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weyheyjxlya · 3 months ago

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💭 thinking about . . . . accidental pregnancy with caleb

tw. colonel caleb x fem!reader, suggestive content, angst, accidental pregnancy, a character study on what caleb would do when we get pregnant including his choices and how he navigates the threat of ever, mentions of abortion, wife-basement(ing), possessive caleb, mentions of violence, 3.2k+ words

It shouldn’t have happened. It was a mistake.

But, Caleb can hardly fault you.

As he stares at the tracker on his phone, seeing your missed period, he wonders what’s going on in that stubborn mind of yours.

And, why haven't you reached out to him yet with the news.

In times like these, he wishes he wasn’t separated from you by the sky; that he was on the ground to bring you into his arms, hold you tight and ease some of his anxiety. As he switches off the dim screen, he massages the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger.

There’s only one thing left for him to do, and it’s not a pretty decision.

Resolutely, he books his next trip to Linkon, and this time, he’s not leaving until he makes sure you’ll be with him—forever.

The whole apartment is quiet as you stare down at the mess of contents in the toilet bowl.

Images, like flickering mirages, flit through your mind.

Caleb’s body over yours, the warmth pressing you down into the mattress. The feeling of being completely and utterly possessed by him in the heat of the moment. Kind, purple eyes flashing with unending adoration for you as he held you in the afterglow. The last goodbye was over a month ago when he left you to settle some urgent Fleet business, and you’ve missed him ever since.

Sighing softly, you flush the toilet and stand, feeling the edge of nausea digging right into your consciousness as you stumble back into your bedroom. With a groan, you flop onto the bed, tucking a small pillow right to your belly, holding onto it and pretending that it’s Caleb instead. You frown and resist the urge to call him. Outside, the birds are chirping and a spring breeze blows past the wispy curtains, ruffling your hair. It’s calming, and makes you doze off, the weight of this secret holding you down in fatigue till you don’t notice the bed dipping beside you and fingers in your hair.

When your eyes flutter open, you’re met with pensive purple ones—instantly snapping you awake.

“Caleb—!”

He wraps his arms around you, and presses a soft kiss to the top of your head. “Pipsqueak. I’m home.”

Blearily, you rub your eyes and stifle a yawn. “W-when did you get back?”

“An hour ago.” He frowns. “You forgot to latch your door. Again. Someone might come in and it wouldn’t be pretty.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. “I’m not a kid anymore, Caleb. I can handle myself,” you fake a bright smile. “Besides, if anyone dares to break into a Hunter’s home, they can catch my guns!”

“You say that, but give it a few more months and that big ol’ belly will be in the way of you landing a good punch.”

The air leaves your lungs.

Silence weaves in thick, cold currents, and you don’t know where to look—how to respond to his astute observation. It hits you then: of course, Caleb would know. He knows everything about you. The ins and the outs. What you love, hate, like, adore. He’s a walking encyclopedia of knowledge about you, and did you think you could hide something this momentous from him?

His palm, large and warm, creeps towards your belly. There’s a hitch in his breath—half pain, half wonder.

“... how long have you been keeping this under wraps, baby?”

Hearing your favorite nickname fall from his lips in such a tender cadence springs tears into your eyes. For days you wrestled with the conundrum of reaching out to him or staying mute. The tender breasts, aching belly, sleepless nights. You would endure it all if it meant not letting Caleb worry. He already had too much on his plate—he didn’t need another battle to fight because of you.

“A…” you trail off, heaving in a deep sigh. “A few days…”

Caleb makes the same consternated sound again. “Baby, you know I would’ve immediately come to you if I knew.”

You swallow and stare down at your pink, floral sheets. “I—I didn’t know how to approach this… how you would react—”

He senses the impending sorrow lining your throat and eyes, and pulls you firmly against his chest. “Hey, hey. Don’t cry… I’m not gonna leave you like this, baby. You know me. Through thick and thin, right? I’m here for you.”

Caleb smoothes his hand down your hair, patting your head and back gently. Despite the confidence he displays, he can’t help the shard of worry piercing his chest. It elevates his heartbeat, and he has to take a few, deep steady breaths to keep his neurons stable.

The whole ballgame has changed. This doesn’t just concern him and you anymore, but another soul—one he can’t bear to put in harm's way because of his unfortunate circumstances.

His heart is heavy, and the words feel like lead in his mouth, but he has to ask you this. Ask you for a possibility to protect yourself first.

“Do you… want it?”

The elephant in the room lays as a speck deep in your body. You awkwardly press your hand to your belly and lower your gaze, conflict brewing like heavy tar in your chest.

“I… I don’t know—”

He seizes on this opportunity to change your mind. “Pipsqueak… you know I love you, right?”

You nod. He presses on. “And, you know I want the best for you, right?”

Again, you nod.

“What do you think… about… scheduling an appointment to remove it?”

Your heart stops beating in your chest. A breath, shaky and vulnerable, trembles from your lips and you look up at him as if he’s gone mad.

“What? Wh-why would you say that?”

It’s like a flip has been switched. Caleb’s no longer the loving, understanding man who swept in to save you at the last moment.

His eyes are hard. Unyielding.

“Pipsqueak, you don’t get it, do you?” He grabs your wrist, and you fight back to no avail. Frustration seeps into his tone, and he shakes you slightly like you’re an errant, nonsensical child.

“This isn’t just me and you anymore. We have a baby—an innocent soul to protect. We can’t—” Swallowing hard, he shakes his head, as if to dislodge a dangerous thought. “I can’t protect the two of you at once.”

The silence after his admission rings loudly, and he sucks in a ragged breath.

“Please,” he tries to reason with you, those purple eyes practically dilating with fear. “Please, Pipsqueak. I’ve never asked you for something before—you know me. But, I can’t—” he falters, “—I can’t lose you if I’m not too careful. I already have an entire organization on my ass and—”

It’s like he can’t physically force the words to come out of him. Like he can’t admit his weaknesses.

Caleb’s lower lip trembles and he clenches his jaw, trying to control his surging emotions. He tries again, this time in a steadier voice. “I can’t lose you. I can’t. Don’t make me—don’t make me choose between you or this baby. I will always choose you.”

You have no idea whether it’s the hormones or the sheer horror of this lose-lose situation that gets to you. Tears sting your eyes, and you have to look away from him, feeling sick to your gut.

The truth is, while weren’t exactly the most spiritual or motherly person around, something about the arrival of this baby—on the cusp of spring, no less—makes you believe this little miracle was meant to come into your life.

How could Caleb want to take that away?

Before you can think it through, you shake your head. No, your tears and stubborn set of your pout tells him without words. No—I want this baby.

His eyes harden. The grip on your wrist tightens. “Love, please,” he almost hisses, brows knitted together, mouth twisting into the shadow of a snarl. “Listen to me—you’re thinking with your heart and not your head—”

“No!” You yell, yanking your hand away from his grasp. Rubbing the contused flesh, fresh tears spring down your cheeks, further exacerbating his guilt.

He can’t take the sight of you crying and stands up from the bed, pacing the room. You’ve never seen Caleb look this stressed out in your life, not even when he almost flunk his basketball tryouts because of a food poisoning mishap. While you rub your eyes, he’s running a hand through his dark locks, pinching his temples and shooting his gaze skyward as if some higher being would help him out.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity in this stalemate, he relents.

“Love…” He sits on the edge of the bed, and you don’t fight him when he takes your hand. His expression is weary, speaking volumes of this difficult position you’ve put him in. But, you can’t be the one to compromise this time—not on something this big.

Irrational as it is, you want this baby. You want this proof of love that is a piece of you and Caleb.

And, you want it with him.

Intertwining your fingers together, he squeezes your palm and sighs heavily. “If we are to do this, I have a few rules you need to follow—ah bub bub bub. Let me finish.” Grabbing your chin and tipping your head up so you can face him, Caleb’s expression is stern, brokering no room for protests.

“Linkon isn’t safe—whatever forces that want me in Skyhaven also have their sticky hands here,” he tightens his grip. “The safest place you have is with me, princess. Always by my side. Do you understand me? Nod if you do.”

Slowly, you bob your head once.

“Good,” the look in his purple irises is devastating—a man on the verge of risking everything he loves.

“Do you want to hear the rules now?”

His voice is low. Gravelly.

Fear, pure and unadulterated, floods through you as you have no choice but to nod again.

He takes a deep breath, and the two of you stand at a precipice of the biggest leap of faith in your lives. There’s no turning back now; not when you’ve made this choice.

The rules are as such—

You wake up in the middle of a large, king-sized bed to the slow rise of an artificial dawn.

The room’s modulated temperature begins to warm, and your Circadian rhythm kickstarts along with the preset smart lights and thermostat modes. Recycled air flows through the basement’s vents, and you sit up, already feeling the first stirrings of nausea encroaching your consciousness.

You grumble and turn to the side, finding his blanket folded neatly, not a trace of Caleb to be found besides your aching body and the slight mess still staining the sheets from last night’s activities. You wrinkle your nose and lug yourself up heavily, stripping the duvet and ambling over to the washing machine, stuffing it full with the floral linen he had let you choose for this studio apartment.

If you forget about the fact that you’re currently housed in a bunker beneath his Skyhaven home that’s fortified with passcodes, equipped with CCTVs and only accessible to him, you would think the way he modeled it to look exactly like your dream apartment would be sweet.

Sighing, your hand drifts over to your belly, feeling the smooth, slightly misshapen dome dimpling under your touch.

Through layers of skin, sinew, muscle and fat, lies a little boy you can’t wait to meet in a few months time—Caleb’s son, snugly protected and still asleep, judging by the lack of kicks.

A sudden beep stirs you from your thoughts, and you turn to find the doors whirring open.

Speak of the man himself, and he shall appear. Caleb shoots you a warm smile, his arms heavy with bags of groceries. A layer of drizzle clings to the ends of his hair, and he shakes his head slightly, dislodging the dew drops. Without thinking, you step forward, and smooth your thumb over the raindrop right under his eye.

The cool water immediately evaporates at your touch, but you bring it to your cheek, as if you could mimic the droplets falling from the sky onto your skin.

It isn’t hard for Caleb to sense the longing in your actions. He puts the groceries down and takes you into his arms, the curve of your softening belly pressed tightly against his hard planes.

“Just a few more weeks, okay?” He hums. He had promised that once you hit the second trimester, he would move you to another secluded spot, but this time, you would be afforded more freedom and movement to raise Oliver.

Pictures of a house in the middle of an island free from Protofield fluctuations fill your mind, and you sincerely believe Caleb’s done the impossible—he’s actually found you two a safe haven away from Skyhaven.

The hours pass and soon, night falls, and the artificial lights begin to dim. Since setting up this emergency bunker for you, Caleb has sorely neglected his own bedroom and home above ground, preferring to sleep with you in this makeshift apartment. He holds you close, breath stirring the loose ends of your hair, and gently traces a pattern on your bare back.

“Pips,” he hesitates, “Can I ask you something?”

You blink your sleepy eyes—truly, pregnancy has rendered you almost physically useless—and nod.

Caleb takes a moment to construct the question in his mind, and when he does, he gauges your reaction carefully. The last thing he wants is to upset his pregnant lover.

“Why do… Why do you want this baby so badly?” He backtracks, humming and hawing. “What I mean is—even when we were kids, you let me assume most of the responsibilities when we adopted that stray cat, and you told me that you hated dolls because you couldn’t be bothered to brush their hair when it got tangled… so what changed?”

The soft whir from the AC fills in the silence, and you take a moment to answer him.

“It’s cause… I thought I would never get a—“ you break off and scowl. “Never mind. It’s stupid.”

“Now, hold on,” he frowns playfully. “We always agreed to never keep anything from each other no matter how silly. So, spill it. What’s brewin’ in that noggin of yours?”

You sigh, knowing he’s not going to let it go until he has an answer, and pout petulantly. “I just… wanted a family of my own, okay?” You exhale the confession like a burst of wind desperate to escape the room. “I thought that this baby would, well, be a new start.” Clutching the sheets, it slowly starts to sink in how stubborn and reckless this decision of yours was, and that Caleb is only complying to it because he doesn’t want to hurt you.

Even if he shares the same thoughts, Caleb doesn’t voice them out.

“You want a home,” he gulps. “With me?”

Is it that hard to believe? Caleb looks like you’ve just told him unicorns exist. The doubt lingering in his expression nearly makes you grin, but you prefer to roll your eyes, instead.

“Yeah… is that so wrong?”

His answer is immediate. “No—uhh,” he tightens his grip around your waist and you can tell he’s itching to crack a big ol’ grin. “I’d like that. Love that, in fact. Yeah—family. You and me. Family.”

But, this happiness is not made to last and a house built on cards will eventually come crashing down.

It’s a random Wednesday night and Caleb’s caught up with some last minute Fleet work that needs his attention. After he’s done signing off a new agreement, he gets up from his chair and heads on home, picking up some takeout he already preordered a few hours ago and a bouquet of blush pink roses for you.

He thinks nothing of the quietness in his home when he arrives, and makes his way down to the basement.

The first thing that hits him is a cool draft of air. Caleb tenses and his eyes widen. The stairwell doesn’t look different, and there’s no trace of an intruder, but a draft like this isn’t supposed to exist… unless—

He sprints down the staircase and his heart sinks right into his boots when he finds the password-encoded door hanging wide open. The keypad locking you behind safe, steel doors, sparks and beeps pathetically, the evidence of gunshot disabling it apparent once he smells the smoke and sees a bullet shell on the ground.

