zomgcaleb

[zomgcaleb]

୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ TEACH ME H0W T0 SCREAM!!˚.ೃ࿔*

୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ SYNOPSIS Your boyfriend knows how to make you scream so loud!

୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ GENRE smut, porn with no plot ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ PAIRING Caleb, Xavier, Sylus (seperate)

୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ WARNING fem!reader, explicit content, pwnp, possible grammar errors, not proof read lol, NO spoilers, pronebone + headlock (Caleb), hints of overstim, breeding, no protection (wrap it b4 ya tap it), p in v, cuddle fuck (Xavier), mating press (Sylus), pet names

「 ✦ A/N ✦ 」 yea yea, ik ik, this is a pretty short fic, sorry love(╥﹏╥)I have a shit ton of requests (which is good), so I wanna work on those(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧ Halfway through I got hit with writers block so blame that if my writing seems lazy. Also I’m working on a kinktober so if there is anything you’d like me to include in it send it my way!<3

CALEB

“Haah! Y- you feel so, hnng-! So g- good. .” Caleb miraculously manages to get out between his loud moans and whines, his hips snapping against your bruised and red ass.

He’s gone feral, fucking into your gushing and creaming pussy like a wild animal, keeping you trapped against the bed, pronebone. Caleb’s panting and whimpering into your ear, lips finding your cheek or jaw, peppering sloppy kisses to your skin. There is a sinful harmony in the air: the obscure sound of your sopping cunt squelching with each rough thrust he gives you, the warm cum he buried deep in your pussy overflow from your stuffed pussy, the sounds of skin constantly slapping against each other, and his loud moans of pleasure. 

You are an absolute mess, fat tears trickling down your flushed cheek, drool dribbling from your parted lips, tongue lollied out as you pant and wail, eyes rolled back so far. Has pleasure even been this addictive? Your sensitive pussy spasms and flutters helplessly around Caleb’s fat cock, velvety walls having a vice grip around him, practically milking him dry. 

“Ooh fuck-! C- Caleb!” You squeal out his name between your moans and sobs, puffy clit buzzing as the soaked fabric below grinds at your bud. 

The way you moan out his name, it sends a pleasant and familiar wave of heat wash through his body, a shiver coursing through Caleb. The warmth pools down to his throbbing cock, beads of precum spilling out of his bulbous tip. It’s been hours since he started to fuck your creamy pussy, he’s mindless and barley coherent, no thoughts in his head. 

All he is able to do is fuck into your tight cunt, angry red bulbous tip banging against your cervix, smushing globs of his cum agaisnt your cervix. Through your fucked our haze, you shakily reach to grab onto a pillow, hodling it tightly. You can’t squirm or writhe away from the overwhelming pleasure, Caleb’s got you caged against the bed, his whole weight on your body. 

“I love fucking -hnng! Y- you, my sweet girl. . sofuckingtight!” His words are a jumbled mess, he’s too drunk of pleasure to babble anything but praise. 

Caleb’s pace is brutal: he’ll slide out of your pussy until only his bulbous tip was in your gummy entrance, bury his cock to the hilt of your cunt in a mere second, heavy balls slapping against your swollen clit, slide out, only to repeat the cycle. He lets out a silty groan when you clamp around his cock, his head falling between the nook of your shoulder. His hungry mouth finds your skin, leaving hot kisses, lapping at your sweaty skin, sucking pretty marks onto your flesh, seemingly unable to keep his mouth off of you. 

“F- feels so good. .’leb” You wail, your voice ragged and broken from moaning and gasping so loud. 

You attempt to bury your head into the pillow, desperate to muffle your loud moans, you rather not hear another complaint from your neighbor. Caleb’s arm snakes around your neck, muscular biceps keeping your head up and off the pillow. You grip on the pillow flatters, instead, you weakly hold onto his forearms, nails leaving crescent marks on his skin. 

“Haah. . ‘Leb! T- the neighbors. . Oooh-!” You try to reason with your pussy drunk boyfriend, screaming loudly when his cock grazes your g-spot. 

“Fuck them. . Ohfuck! L- let ‘em hear how good. . your cunt feels ‘round me, baby” Caleb stammers, shamelessly moaning onto your shoulder, tongue rolling on your skin. 

You started to feel lightheaded, numb, brain mush from the intense pleasure. Every thrust knocks the breath from you, or the little you had. Caleb’s making you see stars, that heat in your belly is intense and burning hot. 

“Haah-! G- gonna cum, ‘Leb!” You wail loudly, drool dripping from your chin onto his biceps. 

Caleb moans in approval at your words, his hips abruptly picking up the pace as he desperately drives his cock deeper into your cunt. There is no thought behind him, his body moving purely on desire. The loud sounds of skin slapping against skin intensifies, fwop fwop plap plap. 

“B- baby. . please” he whimpers pathetically, his hips snapping firmly against you.

“Need you to. . Hnng hah! T- to cum f’me. . please” Caleb begs, his free hand grabbing your hip firmly. 

“Need’a m- make you. . sotight. . s- scream” he breathes out between moans and groans, his tip kissing your poor cervix.

Heading him encourages you only fuels your desire, a wave of heat washes over your body, pooling to your cunt. You take your bottom lip between your teeth, drool seeping from your lips.

“Hah. . ngh! I-I, ‘leb!” Your babble coherent sentences, voice so loud it’s almost deafening.

“That’s it. . that’s it. .” Caleb pants, his quick thrust barely faltering even though he’s starting to get tired. 

He can’t stop, not until you cum. Caleb needs to feel you tighten around his cock, feel your pussy gush and squirt around  him, hear you let out a scream.

“Please, c- cum f’me, my pretty girl. .” He mutters dumbly, cock throbbing and twitching inside your pussy.

How long has Caleb been prolonging his own orgasm? His cock has been twitching and throbbing even second, desperate to finally fill you up with his cum. He can’t cum, not until you do first.

“Hnng! ‘M. . cumming!” You wail, eyes wide, jaw agape as you let out a silent scream that melts into a sob.

That intense heat in your stomach snaps, pussy clenching around his cock so tightly. You helplessly squirt around his cock, juices spraying into the bed below, soaking it with your juices, a scream escaping you. You are ridiculously tight now, eliciting a choked moan from Caleb.

“That’s it, yea yea. . that’s it! S- such a messy pussy. . Ngh-!” Caleb stutters, mind gone as he fucks himself into your spasming cunt.

“G- gonna fucking. . Haaah-! Cum in this pretty pussy, baby” he whimpers, ball twitching, his body trembles as he buries himself to the hilt of your pussy. 

Caleb whimpers softly, tip pressed against your cervix, hot cum spurts inside your pussy like ribbons. He’s already stuffed your pussy with his cum, some spilling around his cock, trickling down onto the bed below.

“S- so good. .” Caleb trembled, grinding his hips against yours, keeping his cock deep inside your pussy.

XAVIER

“Oooh god. . X- Xavier-!” You loudly scream his name, a blissful expression on your face, eyes rolled back so far, lips parted as drool dribbles down from your swollen lips.

Your skin glistens in the dim light, body covered in a thin layer of sweat. Uncontrollably, you twitch and shiver with each spark of pleasure that courses through your body. It’s like Xavier’s in a trance, desire and hunger quickly took over his mind.

You’re lying on your side, one of his arms is beneath your head as cushion, the other one is resting on your stomach, pushing against your stomach to ensure your body is flush against his while he pounds into your creaming and gushing pussy. Your poor neck and shoulder are littered with Xavier’s mark from when he had his head slotted against your neck, lips peppering warm and open mouth kisses at your warm flesh, tongue lapping at your skin, teeth leaving small marks behind. He’s possessive, leaving his own mark on your flesh, watching them bloom slowly, everyone will know that you’re his and only his. 

“Fuck! T- too much. . haah!” You cried out, your grip around a pillow tightening, holding onto it for dear life.  

Impatiently and sloppily, Xavier snaps his hips against yours, pushing his cock back into the warmth of your velvety walls, it was like heaven. It’s like he was put into a trance, the only thing in his mind was to keep fucking his throbbing cock in and out of your spasming pussy. It’s you, you were the one who hypnotized him, made him lose his sense of thinking, sense of everything. 

To think that this same room was once quiet, besides the occasional soft breathes that would escape Xavier. But now? It’s filled with the sinful sounds of sex: the obscure wet squelching sound of your wet pussy, skin slapping against each other, your loud mewls and gasps mingling with Xavier’s breathless moans.

“A- all mine. . mmph” Xavier moans quietly through his pussydrunk stupor, burying his cock to the hilt of your pussy, grinding his hips against yours, groaning when your velvety walls spasms around his cock. 

Xavier feels spent, the overwhelming feeling of pleasure coursing through his body is almost numb. He’s beyond overstimulated, his cock throbbing like a heartbeat from cumming over and over again, he’s barely coherent. How many times has he orgasmed? 

His cock is throbbing and twitching vigorously inside of you, the overstimulation is enough to make him sob. But it’s like he can’t stop, Xavier needs to feel you clamp around his cock, walls try to milk him for all his worth. He’s been keeping the same pace, cock slowly dragging through your walls, yet deep, burying himself to the hilt, bulbous tip kissing your cervix. 

“H- haah. . oh my god” he’s mindlessly chanting your name, his voice ragged and sultry. 

He’s rutting into you desperately, intent on leaving his mark on you, both inside and outside. The hand on your stomach slides down your stomach, two fingers delving between your thighs to your puffy clit, rubbing mean circles on the slick covered bud. You let out a loud, whiney moan, eyes rolling back so far, tossing your head back onto Xavier’s shoulder as your lips part, you’re seeing stars.

“Hnng! Ohgod- Xavier. . too much!” You whine, smushing your thighs tightly together, that does little to stop Xavier from rubbing circles onto your swollen clit. 

“Mmh hmp. . call my name l- louder- let them hear. .” Xavier mumbles quietly, you can feel him throbbing and twitching inside your cunt. 

Abruptly, Xavier began to pick up the pace, the squelching of your pussy and skin slapping intensifies. Your jaw is agape, a silent scream. 

“Haah. . t- that you’re mine, all mine” He manages to get out through his pants and breathless moans. 

How Xavier is able to even speak coherent words rather than a jumbled mess is beyond your imagination. However, he’s barely able to get a word out without being interrupted by his own groans of pleasure. Besides, it’s hard to concentrate on creating a proper sentence when you’ve got a vice grip around his cock.

You’re just so tight, gooey walls sucking his jolting cock dry, keeping him buried in your cunt. With each deep thrust, his bulbous tip smushed against your cervix, pushing his cum deeper into your pussy. Although, to Xavier’s dismay, his thick cum spills out of your pussy every time he plunges his cock back into your cunt. 

“Ohfuck! G-gonna cum. . xav” you whine, the way you moan out his name is enough to make more blood rush to his cock. 

Xavier’s cock easily grazed your g-spot, eliciting a wail of pleasure from you. You shiver uncontrollably, the knot in your stomach so close to snapping. 

“Ooh. . oh god-! X- Xavier. . Hnng!” You let out a choked moan, your back arching off his. 

“All mine. . nobody, f- fuck haah-“ Xavier moans, brows furrowing when he feels you flutter and clamp down around his cock, pussy gushing around him. 

You wail loudly, eyes watering slightly, you tremble in his hold. Your cum forms a white ring around his base, dripping onto the bedsheets below. 

“. .else’s” he heaves out, fingers still rubbing gentle circles onto your clit. 

“Hnng! Xavier!” You whine his name, hands darting to grab onto his hand, leaving small crescent moons shaped into his skin. 

“haah. . yes, gonna c- cum” Xavier whispers through ragged breaths. 

He buries himself to hilt off your pussy, bulbous tip snug against your cervix. You can feel him twitch and throb inside, a soft moan escaping him. Xavier whispers your moans breathlessly, his thigh twitching slightly, clearly the numbness of his body faded away, leaving only the pleasant ache. 

Slowly, he shallowly thrusts in and out of your gushing pussy, sloppily riding out his own orgasm. Xavier doesn’t want to stop, he’s greedy, wanting more and more of you. He’s so spent, I’d be a miracle if he’d even be able to cum one more time tonight. 

SYLUS

“Don’t try to. . hah-“ Sylus groans out with that sultry voice, sending a wave of heat through your trembling, spent body. 

“Hide your beautiful moans, gasps, and whines of pleasure from me. . mmh, kitten” He clicks his tongue, his voice raspy from the occasional groans and grunts he’s been letting out. 

Sylus has yet to tear those scarlet eyes of his away from your form, burning the image of you beneath him. You look absolutely ravishing like this, shaking and trembling helplessly, a fucked out and blissful expression, cheeks flushed pinkish, a thin layer of sweat coating your body. You’ve got one of your hands covering your mouth, desperately trying to quiet down those loud moans, gasps, and whimpers that try to escape, you’ve even captured your bottom lip between your teeth. 

“Mmhp. .” Your moan is barely muffled by your hand, you can hear how shaky, broken, and ragged your voice was. 

Sylus has a firm grip on your thighs, holding you tightly as he bullies his cock into your gushing, overstimulated pussy. His pace is brutally precise, slow yet rough. He’ll bury himself to the hilt of your pussy, listen to that shaky sigh you let out, he’ll even angle his hips to where his cock was grazing your g-spot, just to hear you try to muffle your loud wail. 

“Hmp-!” 

You’re drunk off pleasure, you can barely pay attention to a word he’s saying. Slowly, the hand on your mouth falls limp beside your head. The firm grip on your thigh is released, Sylus’s reached towards your hands quickly, interlocking his hands with yours. 

He’s merciless, slamming his cock into your velvety walls that spams around his fat cock. With each thrust, Sylus’s will be flushed against yours, his bulbous tip would be pressed up against your poor cervix. He’ll graze your g-spot, purposely, ensuring he can hit your sweet spot, eliciting loud screams of his name from you. 

“Oooh god-! Sy. .” You mewl, eyes rolled back so far, your vision is blurred from your own tears. 

You feel so lightheaded, body numb and spent from the intense pleasure that crosses through your exhausted body. You know Sylus is a serious man, when he wants to be, and he was very serious 

about wanting to hear every little moan of pleasure you could let out. 

“That’s it. . let me hear all those precious sounds, sweetie” Sylus whispers softly, briefly letting go of your hands to grab at your thighs again. 

He pushes your thighs to its limit, until your ankles are pressed closely against your chest, folding you like a toy. You choke on a koan, eyes rolling back. 

“Oh my. . f- fucking god!” You cry out, hands scrambling to find purchase on something, anything, settling on your own thighs. 

Unknowingly, when you grab your thighs, you pull them closer to your chest, allowing Sylus to hit deeper in your creaming pussy. You can feel him twitch and throb inside your pussy, tip smushing his cum against your poor cervix. His thighs hit yours with a wet plap that echoes the spacious room, the sound is almost silent for you, the blood already rushed to your ear. 

“Hnng. . F- feels so good” you whimper, drool dribbling from your spit- covered parted lips. 

Sylus drinks up the sight of you, your an even more fucked out mess than before. Eyes hooded, clouded with exhaustion yet desire for more, your hair sticking onto your forehead, breast bouncing with each mean thrust, babbling nonsense and his name, tears clinging onto the strands of your eyelash. You are so ethereal, especially when you scream his name out like that. 

“Feel good for me, kitten. .” He groans, grows furrowing you flutter tightly around him.

You’re so fucking tight, velvety walls having a vice grip around his cock, keeping his buried in the warmth of your cunt. You can’t squirm or writhe away, forced to take the additive pleasure, the stretch of his fat cock in your gooey walls, it makes you unconsciously spasm around his cock. 

And every time you flutter around his dick, you summon a raspy groan from Sylus. 

“Sylusss. .” You whine his name loudly, struggling to buck your hips towards him, searching for more and more of pleasure. 

“Hnng. . shit, Sy-! I can’t. . wanna-!” You can’t even finish your sentence, each word interrupted by your own moans and sobs. 

Oh he knows, the familiar sensation of you fluttering and tightening around him, especially when he accidentally grinds onto your poor puffy clit. Sylus drives himself deeper into your cunt, the sloppy sounds of your wet pussy fills the room seems to get louder with each thrust, your juices dripping down your ass, to the bedsheets. 

“F- fuck. . so tight, kitten” Sylus purrs out, smirking down at you.

The sensation is mind numbing, the way his cock drags through your walls is too good. 

“Haah-! You're gonna make me. . mmhp! cum. .” You scream, through your cock drunk haze, you glance down at your connected bodies. 

His cock is absolutely drenched in your cum and juices, the slick coating mostly your thighs and his. 

“S- sy!” You can only moan his name, squirming slightly from the overwhelming pleasure. 

“Cum for me, kitten. .” He commands in a gentle tone, leaning closer to you, ensuring he grinds harder into your clit. 

The knot in your belly tightens and tightens, the heat is unbearable. It snaps, electing a loud wail from you. You sob, your juices spraying onto Sylus abdomen, creating such a mess. 

He doesn’t stop, even when you squirm and whine for no more, pounding into your spasming cunt. Sylus buries himself deep into your pussy, bulbous tip nuzzled against your cervix, ribbon spurts of cum shoots deep into your overstimulated pussy.

“Haah. . S- sy” you whine, sobbing when his cock slowly glides out of your walls, the wet pop of his cock leaving your gummy entrance, pressing his dick against your sticky folds.

“Did so well for me” he whispers, leaning down to kiss your cheek.

୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ All work belongs to only ME, jadestone2. Translating, plagiarism, copying, posting on another website, claiming as your work will NOT be tolerated, instant block ˚.ೃ࿔*

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[zomgcaleb]

❤︎ ໋𓈒 caleb wants to give you his baby

you were a drooling mess, your legs pushed up to your chest while caleb was relentlessly pounding into you, the blunt head of his cock battering your cervix and stretching your walls with his girth. your creamy pussy clenched instinctively each time he thrusted, as sounds of skin slapping filled the room from how sloppy your cunt was getting from his constant assault.

he was completely gone — whining, hair clinging to his forehead while he stared down at you with desperate, hooded eyes, and letting out a shaky laugh when he feels your pussy clamp down on him again, panting, "f-fuck, you're so tight, baby... gonna cum inside, sweetheart."

your thighs twitched in his grip, body trembling under him as you whimpered through your gasps, head tossing from side to side. you whined, practically squealing when his cock hit that perfect spot again, “y-yeah? please cum, cum inside, 'leb- fill me up, need it so bad…”

his moan was guttural, body shuddering as he leaned down over you, forehead pressed against yours. “wanna give you a baby,” he whined into your ear, going feral as he kept fucking into your frothy pussy. each thrust made your body jolt beneath him, his heavy balls slapping right against your clit. you could feel him throb deep inside you, and he felt the pressure building more and more in his core, the tight knot ready to break. “want you round and full with my kid, s-shiiit, can you feel it, pips? haahhh! g-gonna make a mess in your perfect pussy, sweets.”

you sobbed, walls fluttering helplessly around his cock and back arching as he drove into you harder, chasing his release while your brain was melting from how deep he was hitting. “uhhuh, uhhuh, p-please,” you cried. “want your baby- wan' it, caleb!"

he licked the tears off your cheek with a needy moan while his thrusts were getting more frantic now, barely holding himself together. with one last thrust, his hips slammed flush against yours, cock throbbing violently as he spilled deep inside. you both sobbed through it — your pussy spasming as you came with him, milking every drop while he gasped against your throat, “o-oh fuck, fuuuck, that’s it, thaaat’s it, take it, i- hnnngh-love you, sweet girl."

you could barely breathe, stuffed full and trembling, your cunt pulsing around him as more whines left your mouth. caleb didn’t pull out, instead choosing to rock his hips forward in tiny thrusts, his mind hazy as he was completely pussydrunk.

“stay just like this,” he stutters. “k-keep me in, sweetheart. keep it all in… gonna fuck it into you, give you my baby.."

© 𝒌issbabie | don't copy, steal, or translate any of my work

[zomgcaleb]

been away

caleb x femreader | phone sex, long distance, obscene dirty talk from the worlds biggest yearner | minors dni

university was beating your ass, to put it simply.

exams left and right, new lab reports thrown right in your face as soon as you finish the previous. becoming a hunter was never meant to be easy but the life of a college student was just as bad as everyone said it would be. there’s no room to breathe, socializing becoming a chore when you pile it onto studying and 8 am lectures.

it wasn’t so outlandish to assume that all of these responsibilities and expectations would be much easier to juggle with support. caleb was nothing if not the most sturdy rock, the one you could depend on to cook up a meal that you had no energy to make yourself. he would run you a bath without nagging about your lack of self care, he would ensure that the laundry room was stocked with detergent and fabric softener to save you the trip.

he made life easier. it was painfully obvious, it had been the moment he left for skyhaven.

no more prepackaged lunches left in the fridge. no more sticky notes stuck to the bathroom mirror reminding you to pick up toothpaste from the store. no more heavy hampers full of gym clothes and boxers and smelly socks. his absence brought a hollow feeling that took some adjusting to, but he always made up for it with calling and texting.

caleb makes it a point to check in, sending morning messages with little words of encouragement that were met with eye rolls from you. he calls every single day, he sends countless pictures just to update you about his life. quick snaps of his lunch, the occasional video of him hitting another pr at the gym, screenshots of his grades. the distance was strong but caleb’s need to connect was unshakable. he put forth plenty of effort.

the digital clock settled on your nightstand, one of many things you brought over from caleb’s room, read 3:14am. you’d prefer to be sleeping at this hour but the sound of caleb’s ringtone blares in your ear like a trumpet, waking you from your slumber almost immediately. it’s unlike him to be calling so late, knowing better than to disturb your sleep schedule. as compelling as it would be to decline his call, the unusual hour of it helps you decide otherwise.

linkon is quiet, the twinkling of the city outside a bit too bright outside of the bay window by your bed. a soft and sleepy grumble is all you can offer to the receiver as you pick up the call, ignoring his handsome contact photo staring at you on the call screen like a taunt.

heavy breathing greets you right back. it’s faint but audible, caleb’s phone likely tucked between his ear and his shoulder the same way he does when his hands are busy. slick noises stray from the speaker just to get louder with each beat. it raises many questions but he beats you to the punch, a strangled noise of acknowledgement coming through.

