if you dust his shelf and dare to reorder his starfighters and aircrafts by vibes instead of model number? He's already rewriting his will. In blood.

5 You do something reckless and then smile about it You say “relax, I had a plan.” He hears: “I almost died, and I’d do it again, because I’m cute and unstoppable.” That smile? That grin you give when you know exactly what you did and you’re proud of it? That’s why he needs stress meds. And maybe a punching bag with your face on it. (Lovingly.)

6 You casually mention the girl he used to date You say it with a smirk, like it’s just some harmless teenage memory. But he doesn’t see her—he sees you. You, standing in the doorway that day. You, catching him with her, both of them half-undressed. And you looking at him like something cracked between you. Back then, you were off-limits. You were the girl he wasn’t allowed to want. So he wanted someone else. Easier. Safer. And now, years later, you bring it up like it’s nothing—while he’s still trying not to remember how badly he wished it had been you.

7 You weren’t his first kiss—but worse, he wasn’t yours It never comes up. Not out loud. But he remembers. Vividly. The hallway. The way your face lit up. The boy leaning in. You smiling. And Caleb—watching from across the room, fists clenched, jaw tight, playing the role of older brother when his whole body screamed mine. You never talk about it. But he never forgot. Never will. Because that moment should’ve been his—and someone else took it first.

8 You walk away during a fight, or shut down emotionally You call it “space.” He calls it “psychological warfare.” You shut down. He short-circuits. Nothing drives him more insane than trying to fix something while you’re actively ghosting him across the living room. He’d rather you screamed. Threw something. Anything. But this quiet? This distance? That’s the one thing he doesn’t know how to fight.

9 You cry—especially if it’s because of him And then he’s done. Game over. His spine straightens like he’s under military command and his entire soul just went through the paper shredder. You cry, and suddenly he’s the villain. You say “it’s not your fault,” but that doesn’t matter. He’s already rewriting the past and taking full responsibility. And yes, he’ll suffer in complete silence. Like a man.

10 You secretly try to uncover what he’s hiding from you You call it curiosity. He calls it a breach of protocol punishable by full emotional lockdown. You think you’re clever. He thinks you just walked into classified territory barefoot, blindfolded, and with a target on your back. You were never supposed to see that side of his world. And now that you have? He doesn’t know whether to yell, hold you, or lock you in a room with military-grade firewalls and a blanket.

🍎 Top 10 Things That Turn Caleb Into a Complete Fluff-Mess

You wearing his dog tags / uniform shirt / flight jacket Instant puddle. No chance. He sees you in his gear and his brain just... shuts off. All he can think is mine mine mine, and he gets this dumb, soft little smirk like he’s trying so hard not to combust.

You falling asleep on him—especially mid-conversation You’re curled into his side, mumbling something about dinner plans, and then: silence. He looks down, sees you asleep on his chest, and that’s it. Whole day ruined. Cancel all missions. He’s not moving.

You bringing him coffee exactly the way he likes it—without asking That quiet, thoughtful act? Hits him right in the soldier-shaped heart. He doesn’t even know how to process being taken care of, so he stares at the cup like it just proposed to him.

You absentmindedly touching him—fiddling with his fingers, tracing scars, playing with his hair He pretends he doesn’t care. He does. He cares so much he forgets how to breathe. Just turns into a warm, red-eared statue trying not to whimper.

You whispering “I trust you” or “I feel safe with you” in a soft moment Core memory unlocked. He stores that one like sacred intel. Will literally whisper it back to himself at 3 AM when he’s lying awake, missing you. It breaks him in the best way.

You clinging to him in your sleep / pulling him closer without waking up Caleb.exe has stopped functioning. He will lie perfectly still for HOURS if it means not disturbing that moment. Bonus points if you mumble his name while doing it.

You defending him when someone questions his methods or past He’s used to being the shield—not having someone stand in front of him. The second you raise your voice on his behalf? He falls in love with you all over again. Might even cry. Secretly.

You gently helping him out of his gear after a long day Soft hands on his buckles. A kiss to his shoulder. A low “You’re home now.” That’s how you make a Colonel melt. His fingers twitch like he wants to worship the ground you walk on.

You surprising him with something dumb and heartfelt, like a handmade gift or bad sketch of him He acts gruff—says “the hell is this, Pips?”—but then puts it in his locker or keeps it in his chest pocket for missions like it’s sacred treasure. Because it is.

You calling him “baby” / “handsome” / “sweetheart” when he least expects it He acts like it’s annoying. It is not annoying. It turns him into actual butter. If you do it with a teasing smile? He short-circuits. Might drop something. Might combust. Definitely blushes.

🩺 Top 10 Things That Make Zayne’s Calm Snap Like a Microsurgical Thread

You ignore his instructions when you're sick You had a fever of 102°F. He left explicit care instructions—bed rest, fluids, minimal movement. You, sweating and glassy-eyed, decided this was the perfect time to rearrange the furniture. When he came home and found you dragging a bookshelf across the room “because the light felt wrong,” he genuinely considered sedating you. Not as punishment. As damage control. For both of you.

You order greasy fast food instead of going somewhere “nutritionally viable” He offered to cook. You said no. Twenty minutes later, you’re eating fries from a paper bag while half of it spills on his clean table. You grin. He stares. Not angry at the food. Angry because you rejected his precision, then settled for processed chaos.

You leave wet towels on the floor after every shower He’s not sure when it started. Day three? Day five? But every time he walks into the bathroom and steps into cold, soggy cotton, something in him fractures. You claim you “forget.” He suspects a psychological experiment.

You casually mention spending time with male friends You think it’s harmless. Lunch with Caleb. Training advice from Xavier. You light up when you talk about them—and that’s the problem. Zayne doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t raise a brow. But the sudden over-fixation on his email inbox says everything.

You receive a speeding ticket. Forty miles over the limit. You wave it off like it’s a funny little anecdote. He sits in absolute silence, calculating the stopping distance of your car vs. standard reaction time at that speed. You think he’s judging. He’s actually trying not to scream.

You poke his ass. Specifically, between the cheeks. You call it “affection.” He calls it “emotional terrorism.” He flinches like he’s been electrocuted, whips around with murder in his eyes—and you’re giggling like a gremlin. Later, you regret nothing, but your thighs may beg to differ.

When you diagnose him with internet psychology You’ve read one book on attachment styles and watched three reels about emotional unavailability. Now you’ve decided he has "clinical avoidant tendencies with a hint of fear-based control fixation." He stares at you, deadpan, like he's about to perform your autopsy.

You keep spoiled food in the fridge and expired meds in the cabinet You say “it doesn’t smell that bad” or “maybe it still works.” His eye twitches. His gloves are already on. He’s not even mad at you—he’s mad at entropy. You’ve become its agent.

You watch reality shows. About infidelity. Willingly. You claim it’s “just background noise.” But he walks in and hears someone scream “that’s not even your baby, Kyle!” and your eyes are glued to the screen. His soul briefly leaves his body.

You washed his white lab coat. With your pink unicorn pajamas. It’s not just the color. It’s the betrayal. The symbol of his clinical neutrality now smells like bubblegum and looks like cotton candy. You say it’s cute. He looks personally violated by the washing machine.

🩺 Top 10 Things That Make Zayne Soft Against His Will

You bring him lunch at the hospital He never asks. You just appear—arms full of neatly packed containers, face lit up like this isn’t the third double shift he’s worked this week. He complains about the timing. The smell. The disruption. And then eats every bite with frightening focus. You leave. He stares at the empty container like it’s proof someone still believes he’s human.

You quote him back to himself like a philosopher You remember something he said weeks ago—some throwaway line about time or structure or entropy—and you drop it casually in conversation, like it’s wisdom from an ancient text. He doesn’t know how to react. You turned his logic into poetry, and he’ll never recover from that.

You wear the little seal keychain he made He didn’t think you’d keep it. Let alone turn it into your everyday keychain. But there it is—always with you, worn smooth from touch. You twirl it absentmindedly while talking to him, never noticing the way his gaze lingers. Never realizing how something so small can hit him so hard.

You put a photo of the two of you on his desk It appears one day. No fanfare. Just… there. A moment frozen in light, sitting quietly beside his surgical reports and diagnostic schematics. At first, he moves it to the edge. Then back to center. Now it lives next to his pen. He doesn’t talk about it. But it’s the only object on that desk he wipes clean with his bare hand.