Caleb rushes in, his Skybreaker gun at the ready, only to be greeted by the foul stench of Viper standing in the middle of the living room. Frantically, he looks around and spots you in a corner, terrified and unmoving, your wide eyes fixed on a spot over his shoulder.

The modified man glances at Caleb and snickers vilely. “I sssssee that congratulationsssss are in order.” Viper darts his snake-like gaze to your trembling form huddled behind the sofa. “Ssssso thisss isss where you have hidden yourself from the Professsssor. He missssssed you, Mr. Overprotective.” Caleb swears the room tints red. Without another second to spare, gravity lunges right at Viper to knock him off his feet.

The crunch of gears and grinding of bolts shoots through the air like a miasma of destruction, and you squeeze your eyes and ears shut, turning away from the massacre taking place in front of you. Within a few, short seconds, the man standing before you is a mess of parts, his unseeing eyes staring listlessly into the air.

Caleb approaches you and sinks to his knees, gathering you into his arms.

“Are you hurt?” He demands. “Did he hurt you anywhere?”

You force your numb lips to move, shaking your head. “N-no. I’m fine. He just—just took me off guard.”

There’s no time to lose. In a few hours, Caleb’s helped you pack, the plan to move you to safety expedited by a few weeks. It’s not an ideal situation, but he would rather you sleep surrounded by boxes for a few days than to be caught up in the mess Ever had embroiled him in—a mess that would have devastating consequences for you.

As he loads the car with some quickly packed bags, he tells you to sit in the passenger seat and not make a sound. His jaw is clenched, veins popping from his temple. The second he gets into the car with you, Caleb floors it and speeds off.

Tentatively, you reach out to take his hand, and to your surprise, he intertwines your fingers together, holding your hand tightly.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” he manages to choke out, the fear and anxiety making his heartbeat reach dangerous zones. Caleb forces himself to suck in a few deep, sharp breaths. You soothe him by rubbing his shoulder, shaking your head.

“I’m fine. We’re fine. Nothing happened. I was just shocked that Viper was standing there. I… but he didn’t hurt me. He just told me he wanted to wait for you to come home.”

Somehow, that’s worse. Caleb doesn’t know what the Professor has up his sleeve, but he sure as hell has little doubts that it isn’t anything pretty. And, now that someone knows about you and your condition… Caleb’s light violet eyes harden.

There is absolutely no way in hell they were going to get you.

He would rather lose his other arm than risk you or the baby.

Family. It’s what he’s sworn to protect—from the beginning all the way to the bitter end.

On your little island away from the entire world, the sun shines down in honeyed rays, highlighting your swollen belly.

You can’t believe that in a few weeks time, you’ll get to see Oliver right in the flesh, hold him in your arms and kiss his little head. Caleb’s been more of a nervous wreck than you. While you’ve been doing your deep breathing exercises and bouncing on your yoga ball to stimulate contractions, your lover is quietly seeking discreet methods to help you with the inevitable home birth.

Though he hides his nerves behind a calm, stoic facade, you know him all too well. Caleb’s been going for more runs lately, sometimes starting at the early hours of the morning. When he comes home, he showers, changes and slips into bed next to you, pressing a kiss to your forehead and, tentatively, starts to stroke your belly.

He’s definitely not like other excited fathers-to-be.

Caleb doesn’t gush about his son, nor does he commit those stupid romcom acts of kneeling at your feet and pressing kisses to the domed flesh of your stomach. He definitely doesn’t get teary-eyed or ecstatic when he paints the nursery with you.

It’s more like a dull, hum of mundanity. Like nothing could ever phase him.

And, a part of you thinks… Does he hate the baby?

If you weren’t secretly awake right now, you might’ve thought so. The night is dark and filled with flashing thunder. He still thinks you’re fast asleep.

Caleb’s head is on your chest, and he gently caresses the bump, the soothing motion making Oliver flutter deep in your womb.

“Hey, little guy,” his soft voice pierces the lull, and you feel Oliver responding, turning at the sound of his father’s voice. “Whoops—looks like you’re awake, huh…?”

There’s a sharp inhale of breath.

“Look, between you and me, Oli, I can’t think of a reason why I should want you—” Your heart hurts at his admittance. “—but, I love your mom, and by some miracle, she loves a sucker like me, too.” Another deep breath, this time, a little more shaky.

“I hope you know, I…” a soft, hitched sob. “I just—I just really want you to be safe.”

Caleb shudders and you feel him wipe his eyes with the edge of his shirt. You wait for him to say more, but he falls silent. His breathing grows deeper, and you realize he’s fallen asleep.

You never speak to him about that vulnerable moment, and he doesn’t share what’s really burdening his heart.

Caleb may not say it, but you can see in his actions how much he truly loves Oli.

Nutritious meals all prepared by him, baby clothes sourced from a local vendor, more cams and CCTVs set up around the remote estate, so far away from any form of civilization. It feels like you’re in your own little bubble, away from the world.

As you make the final touches in the nursery before your scheduled due date, you smile at the rocking chair he bought from an antique store. It’s an old thing—barely used. But, you love how it adds a touch of rustic care to the cozy space. Folding some baby clothes, you notice Caleb holding a box in his hand, moving it to the crib.

“What’s that?”

For the first time since he found out about this pregnancy, Caleb looks… excited?

“Check this out, Pips,” he pulls out a crib mobile, begins to assemble it. Dangling from the arch, you see tiny acrylic planes and stars, the sight making your chest squeeze.

“Are those—?”

“Plane mobiles,” his chest puffs out with pride. “Yep,” he pops the ‘p’. “I found them online and had them delivered to the mainland. Whatcha think? Sweet, huh?”

You walk over to him and take his hand. “It’s so adorable.”

He squeezes your fingers, this moment feeling bigger than the two of you. “Now, he can dream sweetly about little paper planes.”

“Yeah,” you echo, seeing the first stirrings of love and anticipation for the baby on Caleb’s glowing expression. He finally looks happy.

“Now, he can dream of paper planes.”

Giving birth has got to be one of the top ten hardest physical things you’ve done in your life.

But, with Caleb by your side, it moves like a breeze. He had spent months preparing for this moment. Watching videos, simulating the birth, getting used to seeing blood—everything he did was so he could be prepared to help you.

His hands are warm, his voice a low, murmur of support, helping you through with the water birth. You cry when you feel him bundle up Oliver in a soft blanket, and take his hand after he cuts the cord that finally severs you and the baby apart—your living, breathing proof of love finally in your arms.

Later that night, as you’re resting in the bedroom, you hear Caleb get up from his spot next to you.

The space has been cleaned and sterilized. While he handled the birth all on his own, Caleb did have some help from Zayne, who gave him tips on how to create the safest, cleanest environment for both mother and baby. In the middle of this lonesome estate facing the seas, your eyes follow your lover as he picks Oliver up from his crib, the tiny newborn making a soft noise, almost like a loving coo.

Again, he doesn’t know that you’re awake.

“You’re such a lil’ miracle, ya know that?” Caleb’s voice, soft and fringed with exhaustion, reaches back to you on the bed. “Shucks,” he whispers under his breath. “You’re so adorable.”

He’s right. Though only a few hours old, Oliver has your nose and his eyes. Sparse and downy, his hair is dark just like his father’s.

You hear him place a soft kiss onto the baby’s head.

“I… I can’t believe you’re here. You’re finally here.”

Caleb’s voice is as familiar to you as your own heartbeat—voracious, excited, raised, angry, filled with warmth, lowered by an octave when he was in you, you’ve heard them all… but you have never heard him speak so tenderly to someone like this before.

“Crap, swore I wouldn’t cry…”

You hear him sniffle, and your heart tugs, squeezing with all the love you hold for him.

“Listen… I just wanna say I’m sorry if I sometimes can’t be the man you need me to be. It’s… complicated. Dangerous. I might not act like me, but I want you to know I’ll always love you, and protect you.”

You feel his remorse echo sincerely.

“No matter what, I’ll love you and your mom. Always. All my life. I…” he swallows. “Never had a dad. Or, a mom. I only had your mom, lil’ guy. And she’s the best person I’ve ever met in my life. You’re gonna love her as much as I do—maybe even more.”

He gently bounces Oliver in his arms.

“And, one day when you grow up, I hope you can protect her. Take care of her when your old man isn’t around—crap. I am your old man, huh? Your pa…”

You turn over soundlessly, and admire the build of his broad back cradling the tiny, sleeping bundle in his arms. Though you feel guilty at eavesdropping, a part of you is glad you could witness this—see the love he has for Oliver finally spilling over. Maybe you’ve known it all along… he did love your son. Caleb has always wanted this baby.

It’s just he couldn’t admit it because he didn’t want to let it be real. He didn’t want to put his family in danger.

“I know it’s too soon, but I’ll explain to you and your mom. One day. About everything,” his whispers stir the exhaustion in you, and without meaning to, you start to doze off, almost missing the last words he says.

“About my arm… my world… how your mom and I grew up… I’d do anything to make sure you’re both safe and free—”

Caleb pauses as he hears your soft snores. He turns back, admiring your sleeping figure in the dim moonlight.

“Heh. She’s out cold.”

He turns back to the sweet, little tot also fast asleep in his arms and places a lingering kiss on the baby’s forehead.

“Sleep tight, Oli. You’re safe with us,” Caleb’s expression softens for his son, this tiny human he created out of love.

“Dream of paper planes tonight for me.”

♡ feedback and reblogs are appreciated

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weyheyjxlya · 4 months ago

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Valentine's day gift for my partner! Happy Valentine's Day

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weyheyjxlya · 4 months ago

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wrath of the sea god

♱⋅── rafayel x reader

♱⋅── about: Rafayel is a creature worthy of worship. Something born from the deep sea, something incomprehensible, something that should scare you. And yet his siren song only lulls you in closer, and you fear it may be too late to even think about running away. (deep sea monster!rafayel)

♱⋅── word count: 5.8k

♱⋅── warnings: mdni, smut, inhuman raf, possessiveness, worship, breeding kink, tw yandere, tw drowning, tw teratophilia, tw thalassophobia

art credit to @/hcneyvae on x, dividers by @cafekitsune

psst, if you want more monster!raf read this next

What does it mean, to drown in something?

To watch the surface break above you, disrupted by the last bubbles of oxygen leaving your lungs, like a lover’s final kiss. To feel the vicious urge to fight, to struggle, to scream even as you feel your final dregs of strength escape, leaving you cold and gnawing and alone. To not feel fear, because even as your vision goes dark the melody is still there, the voice still singing, cradling you gently as you draw blood. To know, perhaps, that drowning was the only way this story could have ended.

What does it mean, when I kiss you and finally feel like I can breathe again, even if you were the reason I sank in the first place?

Rafayel has been nothing if not the perfect boyfriend. Clingy, annoying, hopelessly devoted, but perfect for you nonetheless.

Three months into your relationship, and you’ve begun to notice things that are only just slightly… Off.

For one, Rafayel runs terrifyingly cold, and the baths he gives himself twice a day are even colder than he is, and when he teasingly splashes you with it you scream, complaining he’s soaking in the arctic or the depths of the ocean’s abyss.

But the approach of summer means more baths, more moisturizers, and more of poor Rafayel always complaining about how it’s too hot, too dry. His skin gets bumpy, rough, textured patches growing on the sides of his neck, his arms, down his ribs too. Like something coming to the surface, something cracking through the flesh.

The list of anomalies goes on.

His joints bend just a little too much, his fingers curving at unnatural angles when he moves quickly or reaches for something. His spine rolls more like an eel or a shark than a human’s, like a creature still adjusting to having bones, something he brushes off as old habits from dance or ice skating. Whenever you take flash photos his eyes come out hollow, even the faintest glimmer makes them shimmer like something not meant for the surface.

It’s becoming more common to catch Rafayel slipping now, uncanny moments where he fumbles and slows down, repeating certain movements or habits, as though remembering them. Reminding himself of them.

You’re lounging on the couch in his studio, your legs kicked up onto his lap as Rafayel holds a book in one hand, the other caressing your ankle with the gentle rub of his thumb. Something prickles against the back of your neck and you look up over your phone, expecting to see Rafayel still engrossed in his reading. Instead, he’s staring down at you. Watching you, unblinking, for so long that your skin begins to crawl.

At first, you don’t really mind— willingly lost in the warmth of his gaze, the way it seems to hold so much unspoken devotion, the way his pupils dilate viciously when you finally meet his gaze. But then minutes pass. He doesn’t shift, doesn’t fidget, doesn’t break eye contact.

"Raf," you say, laughing a little, trying to shake the unease creeping up your spine. "You're staring."

His lips quirk, just slightly. "Am I? Can’t help it, cutie."

You hum, expecting him to look away. He doesn’t. Instead, he tilts his head, something you’ve always considered adorable, the way his full lips pout and innocent doe eyes seem to plead up into yours, studying you with an intensity that makes your chest tighten.

Then you realize what’s wrong.

"Blink," you whisper, suddenly uncertain if he's forgotten how.

He does, slow and deliberate, like he’s remembering only because you told him. And when his eyes open again, they shine, hollow and flat, reflecting the dim light of the room like something that doesn’t belong in the light.

“Shit!”

This is the last time you cut steak with a dull knife.

It’s nothing severe, but you must have nicked a vein in your thumb, because the damn countertop is splattered with blood, a thick stream of it nearly at your wrist as you run for a paper towel.

Rafayel was supposed to be by the stove, tending to the vegetables busy sauteing, but when you move to rip a sheet from the dowel, you find yourself bumping into him headfirst. How did he manage to cross the kitchen so fast?

