z

storyteller in theory || i have one fanfic and that's it || lurker || she/her || 20+

[heytherecentaurs]

Dimension 20 is profoundly good.

Two improv comedians sat across from each other and improvised one of the most remarkably touching scenes until they were both crying.

And this could be about so many scenes: Hugi and Aunt Freaky, Ylfa and the Wolf, Riz and his dad, Marya about Ludmila, Ruby to the Sugar Plum Fairy, Amethar, Caramelinda and Theo about Ruby, and Sofia and Dale, etc.

This is such gorgeous art.

[rrat-king]

deeply important to me and did make me sob

[coffeetinsparrow]

ouch! ow! just take out the middle man and punch me in the face next time why don’t you

[tubes-and-dice]

Brennan giving another banger speech about grief, as always.

"The things that are gone now that he's gone were good because he was good, and if it didn't suck that he was gone, it would be us saying in some regard that it wasn't good that he was here. So it's okay that it sucks. 'Cause something good is gone."

[darrenpillowscriss]

Bub day. A day where everyone can speak openly about their struggles and the town works together to find solutions. Named after the most cantankerous man in town. Cause you don’t have to 100% positive all the time to still be liked and be part of the community.

I’m not crying you’re crying.

[darrenpillowscriss]

Bub day. A day where everyone can speak openly about their struggles and the town works together to find solutions. Named after the most cantankerous man in town. Cause you don’t have to 100% positive all the time to still be liked and be part of the community.

I’m not crying you’re crying.

[rrat-king]

i love you nana nasty <3333

[cornercritter]

oh hugi my hugi

[supermarket-goblin]

Library Dragqueen who wants to keep stories alive. An apocalypse where people are just trying to be good. There are no marauders, just people who havent found the gladlands. There could be beaches, the world is big, we don't know.

[ifyouknowmeirlgoaway]

Gladlands really feels like D20 going, "People need some lessons in how to be a community."

Not complaining. Brennan pointing out that telling busy people they need a break isn't helpful and can actually just make things harder for them was like...I mean, it's a thing I knew, but I mostly thought about it when it came from top down, like your boss who is setting your deadlines telling you to make sure you have a good work/life balance. No bro, our work/life balance is in your hands! But it can also apply to friends and family.

And getting to see all the players model good behavior. Especially Vic being supportive around death and loss, even complicated loss, but all of the failures count for a lot too. I can never get enough of watching people fail and move on constructively.

[reineyday]

brb tearing up about oscar saying this, brennan's face when he says it, and then oscar going on to talk about how being in a dome full of people coming together to create an environment of community is something that is needed. :'))

[fluidstatick]

"You are right that this woman needs a summer, but telling her that is not giving her that. It is not an accomplishment to tell someone they need help. You realize that you can tell her that she needs a summer - and - it isn't fair to ask her to go find one."

- Brennan Lee Mulligan, Gladlands Episode 2

[calebsfavoriteusedthong]

When you accidentally send them a (p)🌽 link...

Cw: Smut. Oral. P in V. Thigh riding. Size kink. Panty sniffer Caleb Jealous Xavier. It includes links to 🌽 videos on X for visual examples on what was sent. 🔞 MDNI🔞

Sylus/Xavier/Rafayel/Zayne/Caleb

Yeah*sigh*I'm ovulating again. Enjoy 😝

The blue light of your phone screen is the only thing cutting through the darkness of your bedroom. You really should have been asleep an hour ago, instead, you’re spiraling down a rabbit hole you didn't even know existed.

Size kink.

You’d never really thought about it before, not until you started dating Sylus and tonight you were just scrolling, looking for something to satisfy the empty ache Sylus left all week.

This video is something you had never seen before or even thought was possible. You watch, mesmerized by the way the woman’s stomach subtly shifts a visible bulge as he stretches her out.

Heat pools instantly between your thighs, making your breath hitch and a dizzying sensation of fullness hit your gut. He's always so careful with you, so agonizingly gentle, as if you’re something precious he might break if he breathes too hard. But looking at this... a dark part of your brain wonders what it would feel like if he didn't hold back.

"Holy shit..." you whisper to the empty room.

Your hand moves instinctively, fingers sliding down to find slick heat. The video is playing on a loop. Bulge. Stretch. Deep. Repeat. You watch it while your imagination runs wild, replacing the stranger on the screen with the man who owns your heart. You’re picturing his heavy weight pinning you down, his eyes blown wide, filling you until you can’t even scream.

You’re chasing a peak that feels miles away until, suddenly, it isn't. You hit your first orgasm with a stifled gasp, back arching off the mattress, only to find yourself immediately chasing the second one, body trembling and spent in the wake of the first.

By the time the second wave of pleasure ebbs away, you’re a puddle of limbs and heavy eyelids. You’re half conscious, drifting in that beautiful limbo between wakefulness and dreams. In a daze of post orgasmic euphoria, you squint at the screen, your thumb hovering over the comment section.

"How do I send him this without actually sending it to him 😳"

You tap 'send' with a clumsy thumb. You meant to just post it as a thought, a digital scream into the void. But as your eyes flutter shut, your hand twitches a final, involuntary spasm of exhausted muscle. Your thumb slips. It slides across the 'Share' icon, hovers over the very first contact at the top of your recent list, and taps.

Sent.

You don't hear the subtle whoosh of the outgoing message.  Delivered directly to the man who at this very moment is probably staring at a security feed or sipping red wine.

Sylus.

You just fall into a deep, blissful sleep, completely unaware that you've just lit a fuse.

🐦‍⬛ 🐦‍⬛ 🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛

“Come on, sweetie, don’t give up on me now" Thrust. The impact is heavy, forcing a breathless gasp from your lungs. “You can take it, can’t you?”

He isn't being the gentle, careful man you know. Not today. His hand is hooked firmly behind your head, his fingers tangling in your hair, forcing you to watch the unmistakable, fat bulge stretching the skin of your lower abdomen, proof to just how deep he’s buried himself inside you.

“You wanted this, now you have to take it and you are going to watch.”

And there it is. The reality of it. It’s visceral. It’s exactly what you saw in that video, but it’s a thousand times more intense because it’s him. It’s real.

Your vision swima and just as the shock of it all starts to settle, he shifts. He changes the angle of his hips in a calculated move that hits your G spot dead on. An uninhibited scream tears from your throat, echoing through the room.

“I've been trying to behave,” he says, and the words come out rougher than he probably intended, an edge of frustration bleeding through his usual composure “But you make it so difficult... fuck... by sending me your filthy little thoughts.”

His hand settles against your belly, firm and heavy, and the second he presses down, your body reacts with a sharp inhale. You tense instinctively, muscles coiling around him, but you don't pull away. You can't.

“Can you feel me here?” he asks, breath coming in uneven bursts. He’s buried balls deep and for a split second, you see a flicker of hesitation in his eyes. You make a face, a strange, overwhelmed expression of fullness, and he looks like he might actually pull back to give you a moment to breathe. He thinks he’s pushing too hard.

He’s wrong.

Don't you dare.

Driven by a desperation you didn't know you possessed, you move your hips in a searching rhythm, pressing his hand down harder against your stomach. You want the pressure. You want to feel the exact point where he meets your skin from the inside.

He lets out a loud groan at the sensation. Your narrow walls clamp down on him, tighter than they've ever been. Every millimeter of space between you feels like it’s disappearing, leaving nothing but friction and heat.

You don't have the words to tell him that you never want him to stop, so your body does the talking. You cling to him, legs wrapping around his waist as he holds you there, keeping you exactly where you are until your breathing turns unsteady.

Until your body softens in momentary surrender and tightens again a second later, as if you're fighting a war with yourself, trying to decide whether to let go or to hold on tighter.

In the end, you don't choose. You do both.

The world dissolves into a hot haze of pleasure. It couldn't be called an orgasm because this feels like a total system failure. You’re sobbing his name or maybe you’re just gasping for air, you can’t tell anymore as waves of pleasure crash over you, violent and unrelenting. Your pussy seizes around him in long pulses, milking him, begging for the very thing that’s pushing you past your limit.

He follows you a few seconds later, burying himself soooo deep you feel the hot rush of him filling you.

Slowly, the fog begins to lift, leaving you in a state of blissful, heavy lethargy. The hand that was just pressing so ruthlessly into your belly softens, fingers tracing lazy circles over your skin.

"You really are a menace." he murmurs, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple.

The shame you expected to feel, the embarrassment of that accidental video is nowhere to be found. Instead, there is only a sense of immense satisfaction.

"Next time," he whispers into your hair "don't bother sending a link. Just tell me. I'll give you everything you desire. Every single time."

The problem with being in love with a man like Xavier is that your brain is constantly a minefield of "what ifs."

He’s incredible, truly, but you’ve noticed the way he pulls back sometimes. When he’s brooding or when that possessive jealousy starts to prickle at him, he becomes almost too careful. Like he’s afraid he might actually break you if he lets go of that restraint.

So, naturally, you’ve been doing a little "research" to keep the inspiration alive.

Now, you’re sitting on the edge of your bathtub, scrolling through your feed, a habit that’s becoming a bit of a vice, when a video catches your eye. A girl pinned to a mattress, her head pressed down by her partner as he fucks her from behind. Hard. The sound of her moans echoes in your ears through your headphones and suddenly the bathroom feels about ten degrees too hot.

God, yes.

You quickly save the link to your "later" folder, a digital stash of things you want him to eventually try, and then scribble a quick, thirsty comment on the video "This but with my boyfriend dressed as Lumiere 🤤 " and set your phone down.

Buzz. Buzz.

A notification lights up the screen. It’s him.

[Xavier]: Found a new hot pot place. Apparently, the broth is spicy enough to kill a Wanderer. Want to go tonight? Please say yes so I can stop thinking about food and start thinking about you.

A soft laugh escapes you. He’s so predictable, yet so devastatingly charming when he wants to be. Your answer is an immediate "sure" because you’d say yes to a lukewarm bowl of water if he was the one serving it.

But he always forgets to look at the menu and ends up ordering something way too spicy or something you're not in the mood for, so you look for the restaurant's menu.

You see the link. Tap it. Copy. Paste. Add "Look at the options! The spicy broth looks insane." Send.

Funny thing is, you don't actually copy the menu's URL, you just cut it. You don't even realize you just sent him the very un culinary link to the video you were just watching to fuel your own delusions.

Little typing bubbles appear. They dance for a long time. They disappear. They reappear.

He's so indecisive.

⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

"Lumiere?" the name sounds like a curse "You wanted Lumiere to pin you down?"

Your face is pressed so firmly into the mattress that the fabric feels like a part of your own skin, the scent of laundry detergent mixing with the heat of the moment. Every time he thrusts into you, the world tilts, your vision blurring into white light and dark shadows. The Xavier who kisses your forehead and cuddles with you is buried somewhere deep inside the man currently fucking you breathless.

"Xavie..." you try to speak, but his name dies in your throat as he shifts his weight.

"Tell me," he demands, losing the battle with his own restraint. He hits you hard, a deep, soul shaking thrust that forces a broken moan from your lips. "Tell me you don't need a costume to feel this."

You try to answer, to tell him he's being ridiculous...

Smack!

The sting of his palm against your ass makes you gasp, your fingers clawing at the mattress for purchase.

"You sent it to me on purpose," he mutters as he leans down, his chest pressing hard against your back. "You wanted to see me like this, didn't you? You wanted to see if I could be as rough as him."

He doesn't want an answer. He doesn't wait for one. He just wants to hear you whimper his name when he hits that perfect spot.

His hand presses your face down even harder into the mattress, muffling your cries. It's everything you were craving when you were scrolling through your phone earlier, but the reality is a thousand times better.

You start to move, trying to meet him halfway, trying to grind back against him to find the friction that will push you over the edge.

"Faster..." you beg, trying to turn your head to tell him that there is no Lumiere, there is only him, but he just presses you back down, his thumb grazing your hip bone with trembling pressure.

"Shhhhhh, just a little bit more," he lets out a long groan, his forehead dropping to rest against the back of your neck for a fleeting second before he surges upward again. "You should see the way your pussy is taking my cock right now, so greedy. Just for me."

His hand shifts. It leaves the back of your head to find the column of your throat. His thumb and middle finger curl around your neck not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you that he is in total control.

He stills for a heartbeat, his middle finger softly tapping the pulsing vein in your neck. "Every beat belongs to me tonight"

You just nod, a jerky movement, because you are standing on the very edge of a precipice, and the fall is coming. The tension in your lower belly is wound so tight it’s almost painful.

"Say it," he breathes, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, his words a warm, humid ghost of a sensation, his control fraying at the edges.

"Yours," you finally whisper, like secret you’ve been holding in your lungs for far too long, finally allowed to breathe.

The moment the word leaves your lips, he loses the last of his mercy.

He pulls back almost entirely, leaving you aching and empty for a fraction of a second only to drive back in, bottomless and bruising. It’s a cycle of withdrawal and overwhelming fullness that leaves you reeling.

"Give me what's mine" the command vibrates through your entire body.

The world dissolves into white light as your head falls forward, muscles spasming in the violent quake of your climax, but he catches your hair, tugging just enough to force your head up, his face inches from yours, his eyes dark and swirling with a hunger that could swallow the stars.

"Good girl," he whispers against your parted, trembling lips.

He thrusts one last time, deep and final, spilling molten heat as your name breaks from his lips, torn in half by bliss before he presses a kiss between your shoulder blades. For now, the jealousy is gone. There is only the quiet, heavy reality of being his.