His work shirt smells like you You borrowed it that morning, wore it while dancing around the apartment with wet hair and no real purpose. Hours later, when he pulls it on between rounds, the scent hits him like a loaded memory. He short-circuits mid-button. Everything feels warmer than it should.

You leave your phone with him while you shower No password. No hesitation. You toss it into his lap with a breezy “can you clear out whatever’s making it lag?” and vanish behind steam. He sits there, phone in hand, suddenly trusted with everything. He opens nothing. But the fact that you’d let him? That’s the part that shakes him.

You ask for his opinion on minor discomforts A papercut. A weird freckle. A suspicious sneeze. You hold out your hand, utterly serious, asking what he thinks. It’s laughable. Ridiculous. And it absolutely wrecks him. You could ask a dozen others—but you ask him. Like he’s the one who makes things better.

You’re on top He likes control. Precision. Strategy. But when you climb into his lap, all instinct and fire, hands braced on his chest and lips already parted—his brain stops cooperating. There’s something about you taking the lead that makes him unravel. Quietly. Violently. Completely.

You argue with him about complex theories—and mean it You don’t just nod. You push back. You challenge. You quote sources he hasn’t thought about in years. You spark. You flare. And he watches, fascinated, lips twitching with something dangerously close to pride. No one does this. No one dares. But you? You never flinch.

You whisper “I love you” in your sleep It’s not loud. It’s not even clear. Just a faint breath in the dark, like a dream half-remembered. But he hears it. Every time. And though he never says a word in return—not while you're sleeping—his fingers tighten around your waist like he's anchoring himself to the only thing that matters.

🎨 Top 10 Things That Make Rafayel Absolutely, Irrevocably Annoyed at You

You told him his painting was “nice” You stood in front of a piece that cost him three sleepless nights, a minor existential crisis, and two broken brushes—and said “Nice.” Just like that. No gasp, no poetry, no tears. He aged five years on the spot. Somewhere in the distance, a violin cried for him.

You dragged him to a cat exhibit You thought it would be cute. Enrichment. A bonding experience. Instead, he spent the entire time perched on edge, eyes darting like prey. You said “they’re just kittens.” He said nothing. He was too busy making sure none of them came closer than ten feet.

You cleaned his studio You thought you were being helpful. But you moved The Pile. The sacred, unholy, perfectly calibrated mess. Now he can’t find his favorite brush, and also he’s deeply offended by how cheerful you looked doing it.

You didn’t reply to his messages for over an hour He sent three texts, one meme, and a “thinking of you 💭” voice note. You replied 67 minutes later with “sry was showering.” By then, he’d already decided you were breaking up with him, joining a cult, or possibly dead. He had a whole monologue planned. And now you’ve ruined it.

You cut your hair He loved your long hair. Adored it. Worshipped it. You showed up with a sharp little bob and said “it’s just hair.” It is not just hair. It is the collapse of a visual era. He’s still adjusting. And by adjusting, he means mourning with wine.

You made fun of his driving You muttered “technically, you were meant to let the tram go first” He muttered “technically, silence is golden.” His driving is instinct. Vibe. Energy. If you didn’t want drama, you shouldn’t have sat in the passenger seat of a man who parallel parks like he’s in a ballet.

You woke him up too early He went to bed at 4 a.m. because inspiration struck. You woke him at 7:12 like it was nothing, and said “you have that interview, remember?” He does remember. He also remembers specifically telling you that if he ever falls asleep before sunrise, you are to let him die peacefully, cancel all earthly obligations, and throw his alarm clock into the ocean where it belongs.

You hid your phone screen when a message came in You were probably teasing. Just being playful. But now he’s spiraling. Who was it? Why the secrecy? What do you have to hide? Congratulations—you’ve just activated his inner opera villain.

You got jealous Which is absurd. He’s the one who invented possessive affection. But you being jealous? That makes him unreasonably indignant. What do you mean you “didn’t like the way that gallery girl looked at him”? Of course she looked. But he didn’t see her. He saw you.

You burned the bacon You say “it’s fine.” He says it’s charcoal. The entire kitchen smells like culinary war crimes. And now he’ll have to burn incense and replant three garden beds to recover emotionally. Who even let you near the stove? Who hurt you? Was it… the bacon?

🎨 Top 10 Ways You Accidentally Turned Rafayel Into a Purring, Love-Drunk Work of Art

You massage his head He’s mid-rant. Arms crossed. Absolutely furious about the lighting in that gallery. And then your fingers slip into his hair—and just like that, the war is over. His entire body melts like he’s been tranquilized. He’ll deny it later, of course. But the way he leans into your hand? Case closed.

You claim him in public It’s an art gala. He’s dressed to ruin people. And then you slip your arm through his, fingers just tight enough to say mine. You smile like a goddess. He pretends he’s unaffected. Inside, he’s writing vows in ten languages and considering printing matching business cards.

You actually listen to his advice He knows he can be dramatic. Unfiltered. Emotionally volatile. But when you sit there, really listening, nodding like his words matter—you destroy him. Suddenly he’s not the chaos. He’s the compass. And that? That’s love.

You share every detail of your day over dinner You talk about everything—the lady at the store, the funny email, the awful latte. You give him your day like a story, like he’s the only one you wanted to tell. He leans in, listens too closely, files away each emotion like a collector of rare art.

You’re always down for his wildest ideas It’s 3 a.m. He wants to hike 2.5 miles along the beach, take a boat to a tiny island, and watch the sunrise with wine. You say “give me five minutes.” And just like that, you become the only person worthy of his wildest, most beautiful chaos.

You let him photograph you Nothing compares. Not awards. Not praise. Nothing rivals the moment you look into his lens—bare, unfiltered, unashamed. Especially when you’re nude, glowing, and laughing like the world doesn’t exist. That’s when he falls in love with you all over again. And again. And again.

You let him choose your dress You come out in the one he picked. Elegant. Perfect. You spin for him. And the way he watches you? Like he made you. Like you’re the gallery and he’s the only one with the key. It’s not fashion. It’s trust. And he adores you for it.

You sing when you don’t know he’s home Wearing socks and earbuds, dancing with a broom, serenading your way through burnt pancakes. You’re off-key. Glorious. Real. And he stands in the doorway, silent, just watching. Because in that moment—you’re not posing. And he’s never loved you more.

You take care of him when he’s sick He has a fever of 99°F and insists he’s fading. You bring tea, stroke his hair, whisper that he’s “very brave.” You don’t mock him. You take his dramatics seriously. He will never forget it. He may also write you into his will.

You join him in the bathtub without asking He’s already halfway submerged, music playing, steam curling in the air—and then you slip in behind him, no warning. You nudge your legs around his hips, hand him your shampoo, and let him wash your hair while you giggle. He tries to act unimpressed. But when he starts kissing your toes? Yeah. You win.

✨ Top 10 Behavioral Anomalies That Triggered Xavier’s Internal Alert System

You break an agreement—even if it's “just a small one” It’s not about control. It’s about structure. You promised. And when you bend the rules—just slightly—he doesn’t react outwardly. No visible shift, no sharp breath. But something behind his eyes goes cold. Because for him, even small deviations mean recalculating everything. And that means risk. To you.

You create drama “just to get a reaction” You push. You poke. You escalate. And he gives you… nothing. No outburst, no flinch. Just that flat, unreadable stare while he mentally exits the room. He doesn’t get angry—he just shuts off the part of himself that wants to stay.

You refuse his protection—on principle You call it independence. He calls it a strategic vulnerability wrapped in pride. He won’t argue. He’ll just be one step farther back the next time, quietly cataloging how to stop caring just enough that it won’t kill him if something happens.

You call him cold—especially when he’s holding himself together for you You see stillness. He feels restraint. You accuse. He remembers what it takes to not become the darker version of himself. If only you knew how much energy it took to stay composed. If only you knew it was for you.

You’re late Five minutes. Ten. No message. No explanation. And his pulse ticks upward—not with impatience, but with pure, trained alertness. He starts looking for signs. Traffic reports. Emergency alerts. By the time you arrive, he’s smiling. But it’s the tight kind. The kind that says never again.

You skip training You’re tired. You had a long day. You say you’ll make it up later. He doesn’t argue. He just recalculates survival probabilities and mentally adds you to the list of people who might die because they were unprepared. And he will blame himself for letting you get soft.

You pull away from his touch when you're angry It’s not the rejection. It’s the meaning behind it. He reaches out—small, careful, calculated—and you shut the door in his face with a single backward step. He doesn’t try again. He doesn’t ask why. But the space you leave behind? It echoes.