His gaze flicks to your hand, brows furrowed. You follow it, noticing the vibrant red already soaking through all the layers of makeshift gauze. Maybe you cut yourself deeper than you though.

"It’s nothing, Rafayel," you say, knowing how worked-up he can get when you injure yourself, fully expecting a dramatic lecture later.

Turning, you step to throw away the bloody napkins when his fingers close around your wrist too fast. Too tight. Rafayel’s pupils dilate, nearly turning his entire eye black as his body physically follows the trail of blood down your wrist, lips parting just slightly as if—

As if he’s tasting the scent of your blood on his tongue.

"Rafayel," you call to him again, voice shaking. Why is your voice shaking?

He blinks, slow, as if waking from something deep. His grip loosens, but his fingers linger, his thumb dragging just barely across your pulse against the inside of your wrist before he exhales a quiet, low sound from deep in his chest. Something between a sigh and a growl.

“You really should be more careful, miss hunter. You could get hurt next time.”

Neither of you notice the slight acrid smell of something burning in the background.

The next time it happens late at night.

After spending the weekend lazing in each other's company, the two of you decided to end the day with a movie, drifting from various positions on the couch to curling up against Rafayel’s chest, the soft glow of the TV flickering across the room. The credits are rolling, low music humming beneath the sound of his steady, rhythmic breathing. He’s cold, almost unnaturally so, compared to the sticky, sweltering summer night air, but you can only be thankful for that fact as his chill and the gentle rise and fall of his chest lull you into something hazy, that liminal space where thoughts slip too easily from your grasp.

When suddenly, it just stops. Rafayel’s body goes still beneath your touch.

No breath. No movement.

Just complete and utter stillness.

It doesn’t register at first, not fully. Still feigning sleep, you fight to keep your own exhales even, purposefully holding your breath to get your heart to calm from its erratic skip, the hairs on your arms prickling, some primal part of you sensing it before your mind catches up. Wrong.

You shift slightly, pretending to be lost in a dream, just enough to press closer to his chest, to feel the gentle rhythm of where his lungs should be. Wrong.

But nothing comes. Rafayel’s chest does not rise, his heartbeat does not echo against your cheek. The only movement is the gentle circling of his fingers against the tender flesh of your ribs, tracing the curve of bone. Other than that, he is completely, utterly motionless beneath you, the kind of eerie stillness that isn’t possible for a human. A stillness reserved for hunters, for predators. Wrong.

Something is wrong.

Your pulse kicks, a sharp, violent thud-thud-thud against your ribs, under the tips of Rafayel’s fingers, and in that instant—

Rafayel breathes again.

A slow, deep inhale as if rousing from sleep. His arm tightens around your waist, fingers slipping under your shirt as he shifts beneath you, stretching out his long limbs with an exaggerated yawn like nothing happened at all.

“You still awake?” His voice is drowsy, laced with warmth, so natural you almost believe it.

You nod, pressing closer, trying to shake the creeping chill settling in your bones. Maybe you imagined it. Maybe you were too tired, caught somewhere between dreaming and waking, your mind playing tricks on you. You were simply tired from the long week. Simply haunted by nightmares that no longer exist.

But you feel it. The way Rafayel’s fingers idly stroke over your side, slow and soothing, almost seeking out your own heartbeat as close as he could get to it. The way he breathes too deliberately now, a flawless imitation of what he thinks you expect to hear. A rhythm that’s just a little too shallow, a little too perfect.

Then, there’s something prodding and coaxing into your brain, and instantly, the feeling of calm returns. But your pulse does not slow, because the thought has already settled in the back of your mind, something cold and certain.

He didn’t start breathing again for his sake.

He did it for yours.

Rafayel must have been sculpted by divine hands. A Greek statue given breath, something carved from impossibly white marble and polished by time itself.

His is a kind of beauty that isn’t soft or gentle, but arresting, almost violently so. One that makes your breath hitch every time he turns to face you, all sharp cheekbones and full lips, somewhere devastatingly between beautiful and handsome, possessing every muscled curve of a swimmer’s body honed by centuries in the depths. It isn’t just his face, his form, his effortless strength. It’s the way he moves. Angelic and otherworldly— graceful, powerful, always with the effortless magnificence of the ocean itself.

And, of course, his voice.

He hums under his breath sometimes, a habit he seems to be letting slip the longer the two of you are together, barely audible in the quiet hours when you’re cooking or painting or lounging together. At first you mistook it for an old record or the echoing sound of the ocean from the open balcony doors, and when you ask him about if Rafayel simply laughs it off, the sound addicting enough that soon you’re laughing too.

But on late nights after sex you hear him humming again, something absentminded and indulgent, like the sound exists only for his own amusement. And for yours.

Oh, but when Rafayel sings, it’s something else entirely. It’s after an opera the first time you heard it, and any memory of the show prior is dissolved into a monotonous drivel at the music Rafayel makes. You swear you felt it in your ribs, melody settling beneath your skin, an ancient song that spoke to your soul in ways that left you dizzy and aching and yearning for something you couldn’t name.

It left you hungry.

And still, Rafayel’s paintings hurt the most.

Each one nearly brought to life with each brushstroke, enough that you swear you can hear the crash of waves or the sharp sting of sea-salt, each one that brings a deep, unknowable sorrow and guilt to your core. Each one hurts to look at a little more than the last.

There’s one painting in particular that hangs in his studio, larger than the rest. A towering, floor-to-ceiling masterpiece of muted blues and violent reds, brushstrokes slashing across the canvas with all the power of a storm at sea.

At first, you think it’s simply a shipwreck.

Then you’re lured in closer.

Bodies tangled in the waves, limbs limp and reaching. Some still clutching weapons, some are already swallowed by the dark. But every single figure seems perfectly content, relaxed, embracing death as they are lulled—just like you just like you—to the sirens below.

They are not the innocent beauties of fairy tales. They are terrible, glorious, vicious beings. Something between human and god, their bodies half-submerged, lips parted in a song you cannot hear but can still feel, something clawing at your heart, begging you to listen. Begging you to come closer.

And Rafayel is among them.

It takes you a moment to recognize him, but once you do, you cannot unsee it. The slant of his jaw, the sharp curve of his cheekbone, his lips curled not in hunger, not in rage, but in something unreadable. Something almost mournful.

"Do you like it, cutie?" His voice startles you.

You turn, pulse jumping, but Rafayel’s only watching you with that same lopsided smile, arms crossed loosely over his chest. He looks like part of a masterpiece himself, bare shoulders kissed by the low light, the soft glow catching on his collarbones, his throat, his hands.

"They were hunted." Not a question.

A laugh. Short, humorless. "Of course they were, don’t you know Lemurians cry pearls?"

Your fingers tighten at your sides, but nothing you could think of saying seemed appropriate. After all, what did you possibly have to offer a mourning god?

You look back at the painting. "And worshipped?"

Rafayel’s gaze lingers on the canvas for a long moment before sliding back to you, eyes failing to reflect the light of the sun as he tucks himself into your embrace, pulling you close. You swallow hard, body naturally yielding to relax into his embrace. You’re not prey, and yet, something in you screams at you to run.

"Is there a difference?"

You don’t answer.

You think of the way he moves, the way he sings, the way your breath catches every time he looks at you, the way you could drown in the depths of his eyes, the cloudless blue like the ocean at dawn, stained with a red more vibrant than blood. Like a shipwreck. Like a massacre.

“Would you worship me, cutie?” Rafayel purrs against the shell of your ear, nipping the tender flesh. Your knees buckle, and you’re already kneeling before him, looking up at those same eyes as he smiles at your answer.

You already do.

You’ve been noticing gaps in your memory.

Not big ones. Nothing you can really say for certain, just little things, things you used to chalk up to your goldfish memory. Forgetting why you stood up. Losing track of time mid-conversation. Finding yourself already doing something before you even register why.

And it always—always—happens when Rafayel is speaking to you.

It’s never forceful. Never obvious. But there’s always a soft hum in his voice, a subtle pull in the melody beneath his words.

You don’t even remember when he began doing it, and that might be what frightens you most.

You’ve always been weak for Rafayel, giving in as soon as he pouts and complains about how he might die of neglect, how he just needs you so badly, and how, oh, won’t you do this for him? There’s no command. No sharp pull at your mind, no unnatural force prying into your thoughts. Just his voice, smooth and honeyed, curling around your resolve like the tide creeping onto the shore. Gentle. Patient. And before you even notice, you're waist-deep, sinking into something you can’t quite name.

"Let’s go to the beach," Rafayel suggests, fingers lazily tracing patterns against your thigh.

You frown down at him, in the midst of filling out a hunter’s report when he snatches your computer away, replacing it with his own head plopping down in your lap.

You glance at the clock, it’s already six pm. Late, not to mention the drive is an hour away. And you have a mission early in the morning.

"I can’t," you say.

He hums, thoughtful. "Mm. No, of course not." He turns his head, pulling your sleep shirt up just enough to kiss your stomach, lips cool against your skin, grazing your hip as he speaks. "But," a pause. A slow, indulgent breath. "Wouldn’t it be nice? Just us. Moonlight on the waves. I could take you out past the shallows, show you things no other human has ever seen."

You close your eyes. You can picture it too easily. The salt in the air, the sound of the tide pulling you both forward. His hands on you, weightless in the water, his voice a hum against your throat. A melody entering your brain.

"It’s a Tuesday," you murmur, weaker now.

Rafayel begins sitting up, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. "So what?" Another to your jaw, "Work is so boring, you don’t need it anymore. Not when you’re with me." You feel him smile, sucking a mark right against your pulse. "It’ll be worth it, promise."

You should say no.

You should.

You should shut out the idea of indulging him, of the welcoming feel of sand beneath your toes and the gentle curl of the tide. And how nice the fading sunlight feels on your skin. Because you’re already standing at the shoreline, waves licking at your ankles, the city far, far behind you. Rafayel’s fingers laced with yours, his smile easy, teasing as he pulls you forward.

You don’t remember driving here.

Your pulse stutters. "Rafayel."

He turns to you, eyes dark, unreadable, his mouth curving into a wide smile, a sweet gummy one that has too many teeth. Rows upon rows, like a shark’s, gone by the time you blink. "Yes, my muse?"

You swallow hard. The words tangle on your tongue, and you forget, just for a moment, why you were about to say them.

But the worst is when he begs.

Because it doesn’t feel unnatural, it doesn’t feel wrong.

Because it feels good.

You don’t realize how much you’re giving him until your body won't stop trembling, until you’re wrecked and obedient, until he’s cooing praise against your skin like you’re something precious.

“Can’t–” you sob, barely getting the word out. “Can’t cum again. Please, Raf, Raf, please don’t.”

Your hands scramble for his head, still buried between your thighs, tugging violently against those sweat-slick strands of hair as you all but scream as he whines into your cunt in protest.

You’ve lost track of how many times he’s made you come, lost track of how long you’ve been beneath him, beneath his touch, beneath the spell of his voice. Time means nothing, just a rhythm of sensation and need.

All that you can feel is the hot layer of sweat making the sheets stick to the sharp arch in your back, the painful overstimulation of your clit as Rafayel moves to suckle against it once more, lapping greedily as you kick and push at his shoulders with a cry. You can’t take it, not again, not when you’re already raw and aching and falling apart.

"Just one more time, cutie," he begs, relenting just long enough to kiss your marked-up thigh. "Please? Look s’cute like this, taste even sweeter."

Rafayel’s pale skin glows faintly where his lips brush yours, a ripple of bioluminescence that pulses in time with your heartbeat. The dull blue light blooming along his veins, casting soft, eerie shadows across the sheets, a reminder of the alien beauty woven into his flesh and blood.

You’re sobbing, shaking your head as the entire room spins around you even without the extra stimulation. But Rafayel simply unlaces your poor trembling hands from his hair, unfurling your fists and kissing your palm before intertwining your fingers together, pinning them to the bed as he leans in closer. His hands are cold, an icy restraint to your feverish skin, and you shiver, goosebumps prickling along your arms.

"Last time, promise."

You don’t believe him. You shouldn’t.

But Rafayel’s voice is addictive, liquid gold, sinking into your skin, forcing you to relax against him just enough for his mouth to reacquaint itself with your swollen clit, immediately making you scream again as your hips mindlessly buck, writhing to get away, to find mercy from his touch as you fight to hold onto the last scraps of your fraying resolve.

“Don’t.” His voice is a purr, a low warning against your flesh as his hand tightens, pressing your wrists together, bruising. “Don’t run from me. Don’t make me chase you.”

Your body stills, responding to his command before you can even process what he's said. Surrendering as he hooks your ankles around his neck, forcing you up onto your shoulders as his tongue delves back into your cunt, curling inside you, savoring every spasm, every quiver. It’s a slow, indulgent kiss, his tongue is colder than his lips, drooling and messy as he brings you closer and closer to the edge for the nth time.

"You’d never leave me right?" His voice once again sings like a promise against your skin. "You can’t. You wouldn’t, she’s too sweet for that—" His nose grinds against your clit and you moan, seizing. "Always so needy, always taking me so well. Practically made to worship me."

You're babbling nonsense now, incoherent. Rafayel coos, kissing you through it, one hand never letting go of yours as the other greedily gropes up the plush of your ass, your breasts, and he watches with rapt fascination as you arch for him. He rolls your nipple between his fingers, and wonders absentmindedly how it is you humans produce milk. How he could get you to do that for him.

A deep trill vibrates through him at the thought, more felt than heard, a sound that curls around your ribs and settles there.

“You know that you’re mine, don’t you?” he breathes, voice dipping lower, “Mine. Made for me. Nothing else in this world could satisfy you like I do. You’ll never need another god.”