“didn’t think you’d pick up,” his voice sends warmth through you, tone full of desperation and a hint of huskiness. the pattern of his breathing hits your ear, shaky and pained with each weighted exhale. “i’m sorry. i know i probably woke you up.”

“caleb? is something wrong?” your voice calls back, sleepiness laced in your tone as you struggle to connect the dots. the mental image of you still being half asleep, bundled up in your covers and pajamas only causes a bead of precum to pearl at his tip. his clothing rustles as he swipes it, lubing his cock with the stickiness.

a hushed curse is all he can manage, the sound of his central air unit humming picked up as background noise. it was no secret that the two of you were having a hard time with the new living situation, being so far apart and unable to a thing about it, but caleb calling at a time like this was odd.

“no, no,” a laugh is interrupted with a hiss, your tired mind taking a few extra moments to read the room. he figured you’d be caught by surprise and he’d feel bad if not for how beautiful your voice sounds after being rudely woken up by a vibrating cell. “i’m good, i’m safe. don’t get all in your head, baby. just missed the sound of your voice in my ear.”

his explanation did little to ease your mind, the random call so uncharacteristic for him. caleb was always on top of his health and wellness, the biggest advocate for eight hour sleep schedules. it almost felt hypocritical for him to be keeping you from your rest but unfortunately, you missed him just as much.

“mister 8pm bedtime is rudely interrupting my beauty sleep,” you shuffle around in your sheets, unable to ignore the moans and lewd sounds of caleb beating his cock on the other end of the phone. “the caleb i know would have my head on a stick if he knew i was answering a phone call this late at night. who are you and what have you done with him?”

the playfulness is your shared love language but he couldn’t be bothered to respond, refusing to throw you a bone. he was too hard, too worked up to go back and forth with you.

“this is your fault, you know,” his voice strains, hurried and unsteady. caleb doesn’t give you a single second to dwell on the meaning behind his words, continuing his onslaught of shuddered accusations. “you just had to send me that photo earlier. showing off your cute hairstyle, giving me that big smile. i know i asked for it but i’ve been so hard since you sent it my way.”

the confession makes your thighs press together, thinking back to the quick selfie you sent caleb after a hair appointment earlier. he was constantly asking for photos, doing what he could to make up for not seeing you face to face. they were the only things he could trust to keep him going, working like instant serotonin when he was really in his feelings about being away. sending them was one thing, but knowing the grave effect that a simple look at your face had on caleb was enough to drive any girl to madness.

“nothing helps. i’ve been trying to get off for hours but nothing fucking helps,” caleb murmurs, frustration laced in his tone as his pace simultaneously speeds up in the background. “i’m begging you here, just humor me. fix what you did to me.”

it was so much easier to keep these thoughts to himself before the two of you went ahead and had sex for the first time. it was right before sending him off to the academy, blessing him with the feeling of your tight walls strangling his cock as a departure gift. it was terrible timing and if he had known how much it would have fucked his head up, he would’ve held off.

now, all he thinks about is you. how you sounded in his ear when he bottomed out for the first time, the way your legs curled around his waist like a serpent catching its prey. your taste is still on his tongue after all of this time. he can’t shut himself up, fiending to feed that side of him that craves you like a fire craves oxygen.

his thoughts are put on the back burner when you whimper in his ear through his phone speaker, sounding just as divine as when he plunged his thick cock into you before he left. it’s enough of a reply, egging him on to tug at his slick dick with more force.

“i bet you’re so warm, bet you smell so good,” caleb rasps into the speaker, long moans leaving his lips, spewing his every inner thought because it feels better to vocalize his need. “bet your pussy would make this so much easier on me. ‘s it wet, honey? does it miss me? let me hear it, i wanna hear you stretch it out for me.”

“caleb, you’re ridiculous,” you mewl, thankful he couldn’t see the way you squirmed to kick the duvet off of your legs. the sheets crumple with the movement and tunnel vision blurs your focus, the sloppy noises of his cock spurring you on. “don’t you have roommates? have some shame and shut up before you wake them too.”

“they’re out,” he hisses, the sound dulled through the line in a way that dampens your mood a tad. he sounded so good, being so vocal— it was a shame that he wasn’t in your ear, crystal clear with his pants and his dirty words. “it’s the weekend, they’re always out on the weekends. got parties to hit and girls to talk to, you know how boys are.”

“go with them.”

“fuck, no. no, got all i need right here. play with that pretty pussy and talk to me.” his breathing suffocates the speaker, the springs of the dorm room bunk creaking with every roll of his hips. “make me cum.”

caleb being so quick to deny himself of going out with his new friends, to stay in and be a homebody because he missed his girl— oh, it left you soaked. he was friendly and approachable by nature but none of that ever mattered if you weren’t in his picture.

your fingertips find your clit under soiled cotton panties, rolling and rubbing the swollen bud. quiet, sleepy moans mingle with his grunts in a rushed melody that borders pornographic, loud without concern of being heard by others. he inhaled with your every exhale, sounding much needier than when you first picked up. he had a way of making you feel like the only girl who existed.

“i wish this was you,” your mouth works before your mind, slurring over your words as the pleasure glues you to the mattress. back arching, hips bucking restlessly to grind against your sloppy touch. “rubbing me like this. your fingers are so much bigger than mine, they can do so much more than i can.”

“yeah, baby. talk to me. ‘m almost there.” caleb huffs back like a reflex, wrist almost aching with how long he’s been trying to coax an orgasm out of himself. calling you was a very impulsive move on his end but god, is he glad he got ahold of you. his vision has been starry and spotty from the moment he heard you accept the call, quiet and lucid and confused as to why he was still up.

“fuck. i gotta get my hands on you, i gotta make you cum again. wanna watch your face when i make that little pussy cream on my fingers. you make the prettiest faces.”

it was downright shocking just how vulgar caleb could get, hearing all of these nasty words leaving his lips so smoothly. it came naturally to him, something that was far from expected after growing by his side for so long. the same guy who picked out cute hair clips for you and the same guy who tucked you into bed every single stormy night could ramble on and on about how he wanted to destroy your cunt. fuck it into the shape of his cock, hit so deep that it winds you.

“shit, i’m gonna fuckin’ cum. gonna bust my nut all over my hand,” his voice shakes, each word a fight to get past his lips, his hand stroking so fast that it echoes in the speaker. “it’s gonna get so messy. you’ll clean it, huh? my favorite girl can clean the cum off of my cock, right?”

[zomgcaleb]

this is humiliating why i am horny over this its literally a shoulder blanket

for such nice... beautiful.... broad...... shoulmderrs........ mmmmm

[zomgcaleb]

Caleb hates being away when he's out on missions, especially when he's too busy to check his texts during working hours. At night, beneath the privacy of his blanket on a bed that feels cold without you, he sacrifices sleep to let his hands wander with only you on his mind.

Your phone vibrates with several desperate, misspelled texts - like he's too worked up to care about correcting the typos he normally hates.

"need uyo so badly pls send me a pic"

"pic of your face, outfit, jst pls send me smoethng"

"can you vdieo call"

"please"

If you don't respond immediately, Caleb scrolls to the special little album folder on his phone, cleverly disguised with a picture of an apple on the off chance someone might see it.

It's filled with pictures of you - your face, your body -- any picture you've sent him resides in this folder. If he scrolls far enough down to the recesses of the album, he finds the explicit photos you've sent in various states of undress.

He reaches his favorite photo - the one that does it for him every single time. You sent this photo to him a while back when you first started staying at his place when he'd go away. You're wearing his jacket, unzipped just enough that the top of your chest is visible.

It's not a complete view; just a taste that lets him know you're not wearing anything underneath it. You hold the phone to take the photo with one hand, but your other rests at the top of your panties, thumb hooked into the waistband to tug the fabric.

You're wearing Caleb's favorite pair of panties that you own - a rich, blood-like crimson, plain aside from a cute little bow right at the top. The picture cuts your legs off, but he can see your thighs and it drives him insane.

By the time you see his messages and video call him, he's breathless. His hair sticks to his forehead, the strands clinging to the skin with bits of sweat. Caleb's lips are slick with spit, slightly red and swollen with teeth indentations - he's been biting them in frustration.

"There's my good girl - what took you so long, Pipsqueak?" He asks with a poorly executed attempt at nonchalance as his gravelly, affected voice betrays him.

You like to poke fun at him and call him out on the fact that he looks like he's just run a marathon, but through the screen, his eyes bore into yours with a dead seriousness. "Yeah, we've been apart for a few days and I'm thinking about you. Who wouldn't be this fucked up?"

It's late, he's horny and as much as he'd love to wax poetic about you and how much he loves you, he needs THIS - to hear you and watch your lips form his name in the most addicting, eye-rolling cadence. You could say his name a thousand times and it's still not never enough.

Caleb shares everything with you in total transparency and can't state enough just how crazy you drive him with your mere existence. "Perfect - so fucking beautiful and you're all mine. Yeah? Can you tell me? Please, say you're mine - how much you love me - how you need me."

You tease him - laugh about how needy he is - and he just agrees with you. "Yes, f-fuck, have you seen yourself?" His voice is hoarse, swollen and taut with tension that takes a physical form in the flush of his cheeks. "I need to touch you - been thinking about you all day."

He holds the phone with one hand, the other disappearing beneath his worn, well-loved sweats. "Is this okay? Can I touch myself? Please?" He begs, worked up to the brink of pain, but desperate for your permission - for your approval.

"Thank you, thank you so much, f-fuck, just hearing your voice is so good," He graciously whines and hisses as his fingers wrap around his aching cock. "J-just keep talking - anything, f-fuck you can say anything."

Between staring at your pictures before you even called him and listening to your voice, he knows this is going to be over fast. You playfully blow him a kiss and he whimpers, loud and pathetic as he works himself into a frenzy.

"Want to kiss you - need to kiss you - want to touch you so badly," He huffs, cock embarrassingly wet with the amount of precum he's leaking. "Need to be inside of you - I'd be so good for you, do anything you want, be anything you want -"

Caleb is a talker, unable to filter his thoughts out and keep quiet because he's so obsessed with you it all comes out in a feverish jumble. "I love you so much - love your f-face, those beautiful eyes - those lips, shiiiiit, do you know how fucking stupid you make me?"

"You know you make me go insane, right? Yeah? You could do anything to me - want you to use me, take what you need from me - I'll give you everything," He's spiraling, so close to coming just at the thought.

Please, I'm sorry, I know it's late, but just - just s-say my name," He stammers, tripping over his words and practically near tears. "Can you? Please? Please, honey, say my name."

He's too sweet; his forlorn and almost miserable expression making you feel badly for him, so you don't hold out. The second his name leaves your lips, he's choking on air and spilling all over his hand and you can see the faintest trace of a tear trailing down his cheek.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry - I just can't stop thinking about you and today was hard," He apologizes, a little ashamed the spotlight was on him and he couldn't do anything for you.

Your musical, addicting laugh and assurances that just being able to do something for him is enough falls on his ashamed ears. He promises that the second he gets his hands on you, he's going to make you feel so good you won't even be able to say his name.

"Can I be selfish and ask you to stay on with me until I fall asleep?" Sleeping alone is difficult for Caleb, especially when he's so far away from you. His thoughts are his worst enemy, working in tandem with his anxiety to concoct the worst nightmares.

After he's all cleaned up and comfortable, he asks you to talk to him - tell him about your day, what you had for dinner - "Pipsqueak, that's not exactly a meal," He manages to chastise you even in his exhaustion. "When I get home I'm makin' you something filling."

You fall asleep on the call and the first thing Caleb sees when he wakes up is your beautiful, peaceful face. It's enough motivation to get him through his grueling day - at least until he's back in his bed and fighting the urge to look at that special little album of his.

[zomgcaleb]

Have and Hold

recommended listening: Goldwing by Billie Eilish

"Caleb. You don't need to ask for my permission... to masturbate? It's your body." You frown, expression tight as you endeavor to understand. "But it's not." A statement of fact. "Caleb." You say, stern. "It's not." Said with no room for argument. Your heart stops. The chip, the nightmares, his arm. "Caleb if it's... nothing that's happened to you has-" "It's yours." He cuts your reassurance off with a firm, essential clarification. "...What?" You breathe out dumbly. "'S yours. Always been yours."

-> Caleb is all about restraint. You are not.

I'M BACK YALL did everyone miss me please? Sorry for the almost entire month of zero writing I've been going through it in a most foul and extreme way. Anyways. Microdosing writing smut with this so I can stop being so fucking intimidated by the fic I have been TRYING to write for 3 WEEKS.. (its my first time everyone be gentle with me. <3. did not need to phrase it like that.)

!MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

reader experience notes: reader is mc. reader has afab anatomy and the terms clit, bud, mound, and cunt are used to describe their genitalia. reader's gender is not otherwise specified/no pronouns (aside from you/yourself) are used for reader. reader's chest is not described at any point. reader is mean and caleb loves it. reader is very moody which i understand may not be for everyone. reader has a high sex drive.

content: hoooo boy here we go. oral sex (reader receiving). discussion of oral sex (m! receiving). phone sex. masturbation on both parts. sex toy usage (vibrator, dildo) overstimulation and orgasm denial. lots of praise on both parts. degradation? bullying? on reader's part (toward caleb) size difference (reader's size is not described. just a lot of emphasis on caleb being big and huge and strong) general calebmc typical freak4freak shit. sub caleb because I know what I'm about. dialogue heavy because I know what I'm about. heavy usage of pip-squeak and variants (pip, pips) because I know what I'm about. Just generally pretty nasty. I think that pretty much covers it.

approx. 10.5k words

also on AO3 (available to registered users only)

Caleb is all devotion and diligence.

He's built a life around it, a body. Every atom of his makeup identified, organized, and understood by him. Every move he makes through the world is intentional, specific. Careful cuts into lean meats, over perfectly portioned meals. Quietly counted repetitions at the racks, and evenly paced laps around the track. Caleb has been militant, in his self maintenance, since long before there was academic or professional cause for it. Meticulous, in the curation of his endlessly evolving skill set; in his cautious, calculated control of his emotions. Driven, in all aspects, to mastery, by one sole motivator.

Caleb, the unspoken, unwavering, means to your ends.

Perfect Caleb, the endlessness of sky. Your Caleb, the atmosphere that binds that sky to the earth. Mind, body, and soul; all in your service, all to your benefit.

Your reliable pillar of strength, a title aimed for-since his inception, he'd say if you asked-and earned-and earned, and earned-every day since the one you first took his hand. A promise of protection he has stated to you, explicitly, more times than you can count.

Now, expressed to you more explicitly than you'd ever dared to dream of.

You jolt, back arching harshly off of the bed, fingers flexing and clenching into fists where Caleb holds them securely to your chest. One hand for your two, what the fuck.

He's so big.

The information isn't news to you, but the thought has your pupils dilating regardless.

It always happens like this, something about that weight that's always been for you being used against you... You couldn't get him off of you if you tried. Being so caught, your breath catches. It never fails to make your core stir.

Though, you're far beyond stirring at present. You feel dizzy, overwhelmed, even as you reason with yourself that all you're doing is laying there taking it.

His tongue pushes into you for just a moment. A brief stop as he takes a long, slow lick up from your entrance to your clit. Where he returns to a long, repeating rhythm you've taken notice of, but are too far gone to give any meaningful thought to.

long press, short press, long press, short press.

All you can do is shake. Lower half jerking with every hit to your throbbing clit.

You have no choice but to lay there, useless and taking it. Pressed down hard into the middle of your mattress. Wrists pinned to your chest, legs thrown over his shoulders and locking down on him, clinging to him. Desperate for any point of grounding at all, anything to define the boneless, heavy mess he's made of you. The hand not occupied with keeping yours up and away busies itself with the equally punishing task of pushing your wild hips back down, down. Moving, at his whims, to take his tongue's place at your clit whenever he decides he needs to lap at your center like a dog. Licking you out like he hopes to drain you.

All of it is done with an ease and relaxation that really isn't fair at all. Like the passing hours-known to you only by the changing colors of the world outside-can't even touch him when he's taking you apart, molecule by molecule.

You scoff, annoyed, even in your state of total undone-ness, at his being unaffected. Your eyes cut down to where he rests between your legs.

And you're wrong.

The tips of his ears are apple red, and every other part of him that you can see is nearing similar states of flush. His hair is disheveled and sticking up at odd angles, his cheeks and jaw are wet and sticky where they are all but glued to your thigh. Thin trails of you keeping your flesh connected when he pulls away from your core for air, an action he cannot seem to do without his brow drawing down. Like it offends him to detach from you, like he takes issue with his body's need for breathing. His breaths come out quick and shallow, before he's right back to mouthing at you.

He's anything but unaffected. He looks wrecked.

You haven't even touched him.

His eyes dart up to meet yours, nose nudging your clit as he moves to get his tongue on it, again. And the fucking look on his face-

short press, long press.

You clench around nothing, head thrown back with a gasp. Your stomach going taut and tense, legs spasming as your nth orgasm washes over you. You've made no effort to count. Had learned, after that first night, that it was useless to try.

He'd touched you like it would be the only time, like the last. The way he'd laved lips and tongue and teeth over every part of you, had covered you in him, you'd thought you finally understood what it meant to be swallowed by a black hole. That you were the only one to know it and live.

Meticulous, relentless, merciless Caleb, and dawn breaking over all of the you he'd swallowed, all of him over you.

All he'd torn apart and put back together.

short press, long press, short press, short press.

You gasp at the overstimulation, fighting with everything in you-which, right now, is next to nothing-to get away from him. Ears ringing so loudly you can't tell if your pleas of "no more no more no more" are muttered brokenly aloud or trapped, like the rest of you, in the discordant mess of your head.

An audible smack, as he releases you. A blessed minute allowed for you to descend the high enough to finally look down to where his eyes are glued to you, all shaky breaths and hooded gaze. A perfect mirror, you're sure, to your own expression. The trails of your release binding him like web thread to you. There's something in that, about traps and those who lay them. Their victims and the feast that is made of them. But you're much too exhausted for metaphor. Breathing alone hardly feels worth the labor.

You jerk when the hand on your stomach starts to rub tender torturous circles into the flesh just above your mound. You know he sees the pleading in your eyes.

With no thoughts left of your own, you can only hope he will figure out what it means for you.

He hums, like he would choosing between produce at the grocery store, and then he's lowering himself back over you. Your heart hammers. There's no way, there's just no way. One slow lick in the space where your lower lips meet your thigh, and you shudder. Open-mouthed kisses trailing up to your knee, a whimper falls from your mouth. Another long lick back down, down, down.

You keen.

You get a second, just one, and then he's back on you.

Fucking. Hell.

You're entire abdomen tenses. You aren't going to make it.

short press.

You should've seen it coming when he messaged you.

need you. soon as I get home, ok?

Needy didn't even begin to cover what he was when he got to you. The door only just opened before he was on his knees, pushing your body up against the wall as he nudged it back closed with his foot.

You don't know how he'd managed to get his shoes off and put away while he was between your legs-yourself distracted by your own eyes rolling into the back of your head as you ground down on him-but you know he was without them as he'd carried you to the bedroom. You'd seen them up on the rack in the brief moment he'd paused in stealing your breath with deep, self-soaked kisses to let you catch your breath. You, blissed out already, from the first.

The first that had been hours ago.

long press, short press, short press, short press.

You groan, head dropping to the side in defeat. Ragged breaths continually punched out of you with every pleasure-pain press of his tongue.

It's a lot. To say the absolute least.

Squirming beneath him, a miserable whimper escapes you unbidden.

Caleb notices, because of course he does, and sucks hard on your clit before pulsing his tongue over it. Like some sort of fucked up heartbeat. It shoots like lightning through you, a sudden surge of adrenaline giving you strength to react.

You yank one of your legs off of his shoulders, wriggle it in between your bodies, use all the force you can muster as it shakes and shakes to shove at his chest, try and force him off.He pushes down against you.