The video catches your eye instantly. The lighting is a soft purple, casting a surreal glow over the two people on screen. A girl is on top, her movements slow and agonizingly deliberate as she drags her pussy over her partners cock, the rhythm of it making your cunt clench.

Tonight you are in a "no filter" mood. You need to share this. You need to tell Tara.

With a smirk, you tap the share icon, copy the link, and switch over to your messages. You find Tara’s profile pic or so you think and start typing with the kind of unhinged energy only a best friend can appreciate.

You and Tara have long since abandoned the concept of "boundaries" when it comes to your filthy late night chats.

“Omg Tara, look at this. Raf’s cock is so pretty, I swear if he’d just let me do this to him, I’d never leave the bedroom again 🥵💦”

You hit send with a satisfied whoosh and let out a long, dramatic sigh. Silence follows. For a few minutes you go back to scrolling, blissfully unaware that you have just dropped a digital bomb into the inbox of a man who is already struggling to maintain his composure.

Your phone vibrates.

It’s not a "LOL" or a "Damn" from Tara.

It’s a notification from Rafayel.

Rafayel: Is that so?

Your heart skips a beat. You frown, squinting at the name at the top of the chat.

Wait.

Your face goes from pale to a shade of red that would put a sunset to shame. You stare at the screen, wanting to physically crawl inside the phone and disappear forever. You want to delete it. You want to throw the phone out the window. You want to move to a different planet.

But then, the little typing bubbles appear again.

Rafayel: Don't just sit there blushing, cutie. I'm coming to your place and you are going to show me exactly what you want"

🫧 🫧 🫧 🫧 🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧

You’ve lost track of time. Your thighs are starting to ache, every muscle in your legs feels tight, strained from holding yourself upright, yet you keep moving. You have to. The friction is the only thing keeping you grounded.

You’re straddling him, your knees digging into the soft linens, focused on the way your cunt drags over his cock. Slippery. Hot. Wet.

Every time you slide down, the underside of him, that thick ridge presses ruthlessly against your clit. You can feel the vein running along his length pulse in perfect synch with your clit. 

Thump thump. Thump thump. 

"Slow down..." he groans, gripping your hips "You're going to... fuuuuck... you're going to kill me"

The friction is creating a heat of its own, a sliding friction that makes your head spin. You watch slightly delirious, as the light from the moon filters through the window, catching the sheen of sweat on his pale skin and the way his hair is plastered to his forehead. He looks wrecked. He looks beautiful. He looks like he belongs entirely to you.

But his hands are far from weak. They are heavy weights anchored to your hips, and he uses them to sabotage you. Just when you think you’ve found a rhythm that might actually save you, he tightens his grip, forcing your hips to slow, dragging the slide of your pussy out into a long, shallow glide.

It’s cruel. A sadistic kind of torture, making the night feel endless, as if the clock has stopped just to watch you suffer.

He wants to stretch this out. He wants to milk every drop of anticipation from your veins until your entire body begins to tremble, not from pleasure, but from the weight of the climax that refuses to arrive. He wants to push you to that edge where even your silence sounds filthy, where the quiet between your breaths is thick with the unspoken things you want to do to him.

Once he’s satisfied with the slow pace, his hands begin to wander. They trace the curve of your waist, the dip of your spine, the swell of your breasts, learning your body the way a sinner learns to pray. Like hunger learning the art of restraint just long enough to make the eventual feast mean something.

You slide back just a fraction, settling the heat of your pussy directly over his balls and then you reach down.

Your fingers wrap around the base of his cock, just like you saw in that video. You begin to stroke him while simultaneously rotating your hips in a circular grind over the heavy fullness of his balls.

The sound that tears from his throat is something unhuman, a vibration that feels like it's coming from the depths of the ocean.

Your name is caught between his teeth in a soft, sinful exhale. He sounds undone, completely unraveled by the sight of you taking exactly what you claimed you wanted in that accidental text.

He’s right there, on the edge of an unravelling collapse.

And because you are just like him, a creature of beautiful, chaotic impulse, you don't let him have it. Not yet.

You release his cock, hand slipping away just as the tension reaches its peak, and drag your soaked cunt back up the entire length of him in one loooong slide.

It feels like a collision of two fires.

In your desperation to feel everything you let your entire weight drop. The clench of your pussy as you cum wraps around the underside of his cock, squeezing him with a force that leaves him absolutely helpless.

He has no choice but to follow you into the fire.

Spurts of his cum paint the pale skin of his stomach, the liquid warmth spreading in thick, white streaks, pooling in his belly button.

For a few seconds, neither of you moves. There is only the sound of your breathing and the humid scent of your shared exhaustion.

“Was that pretty enough for you, cutie?” he teases, though his hand trembles slightly as he reaches up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. His thumb lingers on your cheek, like he’s constantly checking to make sure you haven't vanished into the night. "Or do we need to do it again?"

It’s late, way past the time Zayne would usually be nudging you to sleep but he’s still tucked away in his office, probably buried under a mountain of medical charts or surgical reports.

Your eyes are glued to your phone screen, watching a VIDEO of a girl grinding against a man’s thigh, bodies pressed together, his hands steady even as she buries her face in the crook of his neck. The guy in the video is wearing pajamas that look disturbingly similar to the ones Zayne is wearing right now.

Suddenly, the empty space in your bed feels a little too vast, your mind drifting to the office down the hall, aching to be that girl, to climb onto his Zayne's lap while he’s buried in medical charts and just... fuck yourself stupid.

You want to reach down and touch yourself but you’re a loud sleeper and an even louder moaner. If you start now, there’s no way he won't hear you through the walls, and you aren't quite ready for that kind of intimacy yet. So, you settle for a bit of digital venting. With a flushed face, you type out a quick comment on the video: "God, I wish I could do this while he's working..."

You go to save the link to your "Filthy Things" folder for a proper session tomorrow morning, but just as your thumb hovers over the screen, your phone starts vibrating. It’s Simone. She’s calling, probably to gossip about something trivial. In your rush to swipe the call and answer her, your finger taps the wrong folder.

And because Zayne is a man who is always, always connected to his devices for work... he’s going to see the notification the exact second it pops up.

🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺

It didn't take long. After that little "digital accident," the silence between you two wasn't awkward so much as it was heavy. Charged. He didn't even tease you about the comment. He didn't even blush. He just looked at you with those piercing eyes, a tiny, knowing quirk at the corner of his mouth, and silently commanded you to come to him.

And now, here you are. Perched on his lap, doing the same thing you saw on that video. Your lower half is completely bare, your thighs hugging his muscular one as you press yourself flush against him.

The friction is driving you completely insane.

Zayne, however, is a man of terrifying discipline.

His left hand is braced on your lower back, while his right hand moves across his keyboard. He’s actually working. He’s reviewing files, typing out notes, behaving as if you aren't currently trying to melt into his lap. Every so often, he’ll pause, not to stop you, but to lean in. His breath, cool and smelling faintly of mint, brushes against the shell of your ear, sending a violent shiver down your spine.

"Ah... Zayne..." you whimper against his neck as you press yourself harder against him. The sound is loud, far too loud for his quiet office and you can feel the heat rising in your cheeks.

"Hush now," he doesn't even look away from the monitor, though you notice the slight tightening of his jaw. "I need to focus. These reports won't write themselves."

He’s being difficult. He’s being a tease. And you love him for it.

You try to be "good." You force yourself to still when he has to write something long on his computer. You sit there, trembling slightly, waiting for him to acknowledge the havoc you're wreaking on his concentration.

A moment passes. The only sound is the soft click clack of the keyboard. Then, you feel his hand slide from your hip to the small of your back, pulling you just a fraction of an inch closer, a subtle command for you to keep going.

"Good girl," he whispers, the words a warm caress against your ear.

His expression is completely professional, but the way his fingers linger on your skin tells a completely different story. He’s still working, yes but he’s also letting you feel exactly how much of a distraction you really are.

Every time your thighs tense up, every time you desperately bite your lower lip to stifle a moan that threatens to shatter the silence, the air thickens with indecency.

He’s struggling. You aren't blind. You can feel the insistent twitch of his cock beneath you, reacting to every open mouthed kiss you press against the pulse of his neck, the sharp line of his collarbone, and the smooth expanse of his Adam's apple. He’s trying to maintain that surgeon’s calm, but his body is betraying him with every shuddering breath you take.

You’re right on the edge. Your clit is catching perfectly against the fabric of his pajamas, the material already damp and clinging to you from the amount of arousal you're leaking.

"Look at me."

His voice cuts through the air, forcing your gaze up. He wants to see the exact moment your eyes glaze over, the moment your breath hitches and tells the truth that your lips are trying so hard to hide.

When his hand slides up to cup your jaw, it isn't the gentle, comforting touch you're used to during a quiet movie on the couch. It's different. It's possessive. It’s a disciplined kind of dominance, a reminder that while he is the composed Zayne in the daylight, there is a much darker man caged behind that professional composure and you are the only one who knows how to let him out.

"You are close, aren't you, love?" he whispers, his lips hovering so close to yours that you can feel the heat of his breath.

You can barely manage a nod, your lungs feeling too small for the air you're trying to pull in. You're breathing directly into his slightly parted mouth.

"Cum for me, then," he exhales, a rare flush creeping up his cheeks, betraying just how much this is affecting him too.

He shifts his thigh, bouncing it up and down in a rhythmic motion that catches your clit perfectly.

The world tilts. You feel your eyes lose focus and you can't tell if it's the shaking of your limbs or the pounding of your heart that's making you tremble so violently.

"Zaynie... Zayne..."

His name becomes your entire vocabulary, there are no words left, only the sound of his name on your lips and the crashing sensation of finally, finally letting go.

You are flicking through a never ending stream of mindless clips and memes. It’s supposed to be a quiet afternoon, just a bit of scrolling to kill the time until Caleb comes back, but then there...

A VIDEO pops up. It’s not your usual aesthetic travel vlog or a cooking hack.

You freeze, your heart doing a weird, little skip in your chest. You know you should probably swipe past it, but your eyes are glued to the screen. It’s a girl, her lace panties completely drenched. The guy in the video isn't even taking them off, he’s just sliding the tip of his cock against her through the wet lace.

A sudden warmth blooms deep in your belly, spreading down until it feels like you’re melting into the cushions. God, you’ve been craving that. The teasing, the slow, agonizing buildup. You’ve spent so much money on delicate, expensive little sets, thinking maybe Caleb would appreciate the way they look on you, but hes a fucking dog. He doesn't do "slow." He usually just rips them or tugs them off with impatience, going straight for the heat of you. You just want him to play with you like that. To linger.

Your inhibitions are a little frayed from the visual, and before your brain can catch up to your impulse, your thumbs are flying. You tap the comment section, the screen a mess of unhinged messages from strangers, and you add your own little confession: “I really need him to play with me like this, but he prefers to eat it raw from the start😢”

You hit send, a tiny, embarrassed flush creeping up your neck, and immediately swipe the video away, feeling a bit silly for being so vulnerable to a bunch of internet strangers.

You toss the phone onto the cushion next to you a second later, completely oblivious to one mortifying detail. He’d logged into his account on your phone earlier when his own battery died, and you hadn't bothered to switch back.

In his office, the most dangerous man in Skyhaven is about to watch, in explicit detail, how you want to be ruined.

🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷

It turns out your assessment of him was spot on. The man is a fucking dog.

He hasn't taken your underwear off. That’s the part that’s driving you absolutely insane. The delicate lace is currently soaked, clinging to your pussy like a second, translucent layer of skin. He’s been working his tongue against the fabric, licks so long and heavy they feel like they’re reaching deep inside you. You’ve already been hit by two earth shattering, toe curling orgasms, your vision blurring every time his mouth finds your clit through the damp cloth. He hasn't even slowed down. If anything, it's getting worse.

“This is the reason I usually take off those pretty panties you wear” he presses his face into you, his broad tongue sweeping up in one stroke against your entire slit. You let out a choked, broken sound, fingers tangling desperately in his dark hair, trying to push him away just to catch your breath.

“Your scent is so fucking addictive,” he groans against your skin, “Especially after wearing them all day... knowing you've been walking around, smelling like this, just waiting for me.”

Then, he says something that makes your heart skip a beat not out of fear, but out of pure shock.

“You have no idea, do you?” he pants, nose brushing against your clit. “Last two years of High School... I spent them stroking my cock raw just to the smell of your panties. Thinking about you. Wishing you were right there."

Your vision blurs. Your hips jerk upward involuntarily as a third wave of pleasure crashes over you. You cum hard, your entire body shaking as you spill yourself directly onto his tongue, voice breaking into a high, desperate sob of his name.

He doesn't pull away. He just drinks you in, a satisfied smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he tastes exactly what he's been craving.

The moment your legs stop trembling he hooks his fingers into the soaked gusset and drags it to the side, baring your swollen folds and your pulsing clit, sensitive from his relentless attention.

He doesn't thrust in. He doesn't go for the full stretch you’ve been silently praying for. Instead, he slides the drooling tip of his cock over your slit. He isn't even entering you yet, he's just... slapping it against your clit, teasing the very edge of your tolerance.

You wanted the lace, the play, the slow burn... but God, you also wanted him to fuck you until you couldn't remember your name. You wanted the stretch.

But Caleb is a man who listens. Or rather, he's a man who has spent a lifetime studying every detail of your desires and right now he is giving you exactly what you asked for.

He leans down, his eyes dark, watching the way your face contorts with pleasure and frustration. He doesn't give you the release of a full thrust, he just feeds you the tip. He slides just the head of his cock into your pussy, a teasing invasion that barely makes a dent.