Rafayel’s words slip into you, twisting through your mind, settling like truth in your core. And just like that you shudder, body tensing, and you’re cumming again, hard.

Squirting across Rafayel’s awaiting mouth and jaw as you scream his name like a prayer, cum dripping down his heaving chest. Rafayel moans, lapping at the mess, and you feel his devotion in the way his entire body trembles as he consumes you, as he claims you, his offering, his sacrifice. His beloved bride.

His fingers subconsciously trace your empty ring finger. Worshiping it, memorizing it.

You don’t even realize you’re still nodding as his fingers loosen their grip on your thighs, finally setting you back down on the bed as a pleased little sound spills from his lips. His tongue drags up your limp body, lazy and lingering, kissing every inch of you, bringing your hand up to kiss your ring finger as well.

Nuzzling his face between your breasts, Rafayel looks up at you, eyes glowing, too bright, too colorful, too gorgeously inhuman.

When sensation finally returns to your legs, the haze of pleasure fading and your breath evening out, you’re revolted by the feeling of something releasing its hold on your mind. Shuddering, you press a hand to your temple, trying to shake off the eerie feeling of something slipping out of your head.

Rafayel watches you, tilting his head, his fingers brushing lightly down your arm as he pushes himself up on his elbows. Grabbing your chin, he swallows any questions you might have asked, kissing you with the same reverence he did your clit and every inch of your body before, the taste of you still on his tongue. When he pulls away, his expression is soft, almost tender, even as his hand curls back around your ankle, a possessive shackle.

“You’ll never need another god,” he repeats, the words sinking into your bones, echoing in your mind. His fingers tighten, just enough to make your breath hitch. “Because you’re mine.”

And yet, you’re the one who can’t seem to breathe without him.

You suppose it should scare you, knowing Rafayel isn’t human. Even if you have yet to understand what a Lemurian really is or wants, what Rafayel’s true form really looks like, what or who truly resides in him.

You suppose it should scare you that despite not knowing any of this, you listen to his every whim regardless.

The ocean is calm tonight, with the full moon hanging directly overhead and her silver providing the only light over rolling waves. You’re floating on your back, eyes closed, weightless in the gentle pull of the tide, safe knowing Rafayel couldn’t be far away. He never is.

At least, you can only assume that’s still the case. Since the ocean itself is dark enough that it blends in with the horizon, dark enough that you wouldn’t be able to see your own toes should you stop floating, the only sounds are the gentle crashing of waves on the distant shore.

Rafayel was untraceable in the water, his powerful twenty-foot-something Lemurian form outpacing yours as soon as he hit the water, cutting through the black waves with a grace that should be impossible for a creature of that size. That was nearly an hour ago, and only an occasional singing that seemed to both surround you and come from deep within the ocean served as reminders that your lover was never far away.

There it is again, that distant sorrowful song, and you try and hum along, not realizing how far from shore you’ve drifted.

Something brushes your ankle.

Jolting upright, you spit out a bit of salt water from your scare, scanning the horizon as you tread water. Rafayel is nowhere in sight.

Of course you don't even realize he's been circling you, tail cutting above the waves before twisting around your kicking legs. Laughter echoes into the night, sweet and addicting, enough to have your body relax involuntarily into the cold rock of the waves. Enough to send every other sea creature swimming away in terror.

Then, warmth. Hands, familiar and steady, slide up your bare ribs. There wasn’t even so much as a splash as Rafayel swims closer, arms pulling you in tight, nuzzling deep into the crook of your neck as you feel the entire length of his tail tighten like a coil around your body. He could drown you before you'd even remember to scream.

Rafayel kisses up your neck, savoring the taste of sea salt, arousal, and fear against the broad, cold length of his tongue. It feels rougher than usual.

“Need you, cutie.” A trill, something deep and low, vibrating in his chest as his entire body tightens its grip around you. Grinding up against you. “Need you s’bad.”

His voice is a low, syrupy murmur, words dripping into your ear with the same fluid grace as his body winding around yours. You shudder, pulse thrumming as the coil of his tail tightens, the powerful muscle shifting against your skin, keeping you perfectly in place. The realization should terrify you. Perhaps it should terrify you more that it doesn’t.

But Rafayel’s still nipping at the delicate skin of your neck and jaw as that soft, mournful hum resonates from his chest. The sound vibrates through your bones, familiar and soothing, seeping into your mind as easily as seawater through the crevices of a sinking ship.

You shiver, the sensation of his touch and the water deliciously cold against the heat pooling in your belly.

“Missed you,” he murmurs, turning you so you straddle only a fraction of his enormous tail, clinging to his shoulders and the scales that now rest there. “Hate that you can’t swim with me, can’t see my home.” There’s a teasing lilt to his voice, the same playful lightness you’ve heard a thousand times. But beneath it lies a deep, aching hunger that has his clawed fingers pressing into your ribs, hard enough to draw blood.

“I-It’s not exactly possible,” you stammer, voice shaking, breathless, the world narrowing to the feel of his enormous body wrapped around yours, the prodding of something slimy and thick between your legs, the soft vibration of his hum still echoing inside your head. “I can’t breathe underwater like you, Rafayel.”

He pouts at that, tail flexing, shifting, and you feel two other appendages begin to caress your thighs, gently snaking around them. Not that you could see what exactly they were, not with how impossibly dark the ocean is, left completely to his mercy.

“Poor little human,” Rafayel coos, feigning sympathy as his hands begin to wander, cupping and squeezing roughly at your breasts. A constant fascination he excuses for the fact that fish don’t produce milk and thus have no need for such… interesting appendages. “Your silly human body isn’t much fun. Too fragile. I can fix that.”

His words send a chill through you, something prickling at your spine—but then his lips are on yours, firm and insistent, stealing the breath from your lungs as his fingers tangle in your hair. His inhumanly long tongue invades your mouth, rough and tasting of salt and sea, and you melt, hands clawing into his shoulders as he swallows your moan, fucking his tongue down your throat.

His tail shifts again, something sharp nicking your inner thigh as you gasp into the kiss, only allowing Rafayel to press in closer, deeper, grinding against your core.

Your body reacts on instinct, earning another low trill, hips rolling to meet the pressure, Rafayel’s hands still busy pleasuring your chest as something else forces your legs wider, guiding his cock to grind against you once, twice, fighting the tense ring of muscle as you quiver.

“Please, cutie. Please let me in, my sweet darling. Please, please,” he’s rambling, begging so sweetly into your lips as you feel the jagged cut of his teeth trace down your neck, collarbone, grazing your nipple, licking up the drops of blood as your flesh splits as easily as rotten fruit on the edge of a knife. “So good to me. Always so good to me.”

You barely recognize the moan that leaves your throat—something needy, desperate. And at that sound Rafayel shudders, something else writhing against your pussy as it suddenly pushes in, thrusting and sucking gently at your entrance before following a rhythm he knows will make you fall apart.

“Rafayel, wait, cold. It’s cold—”

“Shh, you’ll warm it up.”

You can only moan in response, clinging onto Rafayel like a lifeline as the ocean surges around the both of you, your limbs trembling and useless as one of Rafayel’s hands goes to circle your clit, matching the tempo of his thrusts as you come undone with a silent scream.

“Say it again for me,” he whispers, reverence dripping from every syllable. His eyes—too blue, too bright—burn into yours, possessive, adoring, hungry. And when he looks at you like that, how could you ever refuse? “You’re mine, aren’t you?”

Your heart stutters. There’s a pull, something deep and heavy, sinking into your chest. The hum returns, curling around your thoughts, coaxing you to say the words, to give him what he wants. What you both want.

“Yes,” you whisper, the word slipping past your lips before you even realize it. “Yours.”

Rafayel’s pupils narrow into slits, and his mouth crashes against yours, hungry and savage. His tail tightens, grinding against you with purpose now, every slow roll of his hips sending another shockwave of pleasure through you, something else beginning to press up against you as well as the first intrusion begins to retreat from your poor overstimulated pussy.

“Do you trust me?” he asks, teeth scraping against your pulse, marking delicate skin of your throat. Something under the water coils tighter, pulling you closer, keeping you where you belong.

No.

“Yes.”

His laughter is the last thing you hear, soft and sweet, washing away every other thought before the roar of the ocean swallows you whole.

The cold is instant, biting, sinking into your bones as the saltwater tears into your nose and mouth. Panic claws up your throat as your chest seizes, lungs heaving uselessly, instinctively, drawing in nothing but seawater.

Instinct demands you thrash, but Rafayel is there, hugging around you like a devoted lover, like a predator with his kill. He drags you down deeper, enraptured, scales scraping against your skin as his body locks you against him, pressing you against the seafloor as the two of you hit the bottom, soft sand floating under your back.

How easy would it be, to leave you full of his brood and writhing, before dragging you to some island far, far away.

He’s dazed at the thought, still inside you, still thrusting, still playing with your body as if you aren’t suffocating, as if the way you kick and claw at his back, nails tearing into flesh and fins, is only a sign of pleasure. You feel him shudder, and it isn’t just from the tight, helpless way you squeeze around him.

It’s your eyes that Rafayel can’t seem to look away from. They’re wide, wild, locked on his face with desperate, pleading terror. Adoration. Fear. Love.

So human, so fragile, and all you can focus on is him, the rest of the ocean blurring into a black abyss.

Rafayel adores it, finally being the epicenter of your attention.

A low, pleased rumble vibrates through his chest, pupils blown wide, swallowing the blue of his eyes until they’re black and endless, reflecting your horrified face right back at you.

All the screaming has left you dizzy, and Rafayel moans, pushing deeper, grinding his enormous tail against your overstimulated clit as your throat convulses around a silent moan as you watch the bubbles leave your throat.

Smiling, Rafayel’s lips curl, exposing sharp, jagged teeth, feeling each shudder, each pitiful, heaving spasm as your lungs beg for oxygen. He wonders how they must feel, those delicate sacks of air tightening, twisting inside you.

Pressing his palm against your chest, right over your heart, Rafayel feels the stuttering beat as it races then begins to falter, slowing to a delicate pulse under his touch.

He could watch you like this forever.

Your nails rake down his arms, leaving raw, bloody scratches as the world begins to go dark. He shudders, his cock twitching inside you at the sting, the way you keep fighting even as your movements grow sluggish, your limbs growing heavy. Your chest heaves one last time, and then your eyes leave Rafayel’s, rolling back as your lips part in a silent prayer.

No. No, don't look away from him.

It makes Rafayel frown, wanting your gaze focused on him alone, wanting your attention back. He wants it forever. His tail coils, possessive, hugging you tight with all the devotion of a human lover as he finally, finally leans in, pressing his mouth to yours.

His hands come down to caress your jaw, fangs nicking your lips as he forces them apart, kissing air back into your lungs.

And you breathe in again, sobbing into the kiss, body trembling, clinging to Rafayel like he’s your lifeline. You do what he knew you would. You kiss him back. Desperate, dazed, pushing closer as though you don't realize there's no where else you could go, the deep, endless dark of the ocean yawning hungrily above you both.

He's close, so close now. Body nearly aglow with that eerie, deep-sea light, casting shadows onto your body as you welcome him even now, desperate for warmth, for safety, for him.

“Mine,” Rafayel sings against your lips in a language you cannot understand. Savoring the way you still arch up to kiss him again and again, desperate for his air and his touch despite it all. Despite knowing what he is. Despite knowing what he wants. “My mate.”

When he finally cums he feels it breach your womb, he feels you swell with it, feels it stick with how eagerly your body welcomes him, his perfect little human.

And for the first time, you truly wonder if you were meant to survive loving something like him.

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weyheyjxlya · 4 months ago

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two little ducks

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weyheyjxlya · 4 months ago

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i finished...

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weyheyjxlya · 5 months ago

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Audio Masterlist 🎧

Some 18+ audios that I’ve heard that sound a little like the LADS men to me.

They're not supposed to be them, but in the audio, it kinda matches the sounds or phrases they've said in their cards.

NOTE: These audio tracks are not from the game. They are 18+. Do not interact or listen if you are underage.

*WARNING: USE HEADPHONES 🎧*

Xavier

Zayne

Rafayel

Sylus

Caleb

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weyheyjxlya · 5 months ago

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COME HOME? CUM HOME!

LIKE A ROMANCE TURNED EROTIC … husband farspace colonel!caleb & wife!reader. warning(s) -> nsfw, MDNI (18+), pure filth ahead !! established relationship, fluff for like the first 3-4 paragraphs, unprotected sex (pls wrap it up b4 action irl), impatient caleb lol, creampie, breeding, teasing, uhh daddy kink, degradation (he calls u a slut), petnames: pip-squeak(once!!!), baby, honey, princess, brat, not proofread wordcount. 1.9k (small smth for caleb’s release!! a bit rushed) taglist. @jellysix

𝑯𝑼𝑺𝑩𝑨𝑵𝑫 𝑹𝑬𝑻𝑼𝑹𝑵𝑺 from service after nearly a year, caleb is more than eager to reacquaint himself with his wife’s body.

22nd January. Today. It was the day your beloved husband finally returned from service as the Farspace Colonel. You stayed up all day, all night since the day before, restless and worried of your husband’s well being. Sure, news hasn’t said much about the farspace dealings but being a Space Hunter, you heard a thing or two from work.

“Honey? I’m back— uumph!”

you raised from the couch the moment you heard keys jingling from outside your front door, reaching Caleb as soon as he opened the door to take a step inside. Your arms circled his torso beneath his arms, nearly tackling him with your jump which he caught with ease, tossing his bag to the side on the floor carelessly.