You use a photo of Lumiere as a bookmark You think it’s cute. Maybe even sweet. He sees it—and freezes. He’s not jealous. Not exactly. But the idea that you might admire that version more—the legend, the mask, the sharpness—it unsettles something deep. Something he can’t name.

You secretly believe you’re not good enough for him You never say it out loud. But he sees it—in your deflections, your nervous jokes, the way you doubt his love like it’s a glitch. It doesn’t anger him in the usual sense. It just…hurts. Because you’re the only one who never had to earn it.

You throw yourself in front of him during a mission It’s instinct, you say. Split-second decision. You didn’t even think. And that’s the problem. He does. Always. Every variable, every movement, every risk is accounted for—except you breaking formation to protect him. You think it’s brave. He sees it as catastrophic miscalculation. Not because you acted without logic. But because you decided his life was worth more than yours. And that? That’s the one conclusion he refuses to accept.

✨Top 10 Things That Quietly Break Xavier’s Walls and Leave Him Unreasonably Soft About You

When you start reading the same book he’s readingYou don’t announce it. You just show up with the same title, a few chapters behind, and start casually asking questions. He plays it off. But inside? He’s spiraling. Because this—this—is how you speak his language. Silently. Precisely. Together.

When you knock on his door like you’re trying to break it downIt’s loud. Impatient. Inappropriate for the hour. But he knows that knock. That rhythm. That you. You need him. Not his solutions. Him. And somehow, that chaos pounding on his door feels more like home than anything else.

When you hug him from behindYou wrap your arms around his torso mid-task, face pressed between his shoulder blades, palms splayed across his chest like you’re anchoring yourself to something ancient and steady. He stills. Every time. Like someone just whispered a secret to his bones. He never asks why. Never moves away. He just tilts his head slightly—listening, as if your silence said everything he needed to hear.

When you touch his sword (the actual weapon, calm down)He never lets anyone handle it. Not even for cleaning. But your fingers skim the hilt, gentle, curious, reverent. And somehow… it’s okay. You’re not just touching steel. You’re touching him. And he lets you.

When you act like a little girlYou scrunch your nose. Say something ridiculous. Blush like you didn’t mean to. And he watches—utterly disarmed. Because he knows exactly what you want. You want him to carry you. Wrap you up. Keep you safe. And he will—without hesitation.

When you join him on a morning runYou complain. You lag. You swear this is “not your vibe.” But you still show up. Same hour. Same route. And when you match his pace for those few precious minutes? He doesn’t say it—but he’s proud. Painfully proud.

When you share your dreams—and say “we”You’re rambling. Light spilling from your words. Talking about the future, the maybes, the next steps. But you don’t say I. You say we. And that sound? That tiny shift in grammar? It settles deep. Irrevocable. Permanent.

When you make matching braceletsYou say it’s silly. Handmade. Slightly uneven. There’s a charm shaped like a rabbit. He never takes it off. Not in combat. Not in sleep. It rests against his wrist like a pressure point—and grounds him better than anything else.

When you remember his habitsYour shopping list always includes his cinnamon. His brand of shampoo. The exact instant noodles he pretends not to love. You don’t make a show of it. You just know. And that knowing? It destroys him in the softest possible way.

When you trust him completely in bed—even when his darker side surfacesThere’s a moment—quiet, charged—when the softness shifts. He waits. Watches. Braces for resistance. But you don’t pull back. You open your hands. Arch into him. Let him take control without fear. That? That’s what breaks him. Not the pleasure. The trust.

🖤Top 10 Things That Push Sylus Into Maximum Sarcasm and Mildly Homicidal Disapproval

Your outdated, unreliable weapon Yes, he gets it. It’s vintage. It’s “standard issue.” It’s approved by the Hunters Association. Congratulations. That won’t matter when it jams and gets you killed. Every time you return one of the sleek, upgraded firearms he hand-delivers like he’s your personal armory concierge, he has to resist asking if you've already made a draft of your death wish. Alphabetically sorted. With floral headers.

You chew gum—and pop it It’s not the gum. It’s the snap. The sudden, violent pop of sugary air bubbles that hits his trauma response like a trigger. He knows it’s just a noise. His shoulder still twitches. He’s this close to reaching into your mouth and extracting the gum like a gentleman. A very sarcastic, deeply annoyed, half-feral gentleman.

You try to shake your tail (him) You use stealth tech. You block your signal. You go dark. Adorable. You’re forgetting that the very system you’re relying on was developed by his own syndicate. The only person who ever really evades Sylus is Sylus. And maybe the cat that lives under his car. But not you. Never you.

You don’t introduce him as your boyfriend to your old classmates You panicked. He gets that. You called him “a friend.” And now he’s deeply committed to the bit. For the next seven days, every time you said anything, he replied with “Of course, as your friend…” in front of waiters, dealers, and one extremely confused ambassador. You only managed to shut it down by hastily posting a photo of you two with the caption “my boyfriend and the love of my life.” Acceptable recovery. Barely.

You refuse to use his resources His private jet? Untouched. His cars? Collecting dust. His black card? Sitting unused like some kind of insult in your purse. You say you’re “independent.” He says you’re actively offending his entire lifestyle philosophy. Do you have any idea how disrespectful it is to ignore an entire walk-in wardrobe prepared for you in his estate? Honestly, it’s almost admirable. Almost.

You once smoked a cigarette, and he saw it He didn’t say anything. At the time. Just looked at you. Silently. Like someone had drop-kicked a kitten in front of him. He’s not judging. He’s just picturing your lungs in an ashtray. And adding another page to your death wish list.

You speak in riddles and expect him to “get it” You want something—time away, a trip, his attention—but instead of asking, you sigh dramatically and murmur, “It’s fine. I guess some people just don’t want to escape the city with their girlfriends…” He blinks. Slow. Dangerous. “Was that a request, a riddle, or an emotional booby trap?” If you want something from him, Kitten, try using nouns and verbs. Not cryptic guilt puzzles.

You suggest another woman would be “perfect for him” It’s a joke. Offhand. Barely a breath. But your voice wavers—just slightly—and that ruins it. He doesn’t want her. He doesn’t want options. He wants you. And now, thanks to your charming lapse in self-worth, he has to waste the rest of the evening reminding you that this face, this power, this entire empire already belongs to someone. Guess who.

You sneak up on him You never mean to. But somehow, you're always the one person who slips past every alarm, every trained instinct, and ends up whispering behind him when his brain is still in kill mode. It takes everything in him to not react on pure reflex. You think it’s cute. He thinks it’s potentially catastrophic.

You don’t believe him when he says he’s fine Yes, he’s bleeding. Yes, his shirt is soaked. But he said “it’s a scratch,” and when he says that—he means it. His body heals like a myth. Your worried face? It makes something in him ache. Because the real wound isn’t on him—it’s in you, for thinking he’s anything less than unbreakable.

🖤 Top 10 Things That Make Sylus Dangerously Soft for You (And Yes, He’s Keeping Score)

When you finally spend his money It started with coffee. Small. Harmless. But the alert hit his phone and, for a moment, he genuinely wondered if his card had been stolen—until he saw your name. And something in him shifted. Not because of the cost. Please. He could buy the city it was brewed in. No, it was the fact you used it. You. Willingly. Now? You’re bolder—little dresses, shoes, jewelry you don’t need. And every time you do, he rewards it like you just proved you understand the assignment: what's his, is already yours.

When you give orders to his men like you're the boss You don’t ask. You instruct. Calm, certain, completely in charge. One of his men hesitates—just once—while you’re directing them to rescue a terrified kitten stuck in a tree. Sylus doesn’t interfere. He just watches, arms crossed, a grin tugging at his mouth as armed professionals scramble to obey you like you're the patron saint of lost animals. Somewhere in his mind, he’s already fitted you for a crown. With tiny cat ears.

When you secretly pet Mephisto The mechanical raven used to drive you insane. Now? You’re sneaking him treats and absentminded scratches under the jaw. Sylus sees it. Says nothing. But deep down, he knows: if you’ve accepted the bird—you’ve accepted all of him. And that’s lethal. To him.

When you make him a playlist You never explain them. Just send a link and say nothing. But he listens—every time. Alone. In his car. In the bath. Eyes closed, calculating your every choice like it’s encrypted intel. Each track? A hint. A mood. A coded message from you to him. He doesn’t ask for them. He just waits for the next one. And when it arrives, he treats it like gospel.

