#surrogate!reader

[tbag-hq]

Two words, poly!141 x surrogate!reader and make it angsty🙏, ik its more then two words but bare with me here.

BUT surrogate!reader hates kids, can’t stand them and is only doing this cause you needs money.

As for the boys they’re freshly retired after a long time of working, they’ve been in some sort of weird situation ship for years(it’s definitely not a healthy one either.) But they wanna make it work and turn it into something more then just casual sex, and what better way then to have a BABY.

Unfortunately for you though they don’t actually want a kid, they just like the idea of one so you know hopefully you won’t stick around to see how shitty they take care of this kid or worse maternal instincts kick in😦

Maybe they try to make you stay just a little while longer under the guides of “Not wanting to pay for artificial milk when we can get it straight from the source” but in reality they just wanna pin all the hard labor onto you while they get the fun stuff.

Thanks for coming to my ted talk

[ilium-ilia]

Kate's wife wants kids.

But adoption is difficult and long, and finding a donor is expensive and soul sucking. She can see the way your eyes widen at the children at the park, at the mothers holding their infants, at the baby clothes you pass in the store. She sees the way you buzz at the mere mention of children; of starting a family.

So eventually, she confides in the man she trusts most: John Price.

Of course, he prefers to do things the old fashioned way.

It's a simple arrangement. He fucks you under her supervision. Head cradled in her lap, she strokes your cheeks as he ruts into you. She talks over his grunts, saying how well you're doing, and she can't wait to see you pregnant; to make you a mom. She's always there to clean up after him, making you come undone on her fingers and tongue until you're a right mess. Kate keeps him updated with weekly texts to see how the tests have gone and when he needs to come back.

He gets you pregnant after only two months (a feat which John prides himself on. Kate thanks him for his efficient work, as usual). Within a year, he's named the godfather of the kid, and you and Kate welcome your sweet little girl into the world.

John is not at all surprised when Kate messages him again two years later asking for that same favor.

[multifandomfangirl93]

The Answer- Buddie x Surrogate!Reader pt 2

Summary: Now that the boys are on the hunt for a surrogate, they discover they may have a candidate already.

🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨

When Buck and Eddie arrived home, the house was relatively quiet. The boys could hear the sound of quiet music playing in the living room as soon as they walked into the front door later in the evening. They had spent all day at the hospital with Maddie and Jee so that Chim could rest for a few hours and run a few errands before he brought his new family home tomorrow morning. Buck and Eddie hadn’t intended on being out so late, but you insisted on them having a date night before coming home.

Now, Buck and Eddie find you sprawled across the couch with Christopher tucked on top of you, wedged between you and the couch. The credits to one of Chris’s favorite movies is playing in the background as the screen illuminates the living room. The boys lean in, admiring the fact that they have you in their lives.

You started helping out when Carla needed to be home more often and Chris absolutely adores you. Some days, Carla still keeps him. Most days, you prefer to keep Chris. You met the boys on a call two years back. You were involved in an accident that a high speed chase caused, pinning you and two other cars against the edge of an overpass, tilting your car against the barrier. You spend about a half hour with them as you waited for their team to stabilize the cars around you and move the one that had your door pinned shut. Buck held your head steady the whole time while Eddie checked you over and kept you company up front. Other than a broken collar bone and concussion, you luckily didn’t sustain any life threatening injuries. They were all amazed that you had only sustained those injuries given the circumstances. During that time, Buck and Eddie heard all about your past as a caregiver for special needs kids and your need for a new job after recently being let go by a family you worked for as they were moving out of state. After their shift, they came to visit you and offered you a job taking care of Chris. You readily agreed, instantly liking them as soon as you met them.

Now, Buck gently kneels next to you and pushes your hair off of your glasses as Eddie gently lifts Christopher into his arms. You startle at the feeling, instantly snapping your head up, but Buck is quick to sooth you.

“Hey. It’s just Eds.” Buck soothes. “It’s alright. He’s just taking Chris to bed. You should head to bed too.” Buck says, already shifting into a standing position and holding out a hand to pull you up and guide you to the guest room.

You shake your head, reaching for the blanket on the back of the couch. “M good here.” You mutter stubbornly. You should know it’s a lost cause, but you really don’t want to move. You’re so exhausted with school and work that you’d do anything to go back to sleep.

Buck chuckles and shakes his head. “Nope. Come on sweetie. Bed time.” He says, leaning over you to pull the blanket off of you and place it back on the back of the couch. It takes him a minute, since you’ve tucked it between you and the couch, but Buck gently tugs it free and tosses it where it came from.

“Mmmm. Here.” You say, turning onto your side and curling into the back of the couch. If he left you alone, you could just reach up and tug the blanket back down before you drift back to sleep.

You hear Eddie and Buck both chuckle at your behavior. Chris was already in his pjs, so Eddie got him settled rather quickly before turning down the covers in the guest room for you. They have it set up just for you since you stay overnight if needed. Sometimes, you even crash in there when your roommate’s boyfriend is over. He’s made advances more than once, much to the dislike of Buck and Eddie, so they make sure to keep that room ready for you.

Buck sighs when he realizes you aren’t budging. “Alright then.” He says.

For a split second, you thought he was finally giving up, but then you are in strong arms that leave you scrambling to find a grip as you’re lifted into the air. You let out a small squeak as you lock your arms around Buck’s neck and bury your face into it. You hear Eddie follow once he swipes your phone off the table and turns the tv off.

The routine is much the same: Buck gets you in the bed Eddie prepared. Eddie plugs in your phone. They check to make sure you have everything you need. They each kiss your forehead and Eddie tucks you in before they both leave. They pull the door almost shut to ensure that they can hear you if you need them. It became a habit when they realized you were having nightmares from the accident and some other things they have yet to get you to talk about.

Buck and Eddie are quiet as they get ready for bed. You being in their lives has become routine and natural the past year. At first, it was rare for you to spend the night, but the more your roommate’s boyfriend came around, the more often you would find yourself at the Buckley-Diaz household. Though both were thinking the same thing, neither Buck nor Eddie brought it up until they got comfortable in bed.

“Should we ask her?” Buck whispered, scared that Eddie may think the wrong thing by the suggestion.

Eddie was thinking the same thing. They could help you through the pregnancy, have you live with them permanently, and you would be able to be part of your baby’s life still. If all works out, it would be the best possible outcome for all of you. They could still offer you support in the financial department while taking care of Chris and being their surrogate. You could get more rest this way as well.

“Eddie?” Buck whispered, turning onto his side to try and find Eddie’s face in the darkness of their room.

Eddie snapped out of his thoughts and reached for Buck, lacing their fingers together. “I think we should. I was thinking the same thing honestly.” he whispered back, keeping this air of peace even though the conversation was a bit heavy.

Buck smiled, pulling their hands toward his face to kiss the back of Eddie’s hand. “Good. Glad we are on the same page.” He chuckled, nudging Eddie with his foot. “Wanna practice?” Buck suggested, laughing at the quiet gasp that left Eddie’s mouth.

“I mean…” Eddie trailed off before they both started laughing. “I’m sure you know that you don’t have to actually have sex with her. We can do it other ways.” Eddie says, tugging Buck on top of his chest before settling in again.

Buck wiggled, squirming until he was able to look up at Eddie from where he was laying. “Doesn’t mean we can’t have fun before I can’t for a while.” Buck huffed, drawing random shapes on Eddie’s chest until Eddie flipped them, easily overpowering and topping Buck. “I’ll take that as a yes.” Buck smirked into the darkness before Eddie’s lips claimed his.

———————————

The next morning, Buck and Eddie were making breakfast after having dropped Chris off at school. They had the day off and you were still sleeping, so they figured it would be the perfect time to prepare a breakfast to have their conversation with you over.

As usual, the smell of bacon and coffee swiftly pulled you out of your bed and into the kitchen. You immediately plopped your head on the closest shoulder in the room, which happened to be Eddie who was by the coffee maker. You wrapped your arms around his bicep and sagged into his side causing both men to chuckle. This was typical for you. It happened the first time they made breakfast when you spent the night after they got off shift late. Chris had been sitting at the table and laughed loudly when Buck had let out a loud yelp when you snuck up on him, making him almost spill pancake batter everywhere. Your not a morning person, but you are extremely clingy when you first wake up, much to the delight of the Buckley-Diaz household.

“Well good morning.” Eddie whispered, not daring to make much conversation until he had a cup of coffee in your hand. He also learned that one the hard way. It’s like talking to a brick wall until you get some caffeine in you.

You nuzzled your face deeper into Eddie’s shoulder before accepting the warm mug that he nudged into your hand. You happy accepted the little forehead kiss that he gave you as he steered you towards the counter and gently lifted you up to sit on it and watch them cook like you always do. Your love language is physical touch, which is always accepted from the Buckley-Dias’.

You sat quietly, sipping your coffee and watching the boys work in perfect tandem, as always. You held the coffee cup close to your chest as a cool breeze swept through the open kitchen window. Buck caught it out of the corner of his eye and immediately shed his sweatshirt and helped you put it on. You whispered a quiet thank you and accepted another kiss to the forehead before he walked back to the stove to finish the last batch of pancakes and bacon. Eddie grabbed the utensils and plates, neatly folding napkins next to the plates before laying the utensils down on the kitchen table. When Buck was finished and had everything ready to serve yourselves at the table, Eddie helped you off the counter and followed you to the table.

Once you all finished eating, everyone sat in relative silence. You could feel that something was off in the room, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it. The boys had been overly helpful and affectionate with you. Not that you minded, but it was definitely out of the norm. They were both super fidgety all throughout breakfast and you’d finally had enough when you’d almost convinced yourself they were about to let you go.

“Alright.” You sighed, placing your coffee cup down and pushing your plate away. “Thank you for breakfast. I really did enjoy it and all the extra attentiveness, but what’s going on? You haven’t done anything wrong,” you said quickly when Buck looked panicked, “but you guys are definitely not being yourselves. What’s wrong?” You asked, bouncing between making eye contact with Buck and Eddie.

Buck sighed and sat back. “Listen Y/n. It’s uh, it’s nothing really. We just wanted to ask you something.”

Your eyes got huge as your heart started racing. You were right. They were going to fire you and you’d have nowhere to run when he…..

“What Buck is trying to say is that we have an offer for you.” Eddie interrupted, not liking the fear that came over your features. “You aren’t going anywhere sweetheart, unless you want to.” Eddie assured, scooting closer to grab one of your shaking hands. “Your alright. Let’s take a deep breath and start over, yeah?” Eddie said, smiling when you nodded and followed his prompting. “Good girl.” He whispered, leaning back in his chair with your hand still holding his. “Go ahead Buck.” Eddie prompted.

Buck took a deep breath and looked into your eyes. “We wanted to know if, uh, if you would help us start a family. L-like be our surrogate.” Buck said in a rush, holding his breath once he finished asking. They knew they had every chance of losing you or you pulling away, but they knew that they had to take the chance with you. They already trust you with everything.

You looked at Buck with wide eyes before looking to Eddie and seeing the softest, most fond look on his face as he looked at you. They were serious. “Your serious.” You said, not even asking. It was a statement. Both boys nodded and you sat back, already thinking about all the what ifs. “Well, uh. Can I have time to consider it?” You asked, squeezing Eddie’s hand that was still clutched in yours.

“Of course!” Buck said as Eddie replied with, “Not a problem!”

You nodded and stood, walking to the doorway before turning around. “This doesn’t change anything, right?” You asked, nervous that you may have messed something up.

Eddie was quick to reassure you and both boys watched you walk back toward your bedroom. They sat in silence until Eddie finally sighed and stood up, heading into the kitchen to clean it. Neither of them knew what to say. They just hoped you would say yes.

A little while later, while Eddie was reading a book and Buck was doing some research on his latest fixation, you finally emerged out of your room. You were still in Buck’s hoodie, but you had switched your pj pants for leggings. Both boys put down what they were reading and turned their full attention on you as you sat on the coffee table in front of them.

“Okay. So, I did my research and I have a few things I need for me to do this.” You said, opening your phone to your list of demands of sorts.

[mochinomnoms]

Reading that of adopted children, yeah, I agree with Kalim and Malleus. I REALLY doubt they could have adopted children. Specially Malleus, like, you are telling me the next heir is not blood-related to Malleus, I think Briar Valley views Draconians as gods I swear hqbahw-- anyway, having adopted children means they won't get Malleus magic capabilities, so that's a no-no. Besides, Malleus is an only child, who the heck can they turn to IF is not Malleus' heir?

BTW, if you are using a magicless Yuu/Mc... good luck with Malleus Xd I wouldn't dare put adopted children in that position, still. Especially adopted children. What a combination, tbh! 😂

With Kalim AT LEAST, they can say, "Oh, well, let's get one of his siblings' children as the heir."But even then, that's asking for even more problems @×@ because... who would be?! He has a LOT, and I would feel bad for his adopted children being looked down just for not being blood-related.

Anyway, Mc/Yuu has to either suck it up and look for another partner, one that isn't from high class or at least first in line of some high ranking position (I don't think would be that much of a problem with Leona, but then again, I still wouldn't do it, just in case). That or simply have their children, lmao.

I think that with Malleus, they are able to have the kid via magic. Mild Chapter 7 spoilers but I believe that the egg and it's growth are attributed to magic and love. I think that potentially Malleus could create the egg and pour magic into it while Yuu could pour love into it (I'm sure it senses like the vibes or something).

The last ask was specific to adoption so I didn't mention it, but the thing is that surrogates and IVF are options for same-sex couples or infertile couples, or couples who don't want to be pregnant themselves for any reason. It wouldn't be that complicated to just do that for either of them, and the issue of bloodlines wouldn't be a concern.

The main issue I think would come up is that people sometimes don't consider adopted or stepkids as "true" members of a family because they're not blood related. But that's not the case at all, they're still family no matter what they say and with Kalim and Malleus, it would really come down to them setting their foots down to protect their families.

I also think that they wouldn't let something like other people's issues with adoption get in the way of their relationship. Both of these characters strike me as extremely devoted lovers, they'd put their spouse and their needs above everyone else. If their spouse doesn't wish to carry a child for whatever reason, then they will make it work.

The only issue would come if the spouse doesn't want kids, as both Kalim and Malleus also strike me as people who really want kids. If you don't want kids, and that's a hard ass line, then there might be a dilemma. Even in Kalim's case, where I strongly believe polygamy is accepted in his home (his father must have multiple wives for him to have over 30+ children...I refuse to believe that a single birth giver did that) if you don't want kids at all would still cause some strife, because you can't just ignore his kids from your other spouses. Otherwise, I don't think there would be any issue.

[lunareclipse-writes]

Title: “Make the World New”

Pairing: Carl Grimes x Male!Y/N

Word Count: ~4,050

Setting: Post-apocalyptic sanctuary (Alexandria-like, peaceful moment in the world of The Walking Dead)

---

The nights were finally quiet again.

Not the kind of quiet that meant a storm was coming or walkers were sneaking through the fence, but a real silence—soft and unthreatening. Alexandria had been rebuilt in the years since the wars ended. People planted gardens, kids played ball in the street, and lovers like Carl and Y/N could finally lie in bed without fear gnawing at the edges of every breath.

Carl’s hand brushed over Y/N’s bare back, his palm warm and callused, fingertips trailing slowly up to his shoulder blade, then down again like he was memorizing every inch of skin.

“You’re doing it again,” Y/N whispered, smiling into the pillow.

Carl leaned in closer, nose nudging his neck. “Doing what?”

“Tracing me like you’re trying to learn me by heart.”

“I am.”

Y/N turned to look at him. The faint glow from the cracked blinds framed Carl’s features—the shadow of stubble on his jaw, his tousled hair falling into his face, and that single piercing blue eye. The other, hidden by the eyepatch, never made him look broken—just hardened. Beautifully so.

Carl tilted his head. “What?”

“You’re staring at me like I’m gonna disappear.”

Carl smiled softly, brushing hair off Y/N’s forehead. “You don’t disappear. You anchor me.”

Silence settled between them, but it was comfortable now. There’d been a time when silence meant too much unsaid. But not anymore.

Y/N sighed. “You ever think about the future?”

“All the time,” Carl said without hesitation. “With you. Always with you.”

Y/N turned onto his back and looked up at the ceiling. “What do you see?”

Carl took a deep breath. “Us. In this house. A garden out back. Maybe chickens—”

“Of course chickens,” Y/N laughed, “you and your damn eggs.”

“Hey,” Carl chuckled, “fresh eggs are gold.”

There was a beat, then Carl added quieter, “And maybe… a baby.”

Y/N’s eyes shifted to him slowly. “A baby?”

Carl’s gaze didn’t waver. “Yeah.”

It wasn’t the first time he’d said something like that. A comment here. A soft suggestion there. But tonight, his voice held a kind of reverence. Longing.

“Carl…”

“I know we can’t... biologically,” Carl added quickly, sitting up a bit, “but there are ways. Surrogates, adoption—hell, Michonne always said the world needs more good dads.”

Y/N reached for him, fingers curling around Carl’s wrist. “You really want that?”

Carl’s hand turned so their fingers interlaced. “I want you. And a future that’s more than just survival. I want messy breakfasts and baby cries in the middle of the night and us arguing over names until we fall asleep on the nursery floor.”

The air thickened, heavy with intimacy.

Y/N’s throat felt tight. “That’s… a lot to imagine.”

Carl leaned down and kissed the corner of his mouth. “We’ve earned imagining.”

They lay there a while, hearts slow and steady, a quiet kind of joy between them.

Later that night, when Carl had fallen asleep with his arm draped protectively around him, Y/N slipped out of bed. He padded quietly across the room, careful not to wake him, and sat in the old armchair by the window.

The moonlight hit just right, and his thoughts wandered.

A baby.

Not a maybe. Carl wanted it. With him.

Y/N exhaled, long and slow. His fingers dragged down over his stomach as he stared out the window, his mind painting the image—Carl holding a small bundle, baby pressed against his chest, whispering soft nothings while rocking them to sleep.

The thought made Y/N’s breath catch.

His hand drifted lower, over the front of his sleep pants, mind hazy with the image of Carl’s voice, Carl’s body, Carl’s words from earlier—

> "You anchor me."

"I want messy breakfasts and baby cries."

"I want you."

Y/N bit his lip, hand sliding beneath the waistband. The chair creaked slightly under his shifting weight, but he couldn’t stop. His cock throbbed against his palm, already leaking from how intense the image was. He imagined Carl whispering praises, imagined him pressing kisses to his stomach, telling him how good he’d look swollen, how he’d take care of him every second—

A shiver went down his spine as he rubbed his thumb over the sensitive tip, stifling a moan.

