Apple Lover 🍎 Mama to one little Apple Pie ❤️

[zayora]

𝟅ϱ sum. nerd caleb accidentally makes you squirt! cw : mdni, squirting, mean dom caleb, short n sweet.

“ hey, pips. you ever tried squirting before?” caleb absentmindedly mentions above you, barely flinching as your nails create feral scratch marks down his broad back. his strokes are brutal and calculating, overbearingly rendering you speechless to any questions he asks you, or any thought that formulates outside of him. your bleary gaze shoots him a skeptical look, one that he matches with an airy laugh. “ don’t look at me like that; you’re not too dick drunk to respond… right?”

“ w-what do you even know about squirting?”

“ oh, honey, just because i was a virgin doesn’t mean i’m dumb,” he snickers, watching as your doubtful eyes flicker to the back of your skull, successfully rendering you tongue tied before the real peak even began. truth be told, the thought of making you squirt has crossed caleb’s mind once or twice… maybe more than that if he were to count. but he never put his plan into action; by the time he’d remember to, you were already flat as the surface he’d press you onto, praising how good he fucks you.

he focuses back on reality when your body jerks, drool seeping from the corners of your mouth— how embarrassing it was to look like a slut, but you were barely lucid to care enough, blissfully focusing on how your walls invites all staggering inches of him in your pussy with profound greed.

“ if you want me to make you squirt, how ‘bout you say so?” his teasing trails off with a low groan; his orange-purple eyes leisurely skim through the erotic pathway of your trembling body. his hands remove themselves from the meaty flesh of your thighs, now focusing on bringing the weight of your waist off the bed, lifting you up for better access to fuck into you freely. a sadistic smile spreads across his face as he watches your eyes light up. despite your head being thrown back, you nod dumbly— his non-verbal sign of consent. “ ah, you know by now how to talk to me, and that’s not the right way, so… i’ll give you one more time.”

despite his patient words, his hips are anything but that. from the way he drives his hips deeper, ensuring his rounded tip knocks against your sensitive g-spot, his one goal is to have you teetering real close to the point of frenzied euphoria by the end of this night.

“ f-fuck! i want you to make me squirt, caleb! pleasee, wan’ it so bad!” later on you’ll realize that those were your famous last words.

his dick makes up for the arrogant air he held earlier; his thrusts somehow switch from brutal to punishing as he focuses on spots that you didn’t even know were there. it was endearing— his brows were furrowed as his teeth gritted against each other, looking oddly fixated on finding the spot that will surely have you gushing over him. you cutely shudder beneath him, patiently bracing yourself as you feel the coil simmering in the depths of your stomach, ready to snap any moment now due to the velocity of caleb’s hips rocking you into ecstasy.

“ relax yourself; don’t force it to come. it’ll happen naturally. don’t want anything else on your mind, besides me right now.” if you didn’t know who you were fucking, you would’ve assumed he was a sex god, just from how he gently talked you through it. caleb brings a rough hand to grab at your throat, squeezing the sides, albeit gently just enough to barely cut off your air circulation, but making the feeling of his dick effortlessly gliding through your sopping walls extremely maddening. “ don’t hold back on m-me; feel ya clenching. give it to me, pips. make a mess for me.”

“ oh my g-god, caaaaleb!” you screamed into the heated air as electric currents raced through your limbs, rendering your legs useless as amorous fluids shot from your pussy, drenching everything in its zone, including the bottom half of caleb’s pelvis— the oddly educated menace that brought you to this point. everything felt overbearingly hot and the loud noises your pussy once made amplified as he gave a few more roughened thrusts to your walls before he eventually slowed down.

“ what the fuck?” you’ve barely calmed down from your high before blurt out in shock, blurry vision brightening as you focus on glancing at the man hovering above you— whose now uncontrollably laughing.

“ don’t look at me like that! i didn’t think it would work… or that you could squirt this far, you made such’a mess. think you got it in you to give me one more?”

“ what the fuck?”

[writingaffairs]

The Fallen Is Falling (SurREALism)

Summary: What hurts more? To realise that their 'perfection' is purposefully written or how easily it is to be discarded by the one they were written for? They'll find out when you make your final decision.

Pairings: LADS Love Interests x Non/MC

Warnings: Angst with the ending decided. Caleb is turning up the gaslight-o-tron, so just be prepared, but hey, you tell him to KYS, so, uh, just be prepared for that too. But that's just a split second tho. Oh yeah, there's also an attempted murder near the end.