"Cay-Caleb fuck, enough! I'm gonna die."

"You know your word." It's not a question. He just likes to remind you, all smug and satisfied as his head lolls back onto your thigh. Looking up at you all starry eyed like you've touched him at all. Stopping and waiting, for you to say...

You heave, deep, intentional breaths going shallow, as tears well in your eyes.

"Caleeeb." Your head rolls, tears fall, and all he does is smile.

Because that's not your word. Because you've talked about this.

Because when you're like this, 'Caleb' means 'keep. going.'

You damn yourself, happily. You couldn't dream of doing anything else.

Anything else, except maybe...

You wriggle your loosed leg down between your bodies, settle it straight between his thighs. Vying, even in your state of total collapse, for any sort of control. He groans, hips rolling when you notch yourself against him, give him something to rut into.

It's the best you can do, the most active role you can hope to play under his ministrations. His self-control test, and yours too. You sigh, shakily settling with the rhythm of his body moving over you, his mouth moving against you. The desperate thundering of your pulse, the animal part of you that tells you it's 'too much, too much!', all drowned out by every sound from him. Every groan and moan and cry that you're 'so warm' and 'so pretty' and 'so good so fucking good'.

Every desperate, ragged reminder that "I'm yours, pip. All yours."

How could you argue anything different? After all the worship he's offered you over the years, over these last few weeks?

Caleb, who works you until you're wrung out and clawing at him.

...or his endless obligations call him away.

-

"I'm borrowing these." Caleb is gathering up his things to go. Some fleet operation he can't or won't tell you anything about. You're trying not to be annoyed by it. And succeeding, if only because he spent the better half of all night fucking any fight out of you. Which is of course, irritating in and of itself, especially when you are beginning to think that was exactly his intention.

Getting you off over and over and over and only then announcing 'Hey, I've got a mission starting next week. A long one. It's classified, but I wanted you to know I might be difficult to reach.' with you all exhausted and curled up against him just how he likes. Whatever. There's hardly anything either of you can do about work besides take each other's schedule in stride and tamp down the little voice in your heads that chants 'don't die don't die don't die' like a some kind of siren. You are too familiar with your own fragility, the knowledge of exactly what it feels like to lose. You both are.

Whatever. Caleb said something to you, and you'll take anything to distract from your rising anxiety and overwhelming exhaustion. You use the little strength you have left to peel your eyes open, see what he has.

You don't know why you even bothered to look.

"No, you absolutely are not. You've taken like half of my comfy pairs and I'm over it." You grumble.

That had been a fun conversation.

In the aftermath of his birthday and the events of the night of, you'd decided to finally talk about... everything you probably should've talked about before you, you know, fucked absolutely nasty until the sun rose.

C'est la vie, neither of you have ever been particularly conventional.

Amongst the other confessions and reminiscences and explanations of the day came the truth about your frequently disappearing panties. The admission that it was in fact, not laundry gnomes taking dues from the wash-which you hadn't believed for awhile, by the way-and was actually, shocker, Caleb the whole time.

You'd made him show you his stash, the pile of your dirty underwear tucked into the back of his pajama drawer. Which was a frankly, startling amount for him to have gathered in the time since you'd reunited, and equally as startling a thing for you to ask to see and proceed to not really do anything about. You had a distinct awareness, even at the time, that neither of you were embarrassed or ashamed enough about the whole thing. A hallmark trait of your entire relationship, truly. Maybe even the entire basis of.

Point being, you made an agreement. Any further acquisitions must be asked for and approved of by you. Hence-

"But I need it." He's pouting, like a child, over your cum soaked underwear.

"I need it. To wear." You gape at him, absolutely dumbfounded by the audacity.

He sighs like this is a real, actual problem and pulls a wadded up bit of fabric out from his bag to toss your way.

"Wear those. They're clean." He replies, visibly, audibly frustrated. A compromise made out of necessity, not willingness.

You unfurl the material, noting almost immediately that this is a pair you did not give him permission to take. Your hands smack down into your lap. "Dude!" His back being turned to you does nothing to hide the fact that he is genuinely and actually giggling. Your eyes roll. Stupid Caleb. Always has to feel like he's getting away with something.

...Just like he's getting away with leaving for this stupid mission.

"You are such a pervert." You groan with exaggerated annoyance, an effort to mask the way you are beginning to mope, and roll over in bed, away from him.

All the secrets he keeps so easily from you and to this day all you can do to stop him from seeing right through you is keep him from seeing you at all. Hide and hope you can buy yourself enough time to sort out your emotions before he starts sorting them for you.

And right now, there's plenty to be sifted through. The cocktail of irritation and worry and desperation keeping you from any coherent thought. That and-

Somehow, despite the attack it has already suffered, your core throbs.

You thought you knew all the ways you could miss him, after the explosion.

Not even close.

You got good at missing his laugh, the sound of him moving through the house, his shadow and the way it fell over you. You've had time to learn how to sit with his absence in a room, the stillness of undisturbed air, the unfilled silences between your heartbeats.

You've missed his hand holding yours, sure, but the way it fits between your legs? His breath, breaking in gasps in your ear? His body molded over you, closer than ever? Trying with everything in him to get closer still?

...You don't know how to miss that yet. Only a few weeks since your relationship evolved beyond what either of you had ever thought was possible and still it feels like you can hardly remember a time where he wasn't on you, or in you. Your thighs clench and the soreness of the muscles there reminds you that you are an animal, and you need to calm down.

Ugh. You are dangerously close to having to admit that you're just as bad as he is.

"Hey." He says as you hear his bag zipping shut. He's leaving, and soon. Your heart sinks. The fire that was starting to rise inside you fizzling out.

"Mm." You know what you look like right now-somewhere between needy and crushed, and either way desperate-and so refuse to face him.

You feel the bed shift with his weight, as he crawls up to and over you. He shifts you from your side onto your back and he's already smiling, all soft and sorry, as your face finally turns to his. His eyes flicker across your expression, then up and down the entirety of you. Either searching for something or trying to store away this most recent image of you. Another snapshot for the wall to wall depictions of you in his memory. You almost ask, but then his head tilts, and lowers.

He nuzzles you, cheek to cheek, breath hot against your ear.

"...Don't miss me too much." Which you know means 'please miss me way too much' and could be innocent, if not for the look on his face suggesting that you've been all the way found out. Every messy emotion in you, right down to the fresh lit kindling of your earlier fire.

He confirms your assumption by licking along the shell of your ear.

Unbelievable.

You shove at him, gaining no more than a hairs width of distance for the effort, and shoot a hand up to cover your ear. The heat rising back to a simmer inside you makes its way to your face.

"I can take care of myself just fine." You huff, stubborn. Already thinking through how you can get him equally hot and bothered just to kick him out. That would show him.

"And me?" He asks with the familiar boyish tilt of his big, stupid head.

"What about you?" Your brow furrows, too wrapped up in your own train of thought to get what he's after.

He laughs, peppers your face with kisses. Your answer, your replying question, apparently satisfactory enough.

"Be good pips." A kiss at the tip of your nose, another nuzzle. You grumble to yourself, feeling out of the loop and out of ways to get him to stay.

"How about you be good for once?" You wrap your legs around his waist, more symbolic than actual request. You both know that if it were up to him he wouldn't be going anywhere.

"Yeah?" His voice comes out in a shallow breath, his eyes are all wide and soft and starry.

"Yeah." Yours is stern, steady.

If he sees through your poor performance of security, he's kind enough not to mention it.

-

Of the many things that are true about Caleb, there's one that stands at the fore.

Caleb, all devotion and diligence. Who turns down treats like it's as easy as breathing, who takes on extra miles any time he does allow himself to slip. Who has spent a lifetime putting up with and predicting your moods, caring for you and cleaning up your messes without complaint. Caleb who would-and has-forfeit everything to you. Who has forged himself into a shield for you, sharpened himself into a sword. Caleb, all steel and steeled nerves. Caleb, who can withstand anything.

Caleb who, the first night you spent together, wouldn't even let you near his dick until you begged. Until he'd ravished you to the point of forgetting your own name, doted on you to the point of remembering.

Caleb who, the last time you slept together, ate you out for hours on end and then didn't have you touch him at all. Who dropped his weight on you, held you down, until you stopped trying get at him...

Caleb, at his core: all restraint.

All of the ways in which the two of you exist as mirrors, and that is one trait you do not share.

You, who has never turned down a can of soda in your life. Who could hit snooze on the alarm all the way through noon. You, all unpredictable moods and messes to be cleaned up.

You, who has taken hand or toy to yourself every night since he left.

You refuse to feel shame for it. You weren't raised for restraint. Had actually, adamantly, been encouraged to abandon the concept as a whole. To take and take freely, when it comes to you, when it comes to him.

Now all you do is cum to him. It's honestly a little ridiculous. And a miracle you turned out mostly well adjusted.

To be fair, if you can even call it that. It's not just that you've been made into a completely insatiable mess. The sharp uptick in your self-pleasuring has equally as much to do with an inability to lay alone in the quiet of your room, wondering where he is and whether or not he's ok.

At least when you're thinking about all the fun ways he can absolutely kill you you aren't thinking about all the ways he could be dead.

Its been three weeks and there's no end in sight. Worse still, it's been a week since he's called. Or messaged. Or done anything to indicate he isn't somewhere in deepspace slowly losing breath.

It's beginning to take a toll on you.

Currently, you're sat in front of the television screen in your living room, watching some reality show rerun and debating sticking your hand back down your shorts. Desperate to will the worry away and wishing it had been a busier month at work.

Of course the wanderers are also away on a mission right now too. Probably specifically to kill the love of your life.

...You're genuinely considering taking a trip up to Skyhaven to get some answers yourself.

It wouldn't be the first time he's made you come find him.

In that moment, as if by magic, your phone rings.

Of course he calls now. At this point you wouldn't be surprised to hear him say he knew exactly what you were thinking about.

"Pips? You there?" He calls out to you, when pick up and the line stays quiet.

Three more seconds of dead air, just to make him squirm, before you finally speak.

"We're sorry, the number you have dialed is not currently accepting calls from big, dumb, heartless, stupid dummies who disappear for weeks on end. At the tone, you may record your apology and nothing else." It's a shoddy impression on your part, but it's the best you've got in your heightened emotional, and completely scattered mental state.

"I miss you." He says, dreamily... and with something else there that you can't quite place, something that makes your heart stutter. Something that almost, almost, stops you in your tracks.

Almost.

"That didn't sound like a sorry. And you didn't wait for the beep." You sincerely hope he can hear the scowl in your tone. On mission with no traceable location and zero contact for seven days? Yeah. He gets to play by your rules.

"Ah, we'll try again, start your spiel over." Still there... that undercurrent of something. Even as he puts on his 'Playful Caleb' tone to appease you. Your brow furrows.

He's always been better at keeping his cards close to his chest, an even easier thing to achieve across a phone line. He didn't video call... which is weird for him. Especially after this long apart. Which gives you reason to believe...

There's something he doesn't want you to see.

You don't really feel like playing anymore.

"I can't, I don't remember what I said." You mumble out. You can continue being mad after he tells you whats going on with him.

He laughs, the sound is punched out of him, a failed attempt at suppression. More like he's physically in hiding than hiding anything from you. Not better. Given the circumstances. But at least he doesn't sound hurt.

You've gotten pretty good at identifying those tells, since he came back to you. Years of seeing him untouchable and finally, suddenly, having so much exposure to him wounded. The chip, the nightmares, his arm.

"Something about big heartless dum-" You can all but see the mask falling, even as his voice lilts.

"I miss you too." It comes out whispered, like you're hiding with him.

There's a shaky exhale on the other end of the line. You stop breathing to listen close.

Ok, yeah... he might be hurt. Your heart rate kicks up.

"Caleb. What's going on?" You try not to sound panicked, like you're not already thinking about how you're going to get to him.

His choked out laughter tells you you've failed.

"Nothing, pips. What's going on with you?"

You say nothing. Unwilling to accept his non-answer. He sighs, aware.

"'verything's fine. At a training. Snuck away cuz I needed to hear your voice. That's all. Cross my heart." You know he's miming the motion, even without you there to see it. Wherever he is.

You don't bother to ask, you know he won't tell you. Just the same as you know that you have no choice but to believe what he is telling you. That its all the answer you're going to get. Your shoulders sag.

"Any idea when they're gonna let you come home?" You slouch back into the couch, staring mindlessly at the flickering shapes and colors on the tv screen.

"Shouldn't be long now... this extra training is about to come to a close." He pauses mid-sentence, just a split second. All the years spent together... it used to be that you were always on the other side of his story crafting. Half truths told to talk you both out of trouble. You miss being the one who got to catch his sideways glances and try not to smile. On the sly with him, instead of getting slighted. Its more and more often, now, that he leaves you to pretend you don't notice it.

But you can scratch at that old wound later. You don't have it in you to be bitter about it. Not right now.

"Good." All the anxiety you've been fighting to keep down is finally catching up to you. You're exhausted and you want him home. Nothing else matters.

"Yeah, good." It sounds like he's having the same thought. Like he's tired too.

"...They've really been putting you through it, huh?" You mean for your tone to go lighter. To come off more teasing than concerned. If only to give you both an out. And him a chance to bitch about his colleagues.

"What makes you say that?" His volume shifts, like he's shuffled his phone around, readjusted himself wherever he's standing. Or sitting. Or whatever he's is doing.

You wish you could see him.

"Nothing, just-" You pause. "I thought you were alright, when I picked up the phone. Then it started to sound like you were hurting..." You're going to get something out of him before this call ends. He owes it to you.

"Oh, I'm definitely hurting pips." Caleb manages to find the lightness you were looking for earlier, that playful tone.

Now. Of all times.

"Well then what the hell? You said everything was fine!" You sit up straight on the couch, free arm shooting out in a disbelieving gesture. Sore mood shifting sour.

"It is." He lilts.

"You- but you said you're-" You splutter.

"I am." He's steady. And teasing. And almost certainly fucking with you.

"Caleb. I'm going to hurt you if you don't-" You unconsciously mime choking the air.

"I thought you'd be hurting too, pip." His voice drops low, sultry.

He's lost you.

"Ah, no. That's right. You said you could take care of yourself." That teasing tone again. But worse. That condescending one he takes when he knows something you don't.

"What are you even talking about?" You fall into your age-old pattern of getting snippy and defensive. He is just so-

"Have you?" The question comes out quick, abrupt.

"Have I? Have I what? Had a stroke? I'm certainly beginning to wonder."

"Been taking care of yourself."

Your eye twitches. Forget concern, forget wanting him to come home. Tomorrow you're going out and buying new locks for the doors.

"Come on pip-squeak, use that big beautiful brain of yours." He says, leading. As if he's given you anything to work with. As if this whole conversation hasn't been like throwing yourself repeatedly into a brick wall.

'He's built like one.' The thought hits you like a slap in the face. Mind instantly conjuring images of him over you, behind you, throwing you over his shoulder-

Your core throbs as you attempt to shake the thoughts off. 'It is so incredibly not the time!'

Though, the time is definitely playing a role in this. For the last three weeks like clockwork you'd be working yourself up right about now, if he hadn't called and done it for you.

It's another thing you refuse to be blamed for, the way Caleb messing with your head gets you riled up in more ways than one. Because you know he knows it. Does it all on purpose.

You're inclined to hang up the phone right now. Leave him to think about what he's done while you go deal with yourse-

Oh. Oh.

"...You're asking me if I've masturbated since you've been gone." It comes out completely deadpan. A sort of numb stupification washing over you from the emotional whiplash. The fluttering in your core temporarily disregarded.

"Am I?" Oh, he thinks he's so funny.

"Obviously." You say, casually, like you didn't just have to argue for 5 minutes to arrive at that conclusion.

"...Obviously." He laughs, louder than before. You can't help how you clench at the sound, heat washing over you, even as you think about strangling him. You're so glad your torment has been amusing to him. He'd better enjoy it, before he gets home and gets the silent treatment for his transgressions. "Aaand?" You can practically see his stupid little upward-tilted puppy dog face. God.

He thinks he's so fucking cute. Why isn't he in you?

"And obviously, you asshole. It's been almost a month! What, like you haven't?" You're disoriented, and so so horny. And deeply annoyed with him, which is actually really worsening the horny situation.

Yeah. You're just as bad as he is. Maybe worse.

"You told me to be good." The huskiness in his voice has your jaw falling, a shaky breath catching in your throat at the words.

You scramble to call back the memory of your last conversation before he left. You shutter when it all comes back to you, clit throbbing.

"Caleb I wasn't- I was just being a brat, cuz I didn't want you to go. I wasn't even thinking about... you seriously haven't touched yourself?" You're incredulous. The last three weeks have been torture even with you consistently taking the edge off. You can't even imagine yourself having gotten by without. How is he not dead?

"Nnnope." He drags the word out, pops the 'P'.

...This conversation over the phone just became the audio equivalent of walking in to your lover sprawled out on the bed in a new matching set.

"Like at all? Like for 3 weeks?" The pace of your words picks up, you're voice going higher with each one out of your mouth.

"Why do you sound so excited?" Laughter under each word. As if he has any room to talk, he sounds just as keyed up. He should be.

"I'm not. I'm annoyed." You say, grinning ear to ear. "If we're playing 'punish Caleb' I should at least get to know about it." You adjust your phone to rest between your ear and shoulder. Deciding you need your hands free for... reasons.

Would it be easier to just set your phone on speaker mode on the coffee table? For sure.

But you want to keep him close.

"Seriously, not even once? In three weeks?" A hand snakes its way into your sleep shorts. Light, leisurely movements.

"Since we started officially dating." He says it like he's talking about the weather. Like it's not a wild thing to admit so offhandedly.

"...What?" You shift back in surprise, free hand coming up to catch your phone as it slips from your shoulder. "Why?" The hand in your shorts stills.

"I don't remember getting permission." Again, that tone, still the weather.

Now more a gathering storm.

You... can't decide if that's hot or concerning. You remove your hand from yourself, to temporarily refocus your attention.

"Caleb. You don't need to ask for my permission... to masturbate? It's your body." You frown, expression tight as you endeavor to understand.

"But it's not." A statement of fact.

"Caleb." You say, stern.

"It's not." Said with no room for argument.

Your heart stops. The chip, the nightmares, his arm.

"Caleb if it's... nothing that's happened to you has-"

"It's yours." He cuts your reassurance off with a firm, essential clarification.

"...What?" You breathe out dumbly.

"'S yours. Always been yours." He whispers, voice all lovesick and distant. Heart in it, but head wandering.

To the same place yours was just moments ago, you hope.

God, you need to lay down. This is too much.

"You can't just say things like that..." You let yourself fall onto your side on the couch. Finally electing to put your phone on speaker and lay it just beside your head, leaving you laid out beside Caleb's contact photo. One of him sound asleep on this very couch, wearing those worn out pajamas that really shouldn't get you as hot as they do.

"Why not? It sounds like you like it." He replies, voice increasingly gravelly with each word.

"You can't say things like that... and not be here to answer for it." Your thighs clench, hand slithering towards your shorts once more.

"I'll fly straight home to you as soon as I can pip." A deep, shaky breath, on his end. "Soon as I can."

You sigh, at just the idea of relief in sight.

It's all you can ask for, really. Both of your lives-your careers-are seriously demanding. You can stand however many more days of being needy, of not seeing him. You have to.

...Is what you'd really like to say, would say, if he didn't sound so good right now.

"Not good enough." Your voice comes out flat and firm, like one calling a dog to heel.

"No?" There's a knowing in the way he asks it. A preemptive surrender.

"No." You rise up on an elbow, looking down at the peaceful, tender image of your boyfriend on your phone's dim screen.

You compare him to the Caleb on the other end of the line. Who has surely spent the weeks just as desperate as you, just as anxious, and has done nothing about it.

At your request, your command, however unintended.

Caleb, who is all restraint, and the spoiled little thing he raised.

You suppose it's time you gave him new orders.

"Caleb, I need you to take care of yourself." You demand, pretending at nothing else.

"Heh. I'm doin my best pips-" He breathes out a laugh. You roll your eyes.

'And he teased you for misunderstanding...'

"Uh uh. You're not listening. I need you... to take care of yourself." You speak slow, enunciating deliberately as you roll all the way onto your stomach, head supported on your hands.

A moment's silence. A trembling breath.

"...Yeah?" Restraint.

"Right now." A clear command.

"I'm in a training pip-squeak. Already been gone too long." His delivery is flat, serious. You disregard it entirely.

Gone too long? Oh, you're sure. Not having mentioned it until now, not making any attempt to end the conversation himself. Being the one who started all of this.

He's testing your resolve.

"Figure it out." No room for argument.

And if he isn't he can tell you so himself.

"...Hold on." More shuffling, more quiet.

The audio distorts and then cuts out entirely.

You're only made to wait for a beat.

"Still with me?" When it cuts back in, his voice comes out a little quieter, a little fuzzy.

"Sure am. What's the plan?" You kick your feet idly in the air behind you as you grow increasingly giddy.