The reaction is instantaneous. Your walls react to him like a living thing, clenching around him, desperately trying to suck him deeper, to pull the rest of him in. The sensation is so perfectly matched that a synchronized moan breaks from both of you.

He pulls out just a fraction and then he thrusts the tip back in. Over and over again.

“Please,” you whimper, the word sounding pathetic even to your own ears. “Baby, please...”

You’re trying to force him to go deeper. But he’s in total control. His left hand is working the length of his cock, pumping with a desperate rhythm, while his right hand finds your clit.

His eyes are pinned to yours, watching every flicker of emotion on your face as if he’s trying to memorize the way you fall apart.

And then, the teasing ends.

His mushroom tip, still nestled just inside your entrance, begins to pulse. Warm, thick spurts of cum hit your sensitive walls, flooding the tiny space he’s occupied.

Your pussy clenches around the tip of his cock, trying to suck every last drop out of him while his hand squeezes the rest of his length, forcing the remainder of his seed into you, filling you up until his cum starts to leak out.

He finally collapses against you, the weight of his body pressing you deep into the mattress.

"You're so loud when you're happy," he murmurs before pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your temple, then your cheek, before finally settling his lips against yours in a kiss that tastes of salt and everything you are to him.

He pulls back just a bit, his gaze dropping to where the soaked lace of your panties still clings to your thighs, then back up to your eyes. There’s a flicker of that obsessive intensity returning to his expression.

"There isn't a single thing in this world you could ask for that wouldn't make me crawl to you. So don't hold back, Pips."

[thesevro]

the second homecoming

Synopsis – On the dining table, against the wall, on the couch, on the carpet, against the window, can you imagine how many positions the Colonel wants to put you in after a weeks-long mission, after his first taste of you that night on his birthday?

[18+ Love & Deepspace] Caleb (Xia Yizhou)/Gender-Neutral Reader

Tags: MARATHON SEX, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, food play, male-receiving oral, gender-neutral oral, doggy style, prone bone, missionary, riding, WHINY reader and WHINY Caleb, POSSESSIVENESS and jealousy, heavy making out, some angst because can you imagine how lonely Caleb was before we found him?

Word count: 5.7k

EXPLICIT SMUT BENEATH. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. THE USE OF ANY FORM OF ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE ON MY WORKS IS PROHIBITED.

—

The Colonel was used to coming home to a dark house. A deep frown on his face as he passed through the empty doorway, no one to greet him. A frustrated sigh as he went over the endless stream of mission data and reports to secure his position in the Fleet, to forget about the fact that only rabid hatred and angry violence made up his very DNA as an officer in the Fleet—from assassination attempts on his life to angry husbands and wives trying to claw his eyes out for stealing their beloveds away from them with his orders for full Toring Chip implantation on all members of his Fleets.

He’s a bad man, and he knows he deserves more pain than an empty house or empty threats on his life. But today, he comes home to the scent of his favorite spices wafting through an open window. The dark house in his hazy memories those first months after his supposed death and initial deployment in the Fleet is alive today with orange lights. A young tree of Asiatic apples blooms in the afternoon sun at the end of the stone path leading to the front door.

He remembers your hands as you planted it. The only hands that have held him with love in the last year. 

Caleb crosses the stone path. Your silhouette crosses the open window. He catches a glimpse of a tray in your hand.

He races to the front door, a smile coming to his face as he hears you move around in the kitchen. You make little grunts of effort, a few noises of delight—you must be trying the dishes you’d prepared for his arrival. Caleb has never smiled so hard in his life since that day at Gran’s house. 

With concentration furrowing his brow, he adjusts his tie, dusts off his cap, and straightens his posture. He places a hand on the doorknob.

You’d left the door unlocked. He swings it open.

“I’m home!” he calls, to a house aglow with soft overhead lights and a ‘Welcome Back!’ sign strung up in golden balloons at the roof of the entryway.

“Oh shit, Caleb!” Caleb melts at the sound of your voice, even with the expletive. “In the kitchen!”

He can’t help himself. Caleb reaches the kitchen in four quick strides, almost running towards the sound of your voice.

He scoops you up in his arms the moment he reaches you. With a reluctant laugh you struggle against him and begin to complain.

“Caleb, the pie! It’s apple pie!” 

He doesn’t let go. And in spite of how funny it is to hear you protesting his affections all to save a pie, he can’t help the melancholic swell in his chest. He has never come home to safety, to love. The last few months, he returned home as a dead man—on paper and to everyone he ever knew.

But you’ve changed that. It took just your smile, he remembers those first few nights he returned to you, to change so many things about him. You made him want to be alive in spite of how he was dead in every possible aspect.

With his face pressed into the crook of your neck, Caleb begins to cry.

You still immediately as the salt of his tears wets your shoulder. His sobs are gentle. He presses himself closer to you, bending down with his arms wrapped so completely around you, stronger than any gravitational pull. Against the typical gentle nature of comfort you pull him into a tighter embrace, savoring the feel of the only man you love coming back home to you, safe and sound, in your arms. He deserves to know that you will never let him go. So you show him that with your arms wrapped just as tightly around him. 

When he stills and his cries turn to sniffles, you pull back from him to smile up at his handsome face, wiping tears from under his glistening supernova irises. Your thumbs are soft on his cheeks as you wipe the tears of your beautiful boy. He gives a gentle smile as he looks down at you.

You’ve never been looked at with so much love. 

“Welcome home, Caleb.” 

And Caleb has never loved the sound of three words more.

—

Caleb compliments your cooking all throughout the meal. Of course he can’t help throwing in a few quips at you here and there. He teases your Julienned carrots, poking you in the nose as he reminds you of how you cut up so-called Julienned carrots into little letter ‘J’s in every home economics class because you believed the kid who bullied you when he told you Julienne meant spelling out the inventor’s name. Seated next to him, knowing you can’t stay away and you would have transferred to the seat over anyway if you’d sat across from him, you get the chance to shove another forkful of, in your opinion, perfectly Julienned carrots in his mouth as he snorts out another laugh at your irritated expression.

“Go ahead and get changed into something more comfy,” you tell him once he finishes the main course. Because, of course, you’d crafted three specific courses for his return. You’ve only gone through two so far.

“I haven’t had dessert yet though,” he says, eyeing the apple pie on the plate next to your elbow. You grab it, holding the plate in front of him in a tempting hover.

“You want it?” 

He snorts. “Boo. I just got home and you’re already bullying me?”

“You heard me, Caleb.” 

“Okay, okay,” he says, standing. He spares one last glance at you, smiling at the sight of you filling his dining room with light and scrumptious home cooking and a smile that could be the sun in all his lifetimes. He goes up the stairs to get changed.

And with that, you undergo your own costume change.

You’d planned this the whole time he was gone. Turned the idea over in your head a million times. He’d so enjoyed receiving you as his gift—matter of fact, he admitted staining his pants a bit when you’d arrived at Fleet HQ in an outfit wrapped in ribbons on his birthday a few weeks back. Wouldn’t he enjoy having you as a gift, just one more time?

But what if he already thought the idea was corny? As you strip down till you’re in nothing but your underwear, regret begins to come to the surface. Here you were being presumptuous about the kinds of things Caleb would like. You’ve never explored anything remotely sexual with him before, and you’d only been together a few months. That one night on his birthday was all you had. Your brow furrows with embarrassment, and you reach for your clothes again—

“Oh,” a voice breathes from behind you. “Pipsqueak…” 

Wrapped in lace that hugs your frame, you know you look like the most mouthwatering meal Caleb will ever have a taste of. But the embarrassment lingers, even as he approaches with sin already pooling in his eyes, his muscles bulging from the tight white shirt he put on, the dogtag you gave him nestled between his outrageous pecs. When you chance a glance downward, you can see how his dick print begins to swell in his grey sweats—its outline grows larger the longer you look at it.

“Is this all for me?” he asks, his fingers ghosting over your bare shoulder. You catch his hand before it can move further downward.

“I haven’t spoiled you rotten already, have I?” you tease. “Be patient. This dessert is for later.” You move to his side and guide him to his chair. “Sit down.” 

Caleb tilts his head, curious at what you have prepared for him when you look more than ready for him to dive in between your thighs. 

You walk around him once he’s seated, picking up the tray of three servings of apple pie. Caleb almost stands up to help. All it takes is a look from you and he’s sitting back down slowly as you set the tray in front of him.

“Here’s your dessert, Colonel.” 

He doesn’t even spare a glance at the apple pie—his eyes never leave you. Pshaw. You’d work so hard on presentation. The caramel on top even shines a creamy gold.

“Pipsqueak—”

“If you keep talking and don’t start eating, you’re going to miss out on your real dessert.” He doesn’t pick up on your impatience. If he asked you nicely right now, you’d bend over for him and let him pound you into next Sunday. You’ve missed him just as much as he misses you.

The Colonel likes a good challenge. He shovels each forkful of pie into his mouth, eyes never leaving yours. At times he glances down at your figure and slows down, sometimes pausing completely. But after several seconds of eyeing you like a hungry wolf he seems to remember where he is and what he should be doing and resumes piggin’ out.

It’s when he’s halfway done with the apple pie that you remember the second half to this part of your plan. While sensual, your movements are a bit harried. 

Caleb pauses eating as you stand in front of him, as you had made enough space between the table and his seat when you planned this slightly new kitchen layout. You motion for him to continue eating. With a swipe of your thumb to his lips, you catch a crumb of apple pie that had caught on his mouth, and press it to your lips, swallowing while maintaining eye contact with the man whose hard-on grows more and more prominent by the millisecond. 

He knows better now than to stop eating. He just has to be good for you. So even as you press gentle kisses to his jawline and along his neck, akin to the fluttering touch of a butterfly, he continues to obey your previous orders. 

But when your body slides downward, your chest pressing warm against his before you keep going down and down and down, smooth as molasses, finally landing on your knees between his spread legs, he finds his voice again.

“Pip—”

Any words he might have for you are lost in a grunt and him nearly choking on a mouth full of apple pie as you press a hot, open-mouthed kiss to his cock through his sweats. Already more than half-hard, it was easy for you to find the tip. You give him another kiss through his sweatpants, mouth catching in just the right way at the tip. His thighs part to make more space for you. When your eyes find his again and take in him obediently finishing up the apple pie, you smirk. His reward will be priceless. 

You pull his sweats to his ankles. He didn’t even bother wearing boxers. His cock springs up to smack gently against your lips, and as it slaps into your mouth you give a hungry little gasp.

You don’t hesitate to kiss and suckle along the length of him. You start kissing from the side of his cockhead to the base, before you press intimate kisses to the rest of his length, tongue lolling out to lick at him with every. Single. Kiss. Caleb, with only about a total of five hours of experience since that night on his birthday, nearly cums then and there.

He grips the wood of the table hard in his hand as you kiss the underside of his cock, licking and sucking in heavy sweeps with your tongue. You moan against him, the vibrations crawling right up his spine. He leans back against his chair. Savors the first feel of your mouth on him. You didn’t get to have him like this that first night. He was too busy finding places to lick between your thighs.

“That’s so good (Name),” he murmurs. You look up. The fork is back on the plate at the table, and his hand is drifting towards you to hold your face in the most gentle touch.

You swat his naked thigh with a loud slap, your mouth still on him. Caleb looks down at you in real bewilderment, his dusky eyes hazy as a lazy sunset, before he recognizes your command and, with strain in his body, pulls the fork back to his mouth. He chews open-mouthed on the apple pie, panting through his meal, his head rolling back into the chair. His Adam’s apple bobs heavily as he swallows. 

One thing you are truly skilled in is making this man struggle. You wouldn’t tell him just yet, but while he was away on mission you were busy practicing with a sex toy you’d kept hidden in your drawer for several months. Having him in your life as more than a friend has made you bring it back out into the world. While he was gone, you eagerly went over articles and forums, imagining with great pleasure how your newfound skills and efforts would translate into giving him the craziest head of his life. 

You were a tad nervous earlier. But you reveal just how much you’ve practiced now. 

“Baaaabyy, have you always been so good at this?” Caleb moans. “Ooohhh, oh fuck.”

You suck your cheeks inward. Bob your head up and down with your wet tongue pressed flat against the underside of his throbbing cock, caressing the sensitive skin of his frenulum every time you bring your head back up to his tip. Caleb shudders, swallowing another slice of apple pie through his struggle, his fists clenching. He hunches over the table and pants. It provides him with minimal relief, obstructing at the very least his hyper-arousing view of your mouth swallowing his cock down into your throat while you look up at him with the prettiest pair of teary eyes.

“You finished the pie yet, baby?” 

Caleb’s cock twitches at the sound of your voice. It’s all fucked-out, raspy when you give voice to a vowel. He can only imagine the strain on your throat every time you sucked his cock into the back of your throat, holding it there so that he could feel the way your throat squeezed at his cockhead every time you gagged. When did you learn how to do such lewd things? 

He decides to voice the question, leaning back to meet your gaze while he breathes hard through each word, “Where did you… learn to… do things like that?” 

“Hmm?” You press a sweet kiss to the tip of his cock. Your tongue swipes over a bead of precum that slips out of the puckered hole on his tip. Caleb clenches his fist, holding steady in spite of your ministrations. Still he falters slightly when you nuzzle your soft mouth into him, your voice vibrating against his cock deliciously with your words, “What d’you mean, Cay?” 

His eyes flutter. His nails bite into the skin of his palm as he clenches his fist harder. “I-I mean, have you had practice… before?” 