When you leave a trail of chaos in his car Your hair on the seat. Your gum wrappers in the cup holder. The seat so close to the wheel he practically has to fold in half. And the music? A full-volume love ballad ready to ambush his eardrums at ignition. It's obnoxious. It’s inconvenient. It’s perfect. His life, now featuring you.

When you eat from his plate You swore you weren’t hungry. You said “no carbs this week.” And now? You’re stealing fries from his hand and dipping into his steak sauce like it’s your birthright. He doesn’t stop you. He just watches you chew with that look that says: mine. forever.

When you talk and talk and talk Something happens. You spiral. Words spill. Thoughts tangle. You’re not even aware you’re rambling—but he is. He listens to everything. Stores it all. Because there’s something magical about your voice when it’s unfiltered. You don’t realize it, but he falls a little harder every time you forget to censor yourself.

When you crawl into his lap while he’s working He’s in the middle of paperwork. Calculating things. Dangerous things. And suddenly—you. Right there. Knees on either side, arms around his neck, like the world’s most beautiful interruption. He tells himself he needs to finish. But his hands are already on your hips.

When you call and ask for help A jar. A stuck zipper. A ride. It doesn’t matter. You’re a trained hunter—you’ve faced things with claws, fangs, and no name. But you still call him. Because you want him. And that? That wrecks him in ways he’ll never admit. He’s already on his way before you hang up.

When you scream his name right before you come There’s a lot he’s proud of. His empire. His power. His record. But nothing—nothing—satisfies him more than the moment your voice breaks open with his name. Like prayer. Like surrender. Like he’s the only thing in your world. Which, of course… he is.

[connorsui]

He stood outside the courthouse, using the building’s reflective glass as a makeshift mirror. He adjusted the tie she’d picked out for him that morning, tugging it loose and then tightening it again until it sat just right. His free hand ran through his hair, smoothing the strands she’d ruffled when she kissed him goodbye with a sly smirk. The faint scent of her perfume clung to his shirt, and he couldn’t help but smile.

“Man, your wife is insane,” an officer muttered as he walked past, throwing him a glance.

Without missing a beat, he chuckled, straightening his collar. “Yeah, no shit. Why do you think I married her?” He shot the officer a grin through the reflection, adjusting his cufflinks like this was just another day in his life. “I’m literally on my way to her trial right now, carrying her favorite cookies and wearing the shirt she insisted on. Hell, I’ve even got her eyeliner in this bag because, and I quote, she wants to look stunning for the pictures.”

He gave himself one last look in the glass, smoothing the fabric of his shirt, before turning to the officer. “And when this is all over, I’ll be paying her bail. Not because I have to—because I want to. She’ll come out, probably ask for a shopping spree or some fancy dinner, and you know what? I’ll give it to her. Every last bit.”

His voice softened as he glanced down at the cookies in his hand, a quiet smile tugging at his lips. “Because she’s my wife. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

[baobei-bu]

working out together ♡

[thesevro]

someone drugged my bro 😭

Love & Deepspace Caleb/Trans Male Reader MC/reader is also a DAA pilot cadet Content tags: penetration, p in v sex, AFAB reader, non-consensual drug use (aphrodisiacs)/spiking, virginity loss, mentions of cunnilingus, confessions, overstimulation, Caleb gets all mean and edges you a bit too 5.2k words because these two are emotional PREVIEW: “If you don’t nail me to the bed with your dick right this second I swear on Gran’s life I’ll crash into your craft on the next aerial pursuit—” EXPLICIT CONTENT BENEATH THE CUT. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

Links:

Fem! Reader Cis Male Reader (in progress)

——————

“Ohh, you got another box!” 

You sling an arm around Caleb’s shoulders. The delight in your smile has him grinning back at you.

“I’m praying this happens again next year,” you tell him with a mouth full of chocolate. He presses another chocolate into your mouth as you open your mouth to speak and you smack at him but continue your words nonetheless. He snickers at your big-backed, chipmunk-like expression. “What a way to be welcomed to the Administration.” 

“I don’t think I want this to keep happening,” he says, tone teasing, “I feel so bad for you. You didn’t get any. So we have to share now.”

You know he isn’t really sad about it.

“Calm it, I already know you’re for the community.” He side-eyes you at that. “It’s tradition for them. Even I’m thinking of giving a box to someone next Valentine’s. There are so many cute guys and girls here.” 

You don’t notice the way he bristles ever so slightly. Your hand hovers over the box as you contemplate which chocolate to shove into your mouth next.

“Huh.” He pretends to give your words some thought. “Who’s this someone you want to give chocolates to?”

“Let me think. You, of course,” you say casually. “Since you’re a good friend and all, and your height makes you kind of cute. But I wanna make sure all the cuties here at the DAA feel special, so I think I’ll be buying in bulk.”

He’d bash his head into the next wall if you weren’t here right now.

“I’m flattered,” he deadpans. “Will that be your way of confessing to someone?”

“Bro, we’re flight cadets. I might have considered doing that in university, but at this point I just want to make new friends.” You shake your head at him, picking up a chocolate and pushing it onto his tongue. He gets the feeling you’re trying to shut him up. But you did pick his favorite, and he ends up savoring the tang of lemon that spreads through his senses. “We’re here to be fighter pilots. Don’t tell me you’re still thinking like a teenager!”

—

“Caleb.”

His head tilts upward. He turns back, a smile already coming over his face at the sound of your voice. He tilts his head backward to meet your gaze as you stand over him. There’s a compression shirt wrapped tight around your torso. He notices. And files the sight of the lines of your strong torso, defined with cutting prominence through the shirt, away into his memory. For later.

“Why so serious, pipsqueak?” he teases, curious about your lowered tone. 

“Was there—” you swallow, the intensity of your gaze fading as you look away from him. Almost like you’re embarrassed. “Was there something in those chocolates?” 

“Huh?” 

You shove your hands deeper into the pockets of your casual sweats, and your eyes dart around the room, where other cadets are busy closing flight reports or enjoying their own boxes of Valentine’s chocolates. You lean down and whisper into his ear.

“What the fuck,” he says, appalled. He looks up at you like what you just whispered in his ear could only be a lie.

“I’ve been trying to—” your words falter. While he feels like tracking the person who drugged the chocolates, tying a rock to their ankle and throwing them into the nearby river, the image that crosses his mind is impossible to resist. You were trying to satisfy yourself? 

Your fingers between your legs. Your thighs spread apart. Your wetness, your moans—

“Just—listen, we’ve always been close. I’m not filing a medical report for this!” you say in a whispered shout. “I’ll report the girl, there are still some chocolates left and I can write up the ratio between aphrodisiac and regular chocolate later but—fuck, nobody can know about this.”

He blinks.

“But you let me know about it?”

“Because I need—” None of your words are flowing coherently. Each sentence is embarrassment incarnate. “I need help.”

He gawks at you. Mouth closed, but expression indelibly shocked. “You need help. You… you need my help? You need help from me?”

You fidget, agitation burgeoning with each passing millisecond. “It hurts so much. No matter what I do, it won’t go away.”

No matter what you do.

It hurts.

That awakens an instinct inherent to Caleb. 

“You know what, never mind.” Your words become a quick, jumbled mess. “I’ll tough it out. It’s too much to ask for, I’m sorry, it’s so weird and I shouldn’t have asked, I guess just don’t come in my room—”

“There’s nobody in my room. Let’s go.” 

He takes your hand. 

—

He closes the door with urgency. Like you’re injured and all he has to do is bandage you up quickly.

“Caleb, are you sure?”

He hesitates. He can’t look at you, because he knows if he does he’ll do all the things he has ever wanted to do. Even if you need it, he will make no room for his selfishness.

“This is so fucking stupid,” you laugh. The distance between him and you only stretches from his bunk to the door. It would only take several steps to cross, but he knows that the actions he’ll commit that will follow are impossible. “I mean, I don’t think I can go back to my room anymore since even my legs are hurting now, but if you can keep the rest of your bunkmates out of the room for a few hours I might be able to—”

“Do you think I’m not good enough to help you?” 

He finally crosses the space. 

When he approaches, you almost feel trapped. His gaze is almost as powerful as his Evol, rooting you to the space in front of his bed. He stalks towards you like a predator closing in on a vulnerable mouse. 

You scramble for words. “No, I don’t want to force you into doing anything. I know you’re a virgin!” A nervous laugh bubbles in your throat. “I don’t wanna be the one who takes your virginity when I’m just your best friend.”