"Moved your call to my ear piece. Gonna go get myself dismissed." You can just barely her the click of his boots on the ground

"And you think that's a good idea?" As hot and fun as all of this is. You would really prefer he not be court-martialed.

"That all depends on you, doesn't it?" You can hear the smirk in his voice.

You grin manically. Yeah, you guess it does.

Game on.

You hear as he makes his way out of whatever room he'd tucked himself into, listen to the rhythmic sound of his steps. Perfect soldier Caleb, letting you take a shot at ruining his reputation for good.

"I'm guessing you can't say a word to me until you've left the building, is that accurate?" You tilt your head curiously.

You are met with silence. You hum in delight.

Perfect.

It only takes you a moment to settle on your next course of action.

"You know, you never asked how I was doing." Eyes still locked on your phone screen, his contact photo, his pretty restful face and his big arms and bigger ass. You reach a hand over the coffee table, making contact with the object of your desire almost immediately. Your favorite vibrator, left out from your last session.

Caleb, for his part, is silent. This is, perhaps, the only context where that could be something that only serves to further excite you.

"And I don't remember confirming or denying... whether or not I've been taking care of myself..." You flop onto your back, pointedly ignoring the uncomfortable wetness in your sleep shorts. The hand holding your vibrator is raised to your phone's speaker. Your other hand rests on your tummy, finger tapping in time with his walk. Even at this distance, you seek out ways to be in step with him.

One, two, three, four, five. Quick march. Six, seven, eight, nine, ten. Maintaining military pace-even as you are certain he's hard in his pressed uniform pants-you want to see if you can change that.

You flick the vibrator on, let the speaker catch the sound for another 10 count before you move.

"Well, I have been." You bring your hands, vibe included, down. Raising your hips to work the sticking fabric of your shorts down your thighs. "And I am so excited to tell you aaall about it while I get off again." You kick the soiled garment to the floor.

You swear you hear his breath catch, and if the face you make at the sound is downright evil no one is ever gonna know but you.

"We've got days of material we could talk through but I really, really want to tell you about yesterday-"

"Colonel Xia-" You are cut off by a new voice, an unfamiliar voice.

You frown. A very unwelcome interruption. Caleb seems to agree.

"If it is not a matter of immediate concern, Lieutenant, take it up with your direct superior." And god that voice. All of the versions of him you've heard over the phone today alone and still it is the Colonel's first appearance.

What would you have to do to be on the receiving end of it? He lets you get away with so much. A drawn out moan escapes you at the thought. The reminder of how lucky you are, how special. You inch the vibrator down, over your underwear, let it rest on a low setting, above the hood of your clit. An intentionally slow, intentionally agonizing start. To draw more sweet sounds out. To make sure the Colonel is standing at attention.

Now's as good a time as any to test the limits of his patience. Unwitting voyeur be dam-

"Regarding the attack this morning-" The offender continues.

Your eyes, which had fallen shut to focus on the feeling, shoot open. You immediately turn your vibrator off, leaning closer to your phone as you frantically increase the volume.

"...eight individuals... three identified among the dead... have your injuries checked by medical... one of their soldiers... operating under the employ of-" Audio distortion. Silence.

Bastard. He's muted himself.

"Motherfucker." You scramble to sit up, tucking your knees underneath you. The silence lasts long enough for you to check that you haven't been hung up on. You haven't.

"I know you can hear me Caleb, give me my ears back." You repeatedly press the volume up button, as if it will miraculously override his authority. "You are so unfair are you kidding me. What injuries? I swear I can't stand you sometimes."

More silence. As the call's timer continues to increase.

Bitch.

You huff audibly. Left with no other choice but to sit there, soaked and on fire and furious, and wait.

You watch the minutes pass on the call timer, and it is minutes. Around two and a half of dead air you find you are so angry that you have to cover his contact picture with your hand. Just his head. You're sick of looking at his lying, scheming, secret-keeping, traitor face. But you are still aroused enough to want to ogle him, and you feel you've earned some light objectification.

Five minutes and fourteen seconds pass, and then the audio cuts back in.

"Fucking hell pips." He sounds out of breath, like he just stopped running. But you know his stamina is better than that. Which means it was your moaning that got him worked up. That or your, deserved, verbal abuse. Probably both. Speaking of-

"You are in so. Much. Trouble." You amplify the venom in your voice, needing the gravity of the statement to pull the weight you mean in it.

"Yeah, yeah you can yell at me about it later." He says dismissively. A complete and unrepentant brat. Which you know he knows is only going to further set you off.

"I can yell at you about it right now! What attack? What injuries?" And you are yelling, tone accusing. Fire fed by the potent mix of arousal, agitation, and apprehension.

"Tell me about yesterday." He sidesteps your questioning with a request of his own. Or, you suppose it isn't a request really, there's no question in his tone.

"You cannot be serious." You scoff, incredulous.

"Tell me about yesterday and I swear as soon as I'm back home I'll tell you anything you want to know." An exchange. Your dirty laundry traded for his.

You... cannot be seriously considering taking the offer.

"...Anything?" It's the best deal you're ever gonna get from him.

"Anything, pips, please." He whines. A noise that makes you so hot you could gush.

You nearly fold on the spot.

"Hm..." After all he's put you through, today and also forever, you really want to see him writhe.

"You wouldn't make a wounded, desperate man beg, would you?" His puppy voice. His embarrassing, played up, big, dumb wide eyes. So evocative you can all but see a tail swaying steadily behind him.

"How hurt are you?" He's not the only one that can dodge a question.

"Pip-squeak. I could be on deaths door as we speak and I would still want you to tell me about how you made yourself cum." He says it with a comical amount conviction.

Ok, drama. You roll your eyes, he's gonna be fine.

"Where are you right now?" That certainty will not, however, stop you from dragging this out further.

"Somewhere I'm not gonna be disturbed... probably." You can faintly make out the sound of him pulling down his zipper.

"Probably?"

"Yesterday, pips." Ah. He's wised up to your games.

"So demanding..." You mumble as you think over the last 48 hours, how best to tell him, how best to ruin the rest of his night with the thought of you.

"...Work has been unbearably slow since you left. Like so slow that it almost feels like I'm being fucked with. Jenna sent me home at noon yesterday-"

He cuts you off with a moan. You bark out a laugh.

"Really? Me being under-worked, that's what does it for you?" Your head tilts in mock surprise.

"Genuinely? Yes." You wish he was always this honest. A little bit because it's really fucking sexy, but mostly because you could avoid a hell of a lot of arguments.

"Getting off on just my voice and the knowledge that I'm all comfy and bored at home. Why should I make the effort to explain myself further? It sounds like you've got it." You tease.

"You can leave it at that, if you want, but you're not gonna get anything out of me if you don't tell me exactly what you've been up to since I've been gone." He teases right back. Same song and dance since forever.

Your stomach warms, you stay the course.

"I've been trying to keep myself busy, with the gym and chores and friends. But mostly it feels like I'm just waiting for you to come home." You muse idly, intentionally flippant.

"Baby, you know that's not what I meant." You think he rolls his eyes. You grin, you'd love it if he was actually starting to get a little annoyed.

It's so hard getting him a little sick of you. It's become one of your favorite games to play.

...But you've been on edge for hours now, and you are not blessed with Caleb's Herculean patience. It's time for show and tell.

"And I was thinking about... what I wanted to do when you got back. How I wanted to make it up to you for last time." You paw at the couch for your vibrator, disregarded somewhere between his colleague's appearance and Caleb leaving you to wait in silence on call.

"Pips, I told you I-"

"Is it your turn to talk?" You cut him off as you turn your vibe, finally, back on.

"...No, baby." A deep, shaky breath.

"Correct! Look at you. Smart, smart boy." You condescend, voice sickeningly sweet and bubbly.

It has the desired effect. He whimpers, the sound of fabric swaying increasing in speed and volume. His exhales all sharp 'hah... hah's.

"Anyways, I didn't tell you this, but a few weeks ago I ordered myself a fun new toy." You grin maniacally. '-Which you are going to fucking hate.' You choose not to say.

You take a minute to send him a pic of your acquisition. A ridiculously bright, massive, orange dildo.

More shuffling, as he pulls out his phone. You bite your lip in anticipation, working your vibrator under your panties and over your engorged clit.

"Did you know you can get custom sizing on these things now? It's wild."

You hear his breath catch. Ha.

"...Pip-squeak." Oooh is that the Colonel's voice? He can't be that upset about some silicone getting to be inside you, surely.

"Sure the details aren't perfect, but the dimensions are 1 to 1. Which is all I really needed for my purposes." You dismiss him entirely, continuing on as if he hadn't spoken at all. You send him another image you took, of the hulking thing laid next to your forearm. A reference to your first night together, measuring him against you, equal parts horrified and salivating.

His silence, the sound of him spitting, the squelch of his hand setting back to work, is all the indication you need to know he's made tentative peace with his stand in.

"I've been meaning to practice. And yesterday just seemed to be the perfect time for it." You increase the pressure on your clit as his breathing picks up.

"...To finally work out how to get all of you down my throat."

You swear to god you feel a change in gravity. The entire planet shifting on its axis.

"Fuuck me pips..." He sounds like he's collapsing in on himself.

"Ha. I'm doin my best, Cay." You play with the pressure of on your core, increasing and lessening it rhythmically, that marching time Caleb was stepping in earlier.

One, two, three, four, five.

"Need you so bad pip. Want you here. Want to touch you. Want to have you on me, around me. I wanna come home to you." You almost can't make it out with the way he's whining, the way he stumbles over the words.

You could explode just listening to him, all desperate and aching and pleading for it. But you won't, not right now.

First you have to get him there.

You stop your ministrations. Lift the vibrator to buzz against nothing in your hand. You do nothing to keep the broken moan brought on by the cessation down. You were telling a story. You should finish it.

Your eyes squeeze shut, as you catch your breath before continuing on.

"It felt good, being so full. Even when I choked around it. When I'd push in a little too far, too fast, just wrong, and gag a little. But it made me so sad, being reminded how I'm not as good at being gentle with me as you are..." It was the new, recurring, worst thing about masturbating now. Any and everything you did, you did thinking about how he could do it better.

"I wanted to feel close to you, so I took your pillow from the top of the bed, got it between my legs, and worked myself over it..." You choose now to put the vibe back on you, lower your free hand to your entrance. "...until the friction and the breathlessness sent me over the edge." Two fingers plunged inside yourself. Good, but not long enough, not big enough.

Not Caleb. Not Caleb's hand.

Just his voice chanting 'pips pips pips baby' and 'love you love you love you' over the static on the line. You smile, heart warm with it.

"But you know, really..." You love him so bad, you'd do anything for him.

"...It was thinking about how good I could make you feel that finished me..." You turn your vibrator up a setting. Press down on yourself hard.

"You get that right? Yeah, you do." You say between gasps.

Caleb's gone quiet, listening after you, knowing.

"It's the same for you."

Six, seven, eight, nine, ten.

You're vision whites out. Legs shaking with the violence of the orgasm being ripped out of you. You feel your mouth moving, feel your vocal cords straining. But you have no cognizance of what you say, what you sound like, as you topple over the precipice.

When you return to life, blinking and stuttering yourself back into your ruined body, you note that the noises on his end have grown increasingly slick and sloppy. 'sound so pretty, baby.' Each jerk of his hand over his cock is wet and audible. 'you're so good for me, so good. too good. don't deserve you.' Drool pools in your mouth, despite your exhaustion, what you wouldn't give-

The bitterness that you do not currently have rears its ugly head.

Post orgasm clarity has made you suddenly much less generous.

"...Getting close?" You ask, all faux innocence.

"Y...yeah-" He interrupts himself with a jagged moan. Too caught up to catch you in the act.

"Faster."

You can hear how he immediately picks up the pace.

"Always such a good listener. Caleb's the best in the whole world." You goad him. You know exactly what to say to make him weak, to make him break for you.

His responding moan shoots right through you, down to where your achy bud.

"You gonna cum, my love?"

"Fuck, yes- pips please. Can I?" He's all breath. All panting and desperate for it.

Your face splits into a grin. You were so hoping he'd ask.

"No." You draw the word out, smirking as you say it.

An absolutely miserable choked noise from over the line. You can't help the laugh that rises up in you.

Serves him right.

For?

For not being here, right now. For the whole dead-not-dead thing. For being so fucking hot. For being the best part of your life and the one who could most easily ruin it. For everything, for all of it.

Serves him right for listening, for letting you do this to him.

Big, strong, perfect, restrained Caleb.

You hear him gasp and stutter, break out in a series of 'no no no's

"Thought you wanted to be good for me?" You frown, selling a performance he cannot see.

"I-hah do..." His voice is so broken, so tormented.

You know he's more than earned the relief. Anyone else would give it to him.

"Aaand?" You do not.

"I didn't. I didn't." He hiccups out.

"Good boy Caleb! You're so, so good. So perfect. Love you so much." You sing-song at him. A bandaid over a bullet wound.

A sniffle, on his end of the line.

"Are you cryin, baby?" You wish you felt bad, mostly you just feel yourself starting to get worked up again.

He says nothing, you give him a minute to compose himself, put his head back on straight. You close your eyes, center yourself around his deep, rough breathing. The little pained sounds that escape him.

"...wanted."

His voice startles you, in your stupor.

"Hm?" You question.

"You said 'wanted'. Past tense." His speaking voice has leveled back out incredibly fast.

Caleb, who can withstand anything.

It takes you a minute to catch up to him, replaying your conversation thus far. Oh, yeah, you forgot!

"Good catch! You're so smart." You totally forgot about your change of heart, the second phase you meant to have in your operation. Brought on by his actions in this very conversation!

"That was, obviously, before we got on the phone today and you decided it would be a good idea to lie, and keep secrets, and just generally be your annoying self." You speak jovially, like he isn't being indicted.

He stays quiet. You're not sure if it's because he's not sure where you're going with this, or that he knows anything he says can and will be used against him.

You've never once in your life had to worry over making bold moves with Caleb. The man has proven time and time again that he will take anything you throw at him.

And so you have no qualms or concerns about how he may react to what you are about to say.

"So now, actually, I think I don't really feel like choking on your dick." You state bluntly.

You hear him shuffle on his feet, movement from his clothes, as he takes himself back in hand.

Over you saying you don't want him, mind you. The absolute freak that he is.

"I think instead, what I want, is to make you lay back in bed, climb over your chest..."

He groans, slick sounds returning as he pumps himself.

"...And fuck myself on that toy, while all you can do is watch."

A sharp intake of breath. A shudder you can fucking feel through the phone.

"And when I'm done with it, I think that toy is going down your throat. Until you learn how to use your mouth correctly." Your pulse sets a rapid pace in your chest, body all hot and being totally ignored in favor of getting him over the edge.

He sounds like a mess, in every sense of the word. Voice straining and strangled. The sloppy, vulgar sounds of his every move. The desperate, pathetic, pleading. He's so perfect.

"I'm gonna- Please. Please baby I need to- I need you. Please, please let me-"

"Cum for me Caleb." The lovesickness in your voice would humiliate you, if it were for anyone else.

-

"You took the toy thing surprisingly well. I thought for sure you were gonna tell me to throw it out." You've been on the phone forever now. The sky's gone dark. You tap your phone screen to bring it back to life, check the timer.

Yeah, you haven't even made it into the top 5 'Longest Calls With Caleb' yet.

A star to aim for next time you have desperate, messy phone sex you suppose.

"Oh it's absolutely going away, and soon." He says matter-of-factly.

You snort in amusement.

"...But not yet. You have plans, don't you?" puppy Caleb asks.

Your train of thought grinds to a halt.

"You'd actually-" You'd mostly just been horny and pissed off and wanting to mess with him. You didn't think it was something he'd actually entertain, or be into.

"Anything pip. Anything. Always." He muses. In your mind, you picture his eyes glazing over. "Want you as many ways as I can get you. Every way you can think of."

You don't even know what to say to that.

"Don't wash the pillow." Thankfully, he doesn't ask you to, just keeps rolling with the next batshit insane thought that enters his sick head.

"First of all, ew. And second, I already did." Because duh. You weren't raised in a barn! You keep your gaze pointedly away from your still sticky vibrator on a coaster on the coffee table.

The sound he makes at your declaration is almost as pathetic as the one he made when you told him not to cum.

He goes quiet. Maybe he's finally taken a page out of your book, and is giving you the silent treatment for being so cruel to him.

Not over the yelling at him, not over your rapidly changing moods, not even for the sexual torture.

For washing a fucking pillow case.

"...We're at a base on an offshoot island of Skyhaven." He speaks up.

"Huh?" You reply dumbly.

"For training. Performance among new recruits has been lackluster. To the point of requiring... reeducation."

You pause to process the information.

"Did you just disclose classified information to a civilian... to bribe me into climaxing on your pillow and leaving it to stew?" You're astonished. All of your asking after him and then pleading to know he's safe and then demanding 'tell me where the fuck you are', and what finally breaks him is pussy.

"I disclosed classified information to my adjutant to bribe you into recording yourself climaxing on my pillow and leaving it to stew." Oh, well that makes it all better doesn't it. Totally above board and normal. The man could justify anything to himself.

"You're insane." You say it because he needs to know. "And you're going to have to do better than that, if you want me to meet your demands." And then you meet his madness with your own.

Who could blame you? He's never been so open to divulging. You're gonna milk him for everything he's worth.

"...Before I left. You wanted to help me finish and I wouldn't let you." He pauses, looking for the right words to explain. "It wasn't because I didn't want you to, it was that I didn't need you to."

You shrug your shoulders, the ghost of a frown making its way to your face. You really would have like to suck him off... or give him a hand at least. Especially if you'd known how long this 'long mission' was going to be.

"I know you never need me to... and yeah, I was exhausted-thanks to you-but I wanted to-"

"I came in my pants."

"I'm sorry?"

"I came in my pants. From grinding against your foot. Like a virgin." Said like someone who wasn't a virgin just under a month ago. You purse your lips around a scoff. Also that's maybe the hottest thing you've ever heard. Second only to 'I won't jack off unless I have your express permission'. Your man is completely deranged. How did you get so lucky?

"One video of me doing completely obscene shit to your pillow, got it." You nod to yourself in determination. He's so, so earned it.

"I'm so incredibly in love with you." That sickly sweet dreaminess returns to his voice.

Your heart skips a beat.

"God, It's just from one track to the next with you. Give me a minute to get my bearings, will you?" You flop onto the couch, an arm over your face as you exhale.

"And leave you with an opportunity to get bored? Not a chance." The mirth in his voice is infectious. So comforting and familiar. A sound you associate with the promise of forever.

"Yeah yeah..." You have your hand absently in the air, gaze falling to a half finished model on your dining room table. "I love you too, by the way. Desperately and eternally."

"Your curse and burden." The smirk evident in his delivery.

"At least you understand." Your own grin is bright and wide.

"I'll be home before you know it... and you can do whatever you want with me the second I'm through the door. So long as you promise that I can be face down in that pillow or suffocating in your cunt the whole time."

You choke on nothing. Shooting straight up from where you lay.

"Fucking- Caleb, holy shit-"

"Gotta go pips. Duty calls."

The line is cut, you are left mouth agape, with nothing but your hammering heart and the return of all encompassing warmth as you sit, only having just recovered from sweating through the already soaked fabric of your coach.

You're phone alerts you that you have a text.

Cay✈️🧡: 🛌🏻

Cay✈️🧡: [Sunny Apple: Happy]

You scoff aloud, so that's his game then. Work you back up so you can get right to the little mission he's assigned you.

Unbelievable.

You pluck up your phone and make your way to your bedroom.

Guess you'd better go be good for him. Fair is fair.

You prop the device up on the window sill, check your angles, hit record and amble over to the bed.

You'll play your part, for now.

His freshly washed pillow finds its way back between your legs.

But when he gets home?

He won't be able to get you off him if he tries.

-

...Is this far from perfect? Yes. Do I refuse to look at it any longer? Also yes.

Caleb has been nonstop in the wedding event with calling MC colonel... Let!!! that motherfucker!!! get bullied and bossed around sexual style!!! It's like enrichment for him he needs it!!!

My advice to you is never write phone sex. Trying to micromanage two people jerking it in separate locations, one of which you can only really discuss through audio cues, vibes, and the other character's intuition is exhausting. I feel like their secretary. Their sexcretary. Sexcretariat. I'm losing the plot and also my mind.

this was supposed to be a quick little 1.5k romp to measure my abilities. Instead. It's whatever the fuck this is. Whatever.

Anyways if I completely suck at writing smut you legally have to tell me. So I can figure out how to not do that. Thank you.

[zomgcaleb]

Watching Caleb ! ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊

wc: 1.3k

a/n: this was another request!! yk who you are anon <3 hope this was okay!

content: voyeuristic reader, exhibitionist caleb, solo masturbation, slight dirty talk, praise kink (caleb), you guys match each other's freaks

––

You feel it the moment you shift closer. He's hard. Really hard. Right against your thigh. You freeze, your heart leaping in your throat as you pull away.

"Caleb, I'm sorry—"

"Hey, hey." His hand darts out to wrap around your waist to keep you from going too far, his voice strained. "Don't worry about it. I can... handle it later."