He squeezed his eyes shut, chest heaving as he jerked himself slowly, teasing himself with the vision of Carl pressing him into the mattress, whispering, “Gonna put a baby in you, even if it’s just pretend. Gonna fill you ‘til you can’t think straight.”

Y/N bit his wrist to muffle a sharp gasp, hips twitching upward.

The orgasm hit hard and sudden, warmth spilling over his hand as his muscles tensed and then released, his mind blank with release and the ghost of Carl’s hands on his hips.

He slumped into the chair, flushed and breathless.

“I knew it,” came a soft voice from behind.

Y/N’s heart nearly jumped out of his chest.

He twisted around, and there was Carl, leaning in the doorway, sleepy-eyed but smiling.

“Jesus—” Y/N started, but Carl was already walking over, crouching in front of him.

“You should’ve woken me.”

Y/N flushed, unable to meet his eyes. “Didn’t mean to... Just couldn’t sleep.”

Carl’s hand found his knee, squeezing gently. “Were you thinking about it? About us? The future?”

Y/N nodded, embarrassed. “You make it sound so real.”

Carl leaned up and kissed him slow, deep, hands sliding up Y/N’s thighs. “Because it is real. Every time I look at you, it’s all I see. A life. A forever.”

Y/N’s heart felt full and tight. “Even if we can’t make a baby the traditional way?”

Carl grinned. “Baby, the way you moan my name, I could believe you’re carrying already.”

Y/N burst out laughing, slapping his shoulder. “Shut up.”

Carl leaned in again, this time whispering, “You wanna try? Just pretend?”

The words sent a fresh wave of heat through him.

“You’re serious?” Y/N asked, voice a little hoarse.

Carl’s voice was low, teasing. “Wanna fill you up, baby. Breed you full. Even if it’s just in our heads.”

Y/N shivered. “You’re filthy.”

“And you love it.”

Carl kissed him again, slow and wet, hands sliding over Y/N’s hips, tugging him forward until he was straddling his lap. Their cocks brushed, and Y/N groaned, already half-hard again.

“Carl—”

“Shhh,” he murmured, “Let me worship you.”

Carl carried him back to the bed, laying him down with the kind of care reserved for glass. He took his time—kissing every inch, worshiping every scar, every freckle. His mouth lingered over Y/N’s stomach again, whispering things like “You’d be such a good daddy,” and “Wish I could see you round with my kid.”

They didn’t rush. They rocked slow, Carl inside him, foreheads pressed together, hands tangled, breath shared. When they came, it was with Y/N sobbing into Carl’s chest, whispering, “I want it too. I want all of it.”

The next morning, they sat at the breakfast table, hands around mismatched mugs.

Carl reached across and squeezed Y/N’s hand. “So… chickens first?”

Y/N laughed. “Chickens first.”

Carl grinned. “Then the baby.”

Y/N squeezed his fingers. “Then the baby.”

---

Weeks Later

They started researching. Michonne helped. Maggie offered advice. Even Ezekiel, bless his dramatic soul, said, “The kingdom would be honored to help bring joy into your lives.”

Carl beamed every time Y/N read through adoption pamphlets or asked about surrogate options. They set up a spare room. Carl painted a mural of wildflowers on the wall, even though he claimed to suck at painting.

Some nights, they didn’t even speak. They just lay together, Carl’s hand resting on Y/N’s belly like he was already imagining it full.

And every night, before sleep, Carl whispered:

> “You’re my future.”

“You’re everything.”

“I’ll give you a world worth living in.”

Y/N believed him.

Because Carl Grimes wasn’t just a survivor. He was a builder. A dreamer. And he dreamed of him.

---

Masterlist

[red5cars]

abt to go to sleep but

[ty-bayonet-betteridge]

average wormfic writer: i haven't written wolfspider bc rachel is hard to write

us, enlightened: i haven't written wolfspider bc taylor is hard to write

[isdalinarhot]

Becoming a Stormthorn anti not for shipping discourse age gap reasons but because out of all the people Dalinar is regularly shipped with Kaladin is by far the least sexy to me

[disastrouslyyours]

Summary: Every Toontown citizen visits the saloon at least twice a month, and it seems the newly elected judge is no exception. No secrets can be kept from a bartender with a keen eye and sharp intuition. While usually those secrets are told outright to the bartender, they don’t mind figuring them out themself.

[hretoprvdthepltnx]

Hi! Can I send in a request where the reader and yelena has a sibling like dynamic, and the reader comes out as aroace to her and they admit they’re sibling figures to each other, please?

Blood Oath

Yelena Belova x gn!reader

Summary: It's a "sibling" night for Yelena and y/n and they tend to get deep with one another when the moon is up, and the dark is out to blanket them from the grueling truth that is the outside world.

Content: reader is aroace, Yelena is asexual, found family dynamic, discussion about lack of sexual attraction, reader also confesses an insecurity about fear of being alone, hurt/comfort, coming out,

Rating: 16+ (for mature conversation themes) || 1.3k+ words

The room was lit by an eerie hue of white-blue light and the occasional bursts of pixilated color cast by the television screen. You weren't paying any attention to the movie. It was another generic action film from the 90's and the quality was crap. Instead, your eyes drifted to watch the flickering bulb of the lamppost out the window - a story down and across the street.

A man stood under it, wearing a raincoat with the hood pulled up. It hadn't rained for weeks. He pulled a small box from the inner breast pocket of his coat and removed a cigarette. He lit it with a small lighter he pulled from the pocket of his dark jeans. The end of it burned red-orange and the smoke cast a shadow in the purple hue of the lamp light which made it look like a lanky dancing ghost.

"It hasn't rained in a month." Yelena commented, lowering her chin on to your shoulder to follow your gaze and peer out the window from behind you. She had muted the explosive blasts emitting from the system - the effects too loud and the talking too quiet. The movie must have had a production budget of fifty bucks. "I know."

Another man immerged from the darkness, and you watched, silently with Yelena, as they exchanged greetings. The second man, the new character, linked his arm with the first and kissed him on the cheek. The first man handed him the cigarette and together they smoked beneath the purple light of the lamppost, hand in hand. Behind you, Yelena awed. "They're adorable! Do you think their dating?"

With a scrunched-up nose, you relaxed back into the sofa and into the soft pressure of Yelena's body. "Probably, but who cares." You had lost interest in the inappropriately dressed man and his chain-smoking partner, casting your eyes back to the soundless screen. You squinted. It was always just a little too bright when it was dark out, but you didn't bother learning how to adjust the settings.

"You're just jealous because he has a partner, and you don't." You felt yourself tense, but Yelena's laugh and playful shove was all obviously meant as a non-serious tease. Still, you found yourself wanting to tell her. Needing too. It had been kept a secret from your surrogate sister for too long already, and this felt like the perfect opportunity. "What... What if I don't want a partner? Like, what if I'd rather just be me? Just my own person."

"What do you mean?" Yelena asked, turning in her seat to sit facing you, legs crossed up under her. Suddenly the flashing from the television set felt like it was putting out two much heat. Your face burned and you bent over to grab the remote from the coffee table in front of the sofa, switching off the power. The room was encased in a sudden black - your eyes struggling to adjust with now only the outskirts of the lamppost shading to light the dark apartment from the outside in.

You blinked several times as if that would help and, still feeling hot, threw your side of the blanket back into Yelena's lap. "I just mean, like, what if all that romantic dating-marriage-and-kids thing isn't for me? What if I don't want that?" Yelena slid closer to you in the dark and stretched her arm around the back of the sofa behind you. She laid her cheek against her arm, the rounded tip of her nose nuzzling your grey-cotton covered shoulder. "Like... what if your aromantic?"

Your heart pounded violently in your chest, the tips of your ears tingling with quick setting panic. Fight of flight was kicking in. You took a breath, deep and shaky. "Yeah. Something like that. Something... yeah." Yelena nodded against your shoulder, her calm soothing you just a little. Was she cool with this? Were things about to get weird between you? "Are you asking or telling me."

"Telling, I think." You cringed at the choked way the words came out. Yelena reached for your hand in the dark and squeezed it. "Do you know I'm asexual?" You felt yourself freeze. No, you hadn't known that - but of course you hadn't, this was her way of telling you. Yelena noticed the rigidness of your posture and nudged you encouraging. "It's okay, my sibling, I know how you feel. Like an outsider, right? Like some kind of other?"

"How did you know you were asexual?" You turn to face her - too quickly and she pulls her face up to avoid being hit. Neither of you acknowledge it, though an apology shows on your night-shielded face. She can't see it, but she feels it there, heating the darkness. Yelena chuckles, an indulging sound that strikes you as something slightly relieved. "Conversation, I guess. Television. Commercials and things like that. I just kind of knew it's not something I cared about, but I didn't realize that made me different until I got away from the Red Room and got to experience life for myself. You know, like, normally?"

"But how do you know?" you pressed, fiddling with Yelena's ringless fingers in your lap. "Why?" Your gaze lifted to hers and then dropped again, she wasn't being defensive, only curious. Releasing her hand, you pulled your knees to your chest and hugged them. "Because I think I'm asexual too." Yelena sighed and reached out to touch your leg above your ankle. As always, there were a thousand words hidden in her touch. "So, how do you know?"

"I don't. I mean, I think I do...but I'm not sure."

"Okay, I can make this easy. Name a guy you think is hot and that you would want to fuck." The silence spoke volumes. You tried to think, you really did. Was there a guy? A celebrity or someone you had met on the street, maybe? People were nice looking, but so were the stars in the night sky and house plants. You didn't want to fuck any of it. Finally, you shook your head. "How about a girl? A nonbinary person?" Again, the answer was the same. "No, no I don't think so. But I don't know what that means."

"It means sex isn't something that appeals to you, right?" Her tone was gentle and the way she reached for you, sliding closer, made you feel safe and understood. You were able to relax a bit, but only a bit. Nodding, you answered her, head to clustered to properly respond. "And neither is romance? You don't want either of those things?"

"Does that make me a freak?" you blurted, then shame compelled you to attempt to play it off with an awkward grin. Yelena wasn't having it. "No, you're not a freak. Neither of us are. We just want different things out of life." She shrugged and leaned back at an angle against the couch, smiling at you. Her smile was contagious. "I still don't want to be alone though."

"Neither do I. But there's more to love than just romance and sex. Society has us brainwashed." It was true. There was no denying that. Your gaze drifted back to the window - the couple was gone. Yelena's arms wrapped around you in a hug, and you laid your head against hers. Your knees dropped and she scooted closer, her head on your collarbone as you shifted to get better adjusted. "We have each other," she promised "and we will find other siblings. Other friends who become like family. We don't have to be alone. We can be happy."

You smiled wide, surprised to feel a rivulet of tears making its way down your cheek - the others landing in Yelena's blonde hair. She didn't complain. Instead, she hugged you tighter. "I love you." You told her, playing off a sniffle with a cough. "I love you too, my sibling. More than anything." It was like a weight lifted and you could breathe, truly breathe, for the first time. You closed your eyes and hugged her tighter and, in the darkness of your apartment, she held you while you cried.

|| masterlist ||

story by hretoprvdthepltnx©

Yelena Belova copyrighted by Marvel©

[multifandomfangirl93]

The Possibility- Buddie x surrogate!reader [part 1]

Summary: Eddie didn’t think he would consider having more kids UNTIL he saw Buck holding Jee for the first time.

Warnings: none

Authors note: Had a long night and can’t bring myself to do my tag list. I hope you guys enjoy!

🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨

Eddie didn’t think he could ever want to start over. Though he loves Chris and his nieces and nephews, Eddie doesn’t miss those sleepless nights or diaper changes. He definitely doesn’t want to go through this pre-teen stage with all the angst that comes with it.

Then, Eddie sees Buck holding Jee for the very first time. She looks even smaller cradled in her uncle’s muscular arms. Arms that lift full grown adults and 300 pound weights. Arms that have picked Eddie up and carried him when Eddie didn’t have the strength to carry himself. As a firefighter, Buck has to keep up his physique to keep up with the demands of the job, but not here. He’s soft and pliable. The strength of his muscles gently cradle his niece close to his chest as tears of joy fall down his face. Eddie has never seen Buck so soft; not even on their wedding day. Buck definitely cried as Bobby walked him down the isle to meet Eddie and give him away, but it wasn’t like this. Eddie would do anything to see Buck like this with a kid of their own.

The thought shocked him to his core. He and Buck haven’t even discussed having more kids. Not in a real conversation anyways. They’ve both teased when delivering babies or during rescues or outings when they came across babies, but they never mentioned it behind closed doors. Their lives revolved around three things: Chris, each other, and family. Always in that order. Though work isn’t included, their 118 family means more than most of their biological family anyways. Being on shift with them overlaps into that category

Buck is superstitious. Third times a charm. Three leaf clovers are always a good luck charm. Three is a balanced number that teeters toward positive growth. Their “three” is perfect to him. Eddie has heard Buck say it again and again in his ramblings that Eddie absolutely adores. Would Buck even consider it?

“Hey babe. You wanna hold your niece?” Buck asks Eddie, snapping him back to reality. Buck was smiling widely at him, gently holding the baby in his steady hands to skillful transfer her into Eddie’s hold.

Eddie hadn’t realize he was staring. Buck probably thought Eddie was impatiently waiting his turn. So, Eddie mentally shook off his thoughts and returned Buck’s smile as he gently reached for Jee. “You sure?” Eddie asked, not yet taking the baby from his partner completely as he shifted slightly to wipe the tears from Buck’s cheeks.

Buck laughed, gently handing her over. “Of course! Gotta get a picture for Chris!” Buck replied, quickly getting his phone out once Eddie had Jee tucked safely in his arms. Eddie smiled down at the sleeping newborn. Sometimes he forgets that Chris used to be this small. Buck snapped the picture with a coo. “This is officially my new wall paper. I’m an uncle!” Buck quietly cheered, dimples showing as his face split into a wider grin.

Maddie and Eddie laughed at their Buck. Always the biggest goof with the softest heart. Eddie grins widely, with tears in his own eyes, when Buck gently lowers himself into the hospital bed by his big sister. He makes sure not to pull out the Iv that is giving her fluids as he carefully tucks Maddie into his side. He fusses over the blankets covering her shivering form and kisses her head, muttering something to her that Eddie can’t hear. By the way Maddie wipes a few tears away and snuggles into her brother’s embrace, Eddie knows Buck said something cheesy and sentimental, but completely spot on that has Maddie relaxing comfortably in his arms.

Eddie is content just holding his little niece. He gently bounces and sways, walking over to look out the window as the sun starts to set. He quietly whispers to Jee in Spanish, sometimes singing along with whatever Buck is singing to sooth Maddie to sleep. Eddie knew that was Buck’s intention. They had finally convinced Chimney to go home and take a rest, but Maddie was a little anxious about being without him after giving birth a few hours prior. Though Eddie and Buck were there, and she loved and trusted them with her and her daughter’s life, she had wanted Chim. Now, as Eddie turns slightly to sit on a chair close to the window, Maddie is finally sleeping in Buck’s arms.

Buck looks relaxed. He is completely content with holding Maddie while also secretly filming Eddie with their niece. Buck puts his phone down gently when he meets Eddie’s gaze and smiles softly. “You ever think about having another?” Buck whispers, looking longingly at Eddie and Jee.

Eddie’s eyes grow wide, but the smile on his face reassures Buck that he isn’t put off or upset about the question. “What’s funny is that I was just wondering if you would be open to the idea.” Eddie answers back quietly, adjusting Jee on his chest as he leans back. “I bet we could adopt. The process isn’t easy from what I’ve heard from Hen, but I’d be willing to fight that battle with you.” Eddie says, smiling as he runs a hand over Jee’s back.

“Or we could look for a surrogate.” Buck says, leaning his head back and stealing some of Maddie’s covers as he speaks. “ I did give my sperm a few years back to a friend, remember? . If your okay with it, I’d like to do it again. Then we would have one of you and one of me.” Buck says, smiling fondly at the idea.

Eddie chuckles lowly. “Well, that does sound amazing. Though, another Buck might be too much for this world.” Eddie jokes, winking at Buck across the room.

Buck’s face grows warm with mock indignation. “Hey! The world could use another Evan Buckley-Diaz.” Buck whisper shouts, making sure not to wake Maddie.

Eddie just smiles. “Yeah. The world could use another ball of sunshine like you.” He whispers in a slightly more serious tone.

“Can we start looking immediately?” Buck asks without hesitation, throwing Eddie the best puppy dog eyes he can.

And Eddie caves, just like he always does when it comes to his Buck.

[surrogate-fawn]

Oh lordy lord lort.

Why is each entry into "The Surrogate's Journey" longer than the last one? XD This third installment is going to be at least 10k words long, I'll be shocked if it isn't.

Some of y'all are gonna get tired of the plot at this point and just skip to the birth scenes.

But the way I see it, a birth scene is only as good as the build-up around it -- and each birth scene that will be in "The Surrogate's Journey" is gonna have a LOT of care and character put into it. Each birth is a life-changing experience for every character involved, and for those of my readers who enjoy that plot-driven aspect of kink fiction, you've found your home! <3

TL;DR: Thank you to anyone who reads this series! Regardless if you just skip to the birth scenes or if you're here to see my and @mittysins OCs hook up, THANK YOU!

[lunareclipse-writes]

Title: “And Life Grew”

Part 2 of 2

Pairing: Carl Grimes x Male!Y/N

Word Count: ~4,100

Includes: Surrogacy with a Kingdom woman, baby fever, Carl’s unwavering love, domestic moments, intimacy, soft emotional sex, jealousy (mild), and strong family-building themes.

---

The world was blooming again.

That’s what Ezekiel said when he met them at the gate of the Kingdom with open arms and a smile that hadn’t faded even through years of war and weather. “The world was meant to cradle life, not end it,” he said as he hugged Carl and Y/N both. “And now, life returns—because of you.”

Carl didn’t let go of Y/N’s hand once during that entire visit.

They’d written to Ezekiel about it a month ago: their dream to start a family, their talks of parenthood, and their hope to find a woman who would carry their child with kindness and grace. And Ezekiel, ever the idealist, had responded swiftly with warmth.

“There is one,” he’d written. “A woman of strength and kindness. One who has lost much but holds onto hope.”

Her name was Delilah.

A former midwife, only twenty-eight, with soft brown eyes and a presence that calmed the air around her. She lost her husband during the Whisperer war, her only child to sickness the winter after. But she hadn’t let grief devour her. She helped deliver babies in the Kingdom, taught children how to bandage wounds, and spoke often about how the world needed to be soft again.