“Hello to you too, my little brat,” Caleb giggled, lifting you up from the ground in his arms with a little twirl. He buried his face into the top of your head, hair tickling his nose as he inhaled your scent deeply, taking the unique scent of yours—the scent of home.

“I missed you so much, you have no idea,” he gushed, lips against your hair with his gloved hand cradling the back of your head, tucking you deep under his chin. “Then you’re can’t imagine how much I missed you,” you mumbled against the firm plane of his chest, his uniform warm against the warm curves of your body pressed against his perfectly like puzzle pieces complementing each other. “Dramatic as always,” he chuckled warmly.

wholesome reunion, right? Caleb indulged himself in you, catching up to all the days he missed out in your life. He stayed patient, listening like a good husband all the while he kept the cruel side of him that clawed at his skin to pounce and ravage you. Caleb knew he couldn’t. Not now, at least. So bit his tongue, curled his fingers to a fist so tight, you could hear the faint strain of leather.

“Sweetheart.. so much has happened since I left. I missed out on so much, baby, don’t you think it’s time to make up for lost time?” He finally spoke his mind after the hums and replies of acknowledgement at your joyful gushing, the sight of you so happy to see him igniting a certain desire both innocent and not inside him.

you quirked a brow at him, small smile on your face along at his words. You were glad he wanted to make up for lost time, but now?

“Right now? Sure, I suppose. If you have an idea how,” you shrugged with acceptance, nodding as you shifted yourself on the couch to face him better. And in the split second your eyes met his face, you could’ve sworn you saw the edge of his lips curled to a smirk.

“Oh, I do have ideas.. So many of them.” Caleb’s hand on your waist squeezed the flesh there lightly before pulling you closer to him, other hand moving to tilt your head up with a finger beneath your chin. In that moment, your eyes blinked wildly, throat dry and lips parted invitingly for his lips to capture yours. And they did, securely so. His tongue plundered deep into the warm cavern of your mouth, slanting and sweeping his tongue over yours.

“Shouldn’t take it lightly when I say I miss you, pip-squeak,” caleb murmured once he broke the kiss, hand previously beneath your chin now holding your face, long slender fingers sliding up your jaw until they raked through your hair.

His other hand wandering your body made you gasp, cold leather fingers sneaking beneath the hem of your shirt to skim through the surface of your belly. He wasn’t shy with his exploration, making his way to cup the soft mound of your breast until it filled his palm.

“Fuck, these curves, these pretty tits that are just begging for their daddy’s touch, yeah?” Your husband seemed in awe as he reacquainted himself with your body, kneading the flesh of your breast through the confines of your bra, all until he tugged it down to spill you bare to his hand. Every tug and pinch of pebbled nipple sent jolts of desire straight to your core, your back arching into him involuntarily, much to his pleasure.

“C-Caleb, maybe we should head into the bedroom— ack!” Your efforts to reason with him was interrupted with a firm yet gentle shove on your shoulder, his larger frame hovering over yours that was laid on the couch. “Bedroom, living room, what difference does it make? We’re alone regardless,” he replied with a sly smirk, pushing your shirt up to your chin, exposing your bare midriff and tampered bra.

“Besides, your legs are welcoming me so wholeheartedly.. Is it force of habit?” Caleb taunted, free hand taking off his hat to toss to on the coffee table beside them. His other hand wrapped around the curve of your thigh, nestling himself between them as your legs locked around his waist securely.

“Must’ve fucked you so good before I left. Trained you just for this moment, didn’t I?” He drawled, free hand resting flat on your pelvis, the cold metal band on his ring fingers tracing idle circles on your skin sending goosebumps to your body. You whimpered his name, unsure exactly to ask from him all the while you squirmed beneath his touch.

“Baby, please,” you pleaded breathlessly, eyes flickering down to his hand flat on your lower belly, fingers dangerously low to your core. His hand went back up to hook a finger under the waistband of your pants, tugging down to your knees, pulling up and off your legs. All that was left was your panties, the a wet spot slowly blooming on the fabric.

“Please, what? Be more specific.. I only take clear orders, after all,” your husband chuckled lowly, leaning down closer to you, hips nestling closer to yours just enough to let you feel the bulge of his cock growing with every passing moment.

“Please what?” He repeated by your ear hotly, knowing exactly he was doing by teasing you like this.

you on the other hand, was torn between your pride and need for him. You didn’t like the thought he could see how much affected you with his absence, and return. This was surely be material for him to tease you for later on. But at the moment, you could care. You needed him to calm the raging desire in your heat, desperately.

”please.. fuck me,” you whispered, brows furrowed as you relented to his advances, eyes fixated on the sight of his hips grinding with shallow thrusts into you, the ridge of his cock straining in the confines of his pants painfully evident against the soft folds of your panty clad pussy.

The colonel smirked beside your ear, leaning away just enough to look at your face, drinking in the lust dazed expression you had on right now.

“Good girl,” he purred, grabbing each of your thighs up all of the sudden, lifting your legs up and pushing them up to your chest. He release one leg of yours to unbuckle his own belt with ease, unzipping his fly and tugging his pants down with his boxers to let his throbbing cock breath. He hissed at the cold air, stroking himself with a fist lazily before leaning down to align his tip over your clothed folds, pulling the fabric aside. A soft moan escaped your lips at the direct contact, his hips nudging forward to pierce through your slick entrance.

“So fucking tight, perfect pussy remembers me, baby..,” caleb rambled, slowly burying his girth deeper into your warm heat that welcomed the intrusion, fluttering around his shaft with each move he made. He proceeded to lift your legs up to hang over his shoulder, the narrow space between your calves allowing him a view of your sprawled on the couch, hair sprawled on the velvet cushion, features scrunched into a face of unadulterated pleasure. But nothing turned him on more than the sight of your tits bouncing back and forth in time with his thrusts, your voice raising in volume each time he got deeper in your depths—rearranging your guts with frantic jerks of his hips.

“Come on, cum for me.. Welcome me back with a biiig, wet mess, baby,” caleb coaxed, hugging your legs to his body with both arms, fucking in and out of your drenched cunt with ruthless abandon. His hips were unforgiving, drunk in the feeling of your pussy sucking and wringing him dry for he was worth. It took you all the focus and energy you could muster to keep yourself stable on the narrow surface of the couch, holding on tight to the headrest you clung onto.

“Caleb, ngh— too fast, too fast!” You slurred, your husband’s bulbous cockhead bullying the spongy spot that he knew by heart, beyond eager to make you explode on his cock. “What was— shit— that? Too slow?” Caleb teased between pants, grinning at the tight spasms of your velvety walls, a telltale sign of your impending orgasm. And he was determined to make you reach it first.

his name fell from your lips repeatedly like a mantra, nails burying into the cushion of the couch’s headrest with the fabric threatening to break—like how the coil in your belly threatened to snap. Caleb’s cock plunging into your core was reckless still, especially so now that you were on the brink of climaxing. So in a final effort, Caleb sheathed himself inside you to the hilt, settling on shallow thrusts and grinds on your clit. Much to his pleasure, the change of pace finally made you cum, your juices coming out in a spray on his cock and his pelvis, the pressure only urging him to start moving again—harder this time.

“That’s my wife, cumming all over me like a dirty slut, hm? Don’t worry, princess, I’ll be joining you aah— soo enough,” he groaned, arms binding your shivering legs tighter as he fucked into your pussy like a man deprived of any sorts of physical touch—and in a way, he way. He went on too long without you, he had to melt himself in your sopping cunt again.

“Yesyesyesyes, agh— fuck!” Caleb groaned loud, a deep guttural moan coming from his chest without his control when he felt his balls draw up tight, cock heavy and throbbing as jet after jet of semen was pumped into your womb. His hips didn’t dare to stop plummeting into your vice-like channel until he was sure that his seed would take root, that you would be swollen with his child after a month or two.

Well, he would need a good reason to stay by your side after that long, torturous, mission.

10K notes · View notes

weyheyjxlya · 5 months ago

Text

I've ascended to the heavens.

KILLSHOT

sypnosis when fate gives you back your supposedly “dead” foster childhood bestfriend who is now the colonel of one of the most powerful fleets in the world, what else is there to do but fuck him right in the interrogation room?

warnings interrogation, caleb is mean for like 0.24848 seconds cause lbr he is a puppy of a man, drugging, drugged sex, improper use of evol, collaring, mutual pining, biting, marking, betrayal, mindfuck, injuries, mentions of blood, psychological warfare, seduction, fighting, hurt and comfort, angst, potential spoilers for “farspace deprivation” and “farspace bloomfall”, dark themes, hate sex, cervix fucking, fingers in mouth, sucking on gloved fingers, gunplay, degradation, undertones of Dom/sub, oral sex, kink, bratting, disciplining, after effects of interrogations, unprotected sex, ceiling sex, grieving, spoilers for chapter 4, mentions of death, aftercare, cuddling, guilt, repressed emotions, 18+

dawn says caleb girlies RISE UP oh we are eating so good our man is back home and you KNOW i had to write about his hot new glowup in that slutty colonel outfit,...

Yet again, you’re in the thick of trouble.

They said curiosity killed the cat, and this time, you had little doubt of coming out alive. But, it can hardly be classified as your fault.

It was a stupid lead. A blind coordinate Nero sent to you, leading you to stumble right into the heart of a military operation unauthorized. In the world of bureaucracy and red tape, it’s as good as being dead.

Now, you’re being led away, bound and blindfolded with no one to blame but yourself for your shitty luck and foresight.

Whoever is leading you to your certain death stops in his tracks, nudging you into a cool room. You’re made to sit on a hard chair, and within seconds, your wrists are untied only to be bound again to the chair’s arms and something hard and circular is snapped onto your neck.

“Unh—” you gasp when you hear the soft whir of the device starting. A sudden pressure wraps around your body, holding you back from resonating. Without your Evol, you’re defenceless and whoever has captured you knows it.

“Don’t resist.”

A cold voice pierces the silence. You stop squirming and peel your ears.

“W-who’s there?” You curse the stutter in your question, the trembling underlying your show of courage.

A Hunter resists and never gives up intel easily. Evasion Interrogation Class 101. You weren’t going to cave without a fight.

The slow approach of boots on the hard floor thumps like the blood rushing through your ears. You tense, feeling the other person’s presence before you.

Light floods your senses, and your eyes pry open when the blindfold is whipped off your face. You blink, trying to focus on the dark spot standing right in front of you. The furrow of his brow is the first thing you notice, then those piercing violet eyes.

No…

“Hey… Pipsqueak.”

Your blood turns to ice in your veins, fear shooting up your spine.

It can’t be… you struggle to make sense of what you’re seeing, feeling your stomach dropping heavily right into the soles of your Hunter boots. It can’t…

You mourned him. You watched your entire family—your world—go up in flames.

This stranger wearing his face sits down in front of you, legs spreading with ease under the stretch of his starched white pants. He’s in a decorated jacket, one you’ve never seen him wear before. It’s like the memory of all that you once knew of Caleb is corrupted with a dark veneer, giving way to this tainted version sitting before you with barely any emotion in his eyes.

The familiar slope of his features, the same ones you’ve seen throughout the years, changing and growing, as intimate to you as your own breath, is cold and distant.

Warm sunny days, the smell of freshly cut grass, a hand holding yours through the rain…

It disappears in a flash of lightning, the dark clouds rolling behind him like the dread churning right in your gut.

Your voice is soft, fringed with disbelief, as the shock renders you immobile to the chair.

“What?” He quips, and a shadow of his old smile appears. But, where there was once familiarity, now there only exists the ruins of everything you held dear.

“Don’t you recognize me?”

It’s as if he’s goading you.

He picks up an apple from the centerpiece on the table next to the chair he has you strapped in, and holds it in his hand like it would give him all the answers in the world. His pensive gaze, those once wondrous violet eyes catching the last of the sun’s rays as it disappeared over a river, cloud over with an undeniable oppression.

He can’t even look at you properly.

“Did you honestly think I would always be the kind-hearted boy from your childhood?”

Like a horror show unfolding, he lifts his gaze, looking right into your depths, as the snap of the apple's skin gives way to the tension of his jaws. A bit of its juice dribbles onto his lower lip, and you force yourself to tear your eyes away, needing to retain your wits. Caleb sets the fruit down, chewing thoughtfully, before lifting it to your lips.

“Eat,” he murmurs softly, a shadow of his old self on the tired terrain of his face. “You must be starving.”

The sweet boy from your past can’t be coincided with this cold man right in front of you. Where you would’ve leapt at the opportunity to taste any dish from the labor of his kind hands, you fear this forbidden bite would poison you the second his tainted fruit touched your lips.

Turning your head away, you glare at the rain-slicked windows, trying to hide the sting in your eyes.

Caleb, knowing how stubborn you can be, sighs and drops his olive branch offering.

“Fine.” His voice is flat. Unemotional. “Let’s get to the bottom of things, then.”

He stands, and you feel a fissure of fear opening in your chest when he retrieves his baton, removing his military cap and tossing it onto the table.

“Why’re you here?”

You refuse to open your mouth, glaring at him. Caleb shakes his head.

“You always have to make things so hard for me, don’t you, Pipsqueak?” He murmurs and steps closer to you, the fire in his violet gaze crackling. “You’ve always been insufferable since we were kids. Now—” he frowns. “—why are you here? And how did you find this place?”