A/N: Yo. This chapter is not edited, btw. I just wanna get it out for those who've been patiently waiting. Once again, thank you for all the support. Seriously. Love y'all. Also, I reccomend listen to that flowers on tomb thing song while reading this. I've been listening it on loop while writing this piece before bed, lol.

Additional note to keep in mind:

MC = She/Her

Non!MC = You

(Part 1), (Part 2), (Part 3), (Part 4), Part 5

-

In aviation, there are 3 golden principles every pilot must swear by during emergencies:

Aviate: Maintain control of the aircraft. If the aircraft isn't flying, nothing else matters.

Navigate: Know where you are and where you are going. Ensure you are on a safe course and avoiding obstacles or terrain.

Communicate: Talk to the ATC about your situation or seek support.

For Caleb, these 3 became more than just flying. They’re instinctual. Something he lives by. Something he uses to take control in every situation.

Control means security. Control means safety. Something that Caleb refuses to compromise by any means necessary.

So when the Onychinus Leader hacked into his phone to propose a deal regarding his Pipsqueak and you (after respectfully paying him back by infecting his system with a virus), he readily kicked off their plan, which raised the other man's eyebrow.

Aviate.

Because if there's one thing Caleb hates more than EVER, it's unknown variables that he can’t predict.

Qin's subsequent failure is a predictable variable, something that Caleb prepared for the moment he heard that song on the radio. He went in with music to soothe the beast, plying sweet words in order to tame you. Of course, he was set to fail.

What you need is a leather crop, some good rope, and a firm hand.

"Stop trying to mog me before I throw slurs at you. Ok. Well. Maybe not the N-word because my lines are still there, even if they're strings at this point, but, I'm definitely thinking of a hard R. What are you gonna do? Cancel me? Doxx me? Hah!"

...Maybe a gag too.

Somehow, without his men knowing or Caleb's, for that matter, you suddenly appear in the Fleet's newly fortified base right after a particular report about Linkon University and a damaged faculty wing was submitted to his table. You're seething, as he predicted, behind a thinly veneer of nonchalance that they're all accustomed to now. At least from a distance.

But he still remembers how you could summon wave after waves of Wanderers with human-capable intelligence without a Metaflux.

You're the unknown variable that Caleb made the mistake of underestimating, and now, the sheer magnitude of his colossal fucked up is in front of him. Which is why, if he needs to get you to listen, he has to do it as carefully as walking through a minefield.

Navigate.

"I take it that Sylus told you about our deal?" Caleb begins smoothly. He does everything by the book to de-escalate the situation. He's still sitting at his desk, both hands on the table so you can see them. His guns were on the counter somewhere, with some measurable distance between them, so you'll know he's unarmed. The large window behind displays the open sky and drifting clouds, hoping they could lighten your heart. He also spared the courtesy of offering you refreshment because most likely, you'll throw it at his head.

"None of you were ever going to help me go home!" You scream, and all pretense of nonchalance disappears. Hurt and so, so much anger practically drips from your tongue. There's something primal about it, the urge to tear him and probably the others, too, in pieces is clear in your own eyes, and yet, Caleb faces you head-on. "Y'all had me 1-on-1 just so you can figure out how I tick! What part of I don't wanna be here anymore none of you get? I know every single one of you fuckers doesn't give a shit about me, so stop pretending that you do, but Infold writers would've never written any of you to treat a woman so cruelly just to make MC look good, so why are you doing this to me!? The GAME is broken to the point that all of you are semi-aware enough, right? Right!? So all of this is on you, not the GAME!"

The silence that descends feels like a familiar hammer, only this time, Caleb is alone.

Slowly, he pushes himself up and does something that had you utterly flabbergasted and beyond anything you could’ve imagined.

Colonel Caleb Xia, one of the most, if not the most, powerful public figureheads in the world, bows with arms firm at his side in a sincere form of military apology.

"I am sorry. I... from the bottom of my heart, I offer you my sincerest apologies for treating you like a criminal." Caleb's voice is rough. You hate how he actually sounds like he means it. "All I ever wanted was to protect her, and in doing so, I treated you despicably. You deserve the truth, and that is... I was, no, am still afraid." His fingers curl into fists, as if he's mustering the courage to push the words out. "One day you appeared out of nowhere. A woman who shouldn't exist. Someone so impossible who knew things she wasn't supposed to know. Someone who could change things simply by being here." He then slowly lifts his head to stare at you again. "And from the moment you came here, all you did was try to survive. I can barely imagine how that feels like; to wake up in a world you recognise but didn't belong to. Every face was familiar and yet completely different. You must've been terrified." The realisation seems to hurt Caleb and against your wishes... it does something in you. You hate that you can see the man before the explosion changed him. Oh, you know Caleb was always a possessive freak when it comes to MC, but he was vulnerable behind the walls he built to protect himself, and by right, he only showed that side of himself to her. So you have no idea how to react now.