Guilt prickles your skin.

"I know," you start, the words muffled as Caleb kisses you again. "I wish I weren't so nervous.. I mean, I want to do things with you but I—I just—"

You're ranting now. You can feel him smiling against your lips, like your rushed words are somehow endearing.

But it's all true. For the past few months, all you guys have done is hold hands, kiss, cuddle a little, maybe even tease the idea of doing more, but never actually following through.

And Caleb never pushed you. Never. If anything, he was always the one who pulled back when he felt you tensing.

"Pips, I promise it's fine."

Then he's kissing you again, slow, like maybe his lips will convince you.

But you shift again, and you feel him again; he must be painfully hard. And you know Caleb. He'll endure this for hours if it means your comfort.

"Does it hurt..?"

Caleb lets out a breathless laugh against your lips. "No. I'll be fine," he repeats.

You swallow hard, your heart racing. "Maybe it wouldn't be so scary if... if I got to watch first."

Caleb blinks, gently pulling back to look at you. "Watch?"

You nod, biting your lip. "Only if you wanted to."

His breath hitches. Then slowly, he starts again, "You.. want to watch me—" He pauses, clearing his throat like saying it out loud in front of you is more embarrassing than actually doing it. "Jerk off?"

Your cheeks flush a dark red, nodding again. But when he's silent, you quickly blurt out, "But you don't have to—! I'm sorry. That was weird—"

Caleb shakes his head. "No, no. I just... wasn't expecting that is all." He hesitates for half a breath, searching your eyes—then he slips his underneath the waistband of his sweats and starts tugging them down.

"I can show you if that's what you really want."

He's shaking, his breath a little uneven. Whether it's from need or nerves, you can't tell. Maybe it's both.

"I do."

"Are you sure?"

You nod, pulling back to watch him.

At that, he tugs his sweats the way of the rest down and starts palming himself through his boxer. He's slow. Teasing. Not deliberately, he just can't help it. He's been like this for hours. He wants to make sure he wrings out every drop of his release.

He lets out a small breath when he thumbs the underside of his cock.

Your breath quickens, heat pooling in your stomach as you watch him.

There's a damp patch on his boxers when he finally tugs them down to free his aching cock. He's been leaking the minute he started kissing you. But again, your comfort always came before anything else.

Carefully—almost like he’s afraid you’ll change your mind—he wraps his hand around himself.

He meets your gaze, his dick twitching at the way you just... stare. You look at him as if he's something sacred and pure. Not as what he is—filthy and so desperate for you it hurts.

"You..hahh.. you're really gonna watch me?"

Your eyes dart up to his face. "Yes.. I really.. wanna see how you do it."

Caleb groans, his grip on his cock tightening. "Yeah, okay."

He strokes himself faster. Just slightly. Enough to feel a familiar heat creep up his spine. "Oh, fff—" He bites his lip, eyeing his glistening cock. "I'm.. I'm so sensitive right now."

You blink, then quietly ask, "Is it because of me?"

Caleb grunts, his jaw tight with the effort of holding back. "Yeah. Because of you."

This type of stuff has always scared you. The male body part always has. But you find an odd sense of comfort in Caleb.

He just looks so good—every part of him.

"T-talk to me.. Fuck.. Please?"

Your mouth suddenly feels dry.

"I don't—I don't know what to say. You just..." You squeeze your thighs together, heat rushing between your legs when he looks at you like that. So expectantly. So devoted.

"You look so good like this." Your eyes dart down to his weeping head and you lick your lips. "So pretty."

Caleb groans, pre cum leaking out and coating his fingers. "Y-yeah? You think I'm pretty?"

You nod.

"Say it. One more time."

You feel a lump in your throat as you slowly breathe out, "You're so pretty."

Another strangled sound slips past his lips as he rocks his hips into his touch.

It's unfair, how he can look so good doing such filthy things. His eyelashes flutter against his cheeks every time he can't handle looking at you, sweat clings to his brow, and his stomach curves inward whenever he strokes himself just right.

"What are you thinking right now?"

Caleb lets out a breathless chuckle, the sound caught between a moan and a groan. "Nng'no. No, I can't tell you that, Pips."

Oh, God.

“Please tell me,” you whisper, your voice smaller but firmer.

Caleb groans, jaw clenching. “Pips… fuck… I shouldn’t.”

“I want to know,” you breathe, leaning closer, your pulse hammering.

His hand stutters around his cock; he can’t stop.

“I’m thinking about…" his eyes flick over yours like he's debating whether he's really about to say it. Then— "I'm thinking about how pretty you’d look on your knees for me. Mouth open… fuck… begging to taste.”

His voice breaks, shame and desire blending together. “God, it’s so fucked— I shouldn’t—”

But your thighs clench, heat pulsing so hot it hurts. "No. Please tell me more."

His hand stutters over his cock, lips parting on a broken pant. "I—I might come too fast." Even as he says it, he doesn't slow down. He keeps working himself over at the same pace like he can't help it.

Because he can't. Not when you're staring at him like that and leaning closer like you need to memorize every debauched second of this.

"I want to know what else you're thinking."

"Pipsqueak..."

"Please."

Caleb gives in with a groan. "I'm thinking about.. how I wouldn't last a second in you," he admits, his hips jerking into his hand. "One thrust and I'd—hah... fuck—I'm gonna—"

He tips his head back, eyes fluttering shut. He can't even warn you before he's cumming.

He gasps, his muscles growing taut as he gently works himself through his orgasm.

He's a mess. His chest is heaving, his breaths are leaving him in broken little pants, and his shirt is stained in his cum.

Caleb breathes hard, looking at you through hazy eyes.

"Holy crap.. I didn't—I didn't expect that to feel so good."

You can only stare. He's still so beautiful. Even after he's been wrecked.

You don't know what possesses you to do this next. But wordlessly, you grab his hand, bring it up to your lips, and lick off his arousal.

Caleb shudders, his dick giving a valiant twitch as your tongue swipes across his fingers.

"Sh—shit. Pips, wait, it's probably salty."

When you pull back, Caleb's brows are furrowed with concern. But you just lick your lips and give him a sheepish smile.

"It tastes good."

Another twitch.

Caleb groans. "Don't say stuff like that. You're gonna make me hard again."

A quiet laugh bubbles out your chest. "Maybe I can watch again..?"

Caleb huffs, bringing his (not cum slick) hand around the nape of your neck and pulling you into a soft kiss. "Fine. But give me a minute, yeah?"

You nod, smiling against his lips. "Or maybe I can actually try..?"

"No, no, you don't have to do anything you don't want to, Pipsqueak."

"I want to."

"..Really?"

"Mhm.."

Caleb huffs, squeezing his eyes shut. "Okay, give me a second then."

You giggle, kissing him back.

––

WORKING AS FAST AS I CANN‼️

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[zomgcaleb]

frat rules | minors dni

the minute that caleb got his acceptance letter in the mail, you had mixed feelings. there was plenty of pride, so much that it felt overwhelming. he had worked hard from the start and remained top of his graduating class, he was a model student. things were never once handed to caleb but he always managed to make the most with what he had. it was a talent and he did it with charisma, making it impossible for others to pity him. he didn’t like to accept charity or kind favors, so taking everything on the chin with his boyish smile was his signature move.

still, everyone knew what college was about. a stepping stone for a sparkling future career, sure— but the real fun was in the freedom. away from the family and childhood friends, given that golden opportunity to completely rewrite who you were. it was the prime time to drop the formalities and sleep around, get shitfaced, make new connections with people who were thrown into the same situation of the unknown.

maybe it scared you, just a little. he’d be forever away, he’d be establishing new friendships, he’d possibly be dodging flirty advances left and right. the caleb you knew, sweet and doting and utterly in love with every fiber of your being could very well take a liking to the change.

of course, voicing these insecurities and doubts wasn’t an option. caleb had been practically buzzing since he learned that he’d be attending flight school in skyhaven. killing the fun, ruining the good mood— it felt harsh. this was the first time that something was being offered to him without asking for anything in return, the one chance to be selfish and put himself first. you knew that if you said something, he would surely reconsider. that’s who he was.

so dwelling was the way to go. you sulked in private, supported in caleb’s face. you focused on saving face at his celebratory dinner. you counted down the weeks, mood souring as they turned into days. you kissed his cheek once you said your goodbye’s at the airport. it felt like sending off a piece of yourself but caleb was capable of handling himself. he’d be just fine.

however, you were completely unaware of how much he struggled. he was a socialite at heart and had no problem making friends with his roommate, no problem meeting his roommates friends. the classes started up about a week after move in and before long, he was familiar with skyhaven and what it had to offer. caleb blended in perfectly with the atmosphere, content with his professors and the hands on aspect of his training.

despite being miles upon miles apart, he still put forth the effort. he door dashed your favorites around dinner time on the occasion and he tracked your location like a hawk. he facetimed you when he had downtime and picked up every single call even if he was busy. after all, it was in his nature to take care of his little slice of home back in linkon city now that she was on her own.

the adjustment became easier with time for the both of you. life went on, things got hectic. there would be a few days of pure radio silence on both ends because the course load was heavy in flight school and you had your own business to worry about.

holidays rolled in and you finally had an excuse to fly out. it was a deliberate little plan that you conjured in secret, leaving caleb out of the many details. you bought your own plane ticket, took it upon yourself to travel to the academy. things calmed down in your personal life so the time was right, everything in place.

you didn’t, however, expect a guy who wasn’t caleb to answer his dorm’s door. the dots were connected rather quickly when you were reminded that caleb was rooming with another student for his first semester, recognizing gideon from photos posted by the academy’s official socials. it was clear that he had company, a bunch of guys laughing and joking around over bass playing from the tv. your eyes fell to study the can of busch light in his roommates hand, raising a brow.

“is caleb around?”

it takes gideon a few seconds to process your words, especially over the shouting and loud music blaring behind him, scratching his chin before lighting up like a christmas tree. he recognized you from all of the photos, the facetime calls, caleb’s never-ending rambles about his girl back home. “oh shit! he’s gonna be over the moon!”

with some introductions and gentle guidance around the house, gideon leads you to caleb’s room. clean, neat, very little decor. he was a minimalist at heart, only ever taking it upon himself to make things look nice if he knew that you’d be sharing the space with him. you were shocked but not surprised to find caleb at his desk, red solo cup tipped sideways on the wood. his cheeks were flushed as he rests his head against his elbow, bleary eyes staring at the single picture frame by his laptop.

it held a photo of you, of course. taken from his point of view, his hand reaching up to help you off of a tree. all you ever did at the time was giggle and refuse to come down, only worried about keeping your bucket hat on your head.

“i didn’t know my caleb was a sentimental drunk,” your voice coos in his ear gently as your arms curl around his shoulders, tucking your face against his warm face. it causes him to jump, slow in reaction to breathe you in. a few beats pass before he’s shooting up like a rocket to pull your body into a hug. it was snug and tight, his balance faltering a bit.

he smelled. smelled familiar, smelled like aftershave. he smelled like jameson whiskey and spice mixed with home. it lingered on the collar of his dress shirt, black with a popped collar. there was no helping the way you stuffed your face into the fabric, huffing him in and letting the scent pull you in like a riptide.

“why are you here?” he asks softly, reeling back to get a good look at the girl in front of him. he was thankful that gideon read the room for once, exiting and closing the door behind him. “how are you here? i thought you were preparing for a hunter’s exam.”

the flurry of questions is a little out of character for caleb and it’s obvious that he’s a bit tipsy, stumbling over his excitement and need to know. this was the reaction you’ve been looking for after handling the specifics in secret— catching caleb off guard was always fulfilling. he got so giddy, forever easy to please.

“it’s called a surprise, you big dummy,” your voice sounds like liquid honey in his ears, so overwhelmed with love and happiness as he simply stares back at you. a few blinks, really taking you in. it felt as though you matured more since the last time he saw you, growing into your features. it tugged at his heart and he doesn’t even realize the way he’s backing you up slowly, guiding you onto his bed.

it’s hard, very unlike the one back at home. the frame is rough and made of wood, the mattress flat and small. it’s a miracle that caleb can even sleep comfortably on it but he was good at making the most of any situation. the man grew to be very simple, never one to be picky. your head hits the pillow and giggles fly out of your mouth, caleb taking that chance to rain the skin of your extended neck in kisses.

everything following blurs. his friends are still being loud just a door away, chanting as they initiate a stupid drinking game. their endeavors are the last thing on your mind as caleb grinds against your leg, as he kisses you until your lips hurt with the desperate weight of them. he holds you like glass, runs his calloused fingertips along your skin with carefulness. one track mind, only focused on getting you bare against his sheets.

your jeans are a struggle to pull off of your thighs in his inebriated state, groaning softly in annoyance when they get caught at your knees. you assist with a huff of a giggle, unable to ignore the way his eyes flutter at the sight of you. a breathy laugh leaves him at the sight of the pink bow on your panties. “you never change, huh?” he whispers with a shake of his head, expressing his disbelief.

the urge to slap his arm in retaliation is strong but this wasn’t the time and place. there was a heavy amount of tension in the air that needed to be fixed, an ache that he needed to soothe between your legs. the impatience was only getting stronger and he could sense it in the way you pawed at his own pants, swift in the way you pop the button open.

he works at his shirt at the same time, practically ripping the buttons off of the fabric, shoving his sleeves down his arms until it lands on the bed with your top. the sheer rush of flipping you onto your tummy with the brute strength he’s built in the recreation center, of making sure you’re ready with his fingers before sliding inside. it floods you with adrenaline, moaning weakly once his dick finally sinks in.

and oh, he got bigger since you last saw him. you could feel it in his grip strength, holding onto your hips and fucking you back onto his cock. it was inevitable that he would grow over the course of the year but it was so much at once. bigger biceps, beefier pecs, thicker thighs. it had you winded, gasping for oxygen as your cheek rubs against his comforter.

“oh, baby,” he coos between heavy pants of hot air, leaning to hover, pressing his bare abdomen along your arched back. he cages you in like a predator, his chain being the only cool touch as it settles between your shoulder blades. “oh, baby. you got tighter since last time. pussy’s so hungry, baby.”

filth fills the air. skin on skin, the scent of sex and juice and sweat mixing with the apple scented air freshener he has plugged in by his dresser. your moans drown in the fabric of his pillowcase, barely having enough restraint to keep quiet. all you want to do is pull your face out of the pillow, to scream and let caleb know just how good he’s giving it to you. how it’ll never be anyone but him for you, how he’s the only man who can feel you this deep.

not that you needed to know, but caleb had been missing you terribly so. every weekend would be dedicated to partying, his roommates constantly dragging him out for some beer and a good time. he wanted to embrace the chance, he wanted to make the most of his young adult years. still, he couldn’t get out of his own head. wondering what you were doing, who you were talking to, if you were drying yourself off after a shower and keeping up with the show you told him about and watering the bonsai tree he left on his nightstand.

he couldn’t get over the fact that you were alone. for the first time, you were genuinely alone. it saddened him to think of you eating dinner alone, folding one basket of laundry, waking up in an empty bed. this surprise visit was just what he needed to soothe his nerves.

“they assigned me a plane, my very own aircraft,” caleb murmurs into your ear with sensual kisses to the lobe. the pace never falters, guts battered by his tip while he sucks your skin into his mouth. his tongue swirls along it and a groan leaves him as he lets it go. “i’ll show you after this, yeah? take you to my plane and fuck you in the cockpit.”

the pace simply never slows. it’s consistent, steady. his headboard ruts against the wall with soft thuds that would be otherwise extremely noticeable if not for the rowdiness happening in his kitchen. he hasn’t felt the warmth of your cunt in such a long time, hasn’t felt like himself since he left your side. it has him gasping, has his jaw nearly locked open with groans that mold with your own.

your ass rocks so nastily with every thrust, rippling for his eyes only. he can’t resist the urge of grabbing for a feel, watching the skin flood between his fingers. you’ve always been the prettiest, have always been the only girl his eyes dared to study. nothing hits right when it isn’t you, getting off has been a struggle in itself. porn could never capture this.

heat coils in his stomach, knots up in warning. your pussy is soaking him, glossing his thighs and his pelvis. your essence sticks to him like glue, creating filthy smacks each time his hips slap against your ass— just the way he liked it. it told him he was doing his job, let him know that your body loved him just as much as your mind did.

“i missed your cock,” the sound of your broken voice pulls him out of his trance, the pleasure so burning hot that his toes curl in his shoes. you’ve always fed his fantasies like a fire, spiting dirty words right back at him on reflex. you were the most beautiful to him when you were speaking your mind, all he ever wanted was to pick your brain.

“stretching you out just right, isn’t it?” he murmurs sweetly between pants, nuzzling his nose into your hair. the hand you’ve got twisted up in his duvet is quickly covered by his own, sluggishly threading his fingers with yours. “just the way you like it. i’ve been neglecting my baby.”

his words earn rapid clenches from your walls. it makes him shudder, gnawing at his bottom lip in hopes of masking a pathetic moan. the thought of ever straying from this, of having to wait another few months for another chance to make love to you physically hurts him. he wants to make the most of it, wants round after round until your legs are shaking and your body is twitching.

a knock interrupts his train of thought, sends electric shocks up his spine. gideon’s slurred complaint is barely audible through the thick wood of the closed door, the mere thrill mixed with slight panic making caleb shamelessly shoot a thick load inside of you.

[zomgcaleb]

do you allow to translate your works into other languages (in this case i ask abt russian) with credit you as an author and link to your profile?

hiii thank you for asking!!

I don’t condone this though, I’d prefer all my works to be kept here strictly on this account!

[zomgcaleb]

Caleb finds mc's smut collection PLEASE 🤤

Caleb finds your smut collection! ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊

wc: 3k

a/n: oh my god??? i just started writing and didn't stop. if this isn't what you wanted (i went overboard, not exactly what you envisioned, smut isn't long enough, too much smut, etc) feel free to DM me or just give another anon request! 🫶🏻 (don't be shy, i won't get butthurt)

——

"Jeez, Caleb! You're only staying the weekend. What are you carrying in here?" you huff, your face pinching with effort as you try to lift his bags.

Caleb laughs. "I told you, you don't have to help me, Pips." Before you can argue, the bags are floating out of your arms and trailing after Caleb. "I have a gravity evol for a reason."

You frown, settling with just carrying the small duffel bag that was left. "I wanna be useful."

"You're very useful." He eyes you, smiling. "You're carrying my duffel bag."

You roll your eyes and walk past him. "Yeah, okay."

You lead him to your apartment and he's making light conversation with him on the way, but you're only half-listening. Having Caleb here, in your space, is a little unnerving.

It's not that you don't want him here, he's just..—

He's just Caleb.

The guy that makes your heart beat so fast you think he might hear it if he tries hard enough. The guy that's so overwhelming you think you might drown in him if you let yourself.

You let him in and drop his stuff on the floor next to your couch where he'll sleep for the next few days.

You offered your room before he got here, but he was very adamant about taking the couch.

"I know it's not super big.. but I hope you can make yourself comfy."

Caleb tilts his head at you and squints. "I've been here already. Besides," he sinks down into the sofa, "I'm always comfy as long as you're here."

Your heart stutters. "Thank you.."

For a minute, neither of you guys speak. Just stare at each other like you're both dying to say something else, but won't.

Then you take a small breath. "Do you want something to drink?" He hasn't answered, but you're already making your way to the kitchen.

Caleb chuckles. "Sure. You're a little on edge, huh?"

You huff. "No, I'm not."

"Alrighttt."

He glances around, taking everything in like it's his first time here. It's cleaner. Cozier. Did you fix your apartment up just for him?

His eyes linger on your room.

The door is half-way open. He can't help but wonder if anything in there has changed. If anyone else has been in there.

You’re halfway to the kitchen when you gasp. “Wait—do you want the snacks I bought? I left them in my car—oh my God.”

Caleb tears his away from your door to look at you. You're all wide-eyed and smiley, like you're so proud of buying him those snacks.

So, of course, he nods, even if he doesn't want to inconvenience you. “Yeah. Of course. Want me to come with you?" He's about to stand when you shake your head.

"No! I’ll be back in like, two seconds—don’t move!” You’re already grabbing your keys and slipping on shoes, muttering under your breath about how you knew you were forgetting something.

And then the door clicks shut behind you.

Caleb smiles to himself. Cute.

The room is quiet again. His gaze drifts back toward your room. He hesitates. He shouldn't.

But... you said to make himself comfy, right?

Caleb stands up, slowly making his way over. He takes a small step in, and instantly it hits him. You.

Your whole apartment smells like you; he caught that unmistakable sweetness when he first came in, but it's stronger in your room. It's different. Softer. More lived-in.

He curiously glances around.

Your bed is made, plushies organized in a neat little row across your pillows, extra blankets folded at the edge of your bed.

Nothing is out of place.

It makes him think you wanted him to come in.

His eyes drift across the room, then they land on your bookshelf. It's lined with cute, colorful titles. But something catches his eyes and he stops.

Some look a little… suggestive.

He laughs to himself.