You find your voice, croaking out, “I didn’t mean to—”

“Didn’t mean to? Are you sure?” He cuts you off coldly. Caleb straightens and adjusts his gloves. There’s a hint of a smile on his face, though it’s corrupted by the detachment oozing from his suddenly frosty demeanour. “You expect me to believe that? That you just stumbled into the scene like a stray kitten?”

When you don’t speak, he sighs, kneeling down to your height. The warmth of his eyes is back and a lump forms in your throat.

“Caleb…” your whisper is soft. Tentative. He senses a chink in your defenses, a drop of blood in the ocean, and the gleam of his teeth reminds you of a shark.

“All you have to do is answer my questions, Pipsqueak,” he murmurs, lifting a hand to stroke your hair. “Can you do that for me? Can you be a good girl?” That same, mischievous smile plays on the corners of his lips, though it sends a chill down your spine, instead. “There’s more than one pair of eyes observing you in this room so I suggest you play nice.”

He pulls back again, depriving you of his warmth. “Now that you understand, we can have a friendly chat, hmm, Pips?” When you refuse to look at him, or give any indication you’re willing to cooperate, he sighs.

Instantly, the sensation of a thousand bricks falling onto your shoulders hits you, and you scream, almost crushed by the pressure. Caleb uses this momentary distraction to kneel down and lock your ankles to the chair’s legs and snap a band around your right wrist, his other hand gently running the ghost of his touch up your ankle. The forcefield of his Evol deters him from ever touching your skin, and if you could look closer, you would’ve seen his throat bobbing from a harsh swallow.

“Do you remember that injured cat you brought back home? Back when we were kids?” He glares up at you. “I got a collar with a bell. That way, it couldn't escape without being noisy,” he gently squeezes your knee. “The same can be said for you—you’re not allowed to leave me again.”

As he speaks, something sharp pokes your neck and you flinch. While your eyes are on him, the room starts to spin, and before you know it, you’re hunched over the chair, gasping and shaking.

“Caleb,” your voice sounds like you’re whispering from under the sea. “W-what’s—?”

“Don’t worry,” his reassurances warble back. “It won’t harm you—images in your brain,” his words flicker through your consciousness and you feel the collar tightening around your throat.

Shit… He had sanctioned a drug to be shot into your system.

Your woozy eyes keep on sliding back to the floor.

Caleb has drugged me.

“Where did you find the coordinates to this place?”

You’re fighting a losing battle trying to keep your composure. Everything feels too loud—too bright. Digging your nails into the chair’s arms, you grit your teeth, fighting back against the wave of vertigo threatening to take you under. You feel like you’re on a rollercoaster, out of breath, the ground dangling far from your feet. Every sharp inhale you take makes you float higher and higher, till you think your brain would burst from the stratosphere of your skull.

Nero… Nero knew this… and he let you walk right into it.

Nero… The sound of Caleb’s voice pierces through your mind like bright light cutting past the fog. That’s good, Pipsqueak. That’s my good girl… Is Nero your colleague?

You think of him, in his horn-rimmed glasses, hunched over his screen.

Good, Caleb’s voice soothes you, a lifeline through this impenetrable fog your mind has settled in. And, why are you here?

The image of his dog tag with the apple charm takes over your mind, and it hits you too late that Caleb can possibly see your thoughts unfold.

What are the possibilities that you can fight this? Your brain races. You feel like an astronaut stranded in space, isolated from gravity and light, as your spacesuit begins to fill up with water, almost drowning you.

A sharp jab to your chest makes your eyes flutter open, and his baton is pointed right at the apple charm hanging around your neck. Something softer, presumably made out of hide, brushes your chin as he studies the charm in between his fingers, his expression unreadable.

“It’ll all be over soon,” he whispers, the switch flipping, “As long as you keep on cooperating.”

You lean into his reassurances, a whimper slipping past your gritted teeth.

“I know, I know,” he soothes, and stands before you, his hands clenched into fists. “But, it’s for your own good. Just a little longer, Pips.”

He asks his final question: “Were you trailed?”

You can’t stop the next thought from forming in your head of your Hunter’s watch. Instantly, the band is ripped from your wrist, and you hear a loud crunch. The air thickens and you close your eyes, trying to find your centre. The world threatens to spin off your axis; G-Force pressure right in your center threatens to tear you apart.

Please… make it stop…

Like a switch has been flipped, the spinning cyclone in your mind stops. The sound of your harsh breathing and the erratic pulse in your ears is the only thing you can hear. Someone kneels right in front of you, and you don’t have the strength to push him away, not when he’s this close.

“Congratulations,” he says softly, stretching his hand like he wants to pat your head, but retracts it at the last minute. “You passed.”

The collar slips off your neck, and you hear it being tossed onto the table. “Come here,” he whispers and unbinds you. Caleb lifts you into his arms, though not even his warmth can comfort you.

Through the fog whirling in your mind, you make a snap decision.

Your hand collides into his cheek, the loud slap ricocheting around the room. He grunts, taken aback, and you use the momentum to swing your legs, wrapping your thighs around his neck so he’s forced to let go of you. Using every iota of balance you can muster, you land on your feet, none too gracefully. His hand wraps around your arm and practically hiss, sinking your teeth into his flesh.

Caleb gasps, and whips his hand back, glaring down at you.

“Hey! It’s me—”

But, you’re not listening. You’re ready to pounce when he grabs your wrist, drawing you closer to him, pressing your cheek to his chest so you can hear the harsh rise and fall of his breathing.

“Pips, it’s me,” he tries earnestly again. “It’s me. I’m back.”

To your horror, you start to cry, fat tears rolling down your cheeks.

You sob and blubber like a child, growing weak in his arms as the hand in his grasp turns into a fist and you smack it weakly against his hard chest.

“How could you?” is the first thing you ask through your sobs. And, the next: “How’re you even alive?”

Caleb looks away, like he might reveal too much if he stares into your eyes. “It’s complicated—”

“Bullshit,” your anger resounds in the room like the crack of a whip. You should’ve bit him harder.

You think you see him flinch. You push away from his arms and he looks down at you, every crevice of his face dripping with desolation. There’s a glimmer of wetness in his eyes, and yet, you can’t trust it.

You can’t trust him.

“Pipsqueak,” he tries again, reminding you of the times when you were both younger, and he had to sweet-talk you out of a bad mood. “I know you must think some chip got put into my brain, or I’m no longer who I used to be. But, I’m still me,” he urges, and lifts your chin to meet his eyes. “I’m still Caleb. I never left.”

You grit your teeth and with a strength neither of you expect you to have, you push him against the table, pressing yourself in between his legs. Caleb grunts, but doesn’t shove you aside. He looks up at you, with those same pitiful, defiant violet eyes that urges you to either kiss him senseless or claw his eyeballs out.

… Wait.

Kiss him senseless?

You shake your head, pushing those thoughts aside. As if he can’t control himself anymore, he runs his knuckles down the back of your thighs, the new (downright useless) mandated Hunters uniform showing off too much bare skin. But, you couldn’t care less about that right now.

Right now, you have a score to settle with your oldest childhood friend.

“You’re still the same, huh?” Your hand presses to his chest, feeling the erratic pulse of his heartbeat under your palm. Even through all the layers he wears, you can still feel the heat of his body seeping past your skin. “You’re still the same Caleb I knew—the same one who walked through that damn door—” you growl, curling your hand into a fist and hitting it right into his sternum, “—and blew up on me?!”

“Pipsqueak—”

“Don’t you dare,” you seethe, baring your teeth. Though the tears continue to fall, your mind is honed in. Focused.

The need to obliterate him, to make him feel a shred of the same pain he had put you through for months, rears its ugly head.

Like he can read your mind—and you honestly think he can—he caresses your face, running his thumb over your jaw. The look on his face is pure regret, mingled with something unfathomable. You scent it in the lingering heat of his breath on your parted lips, or how much closer his face has gotten to yours.

Right here, he’s in the palm of your hands… And yet, why is he still so painfully out of reach?

“I don’t trust you,” the words slip past your numb lips before you can take them back. You grip his face, steadying those violet eyes on your furious ones. “I need to test you… to put you through a trial.”

The look of indignation on his face is delicious, and it whets your appetite for vindication.

“A trial?” He almost sounds insulted. “What have I done wrong?”

Your other hand slowly reaches for the front of his chest, running the tip of your finger down the starch lapels of his jacket. “You were missing. For months,” you grit out the words. “I need to check if you’re still him.”

“Still… me?”

You growl and tighten your grip on his chin.

“What is my favorite food?”

Caleb huffs, as if you had just asked him what color the sky was. “Braised chicken wings,” he murmurs almost sarcastically. “Next.”

You glance at the bite mark on his hand. “What is my favorite way of getting you back?”

He raises a brow. “Biting. I remember how when we were kids, you bit me so hard, the mark took 15 days to disappear.”

You swallow. He’s correct again.

Reluctantly, you loosen your grip on his chin. The position you’re both in hits you—his arm around your waist, his free hand still stroking the back of your thigh. Your one hand tangled in his jacket and the other still on his chin.

Heat floods your cheeks, and you recall him saying that there were more than one pair of eyes watching in this room. But, a part of you—the one who’s been deprived of Caleb for far too long, who had to contend with days of loneliness and missing him, couldn’t care less.

“Pipsqueak,” he murmurs, and his hand moves from your leg to your hair, gently nudging you deeper into the circle of his arms. The smell of him floods your nostrils with nostalgia and a hint of pine, the old Caleb you grew up with solidifying further and further under your touch.

“Caleb…”

Faster than two atoms on the path to collision, his lips are on yours.

Caleb kisses you like you’re the only source of oxygen left in his world. Something crashes onto the floor, and the plate of apples rolls onto the carpet, an orchard of sin scattered in between your legs pressed together. The sweet, tart flavor of the fruit he had just eaten saturates your tastebuds, and you moan when he desperately tangles his tongue with yours.

He lifts you into his arms bridal style, and carries you down a narrow hallway you had never noticed before, the flashing thunder illuminating the gaudy paintings hung on the wall.

He takes you to what looks like a medical room, though no one is in there. Your lips press to his neck, kissing and sucking on his pulse point. He hisses and in a low tone, warns, “Keep that up and you might regret it, Pipsqueak.”

Gently, like you’re precious cargo, he sets you down onto the bed, those violet eyes like a newfound nebula fixed onto you, filled with the brightest stars in the galaxy.

Caleb runs his hand up your thigh, and you flicker your gaze to his gun holster.

In the split second when he’s distracted, you lunge right for it, grabbing the handle.

He yelps, taken aback, but is faster, snapping his hand around your wrists to impede your movements. The gun drops from your grasp like dead weight, along with your hopes of ever escaping. If looks could kill, you would be dead meat from the intensity of his glare.

Caleb exhales, fixing his frigid gaze onto yours.

“Oh,” he chuckles, and you shiver at the dark edge in his tone. “You will pay for that.”

Gravity surrounds you like a weighted blanket, except it pins you to the bed rather than offering any comfort. Your whimper is lost behind the gloved hand that muffles your cries, hissing into your ear to, “Stay still, goddamnit.”

Caleb is breathing hard, a drop of sweat rolling from his temple down his throat. You feel it dripping onto your neck, your wild eyes fix on him.

When he’s sure you won't retaliate again, he stands up from the bed, bearing down on you. Picking up the gun from the floor, he trails it right to your temple. His Evol hasn’t muffled your speech, but you don’t want to say a word to him, preferring to glare.

“I asked you a simple question—”

“And, you know I can’t answer that,” he retaliates, recognizing what you’re trying to do. His brow furrows. “There are things I can’t tell you, Pips. Things you don’t even understand—”

“Then, help me understand!” You’re yelling now, close to tears. “Help me understand why you left… why you left me…” your voice breaks on the last word, and a look of regret shadows his face.

“I never wanted to.” The gun slides from your temple right to your jaw, but you’re not afraid of it. Nothing in the world can keep you from knowing the truth; from uncovering every layer in Caleb’s new facade.

(But, maybe, this dark side of him has always been there, and you were just too blind not to notice).

He takes a shaky breath. “If I had the choice to do it over again, I would’ve never—ever—left you.”

Sincerity bleeds past the shades of night falling outside the window. Silence envelopes the two of you, and the realization dawns when he exhales your name.

“Pipsqueak…”

“Don’t call me that.”

You’re not his Pipsqueak anymore, the same way he is inexplicably not your Caleb anymore.

He gets back down to his knees, right in front of you. The look on his face is nothing short of misery, heavy with a thousand implications he could never divulge.

You’re desperate, hungry for more. To know more, to feel more. To embrace the darkness brewing in you like the undeniable heat that’s simmering between your two bodies.

“Do you hate it?” He asks softly, in a voice frayed with a thousand emotions, and you sense he’s not referring to your old nickname. Do you hate me?

The silent question hangs heavy in the air, and without a second thought, you turn your face and press your lips to the barrel of his gun.

You can point a weapon at me, but you will never shoot, your kisses on the cold metal speak where words fail you. The gun trembles in his grasp, and between your body pinned to the bed from his Evol and a military-grade weapon pointed at you, what you’re doing is completely ballsy. And, insane.

“I know you have secrets,” you murmur as the cold metal tip travels to the nape of your neck. Despite himself and his rigorous self-control, Caleb is still a man.

Still flesh and bone. Love and grief.

“But, we’re a team, remember? You and me. Me and you. We work together, Caleb. Not against each other.”

Your blurry mind tries hard to focus on the task at hand—needing to throw him off guard—but you can’t deny how the heat in his hooded eyes is making you feel.

He inhales sharply at your words, though the rest of his expression remains unreadable. “I told you, what I know is top secret and even you’re not allowed to know it.”