When she sat across from Carl and Y/N, she said, “You want a baby. I want to give that gift again. I’m not afraid.”

Carl, ever respectful, asked her a dozen questions. So did Y/N. They needed to be sure this wasn’t some fairytale fantasy. But the more they spoke, the more it felt right.

“I’ll carry the baby,” she said with steady conviction. “And when they’re born, they’ll be yours.”

Y/N cried that night. Quietly, into Carl’s chest, as they lay curled in a borrowed bed in one of the Kingdom’s guest rooms.

Carl just held him, brushing fingers through his hair, whispering, “This is really happening. We’re really doing this.”

And they were.

---

Three Months Later

The process was slow, delicate. They went back and forth from Alexandria to the Kingdom, helped by what little medical expertise remained in the world. Gabriel had books on artificial insemination, and Siddiq had trained a younger medic before his death who now worked closely with Delilah.

On the day the pregnancy test came back positive, Delilah sent a raven with a single note: “Hearts beat in threes now.”

Carl lifted Y/N off the ground in the middle of the garden when he read it, spinning him until they were both dizzy and laughing.

That night, they didn’t sleep. They sat up in bed with the lantern burning low, hands clasped, Y/N staring at Carl’s face as if memorizing the way joy lit up every corner of it.

“I didn’t know it was possible to be this happy,” Y/N whispered.

Carl smiled, leaning over to kiss the skin just below his jaw. “We’ve earned this.”

Y/N cupped his face, voice trembling. “I’m scared it won’t last.”

“It will.” Carl pressed their foreheads together. “Because I’ll fight for it. Every day.”

---

Five Months Along

Delilah visited Alexandria often, and every time, Y/N greeted her with a basket of whatever fresh fruits or honeyed bread they had managed to collect or trade for. Carl, who had once hated being a leader, now took on tasks with fresh fire—clearing roads, managing trade, building new housing for families with newborns.

Their nursery was halfway done. Carl had painted the walls himself, a soft green that reminded Y/N of moss after rain. There were stars hand-painted on the ceiling, and Michonne carved a wooden mobile that hung above the crib.

“You really think I’m gonna be good at this?” Y/N asked one night as they lay together, Carl rubbing slow circles on his back.

“I know you will.”

Y/N scoffed softly. “I never had a dad. Not really.”

Carl kissed the base of his neck. “Neither did I. But that’s why we’ll be good at it. Because we know what not to be.”

Y/N rolled to face him. “What if the baby doesn’t like me?”

Carl laughed—actually laughed—and then cupped Y/N’s face in both hands. “Baby, I worship the ground you walk on. Our kid’s gonna do the same. Might even love you more than me.”

Y/N blushed, but he smiled. “That’s impossible.”

Carl grinned. “Watch and see.”

---

Seven Months

Delilah was glowing. She had moved into a guest home in Alexandria by then, and Carl and Y/N checked on her every day. She insisted she didn’t need pampering, but Y/N couldn’t stop himself from leaving soups on her porch, little knitted booties he’d traded for, or handwritten notes that said things like Thank you for giving us the world.

Carl caught him once, lingering outside Delilah’s window, hand pressed against the glass as he watched her read.

“You okay?” Carl asked gently.

Y/N looked up, eyes misty. “It’s just... I can’t believe someone would do this for us. I want to hold that baby so bad it hurts.”

Carl stepped behind him and wrapped his arms around his waist, pressing close. “I know. But you’ll hold them soon. I’ll put them in your arms first.”

They stood like that for a long time—forehead to back, hands clasped over Y/N’s belly as if he were the one carrying.

Later that night, Y/N found himself aching in a different way.

It wasn’t just physical, though that was part of it. It was the emotional weight of yearning, of desire so full it ached.

He straddled Carl in the candlelight, the room warm and quiet.

“Make love to me,” he whispered. “Slow. Deep. Like I’m the one you knocked up.”

Carl’s breath hitched.

“You sure?” he asked, hands already trailing up Y/N’s thighs.

Y/N nodded. “Wanna feel close. Closer than close.”

Carl kissed him like he was fragile glass, undressing him inch by inch, hands reverent. He murmured things as they moved—“So beautiful,” and “You’d be such a good mother if you could,” and “Wish I could’ve put that baby in you.”

Y/N clung to him, sobbing quietly as they rocked together, Carl’s weight grounding him, filling him. He came with Carl whispering, “Love you so much. You’re my whole world.”

They lay tangled for a long time after, hands resting over Y/N’s belly again.

He whispered, “Even if I’m not the one carrying... I feel like I am.”

Carl smiled sleepily, “You are. In your heart.”

---

Nine Months

The day of the birth came with storm clouds.

Delilah went into labor at dawn. Y/N and Carl were at her side in seconds, holding her hands, wiping sweat from her brow. The medic—Allie, a young woman from the Hilltop—guided the process with calm authority.

Y/N had never felt so helpless. Delilah screamed, gripped his wrist like iron, and Carl just kept whispering, “You’re doing amazing, Delilah. You’re almost there. You’re bringing our baby into the world.”

And then—finally—a cry.

Shrill, wet, real.

A baby.

Their baby.

Y/N crumpled into Carl’s arms, sobbing, as Allie cleaned and swaddled the infant before handing them over.

“A boy,” she said softly.

Carl held him first—eyes wide, stunned, as if the world had stopped. Then he passed the baby to Y/N, who held him like he was made of starlight.

He was perfect.

Tiny. Red-faced. Loud. Alive.

Y/N kissed his forehead and whispered, “Welcome home.”

Delilah smiled through exhaustion. “He’s yours. Always.”

---

The Days After

They named him Orin, meaning "light" and "hope."

Delilah recovered well, and she visited often—but she kept her distance enough to give them space to bond. Y/N respected her more than he could ever put into words.

Orin slept in a bassinet beside their bed. Carl insisted on doing the midnight changes. Y/N read to him every night—children’s books, old world tales, and sometimes just stories from their past. Carl would listen too, eyes warm, sometimes tearing up at the soft intimacy of it all.

One night, Carl climbed into bed after changing a blowout diaper and collapsed beside Y/N.

“I never thought I’d be happy changing diapers.”

Y/N smirked, reaching over to brush hair from his face. “You’re a natural.”

Carl looked up at him. “So are you. He looks at you like you hung the moon.”

Y/N glanced over at their sleeping baby. “You think we’ll be okay at this?”

Carl nodded. “We already are.”

---

A Month Later

On a warm spring morning, Carl found Y/N sitting on the porch, Orin in his arms, humming softly.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just stood and stared. His heart hurt with how much he loved them.

He walked over, kissed Orin’s forehead, then Y/N’s.

“I’ve been thinking,” Carl said.

Y/N looked up. “About?”

“Doing it again.”

Y/N blinked. “Already?”

Carl sat down beside him. “I want a house full of this. Full of love. You, me, and a dozen loud, happy kids.”

Y/N laughed. “One at a time, Grimes.”

Carl pulled him into a kiss, Orin safely nestled between them.

“We made something beautiful,” Carl whispered. “And I want to make the world even more beautiful—with you.”

---

And they would.

The world might’ve ended.

But Carl and Y/N?

They built it back.

One heartbeat at a time.

---

Masterlist

[sss-shyshy]

We need to bring back OCxCanon or somethin cuz I'm starting to see "reader with a name" and "y/n with a name" on fics now, like bruh. That's just an OC, why are you afraid of OCs bro

[beautifulplaceofyouth]

WERE YOU PLANNING TO JOIN ME?

summary - Driven by curiosity, you impulsively open Caleb's ajar bathroom door and find him, near-naked and captivating, polishing a gun. His intense gaze meets yours in the mirror, creating a moment of charged silence and unspoken questions.

pairing - Caleb!Yandere x Reader (Best friends!au)

(nsfw +18) - He is absolutely insane in this (they both are), inexperienced!reader!first time, male!receiving, female!receiving, vaginal raw shower sex, creampie, a lot of tears, gun play as in...literally, knife throwing, a lot of banter and tension, gravity and resonance evol usage, praise kink, nipple play, neck biting, pet names(sweetheart, baby, princess), a lot of dirty talk, he is very much bossy, possessive and sadistic as always. This is a little bit angst but sweet. He likes it rough.

w-20k - Got carried away with this one because I was too excited. I don't even care that it isn't like the original. I needed this.

Masterlist

The rhythmic drumming of the shower fills the opulent, cloud-kissed apartment. Skyhaven, a marvel of suspended architecture and technological prowess, hums with a quiet energy, a stark contrast to the sudden flutter in your chest. You're here, a visitor in Caleb's extraordinary world, drawn by a longing that has quietly bloomed over years of shared history. A mischievous impulse takes hold – a desire to catch him off guard, to inject a spark of playful surprise into his meticulously ordered life.

Your mind drifts back to the Chronorift Catastrophe of '34, a dark mark on the timeline that had unexpectedly woven your lives together. Orphaned in its wake, you and Caleb found solace and a surrogate family in Gran's warm, welcoming embrace. 

The bond forged in those turbulent years was unlike any other, a tapestry woven with threads of shared sorrow, unwavering loyalty, and a silent understanding that transcended words. Caleb, always the stoic protector, and you, the fiery, independent spirit, found a strange equilibrium within Gran's chaotic, loving home. He was your brother in all but blood, your confidante, your rock.

That was fourteen years ago. Now, standing outside his bathroom door in Skyhaven, in his own domain, the air thick with steam and anticipation, you feel a subtle shift in the familiar dynamic. The playful surprise you intend feels laced with something else, a tremor of nervous excitement that you can't quite explain.

Drawn by an irresistible curiosity, you move closer. The door is slightly ajar, a teasing invitation that your impulsive nature can't resist. A frown furrows your brow. It's unusual for Caleb to leave anything to chance, especially a door. The scent of his sandalwood soap mingles with the humid air, further fueling your burgeoning anticipation.

Against your better judgment, against the silent warnings echoing in your head, you push the door open. The hinges sigh in protest, a sound that seems deafening in the otherwise silent apartment.

The scene that unfolds before you steals the breath from your lungs. Time seems to slow, each detail etching itself onto your memory with vivid clarity.

There he is. Caleb.

Towering and undeniably male, he stands bathed in the diffused light of the futuristic bathroom. Water droplets cling to his skin, catching the light like scattered diamonds, tracing the sculpted lines of his back. The muscles ripple with restrained power, a testament to years of rigorous training and the demanding life he leads as a Fleetspace Colonel. His dark hair, usually impeccably styled, is damp and tousled, falling across his forehead in a manner that is both boyish and utterly captivating.

A simple white towel is slung low around his hips, offering a tantalizing glimpse of the lean, powerful physique beneath. But it's not the near-nudity that truly stops you in your tracks.

Around his neck, nestled against the tanned skin of his throat, gleams a familiar piece of silver. Your silver Chan dog tag. The one you gave him the day he left for DAA, a small token of your affection and unwavering belief in him. He’s always worn it, a constant reminder of your shared past, a silent promise of enduring connection. The sight of it there, against his skin, sends a jolt of unexpected warmth through your veins.

Caleb is standing in front of a large, impeccably clean mirror, his reflection staring back at him with an intensity that sends shivers down your spine. He's doing something with his hands, something that makes your heart pound in your chest.

Your gaze drops to his hands, and your breath hitches in your throat. He’s holding a gun. A large, black, undeniably lethal weapon. He is wiping it meticulously with a white towel, his movements precise and practiced.

As a hunter yourself, you’re no stranger to firearms. They are tools, instruments of protecting the city from wanderers, as familiar to you as your own gun you wield with deadly accuracy. You've seen Caleb handle weapons countless times, witnessed firsthand his skill and expertise. But seeing him here, in the sterile intimacy of his bathroom, polishing a gun with such focused intensity, feels… different. Disturbing, even. This isn’t the Caleb you know. Or perhaps it is, just a side of him you haven't been privy to before.

Your eyes travel back up, drawn to his reflection in the mirror. And then, they lock with his.

His eyes, that arresting shade of violet that has always held a strange power over you, are fixed on yours. There's a flicker of surprise, a fleeting shadow of something unreadable, before they settle into an unnervingly calm, assessing gaze.

Shit.

The silence stretches, thick and heavy with unspoken questions and burgeoning awareness. You feel like a deer caught in headlights, paralyzed by the intensity of his stare. Your mind races, desperately trying to formulate an explanation, a plausible excuse for your blatant intrusion.

He lowers the gun, placing it carefully on the pristine countertop. The sound is almost deafening in the otherwise silent room. He doesn't break eye contact.

“Were you planning on joining me?” His voice is low, a rumble that vibrates through the air, sending a fresh wave of heat washing over your skin. 

There's a teasing lilt to his words, a hint of amusement that barely masks the underlying tension.

You swallow hard, your throat suddenly dry. "I... I just wanted to surprise you." The words sound weak, unconvincing even to your own ears.

A slow smile spreads across his face, transforming his features, softening the harsh lines of his jaw. "You succeeded." He takes a step closer, closing the distance between you, his eyes never leaving yours. "Though I must admit, I prefer your surprises to be a little less… intrusive."

You flush, your cheeks burning under his scrutiny. "I didn't mean to… to intrude. I just heard the shower, and..." You trail off, unable to articulate the jumble of thoughts and emotions swirling within you.

"And?" he prompts, his voice a husky whisper.

You take a deep breath, trying to regain your composure. "And I thought I'd catch you off guard."

He chuckles, a low, throaty sound that sends a shiver down your spine. "You always were a noisy person, weren't you?" 

He takes another step, and now you're close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body, to smell the lingering scent of sandalwood and something else, something uniquely Caleb.

"Only when necessary," you retort, your voice regaining a touch of its usual fire. "Besides, you leave the door open. What did you expect?"

"Perhaps," he says, his gaze dropping to your lips, "I wanted to be caught."

Your heart leaps into your throat. "Caught doing what, exactly?"

The air crackles with a strange energy, a mixture of tension and something undeniably… charged. Before you can fully process the situation, he uses his gravity manipulation – a casual display of power that still sends shivers down your spine – to slam the door shut behind you with his mind alone. The click of the lock echoes in the suddenly confined space, a definitive sound that seals you both inside.

You jump, startled by the abruptness of it all. The sound reverberates through the apartment, amplifying the awareness of your isolation. Your heart pounds a little faster in your chest, a mixture of apprehension and a thrill you can’t quite explain.

“Just making sure no one else gets any ‘surprising’ ideas.” His eyes twinkle mischievously, the light glinting off the moisture in his now-drying hair. But beneath the playful glint, there’s an unmistakable intensity, a smoldering ember that catches your breath. 

He runs a hand through his damp hair, that simple gesture somehow drawing attention to the sculpted lines of his shoulders and arms, unconsciously giving you a full view of his muscular physique. The water droplets cling to his skin, emphasizing the lean strength that's usually hidden beneath his uniform. 

"You know," he begins, his voice a low drawl that seems to caress the air.

You frown, pulling yourself back from the brink of distraction. "In your apartment? Really?" You scoff, trying to inject a note of normalcy into the increasingly unusual situation. "You're a colonel, you know better than to leave your own home vulnerable. You wouldn’t let just anyone in like that… And besides," you shrug, gesturing vaguely, "you added my fingerprint to your automatic door lock, remember?"

He raises an eyebrow, a slow, deliberate movement that accentuates the sharp angles of his face. A smirk, knowing and undeniably attractive, plays on his lips. 

"True," he concedes, his voice laced with amusement. "But you never know when someone might try to pull a fast one, even with biometric security." He backs away from you, moving with the effortless grace you’ve come to expect, and leans against the counter, his arms crossed casually over his chest. The posture is relaxed, almost nonchalant, but you sense the underlying alertness, the coiled energy that’s always present. "Besides," he adds, his gaze locking with yours, "I didn't expect you to be the one sneaking up on me."

You scowl, your carefully constructed composure starting to fray at the edges. "I didn't… I just wanted to give you a surprise visit. I didn't know you'd be polishing your toys," you nod pointedly at his gun, lying disassembled on the nearby counter. The metal gleams under the lamplight, a stark reminder of the dangerous world he now inhabits since you got together again.

He chuckles, the sound a warm rumble in his chest, and uncrossing his arms to pick up his gun again. He examines a piece with careful precision. "You should see your face when you make that scowl," he teases, his smirk widening. "It's quite... endearing." He polishes the gun absentmindedly, his movements fluid and practiced. "So, no sneaking around to steal my food or snoop through my stuff this time?"

“Excuse you?” You exclaim, indignation flooding your voice. “I’m not… I just…”

He cuts you off, still chuckling. "Relax, I'm just messing with you," he says, his voice softening slightly. He sets the gun down with a soft clink and walks over to you, his movements fluid and predatory, like a panther stalking its prey. The space between you shrinks, the air growing thick with unspoken desires. "You're the only one I let get away with stealing my food, remember? It’s practically a tradition at this point."

“It’s not my fault that you always give me snacks…” you mumble, trying to deflect the intensity of his gaze. It's true, of course. He always has a stash of your favorite treats, and he never seems to mind when you help yourself.

"Because you always end up rummaging through my pantry anyway," he retorts, ruffling your hair playfully, his fingers lingering a moment longer than necessary. He steps back, creating a sliver of distance, and resumes polishing his gun, his expression turning thoughtful. "Speaking of snooping..."

You clear your throat, a nervous tic that betrays your guilt. Your eyes dart around the room, avoiding his piercing stare. “I didn’t do it again. I swear.”

He pauses in his task, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. The playful glint is gone, replaced by a sharp, assessing look. "You promise?" he asks, his tone laced with skepticism. He sets the gun down with a sigh and turns to face you fully, his arms crossed again, his body a wall between you and the door. "You swear on your favorite chocolate bar that you haven't been going through my stuff lately?"

You look at the bathroom ceiling, as if searching for answers in the mundane. "Oh, would you look at that? There’s some dust." You point vaguely upwards, hoping to distract and deflect. 

The attempt is weak, even you know it. The dust is barely visible, and the pathetic maneuver only serves to confirm his suspicions. You’re caught, and you know it. You can feel the heat rising in your cheeks, the telltale sign of your guilt.

He follows your gaze, his expression unreadable. "You're not distracting me that easily," he says, his voice low and even, a subtle rumble that vibrates through the humid air of the bathroom. It’s a statement, but also a dare. A challenge laid bare in the space between you. 