You wouldn't, would you? Surely, he would know if you sat in your room late at night, reading porn in print.

Caleb hesitates before stepping toward your shelf. He grabs the first book he sees and flips through the pages.

So far, so good.

Until—

Quietly, he reads the line that made him stop, "I would go to hell and back if it meant I got to..." his eyes widen as he continues, "fuck you raw again—Jesus."

Maybe it was a fluke.

Caleb gently puts it back. He knows how much your books mean to you—how you hate them to dent or fold, so he's careful.

He grabs another and flips through that one as well. And surely enough, he finds another page full of filthy lines. "A gun in your—"

Caleb has to pause.

No way.

No way this is what's sitting on your shelves looking all cute and innocent when they're anything but.

"A gun in your pussy certainly is traumatizing... but only because—Okayyy." Caleb quickly shuts the book, his head swimming.

You've pictured this stuff before. The thought hits him like a truck.

He knows he should stop now, but he can't help but grab another one. He doesn't read this one out loud. But he pictures it. Pictures you imagining this scene.

He takes a second to skim the pages, his eyes widening with each line. "The fuck?" he breathes. "He isn't even fucking her here. He's just..."

This is the stuff you like? Do you want someone to fuck your thighs like this?

When you told Caleb you read a lot, he assumed it was something like cool fantasy, maybe something with dragons or elves.

Not smut books that were a mess of highlighted lines—all of which he assumed were your favorite parts.

"Caleb?"

Caleb turns, book still open in his hand. He should close it, save you the mortification of knowing that he's read what you've pictured before. But the thought of seeing your cute face when you realize urges him to stay there, smiling.

"Hey, Pips."

You slowly walk into your room.

You're about to ask what he's doing, then you see what he's holding.

Your eyes dart to your bookshelf, like you need any more convincing that Caleb is actually reading your smut book. And there it is, the little gap between your books.

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit!

You drop the snacks you brought back and lunge at him. "What the hell are you doing?!" you hiss, desperately trying to snatch the book back, but all you're doing is hugging his chest with one hand, while you try and fail to reach your book with the other hand.

Caleb laughs. "Hey, hey! I'm not judging. I'm just surprised."

“I swear to God, give it back—please!”

"He grunts. I gasp. The first glide of his cock between my thighs is choppy, too rough. Unlubricated."

Heat rushes to your cheeks when you hear him actually reading the filth in your book.

"Caleb!" you shriek.

But he doesn't stop. No, he keeps reading, a wild grin spreading across his face as he does. "But then his thrusts slide up, where he made me plenty wet just minutes ago. 'Jesus, you feel—'"

"Stop! Oh my god! I'm going to kill you!"

"Hey, c'mon. This is your favorite part. You highlighted it twice and put little hearts around it."

He clears his throat, and you feel everything in you curl up and die of embarrassment as he starts again, "He is fucking me. Not the way I want him to, maybe, but his head bumps on my clit on every push."

You know it's no use trying to grab your book, so you just slap his chest instead while you beg him to stop.

"I can feel the hot length of him against my folds, and it's good enough for me to beg for it."

Before he can read any more, you manage to snatch the book back. But Caleb's already seen all the things you read about. The things you think about.

You can't look at him. You immediately turn away, face burning and chest tight as you rush to your bed, shove your book in you drawer, and hide under the blankets like that might undo the last 2 minutes.

Most of your plushies bounce to the floor, but you can't bother to pick them up right now.

"You're never allowed in here again," you mutter.

Caleb softens, quietly padding over to your bed to sit down beside you. "Hey—I'm sorry. That was mean."

"Yeah," you bite out. "You're an asshole."

There's an awkward silence that makes you wish you hadn't invited Caleb over in the first place. Then, quietly, he asks, "Is... that what you're into?"

You feel your face burning hotter and you pull your sheets higher over your face. "No!" you quickly shout, even if you're not entirely sure. In theory, it all sounds nice. But actually doing it?

"It's just something I read," you defend. "It doesn't mean I would actually.."

There's another silence. You still want to die—maybe you will. But then Caleb speaks again.

"We could try it, you know? If you want."

Your stomach drops.

Was he being serious? The tips of your ears are red now and you'd cover those too if you weren't already suffocating under your blankets.

"What..?" You glance over your shoulder. Just slightly—just enough to see him. The blush on his cheeks makes you feel slightly better. It means you're not the only one who's affected.

"We could do... that if you wanted to."

You sit up, your lips parted in disbelief. "Are you—Caleb, you can't just say things like that."

Your frustration comes bubbling back up. If this was another one of his jokes, it was mean. Meaner than him reading your smut out loud.

"I'm being serious," he says.

You hesitate.

This can't be real.

You stare at him, trying to gauge whether he's messing with you or not. His eyes are dark, his hand curling into your sheets like he's trying not to reach out and touch you.

"I'd do anything you want, Pips."

Heat curls low in your stomach.

"You'd do the whole.." you clear your throat, still embarrassed, "thigh thing?"

"If it's what you wanted." Caleb's breath hitches slightly, as he leans forward. "Is it?"

You give him a weak, embarrassed nod. And that's all it takes. He crashes his lips against yours in a heated kiss. He doesn't go slow, or try to ease into it—it's all need.

You sigh, blindly nudging your blankets off and wrapping your arms around his neck. His hands were everywhere—your waist, your hips, your thighs, your boobs. It's like he needs every inch of your body burned into his palms.

Slowly, his fingers slip under the waistband of your panties.

You gasp, your hips jumping underneath him. "Wait—"

Caleb pauses. "What? Do you not want this any—"

"No!" You instinctively wrap your arms tighter around his neck. “No, that's not..— It's just.. You don't.. need to do that."

Caleb furrows his brows, and softly, you whisper, "I'm already..."

Caleb lets out a shuddering breath before leaning in to kiss you again, making easy work of your clothes. "From what? From me teasing you? Or telling you I'd do it?"

You let out a breathless whine when you felt the cool air hit your skin. "Both."

Caleb groans, gently easing back on his heels to look at you. "Fuck. You're so pretty." He runs his hands up your side, drinking in every little shudder and twitch. "I don't tell you that enough."

Your face flushes. You feel like you should thank him or compliment him back, but he's already flipping you onto your stomach.

You suddenly feel a little self-conscious. "I'm sorry if I'm not—"

"Mm-mn." He cuts you off, cupping your ass and giving it a light squeeze. "You have nothing to apologize for."

Like he has to prove it, he leans down and kisses the small of your back. It's sweet. Reverent. Then he dips lower, lips trailing over the swell of your ass.

The feeling makes you squirm, but you don't pull away.

"Understand?"

But you don't answer; your head is spinning.

He nips at the plush skin of your ass when he doesn't hear anything. "Tell me you understand. I need you to, Pips. Because if you ever think you are anything less than perfect—"

"I understand," you breathe.

Caleb rolls his tongue over the spot he bit as a small sorry. "Good." Then he pulls back again, and your heart leaps in your throat when you hear the sound of his zipper.

You wiggle nervously, burying your face in your pillow. And when you finally feel him nudge against the cleft of your ass, you nearly whine. He's so big.

You shudder, your hand curling in your sheets. "Caleb.."

"You tell me if you want me to stop, okay?"

You nod, biting your lip when he finally slides himself between your legs. He's leaking.

He grinds once and nearly moans.

"Oh, shit." Caleb's voice breaks. "I might not last long." He bends down, gripping your hip with one hand while he braces the other near your head. "But I promise I'll make you cum."

You flutter at his promise and instinctively push your hips back, forcing him to drag himself along your heat again. The feeling makes every cell in your body scream for more.

Caleb starts slow, but small little sighs keep spilling past his lips. "Like this?" he asks, his cock rocking against you perfectly. "Hm? Is this how they did it?"

You don't even remember the book anymore, you just nod and grasp the hand that's next to your head.

"Yes," you moan into your pillow. "Yes, just like that!"

His groans fill your ears as he sets a steady pace, fucking into the space between your thighs like it's the best thing he's ever had.

Meanwhile, you're a mess. Dripping down your thighs and coating his cock every time he pushes forward. When you imagined this, you thought it would feel good, but this? This is something else entirely.

"Caleb—oh, God—" your voice stutters as your hip clumsily jerks back against his.

"Hah—! Yeah? This feel nice?" He presses his chest against your back and starts giving you quick, shallow thrusts. You think you might actually cry now from how mind-numbing the friction is.

"Oh, fuck! Please—No, no, no—Too quick!"

You try to stay still, to force your orgasm back down, but your thighs are trembling, squeezing him.

"Fuck. But it feels so good, doesn't it?"

You squirm. "Caleb! I don't want to cum yet!"

You're seconds away from losing it—you feel it, the heat coiling too tight. Too hot. And just when you think you're going to cum, Caleb wrenches himself away with a huff.

You almost let out a little cry, relief flooding your chest.

Caleb breathes shakily as he slides his hand down your waist, watching your skin prickle with goosebumps.

"You're a mess," he says, eyeing the soaked sheets and the small tremble of your hands like it's a piece of art.

"Fuck..." He slowly drags his hand down your back, his touch making you clench. "I really wanted to see you cum."

"'Mm sorry," you whisper.

Caleb shakes his head, even if you don't see it and dips his hand between your legs. "Don't say sorry. It's cute how much you don't want this to be over yet." He slides his fingers through your slicked bundle of nerves and your body twitches.

"Ah! Caleb..!"

Caleb groans in response, firmly pressing his fingers against you. "You're so sensitive." He gently wiggles his fingers, listening to the wet squelch. "If I touch you, even a little more, you're gonna cum, aren't you?"

You nod helplessly.

Caleb pauses, his fingers stilling in your wet heat just for a second. "Fuck."

He should stop. Should let you set the pace, but he can't. You feel too good. He slides his fingers in slow circles.

"I need to make you cum, pips... Let me. Please let me."

When you whine, he lets out a strained sound, like he's seconds away from breaking.

"I promise we can go again if it isn't enough, just let me feel it once."

"Okay," you murmur, your breath shaky against the fabric of your pillow.

Caleb hovers over you again the instant you give him the okay. "Fingers or cock?" he breathes, too eager to even bother with proper sentences.

"Cock," you whimper, cheeks warming at the way you say it without a second thought.

Slowly, Caleb slips between your thighs again. He bites his lip, giving you the eager, snappy thrusts you liked so much.

You're already shaking again, clinging to your sheets as he rubs that perfect little spot over and over. "Fuck—Hah—! Caleb!"

"Do it."

Your orgasm rips a sinful cry from your throat. You didn't expect it to happen so fast or for it to feel so good. And maybe, if you weren't so fucked out, you might feel embarrassed, but all you feel is bliss.

Caleb groans at the same time, thick ropes of cum shooting across your chest and stomach. He'd been holding it a while, but somehow willed himself to wait for you. So when you finally start to cry and gush on him, he can't hold back anymore.

You collapse into the mattress, sweat clinging to your body, your arousal dripping down your thighs and staining the sheets.

Caleb shakes above you, his breath fanning across your neck. His grip on your hips loosen, but he never moves his hand. He can't.

For a while, neither of you says anything.

Just lay there, completely spent.

Twitching with the aftershock of your guy's orgasms until finally, Caleb gently rolls over and pulls you with him.

You instantly melt into it, lazily snuggling into his side.

"I... I totally get why you read all that now." Your cheeks burn, but you don't say anything. Just press yourself closer. Then he continues, "We should... recreate... every scene from your books."

You purse your lips together as you shake your head. "You're not allowed to touch my books. Ever."

Caleb's head snaps toward you, hair mussed and eyes sparkling with contentment. "What?!" he pants. "But something so good just came out of that."

You glance up at him, eyes glossy and lips pulled into a soft smile. “Mmm… I'll think about it."

Caleb scoffs and tosses his head back against the pillows. "Fine… Did I at least do it right?"

You nod weakly. "That was really good."

"Yeah?"

"Mhmm."

—

taglist <- go here if u want to be added <3

tags: @asiatic-apple @starryeyed-apple @exe-toby @heartyluv @halfawakeblobbu @seungkwansflower @justwinginglife @floatinginaer @walrusbreath @honeymoonfleur (i can't tag u 3 for some reason (or maybe i wrote ur names wrong and i'm being silly))

[zomgcaleb]

18+ sharing your warmth with caleb. size difference. pet names. breeding. use of gravity evol.

“You can’t feel me at all?” you ask again, your fingers stroking up his forearm.  It’s still hard to believe his arm is not entirely his anymore – that they’d modified it. It still felt like him – like he always had: warm and strong and yours. 

He watches the meandering path you make up his arm, fingers ghosting over his skin. “Not like this,” he answers in a whisper.

It wasn’t right. They’d taken part of him from you. It makes you angry.

He hisses as you pinch the skin at his elbow. 

Then, he smiles. “So cruel.” 

His smile drops off his lips as you intertwine your fingers with his. “I hate them,” you mutter, bringing his hand towards your lips. You hold him there, a breath away, knowing he can’t feel the warmth of your breath against his skin.

He’d held your own hands like this just the day before, warming them with his hot breath and shoving them into his pockets before they could turn to ice again.

He’s reminded of the same thing; he’s having the same thought. You see it in his eyes as he pulls your intertwined hands towards his own lips now. “I won’t always be able to tell if your hands are cold,” he says. “Not unless you always walk on my left… unless you hold my left hand.” He pauses, eyes moving from your joined hands to look back at you. “Will you do that for me, Pips?” He asks. “So I know when you’re cold?” 

“I can just tell you.” 

He smiles again, squeezing your hand a little. “Can I trust you to tell me?” 

You frown slightly. 

He laughs. 

“On my left, then,” he says, decision made.

It’s a familiar end. His decisions were hard to shift once he’d made them. He was hard to steer. Still, you would always try.

You readjust your position on his lap, knees pressing into the mattress on either side of his thighs. 

“Would you tell me if you were cold?” you ask.

He tilts his head, his hair falling across his forehead. 

You know the answer before you’d asked. But it wasn’t about getting an answer. You were attempting to make a point: the same point you’d been trying to make for months now – since he’d come back.

You tug your hand from his and place your hands on his chest, pressing him back into the pillows propped up against the headboard. Answer me, you threaten silently.

“Why would I?” he asks as his right hand settles on your hip, like you might need help just to stay perched in his lap – like you could fall and he needed to be ready to catch you.

“So I can help you, like you would help me,” you answer.

His lips part, then close. He looks to the side, out into the snowy night, then back at you. “I’m never cold.”

In the past, you might’ve huffed and crawled off him – left him there to stew in his own stubborn refusal to admit to a completely human weakness. Instead, you cup his cheek with your palm, gentle, “Don’t tell childish lies. We’re adults now, you know.” 

He smiles softly – a slight curve of his lips that seems to soften his eyes, too.

“I can warm you when you’re cold,” you whisper, quiet, unwilling to risk scaring the softness away.

He blinks. His eyes drop to the hand at your hip. He’s quiet.

You wait.

Then, “What if I can’t feel your warmth?” he asks, so quiet you almost can’t make out the words.

You take a shallow breath, and then you lean forward into him, pressing your chest up against his. Your face rests comfortably against his shoulder — warm breath ghosting over his neck. “You can feel me everywhere else,” you remind him. Everywhere but his right arm.

His fingers press into your hip, and then his hand drops away. 

Retreating.

You turn your head a little and press your lips to his skin, just in the crook of his neck.

He freezes.

Retreat paused.

“Right?” you prod, lips brushing against his warm skin as you speak. “You can feel it here?”

He takes in a shaky breath, and you’re sure he’s about to lift you off him, say something to lighten to mood, distract you like he always does: retreat again.

You part your lips and exhale against his skin, “It’s warm, yeah?” you ask, determined.

You swear, just for a second, that you feel the brush of his hand at your back, but it’s gone before you can be sure of it. He’s still, apart from that, until, finally, “Yeah,” he breathes.

Victory.

You know it, just in that little word. He wasn’t backing away; retreating.

He was giving in.

You take in a few shallow breaths, shaken by the prospect of him finally surrendering. Then, gently, you press your lips to his neck in a kiss. “You’ll tell me then?” you ask. “You’ll tell me when you're cold?”

His hand presses to your lower back, you’re sure this time. It’s heavy and unwavering. “So you can warm me?” he asks in return, his voice far less steady than his hand at your back.

“Mm,” you hum, moving your head side to side a little so your lips graze his skin in the spot you kissed him. 

“All right,” he breathes.

“Promise?”

He’s silent, unmoving.

You hook your finger into the collar of his t-shirt and pull it down slightly, enough that you can press your lips to his collarbone. “Promise,” you prod, never moving far enough away that your lips aren’t touching him. Always touching. “Promise me you’ll tell me when you’re cold.” 

His head moves a little, chin dipping. Then, like an afterthought, he speaks, “Yes. Yeah. I’ll tell you. Promise.” 

Then his hand presses into you harder, like he’s trying to close the little gap between your bodies. 

You resist for a moment, then give in, letting him press you up against him. 

You’re forced to lift your head from his neck as you readjust; forced to meet his eyes. 

His pupils nearly engulf his purple irises entirely, darkness swarming and mixing with the softness that still hasn’t left. That’s how he was these days, you ponder as he looks back at you: soft and comfort and all those things that made him so familiar, but also, dark – cold, unpredictable, different – someone capable of igniting fear in a crowd of uniformed men. 

“It makes me feel greedy,” he says, pulling you from the swirling in his eyes.

You blink, “Greedy?” 

“Just thinking about it,” he clarifies. “You’re so warm that I…” His eyes dip to your lips as he speaks, short little glances that wouldn’t be so noticeable if they weren’t so frequent – if he didn’t linger there the more he looked, like the act of looking away was wearing him down. “I might… take it all. I might never stop. I might want it all and never ever stop.” 

You squirm a little, just slightly, an involuntary almost roll of your hips. “That’s okay. You’ve been cold for a long time, yeah? You need lots and lots of … of warming up.” 

He nods, but it looks a little uncontrolled, like he wasn’t thinking much about answering you at all. It’s a lazy kind of nod; distracted.

Lazy. Kind of like the way you begin to roll your hips.

He doesn’t look away as you roll against him, transfixed there as your breathing slowly shifts into deeper, unsteady, puffs of air between parted lips.

You can feel his hesitation, like breaking himself from his frozen trance might make it all stop – as if he were in a dream. 

“Am I warm here?” you ask on a shaky exhale, rolling your hips with a little force this time – pressing your heated centre into him.

Then you’re still, captured by the invisible force you’ve always known as his evol. It holds you there as his hand snakes up your back, a firm warmth that shifts the fabric of your shirt a little with it as it goes. It only stops when he reaches the back of your head. There he holds you, fingers tangled in your hair. You blink. His gravity releases you, and he falls forward – his forehead pressing against your own. 

His breath mixes with your own as he holds you there, waiting on his response. 

“That’s where you’re warmest,” he says, finally. “There,” he closes the gaps between your lips a little more. It almost tickles, the ghost of him – so close. “And here.” 

Then he’s on you, delving into your mouth in a way that leaves no room for escape. His hand holds you to him as he takes and takes and takes, tongue’s dancing and spit making a mess down to your chin.

Your hips move on their own.

You grind into him as you consume each other, assisted a little when his other hand presses into your lower back. 

Warm.

It’s all you’re thinking.

You’re so warm. He’s so warm. His warm hands holding you close; his warm chest pressed to yours; his warm thighs underneath you; his hot tongue, slick against yours. 

An embarrassing sound slips from your throat. You pull away, gasping in much-needed air as his eyes flick across your face.

His fingers twitch against your back. 

You shiver.

His hand, at the back of your head, drifts down to cradle your cheek. 

It’s his left hand.

His thumb brushes against your skin in gentle strokes.

“I’m cold,” he says.

You shiver again. It’s not from the temperature. The truth is, it’s not cold at all. His apartment might even be a little warmer than most people would find comfortable. He kept it that way for you, especially on winter nights like this: the ones you felt a little harsher than he ever did.

“You are?” you question, bringing your hand up to his cheek, mirroring him. 

Warm. His cheek is soft and radiating heat to match the red flush of his skin.

He nods, looking suddenly a little like a wounded puppy. You could almost swear his lower lip, wet from your kisses, was protruding a little… almost like a pout.

You press against him, chest to chest, as if there was any space left to close between you. “Even after…” you pause. “But I thought that was my warmest part?” you question, reaching up to touch your lips with your fingers.

His eyes drop and linger there, watching where you touch your mouth. Then, “Yeah, it is. You’re so warm there. So, so warm,” he says, distracted.

You wrap your arms around his neck. His arms fall to your waist, wrapping around you tight. 

“But you’re still cold?” you ask.

His eyes flutter closed. One shaky breath. Two. They open again. “Greedy,” he breathes. “I told you, yeah?”

Your cunt pulses between your legs, hot and sensitive. “Maybe…” you drift off, distracted by the increasingly desperate urge to shift a little to the side and press down directly onto his firm thigh. “Maybe you need to use both.” Your voice is breathy. It might be embarrassing if you weren’t so distracted.

“Both?” 