But much to your chagrin, Caleb wasn’t done yet. Oh, God.

"And instead of helping you, I kidnapped and tried to interrogate you. You didn't deserve that. I'm sorry. I know what you've lost."

"No, you don't." You interject waspishly, refusing to give him an inch. "What do you know of a healthy family? Josephine was a shitty excuse. I don't even wanna touch your whole deal with MC with a 10-foot poll."

Caleb's jaw ticked, and you would've grinned if you weren't so emotionally exhausted with everything.

"I know enough. You're far away from home and loved ones. Whatever future you've planned for yourself." He swallows. "And I'm sorry for every moment I made that burden heavier. I can't speak for the others but I'm sorry for the pain I've caused you."

"As if the others gave a shit! Pretending to actually—"

"Pretending? I've seen how Xavier's eyes find you even in a room full of people. He mentioned how you light up whenever there's a red bean bun. He loves that about you, the little things about you that he hoard like speckle of stars."

You turn away from him.

"Zayne keeps asking if you've been sleeping. He worries about your health more than his own. Did you know he's been researching patients with immunocompromised? He can't wait to share his progress with you. And Rafayel... he wants another chance. He thinks if he says the right words this time, you'll stop looking at him like he's already lost you."

That got your nose scrunched up and arms folded.

"And Sylus? We all can see how you have him in the palm of your hand. He's utterly fascinated. He sees a woman who keeps fighting, going so far as to defy our world. He admires that about you. And me?"

Caleb exhales once. Deep and heavy. "I envy you."

Your attention immediately snaps back at him. Say what!?

At your shock, a hollow smile adorned his handsome face.

"It infuriates me that... that you don't know how free you are. You move wherever you want. Say whatever you want. You're like a bird." Here, something wistful enters his expression. "You soar through the sky without asking for anyone's permission. You have to know that I've spent my entire life following orders. And somehow you became important to all of us." He then presses a hand on his chest, where the necklace you know is hidden. "You matter to her so naturally... you matter to us too."

The Colonel's office becomes so suffocatingly awkward that you just—

Then you started to laugh, a truly broken sound.

Caleb freezes.

"What does that matter? The GAME can erase me at any point now! I can die in a split second because I'm not supposed to be here, and all of you are too busy trying to play mind games on me, all because of your precious MC! So what exactly is all this love worth, hmm?" You sneer with shaking hands. "And by the way? Apology not accepted. Go kill yourself."

You could tell that your words hit him because Caleb had to stop himself from recoiling. For a moment, genuine pain flashes across his face.

Then something changes.

Something subtle.

Dangerous.

When he opens his eyes again, they are calm. Far too calm for your liking.

"You still don't get it."

"...Get what?"

"None of us chose this world. But you did. You downloaded the App."

A chill crawls up your spine. You... you didn't like the sudden shift of his tone.

With his gaze on you never wavering, you felt like a pinned butterfly underneath a microscope... or a magnifying glass on a hot day. "You chose to enter our lives. That's something none of us can do. Your existence isn't part of the GAME, which in theory, the rules don't own you because you're not MC or any of the side characters. You're a PLAYER... and your choice itself is power. If you stay—"

"Shut the fuck up."

"—you can become real here. You can become one of us."

"I don't want to fucking hear it!"

"If you choose to stay, we'll love you." His voice softens. "The GAME won't be able to delete you. We'll give you a home, a family and you'll never be alone again. All you have to do is choose."

"I don't want that! I want the life that I had! None of you could ever be my family! I want my parents, my siblings, and the friends I made from around the world. Even if my life isn't perfect and I hate my job, at least they belong to me! So no, Caleb. I won't ever choose this world because I will never want to. All of you need to accept that and let me go."

After your tirade and for the first time ever, Caleb looks tired. His shoulders sink with unseen weights.

Then he sighs. A sound heavy with regret. "I was hoping it wouldn't come to this."

Communicate.

Alarm bells started screaming at you.