You freeze. Guilt creeps upon your expression. At that, jealousy begins to churn in Caleb’s gut, corroding his patience. 

You stammer out something silly, unwilling to admit you’d been going to town on a dildo the entire time he was gone so you could practice for his return, “Don’t get the wrong idea—”

Caleb bends down and lifts you from the ground. 

In the past, Caleb would reel in his instinctive responses of jealousy. When you were teens and you’d gush to him about cute love letters left in your locker, all that would reach you were subtle words that reeked of envy, perhaps a “he’s never gonna be good enough for you” or “there’s somebody so much better out there just waiting for you.” Tonight, after every time you’ve given in to him, every time you let him push your limits, he decides to finally, just once, surrender to his petty jealousies. 

Caleb has picked you up, his hands on the backs of your thighs. You’re vulnerable in his arms as he stands from his chair, not quite looking at you, his expression unreadable. You’d be afraid if you hadn’t put your life in this man’s hands a dozen times and without fail he prioritized it above all else.

“You’ve let somebody else touch you?” he asks, his face so close to yours you can almost taste the jealousy on his breath. “Somebody who would never even bother to take the time to learn exactly what you like, like I’ve always done?” 

You don’t give him an answer. 

He tilts his head at you. Even with his patience running thin, he will give you a chance to escape. “I’ll give you five seconds to answer.” 

One second passes. Then two. Something inside him shifts as he closes his eyes in a final attempt at restoring his composure. Beneath his eyelids, images of how you might have let other people touch you, how you allowed somebody else to hold your precious body in their hands and give you pleasure that should have only been reserved for his eyes, the only ones that would look at you with love like his, pass through his mind. Inside him, a yawning, vicious black hole forms at those thoughts.

Caleb’s eyes open. You search his gaze and arousal jumps in your stomach as you take in the unnatural darkness in the eyes of your usually sweet, tender boyfriend. His pupils are blown wide in his lavender irises.

“Your five seconds are up,” he whispers. 

With a gentle sweep of his arms, he sets you on the table. Caleb settles between your spread legs, his hands coming under your knees and hooking your thighs over his shoulders as he leans back to marvel at how beautiful you look with lace tracing the lines of your body. He knows exactly how he’ll ruin you so that you forget that anyone could have ever touched your body before him.

“We’ll need a safe word tonight,” he murmurs, his fingers brushing hair from your eyes. His eyes fall to your lips as they part with a soft noise of surprise. 

“Apple,” you tell him. 

“The moment you don’t like what I’m doing,” he says, “The very nanosecond you feel anything, you say it.” 

Caleb’s thumbs slip under the underwear hiding your core from him. Later, he’ll tear through the rest of your clothing with his teeth. The lace ribbons especially.

“Because now,” he says, his fingers ghosting over your hole, “I’m not going to hold back. I’m going to spell my name out on your hole with my fingers, and my tongue, and my cock. And you won’t ever forget who you belong to.” 

You shiver. 

“I want you to,” you say. Your eyes don’t break away from his even as you moan while he circles your hole with a finger. Caleb drops to his knees, his head settling between your thighs. His tongue slips from his mouth and laves over your hole. You lie back onto the table and wrap your legs around his shoulders as he begins to devour his favorite dessert.

Vaguely, through the haze of three orgasms, you recall various sensations. 

Caleb’s tongue lapping at your hole with dangerous vigor. How he sank his teeth into every inch of the fat of your inner thighs to mark the holy space between your legs with bruises that would remind you who you belonged to every time you looked down in the shower. The hickeys he sucked into your lower stomach will bloom a fresh purple in beautiful juxtaposition with the rest of the marks he left. 

He tried to be sweet after turning you into nothing less than his last meal, after scissoring his fingers into your hole to the point where you had to beg for him to pull his skilled digits out and give you his cock already. 

“Open your mouth,” he said. You parted your lips for him, looking up at him with dazed eyes, before arousal filled your gaze once again as he spat your cum into your mouth. His mouth hovered over yours as he let his spit and your cum dribble onto your waiting tongue, and he watched with dark eyes as you took it all, writhing beneath him with arousal. 

“Swallow,” he commanded. You did, without question, without hesitation. “You like your taste?”

You can only nod.

“Yeah?” He rubs your bottom lip. “Discovered that it’s my favorite in the universe that night. June 13th, I’ll save the date. But from now on, I might just have to eat you up for breakfast every morning to get my fill.” 

“You…” You shake your head at him. “Have always talked way too much.” 

“Hm, what else should I be doing aside from havin’ a nice chat with the love of my life?” 

Your eyes roll back into your skull for reasons you don’t like.

“You say that like you didn’t just suck the soul out of me,” you mutter. 

“C’mon. Tell me what you want, honey.” Caleb hovers over you, a boyish smirk playing on his chapped lips. 

You take his hand in yours. You never break away from his gaze, even as your hole twitches when you brush the pads of his fingers over your puckered, stretched entrance. 

“Can’t you feel how hungry I am for you?” you ask. You guide his index finger, press it just enough so that it slides inside you ever so slightly. Caleb’s breathing hitches. “You neglected me for three whole weeks. I need your cock inside me, baby.” 

Your breathing hitches as he gathers you in his arms, taking your hand away from your core to guide your arm over his neck. He captures your lips in a deep kiss, his tongue slick inside your mouth—you arch into the warmth of him, chest pressing to his, before your mouth opens with a loud gasp as his cockhead presses against your hole. 

“I’m putting it inside,” he whispers quickly, his forehead against yours, voice mingling in relieved moans with your own sweet chorus of pleasure as he finally slides through your slick and into you. You watch as his whole face goes slack at the sensation of your tightness sucking him inside.

You arch against him, cling to him in desperation as he gives deep, seeking thrusts into your hole. You squirm as his tongue seeks your own once more, overwhelmed by sensation. 

“Mnnn!” 

Neither of you last long. You’d been apart from your lover for weeks with only his photos and pre-recorded vids for company. Some were innocent recordings of him singing his favorite song that you’d put on the record to keep you company while you cooked. Some were videos shot in the dark of his body soaked in sweat while he moaned your name, with you sitting on the other side of the screen imagining his hands on you.

Caleb falls apart first, moaning ‘pipsqueak, pipsqueak’ in reverence as he fills you. And when you cum for him, crying his name in relief and from the fullness of him in your body, he doesn’t give you a break. He lifts you into the air and slides you down onto his dick. In this position, you can’t run from him, can only writhe and twist as he presses relentless thrusts into you. He cages you against the wall, covering your neck in relentless kisses. After driving you to two orgasms against the cold concrete he rips the rest of the lace off you and bends you over his couch. Caleb commits the sight of you bent over for him, arching for him, to memory right then and there, taking in every dimple in your skin and every muscle that contracts as he fucks your aching hole. 

“Caleb, I want more,” you say in a needy voice after he finishes inside you on the carpet, having ridden him till he whimpered for you to stop. Evening has already fallen over Skyhaven. The moonlight shines on your beloved as he pants with exhaustion on the carpeted floor, his cock at half-mast, craving your heat once more in the same way your eyes devour the sight of him now. 

Caleb chuckles, the sound so low and rough and frankly so fucked-out. You shiver at how primal he sounds. 

“Can’t get enough of me, huh, pips?” 

You whine needily, upset that he’s taking so long to give you what you want. It isn’t like him to deprive both you and himself. “Caleb,” you mewl, calling for his attention as you bring yourself to stand by the floor-to-ceiling windows and present yourself to him under the stagelights of a bright moon. He turns to watch you, smirking, before his smug demeanor falls apart an instant later.

You press your chest to the glass as you bend over with weak legs to spread your ass for him with your fingers. Caleb gives a groan at the sight, crawling up to you in a hurry, his hands sliding over your ass and your hips as he reaches you. Finally, he stands, and adjusts his body to settle his torso over your arched back. You feel his length rise between your thighs before the now familiar spread of him spears inside you. Your hole stretches for him once more. Caleb inhales sharply at the first press.

“Caleb,” you moan, head thrown back. Caleb bends over your body, pressing a hand into the glass. He nuzzles into the back of your neck and gives a slow, lazy thrust into your hole.

“I’ll give you two more,” he promises. That nearly makes you weep.

“I can’t,” you whine. The noise is pathetic even to your own ears.

“Yes, you can.” His arms engulf you in a bear hug, dragging you into his hips as he meets your ass with his thrusts even as you try to squirm away from him. You feel the familiar weight of his Evol balance the both of you as he presses you into the window, and yet you know that with it, you have no means of escape from him. His hands settle over your chest and collarbone. “Say it with me, (Name).”

You shake your head. He squeezes your ass hard enough to leave a red handprint in your skin, forcing a surprised yelp out of you. The night has made you familiar with how he makes good on his threats. If you don’t give him two now, he’ll make you give him four.

“I-I can,” you whimper.

“Say it again. Say my name.” 

“I can, Caleb, I can,” you say, voice breaking in the middle when he gives a precise thrust into a sensitive spot inside you. He learned all your ticks so quickly. Can push your puttons with just a shift of his hips or a kiss to a certain spot on your shoulder, or behind your ear.

Caleb grunts at your words. “You’re soaked down here,” he murmurs into your ear, probing your hole with his fingers even as he pistons his cock into you. “But… did you see? All of it is my cum.” 

Caleb tilts your head upward and brings his hand in front of your face. You moan at the sight of his fingers drenched white with his cum, from where he’d just touched you. Every single inch of your body throbs with arousal. You squeeze his cock as he shoves it inside you and he chuckles, the sound low in his throat. You can hear the smug smile on his face.

“Can you a-also give me two?” you ask, hiding your greed with sweetness in your voice. 

Caleb huffs at your saccharine, honeyed tone. You sound so sweet underneath him, sounded sweet the whole night. His perfect little pipsqueak. 

He might not know it yet, but he’s nothing but a fool when he’s balls-deep inside you. You’ve already noticed—you know you could ask for anything and he’d beg to be the one to give it to you. 

You can feel the exact moment he gives in to your innocent plea. His body steadies over yours. He’s getting ready to give you everything you asked for.

“Easy peasy,” he mutters, feeling how easy it’ll be to cum inside you twice more especially when you look back at him with your tear-stained eyes, the pleasure in them matching his. 

You laugh in a tired voice. But you know to brace yourself as he crowds you into the glass, his body pressing you to the window as his thrusts grow harder, find deeper places inside of you. It barely takes a minute of him simply giving you his cock in such an intimate, tight position against the window, his grunts breathing heat into your ear and nailing arousal straight into your brain, before you’re going limp in his arms and falling back into him with the first of the two orgasms he plans on giving you.

Your knees give out beneath you. Your body slides downward. Caleb’s body simply follows, too heavily weakened by the tight clench of your hole as your orgasm has you milking him with every piston of his hips. He doesn’t stop thrusting into you, letting you ride out the entirety of your orgasm, as you cum for him and slowly fall to the floor. Caleb’s chest heaves as he hunches over you, gritting his teeth as you clench up so tight around him.

Your moans are incomprehensible, uncontrolled noises pulled from your throat. He thinks he might hear syllables of his name in between, but you’re too far gone after the orgasms he gave you to put the words together. Your body writhes in his grip and he holds you close, keeps you steady even as your whole body submits to gravity and you end up on your hands and knees on the floor, body rocking back and forth with the continuous, unrelenting pistons of his hips. 

“Oohhhh, baby, I’m never gonna get tired of how tight you squeeze me,” he mutters, watching the way your body slides back and forth on the rug every time he brings his hips to your ass. Your back tightens and he watches the muscles there strain. He can’t imagine how he survived being weeks away from this. This view only he gets to see, this pleasure only he is allowed to indulge in with this body of yours.

“Cum for me, Caleb, please,” you whine. “I need you to fill me up.”

It hits him out of nowhere. The moment that plea leaves your lips, Caleb’s body, exhausted from so many rounds and sensitive from each one, gives out. The backs of his thighs tremble as you both collapse into the rug. His heartbeat presses into your back as he holds you close, folds you into the carpet beneath with his weight. He’s heavy above you, rasping your name in an endless, pleasured mantra as he pulsates within you to fill you with his cum. You cry at the feel of his weight, unable to escape from him as he pumps you full of cum, holding him to you with a hand on the back of his neck. 

But he doesn’t stop. Even as he trembles and whimpers from the overstimulation, he continues to piston himself into you. You squeal in protest, too brainless to string together the vowels in a word. 

“One more,” he whimpers, kissing and biting the lobe of your ear, his breaths hot as he whispers his love to you, “One more, my baby. Soak my cock one more time.” 

Your body writhes hard in his grip as his fingers find the most sensitive parts of your pelvis. He fingers you to and over the brink of overstimulation, and you can’t even tell him it’s too much, can’t ask him to stop—there are no words for the pleasure he gives you, the love pouring from his body into yours. Like always, you can only take what Caleb has to give. Even if it’s too much.

“Love you,” you finally babble after he pulls you to his chest to thrust up into you. “I love you so much, my Caleb.” 

He whines, his cock as sensitive as your hole, drenched in slick, his cum and yours, and pulsating with overstimulation. “I love you, pipsqueak, baby, I love you—” 

His voice cracks as his moans grow ragged. Caleb flips you onto your back and folds you into the floor. Pushes your legs up and locks them around his waist. And as his thrusts deepen, as your hole froths to become creamy with your cum and so much of his, your bodies give together at the same time. 