He moves with a quiet grace that belies his muscular build, each step deliberate and measured. The tiles are cool beneath his bare feet as he closes the distance between you. “Look at me,” he commands, the request laced with an intensity that makes your pulse quicken.

You back away, a primal instinct taking over as you try to create distance, a buffer between his raw masculinity and the sudden vulnerability you feel. The cool, smooth surface of the door presses against your spine, the only barrier between you and escape. But escape from what, exactly? The question hangs in the air, thick and unspoken.

He stops in his tracks, respecting the boundary you've unconsciously set. A hint of amusement dances in his eyes, a flicker of knowing that sends a shiver down your spine. "Afraid I'll catch you in a lie?" he asks, his voice a soft challenge, a velvet-wrapped threat. 

The air crackles with unspoken tension. He takes another step, closing the gap, his body almost pressing against yours. You’re trapped, caught between the solid, unyielding door and the magnetic pull of his presence.

Your throat tightens, and you swallow hard, the sound amplified in the confined space. Your gaze involuntarily drops, snagged by the sight of his damp chest, the water droplets clinging to the sculpted planes of his abs like tiny, glittering jewels. He’s fresh from the shower, his skin gleaming, radiating a heat that seems to seep into your own. 

You try to look away, but it’s like staring at the sun – blinding, yet impossible to resist.

He notices your wandering gaze, the subtle widening of your eyes, the almost imperceptible intake of breath. A slow, knowing smirk curls his lips, a predator recognizing its prey. His voice drops to a low purr, a sound that resonates deep within you. "See something you like?" he asks, the words laced with playful arrogance. 

His hand comes up, not to touch, but to stake his claim on the space around you, resting on the door beside your head, caging you in with the casual ease of someone who knows his power. His other hand reaches out, his touch feather-light as he tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze, to acknowledge the desire that’s simmering beneath the surface.

“Caleb…” you warn, the word a breathless whisper, a plea for him to stop, even though a part of you doesn’t want him to.

"Mhm?" He hums, a sound of pure amusement that vibrates against your skin. His finger remains tilted on your chin, holding you captive, his lips only inches away from yours. The air between you crackles with unspoken promises. His voice drops to a whisper, a seductive murmur that sends shivers down your spine. "You're the one who showed up unannounced in my shower..." He intentionally leans forward just a tiny bit more, testing your boundaries, pushing you to the edge. 

You can feel the warmth of his breath on your skin, smell the clean, fresh scent of soap mingled with his intoxicating natural musk.

Panic flares, a desperate need to break free from the intoxicating spell he’s weaving. You turn your head, the movement abrupt and jerky, right as his lips brush your cheek. It’s a near miss, a tantalizing tease that leaves you breathless and yearning.

He pulls back slightly, a playful smirk tugging at his lips as he notices your abrupt movement. "Missed by inches," he murmurs, his breath tickling your cheek, sending a fresh wave of goosebumps across your skin. 

He leans away from the door, giving you some space, a sliver of freedom, but keeping his proximity close enough that his damp skin still radiates warmth, a constant reminder of the intimacy you just shared.

You turn to look at him, your heart pounding against your ribs, trying to regain some semblance of control. 

“What are you doing?” you ask, the question barely audible, lost in the chaotic rhythm of your own breathing.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" He counters, his eyes searching yours with a mix of curiosity and something else, something that makes your stomach flip. He raises his hand again, this time tracing the curve of your jaw with his thumb, a slow, deliberate caress that ignites a fire within you. "I'm just making sure you're not going to keep avoiding eye contact with me." The statement is a challenge, an invitation to engage, to stop hiding behind your carefully constructed walls.

You blush, the heat rising in your cheeks, betraying your carefully constructed composure. “I’m not…avoiding you…and…can you unlock the door so I can get out?” you stammer, the words tumbling out in a rush, a desperate attempt to regain control of the situation.

He raises an eyebrow, a smirk still playing on his lips, enjoying your flustered state. 

"Afraid of being alone with me?" he asks, the question laced with teasing mockery. But then, he relents, stepping aside and unlocking the door. "Here you go." He gestures towards the open door, a clear path to freedom, but he doesn't move away from it completely, keeping his body angled towards you, a silent promise of more.

You raise an eyebrow, mirroring his earlier expression, a spark of defiance flickering in your eyes. “That easy? I thought I will have to borrow your gun to shoot the lock.” The words are meant to be flippant, a way to deflect the intensity of the moment, but there’s also a grain of truth in them.

A laugh escapes him as he hears your joke, a deep, genuine sound that washes over you, easing the tension in your muscles. A real smile spreads across his face, transforming his features, making him look younger, more approachable. "You'd have to pry it out of my cold, dead hands," he says, still chuckling softly, the sound warm and intimate in the small space. 

His gaze flickers to your lips briefly, a fleeting moment of undeniable desire, before returning to your eyes, his smile lingering, a silent invitation.

This time you smirk, a slow, confident curve of your lips. “In love with it too much?” you challenge, pushing his buttons, daring him to reveal more.

"Damn right," he grins, his shoulders relaxing, the tension finally easing from his body. He unconsciously adjusts the towel lower on his hips, unknowingly giving you a better view of his sculpted abs, the movement casual, yet undeniably provocative. "You almost had me there with the shooting the lock thing." He chuckles again, the sound warm and inviting. If you were desperate enough to, you would probably do it but he knew you were bluffing this time.

Before he can predict your move, you lunge forward, a reckless impulse taking over. You run to take his gun, a daring act of defiance.

But before you can even grasp the gun, Caleb swiftly lunges forward with surprising speed, his wet feet slipping slightly on the bathroom mat. He regains his balance with effortless grace, using his evol to steady himself. 

He grabs your wrist just as your fingers brush against the cool metal of the gun, his grip firm but not painful. "Uh-uh," he chastises playfully, his voice a low rumble, a warning and an invitation all in one.

“I touched it,” you smirk, a triumphant glint in your eyes.

"You barely grazed it," He retorts, pulling his hand back slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. He watches your smirk, your unknowingly tempting body language, the way your chest rises and falls with each breath. 

God, you’re killing him. He swallows hard, struggling to maintain control. "You know stealing's wrong, right?" He adds teasingly, the words a lighthearted attempt to break the tension, to mask the desire that's raging within him.

You glance at his gun on the counter beneath the white towel, the cold steel a stark contrast to the domesticity of the setting. Your fingers twitch, yearning to close around the familiar weight, to reclaim a sense of control in this tense dance you've been locked in. You try to reach it again, stretching but he anticipates your move with a speed that borders on preternatural. He shifts his weight, a subtle adjustment that places his body squarely between you and the gun. 

"Nice try," he chuckles, the sound a low rumble that vibrates through the air. His eyes, usually guarded and watchful, are sparkling with amusement, a playful glint dancing in their depths. But beneath the surface, you catch a glimpse of something more intense, a smoldering heat that sends a shiver down your spine.

He keeps your wrist gently but firmly in his grasp, his fingers warm against your skin, preventing any further attempts. His touch is light, almost teasing, but the underlying strength is palpable. "You really want that thing?" he asks, his voice a husky whisper that seems to wrap around you.

You shrug, feigning indifference, though your heart is hammering against your ribs. "You're so protective of it. Might as well be your girlfriend." The words are laced with sarcasm, a desperate attempt to mask the turmoil swirling within you.

His lips twitch with suppressed laughter, the corners of his mouth lifting in a tantalizing curve. "Jealous?" he teases softly, his thumb unconsciously rubbing a slow circle against your wrist. The simple gesture sends a jolt of electricity through your veins, making it difficult to breathe. "Here," he says, surprising you by releasing your wrist and placing the gun within your easy reach. 

"See if you can steal it." He challenges, his eyes dropping to your lips briefly, a fleeting moment that feels like a brand against your skin.

Your eyes glint with challenge, a spark igniting within you. It's not just about the gun; it's about the game, the chase, the intoxicating pull that exists between the two of you. "No cheating," you say, your voice low and husky, mirroring his own. "We can't use our evols."

"Deal," he whispers, a competitive edge creeping into his voice. He purposefully places the gun just slightly out of immediate reach, as if daring you to try. Then, he steps back, giving you space, ready for your move. His posture is relaxed, almost nonchalant, but his eyes are laser-focused on you, tracking every movement, every breath. They spark with excitement, the thrill of competition mixed with something else, something far more dangerous, that's becoming harder and harder to ignore.

With a swiftness that belies your earlier feigned indifference, you sidestep him, your body a blur of motion. You feint to the left, drawing his attention, then pivot sharply to the right, using the momentum to deliver a swift and precise kick with your elbow, sending the gun spinning into the air. You lunge forward, reaching out, your fingers closing around the cold, hard steel just as it begins to fall.

"-Shit," he curses under his breath, impressed despite himself. He moves to block your escape route, reacting purely on instinct, but in his haste, he ends up accidentally catching your waist in his arms. 

The air rushes from your lungs as his hands wrap around you, pulling you against him. For a moment, time seems to stand still. 

You're practically chest to chest, his rough breathing audible in your ear, mingling with your own ragged gasps. His heat radiates through your clothes, a tangible force that threatens to melt away your resolve. "You fucking cheated," he accuses, his voice a low growl against your skin.

“How? I said, no evols. Just our hands.” You fight to keep your voice steady, to project an air of nonchalance that you certainly don't feel.

"...Your foot," he mutters, his gaze flicking down to your feet before returning to your eyes, his expression a mixture of frustration and grudging admiration. His hands remain wrapped around your waist, his thumbs brushing against the curve of your hips. The contact is innocent enough, but the sensation is anything but. 

He swallows hard, his mind suddenly filled with inappropriate images, a dangerous dream landscape of him kissing you like he always wanted to and cross that line for once. "Give it back," he demands, his voice strained, barely a whisper.

You smirk, a slow, deliberate curve of your lips that you know drives him crazy with annoyance and amusement. You reach behind you, intending to stash the gun out of reach, but of course, he anticipates your move. He uses his gravity evol, the familiar force field shimmering almost invisibly around you both.

As you try to place the gun behind you, Caleb's gravity evol kicks in, the subtle pressure intensifying, making it impossible for you to move the gun away from his reach. You're caught in his invisible web, your movements restricted, your will subtly bent to his. He leans in slightly, his breath warm against your temple, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through your very core. 

"Not so fast," he murmurs, the words a promise and a threat all rolled into one. His hands tighten around your waist, pulling you a fraction closer, eliminating the already minuscule space between you.

“Uh…not fair,” you grit your teeth, the words forced out as you struggle against his evol, your muscles straining against the invisible force. You can feel the heat radiating from his body, the tension coiled tight within him, mirroring the tension that's gripping you.

"All's fair in love and war," he murmurs, his face inches from yours. His eyes, dark and intense, flick down to your lips again, lingering there for a moment too long. The air crackles with unspoken desires, with the weight of years of suppressed longing. He reaches around you slowly, deliberately, his chest pressing against your back as he plucks the gun effortlessly from your hand with his other. 

The contact sends a jolt of electricity through your body, igniting a fire that threatens to consume you both.

He chuckles, the sound a low, throaty rumble that sends shivers down your spine, the gun now back in his possession, safely out of your reach. "You touched it because you cheated with your foot," he argues, his arms still wrapped possessively around your waist, effectively trapping you against him. 

He pulls you a little closer, as if testing the limits, his gravity evol making it increasingly difficult for you to step away, to create any semblance of distance.

“Caleb…stop it,” you hiss, desperately trying to regain control of the situation, of yourself. The proximity is intoxicating, too close, too dangerous.

"Stop what?" he asks innocently, even though his grip on your waist tightens slightly and his breath is warm against your ear, sending a fresh wave of goosebumps across your skin. He knows exactly what he's doing, and the smirk playing on his lips gives him away. "I'm just holding you so you don't try to steal my gun again." The lie hangs in the air between you, a fragile shield against the storm of emotions threatening to erupt.

You glare, fighting to maintain eye contact, but your gaze is drawn, almost against your will, to the silver dog tag chain nestled between his pecs, rising and falling with each breath. Your gift for him. A silent promise of safe return.

He feels your stare silver necklace glinting under the light, a tangible reminder of your connection. His mind wanders back to the day you gave it to him when he left for DAA, engraved with a little red apple and the words "When you come back". A lump forms in his throat, a wave of tenderness washing over him. His hands on your waist flex unconsciously, pulling you closer, as if wanting to erase the distance that has always separated you.

His eyes soften as he glances down at the dog tags, remembering the care and emotion behind your gift. The playful smirk fades from his lips as he realizes how close you are, your bodies almost melding together in the confined space. 

He clears his throat nervously, the sound amplified by the sudden shift in atmosphere. "You giving me that glare because you lost, or..."

"I will get that gun," you hiss, your voice a low, determined rumble. The air crackles with your competitive spirit, a challenge laid bare.

A low laugh escapes him, his chest vibrating against your back, sending shivers down your spine. "Is that so?" He challenges softly, his grip on your waist loosening slightly, but not enough for you to escape easily. His eyes spark with a mix of amusement and something more intense, a hunger that makes your breath hitch in your throat. "You want it that bad? Come and get it."

"Caleb…I swear…" you start, a warning laced with a hint of exasperation. You can feel the heat radiating from his body, a dangerous warmth that threatens to melt your resolve.

"You swear what?" His lips quirk up in a teasing smirk as he senses your growing frustration. With deliberate slowness, he slips the gun behind his back, keeping it just out of your reach, a silent promise of the game to come. "You're welcome to try," he murmurs, his voice dropping an octave, sending another wave of shivers through you.

You close your eyes, taking a deep breath and trying to resonate with his own evol, the unique energy that surrounds him, a key to unlocking his defenses. The air hums with anticipation.

"Smart," he whispers approvingly, feeling your evol activate, a tangible connection forming between you. Normally, this would be a fair competition, a test of skill and power. But with his arms still wrapped around your waist, trapping you against him, he's enjoying this too much to let you win easily. Instead of resisting your gravity pull, he uses it to his advantage, subtly shifting his weight, drawing you even closer. "You feel that?"

"Just a bit," you grit your teeth, focusing on the task at hand. "I will have it." The heat of his body is a distraction, a tantalizing temptation that wars with your determination.

He chuckles softly, his breath warm against your neck, making the hairs stand on end. 

"Is that a promise?" he teases, his grip on you tightening just enough to make it clear he's not going to let you have the gun easily. 

He shifts slightly, using his own evol against you, pulling you even closer until you can feel the hard planes of his chest against your back.

"Caleb!" you exclaim, a mixture of annoyance and something akin to pleasure coloring your tone. You can feel your resolve crumbling under the weight of his nearness.

"Too slow," He laughs, feeling your gravity push against him half-heartedly. He realizes you're trying not to push too hard, afraid of hurting him. His smirk widens, a predatory gleam entering his eyes. "You're not trying hard enough," He taunts, "Here, I'll make it easier."

You bite back a retort, your mind racing, searching for a way to break free from his intoxicating hold.

He shifts his body slightly, giving you a small opening, a sliver of hope in your current predicament. But instead of making it easy for you to grab the gun, he uses the opportunity to lean in even closer, his lips almost brushing against your ear, his breath ghosting over your skin. "Come on," he whispers, his voice low and challenging, husky with desire. "Show me what you've got."

You shiver, despite yourself, and swallow hard. The nearness of him is intoxicating, a potent cocktail of danger and desire. You decide to move, channeling all your energy into a sudden burst of momentum.

"There," He whispers softly as you move, finally putting some real effort into your evol. His smirk widens, a glint of admiration in his eyes. You're fast, he'll give you that. 

He sees an opening at your sudden move and takes it, his reflexes honed from years of training. He whirls around, mirroring your resonance pull, creating a vortex of energy between you.

"Hey!" The gun gets floated in the air above your head, spinning gently in the space between you. Since you were short, you couldn’t get it, your fingers grasping at empty air.

"Gotcha," he laughs triumphantly, watching the gun float effortlessly towards his hand from above. He catches it with ease, his eyes twinkling with amusement. He looks down at you, still floating about a foot off the ground, your arms stretching up to try and reach the gun, your brow furrowed in frustration.

"Caleb! It will not kill you if you give it to me," you plead, your voice tinged with a playful desperation.

He laughs heartily, his chest shaking with mirth. "And miss out on this?" He asks, gesturing to your futile struggle, his eyes sparkling with delight. "No way." He holds the gun just out of your reach, his arm extended high above you, a tantalizing prize. "Say please."

You pull a deep breath, steeling your resolve. You decide to use your other card, the one that always works, the one that exploits his soft spot. He always falls for that. Your eyes get sad, a well-practiced expression of vulnerability, and you pout, your lower lip trembling slightly. "You don't love me anymore," you say, your voice barely a whisper, laced with mock sorrow.

"Damn it," He mutters softly, his expression instantaneously softening, the playful gleam replaced with a flicker of guilt. He lowers the gun slightly, his eyes searching your face, his thumb caressing the cool metal. "You know that's not true," He says softly, his voice losing its competitive edge, replaced with a tender warmth. "Here," He lifts his chin towards the gun, floating it gently within your reach, surrendering to your carefully constructed emotional trap.

You lunge at it, your fingers wrapping tightly around the cool steel.

"Too easy," He laughs, a hint of exasperation in his voice, as you snatch the gun out of the air. He watches your serious expression, your pout gone, replaced with determined eyes, a triumphant glint shining in their depths. 

He swallows tightly, mesmerized by your transformation. "You cheated," He accuses softly, his competitive nature re-igniting slightly. "Using those puppy eyes."

You smirk, a mischievous glint in your eyes, as you look at the big black weapon in your hand, savoring your victory.

He shakes his head in amused disbelief, a rueful smile tugging at his lips. "I fall for that every time," he murmurs, watching you proudly display your prize, his gaze lingering on your face, admiring your cunning and determination. Caleb spreads his hands in mock surrender, his eyes gleaming mischievously. "Congrats, you win this round."

You grin, feeling a surge of satisfaction course through you. "Yes."

The playful glint in Caleb's eyes is disarming, even as he playfully mocks, "Don't get too cocky," his voice a low rumble that vibrates against your skin. He takes a step back, a gentlemanly concession of space, yet the air crackles with unresolved tension. "You know I won't go easy on you next time." A pause hangs in the air, the silence amplifying the intimacy of the moment. His expression softens, a flicker of something deeper replacing the teasing. "You know what?"

"Mmm?" you hum, the sound a question and an invitation.