He finally reaches you, but doesn’t stop when his space invades yours. The backs of your knees hit the bed. You feel the breaths from his words as he speaks. “What if I told you I’ve never touched anyone because I’ve only ever wanted it to be my best friend that I lay a hand on like that?”

He tilts his head at you. The aphrodisiac truly works wonders. His proximity has altered the levels of oxytocin flowing through your core, has pushed the rush of four different hormones to unreached heights all at once. Your body detects him in ways you’ve only just now discovered possible.

“You need to get fucked?” he asks.

You swallow as you look into his eyes. “Only if you’re willing, Caleb.”

He looks down. You realize he’s looking at your lips. “Push me away if you want me to stop.” 

His fingers come up to hold your chin. Caleb steals your first kiss.

The aphrodisiac has explosions of need and feeling bursting in your body. You immediately pull him closer, kissing him back with a roughness neither of you are accustomed to. He makes a noise against your lips. You grip his shoulder and let your weight take you to the bed.

Caleb presses a hand to the back of your head to cushion your fall, but none of it registers in your head. You spread your legs for him, the ferocity of your lips on his a fiery rush. Soon he realizes he can finally release a hunger he’s been hiding from you nearly all his life. He shifts on the bed and grips your hips to grind you into his cock. Through the stupidly thick layers of fabric, you feel his hardness drag against your folds. 

“I want to see you,” you say into his mouth. You tug at his shirt and he rips it off, allowing for only a millisecond to exist where his lips aren’t on yours. You caress the hard planes of his torso and he shivers at your touch. Half-naked above you, he grinds his dick against your combat trousers, moaning at the stimulation and the feel of your mouth on his. 

“Take my shirt off,” you tell him. His breathing is labored. Synapses connecting rapidly all so he can memorize every millisecond of these moments with you beneath him, of how it feels to kiss you, to be between your legs and to have the permission to bare your body to his waiting eyes.

“You’ve really…” He gives a pleasured sigh at the very sight of you. “Changed so much.” 

His fingers trace the scars under your chest. When you shiver at his touch, scar tissue more sensitive than skin without such injuries, he knows he can no longer hold back—he needs to feel this new man before him. He’s only ever gotten the chance to speak with you as the man you’ve become; to have fun with you, to laugh with you and know this reinvigorated best friend of his. 

But he has still held back on fulfilling every one of the facets he wants to be more familiar with. He knows the sound of your deep laughter, but what about your noises of pleasure in this rich, sonorous voice of yours? 

He moves to give you one last kiss. It’s chaste. When his lips leave yours, he kisses downward along your skin, savoring how the skin on your collarbones feels on lips, how a muscle in your strong chest twitches as he kisses you there. He slides down your body, smooth as butter on a hot knife, kissing every inch of your skin for the first time, until his head is between your thighs. He smirks up at you, fingers curling around your trousers and the pink waistband of your boxers.

“Let me taste what you’ve been doing to yourself.”

—

You’ve never known Caleb to be this cruel. 

He let you cum on his tongue. But he wouldn’t let up until you were kicking at him, pushing his face away and sobbing for him to stop at the overstimulation. He kept on insisting he had to stretch you out for his dick. And you didn’t really believe him, because no man could ever be so big.

He was.

When he pulled it out of his fatigues you practically jumped on him, overstimulation all but forgotten as the aphrodisiac kicked hormone production in your body into overdrive once more, but he knew you’d hurt yourself if he let you take control. 

Caleb has pinned you to the bed. Cock wet with lube, and only the tip inside you.

He has you begging and begging for his dick, struggling against his Evol as your cunt weeps, mind and nerves stimulated past the point of pain by the aphrodisiac.

“Please please pleasepleaseplease I need it—” you gasp, arching into him, bed squeaking wildly as you try to shove the rest of him inside. Why does he have to be so cruel? Can’t he see you’re in pain? That the aphrodisiac is ruining you, frying your neurons until all you can think about is his dick, his big, stupid fat fucking dick—

“Need what?” he still has the gall to ask. You squeeze around his tip. Tight enough you might just be trying to suck him in. His face twists at the feel but he still manages to be dumbly cocky. “You gotta tell me how I can help you pipsqueak.” 

“I need your dick!” you beg. Tears prick your eyes as the throb in your cunt spreads through the rest of your body until you feel like a fresh, aching bruise—nothing has ever hurt like this. You don’t think he can see it. Low-grade aphrodisiacs, the kind most can afford in Skyhaven, don’t typically have this effect according to the cases you’ve read. Whichever girl put this type of aphrodisiac in his chocolate must have drained her trust fund just for it.

It’s why he has the nerve to be so mean. He doesn’t know how much it hurts. Well. Quite good, then, that you’ve little sense of dignity left and will beg for it until he’s fucking his cum into you.

“I need to feel you fuck me,” you say in a sobbed sigh. Rendered immobile still by his Evol, you can only wiggle your hips pathetically, trying to slip him inside you. “I want you to fill me up with your cum. I want to hear you moan in my ear as I take your cock and have you fuck me so hard all I can think about is how big my best friend is inside me.”

You start babbling, unaware of the serious expression that has taken over his face the second the words ‘best friend’ left your mouth, “I want your babies, I want to be so full of your cum I get pregnant tomorrow, I need it I need it I need it—”

“You think I’ll be good enough for you? Will just your best friend’s dick be enough?” 

You don’t pick up on the scorn in his tone. The hatred for the phrase ‘best friend.’ It’s too subtle, so unlike Caleb that you could never conjure a universe where he’d speak to you that way. You simply beg, again. Not as nicely though.

“If you don’t nail me to the bed with your dick right this second I swear on Gran’s life I’ll crash into your craft on the next aerial pursuit—”

“Be quiet for me for a second.”

He tuts. The moment you feel his hips shift, you shut your mouth. Your legs tighten around the backs of his thighs. He begins to slide inside.

“Oh,” you moan softly. Caleb focuses on it. Your open mouth, your mussed hair. The way your body writhes impatiently beneath him. You’re already such a mess and he hasn’t even started. Three inches in, he feels the precum dribbling out his cockhead. When he realizes all of it is filling you up he nearly blows his load then and there.

“You’re so hot,” he groans, breaths fanning across your face with his first thrust. Your name is reverence on his tongue as he moans it into the air.

It’s your first time. You know for a fact it’s his, too. The stretch of his cock is heightened, impossibly good. You hold him close and whimper. You never would have thought it could feel like this. 

“Don’t make those sounds,” he whispers, unmoving. It’s then that you become conscious of the unmistakable, harsh throb of his dick inside you. He’s close already. “Fuck, (Name),” he sighs again.

“Caleb,” you say. Something in your voice has him pulling back from your neck to cradle your face. Your eyes still glisten with tears. He softens, forehead touching yours.

“You gotta give me a few minutes,” he chuckles, voice low. “Think I’ll cum if I move.” 

“I don’t have minutes,” you shoot back at him in a whisper, but having his dick inside you has returned some of your coherence. “Caleb, please—”

“Shhhh,” he soothes, his hand gripping your hip. His thumb rubs circles into your skin. “It’s okay. I’ll make sure you cum more times than I will.

“I’ll move, okay?” he tells you, lips brushing yours with the words.

His hips shift. You both groan as he thrusts back inside, a slow, scooping motion that rubs against a spot inside you even your fingers have barely touched. 

There’s so much grace to his movements. Strength in the very way he holds his body. You feel safe beneath him, solid. You know he’ll take care of you, as he has a million times in the past and always will. 

Your core burns, but you let him take it slow. Nothing will be able to take away the sense of safety and love that fills you in this moment. He throws his head back and you hold the back of his neck, cupping his face with a hand as he fights the waves of an impending orgasm. Caleb only provides a few moments for restraint. Once the approach of his orgasm dwindles, his hunger soon takes over.

“Am I…” he swallows, watching with furrowed brows as you pant beneath him, savoring the sight of your face twisted in pleasure all because of him. His hips ram into yours. The feel is hard. Bruising. His skin slaps wetly into yours with every thrust. “Am I the only one who’s seen you like this?” 

Your mind goes blank. You blink up at him, attempting to comprehend, but he never stops pounding into you with this newfound rhythm. Your body gets looser and looser until you’re practically limp beneath him, mouth open, only able to take his cock and nothing else. You grasp weakly at his bicep for purchase.

“Was I the first one you thought about when the aphrodisiac kicked in?” he pants out. “I should be the only one you think about doing these things with.

“Now that I…” he huffs, swearing under his breath. “Now that I have you like this… nobody else will ever be able to. I’m the only one who will ever get to see you this way.”