Caleb cradles you to him as he cums first. He cries your name, looking down at you and never breaking your gaze as his cock fills you with final spurts of pleasure. You claw at his arms, nodding up at him and meeting his eyes just the same as he tells you to cum for him, to show him who your body belongs to, and he kisses your forehead as you finally twist beneath him and shower him in slick. 

“My pipsqueak,” he murmurs softly, exhausted, but unwilling to pull away from you. You feel his cum drool from out of your hole, slipping down onto the carpet. Closing your eyes, you stroke his hair as he sighs into you, peppering your face in kisses. 

“I missed you so much,” he says. He pulls back to look at you, at the mess he’s made of his lover. His pipsqueak, his his his. You’re all his. 

“Mm, I can feel it,” you whisper, voice still hoarse from screaming his name. You let him maneuver you onto your side, still connected with him, as he snuggles you into his embrace. He ignores your complaints of being dirty and sweaty. He smells like sex. The scent of his cum dripping forth from inside you hits your nostrils.

“Give me five more minutes with you like this,” he says, and he sounds so sweet and how could you ever, ever tell him no, when throughout all the years he has given you everything you’ve ever wanted without protest, without complaint?

“I’ll be here however long you want, my Caleb,” you whisper into his ear, kissing him there. You feel him blush a bit as you settle into his side, and know just how to tease him further. “My Caleb, my Caleb, my Caleb.” 

“Yes,” he says, sighing with content, “Caleb is all yours.” 

—

Reblogs are deeply appreciated !!

This whole thang was like a year in the making. I deeply enjoyed writing this. I hope you enjoyed as well, little apple!!

[dark-night-hero]

Imagine a zombie apocalyse au ft. Caleb.

Imagine the first thing that caleb ever said to you was, "Duck!" Followed by a gunshot seconds later, loud and violent and too close. You barely managed to throw yourself down before something behind you collapsed with wet, rotten sound against the pavement. And for one horrible second, all you could hear was ringing. Then came your breathing. Sharp, panicked and painfully human.

Imagine you stayed crouched on instinct, fingers gripping the rusted pipe you had been using as a weapon, heart beating so violently on your chest that might as well burst through your ribs. Then a pair of boots stopped in front of you. "You good?"

Imagine the way you looked up slowly. The stranger standing there held a pistol loosely in one hand like it weighed nothing at all. The sunlight caught briefly on the barrel before he lowered it. There he was, tall, broad shoulder. Dark jacket streaked with dirt and old blood. A rifle strapped across his back. Alive. Which honestly felt stranger than the gun. because by then, months into the apocalypse, you had gotten used to seeing more corpse than people. The dead were predictable, people weren't.

so Imagine, you stared at him silently. The walker behind you twitched once on the ground, half its skull missing. "If you said yes too fast," The stranger continued casually. "I'm gonna assume you hit your head." That made you blink. Then looked at the dead walker, then back at him. "...I had it handled." He snorted immediately which made you feel somehow offended. "No you didn't." "I did." "It was literally reaching for your neck." "It was under control." "Sure."

Imagine the way you narrow your eyes as he grinned. And somehow, soomehow that irritated warmth in his expression felt more dangerous than the walker ever did. Because people who still smiled like that in the apocalypse? Were either crazy, or the kind of people that made you forget that the world ended. Both were dangerous. So as the stranger crouched beside the corpse and started checking its pockets, you stared at him.

"...What are you doing?" "Looking for cigarettes." You looked at him like he was joking. Then he actually pulled out a crushed pack from the walker's jacket. "No fucking way." "See?" He said proudly. "Today's a lucky day." "You're digging through a corpse." "Adaptability is important." "That thing literally tried to eat me." "And now it's donating supplies. Circle of life." You barked out a laugh before you could stop yourself. And the sound startled you more than him.

because Imagine, you genuinely couldn't remember the last time you laughed. So as the stranger looked up immediately his pruple iris met yours as his eyebrows lifting slightly in surprise before his mouth curled into a softer grin. "There." He pointed at you. "That." "What?" "That face, keep that around." He stood up again, slipping the cigarette into his pocket. "Means you're still human." Human, huh. You almost forgot what that felt like.

Imagine you should have left after that. Really. Because that was the rule now. Don't trust stranger, don't stay in groups too long, don't tell people where you sleep, don't get attached. Attachment got people killed. You learn that early. The world ended, and suddenly everyone became capable of terrible things. You had seen people abandon family members to save themselves. Seen strangers kill each other over canned food. Seen a man beat another man for a half-empty water bottle.

Imagine the dead were monsters because they had no humanity left. The living were monsters because they still did. So yes, you absolutely shouldn've left. Instead, you found yourself sharing canned goods with a stranger inside an abandoned laundromat while rain hammered the roof overhead. "So," He said through a mouthful of food. "You got a name?" You hesitated and he noticed. "Fair." He admitted with a small nod. "I could be a serial killer." "In the apocalypse?"

"Timing's rough, I know." "...You could rob me." His eyes flicked towards your backpack. "You own exactly one pipe wrench and three crackers." You narrowed your eyes at him. "You checked my bag?" "It was open." "You're an asshole." "And yet," He pointed at himself dramatically. "The asshole saved your life." You rolled your eyes and he laughed again. God, he laughed so easily. Like the world wasn't rotting around him. Like death wasn't waiting outside every door. It made no sense. "What's your name then?" You asked eventually. "Caleb." He said, offering a hand. You stare at it suspiciously for a full three seconds before finally shaking it. And his grim was warm, stead, and real. "Nice to meet you." He said. And weirdly, it sounded genuine.

Imagine traveling with Caleb happened gradually. Not because either of you asked. It just... Happened. The first few days were temporary. Then temporary became a routine. You scavenged together, ate together, slept in shifts together. And somewhere along the line, surviving stopped feeling like a lonely thing which honestly scared you more than the walkers did. Because dependence was dangerous and Caleb was dangerously easy to depend on.

Imagine he knew things, too many things. How to siphon gas without swallowing fumes, how to identify infected water, how to reinforce doors properly, how to ration food, how to move quietly through buildings. And most of all, guns. And god, he sure knows how to handle guns like they were extensions of his body.

"You're holding it wrong." You glare at him for where you stood, in the middle of an empty parking lot. "I'm holding it." "Barely." "I hate guns." "You'll hate getting eaten more." You groaned framatically while he stepped behind you. "Relax your shoulders." He instructed. His hands adjusted your stance carefully with warm palms and gentle pressure. Suddenly, you become aware of how close he was. "Don't lock your elbows." "You sound like an old man." "You shoot like one." You scoffed. Then immediately nearly lost control of the recoil after firing.

Imagine the way Caleb burst out laughing. "Oh my god- your face-" "Shut up!" "You looked personally betrayed by physics." "I hate you." "No you don't." And the terrifying thing was, he said so confidently like he already knew. And maybe he did.

Imagine that night, Caleb talked. Not constantly, but enough. Enough to fill the silence that used to suffocate you when you were alone. He told stories while cleaning weapons, while checking maps, while sitting beside weak campfires. Sometimes it was stupid stories, sometimes it was the embarrasing ones, sometimes it was stories about her. Pips. You never learned her real name at first. Just that nickname.

"She used to steal my hoodies constantly." Caleb muttered once while staring into the fire. "Then deny it while literally wearing them." You smiled faintly. "She sounds awful." "She is." But his expression softened immediately after saying it. And god, that look. You noticed it every time he talked about her. Like his entire face changed without him realizing. "She hates vegestables." "She talks in her sleep." "She gets lost in grocery stores somehow." "She cries during movies but acts like she doesn't." "She's tougher than people think."

Imagine every single story sounded precious coming from him. Not because of words but because of the way he said them. Like he carried her carefully even in conversation. And you, you listened quietly while something ugly and aching slowly grew inside your chest. Not anger, not jealousy exactly. Just... Awareness. Awareness that you were temporary. That Caleb has somewhere to go, someone to find. And you? You were just the person walking beside him until he got there.

Imagine in one particularly cold night, the two of you sat on top of an abandoned convenience store roof. The city stretched dark around you. No lights anymore, no traffic, no life. Just empty buildings and the distant groan of walkers wandering through the streets below. And Caleb sat beside the fire cleaning his knife carefully. The orange light flickered across his face. And you tried not to stare but failed iserably.

"This someone you keep talking about," You said eventually. "What would you do if you find her?" Caleb looked up immediately and the expression on his face, it genuinely startled you. Not angry, worse, he was certain. "Nah," He said quietly. "Don't joke like that." His tone remained light. But something underneath it wasn't. "She knows how to survive." He continue after a moment. "Pips is smart. Stubborn too." A small smile tugged at his mouth. "Probably yelling at people somewhere right now."

"I see." You nodded slowly and silence setteled again. The cold wind drifted across the rooftop. Then, "What would you do if you find her?" That made him smile properly. Soft, unthinking, in love. And it hurt embarrasingly bad. "Find somewhere safe." He said. "Heard rumors about a secured place. N109 zone. Well protected, functional power, and farms too." "Sounds fake." "Probably is." You huffed quietly. "But if it's real," Caleb continued, eyes flickering toward the dark skyline. "I'd take her there." Her. Not us.

and Imagine, really, why would it be us? You weren't anything. Not officially. Not emotionally. Not in the way that mattered. The two of you were just survivors sharing road because surviving alone was harder. So why did you chest ache every time he smiled like that over someone else?

"Wait-" You stared at him increduloudly one afternoon while scavenging an airport hangar. "You were an actual pilot?" "Yep." "You're lying." "I'm offended." "You said aviation school." "I graduated." "No way." Caleb looked unbearably smug. "You wanna see my license?" "You carried your pilot license through the apocalypse?" "Well now you're making it sound stupid." "Because it is stupid." He laughed so loudly it echoed through the hangar in which you did ended up laughing too.

Imagine there was never a single quiet day with Caleb around. He filled spaces effortlessly. Sometimes with jokes, sometimes with stories, sometimes with sheer existence alone. And slowly, dangerously, you started building routines around him. Waiting for his voice in the mornings, listening for his footsteps, sleeping easier during his watch shifts. Like your body itself had started believing Caleb meant safety. Which was the dumbest possible thing you could do during apocalypse. Because safety wasn't real anymore. And neither was forever.

Imagine then you found her. No, she found him. It happened near an abandoned medical checkpoint outside the city. You remembered hearing running footsteps first. Then a weak voice. "Caleb..." The reaction was immediate. You watched as Caleb froze so suddenly beside you that you nearly walked into him. And then he was moving. Fast, faster than you had ever seen him move before. And the girl stumbling towards the checkpoint looked half-dead already, sweating, shaking, varely conscious. But the second Caleb caught her. You understood something. Oh- that's her. Because you had never seen him look at anything the way he looked at her.

Imagine it wasn't relief, not happiness either. It was something deeper. Like finding oxygen after drowning. "Pips." He breathed. The sound of it almost made you look away. She collapsed against him almost immediately. And Caleb held her so carefully it made your throat tighten. You stood there awkwardly holding your rifle while realizing something horribly pathetic. You never stood a chance.

Imagine, MC was sick, not bitten, at least you didn't think so. But she burned with fever badly enough that even touching her forehead for a second make your palm feel hot afterward. Her breathing came unevenly, weak and shallow, and every now and then, her body trembled hard enough that Caleb had to tighten his hold around her to keep her steady. And you... You did not ask questions. In apocalypse, poeple stopped asking questions a long time ago.

so Imagine you kept moving. "Left." Caleb muttered while checking the bloodstained map in his hand. "There should be a maintenance corridor." You glance down the dark hallway. "Should' is doing a lot of heavy lifting there." "Have faith." "I had faith once, then society collapsed." That actually made MC laugh weakly against his chest. A tiny sound, something so fragile. Caleb immediately looked down at her like she has hung the moon. "You still with us, Pips?" "Mhm.." God, that look again. You turned away first.

Imagine the facility was massive. Some kind of old evacuation site connected to an abandoned research building near the edge of the city. Suspicious as it way sound with the amount of military trucks still littered the parking lot outside, rusting quietly beneath overgrown weeds and dried blood stains. And inside, it smelled worse. Rot, mold, old death. The deeper you went, the quieter it became and somehow, that was worse than noise.

Imagine your flashlight swept across overturned hospital beds and scattered papers on the floor. And every now and then, you caught movements behind reinforced glass doors. Walkers, trapped inside rooms. Their dead fingers dragged slowly against the window as you passed. Stratch, stratch, stratch. MC flinch weakly at the sound making Caleb adjust her closer instinctively.

"You okay?" "Cold..." Your eyes flicked towards her. She was shivering now despite the fever. Not good, not good at all. "We need to stop soon." You said quietly. Caleb nodded grimly. "There should be a rooftop access point somewhere above us." "Please tell me this place has the aircraft." "If the rumors are right." You sigh. "Again with the rumors." "Hey, rumors are all we got left nowadays."

Imagine the first sign something was wrong came from the silence. No walkers, none. Not in the hallway, not behind doors, not banging against walls. Nothing. You slowed slightly. "Sooo.." You murmured. "EIther we got lucky-" "Or it's worse." Caleb finished immediately. "See? That. That's exactly the kind of optimism I hate." A faint grin tugged at his mouth. Then- click. You froze.