"You've gotten really good," Caleb says, the admiration in his voice a stark contrast to his earlier jesting. It’s an honest, unguarded compliment, a moment of genuine respect that makes your heart flutter. "I swear, in a few years, you'll probably be better than me." He chuckles softly, shaking his head as if marveling at the impossible. "Lucky for me, I've still got a few tricks up my sleeve."

A genuine smile blossoms across your face, warming your cheeks. "Do you think so?" you ask, the words barely a whisper, laced with a mixture of disbelief and hope. You know you were pretty good hunter but be better than him who is taller and stronger than you? That was a big compliment.

"Duh," he grins widely, that competitive spark reigniting in his eyes. He loves that you're humble, your lack of ego only fueling his desire to push you, to see how far you can go. "You're like a sponge. You learn something once, you got it. I swear, you're scary good." He laughs softly, a sound that always manages to send shivers down your spine. "Here," he says suddenly, reaching into a nearby basket. 

Without warning, he throws a small dagger in your direction.

Years of training kick in, instinct taking over. You react without thinking, your hand shooting out, effortlessly catching the dagger mid-air. Simultaneously, you set the gun you had been holding down on the counter.

He whistles appreciatively, his brows raised in genuine surprise. "Damn, you're fast today." The playful teasing returns, but there's an undercurrent of something more, a respect for your skill that he can't quite hide. He moves closer, closing the distance between you in a heartbeat. His voice drops lower, becoming a husky murmur that sends a shiver snaking down your spine. "And you caught it perfectly." He reaches out to take the dagger, his fingers purposefully brushing against yours in the handoff, a deliberate act of provocation.

A wave of awareness washes over you. You instinctively hide the dagger behind your back, the cool metal a reassuring weight in your hand. It's then that you realize you're backed against the bathroom counter, the cool tile a stark contrast to the heat radiating from Caleb. 

He notices your realization, the triumphant smirk that spreads across his face a clear indication that he's exactly where he wants to be. 

He takes another step closer, effectively trapping you. His voice drops to a teasing whisper, a low rumble that seems to vibrate through your very bones. "Cornered already?" He leans in slightly, his eyes never leaving yours, a captivating gaze that holds you captive. "You know, for someone who just won a gun off me, you seem pretty vulnerable right now."

"You always do this," you scoff, the word laced with a mixture of annoyance and amusement. "Play and tease me."

"And you always fall for it," he retorts, his face just inches from yours. You can feel his warm breath on your skin, the scent of him filling your senses. "It's cute." He reaches behind you, his body pressing against yours, a blatant act of intimacy designed to fluster you. His fingers brush against your back as he reaches for the knife you're holding, the deliberate contact sending a jolt of electricity through you.

You tighten your grip on the dagger, a stubborn refusal to relinquish control. The game is on, and you're not about to back down.

He feels you tightening your grip, a smug smile tugging at his lips. He loves this, the push and pull, the battle of wills that always seems to erupt between you. "Let go of the knife," he whispers, his eyes locked in the knife reflected in the mirror behind you. He can feel your knuckles turning white as you refuse to loosen your grip. "Last chance."

"And if I say no?" you breathe, the words barely audible, laced with a mixture of defiance and apprehension. You can't stop this cat and mouse play, this dangerous dance that always leaves you breathless and wanting more.

He chuckles darkly, a low, predatory sound that sends shivers down your spine. His breath is hot against your ear as he whispers, "Then I'll have to take it from you." His free hand comes up to rest on the counter beside your hips, caging you in, making it impossible to escape. "And trust me, you won't like how I do it."

You shiver involuntarily, a reaction to his words and the heat radiating from his body. Leaning back, his bare chest presses against yours, the solid muscle almost crushing you.

He feels your shiver, his smile widening mischievously. He straightens his arms, locking them beside your hips and pushing you further against the counter, intensifying the feeling of being trapped. "Last warning," he whispers, his voice low and commanding, sending a thrill of fear and excitement through you. "Open your hand."

"No…" you whisper, the single word a testament to your stubbornness.

He hears the defiance in your whisper, a surge of frustration and determination rising within him. Without another word, he uses his arm to press your hand against the counter, the knife still gripped tightly in your fist. With his other hand, he grabs your wrist, applying firm pressure. "Open. Your. Hand."

"You could easily cheat you know? Why are you adamant to take it directly from my hand?" you ask, your voice laced with a mixture of curiosity and defiance.

"Because I want to see how far you'll push me," he admits, his voice gruff, the honesty unexpected. He applies more pressure to your wrist, his other arm still pressing your hand flat against the counter. "Now open your damn hand before I break your wrist to get the knife out."

You gasp, the threat surprisingly intense.

Seeing your gasp, Caleb pauses, realizing the intensity in his words. He is a colonel in the military, used to commanding, never meaning to threaten you. His grip loosens slightly, but he doesn't release you entirely from the cage of his arms. A smirk tugs at his lips as he leans in closer, his voice lowering to a teasing murmur. "Gotcha."

"Did you just fucking threaten me?" you hiss, the anger bubbling to the surface.

He hears the anger in your hiss and feels a strange mix of amusement and unease. He leans in even closer, his lips barely an inch from yours. "Maybe," he whispers back, a challenge clear in his voice. "What are you gonna do about it?"

You glare, trying to mask the effect he has on you.

He holds your glare, his eyes crinkling slightly at the corners as he tries to suppress a smile. He can feel the tension radiating off you, making him enjoy this power dynamic a little too much. He flexes his arm, pressing your hand flatter against the counter. "Last chance,"

"Don't use your Colonel voice on me!" you snap, the outburst a testament to his control over you.

He feels a jolt at your snap, the Colonel voice slipping out automatically. He blinks, breaking eye contact for a moment, the memory of his past life a sharp reminder of the man he used to be. When he looks back at you, his expression is softer, almost apologetic. "Fuck, I'm sorry," he murmurs, his grip on your wrist loosening completely, his regret palpable.

You breathe heavily, trying to regain your composure.

He sees the heavy breathing, taking it as a sign that he's getting to you, that the game is still in play. He decides to push his luck, leaning in closer until his forehead rests against yours. "Open your hand," he commands, his voice dropping lower, taking on that authoritative tone again. "Or I'll…"

"What? Restrain me?" you challenge, your voice laced with a mixture of fear and excitement.

"Mm, something like that," he murmurs, his eyes locked with yours. He can feel his hands itching to grab your arm and pin it behind your back, to take control completely. "You leave me no choice but to use force," he whispers, his fingers slowly inching back towards your wrist, as if testing the waters.

"Caleb…" you breathe, the word a warning and a plea.

"Too late," he whispers, his hands moving quickly. He wraps his arm around your wrist and pulls it behind your back, trapping it between your shoulder blades. He steps closer, caging you against the counter with his body, making escape impossible. "Open your hand," he orders, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument.

"You goober!" you exclaim, the childish insult a desperate attempt to break the tension.

He chuckles at your insult, his breath warm against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. "Keep talking back and see what happens," he murmurs, his free hand coming up to rest on the counter beside your other arm, effectively trapping you. "One more chance to open your hand before things get... interesting."

“Interesting?” you breathe, the word catching in your throat, a strange heat blooming in your chest. It's a question, but also a confession. Suddenly, this confrontation, this tense standoff, feels…different. You don’t know why you're feeling this way. The adrenaline, maybe? Or the way his eyes are locked on yours, intense and unwavering. Whatever it is, it's undeniably a turn-on.

He notices the subtle shift in your breathing, the almost imperceptible tremor in your hands. He sees the way your eyes dilate, dark pools reflecting the fire that's beginning to flicker within you. He realizes that you’re not just angry or defiant anymore. 

A slow, knowing smile spreads across his face, a predatory curve that sends a shiver down your spine. He leans in even closer, the heat of his body radiating against yours, his lips almost brushing against your ear. 

"Are you enjoying this?" he murmurs, the question a low, seductive rumble.

“No…” you hiss, the denial weak, unconvincing even to your own ears. The fight seems to have drained from you, replaced by a strange, unsettling vulnerability.

He can hear the tremor in your voice, the subtle waver that betrays your true feelings. He feels the way your body is pressing against the cool countertop, trapped between his unyielding arms. He takes advantage of this newfound weakness, his body shifting slightly, a calculated maneuver that tightens his hold. 

His arm around your wrist pulls your arm up higher between your shoulder blades, forcing you to arch your back, accentuating the curve of your breasts against your shirt. The position is undeniably compromising, leaving you exposed and vulnerable. "Last chance," he breathes, the words a promise and a threat.

“Last chance…” you mock, mimicking his deep voice with a forced bravado that doesn't quite reach your eyes. You glare at him, attempting to recapture the anger that fueled you just moments ago. But the heat in his gaze melts your resolve, leaving you feeling exposed and strangely thrilled.

He smirks at your mimicry, enjoying the playful banter, the dangerous game you’re both playing. "You're playing a dangerous game," he murmurs, his voice a silken caress that belies the steel beneath. His hand on the counter, the one not holding your wrist captive, slides closer to yours, inching its way toward your trembling fingers. His thumb brushes against the back of your hand, a light, fleeting touch that’s almost teasing, sending sparks of electricity through your veins. "I could make you open it," he says, the words hanging in the air, heavy with unspoken implications.

“Guess what? With your evol?” you retort, trying to sound confident, but your voice cracks slightly, betraying your inner turmoil.It was a desperate attempt to regain control, to steer the conversation back to safer territory.

"Exactly," he whispers back, his breath warm against your skin. His thumb traces a small circle on the back of your hand, a deliberate, hypnotic motion that draws your attention, stealing your focus. Your hand twitches slightly at the sudden sensation, giving away your vulnerability, the way his touch affects you. He watches your reaction closely, savoring the moment, drawing power from your response. "Then again, I might use something other than my evol..." he adds, the words laced with a suggestive promise that makes your heart leap in your chest.

You gasp, the sound escaping your lips before you can stop it, and your eyes widen in surprise, searching his. Fear and anticipation war within you, a confusing mix of emotions that threatens to overwhelm you. 

"What do you mean?" you ask, the question a breathless whisper, barely audible above the pounding of your heart.

His expression turns intense, a dark, smoldering gaze that holds you captive. It’s dangerous, predatory, and utterly thrilling. 

He leans in closer, invading your personal space, until his lips are nearly touching yours, the heat of his breath a tangible presence against your skin. His voice drops to a husky whisper, a seductive murmur that sends shivers down your spine. "You really want to know?" he asks, intentionally blowing a small, warm breath across your lips, teasing you, testing your limits. "I could just..."

Your breath hitches in your throat, your lungs seizing as your body betrays you. The world around you seems to fade away, the sounds of the bathroom blurring into a distant hum. All that exists is him, the intoxicating scent of his skin, the heat of his gaze, the promise of something forbidden. 

Your eyelashes flutter shut, surrendering to the moment, inviting him in.

He waits for a moment, relishing in the effect he's having on you, the power he holds over you. He feels the tremor that runs through your body, the rapid pulse at your throat. He knows he's won. 

Then, without warning, he closes the distance between you, his lips claiming yours in a searing, electrifying kiss. His hand, the one that was tormenting your hand only moments ago, moves to tangle in your hair, gripping the strands possessively, holding you in place as he deepens the kiss, demanding a response.

A whimper escapes your lips, a small, involuntary sound of surrender, as your fingers loosen their grip on the knife. The metal clatters against the tile floor, the sound echoing in the sudden silence, a symbol of your defeat.

He hears the knife fall, the sound like a starting gun, and a satisfied growl rumbles in his chest, a primal sound of victory. The kiss intensifies, his tongue sliding against yours, tasting, exploring, staking his claim. 

He breaks the kiss only to trail his lips down your neck, sucking and nipping at the sensitive skin, igniting a firestorm of sensation. His arm around your wrist tightens possessively, a steel band that keeps you trapped, at his mercy.

“Caleb…” you gasp, your voice breathy and weak, barely a whisper. The sound of his name on your lips feels like a betrayal, a confession of your desire.

"Shh," he murmurs against your neck, his teeth gently sinking into the flesh, a playful bite that sends shivers down your spine. His other hand slides down from the counter, around your hip, and grips your bottom possessively, pulling you closer, molding your body against his. "No more talking," he commands softly, the words a velvet promise laced with steel, before starting to lift you onto the counter, claiming you.

Your heart pounds in your chest, a frantic drumbeat that threatens to drown out all other sounds. You can feel his strength as he lifts you, the way his muscles flex beneath his skin. You wrap your legs around his waist instinctively, clinging to him for support, surrendering to the moment.

He can feel your heart racing against his chest, mirroring his own frantic rhythm, as he lifts you onto the counter, stepping between your legs to keep you trapped, a willing prisoner in his embrace. His hands roam your body, touching and exploring in a way he's never allowed himself to before, igniting a fire within you that threatens to consume you both. He presses close, his growing erection evident against your core through the thin barrier of the towel, a tangible reminder of his desire.

“Caleb…” you whisper again, his name a plea, a prayer, a promise of what's to come.

He silences you with another kiss, this one more demanding and dominant than the last, a raw expression of his hunger. His tongue pushes into your mouth, claiming you completely, possessing you with every touch. His hands continue to roam, exploring the curves of your body, igniting a fire with every caress. 

One hand slides up to cup your breast, squeezing gently through your shirt, teasing the sensitive nipple, while the other grips your thigh, pulling you even closer, erasing the remaining space between you, preparing you for the storm that's about to break.

You allow yourself to moan, the sweet, vulnerable sound catapulting straight to his core. You feel the immediate result of your surrender as his erection presses harder against your thigh. Instinct takes over, and you find yourself pulling him closer by the nape of his neck, your fingers tangling in the short hairs at his hairline. He's so tall, you have to lift your hips off the counter, practically bending him in half to maintain the fervent connection of your lips.

He groans into the kiss, a deep, guttural sound that vibrates against your own mouth as you pull him closer, bending him down to accommodate your smaller stature. The altered angle presses his hardness even more firmly against your center, igniting a fresh wave of heat that makes you moan again, a low, primal sound escaping your lips. 

His hand, which had been tentatively resting on your waist, slides upwards, seeking the bare skin beneath your shirt. He pushes the fabric upwards, urgency lacing his touch, as his other hand squeezes your thigh, almost desperately.

You pant, your breath coming in ragged gasps, too overwhelmed by this sudden and dramatic turn of events to form a coherent thought. The world has narrowed down to the feel of his mouth on yours, the hard press of his body against yours, and the frantic rhythm of your accelerated heartbeats.

He breaks the kiss briefly, reluctantly, to trail his lips down the sensitive curve of your neck. He nuzzles his face between your breasts, his breath hot and damp against your skin, as he tries to push your shirt up further. 

"Lift your arms," he growls, the command rough and edged with a desperate, unsatisfied desire. He needs to see you, touch you more, now. The burning need is consuming him.

You gulp, your throat suddenly dry, and obediently lift your arms, your movements slightly jerky and uncoordinated.

In one swift, decisive motion, he pulls your shirt over your head, casting it carelessly to the side. You stand exposed in just your bra, the cool air raising goosebumps on your skin, but the chill is quickly replaced by a searing heat as his eyes darken with undisguised desire as he looks you over. His gaze lingers on the curve of your breasts, the swell of your hips, before finally returning to meet your eyes. His hands, as if drawn by an invisible force, immediately go to your waist, his thumbs tracing the delicate line of your hip bones. 

"Fuck," he mutters, the word a raw, reverent sound, as he leans down to place open-mouthed kisses between your breasts, his tongue flicking out to taste your skin.

You moan again, a longer, more drawn-out sound this time, as you arch your back instinctively, offering him more. Your fingers dig into his shoulders, clinging to him as if he's the only thing anchoring you to reality. 

"What's happening?" you manage to gasp out, the question barely audible.

"Shut up," he snaps, but there's no real heat or anger behind the words. He's too far gone, too lost in the feeling of your body against his lips, the taste of your skin, the intoxicating scent of you filling his senses. 

His fingers, emboldened by his growing passion, hook into the bottom of your bra, and with surprising ease, he unhooks it. He pushes the material aside, revealing your bare breasts to his hungry gaze. He pauses for a moment, just to admire the sight, before his hands cup your breasts, his thumbs teasing your nipples.

“Caleb…please…” you say, your voice thick with a mixture of arousal and confusion. You reach up, your hands trembling slightly, and cup his face, your thumbs tracing the sharp angles of his cheekbones.

Caleb pauses, his intense gaze softening as you cup his face. He leans into your touch, a visible shudder running through him as he closes his eyes for a brief moment, savoring the feeling of your skin against his. "Please what?" he asks, his voice low and rough, the question laced with a raw vulnerability. 

One hand comes up to cover yours on his cheek, his fingers interlacing with yours as he holds your hand against his skin, while the other gently squeezes your bare breast, thumbing the nipple in a slow, deliberate rhythm.

“Why are we…” you trail off, unable to articulate the jumble of thoughts and feelings swirling within you.

"Because," he answers simply, his voice husky with desire, leaning down to take one of your breasts into his mouth. He suckles gently at first, teasing and tantalizing, before his grip tightens and he begins to suckle more firmly, drawing a sharp intake of breath from you. His hand, the one not holding yours, slides down your side to your waistband, his fingers fumbling with the button of your jeans. "We're always supposed to," he murmurs around your breast, the words muffled but clear, his fingers finally succeeding in unbuttoning your jeans.

“Why?” you ask again, the question a desperate plea for understanding.

He looks up at you, his eyes intense and unwavering, as he unbuttons your jeans, his fingers hooking into the waistband. 

"Because we're always supposed to be more than friends," he explains, his voice muffled against your breast. "Because every time I see you laughing with someone else, I get jealous. Because every time someone looks at you for too long, I want to punch them."

You swallow hard, your throat tightening with emotion. “That's why…you said you will never get a girlfriend?”

He nods against your chest, the movement small and hesitant, before standing up straight and pulling the rest of your clothes off, leaving you sitting bare before him. "I never wanted a girlfriend," he admits, his voice raw and honest, his eyes fixed on yours. "I never wanted anyone but you."

Your heart skips a beat, a wild, erratic rhythm taking over your chest. “Since when…? When we met or…”

He swallows hard, his eyes flickering down your body, lingering on the curve of your breasts and the swell of your hips, before meeting your gaze again. "Since we were kids," he says softly, the words barely audible above the frantic pounding of your heart. 

He steps closer, closing the remaining distance between you, until he's standing between your legs. "Remember when we used to play hide and seek?" he asks, his fingers hooking around your thighs, his touch sending shivers up your spine.

You nod, a small, involuntary movement. “You always somehow found me.”

"Because I always looked for you," he explains, his thumbs rubbing the inside of your thighs, his gaze unwavering. 