“W-what?” you stammer, raising your voice against the slick noises of him beating your boyhole with his dick. “B-but isn’t this just sex—”

Something flashes across his features. You know him so well, but you can’t identify the emotion that fills his eyes now. 

“Really?” he asks. His voice has deepened. 

You start to ask him a question, but he leans back and pushes a hand under the small of your back. He lifts you easily and uses his Evol to drag a pillow under your back. You shiver at how deep he gets with the change in angle. But that isn’t where he lets this end. He unwraps your legs from around his waist to push them up and over his shoulders. 

He fucks you into the rickety bunk mattress, and you cry out louder than the bed can squeak. Your eyes roll into the back of your skull. You dig your nails into his hips, reaching for him wherever you can, the feel of him so deep inside you unbearable. Your pussy gushes, so wet for his dick that every thrust he makes gives a sloshing, sloppy noise. 

“Caleb, st-stop—I can’t—”

“I’ll make you see that nobody can make you feel as good as I do.” He gives a rough chuckle. “Even if I’m just your best friend.” 

He leans forward, your legs still hooked to his shoulders, bending you in half until every single inch of him fucks into you with every thrust. Your back arches and you struggle as sensation overwhelms you. Your walls squeeze his fat cock, so warm that he feels he might cum at the next thrust. And the next. And the next. For him this is all a test of how well he can hold himself back. He wants to give you those babies.

His eyes barely leave your face. Your embarrassment begins to grow with it. You close your eyes, breaking away from his gaze. Try to cover your face with a hand. 

Caleb immediately reacts. He leans, folding you until your feet are just above his head, your pussy practically tilted to the heavens. Like this, he’s able to reach for you and pin your hands away from your face.

“Don’t be selfish,” he says. Almost commanding you. “I want to see how good I make my best friend feel.” 

You sob. Your climax is building rapidly, the sheer stretch of him overwhelms your brain. The noises he makes above you are so delicious. You can’t believe you can make him feel this good. Caleb is vocal about his pleasure, moaning unabashedly with each thrust. In between his sweet, noisy moans he murmurs nearly drunken praise about how good you feel wrapped around his dick, how tight you are, how handsome you look as you take his cock.

“C-can you feel—mmmghh” —You squeeze tight around him— “Can you feel how wet I am for you?” 

His body lurches. Some of his weight is lifted from your hands as his head rolls back and he gives a loud, sexy moan. 

“D-don’t talk like that pipsqueak,” he pants. 

“Make me cum then,” you answer. You’re so close it hurts. “Make me shut up.” 

He takes your challenge in stride. He leans forward until the backs of your thighs are pressed into his chest and he’s practically thrusting vertically downward into your pussy. You feel his balls kiss your ass gently as he adjusts to the position. Then his musculature steadies above you, his hips piledriving downward. His balls slap into the skin of your ass. 

“In this position, you can’t escape me,” he says, thrusts merciless and wet. His gaze encompasses you, impossible to avoid. You blink up, tears on your lashes, into the beautiful supernova of his eyes. “I’ll keep you here until you drench my dick in your cum three times, pretty pipsqueak.” 

With these words, he wraps his arms around you, his arms coming around your legs so that the entirety of him envelopes you in his embrace. He cradles your head and brings his lips to yours. You press passion into his mouth, your tongue sucking on his until he pulls your head backward to further expose you and drive his tongue into your mouth. You moan as he sucks on your lips. 

“My gorgeous boy,” he moans into your skin. “You’re mine, yeah?” 

“I’m all yours, Caleb,” you say. “Only yours now.” 

“Only now?” 

He changes the pace, moving his hips in circles so that his pelvis grinds into your throbbing cocklet. You can’t help but squirm at the stimulation when all he was giving you was his dick earlier.

“What about tonight?” he asks. His voice reflects this new insecurity of his, but there’s an edge to it. It’s possessive. Dangerous. “What about tomorrow?”

“Caleb, why do you keep talking like this—”

He’s too greedy to let you reply. And too afraid to. With eager fingers, he reaches between your thighs to swiftly gather your mixed fluids and finger your cocklet with his thumb. Without hesitation, his thrusts return to that hard, pounding rhythm at the very same time. You squeal. 

“Caleb!” you scream. “Caleb!” 

You feel him grin against your neck. But you aren’t really all there anymore. Your back begins to arch off the bed. Head lolling, hands clawing at his shoulders. He doesn’t bother to try shushing you. The barrack master can eat shit for all he cares when you’re like this, screaming his name until your voice is raw and hoarse enough that it cracks down the middle with your moans.

“I’m gonna cum,” you whimper. “Caleb, you feel so good, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum—”

He pulls back to watch. It’s almost like taming a wild horse as he presses his forehead to yours and you buck against him, writhing wildly with the effects of the aphrodisiac heightening your pleasure and his unrelenting fingers jerking off your cocklet. You squeeze around him, impossibly tight. He feels his balls draw upward. Drool spills from the corner of his mouth as his eyes roll back into his head. Your moans and his mix together as your sounds spill into the air.

He tries to draw in that pupil of focus once more so that he can memorize your face as you cum on his cock. Eyes fluttering, he looks back down at you. Your handsome face is open with pleasure. The veins in your throat strain against your skin as you cry his name. It’s all you can say through your pleasure. Almost as if you worship the man bringing pleasure to your core.

“I’ve loved you,” he murmurs in an almost incoherent slur as you cum around him, with your hands holding tightly onto his and your pulse beneath his fingertips, “Every moment we’ve been alive. I am so in love with you it hurts. Knowing that you just won’t feel the same. You can’t. But if this is what I’ll get, if this is what you’ll let me have and you let me take care of you like this, then I can just forget. I’ll pretend that you love me too when it’s just the two of us like this.” 

When you look up at him, your orgasm fading, you see that same emotion return to his face. He’s looked at you this way so many times before that his confession now gives way to finally show you what it is. You lift a hand to his cheek and he presses into your touch, desperate, fearful perhaps of the way this will end, his eyes closing, his face pained.

You give yourself a few moments to recover. You’ve never reached such pleasure before. And it’s him who gave all of it to you. As he always does. Caleb—calm, encouraging, and bright. Your beloved provider. 

“Caleb.” Your voice is so soft, so soothing that the pain on his face eases a bit. “All I have are words. But that’s not enough for me to show you just what I feel for you.” 

He opens his eyes to return your gaze. He waits for you to continue. But he seems to be drawing in on himself, as if he’s preparing for the hurt your words will bring. You, more than anything, want to prove him wrong.

“What do I need to do?” you ask. “What do I need to say? What can I show you that will prove I have always felt just the same?” 

He leans back and adjusts your legs. You wrap them around his waist once more. But he doesn’t come back to hunch over you and hold you close to him. He’s stopped moving completely. Caleb turns away from you, face embarrassed.

“I don’t need your consolation,” he says. 

“You’re right, you don’t.” You lift your back from the bed, hands slowly running up the lengths of his arms as you move to seat yourself in his lap. Your calloused palms glide over the goosebumps that rise on his skin at your touch. Your body is as strong as his as you lift yourself off the bed and into his lap, abs rippling with the smooth motion. “You need the truth.” 

You grasp his hands in yours, pulling them towards your chest. You pepper kisses along his skin, cherishing the hands that have fed you, held you, helped you, and cared for you. 

“Yeah, I might have jumped on a grenade for you before,” you begin. He can’t help but shake his head at your words, because while you did do that at 13:29 on a hot afternoon in April, he can’t help but narrow your consolation down to something insincere. You hold his face so he can’t look away from you, continuing, “But when we were kids, you were the only one I wanted my partner as. You were the only one I’d snatch extra candy for from Ms. Xia. I’d win every stupid game the other kids wanted to beat me at so none of them could be your partner. And you always kept losing your basketball a secret from me, but I was the one who’d climb the tree in our backyard just to get it back every time you lost it because it was your favorite one.” You chuckle at his expression. “You always thought it was the wind, huh? 

“You have always been there for me.” Your fingers brush over the apple of his cheek. “But I think you sometimes forget I’ve always been here for you, too. It’s always been you and me, Caleb.”

You clutch his hands to your chest. “And here, at the DAA…” You swallow. “I think I’m learning to fall in love with you.”

There’s a flurry of movement, and you gasp as he gives your mouth a hard, bruising kiss. You’re pushed flat onto the mattress as he moves his body over yours. 