Those violet eyes trail down your susceptible body spread wide open for him on the bed, and you notice a flicker of hunger behind his dark gaze.

You’ve always loved Caleb’s attention: whether he’s complimenting you on scoring a goal, or commending your plane model assembly skills.

Everything you did was, to a degree, for him to see you. To finally accept you wholeheartedly and without restraint.

You were his little tail; the Pipsqueak who followed him around like his shadow.

And even now, when he has a gun right at your throat, all you can think about is how much you want to please him.

Tilting your head back, you moan when the barrel slides down the valley of your breasts. His breathing is growing heavier; the look in his lilac eyes is stormy and dark.

“You… like this?”

He sounds hoarse. In disbelief.

You nod. “I…” you lick your lips. “I love it.”

The cool metal grazes your jaw, and when it taps on your lips, you don’t hesitate to part them. Glancing into those molten, violet eyes, you suck on the hollow tip, aware of his finger on the trigger and the look of undefiled lust on his face.

“God,” he mumbles, hungrily eyeing how deep the barrel is down your throat. “You’re such a good, good little girl…”

He prises the gun from between your teeth, and the strands of saliva connecting your swollen lips to the spit-soaked metal shimmers in the low light.

Caleb tosses the gun onto the table, growling as he crawls on top of you.

The effect of his Evol fades, allowing you to move your feet, but his hands on your knees make sure you can’t pull off anything funny.

“You’re gonna lay back, and you’re going to be good,” he lifts your leg and kisses over your knee. It would be so easy to drive the hard cartilage right into his nose… but, you don’t want his hands to leave your skin. You want to see what he will do next.

The off-duty Hunter uniform you’re wearing rides up your thighs, exposing the plush fat of your thighs. His gloves rasping on your skin drives a shiver up your spine.

It’s like he refuses to engage in skin-to-skin, whether as punishment or a caution.

You whine softly when his bigger body bears down on yours.

“Caleb…”

He grasps your chin, none too gentle as he pulls you closer to him. “Look at you,” he growls, pushing himself closer—the heat of his body melting with yours. “Look at what you do to me.”

It’s hard to even breathe when he’s close enough to devour your face.

His breath grazes your cheek, and you close your eyes. Your oldest childhood friend savors the proximity, taking in a whiff of your clean perfume.

Before your mind can play catchup, your body falls right into the orbit of his desire; lips on his, breaths mingling as one.

“Fuck,” Caleb breathes, a moan pulled from the depths of his chest, tortured and strangled. “You taste so—nhng—”

He gasps when your arms come to loop around his shoulders, dragging him almost between your legs. He steadies himself, gloved palms on the bed. You run your hands over the starch grooves of his jacket, finding the first button.

Caleb lets your touch wander aimlessly, his breath caught in the back of his throat.

“Are you sure?” He whispers, those anguished violet eyes almost gouging into yours with an intensity that leaves you breathless. “Are you sure you want this?”

Are you sure you want me?

As a silent answer, you lean forward, catching his lower lip in between your teeth.

“Ngnhmhm,” he moans, gasping when you bite down hard.

He tastes blood and your desperation, helping you unbutton his coat. The heavy chain slaps against your eager cheek in his rush to slide it off his arms. “Shit—sorry.” Cool fingers brush the afflicted cheek. “You alright, sweetness?”

You nod, huffing and moving your hands to his other lighter jacket, unbuttoning it. He chuckles at your eagerness and helps you with the brass buttons. As the layer disappears, you’re confronted with another shirt.

“How many clothes are you wearing?!” Your cry brings a mischievous grin tugging on the corners of his lips.

“Lots,” he murmurs and takes over with a nimble skill only a man of his caliber can have. The grey shirt melts off his broad shoulders, discarded onto the floor, and finally—fucking finally—he removes the black turtleneck, revealing smooth acres of warmed, tan skin right under your touch.

You exhale shakily, running your fingers down his distinct pectorals, tugging on the dog tag around his neck. Your eyes land on the familiar apple charm.

“How—?”

He thumbs the similar charm hanging from around your neck. For the first time this evening, he voluntarily gives up some information.

“I—uh—had someone copy my old necklace.”

The look of disbelief on your face is enough to deter his next words.

“You decoyed the necklace I gifted you?”

Caleb winces. “C’mon, Pip—I-I mean, love…” he sighs and presses his palm to the back of your head, drawing you closer to peck your pouty lips. “It helped me make sure you were safe. Plus,” he adds, a touch of humor in his tone. “You did tell me you would kick my ass if I ever took it off.”

You struggle to understand the layers behind his words, fighting to form a reply when his lips travel to the juncture of your neck, softly kissing and sucking your sensitive flesh.

Focused on retrieving the truth, you fight hard against his best efforts at derailing you. “You—mhm—were tracking me? All this time?”

Caleb doesn’t pause his sensual assault, groaning softly. “Won’t call it tracking per say…”

You want to get mad. Truly, you do. But, the feeling of his teeth grazing your pulse point melts any coherent thoughts left in your brain.

The confusion you felt before gives way to something deeper. Unrestrained. He kisses you again, and you absorb the feeling of warm skin under your palms, feeling the heat of his body thrumming under your touch. His muscles expand and contract with every shaky breath, his chest pressed so intimately to yours.

You squirm, and he hisses, restraining your hips to the bed.

“Stop that,” he hisses.

Confusion overtakes you, and you want to ask what’s wrong when he winces and shifts his hips further from yours, instinctively setting a physical boundary you want gone immediately.

“Are you scared?” It’s your turn to goad him. If he thinks you’re going to be nothing but docile and wanting, he’s been away for far too long.

His lips twitch. “Of you? Nah. But, of what I can do?” His voice drops an octave, and he leans in, one gloved hand going to your chin, holding it in place. “If anyone should be scared, it’s you.”

Caleb tests the waters of this new dynamic unfolding between you two, dipping his fingers past the gap of your lips. The breach should make you pull away, take a step back to reassess the situation.

But, you’re as much under his spell as you have bewitched him.

The taste of earthy hardness fills your mouth, and you suck on his thumb obediently.

Caleb looks down at you, the heat in his eyes almost touching the boiling point. A few more moments of your teasing, and he would be close to bursting and taking you right on this bed.

Never one to be satisfied with what he is allowed to take, Caleb pushes his luck further, sinking his thumb deeper down the soft gullet of your throat; compressing your gurgled words down to the bottom of your mouth in his journey to devour everything you can give him.

“Oh, fuck.” He groans when you take another finger into your mouth like you were meant for him. “That’s a good girl… my good little girl…”

You moan around his digits stuffed down your throat, peeling your watery eyes to his smirking expression.

“Cat got your tongue, Pipsqueak?” He murmurs, and stretches your jaw with a third finger. You’re so full of the taste of him, you start to choke. “You look so pretty like this—not a thought in your brain, just relying on me to make you full… to make you whole.”

His words send a shiver down your spine. You want to protest, but deep down, it’s true.

The grief that clashes with his year-long absence, this “new” side to him you are starting to unravel… the old Calen, the one you loved and looked up to, is starting to metamorphosize right before your eyes.

“Cwaleb—” you whimper past his fingers.

He’s barely laid a hand on you and you’re already folding.

Pulling his fingers out of your mouth, he discreetly wipes off your spit on the bed sheets, fixing you with an arched brow.

As if asking: Well… your move, Pipsqueak.

Your hands fly to the buckle of his military pants, the sound of his zipper dragging down punctuating the air like a crass remark.

Caleb stiffens when he feels your cool finger dipping past the waistband and he shudders, mind going hazy at a touch he had only dreamed off but never thought would come true. When you reveal him to the cool air, he’s half-flaccid, already at a six inch mast and the prettiest shade of pink you have ever seen with an undertone of mauve.

He’s part of the thicker team, though length-wise, it would make any woman scream and cream. Heavy balls. A slight curve. Growing up pumped full of hormones, you had secretly wondered how your oldest childhood friend’s cock would look like, but you never once anticipated seeing it in real time.

“Holy…” you trail off, and he grins.

“Like what you see?”

You’re spread out for him on the threadbare sheets like a vision from a forbidden oasis. As much as he wants to bury himself in you, Caleb needs to make sure you’re ready first. He licks his lips, whets his appetite, and fills up your empty mouth with his tongue.

“Mhm…” you groan into the depths of his mouth. “Caleb…” You swallow, and deciding to throw him off, you murmur a word he thought would never, ever come out from your mouth:

“Sir,” you whimper. “ Kiss me harder…”

Sparks go off in his mind. He feels like the force of the explosion has finally caught up with him a year later and his breath is knocked out from his lungs.

“What did you say?”

His deep violet eyes devour the look of wanton desire on your face, mind drawing a blank.

Did you just…?

Did he hear it right?

“Again,” he almost stutters, desperately needing to hear that word from your lips. “Say that word again.”

The restraint in your mind is at best a flimsy net letting your inhibitions fly freely. “Sir,” the word drips from your lips like the sultriest confession; the look on his face like that of a holy man scandalized. Except Caleb wasn’t holy—he was hardly a saint. He was the scum of the earth trying to lay his corrupted hands on a being far too precious for him.

Immolating from his own self-hatred, it’s hard for him to fathom that you want this—that you want him.

“Please,” your whisper cuts through the tension of the self-inflicted torment settling onto pensive demeanor. “Please… make love to me, Sir.”

All his years of restraint—of immaculate self-control—snaps like the last leaf off an autumn branch. He rains dizzying kisses down onto the jut of your collarbone, summer rain sweeter than sin on your tongue.

Caleb removes his pants, kicking the heavy material down to the floor as he works his boots off frantically with the toes of each alternating foot.

The feel of his body on yours, almost smothering you to the mattress, drives you wild with a heat stoking right in the heart of your core.

“Sir,” you murmur, almost dizzy with lust.

He pops open the buttons of your dress, slipping it down your shoulders. The swathes of your bare skin presented for him makes him feel like he’s barely lucid, lost in a dream he doesn’t want to wake up from. With one hand, he expertly unhooks your bra and slides it down your body, tossing it onto the floor where it joins his pants.

Caleb is barely restrained when he pushes you back onto the bed, his lips finding refuge in the juncture of your neck and shoulders. He nips, licks and sucks like his life depends on marking you; the sight of his marks on your skin only serves to make his feral need rise higher and higher.

He takes refuge right at your chest, nibbling and nipping the plush fat of your breasts till you’re practically vibrating with excitement, your nipples wet with his spit and aching for more of his touch.

The dark haired man can barely stop himself from what he does next—sliding your dress further down your body till the rise of your lace panties appears in his sights like the sun breaking over the horizon.

He feels the warmth of you on his face, right in his cheeks as your thighs tighten around his head.

“Oh, love,” he groans, like a man starving. “C’mere, Princess—”

He pulls you closer till your pelvis bumps his chin and you squeak, feeling his hot breath graze your bare skin.

“Caleb—”

Your protests die an immature death when he buries his tongue right into your tight cunt. He moans at your taste, the lightning playing with shadows all over your body, illuminating the pulsing beats of darkness hiding behind those violet eyes. His pupils almost swallow those lilac orbs whole, their darkened gaze latched right onto you.

“God,” he mumbles like a man tasting manna for the first time. “... s’sweet… this pussy is so sweet…”

The charming, charismatic and kind Caleb from before would’ve never dared utter such words in front of you. But, his other twin in bed, the one who wears his face complete with a devilish smirk, rolls his tongue over your syrupy folds, moaning at your flavor.

You taste like candied apples, and Caleb thinks he could eat you up whole.

He squeezes more moans past your sweet lips when he draws all your folds into his mouth, spitting it back out only to do it again and again and again.

“You’re so wet,” he slurs, those pretty purple eyes already pussy-drunk. “So fucking wet f’me.”

Your legs spread, wrapping around his shoulders, the taste of your cunt almost coating the back of his throat—Caleb couldn’t be more in love with you.

“Mhm,” he moans, a sight in between your legs, chin slick with your juices, eyes half-closed in pure ecstasy.

“You’re so full for me… dripping down everywhere,” he murmurs, placing a quick kiss onto your twitchy clit. “I could drink you for days.”

Your cries and moans only fuel him to be meaner. Now that he has you in the palm of his hand, he’s not planning to let go of you anytime.

It’s filthy, animalistic, and utterly raw. The emotions he evokes in you quakes through your soul, seeping out of your core only to be consumed by him, your lust growing his lust, his moans inciting your yearning.

Caleb continues his gentle assault on your clit with his tongue, grinning against your cunt.

“Louder… let them hear you.” He slips one leather-clad finger inside your pussy, pressing down on the spongy, soft spot. Those pretty lips wrap around your clit, giving it a gentle suck and you fold.

You keen, tangling your fingers in his hair. It’s one thing to be eaten out this thoroughly, but another to be subjected to such pleasurable torture by a man who has hungered for you for years.

“Good girl,” the bridge of his nose almost rubs your clit raw when he buries his tongue even deeper inside you. “Louder,” he moans past flesh and more pussy juice gushing onto his chin. “Make it��messy, baby.”

Caleb… Caleb… your breaths come out in huge gasps, your back arching off the bed.

He makes unravelling you look so easy, and you’d be absolutely pissed off if he wasn’t edging you towards the biggest orgasm of your life.

While you’re in the throes of your pleasure, you feel his gloved hand wrap around your throat, thumb pushing past your flush lips.

“Mhm—” you moan at the flavor of him saturating your tongue. “Oh… Caleb—”

“Yeah,” he growls, chest rumbling. “Say my name, baby. Say it. Scream it.”