Your lashes flutter as you fight closing your eyes and giving into temptation. “Both my warmest places,” you whisper.

His fingers press into your waist, and then, he’s pulling you down, firm, into his lap. “I need to use both?” he asks, breathy. 

You nod. “I’m warm there, I promise.” 

He looks between your eyes and his head drops back a little, eyes closing, before he catches himself. He rocks forward again, keeping you close. “Yeah?” he breathes.

“So warm,” you say with another nod, your voice taking on a desperate, pleading, sort of tone. “Hot. It’s hot. I’ll warm you up, Caleb. I promise. I’ll keep you warm.” 

His lips nearly brush yours when he speaks, “Yeah, baby? I might need to stay inside, though. You might have to keep me in there so I can stay nice and warm, yeah? Is that okay?” 

You nod. It’s a little frantic, as desperate as your pleading.

When his lips press to yours again, you’re vaguely aware of movement elsewhere, of him using a combination of his evol and his hands to lift you just enough to shove his pants down his legs a little and resettle you in his lap, one less layer between you.

You nibble at his lower lip as his warm fingers play with your flimsy shorts, slowly, lazily, snaking their way into one of the legs. You gasp into his mouth, jolting at the tickle of his fingers as they brush over your underwear, over your throbbing cunt.

“I can feel it,” he says as he sucks in shallow breaths. “I can feel how warm you are.” 

You blink at him, incapable of saying anything at all – focused instead on catching your breath. 

He continues, warm fingers brushing lightly back and forth against the cotton between your legs, “Right here,” he breathes. “Hm? Right here, yeah?” 

Your lips part, and close, and part again. Then, you nod.

Your world tips. He lifts you and lowers you onto the pillows before tugging you backwards against his chest – flush against his body, each of you lying on your sides. His breath is warm on your neck when he speaks, “I should check,” he says. “Just to be sure.”

It’s easier to speak like this, with your eyes on the snow falling though the window, instead of looking at him. “How?” you ask, a little crack in your voice.

His palm moves to your lower stomach, settles there a moment, then presses, forcing you right back against him. “You’ve gotta be close,” he says, his voice taking on the tone he’s always used when he was helping you study, gentle, patient – listen closely, it says, I’ll help you. “Just like this,” he continues. His hand leaves your stomach. He shifts a little. Then, his finger sneaks back through the leg of your flimsy pyjama shorts, forcing them to rise up right around the tops of your thighs until they’re basically a second layer of underwear. “We’ll leave these on for now, okay?” 

You nod, nonverbal.

He tugs your underwear a little. You have no idea what for, distracted by the pulsing between your legs. 

Then, heat, soft. His cock slips beneath your underwear, and in one smooth motion, slips along your sensitive cunt, skin to skin. 

You whimper, twist towards him, and grip his bicep – stunned by the sudden reality of feeling him like this, pressed hotly against you. You’re sharply aware of the wetness he finds there; of the way you’ve been leaking for him.

His hand moves back to your stomach, holding you steady. “Just like this,” he breathes. You can’t see his eyes like this, twisted back towards him just enough that he can take your lips in his. 

You whimper into his mouth again, unable to stop your hips from rocking back and forth.  You take him with you as you rock – his cock trapped in your underwear. 

You can’t get enough friction. He’s hot, and he’s hard, and you desperately want to reach down and press him against your cunt harder, so you can grind against the length of him like you did to a pillow when you were younger. As it was, you were pushing closer and closer to something almost painful.

You whimper and whine against his lips as he laps at you, making his own sounds – each one triggering a tightening of your walls, empty and desperate. Empty. 

Empty.

Empty.

It’s an internal mantra that eventually seeps out of you in a pathetic, murmured, incomprehensible whine.

He separates from you enough to mutter, “What?” 

You squeeze your eyes shut, suddenly overwhelmed without the distraction of his lips.

“What was that?” he asks again.

Your eyes flutter open, “I’m so empty.” It’s a pathetic sort of sound, the way those words slip out of you. But it was hard to be embarrassed when his pretty brows were twisting up and his lips were falling open and – “Fuck,” he breathes. 

His hips roll into you, a satisfying pressure that has you gasping and gripping onto the arm that holds your waist. 

“Say that again,” he groans into your neck. “Tell me how it feels inside.” 

“So empty,” you answer, pressing back into him – bodies aligned perfectly now you’re twisted back to face the window. “All empty inside.” 

“Yeah?” His cock slips against your slick hole, soft and warm. “Here?” he asks. He rocks against you as he mumbles into your neck, breath hot against your skin. “You all empty, pretty girl? Just here? Just for me?” 

He could be saying anything. You nod, hardly hearing his words, just rocking back to meet the roll of his hips. “For you… for you,” you mutter breathlessly.

His hand slips beneath your shirt, pressing to your lower stomach. His breath ghosts behind your ear, and then he whispers as close to your ear as he can get, “Here?” His hand presses firm, right where that emptiness hurts most.

The sound that leaves you could be a cry. It’s a squeaky, broken sound. 

The weight of his evol settles over you, a comforting weight that holds you still, preventing you from rocking against him. Then he’s rolling his hips back a little, just enough that his leaking tip prods at your swollen entrance. He plays with you like that, rocking in tiny movements – prodding over and over and over. 

“Your hot little mouth isn’t your warmest spot, baby,” he says, still holding you still. “It’s right here,” he breathes, stilling prodding at your twitching hole, “Right between your soft thighs. Where I can’t see. Where no one can see.” His hot breath hits your neck as he speaks; as you hopelessly fight the weight preventing you from pushing back into him. “You’ll let me see, won’t you?” he continues, wrapping his arms around you fully. 

“Caleb,” you whine, desperate.

“Mm? What’s wrong, baby?”

“Let me go. Please. Let me–”

“Why? Will you be a good girl? Or are you going to try and take me inside? Hm? You being greedy?” 

“Inside,” you answer without thought, too desperate to do anything but say exactly what your mind is screaming. “Inside.” 

“Mm,” he hums, nibbling at your earlobe. “That’s what I thought. Naughty girl.” 

He shifts his hips back a little, taking away the only thing keeping you sane. “No,” you whimper.

Caleb kisses at your neck, wet, lazy kisses that feel a lot like how he was kissing your lips earlier, but then he sucks. It comes with noises. Wet, messy noises. 

“Let me go,” you cry. “Let me–”

The weight lifts. He lets you go. You shift backwards, forcing his length along your cunt, over and over – an uncontrolled type of movement resulting from the build up of desperate need. 

Then you catch the tip of him. You can’t reach down between your legs with the way he’s wrapped around you. You’re forced to roll your hips and try and guide him inside. His hand drop to your hip, preventing you, just as you get close.  It’s too much. You’re at the end. And just when you’re about to break, he rolls you over onto your belly, his body covering you completely. He seems bigger like this – so big the world seems to disappear. 

“Okay, okay,” he says in that way that so often makes you want to stamp your foot or punch him in the gut – a tone of voice that usually makes you feel like a baby having a tantrum. Not now, though. Now, it’s sweet relief. 

His big hands reach down and drag your shorts down your legs, then your messy underwear, soaked through.

Then, his leaking tip finds you again, right where you’re desperate to take him inside. He prods a little, feeling the way you attempt to suck him inside, slick and warm. “You can be greedy now,” he whispers, letting his tip nestle at your twitching cunt as you grind back against him, trying to push onto him. “You can be greedy with me, baby.” 

He sinks inside, letting you suck and clench around him with a pathetic sort of broken cry. 

It’s not without suffering all of his own. You feel the vibration of the sound he makes into your neck. It sounds like he’s in pain – like maybe it’s too much. 

You’re suffering together as you pulse around his heavy cock, twitching where it’s buried deep inside. 

“Warm,” he mumbles, lips pressed to your neck. “Oh, fuck.” 

You clench around him. 

He whimpers.

“Warming you up,” you mutter, feeling very much out of your mind – like maybe you’ve forgotten how to string words together to make a sentence.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “That’s right. Keeping me warm. Pretty little pussy. So warm.” 

Your responding hum sounds more like a squeak. 

His arms tighten around you, warming you in his own way – his body heavy all over you.

“Gonna keep you like this,” he mutters, hips starting to grind a little, hardly pulling out at all, just pressing you into the mattress over and over. “Can I keep you like this? Hm? Keep you under me, fucked full, fucked… so full.” His palm shifts to your belly, right where he’s buried. “Here,” he groans, then bites at your neck, teeth grazing your skin. “Right where you’re warmest, yeah?”

“Mm,” you hum, gripping the sheets in your hands, desperate for something to hold onto.

It’s not until he’s pulling out and dropping his hips back into you that you speak again, overwhelmed by the feeling of his hips smacking against you loudly with each drop – shoving you into the mattress. “Don’t leave,” you sob. “Ple-please, don’t stop.” 

His harm loops around your front, draped across your collarbones, holding you firmly beneath him. “Greedy girl,” he says, breathless. It sounds like praise. “It’s okay,” he says with a soft kiss to your neck. “Need to stay inside. Gotta stay warm. We’ll get you nice and full, yeah? Full of hot cum? Hm?” 

“Okay,” you agree with a sob.

His responding, “Okay,” sounds like a sigh. “Yeah, nice and full. And we’ve gotta keep it there. Gotta stay inside.” His hips snap against you a little faster, a little less time pressed heavy and still at the end of each drop. “Until I’m hard again,” he continues between shallow breaths. “Until I can fuck you with it.” He sucks at your throat. “That okay? Can I breed my pretty girl? Hm? Get you all messy?” 

You’re not sure you’ve ever been capable of speech in your life. It’s gone. Your lips part and you can’t make anything come out apart from a tiny, broken, call of his name.

“You can do it,” he coos. “Say it for me, baby. Tell me I can fill your little belly with cum. Tell me I can make you nice and warm inside.” 

One of his hands finds your jaw, then his finger is pressing between your lips, like he’s trying to help you get the words out. 

“Yes, please,” you manage. It’s small and pathetic and a little muffled by his finger in your mouth.

He shudders, his entire body suddenly a little heavier over you.  It’s still then, all tension and weight. The next time he moves, it’s the pad of his finger pressing against your tongue. “Gonna give you everything.” His finger presses into your mouth in tandem with his cock deep inside you. That’s how he fucks you, pressing inside each of your warmest places, where he belongs. 

[zomgcaleb]

pervy roommate!caleb who tells you about going on a date with another girl — just so he can ask you for advice on how to treat a girl in bed. you’ve known him for years, grown comfortable with each other since moving in together, it would be odd for you to decline. yeah it would be a little awkward but you’ve helped each other out many times no matter how embarrassing the situation may be. giving him a few pointers shouldn’t be so bad.

pervy roommate!caleb catches you by surprise when he asks for a more hands on lesson. don’t get him wrong, the tips you gave him were useful. like if she tells him to keep going, don’t speed up. but how will he really learn anything if he doesn’t practise first? practise makes perfect, right? and how could you say no? he’s your best friend. best friends help each other out.

pervy roommate!caleb who has to contain his grin when you actually agree to help — but can’t hide the way his cock jumps when you do. the idea of his hands and his mouth on you, the idea of having you squirm under his touch just consumes him.

pervy roommate!caleb who obeys everything you say. whether it’s starting slow, flattening his tongue when he licks up your slit or when you beg for him to speed up his slender fingers thrusting inside of your cunt. he’s a quick learner. curling his fingers in all the right ways, just like you taught him to. and every time you tell him how good he’s doing, your words trailing of into a long whine, god, he could cum right then and there.

pervy roommate!caleb eventually says, almost too casually, that he might as well fuck you at this point — just to make sure he’s got everything right. you think he’s joking as you chuckle in response, but the way his eyes linger on you says otherwise. is this even for the date anymore? you wonder.

you’ve already let him touch you, already shown him a side of yourself that not many people get to see, lying beneath him in a such a vulnerable position. would it be so wrong to go the extra step?

pervy roommate!caleb who fucks way too well for someone who supposedly needed advice. his grip on your hips is hard as he pulls you into every thrust he gives you. sounds of skin slapping echoes of the walls. he’s big and he knows how to use it — confident. too confident for a guy who claims he’s practicing for someone else.

the truth is, he isn’t practising. he made it all up. there is no girl and there was never date. he lied, and used it as an excuse to get in your pants.

his teeth graze your skin, biting back at the confession that he’s wanted this for as long as he could remember. a hand snakes between your bodies to meet your sensitive clit, thumb rubbing against it in deliberate circular motions — coaxing you toward another orgasm. eyes focused on your face like he needs to see the exact moment you fall apart.

his rhythm stutters when your walls clench around him, your back arching as you break with a guttural moan. his thrusts grow desperate, messy. it’s not about practise anymore. it never was.

꩜ masterlist !

🏷️ @ashirelle @littledarlingsthings @wynxoxo @dalmoonchi @kiyadeleine @sayoko-ou @sweetcalebb @partycityyyyyyy @sylusexual @rafascutie @colonelpantysniffer @oakimiuy @lyricelli join taglist here!

[zomgcaleb]

愛 ⋮ rafayel found that spot .ᐟ

it was accidental.

really was.

but, for some reason he just can't stop hitting that spot now.

"ngh! ra-rafa—yel!" your yelps came out as squeals, so did the sound of your sodden pussy as it gushes liquids after liquids.

"fuuuck, you squeeze–oh shit," his grip on your love handles tighten, just like the way your core does to his pistoning cock. "so tight! you like when i hit this? huh?" cockiness drips from his voice despite the small crease on his eyebrows, sweat shining between.

he repeats the same hip movements again and again, seemingly hitting your sweet spot and opening your womb at the same time. "s'too much!" you sob, hands gripping his hair and leaving nail marks on his hard back.

"gonna cum in this ovulating cunt, cutie." leaning down to whisper filth on your ear, he bites down on the lobe before licking it to soothe the sting. "you're so goddamn cute."

with your back arching, he was able to easily circle an arm around your waist as the other hand presses down on where he's hitting that secret spot.

oh.

oh.

"c-cumming!"

it seems that certain button pushed you over the edge as your body shakes relentlessly, shivering as your vagina releases milky cum paired with a small trickle of squirt. "yeah, holy shit look at that..." backing up a little to the view, rafayel whistles. his cock half inside you, shines with your release.

"don't... look, s'embarrassing." you shield your eyes away from his gaze and try to close your legs but his strong hold stops you. "cutie, i haven't given you mine yet."

without any remorse for your sensitive cunny, rafayel slams himself back with ease—pinning your body down with his. "'ayel! no more~!"

ragged breath, heavy panting, loud groans, and blissful moans fill the sex clad room as he chase that mind blowing orgasm. "gonna cum, gonna cum, gonna cum in you baby!"

with a particularly sloppy smack of his hips, the tip of his dick twitch as he touches your gspot before releasing his load, accidentally triggering another release from your hole.

"raf—!"

... and then everything was black for you.

all rights reserved, rafasbride 2025

Ი︵𐑼 % dividers from @/cafekitsune ! !

[zomgcaleb]

i need your talented hands to write about reader being needy, clingy, and crybaby with lads husbands who always keep their girl in their lap pampering her, bestie i’m ovulating i need this plz

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ His Crybaby

𝒲𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒻𝑜𝓇 ˙⋆✮ Rafayel, Zayne, Xavier, Sylus, Caleb

𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒/𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 ˙⋆✮ fluff, fem reader who cries for no reason. indulgent men who adores their wife. this anon is thinking on the same wavelength as me so im gonna name you star anon. come back to me pookie :p

> ࣪𖤐.ᐟ They adore their crybaby wife, after all, they're the ones who spoiled you enough to be this comfortable.

𝙍𝙖𝙛𝙖𝙮𝙚𝙡 °‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The morning sun streamed lazily through the wide windows of your beachside home, reflecting soft blues and silvers across the marble kitchen floor. You sat curled in Rafayel’s lap, your rightful throne, wrapped in one of his oversized white shirts, legs thrown over his and arms tucked to your chest, sniffling like the world had ended.

And to be fair, to you, it sort of had.

“They’re round, Raffy,” you whimpered into his chest, voice trembling with betrayal. “You always make them heart-shaped. Always…”

Rafayel blinked slowly, a half-bitten scone in one hand, his other palm gently stroking your lower back. His long lashes fluttered over his dual-colored eyes, the corner of his mouth twitching into an amused smile.

“I was in a rush,” he offered lightly, tone bordering on amused and indulgent. “Shell delivery came early. I had to check for the right pigment.”

You glared up at him with teary eyes, bottom lip trembling. “But you forgot.”

He set the scone down and wrapped both arms around you, nuzzling your hair with a sigh. “I didn’t forget, pretty girl. I just… momentarily neglected aesthetics.” A pause. “Which I see was a grave crime.”

You hiccuped. “You never do round ones. Even when I was mad at you that one time, you still made them heart-shaped.”

He chuckled softly, the sound low and fond. “That’s because even when you’re mad at me, you still eat them with those pouty cheeks and kiss me after.”

You turned your face into his neck, voice muffled and pathetic. “But they’re not heart-shaped today, so now everything feels wrong. I was gonna take a picture for my little breakfast diary…”

“Ah.” He tilted his head, brushing his lips over your temple, then lower, along your cheek where a tear had slipped down. “My girl’s so delicate today. You’re like a little seashell that got smudged with morning sadness.”

You sniffled.

Then Rafayel shifted, standing up smoothly with you in his arms, still cradled like a sobbing princess.

“I’m redoing them.”

Your head shot up. “Really?”

“Mhm. You think I won’t shape twenty scones by hand for my favorite spoiled crybaby?” he teased, walking you to the counter like you weighed nothing, setting you down on the stool just beside the mixing bowls. “You’re the only person I even tolerate. If you want heart-shaped, you get heart-shaped.”

You tried to pout again, but his words melted you too quickly.

He was already back at the counter, sleeves pushed up, a tiny ponytail tied loosely with a ribbon you’d left lying around. He didn’t ask for help. Just hummed to himself as he redid the dough from scratch, tossing glances your way every few moments to make sure you were watching.

You sat with your chin in your hands, watching him move, elegant, annoyed at the flour in his rings, muttering about how the heart mold wasn’t symmetrical enough.

You sighed happily. “Raffy?”

“Yes, cutie?”

“…Can I eat the raw dough?”

He turned, expression deadpan. “Will it stop the tears?”

You nodded.

He handed you a pinch. “Then yes, absolutely. Take the whole bowl if you want. I’ll kiss you better if you get a stomach ache.”

Once the new batch came out, perfectly heart-shaped this time, Rafayel pulled you back into his lap, dusted icing sugar from your nose with a dramatic sigh, and whispered smugly against your cheek:

“My wife throws tantrums over pastries. I married a princess.”

You beamed, mouth full of warm scone.

And he kissed you anyway.

𝙕𝙖𝙮𝙣𝙚 ⋆꙳•❅‧*₊⋆☃︎ ‧*❆ ₊⋆

You were sitting sideways in Zayne’s lap, arms wrapped tightly around his neck, sniffing dramatically into the collar of his long coat. His hand rested calmly on your thigh, the other flipping through the patient report he had been trying to review before you burst into his home office in tears.

He hadn’t even flinched when you flung yourself into his lap like it was your natural place, because it was.

Now, you were sobbing softly into his shirt.

“I just wanted the kitty sticker on my water bottle,” you hiccuped. “The pink one. And now I can’t find it anywhere, and it’s just… everything’s ruined.”

Zayne blinked once. Slowly.

“…You’re crying,” he said, tone flat, “over a sticker.”

“It was a limited edition one,” you wailed louder, curling further into him like a miserable kitten. “The sparkly holographic one from the art market you said was overpriced but still bought for me anyway—”

“Yes,” he interrupted mildly, adjusting his glasses with one finger. “That sticker.”

A beat.

“Did you check the back of your phone case?”

You paused. Then went still.

“…Oh.”

You twisted slightly, reached back, peeled it off the case, and stared at it. Whole. Unharmed.

You glanced back at him sheepishly. “Oops…”

Zayne exhaled quietly through his nose, resting his forehead against yours like he was centering himself spiritually. “You’ve cried on four of my shirts this week,” he muttered.

“It was five,” you corrected meekly.

He looked at you, hazel-green eyes dry and unimpressed. “…Of course it was.”

You clung tighter to him. “I’m sorryyy. I just get so emotional sometimes and, and you’re warm and I needed to be held and I thought it was gone forever, and now I feel dumb and—”

“Enough.” His voice cut through your spiral with practiced ease. His thumb slid along your cheek, catching a fresh tear. “You’re not dumb. You’re dramatic. There’s a difference.”

You blinked up at him.

He continued with dry precision: “A dumb woman wouldn’t be able to weaponize her tears so efficiently. You cried, and I halted a coronary consult.”

You blinked again. “…Did you really?”

“I couldn’t hear over the sobbing,” he said, flat as ever. “And I wasn’t about to drag my wife out of my lap when her world was ending over foil cat stickers.”

You hid your face in his chest again, muffling a helpless giggle. “I’m sorry…”

“No, you’re not.”

“…No, I’m not.”

He hummed. “Didn’t think so.”