"What was that?" MC whispered weakly. Your flashlight lowered slowly towards the floor. A wire. Thin, nearly invisible, connected to a rusted can near the wall. Your stomach dropped. "...Fuck." caleb's expression hardened instantly. "Don't move." Too late. Because somewhere deeper in the building, there was a clang. Then another, then another. Metal crashing violently against metal. Your eyes widened. "No, no no no-" A siren suddenly screamed alive overhead. Red emergency lights flooded the hallway instantly.

and Imagine then came the sound. Groaning, hundreds of them. From below, from above, from inside the walls themselves. "Oh you have GOT to be kidding me." You hissed and the building erupted. Banging, screaming, bodies slamming against the doors. Walkers flooded into the hallways from every direction. "What the fuck did that trigger?!" You shouted. "Probably an emergency lockdown system!" Caleb barked back. "WHO THE FUCK BUILDS THAT?!" "THE GOVERNMENT?!"Fair enough. "Move!" You snappened immediately.

Imagine the three of you started running, your boots slammed againstthe floor whie red lights flashed overhead violently. Walkers poured from stairwells and broken doors, drawn by the siren echoing throughout the facility. One lunged from the side and you buried your knife in its skull without slowing down. "Straight ahead!" Caleb yelled, MC coughed hard against his shoulder, trembling badly now. "Caleb-" "I got you." God, even now, exhusted and terrified, his voice soften for her automatically. And you hated how much hearing that hurt.

Imagine the stairwell was chaoes, bodies crowded below, rotting hands clawed upward through gaps in the railing. You nearly slipped on blood while forcing your way higher. "Door!" You shouted and Caleb kicked it open, hard. The three of you stumbled into another corridor breathing heavily. Then stopped, your stomach dropped instantly. "...No." The hallway was packed with walker. At least fiftly, or maybe more. The emergency lights painted them in horrible flashing red as they turned slowly towards the sound of you. Dead faces, open mouths, clouded eyes. Then they started coming towards your way.

"Run!" You slammed the door shut immediately while Caleb shoved a cabinet against it. Bodies crashed into the other side violently, the metal groaned. "Window!" You shouted. "No jump." Caleb snapped after one glance, "Too high." The room itself looked like some kinf of old administrative office. No exits, no escape. Only another hallway leading deeper inside the facility. And somewhere above, a helicopter waited. So close. You could practically taste freedom. Then MC made a small broken sound. You turned immediately. Her condition was getting worse, sweat drenched her skin completely now. Her breathing came shallow and uneven and she looked barely consious against Caleb's chest.

"We don't have time." You muttered. "I know." The door behind the cabinet shook violently. BANG, BANG, BANG. Wood splintered as more frowls filled the hallway outside. You started pacing automatically, brain working too fast. Think. Think. THINK. "There." MC whispered suddenly. You followed her shaking hand towards a map hanging crookedly on the wall. Your eyes narrowed. "...Maintenance bridge." Caleb looked too. "It connects to the west wing." "Which connects to the rooftop acccess." You finished.

Imagine the way relief flickered briefly across his face, then disappeared. Because noth of you saw the problem immediately. The bridge crossed directly over the main atrium, where the horde was gathering and thousands of footsteps ehoed below already. Draw by the sirens, by you. "...Shit." You whispered. The door cracked loudly behind you. One dead arm shoved partially through the splintering wood. MC looked close to passing out completely now. And Caleb, Caleb looked terrified for the first time since you meet him. Not for himself but for her. You saw it clearly. The desperation, the fear, the helplessness. And somehow, that hurt more than anything. Because even at the end of the world... Even now, he loved her so much.

Imagine the west wing was falling apart. You could feel it in the walls. Every few seconds, the building groaned somewhere deep beneath your feet like something enormous was twisting inside its bones. Dust drifted constantly from the ceiling. Pipes screamed while metal shrieked in the distance loud enough to make your teeth ache. The whole place sounds echausted. Like it had been dying for a long time and only now decided to collapse properly. And honestly? You understand that feeling.

Imagine the way you shoved another cabinet against the stairwell door while Caleb checked the corridor ahead. "Clear." He whispered. The hallway beyond flcikered under failing emergency lights, everything painted in unstable red. Old blood stained the walls in long brown smears. Abandoned luggage littered the floor alongside military bags and overturned stretchers. People ran here once, you could tell. The evidence of panic still remained everywhere.

Imagine MC coughed weakly behind you and Caleb immediately turned around. "You okay?" She only hum in return, but you could easily tell that she wasn't. And Caleb, the panic in his eyes everytime he looked at her. You noticed it more now. The way he adjust his grip instictively whenever she trembled, the way his voice siften automatically around her, the way exhustion disappeared from him whenever she needed something. And you looked away first, because there were some things you could survive easier by pretending not to see.

Imagine the rooftop access was close, that was the cruel part. So close. Only one more connecting hallway between you and the emergency ladder leading towards the helipad. Only one hallway. But unfortunately, it was also the exact direction the walkers were coming from. You heard them before you saw them. That horrible collective sound. Dragging feet, wet groaning, bodies colliding endlessly into each other. Too many, far too many. The emergency siren overhead still blared intermittently through the building, distorted and dying. Every scream of the alam pulled more dead things inward like a beacon.

Imagine the hallway ahead opened into a wider terminal junction, and beyond it, the maintenance access leading toward the rooftop. And you almost laughed when you saw it, because of course, of course the only escape route sat directly behind a moving wall of corpses. "Fuck." You breathed quietly as Caleb followed your gaze before immediately saying, "No." You looked at him. "You don't even know what I'm gonna say." "I know exactly what you're gonna say." The walkers shuffled closer in the distance. You counted automatically. Thirty, maybe forty or more.

Imagine, the corridor itself was too narrow to fight through. Too loud, too cramped. One gunshot would bring the entire damn building down on top of you. You look to your side and see MC swayed weakly against Caleb's chest. "We can still go around." He muttered quickly. "There is no around." "We find another route." "And waste how much time?" Your voice came out sharper than intended. "Look at her Caleb." His jaw tightened immediately because he knew. MC's condition was getting worse by timme. Even standing looked difficult for her now. She needed medical attention immediately. Not later, not tomorrow. Now.

Imagine another distant crash echoed through the building as you could tell the walkers stirred louder, closer. Your brain started calculating instinctively. The distance, noise and movement patterns. If something loud pulled the horde sideways, even briefly, there would be enough time. Not too much, but enough. And just then, your stomach dropped before you can even fully formed the thought. Because you already knew, there really wasn't another option. Not dramatic sacrifice, not heroism. Just math. A simple, horrible math.

Imagine, if nobody distracted them, all three of you died here. That made you swallowed hard before quietly saying. "I can pull them away." "No." Immediate and sharp. You almost smiled despite yourself. Still stubborn. "Caleb-" "No." "We don't have enough ammo." "We fight through." "We won't make it halfway." "We try anyway." "Then what?" Your voice cracked sharser this time. "She collapses? One of us gets grabbed? You know how this ends." "We don't know that." "Yes we do!" Your voice echoed harder tha intended through the hallway and the walkers immediately stirred louder, closer. Shit.

"Caleb." You whispered roughly. "This isn't a movie." "I know that!" "Then stop acting like there's a magically another way out of this!" His breathing turned uneven. Angry. Panicked. "No." He said again, quieter this time. "I'm not letting you do that." And something painful twisted in your chest hearing that. Not because it fixed anything, but because it didn't. Reality stayed cruel no matter how badly he wanted otherwise. "You're not letting me?" You repeated softly. "You know what I mean." "Do I?" "Don't do that right now." "Do what?" "That thing where you act okay with this!"

Imagine you stared at him and there it was. Fear. Raw, ugly and despirate. Not anger. Fear. Because Caleb already understood what this could mean. Your throat tightened painfully. The walkers slowly crowded deeper into the junction ahead now, bodies pressing together beneath the red emergency lights. The deads were moving patiently towards you. MC whimpered weakly against Caleb's chest. That sound alone nearly shattered the entire argument apart. You close your eyes briefly then you looked back at him. "She needs you alive."

Imagine the words tasted bitter. Not because they weren't true but because they were. Caleb looked away sharply for the first time. Like hearing it out loud physically hurt him. "We can all make it." He muttered and you almost laughed. Not cruelly, just tired. "You don't even believe in that." Then there was silence. A heavy one, because he didn't. So as the building groaned violently again around you. Like somewhere below, another barricade finally gave out and that sound alone made your stomach drop. No more time. That was it, this was the movement.

Imagine the way you stepped closer before your courage disappeared completly. "Hey." You muttered softly. Caleb looked at you immediately and God, that expression. Exhausted, terrified, desperate. Human. And suddenly you wanted something horribly impossible. One more night around a campfire. One more stupid argument. One more morning hearing him complain dramatically about canned food. You wanted more time. But the apocalypse didn't care what people wanted. It never did.

"I promise I'll make it to N109 zone." You said quietly. Something in Caleb's face cracked instantly. "Don't say it like that." "Like what?" "Like you're saying goodbye." Your chest ached so badly it almost made you angry. Because none of this would've been easier if he treated you carelessly. Instead, Caleb made surviving beside him feel dangerously close to living. And maybe that was crueler. "I'm not." You lied softly. "You better not be." The words came out rough. Almost shaking. And your eyes burned suddenly. God. Why now? Why did everything have to hurt now?

Imagine the walker were close enough now that you could hear their teeth snapping. You checked your gun quickly, not enough bullets. Not enough time. "Listen to me carefully." You said. "Once I move away from the hallway, you run straight for the ladder access." "No." "Caleb-" "No." "You hate to." "I said no!" His voice cracked violently this time. Then MC stirred weakly again between you both. "Caleb.." She whispered painfully and that broke something in him immediately.

Imagine you saw it happened. Her. You. Reality. All colliding together at once. His grip tightened around her while he looked at you helplessly. And somehow, that hurt more than if he chose easily. "You need to come back." He said suddenly. The words hit so hard you forgot hwo to breathe for a second. "What?" "You hear me?" His voice shook now. "You need to come back." The horde surged louder down the corridor. Closer. Then even closer. You forced yourself to breathe again. "That's not really something I can guarantee." "Yes it is." "Caleb-" "I'll wait for you."

Imagine the way your throat burned instantly. Why would he say things like that? Why now? You looked away first. Because if you kept staring at him like this, then you might stay. And then all three of you would die here. "Ten minutes," You whispered roughly. "If I don't make it to the hellpad yen minutes after you get there. Leave." "No." "Yes." "I'm not leaving you behind." "You have to." "No!" "CALEB!" That shout cracked violently between you. Even the walker react to it immediately. Your breathing turned ragged.

"So what?" You hissed. "You stay? Die with me? Is that your plan." His silence answered enough. Your chest physically hurt, because some selfish, ugly part of you almost wanted him to say yes. Wanted proof that losing you would matter. But then MC coughed painfully against him again. Then there was reality. Always reality. You soften immediately. "Please." You whispered this time. "Please don't make this harder."

Imagine the way Caleb stared at you like he was trying to memorize your face. Then slowly, painfully slowly. He reached for the chain around his neck. The one with dog tags, and that stupid little apple charm. The one you had seen him touch absentmindedly during quiet nights. Seen him hold it while talking about home. About flying. About survival. His fingers shook slightly as he prssed it into your palm. "Return it when we meet again." Your throat tightened instantly. You curled your fingers around it carefully. "...Fine." "You promise?" You swallowed hard. "...I promise."

Imagine, the deads were close now. Close enough that you could smell it. The blood, rot and wet decay. You stepped backward slowly. Raised your gun. Then looked at Caleb one last time. "Come to think of it, I never actually told you my name, didn't I?" That made him pause. "It's (Your name)." You smile at him. "And just you know. You're cool as fuck, Caleb." And for a stunned second, he laughed. Small, broken, disbelieving. Then you watched his face crumpled immediately afterwards. "Please." You heard him whispered again.

and Imagine, you almost stayed. Like, really almost stayed. But then the horde turned the corner and your body betrayed you. You stepped into the open hallway and screamed. "HEY FUCKERS!" Every dead head snapped towards you instantly. The entire horde shifted. Towards you and away from the ladder. Exactly as planned. So as your heart hammered violently and as adrenaline flooded your veins so hard your hands shook.

"That's right." You breathed shakily while backing away slowly. "Come get me." Behind the walkers, you saw Caleb hesitate. Of course he did. He was still looking at you instead of running. "NOW!" You shouted. He still didn't move. "CALEB!" That finally broke him. And you watched him grip MC tighter before sprinting towards the ladder access while the horde chased after your voice. And that was the moment when relief hit so hard it nearly made your knees buckle. It worked. Holy shit, it actually worked. But then the dead started moving faster, so you turned and ran.

Imagine the way the corridor slammed against bloodstained floors while walkers poured after you endlessly through the site. You shoved over stuffs, kicked open doors and made as much noise as possible. And while every instinct screamed at you to hide, you just kept drawing attention. Because if even a few broke away and notice Caleb and MC. It would be over. So you ran louder, harder, faster. When a walker lounged from the side corridor. You shot it instantly and the gunfire exploded through the building. More groans answered immediately.

"Oh you've gotto be kidding me..." You almost laughed at yourself as the now were coming from ahead too. Great, fantastic. You swerved sharply into another hallway while your lungs burned violently. Your legs already ached from exhaustion. Too many days running, too little food, too little sleep. The apocalypse slowly ate people before the walkers ever touched them. Still, you kept moving. Because somwhere above you, Caleb was escaping. Caleb was surviving. And stupidly, that mattered enough.

Imagine far above the building after God knows how much time have passed by. The helicopter blades thundered alive. You almost stumbled hearing it as relief had once again crashed into you so suddenly it hurt. They made it. And a laugh escaped you breathlessly. "Thank God..." And for one tiny moment, everything felt lighter. Worth it. Then pain esploded across your shoulder. A walker slammed into you from a side doorway hard enough to send you crashing into the wall, your gun flew across the floor in the process as the walker snapped its teeth inches from your face. So you shoved your knife upward desperately into its skull.