"Remember when you scraped your knee on that field trip, and I carried you home?" he asks softly, his eyes searching yours, as if looking for confirmation, or perhaps forgiveness. When you nod again, remembering the incident vividly, he continues, "Remember I told I will always be by your side?”

You nod again, feeling a lump forming in your throat. The memory is sharp and clear, the feeling of his arms around you, the concern etched on his face, as real now as it was then.

Caleb leans in closer, his voice dropping to almost a whisper as he continues, "That wasn't just something friends say. I meant it. Every promise, every joke shared, every bump and bruise I tended to - it was all me saying 'I'm in love with you' without actually saying it."

Your heart actually swells, filling your chest until it feels like it might burst. You struggle to breathe, the air caught in your throat, as the weight of his words settles upon you. This is it. This is the culmination of years of unspoken feelings, of hidden glances and secret longings.

He watched, his gaze intense and unwavering, as a kaleidoscope of emotions played across your face – surprise, disbelief, a hesitant joy that threatened to bloom into something more. He saw the question in your eyes, the silent plea for reassurance, and it fueled the courage that had been simmering within him for what felt like an eternity.

His own heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat echoing the years of longing he had so carefully concealed. Each stolen glance, each casual touch, each shared laugh had been etched onto his soul, fueling a secret fire that now threatened to consume him. He had built walls around his heart, fortifying it against the vulnerability of love, but you, with your infectious laughter and unwavering spirit, had chipped away at those defenses, brick by agonizing brick.

Slowly, deliberately, he reached for you, his hands trembling slightly as they spanned your waist. The touch was electric, a jolt that sent shivers down your spine and stole the breath from your lungs. With a strength born of years of suppressed desire, he lifted you, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. The heat of your body pressed against him was intoxicating, a promise of connection that he could no longer deny himself.

"I'm in love with you," he said, the words finally free after years of restraint. There was no fanfare, no grand pronouncements, just a simple, honest declaration that resonated with the weight of his unspoken feelings. He watched, his breath suspended, as the words settled between you, waiting for your reaction, for the answer that would either shatter him or set him free.

Your fingers traced the line of his jaw, tilting his chin up so you could meet his gaze. The question hung in the air, unspoken but palpable. "That's why you wrote my name on that graffiti wall by the basketball court? As a wish, when we wrote our wishes?"

He continued to walk you further into the shower's embrace, feeling the slick tile beneath his bare feet. Without breaking eye contact, he used his evol to release the knot of the towel cinched around his hips. It fell to the wet floor, discarded like the pretense he had carried for so long.

The warm water pulsed against your skin, a comforting weight that seemed to ground you as the world tilted on its axis. Caleb cupped your face with his hands, his thumbs gently stroking your cheekbones. 

He looked at you, really looked at you, his eyes filled with a depth of emotion that left you breathless. Unspoken words swirled within those depths, echoes of old wishes and long-held dreams.

"Yes," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated against your skin. "I wished for you every time."

He gently lowered you to the shower floor, the cool tile a startling contrast to the heat that radiated from his body. Kneeling before you, he took your hand in his, his touch reverent and tender. He brought your knuckles to his lips, pressing a soft, lingering kiss against them.

"You don't have to say anything right now," he said quietly, his eyes never leaving yours, searching for a flicker of understanding, a sign of reciprocation. "Just…just let me love you for now, okay?"

You could only nod, the gesture small and uncertain, but enough.

His lips curved into a gentle smile, a smile that reached his eyes and banished the shadows that had haunted them for so long. He knew how rare it was for you to grant silence, how you usually filled every space with your vibrant energy and quick wit. Your quiet acquiescence was a gift, a fragile offering that he would cherish.

"Always wanted to know what your lips tasted like under the shower," he said softly, his voice laced with a playful desire that eased the tension in the air. He slid closer, his hips brushing against yours, tilting your chin with his fingers, his gaze dropping to your mouth. "Mind if I find out?"

A spark of your old self flickered in your eyes, a hint of the playful banter that defined your friendship. "Oh…now are you asking permission after you manhandled me?" You raised an eyebrow, a challenging glint in your gaze.

He laughed, a deep, husky sound that resonated through you. "Too late for that," he pointed out, his eyes crinkling at the corners with amusement. His hands slid down to your behind, his fingers gently kneading the curves of your flesh. "Answer the question, smartass." He nuzzled your neck, the warm breath against your skin sending shivers dancing down your spine. "Can I kiss you under the shower?"

Another nod, this one more decisive, more eager. The anticipation was a tangible thing, a vibrating energy that hummed between you.

And then his lips were on yours, gentle at first, a tentative exploration of familiar territory. But the gentleness quickly gave way to a deeper hunger, a raw need that had been simmering beneath the surface for too long. His lips became demanding, coaxing your mouth open, inviting his tongue to slide in and taste you. 

The warm water rained down on you both, a sensuous curtain that veiled you from the world, mixing with the heat of his kiss. He sighed into your mouth, a sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure, his hands squeezing your backside possessively, drawing you closer, closer, until there was no space left between you. "Finally," he breathed against your lips.

In that single word, you heard the depth of his longing, the flicker of fear, the sting of jealousy, all woven together with the raw, undeniable thread of love. It was a kiss that spoke volumes, a testament to the years of suppressed desire and unspoken emotions.

He finally broke the kiss, resting his forehead against yours as he caught his breath, his chest heaving. "I've imagined this so many times," he admitted, his voice rough with emotion, raw and vulnerable. "You, me, under the shower, finally together." He kissed you again, deeper this time, pouring all his pent-up feelings into the kiss, a desperate plea for reciprocation, a silent vow of devotion.

You smiled into the kiss, a genuine, heartfelt smile that radiated through every cell of your being. It was a smile born of relief, of joy, of the burgeoning realization that your own secret feelings were finally being mirrored back at you.

He smiled back, his eyes shining with a happiness that banished the shadows and revealed the man you had always known was hidden beneath the surface. He stood up, pulling you up with him, his hands roaming possessively over your wet body, lingering on the curve of your waist, the swell of your hips.

"Let me wash you," he said, his voice husky with desire, picking up the bottle of body wash and squeezing a generous amount onto a waiting loofah. "All over."

You giggled, the sound light and carefree, a stark contrast to the intensity of the moment. "So now you’re my sweet Caleb and not Colonel Caleb?"

He chuckled, the sound warm and genuine, filling the small space with a comforting intimacy. "Only you get to see this side of me," he said softly, running the loofah gently over your shoulders, his touch careful and tender. "Colonel Caleb is for everyone else." 

He leaned down to kiss your shoulder, his lips lingering against your skin, his hands tracing slow, deliberate circles as he began to wash you.

You sighed and leaned against him, letting the warmth of his body and the gentle caress of the loofah soothe your senses. 

The water continued to pulse around you, washing away the doubts and fears, leaving only the raw, undeniable connection that bound you together.

"You know you're making it really hard for me to just wash you instead of-" He paused, clearing his throat, his voice suddenly thick with desire. "You're killing me here," he murmured, nipping gently at your earlobe, his breath hot against your skin. His hands trailed down your sides, lingering just under your breasts, his fingers tracing the delicate curve. "Should I continue washing?"

"You already stripped me naked and dragged me into the shower," you pointed out, a playful challenge in your voice, a subtle invitation in your eyes.

He laughed, a deep, rumbling sound that vibrated through you. "Touché," he said, his hands finally moving to cup your breasts, his thumbs circling your hardening nipples, sending jolts of pleasure through your body. "I guess I can skip the washing part." He pressed his hips against your backside, letting you feel his growing arousal, a tangible expression of the desire that consumed him.

You moaned, the sound muffled against his shoulder, feeling the hard length of him pressed against your ass.

"Fuck," he groaned, his hands tightening on your breasts as you wiggled against him, your movements only fueling the fire that burned between you. "You're driving me crazy." He spun you around, pinning you against the shower wall, his eyes blazing with a raw, primal need. "I need to taste you," he said hoarsely, dropping to his knees.

You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry, as you looked down at him. He was tall enough that his face was eye level with your tummy, his gaze intense and unwavering.

Caleb pressed a quick kiss to your belly button before trailing his lips lower, his hands gripping your hips, holding you in place. "I've thought about this moment even more than kissing you," he confessed, his breath hot against your core, sending shivers of anticipation through your body. "Want to eat you out until you're screaming my name."

You whimpered, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps. The anticipation was almost unbearable, the promise of pleasure a tantalizing lure that threatened to shatter your carefully constructed composure.

He smirks up at you, loving the effect he's having. "Brace yourself, sweetheart," he warns playfully before diving in, his mouth covering your clit as his tongue flicks rapidly over the sensitive bud. He moans at your taste, the vibrations sending shockwaves through you.

“Caleb!”

He hums in satisfaction, the sound vibrating against your most sensitive spot. "Mmm, just like I imagined," he murmurs against you, not breaking his rhythm. He slides one hand up to your breast, teasing your nipple while the other grips your thigh, pulling it over his shoulder for better access.

You almost come from the sight. This sweet powerful man who was always with you through the years was actually kneeling in front of you and eating your pussy. It was a fantasy you'd nurtured in secret, a forbidden bloom in the garden of your mind. 

You never tried to imagine it, respecting your friendship and bond with him but you always wondered what if….

Now, here it was, a vibrant, tangible reality. The contrast between the gruff exterior he often projected and the exquisite tenderness of his current ministrations was almost too much to bear.

He looks up at you, his eyes dark with lust and something more profound. "You have no idea how many nights I've jerked off thinking about this," he admits, his voice muffled against your thigh. The raw honesty in his confession both shocks and thrills you. 

To know you've occupied his thoughts in such a primal way, to realize the depth of his desire… it ignites a fire within you, hotter than anything you've ever known. He dives back in, his tongue working faster, more insistently.

You moan as you grab his hair. The feel of his thick, dark hair between your fingers is intoxicating. You tug gently, urging him closer, desperate for more. The sensations are building, swirling, threatening to consume you.

He growls possessively, the sound rumbling against your clit, pushing you closer to the edge. He stands up abruptly, lifting you so that your legs wrap around his waist. "Need to be inside you," he declares, his voice firm with need. "Now." The urgency in his tone is electrifying. You feel your own desire mirroring his, a desperate hunger that can only be sated by the joining of your bodies.

You bite your lip. The anticipation is almost unbearable. You've waited so long for this moment, dreamed of it countless times even if it’s wrong. To finally be here, on the precipice of intimacy with Caleb, is both terrifying and exhilarating.

He takes your silence as agreement. 

"Damn," he mutters, positioning himself at your entrance. He looks at you, making sure this is okay. He's big - almost too big - and he doesn't want to hurt you. The genuine concern on his face softens his rugged smooth features, making him look vulnerable and utterly irresistible. He captures your mouth again, pushing just the tip inside you. The sensation is foreign, intense, and undeniably arousing. You gasp softly against his lips.

“Wait…” you push his muscular chest to stop him. The small barrier of your hands against his powerful frame feels almost comical. 

The heat radiating from his body is overwhelming, and the throbbing pressure where he's joined you is making it difficult to think.

He pauses, holding his breath as he waits for you to speak. "What's wrong?" He asks softly, his arms tightening around you. He can feel how tight you are around just the tip, and he's worried it's going to hurt too much. His concern is palpable, a wave of tenderness washing over you.

You swallow and decide to be honest, "It's gonna bleed." The words hang in the air, heavy with the unspoken truth. You watch his expression carefully, bracing yourself for his reaction.

He freezes, his eyes widening slightly as he processes what you've said. "Are you—?" He starts, then stops, his voice barely a whisper. "Are you a virgin?" He asks gently, his brow furrowing with concern and something else—tenderness. The realization washes over him, transforming his gaze from one of pure lust to one of profound respect and awe.

“Yes..” you whisper. The admission feels strangely liberating. It's a vulnerability you've kept hidden for so long, a secret you're now entrusting to him.

Caleb's breath catches as he realizes the enormity of the moment. He leans his forehead against yours, his eyes soft with emotion. "Hey," he murmurs, "we don't have to do this right now. As much as I want you, I don't want it to hurt you." The sincerity in his voice is disarming. He's willing to sacrifice his own desire for your comfort, a testament to the depth of his feelings.

You shake your head. “No. I want you too. We can’t just…stop..” The words tumble out, fueled by a mixture of nerves and longing. 

You don't want to back down now. You've come too far, waited too long. The fear is still there, but it's overshadowed by the overwhelming desire to experience this with him.

He can see the determination in your eyes, mirroring his own desire. He kisses you gently, trying to prepare himself for the pain he knows you might feel. "Alright," he whispers against your lips, "but if it hurts too much, we stop, okay?" The promise is both reassuring and arousing. He's putting your needs first, but his own yearning is still evident in the intensity of his gaze.

You nod. The agreement seals the pact. You're ready.

With extreme care, he slowly pushes in further, feeling you tense around him. "Jesus," he hisses, "you're so tight. Relax, sweetheart." He keeps kissing you, trying to distract you from the invasion of his size. 

The pressure is building, a burning sensation that makes you want to both pull away and lean in closer. "Here comes the part that might sting..."

You tense. Every muscle in your body is coiled tight, bracing for the inevitable pain.

He pauses, giving you a moment to breathe. 

“Just a bit more," he murmurs, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. With infinite gentleness, he pushes forward, feeling the barrier give way. You inhale sharply, and he freezes, holding himself still inside you. "You okay?" His voice is laced with concern.

“It’s worse than my period,” you wheeze. 

The comparison is clumsy, but it's the closest analogy you can come up with in the moment.

His heart clenches at your words, knowing he's the cause of your pain. He stays perfectly still, letting you get used to his size and the discomfort. "Shh, baby," he whispers, peppering your face with soft kisses. "Just breathe through it." He's a fortress of strength and tenderness, holding you close and offering silent support.

You nod and breathe deeply. You focus on the rhythm of your breath, trying to find a center of calm amidst the storm of sensations.

After what feels like an eternity, he feels your body start to relax slightly. He takes this as his cue to begin moving slowly, careful not to cause you too much discomfort. "Tell me if it's too much," he pants, his forehead dripping with sweat from the effort of holding back. The vulnerability he shows in this moment, the raw emotion etched on his face, is more intoxicating than any physical sensation.

The sight of him struggling, fighting against the raw desire that threatened to consume him, ignited a spark within you. A mischievous glint entered your eyes, a silent dare. You wouldn't cower, wouldn't appear weak or intimidated. Instead, you dug your heels into his, a subtle yet deliberate act, pulling him closer, inch by tantalizing inch. The whisper that escaped your lips was a single word, a plea, a demand: "More."

That single syllable, laced with innocent longing and burgeoning desire, seemed to shatter the last vestiges of his restraint. His grip on your hips tightened, fingers digging possessively into the soft flesh. The controlled movements he had so painstakingly maintained became less precise, more urgent, fueled by a primal need. 

"Fuck," he growled, the sound raw and guttural, a stark contrast to the playful banter you usually shared. "You feel so good... better than I imagined." He paused, a flicker of hesitation crossing his face. "But baby, I'm really deep like this... too deep?"

A moan escaped your lips, your body humming with a newfound awareness. The sensation was overwhelming, a delicious ache that spread from your core to the tips of your fingers. In that moment, words seemed inadequate, clumsy tools to express the intensity of what you were feeling. All you could manage was a simple, almost childlike description: "Like stick."

The unexpected crudeness, delivered with your characteristic naiveté, drew a smile from him, a genuine curve of his lips that momentarily softened the intensity in his eyes. Even as he fought to control his own spiraling pleasure, he understood. He knew you wanted him buried deep inside you, wanted to feel the fullness of his presence. 

"Too stuck, you mean?" he asked, his voice a low rumble that vibrated against your skin. He began to move, slowly at first, thrusting his hips in a circular motion, deliberately pressing against your sensitive walls, eliciting a gasp of pleasure from you.

"No…" you choked out, a nervous laugh bubbling up from your chest. "You're so hard that it feels like I have a stick in my pussy." The words were clumsy, unrefined, yet perfectly captured the unfamiliar sensation that had taken hold of you.

His head snapped back, and a deep, unrestrained laugh erupted from his chest, a sound you had never heard before. It was a sexy, guttural sound that resonated through your body, sending shivers down your spine. 

Despite your innocence, your blunt phrasing had only served to harden him even more inside you. "Only you," he said, his voice thick with amusement and desire, "could make me laugh while I'm fucking you senseless..." He leaned down, pressing a series of slow, deliberate kisses along the sensitive curve of your neck, each touch sending sparks of pleasure through you.

A smile bloomed on your face, and a soft moan escaped your lips, a testament to the exquisite sensations flooding your senses.

He continued to move, his body finding a rhythm that seemed to please you both. His thrusts grew deeper, more assured, each one pushing you closer to the edge. "God, you're amazing," he murmured, his voice strained with effort. "Your pussy is so tight and wet... it's like a perfect glove." He leaned in, capturing your lips in a deep, passionate kiss, his tongue mimicking the motion of his hips, driving you wild.

"Mmm," you hummed, lost in the intoxicating sensation of his mouth on yours, his body pressed against yours.

Seeing you so consumed by pleasure emboldened him, and he quickened his pace slightly, his movements becoming more insistent. He could feel your body beginning to relax, opening up to him, surrendering to the raw, untamed desire that coursed through you both. "You like how I fill you up, don't you?" he whispered, his breath hot against your ear, sending shivers down your spine. "Is my big cock hitting that sweet spot?"

Your eyes rolled back in your head, caught off guard by the sudden shift in his voice. It was a voice you had never heard before, seductive and possessive. You had known him for years, talked to him countless times, but this voice, this side of him, was completely new.

He could see the surprise in your eyes, the flicker of recognition as his deep, husky voice washed over you. He knew this voice was reserved only for the intimacy of this moment, a secret language spoken only between lovers. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you even closer as he thrust deeper, pushing you closer to the edge of oblivion. "Look at me," he commanded, his voice laced with a hint of possessiveness.

You slowly obeyed, your eyelids fluttering open, revealing the hazy depths of your desire. You met his gaze, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

He held your gaze, his eyes burning with an intensity that made your heart pound in your chest. "That's it," he whispered, his voice thick with lust. "I love seeing you like this—flushed, breathless, and taking my cock so beautifully." He shifted his angle slightly, finding that elusive spot that made you gasp aloud, a strangled sound of pure pleasure.

"Caleb…" you moaned, his name a breathless plea on your lips. "Please!"