“I love you,” he whispers into your mouth. Then he begins to thrust. There’s an ease to his movements, a sense of freedom. As if he’s finally let go. His hips undulate backward and forward, slowly. He savors this connection with you.

The kisses he presses into your lips are slow. Soft. You hold his face as he makes love to you, as he cherishes your body without that earlier hunger, that fearful desperation founded by the belief that he’d lose you the moment you left his bunk. That you’d be rid of him the second you—

“Don’t look away from me, Caleb.”

You pull him back from the spirals tracing dark, angry paths into his mind. He doesn’t shy away from your gaze. 

“Pipsqueak,” he says. He never thought he’d say this childish nickname like this. “(Name). I love you. So much more than you realize.” 

He doesn’t need you to say it back. He’ll wait as long as it takes, until you fall for him as deeply and as painfully and with as much yearning as he has for you.

“Inside me,” you whisper, giving him permission for something he’s dreamt of for years, the peak of intimacy he has always wanted to share with you. Only you. He presses his mouth to yours in gratitude.

That’s all it takes.

He doesn’t part from your mouth as he cums. As greedy as him, you swallow his moans as his cock marks your insides white with his cum. You caress his nape, your touch gentle on his cheek as he shudders through the most powerful orgasm he’s ever had in his life. He can’t stop moaning your name against your lips, his voice raised in pitch, shaky. A pleasured sob of your name fills the air as it leaves his mouth. He savors every syllable of your name falling from his lips, because it’s the first time he’s said it this way. With all of the love he truly feels for you. With the intimacy he has always yearned to have you bask in. 

He collapses on a hand when he finishes. Tries not to fall on top of you. But you pull him in close and he lets himself go limp above your body. Your heartbeat thuds against his chest, rhythm rapid with the aftermath. There’s not a single centimeter of space against your body does that his doesn’t fill. You stroke his hair, fingers smoothing the disheveled locks. You feel him relax further, muscles losing their tension in your warm embrace.

“You love me?” you ask.

There’s a beat of silence.

“Even if you let me or you don’t,” he says, “I’ll always love you. I won’t ever stop showing it.”

“I think you more than showed me today,” you mutter.

He gives a little chuckle.

“Give me time?” you say. “I’m still learning that I’m falling in love with you.”

He nuzzles into your neck. His lips give your skin a gentle kiss. “You can take a hundred years and I wouldn’t regret a single second I spent waiting.” He wraps his arms around you. “I’ll wait for you, pips.” 

>>>

Some things I noticed about the way I wrote this

I couldn’t help but want to write from both their perspectives, so the story kinda jumps povs in terms of who’s feeling or doing what

I really wanna know your thoughts

Is it not smooth? Too many jumps from Caleb’s to MC’s pov? Let me know u freaky ahh

[luvcaleb]

YOU'RE MINE.

nsfw (18+). includes aphrodisiacs, dry humping, rubbing cock over panties, possessive!caleb, caleb is gentle at first until you piss him off, this is basically ‘testing caleb's patience: the fic’, unprotected sex, creampie, i have to mention that caleb is possessive twice because caleb says some freaky stuff, sappy confession during sex, happy (horny) ending <3 likes and reblogs will be very helpful !!

Caleb doesn't accept love letters and chocolates whenever Valentine's Day comes along. However, girls directly stuff them into his bag without his knowledge sometimes, and you take it upon yourself to eat the sweets because Caleb would just throw it straight to the trash otherwise.

“It's a waste,” you'd always say. “You might not like them back, but they still made the effort to make chocolate for you.”

And then Caleb would shake his head, frowning, “Though most of them mean well, sometimes they put weird stuff in the food. So if I were you, I'd spit out that cupcake, pipsqueak.”

You usually don't heed his warnings—Caleb's always been kind of an overthinker. Now, though, you regret not listening to him as an unfamiliar heat spreads across your body, your core throbbing as you feel yourself dripping in your panties.

...The panties that's rubbing against Caleb's crotch right now, soaking the fabric of his pants while you grind down on him. Caleb's expression looks like a mix of confusion, worry, and arousal, his hands hovering above your waist as if unsure where to touch you. “Nn— hey, what's gotten into you? Do you even know what you're doing right now?”

You see his Adam's apple bob up and down as he nervously swallows, and you start feeling something poking you at your clothed core. Caleb sits up on the sofa where you pushed him down a while ago, grabbing your hands on his shoulders. “C'mon, tell me. I can't help you if I don't know what's wrong.”

You whimper, your body collapsing on top of his. He quickly scoops you up, one hand holding the back of your head, the other resting on your lower back, ensuring you're properly seated on his thighs.

“I... I feel weird,” you pant, clutching the front of his shirt. “I'm dizzy, and my body is hot all over. My...” you swallow down your embarrassment, “my pussy feels empty... Caleb, can't you help me? Please?”

Almost imperceptibly, his grip on you tightens by a fraction. He sighs, angling your head to make you look at him in the eye. Perhaps it's the trick of the light, but Caleb's face is a flustered pink. “I can't do that. You're going to regret it when you turn back to normal and get all weird about it.” He glances at the chocolates you ate on the table, brows furrowed. “Aphrodisiac chocolate... I should've known. Then you wouldn't have become like this...”

Your mind is in a daze. Your body feels unusually heavy, but your head feels like it's floating. Most of what he said is lost on you, and at this moment, the only thing you can focus on is that Caleb is looking at something else. You grab both of his cheeks, forcibly turning his attention to you. “Please help me, Caleb...” Clumsily, you lift up your hips, pressing your cunt against the tent in his pants. It glistens with your wetness, and Caleb can't help but groan when you rub the tip with your thumb. “It hurts... I need this inside me...”

Caleb has always adhered to your whims, but even he has his limits. He pinches your cheek, “I can't put it inside, idiot, I don't have a condom. I just have to make you cum, right?” He gestures for you to pick up the hem of your skirt, sucking in a breath when he sees how soaked you are. “Fuck....”

The entire crotch area is damp, and if he looks carefully, he can even see the faint shape of your clit. Curiously, he draws circles on it, breathing heavily when a fresh glob of slick stains your underwear. “That's hot...”

He pulls down his zipper, releasing his cock from his boxers. You gasp softly at the sight. He's long and thick, arching to a beautiful curve, colored almost red from the strain of holding back. He gives himself a few experimental pumps, moans coming from his mouth as he masturbates at the sight of you, holding up your own skirt to give him a perfect view of your wet panties, an innocent, frilly pair he can't wait to ruin.

He positions his cock to your folds, aiming at the spot your hole should be if not covered by your underwear. You both groan at the first slide, his pre-cum further soaking the fabric of your ruined panties. He wraps himself in his fist, teasing your clit as he pumps into his hand. More pearls of white spurt out of his tip. “Ah, fuck, that's good... so good...”

“Ah, ah, Caleb!”

You move your hips, moaning while he rubs himself against your cunt. The warmth of his cock is driving you crazy, and the added friction of Caleb rubbing your nipple through your clothes makes you even wetter than you already are. He's biting his lip, dazed eyes staring at your body appreciatively. “I'm taking this off, baby.”

He impatiently runs his hand through the buttons of your clothes, some of them popping off to clatter on the floor. “H-hey, I liked this shirt— haa...!”

“I'll buy you a new one,” he grunts, mouthing at one of your tits, sucking as if anything would come out. He unclasps your bra one-handed, throwing it over your shoulder. “These things are fucking annoying...”

Finally, he gets tired of rubbing you over your clothes. He lifts the side of your panties, sliding his cock inside to directly grind against your pussy. “Shit, that's more like it,” he moans loudly, your wetness gliding down his balls. “You feel so good.”

“Caleb, put it inside already,” you whine, scrunching up the fabric of your skirt in your fists. “This isn't enough for you either, hnn, right...? Give me your cock, please...”

Caleb grits his teeth, holding your hips to stop you from dropping on his dick. “Didn't I tell you I don't have a condom?”

“I don't care!” you struggle in his hold. “Fuck me, c'mon... it hurts...! If you don't...”

You pant against his ear, knowing exactly what you're getting into, drugged or not, “...I'll ask Zayne to fuck me instead.”

The effect is instantaneous. He pulls out, replacing his cock with two fingers plunging inside you at once, hitting deep all the way inside. You choke, gasping out for breath as his hand doesn't stop, slick jetting out of your cunt with every push of his fingers. His clothes are getting soaked, but Caleb doesn't care about them at all, coldly glaring at your face twisted in pleasure.