Imagine the way your breathing turned ragged instantly. Everything hurt. Your shoulder, your ribs, your legs. And somewhere nearby, more groans echoed. Closer, too close. So you forced yourself upright shakily as blood dripped slowly down your sleeve, one you couldn't tell if it was yours or not. Then you felt it, heard it, above you, the helicopter sound grew louder. Then slowly, it started dafing away into the distance. Your chest tightened painfully. Ten minutes. Maybe he waited longer. Maybe he fought them. Maybe he searched for you until very last second. Or maybe, maybe he just understood what this really is. Not bravery, not heroism. Just survival choosing who got to continue.

Imagine as you leaned briefly against the wall, exhausted beyond words. Caleb's dog tags rested tightly in your hand. Cold, heavy and real. Just then you heard more footsteps, not human, never human anymore. You laughed quietly to yourself. Tired, hollow and half-breathless. "Goddammit." Because maybe love really could kill a person. Not quickly, not romantically. But in choices, in sacrifices, in wanting someone else to live more than you wanted yourself to. And that somewhere deep down. You already knew, you were probably not making it to N109 zone.

[ⓒdark-night-hero] 2026° ko-fi?

:I'm thinking if I should make it a whole series of something because this has sooo much potential as one. PS. Told ya'll Caleb is yet to come home I'm this banner. And I basically lost him to Zayne, like wtfffg

Tagged: @younghideoutberserker @booakaishia

[pzxce]

sylus says stop wasting water w ai smh

[dark-night-hero]

Imagine having an amnesia ft. Caleb part 3

Imagine a week before the accident. The airport was too for a goodbye like this. Too bright. Too rushed. Too full of people who didn't understand that Caleb was currently in the middle of very real, very serious crisis. Because he did not want to let you go.

"You're going to miss your call." You said, voice muffled slightly against his chest. "Let them." Caleb muttered. He tightened his arms around you. Just a little more. Like if he held on long enough, time might stall out of pity. You snorted. "Yeah, because that's how aviation works." "It should." "You're literally part of the aviation system." "And I hate it right now."

Imagine the way you leaned back just enough to look up at him, one brow raised. "That's dramatic." "I just got married." He deadpanned. "I should be exempt from work for at least-" "A year?" You finished. "At minimum." You laughed, and it hit him again. That sound, Goddd that sound. It had been two months. Two months of you being his in a way that still didn't feel entirely real. Wife.

Imagine the word sat heavy in his chest. Not in a suffocating way. Its a grounding one, like something finally clicked into place after years of wanting, waiting, hoping- His thoughts were cut off as you reached up and flicked his forehead lightly.

"Captain's right hand, by the way." You reminded him. "Very important. Very needed. Very not allowed to throw tantrums at the airport." "First officer." He corrected automatically, though his grip on you didn't loosen. "And I'm not throwing a tantrum." "You're pouting." "I am not." "Darling, you literally tightened your arm when I mentioned your flight." "... That's because you tried to leave." "I leaned back two inches." "Exactly."

Imagine the way you look at him and then sighed like you were dealing with something deeply unfortunate. "...I married a child." "You married someone who's very attached to you." He shot back. "That's not the same thing." "It is to me." You paused, just for a second. And something in your expression softened, not dramatically, not exaggerated, just... Real.

"...I'm not going anywhere." You said quieter this time. He knew that. Of course he does. You weren't the type to say things you didn't mean. That was one of the things he loved most about you. No games, no guessing, just you. Steady, honest and certain. "I know." He said. And he did. But that didn't mean he like leaving. Eventually you pulled backk fully this time, though your hands stayed loosely on his jacket.

"Besides," You added, tone shifting back to teasing. "What if you forget about me while you're gone?" That made him blink, then scoffed. "Yeah, that's definitely going to happen." "I'm serious." You said, eyes narrowing slightly. "You just came off a two month vacation. What if work makes you realize how peaceful life is without me?" "Absolutely not." He didn't even hesitate, didn't even think. "I haven't even left yet and I already miss you."

Imagine the way that made you pause, then you laughed. Soft and warm and without thinking too much about it, you reached up and pat his head. Like he was the one being dramatic, because maybe he was. "You'll be back before you know it." You said. "I'll pick you up when you're done with your flight." "You better." "I always do, Caleb." You said softly. "You were late once." "You survived." "Barely." You rolled your eyes. "...You're unbelievable." "You love me."

Imagine you didn't deny it. Didn't even hesitate. "Yeah." You said simply. "I do love you." And God, that still got him. Every time. Because you didn't say it like it was something fragile. You said it like it was a fact, like sommething chosen, something grounded, seomthing real. Genuiene. Not the kind of love that stumbled into place.

Imagine Caleb. Caleb had been down bad for you long before he even knew what that meant. Back when loving you felt like reaching for something just out of reach. Back when you were just his best friend. Back when he thought, maybe, someday. But now, you were here. In front of him, choosing him, loving him as much as he does. "I'll call you when I land." He said. "You always do." "...And text you before takeoff." "You always do." "...And-" "Caleb." "I'm going to be fine." He exhaled. "...I know."

Imagine the way you smiled before you leaned in and kissed him. Not rushed, not fleeting. It was the kind that lingered. The kind that said come back. The kind that said I'll be here. And when you pulled away, you gave him one last look. "Go." You said, nudging him lightly. He didn't move immediately. Of course he didn't. "I hate this part." "I know." "...You better be here when I get back." You snorted. "Where else would I be?"

Imagine he didn't answer that. He didn't need to. Because for him, there had been a time where that question have a certain answer. But now, now it did. With you, it always did. "...Okay." He said finally. He let go and took a step back. Then another, and another until distance settled in. But even then, he didn't look away. He turned once more before disappearing into the immigration, and there you were. Standing where he left you, looking at him like you always did. Steady, certain, his.

Imagine Caleb let that image settle into his chest. Your face, your eyes, your quiet confidence burning it into memory like something he'd carry no matter where he went. He didn't know then. That it would be the last time you looked at him like you remembered exactly how much you loved him.

Imagine a week after, the plane had come to a full stop when Caleb turned his phone back on, earning a teasing look from his captain that he easily ignore. This was his routine. Text you, call you, tell you he landed. Tell you he missed you even if you'd just say, "Obviously, took you long enough." And so that signal came back, and so did everything else. Notifications flooded in, missed calls. Messages stacked on top of each other like something urgent had been trying to claw its way through.

Imagine the way his steps slowed, just a fraction. But his co-workers notice it anyways, asking him if everything was okay. Still, an unknown number. Then a message came. From a hospital. His stomach dropped, he opened it anyway. Emergency. That was all he needed. Because before he could even read the rest, his body was already moving, fast. Too fast.

"Sir?!- your luggage-!" "I'll get it later!" He shouted over his shoulder, already pushing past, already running. Didn't stop. Didn't think. Didn't process. The luggage, one filled with things he picked out for you, souvenirs, little items he knew you'd pretend not to like but keep anyway was left behind without second thought. None of it mattered. Not when your name was tied to a word like emergency.

Imagine Caleb didn't remember the cab ride, didn't remember getting in. Didn't remember giving directions. Just the feeling. A sharp, suffocating pressure in his chest that wouldn't settle. Wouldn't let him breathe properly. By the time he reached the hospital, he was already halfway running.

"Excuse me-!" "Sir-!" He ignored them. Followed the directions. Turned the corner. ICU. His chest tightened. He pushed forward only to be stopped. "Sir, you can't enter-" "I'm looking for (First name) Xia" He said, breath uneven. "She was brought in- told me there was an accident-" "You need authorization-" "I am her husband." His voice was sharp and immediate. Like it wasn't something he needed to think about. "I'm not a stranger. Let me in." "Sir, please-" His patience snapped. "I said I'm-" "Mr. Xia." A nurse. For a moment, he calm down. "Mr. Xia, we've been trying to reach you." She said quickly. "Mrs. Xia is still in the ICU." "What happened?" "Car accident, head trauma. It's serious." The word serious didn't sit right. "Take me to her, please."

Imagine the room was too quiet, too still, too wrong. You were there, but not. The machines breathing for you, monitors blinking. And your hand, motionless. Caleb stopped just inside the doorway. And for a second, he couldn't move. Because this, this didn't match anything in his head. Not the way you llaughed a week ago. Not the way you kissed him goodbye. Not the way you told him to come back safe.

"...Hey." He said quietly. His voice felt small, out of place. He stepped closer anyway. Slow, careful. Like the moment might break if he moved too fast. "I'm back." He murmured. Like that mattered, like you could hear him. His hand found yours. Warm, thank God. His grip tightened, just slightly. Like that alone could anchor you here.

Imagine, not too long after that. Caleb was outside the room as the doctor talked, explained, used words that blurred together. Swelling. Observation. Not stable. "She's not stable yet." The doctor said. "We're monitoring her closely." "Will she wake up?" Caleb asked. A pause. "...We don't know." Caleb's jaw tightened. "And if she does?" "...There is a possibility of memory loss." He nodded. Because there wasn't anything else to do.

Imagine right after the doctor left, he pulled out his phone. Scrolled until he found the contact. Mom. He pressed call. It rang once, twice, then- "Hello?" Her voice was light, relaxed. On vacation. "It's Caleb." A pause, then. "Caleb? Why do you-" "There was an accident." Silence. Immediate. Heavy. "What do you mean accident?" "She-" He swallowed, forcing his voice steady. "She was in a car accident. Head injury. She's in the hospital right now." The line went quiet. "Is she okay?" Her voice came out smaller now. "She's alive." Not fine, not okay. Alive.

"...Caleb." "She's in ICU." He continued, like if he kept talking he wouldn't stop. "They're monitoring her. There's swlling. They don't know when she'll wake up." A sharp inhale could be heard on the other end. "...We're coming back." Your mother said immediately. "We'll book the earliest flight-" "No." The word came out too fast. Too firm. He closed his eyes briefly. "...No" he repeated, softer this time. "You don't have to." "What do you mean we don't have to? That's our daughter-" "I know."

Imagine the way his grip on the phone tightened. "I know." He said again, quieter. "But there's nothing you can do here right now. She's still under observation. They're taking care of her?" "...And you?" A pause. "I'm here." "That's not what I asked." He exhaled slowly. "I'm fine." A lie, a clean one. The kind that didn't crack on the surface. "...Caleb." She said gently. "Tell me the truth." His throat tightened. He leaned back against the wall, eyes fixed on your sleeping figure inside the room. "... I don't know what to do." He admitted.

Imagine the words came out quieter than he expected. "I got here and she was just-" He stopped, jaw tightening. "She was just lying there." Silence. "...She's supposed to be home." He said, voice rougher now. "She said she'd pick me up." "...Oh, sweetheart." He huffed a weak breath. Not quite a laugh. "...I left her for a week." He muttered. "I was gone for a week." "That's your job." "I should've been here." "You couldn't have know." "I should've been here." The words came out sharper this time. Like something he needed to believe, because if he had been. Maybe this wouldn't have happened.

"...Caleb." She said carefully. "This is not your fault." He didn't believe that. "Listen to me." She continued. "Is she alone right now?" "No." "Good." "She won't be." He added immediately. "I'm not leaving." Another pause. Softer this time. "...I know you won't." His grip loosened just slightly. "...We'll stay here." She said. "For now. But if anything changes- anything, you call me. Immediately." "I will." "And Caleb?" "... Yeah?" "Take care of yourself too." He let out a quiet breath. "...I will." "She trusts you." Your mother added. "We do too." And that, that landed heavy. That's why he couldn't fall apart, not now.

Imagine the days blurred and he stayed. Of course he stayed. Nontheless he went back to the airport, picked up his luggage. The one filled with things meant for you. And it felt heavier now. Useless. He brought it home anyway. He fed the cat. Change clothes. Then find Rainy longered by the door longer than usual. "She'll be back." Caleb muttered. Like saying it would make it true.

Imagine he went back to you. Everyday, everynight, sitting by your side. Talking because silence felt wrong. "...You'd hate this place." He murmured one evening. "Too quiet." Nothing. "...You'd say it smells weird." Still nothing. He exhaled softly. "...You'd still stay though." Because you always did. Everyday, he read to you. The stories you liked, the books you argued about. "You said this part didn't make sense." He muttered, turning a page. "Still doesn't." Your hand didn't move, but he kept going, because stopping felt like giving up.

Imagine a week passed, seven days, seven nights of holding it together, of not breaking, of not letting himself think too far. Then your fingers twitched. His head snapped up. "...Hey." your lashes fluttered, slow, heavy. "Hey," He said again, softer now. "Take your time." You inhaked sharply and then your eyes opened. And for one brief, fragile moment, everything felt like it might be okay.

Imagine the way he stood up, stepped closer. The way relief hits him so hard it almost hurt. "You're awake." He said, voice low, steady only because he forced it to be. Then your gaze moved, slow, unfocused at first then it landed at him. And something shifted. Not relief, not recognition. It was something else, something wrong. His chest tightened. "...Hey." he said again, quieter, almost to himself. He said it carefully, like approaching something fragile. And you stare at him. Long. Like you were trying to place. Like you were trying to understand why he was there. And then, as if his whole world turned upside down, "...Why are you here?"