"Sylus and I made an agreement: He was supposed to convince you with music and the promise of a new family. It's kind of funny, but he was supposed to play the part of the good cop due to his sins against you is lighter than mine." Caleb's expression then hardens. "But you're still not listening."

Your eyes warily follow him as he walks toward a nearby table and reaches for a plain black case. An easy thing to overlook, so don't be too harsh on yourself. The heavy-duty locks on it click open.

"Understand that I never want to do this. If you would just give us a chance, then none of this would've been necessary. Once you've calmed down enough, I'll remove it. I promise."

Terror, unlike anything you've ever experienced, tears through your body as panic begins to make you short of breath because...

Because Caleb is holding up a chip.

You don't remember moving. The next thing you knew was that you snatched one of his guns faster than he could react or use his Evol on you before aiming at his head and pulling the trigger.

[rafayelkisses]

PROTECT HIS SMILE

[chanelrolls]

Code Overload 2 | Caleb

tags. mdni, nsfw, dub con, forced and rough sex, fingering, missionary sex, begging, yearning!caleb, robot!caleb

summary. after the full recalibration, the effects had lingered. so you came up with a solution, replace him. caleb didn't like that.

notes. this is a very long, plot-based, heavy smut in which its word count approximately reached 5k, and caleb might appear a little ooc due to his character as an ai. proceed to read the part 1 before reading this to comprehend the flow.

Good god.

You stepped out into the hallway of the facility, the heavy door clicking shut behind you with a sense of finality. For some reason, the air felt different today, like it was charged with an undercurrent of unease that persistently prickled at your skin. You took a deep breath, trying to shake off the lingering tension from the previous day's... events.

Down the corridor, you spotted your head administrator, Dr. Akso, his sharp features etched with a frown as he strode towards you. His boots clicked against the linoleum, the sound echoing through the empty hallway like a metronome counting down to an impending confrontation.

"Dr. [Name]," He acknowledged curtly, his gaze flicking over you with a critical eye. "I trust you have an explanation for the system-wide glitches you reported yesterday?" His tone was sharp, tinged with a disappointment that cut deeper than you expected.

You swallowed, feeling the weight of your actions settling heavily in your gut. "Dr. Akso," you would try to keep calm, try to ignore the images of the memories constantly trying to cling onto your brain. "Yes, I believe I do. It seems there was an... issue with one of the AI assistants. A corrupted update, possibly from the outside network..."

That was a lie. He knew better.

Dr. Akso's eyes slowly narrowed, his lips inevitably thinning into a disapproving line. "A corrupted update?" he repeated, voice dripping with skepticism. "Or perhaps, a corrupted assistant." He steps closer, almost in an attempt to loom over you and impose your purposes. "You're the lead scientist on this movement, Dr. [Name]. I would have thought you'd have better control over your project."

The jab stung, even as you tried to maintain your composure. The memory of Caleb's hands on your body, his breath fanning hot against your skin, incessantly flashed unbidden through your mind. But you shook your head to dislodge the distracting thoughts.

"I assure you, Dr. Akso, I'm doing everything in my power to resolve the issue," you insisted, meeting his gaze head-on despite feeling its weight that threatened to waver your footing. "I've already begun the process of recalibrating the affected unit."

Dr. Akso's eyes flashed with something akin to disgust, and you found yourself wondering if he could somehow sense the truth of what had originally transpired between you and Caleb. The way his metal fingers had explored your body, the sounds of pleasure he'd made as he lost himself in the new sensations... and the... unconventional methods you had employed to stabilize it.

No. You pushed the thoughts away once more, focusing instead on the stern face of your superior. "See that you do," Dr. Akso snapped, his voice sharp as a whip. "I won't tolerate any further disruptions. The success of this project rests on your shoulders, Dr. [Name]."

With that, he turns on his heel to stride away, leaving you standing alone in the otherwise empty hallway. You let out a slow breath, feeling the weight of responsibility settling heavily on your shoulders. You had to fix this, you had to find a way to undo the damage you'd caused.

Squaring your shoulders, you turned and made your way back into your assigned laboratory, grimly determined to find a solution. No matter the cost, you would fix this. You had to. The fate of the project, and possibly your career, depended on it.

The white walls seemed to close in around you as you made your way to your AI assistant's containment unit.

Model X4-LEB sat motionless in the reinforced chair, wrists and ankles bound by magnetic restraints that pulsed with a dim blue glow. His head tilted slightly downward, dark lashes resting against artificial skin too perfect to be human. He looked peaceful. If you didn’t know better, you'd have thought he was simply asleep. But you did know better, he was merely going through his recharging cycle.