“Caleb,” your moans double in volume, the pleasure about to burst from your seams. “Oh, Caleb—!”

Heat, wetness, a deep, stirring pleasure threatening to consume you, and then—

Nothing.

Caleb pulls away, squeezing your thighs. He rips off the gloves, and finally—finally—you feel his skin on yours.

The rasp of his warmth across your thighs drives goosebumps down your arms. “Shit,” you whimper when he pushes your thighs further apart to settle in between them. His body smothers yours, encompassing you in the pure mass that is his weight bearing fully down onto your exposed body.

Bastard. He leaves you hanging, reeling from a ruined orgasm, as you glare at him, your anger and indignation sputtering and dying on your tongue.

“Caleb! You—you—”

He grins, dark and sweaty bangs falling all over face as he drags you closer by the hips.

“Open wide, pretty,” Caleb coaxes, thumbing the head of his pretty cock, smearing precum all over his digit.

Fuck—ah… you groan sinfully. The sight of him pleasuring himself is seared in your brain. You bite your lower lip, shifting your hips. Need drips from your gasping breaths and your head is spinning.

Easy, he murmurs. I gotcha.

Caleb lifts your hips in his large hands, finding the perfect angle before slipping the sticky head between your folds. Your gasp grazes his ears in a warm puff, a telltale sign of your unexpected surprise at how good this feels.

It reminds you of those times when he would tease you as kids—always holding something out of reach and never giving in unless you begged nicely.

And, you sense it’s what he’s doing right now. Mercilessly teasing, testing your patience. Waiting for you to beg.

Caleb grasps the base of his hefty cock and runs it over the mess of your creases, soaked with your excitement for him. He teasingly pushes the plump head past the slutty ring of muscle gaping open for him, and heaves in a deep groan, like that of a beast about to breed his mate. Your eyes are crossed with pleasure, and you’re whimpering sweetly, no thoughts forming in your brain besides more, more, more.

You ache for him, but all you can do is take his teasing. “Please,” you huff, peeling your docile, little lamb eyes onto him, wishing he would relent and just fuck you.

The sheets twist in your fist and your other hand is tangled in his sweat-soaked hair.

Caleb uses one hand to brush his damp bangs off his face, and he grins, intent on making you pliable to his every whim. He presses a kiss to your jugular, biting down on it, relishing in your jolt of pleasure.

You’re so sensitive, even his pelvis grinding down on your clit feels good and you shift your hips higher, desperate for more friction—for more of him.

“Sir,” you sputter, woozy. “Please… please…”

Caleb hums, lifts your thighs over his broad, muscular shoulders. The slight tilt spreads you out for him, a wildflower blooming under his touch. You’ve captivated him with your scent, your skin, your sweet sounds…

But, little does he know, you’re equally enraptured; caught in his trap.

“You’re so pretty,” he murmurs hoarsely. “Pretty when you beg. Pretty when you look at me like you can’t wait a second longer…”

His wet lips swell around your pulse point again, flowering heated kisses onto your sensitive skin.

“Nghh—Caleb,” you whimper and he chuckles—that bastard.

“You ready, sweets?” He teases you, shooting you a smug, stupid smile much to your consternation.

You want to roll your eyes and be crass, asking him to just give up and put it in, but your words get stuck right in your throat when you realize you're already on the verge of losing it altogether.

You take one good look at him, and wet your lips, yielding with a nod.

“Yes, Sir.”

Your obedience is like a hit of ecstasy for him, firing up his veins, and he moans, shifting closer to you. The bulbous tip jostles deep inside you as another inch is added and you writhe, eyes squeezed close in delirium. “Mhnmph!”

Your moans shoot through his veins like licks of a strong, disorientating drug and Caleb groans. His hefty body is already shaking from the strain, and he doesn’t know how long he can last. His thighs shudder, and he has to bite on his lower lip to keep from moaning like a goddamn loser when he finally sinks his dick all the way into the love of his life.

“Mhm—ah!” Your nails dig into his shoulders and he hisses.

He gives you a split second to get used to the sensation, nothing more, nothing less. Obviously, he’s waited for you for his entire life. Etiquette and consideration can come later—all he wants to do right now is fuck the ever loving shit out of you. Caleb sets a pace, one that has you twitching, and he seethes at your lack of resistance.

“You’re—hnng, already so eager,” he snarls. “Been dreaming about this? About my cock?”

The sight of your decoyed necklace slapping against your skin from every thrust drives him dizzy with lust. His name on the dog tag, the apple charm looking so innocent and snug right in the valley of your luscious tits. It doesn’t take much to please a man like him and Caleb is as happy as a dog who got the best bone.

He gnaws on your shoulder, teeth making indents on your precious skin.

Your thighs tighten around his shoulders, body almost folded in half like a pancake.

Caleb… Caleb… you whisper-gasp, the darkness of the room and the subsiding storm outside the windows lending to the dark yet intense atmosphere.

He licks along your bottom lip, sucking on your tongue. You taste so good, Princess…

Your whimpers brush his chin and his hair tickles your sternum as he ducks his head lower, bringing your stiff peaks into his mouth. He nurses and suckles on you, a fiendish look in his eyes.

“Mhmph—you taste like sin,” he groans deeply, the sound travelling all the way down to your core. The forbidden fruit, right here in his arms and like a selfish man, he wants more.

Without warning, gravity disengages around your body and you’re pinned to the ceiling in the blink of an eye.

It feels surreal to look over his shoulder, at the bed hovering above your head, the medicine cabinet and lamp all peering up at you like a twisted version of wonderland.

“Caleb—!”

He silences your protests with a harsh kiss, licking and sucking on your lower lip till you whimper and quiver. Deftly, he guides your hips away from him and lets gravity do the rest. You sink down—full and to the hilt. He’s so deep in you, you swear you can taste him all the way in the back of your throat.

Caleb fucks you this way—mean, demanding—using gravity and his Evol to his advantage.

You writhe and twist in his grasp, head thrown back. The ceiling wall is cold against your back, though he’s warm enough to the touch to make your head spin.

Bodies press intricately, you can’t tell where he begins and where you end. Like two snakes interlocking, you feel Caleb everywhere. His breath on your neck, his hands roaming down your body possessively, the feel of his thick girth hitting every spot just right.

Drool drips down your chin, and you feel him chuckle; the rough rasp of his tongue lapping it up.

Messy girl, he drawls, smacking his lips. A smug grin tugs on his mouth, giving his boyishly handsome face a devilish touch.

Give me more, he urges. More. Make it messy, Princess.

He sucks on your pulse point, your neck the perfect canvas for his marks. Nuzzling you close, you feel the tenderness behind his searing need.

His cock molds into you like a perfect fit. The sound of his hefty balls slapping wetly against your skin fills the room with a salacious symphony.

Caleb, Caleb, Caleb. You can’t control the stream of moans escaping your puffy lips. He kisses you hard again, deepening it and letting his tongue tangle with yours in a passionate dance. Your heart swells with adoration for him; his flavor heavy on your tongue, sousing through your senses like a creeping heat reaching towards its completion.

His touch kindles up more desire as if you’re dry straw waiting to catch fire, and oh—does he let you burn.

Strings of your pussy juice drip past his balls, streaking his thighs like filthy snail trails. The shine of your own arousal dribbles past the pert curve of his fit ass, and ribbons into droplets falling from the ceiling like it’s goopy rain.

Caleb doesn’t care about the mess you’re making. All he wants is to see you unravel.

Your cheeks flushed, eyes crossed—he leans in to kiss you hard, needing to taste your desperation firsthand.

Your hot moans give everything up to him, your body quaking like a tempest ready to unleash hell onto his self-control.

He grunts when you fist his hair, finding your rhythm as you fuck him back, meeting him in the middle. The sway of your hips tells him all he needs to know—his little mei mei isn’t as innocent as he thinks she is.

“—taught you how to fuck like that?” He grunts, lapping at a bead of sweat about to freefall from your chin.

“Huh?” You peel your watery eyes on his, his sticky kiss gracing your cheek.

“Said—who taught my sweet, innocent, little Pipsqueak to fuck like this?”

He punctuates his emphasis with two harsh thrusts, his length jabbing your cervix.

You grunt, eyes rolling back into your head. “N-no one—fuck,” you whine when he slips one big hand between your bodies, rolling his thumb over your lubricious clit.

“A-ah!” your cries rebound across the room as he plays with your fleshy pearl, thumbing circles onto it vigorously, hoping to glean your confession. “Ngh—Caleb!”

Your thighs begin to shake, and his grin turns wolfish. “Won’t let you come ‘less you tell me the truth, Pipsqueak. M’waiting.”

He stamps a possessively hard kiss onto the nape of your neck, like he’s trying to drive the mark of his mouth past your skin.

“I’m telling the truth,” you whimper. “Never had no one—no one but you.”

A deep, guttural groan brushes the soft shell of your ear.

“Swear?” he demands.

“Uh-huh,” you hiccup, all dulcet and demure with the position he has you in. Your lachrymose eyes are fixated on him and only him—Caleb thinks his body might burst from all the blood swelling in his cock and heart.

He huns, and runs his tongue down your clavicle. “Good girl… good little Pips.”

The nickname combined with his derogatory tone inadvertently makes you clench around him tighter, and he hisses.

“You’ll be the death of me, y’know?” His eyes darken and he drives his hips harder as if trying to make a point. “Gonna make sure you never leave my side—we’ll always be together. Forever.”

You whine and dig your nails into his biceps.

“Caleb—” you gasp, almost falling out of his grasp and face down onto a bed 10 feet below you. But, he tightens his grip, and you know he would never let you go.

He shuffles you deeper into the alcove of his body, and you tighten your hold around his neck. “You—mhm—are insane.”

“Yeah?” He grins. “Only for you, Pips.”

Tingles running down your spine, and you feel hot and cold at the same time. He fixes his sights on your glassy gaze, enjoying how wrecked you look under him.

(Well, technically, above him with the power of his Evol, but eh, semantics).

The storm outside is no match for the one raging inside of you, and you cling onto him like a second skin, drunk off the pleasure he’s inducing in you. Kissing his jaw, nipping his lower lip. Caleb grunts when you press your chest to him, the feeling of your pert nipples rubbing against his toned pecs making him feel like this is all a dream—one he doesn’t want to wake up from.

Too soon, his vision to see you come undone flashes as you toss your head back and moan his name.

“Caleb…”

Your whimper is a signal of your impending release, and he grits his teeth, driving his hips further into you, planting his knees on the water-stained ceiling and going ham on your pliant body.

He feels you shuddering around him, dipping his head to feast on the sweat slicking your tits.

He glances up at you, catching your eye the second your release tears through you, his smirk making your heart skip a few beats.

Caleb feels the heat stirring in his own belly. You’re down for the count, holding onto him like a washed up doll whose lax mouth occasionally lets out a few moans and whimpers.

So pliant… so malleable… so easily molded to his whims…

Breaking you clean, he wants to dominate every inch of your body—claim your thoughts as his so that all you think, feel and want is him.

“Ngh,” he groans, burying his face into the crook of his neck as he finally breaks and fat loads of hot cum fill you up.

Caleb holds you closer—securely—as he reels his Evol in, and slowly floats down onto the bed with you in his arms.

With the combination of the serum, your release and this newfound dynamic between you and Caleb, you’re out cold in seconds.

He feels your body going limp, giving way to sleep and presses his nose into your hair. For a few moments, he refuses to let you go, arms protectively wrapped around you.

Then, the peace is shattered by a polite knock on the door.

“... Colonel… we need to evaluate her…”

Shit. He licks his lips and groans softly. You’re so warm, so comfortable in his arms. He can’t let you out his grasp.

But, duty calls and the Farspace Fleet is a minefield of legality. He can’t steal away and run off with their test subject.

Not yet, at least.

As much as he wants to stay like this with you forever, Caleb steels his heart and pulls out of your warm, slurry depths. He dresses you first, and then gets himself presentable.

First Commander Brigette of the medical aide steps in at his signal. Her silver hair is tightened into a bun and mirrors the tight look of dismay on her face.

“Sir, it is imperative—”

“Don’t. Not now,” he mutters tersely and straightens his tie. “Just check if her vitals are alright. And, don’t you dare mention this to anyone else, you hear me? If you do, things’ll get messy for me—the next round of body bags hasn’t been shipped in yet.”

She nods, though she looks like she wants to argue.

The rest of the fleet didn’t yet know of his true relationship with you—to them, you’re just a pretty face their Colonel took a fancy to. And, he wants to keep it that way for as long as he can while he formulates the best plan to get you to safety.

“The sedative we gave her was meant to lower her inhibitions enough to confess,” Brigitte murmurs. “I didn’t think—”

“If she doesn’t wake up, I’m throwing you and your team right into the Deepspace tunnel,” he threatens.

The award-winning scientist flinches, and lowers her gaze. “Colonel Xia, we will recover the antidote for her quickly.”

Caleb exhales, the tension in his broad shoulders lessening slightly. That’s what he likes to hear.

Brigette soon finishes her rounds of physical examinations on you. She bows and exits the medical room, leaving him alone with you again.

Caleb steps forward and gently runs his gloved fingers through your hair. In the silence of the fleet, where mechanical whirs mingle with his steady breathing, he makes you a promise that he will do everything in his power to fulfill.

“I swear I’m getting you out of here in one piece, Pipsqueak.” He leans forward to press a soft kiss to your forehead.

“Swear it on my life.”

He told you before that you would always see him when he came home and this time, he intends to keep his promise till the very end.

a/n: i need this man biblically and carnally,,,, feedbacks and reblogs are very much appreciated <3

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