Imagine Caleb feels it before he understands it. The way the words land. Light. Confused. Unassuming. Like you didn't just ask something that splits his world clean in half. And he doesn't answer right away. Not because he doesn't want to but because for a moment, his mind simply... Stalls.

because Imagine, you are awake. You're looking at him. You're talking. And somehow, somehow you're asking why he's here. "...What do you mean?" He manages even though his thoat feels tight, fry. He said it so carefully, measured. Every syllable chosen like it matters, because it does. It really, really does. But you just frown at him like he's the confusing one. "...I mean...Why are you here?" You repeat. "Did something happen at school?" School. The word hits hard. But he doesn't flinch. He doesn't react. But inside, something drops. Fast and cold. Because school, not works, not flights. Not... Life. Just school.

Imagine the way Caleb swallows, slow, controlled. "Do you know where you are?" He asks instead. Redirect, stabilize, don't rush. Don't overwhelm her, Caleb. He thought to himself as you glance around, slower this time. "Hospital." You say. "And do you remember how you got here?" You try. He sees it. The way your brows pull together. The way your eyes shift like you're reaching for something that isn't there. "No." The word comes out small, uncertain. "That's... Weird." And his hand moves before he thinks and settles on your arm. And it was warm, grounding. Wether if was for you, or for him. He doesn't know.

"Okay." He says quickly. He reins it in. "That's okay. You were in an accident. You hit your head. But you're safe now." "...An accident?" "Yeah." "What kind of accident?" There it is. The first hesitation. It was tuny, barely noticable. But to Caleb, it feels massive. Because he doesn't know how much is too much. He doesn't know where the line is. He doesn't know how fragile you are right now.

"...You hit your head." He repeats instead. "The doctor said you might have some memory loss. Just temporary" "...Memory loss?" "Yeah." Thats when you let our a small laugh of disbelief. "That's not funny." "I'm not joking." He hopes. God, he hopes.

Imagine the way your eyes stay on him, longer this time. Studying, searching. And he? Caleb feels sick. Because that look... That's not how you look at him. Not like this. Not like you're trying to figure our who he is to you.

"Okay." You say slowly. "Then let me test it." His chest tightens, he answered anyway. "Okay." Then you point at him. Simple, direct. "...Who are you?" The answer should be easy. It is easy. But it doesn't feel like it. Not anymore. "Caleb." "Right." You nod immediately. "My best friend. You hate cilantro and cry when someone for-" "I do not cry-" "You absolutely cry-" The automatic banter hits him like whiplash. Familiar. So familiar it almost hurts more than anything else. Because this... This is you. The you he knows. The you he loves. But it's incomplete. Stuck frozen in a version of your life where he wasn't yours.

"Okay." He exhales, a breath he didn't realize he was holding. "That's good." You frown. "Why wouldn't it be?" His smile falters. Tiny, quick. "...What's the last thing you remember?" He asks. Careful. Always careful. You think. "Highschool senior year. Finals week, I was nearly failing and asked you to help me" You said. "You were begging." He correct. "I asked politely." "You begged." "You sniffled, baby." Fuck that slipped. "That's not-" "Why do you look like that?" His stomach drops. "Like what?" "Like you're about to throw up."

Imagine, he almost laughs. Almost. Because that's.. too accurate. Too real. "Because that was years ago." He says instead. You blink. "...No? It wasn't." "It was." "You're messing with me." "I'm not.." You stare at him. Searching. And he feels it again. That sick, twisting feeling in his gut. Because you don't believe him. Not because you think he's lying but because your world doesn't allow it to be true. "...What year is it?" You asked and he tells you. And watches as your face changes. Colors draining, confusion turning into something heavier.

"...No." You said. "That's not possible." He could only hold you close. "No. No, no, no, that doesn't make sense. I would remember. I would-" Your voice flaters. "I would remember years." "I know." God, he knows. "I don't remember anything after high school." There it is. The confirmation. The line drawn. Clean and brutal. Everything after, gone. But he nods, once. Becaus if he reacts, if he lets anything slip, you'll see it. "...Anything?" He asks quietly. You shake your head. "No."

Imagine the way his stomach turns, hard. But he swallows it down, forces it down. Because you are looking at him. Because you'll notice. Because you always notice. "...Okay." he says. "That's okay." It doesn't feel okay. It feels like the ground just disappeared beneath him. But he says it anyway. "We'll figure it out." You laugh weakly. "Figure out what? My missing life?" "If we have to." You study him again. And Caleb braces because he knows. He knows what's coming. "...What else am I missing?" You ask.

Imagine there it is. The question he's been dreading. The one he can't answer fully. Not yet. Not like this. He looks at you, like really looks at you. At the confusion. The vulnerability. The way you're trying so hard to stay grounded in something that makes sense. And he chooses. Carefully.

"...We went to college," He started. "Skyhaven Academy." "...Okay, cool." "We graduated." You hummed. "We... Move in together." Your brows knit. "...We what?" "We live together now." "...Why?" "...Because we wanted to." "That doesn't shound like me." "It is." "No, it's not. I like my space." "You still do." "Then why would I move in with you?"

Imagine the way he hesitates. He knows it and he can't help it. Because the truth sitting on his tongue, 'Because you married me-' feels too big. Too heavy. Too much. "...Caleb." "Yeah?" "Why are you hesitating?" His jaw tightens. "...I'm trying not to overwhelm you." "Just say it." His stomach twist again. Worst this time. Because now, there's no avoiding it. "...We're dating." He says.

and Imagine, the word feels wrong the second it leaves his mouth. Too small, too distant, but safer. Safer than the truth. Then there was silence.

"...No." Immediate, firm, certain. It hits him like a punch. He keeps his face neutral as best as he can. "...Yeah." "No." You repeat, shaking your head. "That's not right." "It is." "That's reficulous." "Why?" "Because you're my best friend!" "And?" "And you don't date your best friend!" "...We did." "No, you think we did." "I know we did." "You're lying." "I'm not." "Caleb." You says, exasperated. "You were literally in love with your step sister." "I was not-" "You follow her around like a lost puppy!" "I was being overprotective." "You wrote her a poem!" "It was for family." "And now you expect me to believe I chose to date you?" "Yes."

Imagine the answer comes out before he can stop it. Too honest. Too raw. Because you did, you chose him. Again and again and again. But you're looking at him ike that choice is impossible. Like it doesn't exist in your world. You stare at him, long. And then you leann back. "Absolutely not." And something in him just... Drops. Not break, not shatter. Just... Falls, quietly. Like something giving up. And he nods, once. Because what else can he do?

"Okay." It was barely above whisper. But it is all he has because he can't force this. He can't argue you into loving him. Not when you don't even remember how. His stomach churns again. Worse. Hot. Sharp. He feels it climbing up his throat. Fuck- He swallows hard. Forces it down. Not now, not here. Not in front of you. "I'm going to call the doctor." He says. Careful again. Controlled like nothing just happened. Like his chest isn't caving on itself.

Imagine you nod, trusting easy because to you, this is normal. And so he steps back. Each step heavier than the last. And for a second, just a second. He thinks you might call him back. Say something, anything. But you don't. You just watch him go. Like he's exactly who you think he is. Just Caleb. Your best friend, nothing more. And Caleb, forces himself to turn, to work, to leave before the nausea in his throat, the tightness in his chest, and the weight of being forgotten finally wins.

Imagine the way the door clicks shit behind him and for a second, just for a second, Caleb stands there. Still, breathing in, out, slow, controlled. Like id he keeps it measured, keeps it steady, everything insdie him won't spill over. And it almost works, almost. He exhales, drag a hand down his face, then forces his legs to move. One step, then another, until he was down the hallway. He doesn't let himself look back, because if he does, if sees you again with that look in your eyes. He's not sure he'll make it three steps away.

"Excuse me." His voice comes out rougher than intended. A nurse turn, recognition flickers. "You're with the patient in 312, right?" "My-" He stops then adjust, "Yeah. She's awake." Immediate shift. "Oh- okay. I'll call the doctor." "She has-" He swallows. "She doesn't remember. Not after highschool. She thinks it's... Years ago." The nurse expression softens, turning clinical. "Retrograde amnesia." She murmurs. "That can happen with head trauma." Caleb nods. He already knew that. Hated that.

"...There's something else." He adds. The nurse pauses. "Yes?" He hesitates. Of course he doesn. Because even this feels like something he's taking from you, or hiding, or both. "If she asks." He starts slowly. "About us. About our relationship.." the nurse watches him, waiting. He forces the words out. "...Just say I'm her boyfriend." A beat. "...Sir?" "Just-" He exhales sharply, trying to keep his voice even. "Don't tell her we're married. Not yet." Concern flickers across the nurse face now. "Are you sure that's-" "She didn't even believe we were dating." He cuts in, quieter now. Not harsh, just.. tired. "If you tell her she's- we're married, it's going to overwhelm her. She's already struggling to process everything."

Imagine that part is true, it just isn't the whole truth. Because the whole truth is that he doesn't think he can watch your face if you rejected that too.

"...Alright. we'll follow your lead for now. But the doctor will want to discuss this with you." The nurse says after studying him for a moment longer. "That's fine." Caleb says. "Are you okay?" The question lands softer than everything else. And somehow, that makes it worse. Because he almost says yes. Almost. But the words doesn't come out. Instead, he just nods once, short, automatic. "I'm fine." He's not. They both kniw it. But neither of them push it. "...I'll get the doctor." She says gently. He nods again. And the moment she turns away, he moves, fast, too fast.

because Imagine now, now that he said it out loud, now that it's real. His body is catching up to everything he's been forcing down. So as the restroom door slams open. He barely makes it. Hands bracing against the sink, a sharp breath and then it hits. Hard, violently, uncontrolled. He grips on the edge as everything comes up, his entire body tensing with it, shoulders shaking as he tries, fails to keep quiet. Because even now, even like this, some part of him is thinking about you. Don't hear this. Don't see this. Don't know. And when it was over, he doesn't move. He just stays there, head hanging, breahting uneven.

"...Get it together." He mutters hoarsely. His voice sounds wrecked. He sounds wrecked. Eventually, he turns on the tap. Cold water spalshes on his face once, twice, again and again until his skin stings. Until his eyes stop burning as much. Until the tightness in his throat loosen just enough that he can swallow without it hurting. But it doesn't fix it.

Imagine, nothing fixes it. Because the problem isn't physical. It's the way you looked at him. Like he didn't belong there, like loving him wasn't even a possibility. His grip tightens on the sink again. "...She said no." He whispers. Not angry, not bitter. Just... Quietly broken. Because you didn't hesitate. Didn't falter. You just... Rejected it. Rejected him. And the worst part? You didn't even realize what you were rejecting. Eventually, he exhales shakily, presses his lips together. Because if he lets himself think about it any longer... He's going to fall apart completely.

"...Not now." He murmurs. "You don't get to do this now." Because you're in here. Because you're awake. Because you need him. Even if you don't remember why. He straightens slowly. Washes his face again. Fixes his hair and adjust his expression until it looks like something he recognizes. Something steady. Something you won't question. No red eyes, no shaking hands, no cracks. Just Caleb. Your best friend.

Imagine when he steps out, the doctor was already in your room. Talking, explaining. You're listening from the looks of it, brows slightly furrowed. Confused but alive. He stops just outside the door. He doesn't go in yet. Instead, he pull out his phone, finds the contact and presses call. It rings, once, twice. "Caleb?" Your mother. "She's awake." A sharp inhale on the other end. "Oh thank goodness- how is she? Is she okay? Can we talk to her-?" "She's okay." He says quickly. "She's awake and talking." "Thank goodness..." He leans against the hall and closes his eyes for just a second. "...She lost her memories." He adds and then there was silence. "...What do you mean?" "She remembers up to highschool." He says. "Nothing after that. Not college. Not... Anything." "...Oh." the words is soft and heavy at the same time.

"...Does she remember you?" He lets out a quiet breath. "Yeah." A pause. "But not like that." Your mother doesn't respond right away. She understands. Of course she does. "She thinks... We're just friends." He continues, voice quieter now. "Best friends." Another pause. "Caleb-" "There is something i need to ask." He cuts in gently because if he waits, if he hesitates. He won't be able to say it. "...If she ask you.." He says, steadying his voice. "About us, about our relationship..." "...Yes?" "...Just tell her we're dating." Silence, longer this time.

"...Caleb." "I know." He says quickly. "I know what it sounds like. But she's already overwhelmed. She didn't even believe we were dating. If we tell her we're married-" His voice falters, just slightly. He swallows. "For now," He finishes quietly. "Just... For now." Another pause, then. "Alright." His shoulder drop just a fraction. "Thank you."

Imagine he ends the call and stares at the door for a moment. Then finally, he steps inside. The doctors is still talking, explaning things. And this time it looks like you were half listening, distracted. And then your eyes shift, catches something. He follows your gaze. The mirror, mounted on the wall. His reflection, and yours. There you see him, and just like that, your expression change. Familiar, mischievous, easy. You stick out your tongue at him, quick and playful. Like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like nothing changed. Like everything is the same. And for a second, it feels like it is.

because Imagine that was you. That was so you. The same teasing, the same ease. The same you. And yet, it's not. Because the way you look at him. There was no weight behind it. No history, no quiet understanding that used to sit between moments like this. Just friendship. Light. Uncomplicated. Safe. And so Caleb huffs a quiet breath and almost laughs. His lips tug upward just slightly. And he lets it stay. Because even if it's not everything, even if it's not what you had. It's still you. And right now, that has to be enough.

[ⓒdark-night-hero] 2026° ko-fi?

: ang haba ampota. Hindi ko na napansin apaka haba pala, nung nag eedit na ko chaka ko lang napansin parang tanga lang. Anyways, I'm back in the PH whahaha