“So you're telling me you'd be fine with just anyone?” He's chuckling, but he doesn't sound like he's happy. “Fuck. I should've just done this from the start, then.”

He grabs two of the chocolates, popping one in his mouth. When he finishes swallowing, he places the other one in his mouth again, but then he suddenly grabs your jaw. “Open your mouth, slut.”

He pulls you in for a kiss, mouths locking together. The chocolate melts from the heat, his tongue licking at yours as he's forcing you to swallow. He doesn't let you go until he's sure you've eaten all of it, drool dripping from the corner of your lips.

“We're not stopping until you learn I'm the only one who gets to see you like this,” he grunts, taking out his fingers and slathering your slick on his cock to make it wet. “I'm the only one who gets to call you mine.”

“Haa... haa...”

Clothes are strewn messily on Caleb's bedroom floor, the mattress squeaking with each thrust of his hips. You're on your back, one leg hooked over Caleb's shoulder, staring into space as you're fucked absolutely stupid.

“Fuck, I can't stop my hips....” Caleb's still fucking into you, hasn't stopped for the past hour. The effects of the aphrodisiac have probably passed after the first two rounds, but his cock shows no signs of softening after release. He cums another load into you, overflowing from your pussy to spread into his sheets. “Ah, hng, shit... Hey, I told you not to waste it.”

He pulls out, pressing his fingers inside your loose hole to fuck his cum back in. You make a sound of protest, already feeling full.

“Are you starting to regret what you said now?” He grabs the back of your thighs, pressing your legs next to your ears. “Too late for that, though.”

Caleb groans, sloshing his cum inside your cunt with his dick. You helplessly grab at the sheets, moaning brokenly. His pelvis rubs against your engorged clit on every snap of his hips, driving you to squirt on his abs again, his torso glistening with your mess.

“You're squirting again? How many times have you cum?” Caleb laughs meanly, sucking another possessive mark among the smattering of hickeys he's already left along your collarbones. “Nasty girl...”

He leans back, getting a better view of your body. There are traces of him everywhere, from the hickeys on your neck, his cum on your chest because you couldn't swallow everything he poured in your mouth, and the faint bite marks on your inner thighs when he paid the favor and ate you out.

He presses a kiss on your chest, staring at you with dark eyes. “If you didn't say that, I would've been patient with you. Fingered you loose before putting my cock inside, making sure you're comfortable... I would've helped you ride out the effects of the aphrodisiac and never speak of it again. After all, to you, I'm just family.” He nuzzles against your cheek, his voice taking on a darker tone. “But you just had to call out another guy's name, didn't you... Would've fucked him if it was him here, not me...”

Caleb thrusts back inside you roughly, fucking your cervix. “You can't do that, you know? You've always belonged to me. Every part of you is mine, so no one else can touch you.” He cups your cheek, devouring your cries of pleasure with his mouth. “Just me... it's only me, right? I'm the person most important to you, right? You said so... So why are you bringing up another guy?”

He's asking questions, but he doesn't let you answer any of them, kissing you so much you almost can't breathe.

“Even though I'm in front of you...” Kiss. “Even when I'm the only one who loves you this much...” Kiss, kiss. “You're still thinking of another person...” Kiss, kiss, kiss. “That's hardly fair when you're all I think about everyday.” Another sloppy kiss.

You weakly push his chest, breaking away from the kiss. “Wait, Caleb—”

He pins your wrist to the bed. “I'm not stopping.”

“I'm not telling you to stop, I'm telling you to liste— ahh, haa, hnn!” The cock still ramming up your walls makes it much more difficult to speak, hammering against the sweet spot that makes your toes curl. “Fuck, ah— Caleb, listen to me!”

He hums as he sucks another hickey on your skin. “I am.”

You don't have it in you to argue even when he clearly isn't, trembling at the pleasure. The hand holding your wrist travels upwards to intertwine your fingers together, grounding you back to reality.

“Caleb, I was just— I didn't mean what I said...” you stammer, trying your best to speak without getting distracted. “I, mmh....! W-wouldn't do this with anyone else... haa... I just said that so you'd fuck me— ah, ah!”

He scoffs, slowing his pace when he sees you being overwhelmed. “You're just making excuses to get me to stop.”

“I'm not, you dummy! I...” your brows pinch together, embarrassed to say it but you continue anyway, “Caleb, you're the one I think of when I touch myself... nn... And I know it's wrong, and you only think of me as someone you should take care of, but, I, haah, I like it when you kiss me, or when you hug me, and I— gh! I like it when you fuck me hard, too, just like this...”

You move your hand to cup Caleb's jaw, admiring his awestruck expression. He looks at you like he's seeing you for the first time.

“I'm not telling you to stop,” you repeat yourself firmly. “I just wanted to say I didn't mean that thing I said earlier, and if it's you, you can do whatever you want to me. Because I love you just like how you love me, Caleb.”

His hips come to a complete stop. “Say that again.”

“I love you, Caleb.”

“Again.”

“I love you.”

“Again.”

“Okay, you're really pushing it, it's embarrassing to sa— aah!”

He grabs your hip, pulling you back to his cock. He fucks you frantically, harsh groans leaving his lips, your name like a prayer. “Fuck... you love me? You love... me?” The words seem unfamiliar on his tongue, heartbreakingly quiet. You squeeze your connected hands.

“I love you, Caleb. I really, really love you, I've loved you a long time ago...” you tilt his chin, making him meet your gaze. “Now say it back.”

“I love you,” he says with certainty, as if it's a fact of the universe. “I love you so much.” He buries his head into your neck, sucking new marks. “I love you... fuck... I love you so badly, it hurts...”

His cock drives deeper, the wet slaps of skin deafening in the room. Cum dribbles out of your hole with his thrusts, and he swipes it up to smear it on your engorged clit. Rub, rub. Rub, rub.

“Shit, Caleb!” You wail, rutting to his finger. “Everything feels so good, ah, ah!”

“You feel so good, too, aw, fuuuck...” he's melting inside you, your warm walls clenching around him so tight, sucking him back in every time he pulls out. “Your pussy keeps sucking me back in...!” 

“Ah, hnahh, ngh, yes, like that, ah! I'm cumming, cumming!”

His balls draw tight, his cock about to burst. “Fuck, shit!” he fucks in, in, in, until he's filled every space in your cunt, thumb frantically rubbing at your clit. Clear liquid soaks his cock, wetting his pelvis, and he follows you in your release, shooting ropes of milky cum deep inside your pussy. “Fuck, ah, take my cock, take my fucking cum all the way in, ohh— take it deep in your womb—”

He keeps cumming, and cumming, and cumming. “It won't stop,” he moans against your ear, watching your hole overflowing with his semen. “Your pussy feels too good, it's sucking me dry...”

“Caleb, shit, how are you still— ohh, fuuck...” you whine as the last spurts of semen hit your torso, Caleb having pulled out and pumping his dick to cover you in his cum.

Finally emptied, Caleb collapses on the spot beside you, running a hand through his hair. “I need a shower,” he mutters, feeling the stickiness on his body.

“We need a shower,” you correct him. “I probably won't be able to walk for the next few days, all thanks to you, so you better take responsibility and carry me everywhere.”

Caleb laughs, light and airy, nothing like the dark tone he's been speaking in earlier. He pulls you to his chest, pressing chaste kisses all over your face. “Anything for the girl I love.”

[akiisks]

Measuring? 📏

inspired by: baobei-bu

[vellatrelle]

Yes I hear you Zayne enjoyers. Here’s your dinner

And with that I finally did all the Lis YEAHH

I love this event so much

[luli-lads]

How they sleep:

Zayne: On his side, one arm draped over you. Doesn't move much, but his head might end up resting against your chest by 'pure chance'. If he has nightmares, he holds you a little tighter.

Xavier: Doesn't make noise or move at all. Seems dead except for his moving chest. This isn't a problem unless he falls asleep on top of you, crushing you. Immovable object.

Rafayel: Moves around quite a bit, and if he wakes up, he always complains about how 1. You're hogging the blanket and 2. You're not cuddling him. (He literally pushed away the blanket and you himself)

Sylus: While Xavier might crush you by accident, this man does it on purpose. Fully covering your body with his, face neatly tucked against your neck. He snores constantly but softly.

Caleb: Spooning, iron grip version. You're not going anywhere while he's out. Sometimes he talks in his sleep. Your name, mostly. He doesn't tend to snore, but when he does, it's one singular loud as hell snore.

[bibbysstuff]

There is a new 'Caleb' in town..