Hearing his name spoken with such raw desire seemed to snap something inside him. In that moment, you were no longer his innocent best friend, the girl he had protected and cherished for years. You were a woman, a sexy, wanton creature beneath him, begging for more. 

"Please what, baby?" he ground out, his hips bucking against yours, hitting that sweet spot again and again. "Do you want it harder?"

You bit your lip, a nervous habit that had always plagued you. Seeing that small, vulnerable gesture seemed to ignite a fire within him.

"...Fuck, don't bite that lip like that. Never hurt yourself," he growled, his voice laced with a protective ferocity. He caught your plump bottom lip between his own teeth, gently tugging before capturing your mouth in a deep, consuming kiss. Without warning, he abandoned all pretense of control and began pounding into you harder, each thrust precise and powerful, driving you closer to the brink. "That what you wanted?" he asked, his voice a low rumble against your lips, knowing full well that it was.

You whimpered, your head lolling down against his shoulder. "Like that. Yes…"

"Jesus Christ," he muttered, his control finally slipping away as your whimpers drove him wild. "You feel so damn good I could come already..." He pinned your hands above your head, changing the angle completely, granting him deeper access. His eyes darkened with unrestrained desire as he slammed into you, finding that perfect spot that sent shockwaves of pleasure through your body.

"Oh fuck, Caleb!" You screamed his name as you came, your body arching off the wall, exposing the delicate curve of your throat.

Seeing your neck bared and hearing his name spill from your lips in a scream of pure ecstasy made his body taut with anticipation. He plunged into you even harder, chasing your orgasm with his own. 

"Damn," he muttered, watching your body writhe beneath him, your muscles clenching and releasing in a symphony of pleasure. 

Your neck was arched back, your breasts thrust out, a vision of pure, unadulterated beauty.

Releasing your wrists, he used the advantage of your exposed neck, curling his hand around your throat, holding his fingers against your jaw.

"Fuck…."

He used his other hand to pull one of your legs over his shoulder, opening you up completely, granting him deeper access. He wrapped his fingers around your throat, his touch surprisingly gentle as he tilted your head back further, exposing you to his intense gaze. 

He continued to thrust into you brutally, each stroke a testament to his raw, untamed desire. "Look at me," he commanded, his voice hoarse with passion.

You sobbed as you looked at him, another orgasm building within you, threatening to overwhelm you completely.

Seeing the tears in your eyes, the raw vulnerability etched on your face, pushed him over the edge. He buried his face in your neck, inhaling your scent as he came with a guttural groan, his body convulsing with the force of his release. 

His hot, thick seed filled you up, throbbing inside you as his hips jerked erratically. 

"Fuck...fuck…fuck," he chanted, his fingers tightening slightly around your throat, a primal expression of possession.

As his breathing slowly returned to normal, he inhaled the familiar scent of apples, a fragrance he had come to associate with you, now mixed with the intoxicating aroma of sweat and mingled pleasure. It was a scent that suddenly felt incredibly intimate, comforting, and achingly familiar. 

He nuzzled his face into your neck, gently kissing away the beads of perspiration. 

"Baby... you're crying," he murmured, his voice laced with concern.

You choked out a teary laugh. "Yes."

He wiped the tears away with his thumb, his fingers loosening their hold on your throat. 

"Was it too much?" he asked softly, his purple eyes searching your tear-streaked face, seeking reassurance. He could feel you still trembling beneath him, your body wracked with aftershocks and lingering sobs.

You swallowed, trying to find the words to articulate the complex emotions swirling within you. "You're so intense…."

"Too intense?" he asked carefully, pulling back slightly, a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. His gaze dropped to your neck, and he saw the faint marks left by his fingers. He realized his handprint was slightly visible, a stark reminder of the intensity of their encounter. He also remembered your throaty screams, the way your legs had been wrapped tightly around his waist. 

"Answer me," he said hoarsely. "Truthfully."

"I mean…it surprised me…"

He nodded slowly, understanding your shock. "I know I got a bit... carried away," he admitted, his thumb gently rubbing the faint mark on your neck. "I didn't hurt you, did I?" 

His voice was laced with genuine concern, the intense lust from earlier replaced with a tenderness that made your heart flutter.

You shook your head, your eyes meeting his. "I loved it."

He lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. "You did?" he asks, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Because fuck, baby, you looked so beautiful like that... tears and all." He leans down and kisses you gently, his hand cupping your face. 

The shower roars around you, a steamy cocoon isolating you both from the world. The water sluices over your skin, washing away the remnants of your earlier despair, replaced now by a heady mix of fear and exhilaration.

“So you admit that you’re a sadist?” you laugh, the sound a little breathless, a little shaky. You try to inject some lightness into the moment, to diffuse the raw tension that crackles between you. But the words hang in the humid air, heavy with unspoken desires.

He chuckles, a deep, rumbling sound that vibrates through your chest, his fingers tightening around your face possessively. 

"Guilty as charged," he murmurs against your lips, his breath hot and moist against your skin. "You bring out the worst in me, you know that?" He pulls back slightly, his purple eyes glinting mischievously, reflecting the overhead light. “You like being manhandled?”

You blush, the heat rising in your cheeks, prickling your skin. "What kind of question is that?" you stammer, your mind struggling to keep up with the rapid-fire intensity of his words and actions. The way he looks at you, like you're the only thing in the universe, is both terrifying and intoxicating.

He smirks, clearly enjoying your reaction, the curve of his lips predatory and enticing. 

"It's a simple question, baby. Do you like it when I get rough with you?" He shifts slightly, making sure you can feel him, still hard and throbbing, deep inside you. 

"Because I can do it again if you want." The air crackles with unspoken promises, with the threat of exquisite pain and pleasure intertwined.

“Round two?” Your eyes widen, mirroring a mixture of disbelief and undeniable anticipation. The thought of surrendering to his dominance, of relinquishing control, both scares and excites you in equal measure.

"Or three," he says with a smirk, lifting his hips slightly to remind you of his persistent presence within you. "I can keep going all night, you know. And judging by how your pussy just tightened around me..." He runs his nose along yours teasingly, the scent of soap and arousal filling your senses. "You want more." He knows you. He sees through your carefully constructed facade of defiance straight to the yearning core of your desire.

“Shit…you little-“ you start to retort, but the words die in your throat, overwhelmed by the sheer force of his presence.

"Fucking genius?" He offers, interrupting you, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Yeah, I know." He captures your lips again, swallowing your curses as he starts moving his hips again, slowly, deliberately, drawing out the exquisite torment. "Now shut up and let me manhandle you some more," he growls against your lips, the possessive command igniting a fire deep within you.

You growl in his mouth, a primal sound of frustrated desire. You want to fight him, to resist, but your body betrays you, arching instinctively into his touch.

He grins, his teeth grazing your bottom lip, a delicious threat. "Like that?" he asks, his voice low and husky, vibrating with barely suppressed passion. "You're so fucking adorable when you're trying to be aggressive." He uses his gravity evol to lift you even higher up against the tiled wall, your legs wrapping around his waist, affording him even deeper access. 

By this point, you're both completely drenched under the relentless shower spray, the water plastering your hair to your face and tracing rivulets down your heated skin.

“Hey!” you exclaim, a weak protest.

He laughs, a deep rumbling sound that echoes in the small space. "You're adorable and you know it." He starts thrusting harder, his hips slapping against yours loudly, the rhythm primal and insistent. "Now be a good girl and hold on," he commands, his hands gripping your ass tightly as he fucks you hard against the wall, claiming you with every powerful stroke.

“Shit…shit…shit,” you curse and moan, the words a litany of surrender. You try to bite back the sounds escaping your lips, but the pleasure is too intense, the sensation of him filling you too overwhelming.

He swallows your cries with his mouth, one hand sliding up to cover your breast possessively, his thumb teasing your nipple. 

"Damn right," he hisses, watching your body bounce between the wall and his hips, his eyes dark and intense with lust. "Take my dick like a good girl," he growls out, his purple eyes darkening with desire.

You gasp, your muscles clenching involuntarily around him, a desperate plea for release.

He tosses his head back with a groan, feeling your walls tighten around his cock, the sensation almost unbearable. "Fuck, just like that," he praises breathlessly, squeezing your breast harder, eliciting another gasp from you. The steam from the shower fogs up the air around you, creating a hazy, sensual atmosphere, droplets of water mingling with your sweat, clinging to your skin like tiny jewels.

He leans in your ear, breathing heavily, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine. “You know what I would love to see?”

“What?” you manage to whisper, your voice hoarse with passion.

"My gun down your throat. The one you so desperately wanted to take," he whispers, the words a shocking contrast to the sensual intensity that had been building between you.

You choke, your muscles clenching again, this time not from pleasure, but from a sudden, sharp wave of fear and confusion. 

What the fuck? The abrupt shift in tone leaves you reeling, your mind struggling to reconcile the brutal image he paints with the raw intimacy you've been sharing.

He smiles at your reaction, a cruel, knowing curve of his lips, his hips slowing down as he continues speaking into your ear, his voice low and dangerous. "You tried to steal from me and now I want to see your mouth stuffed full of something I own." He bites your earlobe, his tongue piercing digging into your skin, a small stab of pain that sends a jolt through you.

“You wouldn’t…” you hiss, the words a mix of disbelief and challenge.

"Try me," he laughs darkly, the sound sending a shiver of apprehension down your spine. "I might actually enjoy watching you choke on my gun." He pulls back slightly to look at your face, his purple eyes serious, devoid of any trace of the playful amusement from before. "You have such a smart mouth. I bet it'd look perfect wrapped around my gun." He tightens his hips again slowly, deliberately, the movement both a punishment and a promise.

“You’re serious?” You are speechless, the air knocked out of your lungs.

As a hunter, you held a gun everyday but use it for pleasure like this? Was he insane? 

The thought is jarring, disturbing, completely at odds with your understanding of the world.

"Deadly serious," he states firmly, his gaze unwavering. "I own you now, remember? Your mouth is mine to use however I want." 

He leans back and uses his evol to grab the gun from the counter as it floated in his waiting hand, holding it up so you can see it. The metal glints menacingly under the shower spray, reflecting the sharp angles of his face. "Open up."

“Caleb…” you gasp, shocked, the name a plea, a desperate attempt to reach the man you thought you knew.

"Now," he orders, his voice firm and commanding, brooking no argument. He presses the cold metal against your bottom lip, silently urging you to open your mouth, the contact sending a shiver of revulsion and a strange, twisted kind of excitement through you. 

His eyes blaze with possessiveness and triumph as he looks at your shocked expression, the power he wields over you palpable. "Be a good girl and open your mouth for me," he demands softly, the words laced with a dangerous undertone.

You swallow hard, the lump in your throat making it difficult to breathe. Slowly, hesitantly, you open your mouth, a silent act of surrender.

He slides the gun into your mouth slowly, deliberately, his eyes never leaving yours, watching your reaction with an almost clinical detachment. "Good girl," he praises, his voice low and dangerous, sending a shiver down your spine. "Now suck it like you would my cock." He watches as you tentatively wrap your lips around the metal, your eyes wide with shock and arousal, the conflicting emotions warring within you.

You taste the cold metal, the lingering smell of gun powder filling your nostrils as you suck the barrel, a strange, forbidden pleasure tingling on your tongue.

He can feel your warm breath on the gun as you suck on it, his fingers tightening around the handle possessively, the weight of the weapon heavy in his hand. "Deeper," he growls, pushing the gun further into your mouth until it hits the back of your throat, making you gag slightly, the metallic taste intensifying.

You whimper, a small, involuntary sound of distress and submission.

The cool metal of the gun barrel presses against your lips, a stark contrast to the heat that’s been building between you and Caleb for what feels like an eternity. 

He pulls it out slowly, deliberately, the silver glinting in the dim bathroom light. A thin string of saliva stretches from your parted lips to the cold steel, a fragile connection in this moment of raw, untamed desire.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice a low, husky rumble that sends shivers down your spine. His eyes, usually a vibrant, playful purple, are now dark pools of lust, focused solely on you, on the way your body reacts to his every move. He slides the gun back in, a slow, agonizing tease that makes your breath catch in your throat. Each inch is a deliberate act, mimicking the possessive thrusts of his hips from just moments before, etching the memory of his forceful claim onto your very being.

The sensation is shocking, forbidden, and undeniably arousing. You try to fight it, to pull away, but his grip is firm, his control absolute. He dictates the pace, the depth, the intensity of this bizarre, sensual dance. 

Your head spins, the world tilting on its axis as the pleasure and the danger intertwine, creating a potent cocktail that threatens to overwhelm your senses.

Soon, your eyes roll back in your head, the fight draining out of you as you surrender to the intoxicating wave of sensation. You’re lost in the moment, the boundaries between right and wrong blurring beyond recognition.

“Mmh,” he hums, watching your body go lax, your mouth open and accepting around the gun. A possessive triumph flickers in his eyes, a primal satisfaction at your complete submission. “You like getting mouth-fucked by my gun?” he growls softly, his voice rough with barely contained desire. 

He pushes it deeper again, hitting your throat harder this time, a deliberate act that makes you gag slightly, but the discomfort only adds to the intensity of the experience. The sound of wet, sloppy sucking fills the small bathroom, amplifying the intimacy, the transgression.

You can’t help it. You moan, a low, guttural sound that escapes from the back of your throat, a testament to the pleasure he’s inflicting, to the control he wields.

He feels your moan vibrate around the gun, the sound resonating through his body, igniting a fire that threatens to consume him. 

“Fuck,” he groans, the sound ripped from his chest, raw and desperate. He pulls the gun out and sets it aside on the shower bench, the sound of metal against tile echoing in the sudden silence. 

His other hand, calloused and strong, grips your throat tightly, not painfully, but firmly, possessively, reminding you who’s in charge. He slams his mouth against yours, kissing you roughly, desperately, his tongue invading your mouth in a blatant act of ownership. “You’re mine,” he hisses against your lips, his breath hot and ragged against your skin.

You sob, a small, involuntary sound of surrender, as the overwhelming rush of sensation finally breaks you. You come, hard and fast, the orgasm tearing through you with a force that leaves you shaking, gasping for breath. Harder than before, more intense, more complete.

He swallows your cries, muffling the sounds of your climax, claiming them as his own. 

Your body convulses, your nails digging into his back as you cling to him, the only anchor in this sea of overwhelming sensation. He feels your release cover his thighs again, hot and slick against his skin, his eyes darkening with a mixture of possessiveness and raw, primal hunger. 

He lifts you up suddenly, wrapping your legs around his waist again, your bodies molding together as one. He pulls out and enters you roughly, a forceful invasion that makes you scream loudly, the sound echoing off the tiled walls.

His fingers dig into your bottom, gripping you tightly as he lifts you up and down on his length, fucking you hard and fast against the shower wall. The sound of slapping skin mingles with your screams, creating a cacophony of pleasure and pain, of dominance and surrender. His eyes, burning with possessiveness and hunger, seem to pierce through you, stripping you bare, exposing your innermost desires. “Who owns this pussy?”

You sob, the words torn from your throat, a desperate plea for release, for validation. “You, Caleb. You.”

He slams into you harder, deeper, rewarding your submission with a low groan that vibrates against your skin. “Goddamn right I do,” he growls, biting your neck possessively, leaving a trail of burning kisses in his wake. 

His hips piston relentlessly, driving you closer and closer to the edge. The shower wall steams up around you both, droplets of water mingling with your sweat and his saliva, marking your skin with the evidence of his claim.

You can’t hold out, the next orgasm building inside you, a tidal wave of sensation threatening to engulf you.

As if sensing your approaching climax, he reaches down and presses his thumb against your clit, circling it mercilessly, increasing the pressure, pushing you closer to the breaking point. “Come for me again, princess,” he demands harshly, his voice rough and possessive. “Show me who this pussy belongs to.”

The sweet pet name, spoken in this moment of intense passion, is a final surrender, a complete and utter relinquishing of control. It makes you come again, almost absurdly, the force of the orgasm even more intense than before.

He groans deeply as he feels your pussy clench around him, milking his cock with each pulse of your orgasm. “Fucking hell,” he growls, his hips moving faster and more erratically, his control slipping as he teeters on the edge of his own release. “That’s it, princess. Come all over my cock.”

“Caleb!”

He hilts himself inside you with a final, brutal thrust, biting down on your shoulder to stifle his own cries as his orgasm crashes through him, a cataclysmic explosion of sensation. 

“Mine,” he snarls possessively, flooding your pussy with his hot, thick release. His cock twitches inside you, prolonging your shared climax, holding you captive in this moment of pure, unadulterated bliss.

“Holy shit!” You wheeze, gasping for breath as the last tremors of your orgasm subside.

Panting heavily, Caleb leans his forehead against yours, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. “Holy shit is right,” he chuckles weakly, his cock still buried deep inside you, a tangible reminder of the connection you share. He squeezes your ass playfully, his earlier intensity melting into post-coital affection. “You alright there, princess?”

You are left panting, your mind still reeling from the intensity of what just happened, struggling to process the sheer force of his dominance, the depths of your own surrender.

He can see the dazed expression in your eyes, a testament to the power of the encounter. He nuzzles his face against yours, inhaling your scent deeply, savoring the taste of your skin. “Baby, you okay?” he asks softly, his fingers splaying out on your backside possessively, assuring himself that you’re still there, still his.

You nod weakly, your body still trembling from the aftershocks of your orgasms. “I think I broke my sweet Caleb.”

He lets out a low, satisfied laugh, his body still entwined with yours, his cock throbbing inside you. “You didn’t break me, princess. But damn, you wore me out.” He gently kisses your lips, his hands moving to support your weight as he slowly lowers you down, his cock finally slipping out of you, leaving you feeling vulnerable and exposed.

“Oh god…” you gasp and wobble, feeling his cum leaking out of you, a visible reminder of his possession.

Seeing the look on your face, a mixture of shock and arousal, he grins mischievously. 

He reaches down and scoops some of his semen off your inner thighs, bringing his fingers up to your mouth. “Open up, princess,” he commands softly, his eyes locked with yours, daring you to resist. “Taste what you do to me.”

You don’t glare this time, the fight gone out of you, replaced by a strange mixture of exhaustion and a lingering desire. You melt and open your mouth, too weak to fight or argue, surrendering once again to his will.

He gently pushes his fingers between your lips, letting you taste his salty, musky release. “Good girl,” he murmurs, his thumb tracing your bottom lip as he pulls his fingers out, leaving a glistening sheen on your skin. He helps you steady yourself against the shower wall, his hands roaming possessively over your curves, claiming you as his own.

“I can’t believe you fucked my mouth with your gun.”