Then, quietly, Zayne placed the file on the table beside him and adjusted his grip on you, hand under your thighs, the other firm at your back.

His voice dropped, quieter, softer.

“Do you want me to find you more of those stickers?”

You nodded.

“I’ll message the seller.”

You peeked up at him. “Even if it’s overpriced again?”

He leaned down and pressed a slow kiss to your forehead.

“I’m a surgeon. I can afford your sticker addiction.”

You grinned through drying tears. “You love me.”

Zayne looked back down at you, mouth twitching at the corners. “Tragically.”

That evening, he returned home from work with three new sticker packs.

When you tried to cry again, this time because one was “too cute to ever use”, Zayne simply sat down, pulled you back into his lap, and muttered against your temple, “You’re banned from Etsy.”

You didn’t listen.

And he didn’t mind.

𝙓𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙧 ⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆

The penthouse was quiet when Xavier padded in, soft footfalls echoing on polished floors. His hair was tousled from sleep, even though it was nearly evening, and he was still dressed in his off-duty clothes: oversized white sweater, soft grey pants, and socks that didn’t match. One blue. One purple. He didn’t notice.

He found you where he always did.

Curled up on the sunken couch, surrounded by plush pillows and blankets he didn’t remember buying, tissues scattered like a fallen army.

You looked up with teary eyes, bottom lip wobbling.

He blinked. “Are you in pain?”

You wailed.

Xavier didn’t flinch. He simply crossed the living room, lifted you like you weighed nothing, and settled down with you in his lap, your permanent seat, apparently. He tucked the blanket around you both automatically.

His tone was calm. “Did something hurt you?”

You nodded into his chest.

He blinked again, blue eyes soft. “Who do I eliminate?”

You sniffled. “You.”

There was a pause. A long, quiet one.

“…Me?”

“You ate the last sakura mochi ice cream. Mine. The one I’d been saving for a bad day.” You looked up at him with wet lashes and righteous heartbreak. “And now I’m having a bad day and it’s not there.”

Xavier blinked slowly again, as if replaying the event in his mind. “I didn’t know it was yours.”

“It was in the back corner of the freezer behind the emergency dumplings!” you snapped. “You know that means it’s mine!”

“Oh,” he said flatly, as if you’d just told him water was wet. “I thought you were hiding it from ants.”

“There aren’t ants in the freezer, Xavier.”

He tilted his head. “Are you sure?”

You sobbed again. “I just wanted something sweet and cold after I did so many chores and folded your weird space socks and cleaned up after that dumb pigeon that keeps coming to our balcony and now there’s nothing left.”

You buried your face into his chest.

“Nothing but betrayal.”

Xavier wrapped his arms around you gently. “I didn’t mean to betray you.”

“You did.”

He nodded once, solemn. “Then I will bear the punishment.”

You sniffed again, looking up with suspicious eyes. “What’s the punishment?”

“Letting you cry on me for as long as you want.”

“…That’s not a punishment.”

“I know,” he said softly, tucking your head under his chin. “But you seem to like it.”

You sniffled, cheeks heating up.

A silence fell again, this one softer.

“Do you want me to go back to the market?” he asked suddenly, voice muffled against your hair.

You blinked. “It’s like a two-hour round trip—”

He was already standing, carrying you with him.

“I will go,” he said firmly. “You must stay. Crying wives should not be on trams.”

“…You’re just saying that because I fell asleep on one once and missed the stop.”

“You drooled on the pole,” he said, expression neutral. “The conductor filed a complaint.”

You clung tighter. “but take me with you.”

“No.”

“Xaaaaviiiieeer.”

“No,” he said again, voice soft but resolute. “You’ll fall asleep again and cry in public and then I’ll have to destroy someone for looking at you too long.”

You paused. “…Fair.”

He sat back down with you. “I will get the ice cream. You will stay here. I will return in ninety-seven minutes. You may cry until then.”

You blinked up at him, touched.

“You love me.”

He looked down at you like you hung the moon.

“I have risked my life multiple times,” he murmured, kissing your temple, “but I fear nothing as much as my pretty wife crying over desserts.”

When he returned, you were asleep in his sweater on the couch with a new box of tissues, the balcony pigeon perched smugly nearby.

Xavier placed the mochi ice cream in your lap, kissed your forehead, and whispered:

“Victory.”

𝙎𝙮𝙡𝙪𝙨 ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𓅨⋆｡°✩

The safehouse was too quiet.

Sylus knew it the moment he stepped out of his weaponary room and into the velvet-draped hallways. No spoiled chatter echoing through the corridors. No unnecessary purchases being flaunted in his direction. No soft steps scampering down the stairs with a “look what I ordered!”

Silence, in your world, was always suspicious.

He followed the soft sound of sniffling like a predator tracking prey, though the scent of vanilla, luxury skincare, and fresh credit card ink made it painfully obvious where you were.

His smug smirk sharpened the second he entered the lounge.

There you were. Curled on one of the silk chaises, the biggest one of course, wrapped in a fluffy blanket and surrounded by open boxes, designer bags, glittering heels, two jewelry cases, and a luxury drone still hovering in standby.

And you were sobbing. Sobbing over…

He narrowed his glowing eye slightly.

“…Lipstick?”

You turned, bottom lip trembling, eyes glassy and wet. “It’s not rose gold! It’s just shimmery salmon, they lied, Sy!”

He blinked. “And for this,” he murmured, voice lilting, “you’ve called for the end of the world?”

You wailed louder. “It doesn’t match my nails! Or the heels I picked for brunch tomorrow. You said you liked the brunch outfit, you lied to me too!”

He bit back a smirk. “I said I liked the outfit, my kitty. I never said your shoes matched the lipstick.”

You let out a dramatic gasp and flopped back like you’d faint.

He let you. Indulged in it.

He stepped closer, letting his coat slide off one shoulder as he dropped to sit on the edge of your fainting couch. You peeked at him through your fingers.

“I’m being so tragic today,” you whimpered.

Sylus’s gloved hand reached down, tucking your hair behind your ear, a slow curl to his lips.

“You’re being adorable.”

You blinked up. “Even when I cried at the drone for not having better taste?”

“You yell at drones. You sob over luxury packaging. You throw a tantrum when your brunch schedule is moved by ten minutes.” His voice lowered, smug and possessive. “You are the perfect little disaster. And all mine.”

You whined softly and reached for him.

He pulled you into his lap without hesitation, one arm hooking under your knees, the other curling behind your back. You immediately wrapped your arms around his neck and buried your face in his collarbone.

“You’re mean,” you mumbled. “You think I’m dumb.”

“I think you’re delightful,” he corrected. “Painfully high maintenance. Obnoxiously bratty. But delightful.”

You hiccuped. “Do you actually like it when I cry?”

Sylus chuckled, low and pleased, the sound curling against your ear like velvet.

“I like anything that makes you run to me. Crying, shopping, scheming, screaming, doesn’t matter.” He nuzzled your cheek, a slow drag of his nose down your tear-stained skin. “You always end up in my lap either way.”

You sniffled again.

“…Can I buy a different rose gold lipstick?”

Sylus smirked against your cheek. “Buy thirty.”

“Okay,” you said immediately, perking up. “I’ll get every brand.”

“Mm.” He pressed a kiss to your jaw. “And while you do that, I’ll call your stylist. You’ll need new shoes to match all thirty.”

You gasped. “You do love me!”

He laughed, quiet, but genuinely. “You’re the only creature who could make me sit through a crying fit over cosmetics and still want to kiss the tears off your cheeks.”

You beamed, messy and smug and still a little wet-faced, clinging to him tighter.

Sylus leaned back on the chaise with you sprawled across his chest, lazy and possessive as ever.

“I’m going to destroy that brand,” he added offhandedly.

You blinked up. “Wait, what?”

He tilted his head, red eyes gleaming faintly. “They lied to my princess.”

“…Sy.”

“You cried.”

“You don’t need to destroy them—”

“You cried.”

The lipstick brand posted a mysterious apology the next day.

You got a PR box with actual rose gold lipsticks inside. Thirty of them.

And Sylus?

He smirked, sipped his wine, and kept your shopping drone “accidentally” hacked so it only displayed items in your preferred colors.

All of them were now tagged as princess-coded.

Because that’s exactly what you were.

And he wouldn’t let the world forget it.

𝘾𝙖𝙡𝙚𝙗 ⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

Caleb had faced lots of things.

He’d commanded entire fleets, rewritten gravity, walked through explosions with only one glove smudged.

But nothing, nothing, prepared him for this.

You were crying.

Again.

In the middle of your gilded, bedroom in Skyhaven, surrounded by seventeen fluffy, high-end imported petticoats, with tears in your big wet eyes and your lower lip sticking out like a weaponized pout.

“It’s not puffy enough!” you sobbed, holding up the offending dress like it had personally betrayed you. “I said I wanted maximum puff, Caleb! You promised!”

He blinked from where he stood in full Farspace uniform, his cap still tucked under one arm, black boots gleaming, gloves unbuttoned. He had just gotten home.

And now you were sniffling and stomping your foot, your dainty little slippers slapping against the mirrored floor.

“Pipsqueak,” he started softly, trying not to laugh. “Baby. You have twelve custom princess dresses. They literally fly when you twirl—”

“But they don’t float like clouds!” you wailed. “I want the kind that make a sound when I walk. Like fwah-fwah-fwah!” You stomped again for emphasis. “This one just rustles!”

He couldn’t help it—his lips twitched.

You caught it. “Are you laughing at me?!”

Caleb crossed the room in two strides, lifting you effortlessly into his arms before you could storm away again. You squeaked, clutching his neck, your pout deepening.

“No,” he murmured, kissing your nose. “Never. You know I’d bark if you told me to. Hell, I’d jump off Skyhaven if you said it made your dresses poofier.”

You hiccuped mid-sniffle.

“You mean it?'

Caleb sat down on the edge of your pink chaise, pulling you into his lap so your skirts pooled around both of you.

“I literally rewired the AI in this house cause you said they weren't treating you gently enough. You think I wouldn’t raze the entire fashion industry if it meant you’d stop crying over dress volume?”

You whined and buried your face in his shoulder.

He rocked you gently. “There we go. Let it out. Cry about the bad dress, baby.”

You sniffled again. “I had a whole tea party outfit planned. Now what will the other official's wives say?”

Caleb growled softly under his breath. “They’ll say whatever I tell them to say, or I’ll dump them into deep space.”

You giggled wetly. “You can’t just throw skyhaven's high society ladies out, Caleb.”

“I can do anything,” he said, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Especially for you.”

“…Even puffier dresses?”

“I’ll fund a new brand that only makes them.”

You blinked up at him, tears drying fast. “You’d do that for me?”

He nodded solemnly. “I’ll call it... Princess Puff. Only you can buy from them.”

You squealed and kissed him messily on the cheek, smearing your lip gloss. “You’re my favorite boy.”

Caleb, hopeless, clutched you tighter and leaned back on the chaise, letting your frilly skirts bury him like a hero in a fairy tale.

“You’ve always been my favorite girl,” he murmured. “Even when you were a little crybaby who used to throw tantrums over sticker books.”

“I was a sensitive artist,” you huffed.

“You were a brat,” he teased, grinning. “My brat.”

You buried your face in his chest again, the fit of your next meltdown already forgotten.

And Caleb? He didn’t care if Fleet Command pinged his tablet. If the Bureau directors demanded his return.

Right now, his only mission was holding his precious pipsqueak close, wrapped in layers of unpuffy skirts and dramatic demands, and planning a fleet raid on every designer who had ever disappointed her.

Because your tears were sacred.

And Caleb, Farspace Colonel or not, was always going to roll over and play knight for his princess.

Every single time.

[zomgcaleb]

thoughts about big dick caleb losing his self-control on your first time

caleb tries really hard. really, he does. when you whine and say it hurts or he's going too fast, he does his best to comply with your demands. keeping still. being gentle. peppering you with soft, reassuring kisses.

when caleb felt your cunt clench around his fingers, he didn't go crazy. he didn't lose his patience and tried to loosen you up to prep you as best as he could. when he put the head of his cock inside, he was slow and careful, even though he really, really wanted to feel your pussy.

but now, halfway in with you sobbing and crying for him to take it out, it's too big it won't fit, he hesitates. he can't move. he doesn't want to.

he really, really doesn't want to.

caleb can't stop his hips from fucking into you, not when you're so warm and wet and sinfully tight. looking up at him through teary lashes. cunt clenching around him like you never want him to pull out.

so even when the tears roll down your cheeks, when you say it hurts it a little, all caleb can do is apologize. "i'm sorry, i'm sorry, i can't stop," he murmurs, pressing soft kisses to your temple to make up for the way his hips fucking pound into you, heavy and rough. his cock keeps releasing globs of pre-cum, sloshing inside with your slick. "pips, i'm sorry, you feel too good—"

your legs are trembling, kicking out when the tip of his dick hits a good spot. he holds them down with a tight grip, bruises shaped like his fingertips blooming on your thighs. "ah, no, please don't run away, don't run away from me... mmgh, let me feel you, ah, let me have your pretty pussy, fuck!"

it's like any semblance of control he had slipped away from him; suddenly, he can't ever have his lips empty, always kissing you, marking the side of your neck, or sucking down your chest. he can't stand having you away from him, pulling you back to his cock before you can escape. 

and, hysterically, he realizes he can't bring himself to pull out, even as he feels his release fast approaching.

so he pumps it all inside you, thick loads of hot semen flush against your womb. the cum keeps coming out, painting your walls white, filling you up and overflowing. his hips keep thrusting, pounding, fucking it deeper, even long after he's finally stopped cumming and he's so sensitive it almost hurts. because maybe, just maybe, if he tried hard enough, maybe it'll take on the first try. if he pushes it deep enough, maybe he'll see you round and glowing.

and if it doesn't, well... he'll just have to keep going, won't he?

[zomgcaleb]

╰┈➤ 𝕝&𝕕𝕤 𝕞𝕖𝕟 & 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕚𝕣 𝕗𝕒𝕧𝕠𝕣𝕚𝕥𝕖 𝕤𝕖𝕩 𝕡𝕠𝕤𝕚𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕤

author’s note: 🗒️ oh i’ve had so much fun writing this. <3 talk to me about the lads men 😫💞

-> xavier *ੈ✩‧₊˚ legs up in a V

xavier loves control. loves precision. he loves to humble you at times when he switches from the cutest, most adorable little snuggly bear to the hardest dom you’ve ever seen. the eyes switch, the demeanor switches, and you love it.

he has your legs pushed up in a trembling v, hands wrapped around your thighs like restraints, your cunt exposed and twitching, so sore and swollen it’s almost pulsing. he loves the way his cock digs into your velvety walls, slippery sounds of him pumping you full echoing through his apartment.

his voice is calm, low, calculated.

“don’t move, princess. i want to see everything. i want to see your face when you cum, when it’s xavier making you cum — and not lumiere.”

he’s slow with it—methodical, hitting that perfect spot every single time while he watches your body tremble beneath him like an experiment unraveling. your hands claw at the sheets, lips parted in ruined moans, and he just smirks. jealousy dripping, conceited and oh- so so horny.

“mm. there. that reaction. that’s the one i wanted.”

-> zayne *ੈ✩‧₊˚ cowgirl

zayne wants you on top. not always, but on the occasions when he wants to see you struggling to fit his thick, fat cock inside you. when he wants to reduce you from a big, baddie hunter, to his subby little angel who’s sobbing because her pussy feels too full.

he lays back with that lazy, cocky smile, hands behind his head, muscles golden and taut like he’s built to be ridden. head leaned against the headboard.

“go on, little one. show me what that pretty body’s made for.”

he watches every bounce. every grind. his hands slide up your waist, your thighs, gripping your ass as you lose rhythm and start crying from how deep he hits. he would wipe your tears tenderly, peppering sweet kisses — “look at you, so little and so cute for me like this. sometimes i wonder if this is what you’re made for.”

“hmm, already falling apart? and here i thought you were gonna ride me like a good girl.”

he pulls you down, sucks a bruise into your neck, and mutters against your ear

“don’t stop now. i’m not done watching you yet.”

-> sylus *ੈ✩‧₊˚ doggy-style

sylus doesn’t just fuck you. he hunts you from behind. it’s like your predator chasing you. his thick, girthy & veinny cock loves when your pussy tries to run away from it. swollen & desperate, how your body lurches forward when he pumps you full. his heavy balls slapping against your clit.

has you on all fours, back arched, cunt dripping, and one hand pressing your spine down harder every time you try to lift your head. sometimes he would hold your shoulder, muttering softly, “ah ah ah— don’t run away now, sweetie.” voice laced with that soft mockery that you love oh so much.

“no, stay like that. let me see everything.”

his pace is brutal. steady. punishing. he watches your ass ripple, your thighs shake, your mouth gape into the mattress like you’re trying to scream but forgot how.

“look at that. twitching already? good. you’ll remember this one.”

and when you whimper out “sy—sylus—please—”

“mm-mm, sure kitten. you want to be bred by me just say so…” and you do, so badly.

-> caleb *ੈ✩‧₊˚ prone-bone

caleb’s all about ownership. he wants you to know he owns you, he wants everyone to know he owns you, he wants your body, your soul, everything related to you to know & remember — you’re his.

he lays you flat on your stomach, legs spread just enough, hips tilted up & a pillow underneath as he sinks in deep, pinning you under his body like you’re his. and you’re meant to be pliant & take it.

“don’t move, baby. i got you.”

his arms are tight around your waist, face pressed to the back of your neck, lips brushing your ear as he fucks you in slow, aching rolls that make your clit throb against the sheets.

“feel that? how deep i am? how i’m not letting you go?”

he grinds deeper, and you sob, trembling from how much you’re taking. caleb’s not small, and both of you know that. the way your pesky cervix stops him from forcing more of him deeper, harder..

“you don’t have to do a thing, angel. just lie there and come on my cock.” and you don’t. you just lay there and watch him, feel him make you see stars.

-> rafayel *ੈ✩‧₊˚ mating press

rafayel wants to own your soul. he’s waited for you so long & his stupid lemurian instincts want you to so many times to feel satiated…

he folds you in half, presses your knees to your chest, and thrusts so deep it feels like he’s kissing your womb with every stroke. he really is, and in the back of his head if the position is called — a mating press. then he should be able to make you pregnant.

“you’re mine, cutie. say it.”

his hand is on your throat, his other pressed to your belly where he can feel himself inside you. you’re gasping, leaking, absolutely gone. “say you’re mine~” he almost sing songs, the way your pupils have dilated from the sheer pleasure in your nerves only makes him chuckle a little. oh he’s gone so far deep.

“look at how your body opens for me. like it knows who it belongs to.”

and when you start shaking—so overstimmed you’re crying? oh how can his cock not erupt and fill you up? over & over & over?

“let me fuck it deeper. let me keep you.”

[zomgcaleb]

bouncing on it while he yaps about airplanes

caleb’s a fucking mess under you, sprawled on his creaking bed, your slick pussy swallowing his cock as you bounce hard, each slam making his eyes roll back. he’s trying to talk about airplanes, clinging to some shred of control, but his moans and filthy thoughts keep spilling out, his hands groping every inch of your body like a desperate perv.

“the 747’s—fuck, so fucking tight—got a, ngh, thrust-to-weight ratio—” he chokes, a guttural moan cutting him off as you grind down, your wet cunt clenching his throbbing cock. his eyes are wild, darting from your bouncing tits to your sweat-slicked thighs, drinking in how your body jiggles, pussy lips stretched around him. his hands are everywhere—one gripping your hip, fingers sinking in the soft skin, the other squeezing your ass cheek so hard it’ll bruise, pulling you down to take his cock deeper. “shit, you’re milking me,” he groans, voice raw.

he tries again, panting. “wingspan’s like—oh god, fuck—200 feet or—” another moan rips through, his hips jerking up, cock slamming into you, hitting so deep you gasp. he’s staring at your dripping pussy, the way it sucks him in, slick coating his base, and he’s losing it. “wanna fill you up so bad,” he blurts, not even thinking, his hand sliding to your lower stomach, pressing where he can feel his cock bulge. “fuck, look at you, taking it like a champ.”

his words are sloppy, half airplane facts, half depravity. “jet engines—shit, so wet—push 60,000 pounds, but your pussy’s—” he cuts off, whining as you roll your hips, grinding your clit against him, making his cock twitch. his other hand roams, grabbing your thigh, then your waist, fingers brushing the slick mess where you’re joined. “gonna cum so hard in you,” he mumbles, eyes locked on your bouncing form, obsessed with how your ass slaps his thighs, how your pussy drips down his balls.

“don’t even know—fuck, fuck—cruising altitude’s nothing compared to—” he’s babbling, moaning louder, thrusting up sloppily to meet your bounces. his hands grip harder, one sliding to spread your ass, staring at your tight hole in the opposite mirror as he imagines fucking it next. “you feel so good!” he rasps, voice breaking, too gone to care how pathetic he sounds. he’s humping up, cock pulsing, hands groping frantically, lost in your body and his own filthy, incoherent thoughts.

a/n: you can tell I had to do research for this one☝🏼🤓