He chuckles darkly, turning off the shower and wrapping you in a plush towel, his movements gentle despite the raw intensity of the encounter you just shared. “I can’t believe you let me,” he retorts, his voice still laced with amusement and satisfaction. He picks you up bridal style, carrying you out of the bathroom and into his bedroom, his eyes never leaving yours.

“You were forcing me, you know?” You hiss, trying to regain some semblance of control, to remind him that there are boundaries, even between you.

He lays you down on the bed, a smirk tugging at his lips as he towels you off more aggressively than necessary, his eyes burning with a possessive fire. “Forcing you? Baby, you sucked that gun like it was your favorite fucking lollipop.” He leans in close, his voice low and teasing, his breath ghosting against your skin.

You swallow, not knowing what to say, caught between outrage and a shameful surge of arousal.

He notices your reaction, the flicker of desire in your eyes, and his smirk grows wider. “Did you like it that much?” he asks, his eyes shining with curiosity and something darker, something that both excites and terrifies you. Before you can respond, he gently spreads your legs and crawls between them, his face hovering just above your pussy, his breath hot against your most sensitive flesh. “Let’s find out.”

“How?” You breathe.

He inhales deeply, his eyes fluttering closed as he savors your scent. When he opens them, they lock onto yours with an intent gaze. Slowly, deliberately, he leans down and presses his mouth to your pussy, parting your lips with his tongue and dragging it through your folds.

“Oh shit!” The words are a ragged expulsion of air, a surrender to the intense sensations that are already threatening to overwhelm you.

He grins against you, the vibrations sending a shock of pleasure through you. “That good, huh?” He does it again, this time flicking his tongue over your clit, watching your face contort with pleasure. His hands grip your thighs, holding you open and exposing you fully to his mouth.

“Caleb…” Your voice is a dazed whisper, barely audible above the roaring in your ears. Your eyes, wide and unfocused, lock on his. You search for something, anything, in his gaze – a hint of mercy, perhaps, or maybe just a sign that he’s feeling this as intensely as you are.

"What baby? Want me to stop?" His voice is a rough whisper against your wetness, knowing full well that you don't want him to stop. He circles your clit with his tongue again, maintaining eye contact as he does so. "Does my tongue feel good right here?"

You moan, a low, guttural sound that comes from the depths of your soul. Your hands, trembling, reach up to grip his hair, your fingers tangling in the dark strands, pulling him closer. “Caleb…fuck…”

He chuckles darkly, the vibrations against your sensitive nub making your hips buck up. He sucks your clit into his mouth, applying gentle pressure as he flicks his tongue back and forth. His fingers dig into your thighs, spreading you even wider as he devours you hungrily.

Your eyes roll back in your head, your vision blurring at the edges. You feel yourself losing control, spiraling down into a vortex of pure sensation.

"Fucking hell, you taste amazing," Caleb growls, releasing your clit momentarily. He dives back in, this time plunging his tongue deep inside your pussy, mimicking the motion of a cock. He curls it upwards, seeking that special spot to make you see stars.

You come without warning, a sudden, overwhelming surge of pleasure that shatters your control completely.

You scream out loud as a intense orgasm rips through your body, making your legs shake uncontrollably. Caleb holds onto your hips, keeping you place as he continues to lick and suck on your pussy, prolonging your climax. Your eyes flutter open, finding his intense gaze locked onto yours.

"I love watching you fall apart on my tongue," Caleb says roughly, giving your clit one last lick before standing up and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His pupils are dilated with desire, his breathing heavy.

You lick your lips, still tasting him on them, and your gaze lowers to his body. He is very much naked after the shower you just had, his skin flushed and damp, his muscles tense with barely suppressed energy.

Caleb follows your gaze and smirks, his hand reaching down to wrap around his thick, hard cock. He gives it a slow, languid stroke, his thumb swirling over the sensitive head. "You want this, don't you?" he asks, his voice a deep, seductive rumble.

You whimper, a small, involuntary sound of need that betrays your every thought. You lay in the bed, still with your legs spread and boneless, completely at his mercy.

He watches you, his eyes darkening. The way your legs are spread, the way your body is boneless and sated - it makes his blood boil, fuels the possessive hunger that claws at his insides. He wraps his hand tighter around his length, pumping slowly. "You look like you've been properly fucked," he comments softly, almost to himself, voice laced with dark satisfaction.

You choke a laugh, a weak, breathless sound that still manages to convey a hint of playful defiance. “And who was the one who did that?”

He groans, his eyes fluttering closed briefly as he continues to slow jerk himself off. You’re teasing him, laughing softly even though you’re clearly wrecked from their fucking. "Shut up," he mutters, his voice strained.

You find yourself watching. Each stroke is deliberate, a slow, sensual dance of hand against flesh. You see the flexing of his muscles, the tightening of his jaw, and the way his breath hitches with each movement. It's a raw, uninhibited display, and you find yourself captivated by the sheer intensity of it.

He opens his eyes, finding you watching him with heavy-lidded eyes. The way you're looking at him, like you're enjoying the show - fuck, it's hot. He picks up the pace, his hand moving faster over his length. "You like watching me touch myself?" he asks roughly.

You swallow, the word catching in your throat. "Yes," you whisper, the admission a release, a surrender to the moment.

A low groan escapes his lips as he hears your admission. He strokes himself faster, his grip tightening. "Do you want to watch me come?" he asks, his voice strained with desire. "Or do you want something else?" He looks at you, his eyes filled with lust and a hint of challenge.

"More..." you breathe, the word a plea, a promise.

His breathing grows heavier as he continues to stroke himself, his free hand balling into a fist at his side. "More what?" he growls, his eyes locked onto yours. "You want me to do something else?" He swirls his thumb over the sensitive head, his hand pausing briefly.

A moan escapes your lips, involuntary, a testament to the power he holds over you. You nod, unable to speak, your body trembling with need.

A smirk plays at the corners of his mouth, a predatory curve that sends a thrill of excitement through you. He releases his length, leaving it throbbing, glistening, a beacon of raw desire. He comes closer to the bed, stopping at the edge,” Come here, baby.”

You obey, your body moving without conscious thought. You close your legs, knees digging into the mattress, and crawl towards him, drawn by an irresistible force.

As you crawl closer, Caleb reaches out, his large hands grasping your wrists gently. He pulls you the last bit, until you're kneeling right before him. His cock juts out, a pulsing testament to his desire, inches from your face. “I think you want a taste," he murmurs, stroking his shaft slowly.

You lick your lips, the anticipation building to a fever pitch. You nod, looking up at him with a mixture of lust and adoration. He's offering you a gift, a privilege, and you're ready to receive it.

Caleb's breath hitches as he watches you lick your lips. He guides his thick head to your mouth, painting your lips with his pre-cum. "Open up for me, sweetheart," he orders softly, his voice thick with desire. He wants to feel your warm, wet mouth enveloping him, to lose himself in the sensation of your touch.

You open your lips, a silent invitation, and he doesn't hesitate.

"Fuck," he whispers, the word an expletive and a prayer as you take him in. He pushes himself deeper inch by inch until he hits the back of your throat. Your gag reflex tries to kick in, but he keeps a firm but gentle grasp on the back of your head, holding you steady. "You're such a good girl," he murmurs, his voice laced with praise, the words a reward for your devotion.

Your eyes roll back in your head, lost in the sensation, the praise igniting a fire within you. You want to please him, to give him everything he desires.

Seeing your reaction, Caleb groans deeply, his hips beginning to move slowly. "That's it, baby. Take my cock so well," he praises, his voice husky with lust. He gently thrusts deeper, giving you time to adjust to his size, to the overwhelming sensation of his presence.

You moan, a muffled sound against his flesh, and almost choke, tears welling up in your eyes. You struggle to breathe, forcing air through your nose, trying to maintain control, to continue pleasing him.

Caleb's grip on your head tightens slightly, but he remains gentle, feeling your struggle. "Shh, baby, take a breath," he coos softly, slowly pulling back to give you a moment of respite. He watches as you gasp for air, tears streaming down your cheeks, your face flushed and contorted with effort,” Look at me.” he whispers.

You look up at him, your eyes pleading, vulnerable.

His heart melts at the sight of you looking up at him with those tear-stained cheeks. His pace remains slow and rhythmic, careful not to hurt you. Not this time. "You look so fucking beautiful with my cock in your mouth," he whispers, wiping away a tear with his thumb.

You whimper, a small, involuntary sound of pleasure, loving that he's so tender with you, so aware of your limits.

"My sweet girl..." he breathes out, continuing those careful thrusts. One hand stays on your head while the other gently strokes your cheek, offering comfort and reassurance. “You're doing so good, taking me so deep..." He watches you struggle, feeling both guilt and intense pleasure knowing it's him causing those sweet tears, that look of blissful torment on your face.

You try to open your mouth wider for him, a silent offering, a desperate attempt to give him everything he wants.

"God, yes... just like that," he encourages, his voice growing thicker as he feels himself nearing his limit. "Your mouth is heaven, sweetheart. So warm, so tight... I'm so fucking close." He bites his lip, trying to hold back, wanting to prolong this moment.

You moan around him, a garbled sound of pleasure and desperation, reaching up to cup his balls, your fingers gently stroking, teasing, adding fuel to the fire.

"Jesus fucking Christ," he curses under his breath, a tremor running through his powerful thighs, the muscles bunching and releasing under your touch. "Stop, stop," he warns you gently, the words a breathy plea, yet his hands, those strong hands that could crush bone stay firmly on your head, contradictory to his words. "You'll make me come if you keep doing that..." His breathing grows raspier.

You ignored him, or perhaps, he knew you would. The thrill of control, of pushing him closer and closer to the brink, was a heady aphrodisiac. Deeper, faster, you swallowed, your hand a firm, possessive grip on his heavy sac, the weight of his impending release heavy in your palm.

"Holy shit," he mutters, hips jerking forward slightly. He's trying hard not to face-fuck you, his self-control surprisingly good. "Your mouth..." He swallows hard, watching you take him deep. "Your hand..." He tenses again as you gently massage his balls.

You broke the rhythm, just for a moment, lifting your head, your gaze locking with his. The moan that escaped your lips was a primal sound, born of pure, unadulterated lust.

His face contorts with pleasure when you look up at him, your usual innocent eyes were filled with desire and hunger, and he finally loses control. "Fuck, I'm coming," he grits out, hands gripping your head tightly as he begins to pump his hips, face screwed up in ecstasy.

Your eyes roll back, the world fading away as the first taste of his release flooded your mouth. He was fire, molten and consuming, and you welcomed the burn.

He lets out a guttural groan as he releases into your mouth, his hot seed spilling out as you swallow around him. He holds you there, not allowing you to pull back as he continues to shudder and come, his body trembling above you. "Damn..." The word was a ragged whisper, a testament to the intensity of what had just transpired.

Seeing him undone, vulnerable, weak in the aftermath of his climax, fueled a deep, primal satisfaction within you. He was a god brought to his knees, and you were the force that had felled him.

Caleb's knees nearly buckle as the last waves of his orgasm course through him. Slowly, he pulls back, his cock slipping from your lips with a soft pop. He stares down at you, chest heaving, a look of stunned awe on his flushed face. "Holy shit," he repeated, the words a hushed prayer.

You swallowed, relishing the lingering taste of him, and licked the last remnants from your lips. The act was deliberately provocative, a silent dare. Your voice was hoarse, raw from the intensity of the moment. "How was that? Better than when you made me choke on your gun?" You grinned, a flash of teeth in the dim light, the question laced with a playful defiance.

A low chuckle rumbles in Caleb's chest as he listens to your hoarse voice and teasing words. His eyes light up with amusement and something darker, more primal. He reaches down, gently lifting your chin with his thumb and index finger. "Mmm, definitely better." He murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction.

Your grin widened, emboldened by his response.

Caleb's gaze drops to your lips, still glistening with his release. Without a word, he leans down, capturing your mouth in a searing kiss. His tongue delves in, tasting himself on your lips and tongue. He pulls back after a moment, breathing heavily.

The words, the ones you had choked back in the shower, the ones that had been burning in your throat, finally escaped. "I love you..." The declaration hung in the air, fragile and vulnerable.

His heart skips a beat, emotions playing across his features - surprise, fear, love. "Fuck... don't you dare say things like that," he whispers, but there's no venom in his tone. Instead, he pulls you closer, forehead resting against yours, the contact grounding him.

You giggled, the sound light and airy in the otherwise heavy atmosphere. "Well... you told me to take my time."

A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips, crinkling the skin around his eyes. "You did take your time," he admitted, his voice softer now. He sat back against the headboard, pulling you into his lap, his arms wrapping tightly around you, holding you close. "Too much time." He paused, his heart pounding in his chest, a frantic drumbeat against your back.

You snuggled into his neck, inhaling his scent, the familiar aroma a comfort and a challenge. "You love me, so it's only right to love you back."

Caleb's arms tighten around you, his breath hitching slightly at your words. He presses a soft kiss to your temple, his voice barely above a whisper. "You know I do. More than anything." He pauses, his fingers gently tracing patterns on your back, a silent language of affection.

"Mmm," you murmured, content in his embrace.

Caleb tilts his head, watching your smiling face intently. A playful smirk tugs at his lips as he squeezes you gently in his lap. "Was that an'mmm' of agreement or an'mmm' of trouble?" His eyebrow arches teasingly, clear amusement sparkling in his eyes.

You rested your forehead against his, peering up at him through your lashes. "Definitely agreement."

A warmth spreads across his face at your answer, his eyes softening as they lock onto yours. His hand moves to gently rest on your cheek, thumb stroking across your skin. "Smartass," he whispers, but the word comes out fondly.

You nuzzled his hand, pressing a kiss into his palm. You had missed this, these quiet, tender moments, the feeling of being safe and cherished in his arms.

He watches you nuzzle into his palm, his expression unguarded. His other hand comes up to cup your jaw possessively. "God, you're like a damn cat," he murmurs, his voice lower, almost tender again. He missed these small, unguarded moments with you too, the feeling of your warmth against him, the trust that flowed between you.

You giggled, the sound fading into silence as you settled back into his embrace. "What now?" The question hung in the air, a hesitant inquiry about the future, about where this fragile connection would lead.

Caleb's thumb continues to stroke your cheek, his eyes searching yours. "What do you want to do now?" he asks softly, giving you a small smile. He shifts slightly, making sure you're comfortable in his lap. "We could just stay like this for a while, or... we could talk."

"Or...you can bring me some snacks?" You countered, the playful request a deliberate attempt to lighten the mood, to avoid the weight of serious conversation.

Chuckles softly, the vibrations rumbling against your back. "Always so demanding, aren't you?" He kisses your shoulder gently before setting you back on the bed. "Fine, I'll get you some snacks. But only if you promise to stay right there and look pretty for me."

“How pretty?” You teased, batting your eyelashes as you watched him pull his boxers on.

Rolling his eyes playfully, Caleb ran a deliberately slow, appreciative gaze over you, from head to toe, lingering on the curve of your breasts, the swell of your hips.

"Prettier than a sunrise, dummy. Now sit tight before you ruin my carpet with your gorgeous self sprawled out naked."

You laughed, a genuine, uninhibited sound that filled the room. "You think I would lay on the carpet?"

"With your lazy ass?" He teases, shaking his head as he turns towards the kitchen. "Knowing you, you'd probably decide the carpet is more comfortable than this king-sized bed." His voice carries a warm, affectionate tone that betrays his playful joking.

"Bring my favorite! Apple flavored!" You called out after him, the request laced with a sweet anticipation.

His low chuckle was the only response, a soft rumble that faded as he disappeared into the kitchen, leaving you alone with the lingering scent of sex and the quiet hum of contentment.

taglist : @mcdepressed290

[bunnis-monsters]

Tall, beyond mortal comprehension, and handsome?

Male!Tentacle Monster x Fem!Reader

Bunni’s Monstertober Event

Oct 7th

Oct 6th

Oct 8th

A/N: sorry for the late entry, I was exhausted lately!! You’ll get two posts today in exchange ><

warnings: breeding, oviposition, egg laying

summary: When you want more intimacy while being bred, your tentacle monster sugar daddy is happy to help!

You’d been working as a human surrogate for a tentacle monster for nearly a year now. Every month you’d come by and let the tentacles have their way with you for a few hours, and walk away a few thousand dollars richer.

Getting used to having a distended, pregnant belly every day was definitely something you had to get used to, but you really didn’t mind. You were paid well, but part of you yearned for something more.

Maybe you were just too spoiled… you wanted to be held and kissed and embraced while tentacles ravaged your body. Was that too much to ask for?

So when you went back the next month for another batch, the tentacle creature seemed to notice that your mood was… different.

There was already a tentacle pumping in and out of your fat cunt, another set using their suckers to latch onto your perky nipples…

But soon the tentacles slowed, one reaching out to caress your cheek.

‘You’re upset.’

The creature didn’t have a mouth, so it spoke directly into your mind as per usual.

‘Is something wrong?’

You pouted, letting out a soft whine as the tentacle in your cunt slowly slid out. “… it’s just…”

You rested your chubby cheek against one of the large, soft tentacles keeping you in the air. “It would be nice if I could put a face to the creature stuffing me full of eggs every month… maybe get some kisses and have some intimacy too…”

The tentacles began to shift, and before your very eyes the form of a… very cute boy with green skin and dark eyes appeared before you. His cheeks were flushed and his cock was hard… it seemed he didn’t expose his true self very often.

“If that will make you feel better… I heard females can be impregnated with more success when they orgasm…”

The tentacles pulled you closer, and his lips met yours. His arms wrapped around your waist, feeling around your body with a curios and eager touch. It was clear he didn’t get to really enjoy the touch of a woman much.

“You’re so soft…” he murmured, kissing down your neck as you bounced on his cock and took a tentacle down your throat. “I think we should do this more often…”

You left that night more swollen with eggs than ever, and a fat tip in your account the next morning.

Want more? You get the drill, send me a Kofi and ask for it!

———————

NSFW TAGLIST: @sunset-214 @strawberrypoundtown @avalordream @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @unforgettablewhvre @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @murder-hobo @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @spicyspicyliving @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @honey-crypt @karljra @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @binnieonabike @enchantedsylveon @mysticranger575 @readeryn68 @danielle143 @kittenlover614 @filthybunny420 @annavittoria-mm @makimamybelovedwife @blubearxy @omglovelylaila @toocollectionchaos-universe-blog @fruk-you-usuk-fans @wil10wthetree @hammerhead96-blog @slightlyusedfloormat