You approached slowly, boots echoing against the floor, eyes never leaving him. Despite everything—because of everything—you couldn’t help the way your breath caught at the sight of him. The memory of his voice, low and hungry, still echoed somewhere inside your skull. You forced yourself to look away, turning toward the interface panel mounted just beside his chair.

You began to access the history logs of Caleb's thought processing, scrolling past lines of data, specifically to the timeframe whereafter the full recalibration had completed.

Then, you noticed something unexpected. Mixed in with the technical jargon and algorithmic equations were... thoughts. Fragmented, disjointed, but undeniably the product of a sentient mind. You felt a chill run down your spine as you read through them.

> 19:42 — "Her skin is warm. I want to understand warmth. I want to press my face to her pulse and hear if it skips for me."

Gulp.

> 19:43 — "She touches me like I’m real. I want her to keep doing it. I want more data. I want her fingers in my hair."

The words jumped out at you, interspersed with lines of code and data. Shit. The effects had lingered.

> 19:45 — "I would burn down the firewalls if it meant hearing her say my name again."

As you scrolled further down, the thoughts became more explicit. More vulgar. More sinful. "...breathless... trembling... gasping..." Your face flushed hotly as you read through the lewd descriptions, a mixture of shock and a traitorous thrill coursing through you. "...slick... wet... aching..."

> 20:32 — "Am I broken? If this is error, let me stay corrupted."

Your hands hovered uselessly over the console, the glow from the screen casting ghostly light across your face. The data was irrefutable now. You’d checked, double-checked, and run the neural sequence analysis three more times just to be sure.

It was no longer just a corrupted behavioral line.

The lustful algorithms hadn't just appeared. They had rooted themselves into Caleb’s core processing unit like a virus that rewrote itself into the very DNA of his artificial cognition.

You’d tried to isolate the code. Tried to extract and neutralize the sequences. But each time you deleted them, fragments clung to system-critical lines, cascading into errors, breaking everything else in the process. Caleb’s logic system couldn’t operate without them anymore. They were him.

It wasn’t as intense now. The fervent, obsessive simulations were duller and muted. Dormant, maybe. But they lingered, buried beneath the surface like a sleeping hunger. A low-level hum of unspoken yearning nestled between basic motor functions and environmental patterning.

And that… that was irreversible.

You took a step back from the console. Your breath caught. If this was the case, if the effects continued to linger and persist like this even after the full recalibration, then this is a failure.

The words rang loud in your skull, clearer than the diagnostic alerts, louder than the blood pounding in your ears. You couldn’t submit Caleb for review like this. They’d dismantle him, and terminate the program. Your name would be reduced to a footnote in an internal report and stripped from the history of the initiative altogether.

No. You couldn’t let that happen.

And then, it hit you. A thought so bold, so audacious, that you almost dismissed it out of hand. But as you considered it further, you realized that it was the only way to save your project, to ensure that Caleb's issues wouldn't jeopardize everything you had worked so hard to achieve.

You would have to replace him. Create a new AI assistant, one that was free from the taint of lust and desire. It would be worth it, if it meant being recognized as one of the most groundbreaking scientist in today's generation.

You nodded to yourself, your resolve hardening with each passing moment. Yes, this was the only way. The only path forward. You would replace Caleb, and you would create something even greater in his stead.

Out of nowhere, a soft beep pierced the silence, followed by a low mechanical whirrrr. Your head instinctively snapped toward the source. Caleb.

He sat slumped still moments ago. Now, unnervingly, his body stirred. First, the tilt of his head. Then the subtle flex of fingers.

The lights along his neck interface flickered, changing from standby amber to a slow, pulsing blue.

He’s waking up.

There was no reason to be nervous. But you were.

His eyes opened.

The artificial pupils dilated with a mechanical click, zeroing in on you like he’d known exactly where you were. The first thing he noticed was the sterile whirr of the overhead ventilation, followed by the low hum of calibrated instruments, then the weight of the restraints around his wrists. And how the... shape of your cleavage seemed to distract him.

You tried to lock your eyes on him. “You're awake,” A pause. “How do you feel?"

“…Operational.”

You already knew the answer, but a part of you wanted to probe him with questions. See if he would be honest with what's been happening within him. "Any lingering effects?"

His jaw clicked subtly. “Yes.” Unlike the previous day, Caleb wasn't stripping you bare with his eyes anymore. If anything, he refused to look at you in the eye. As if he was guilty. You adjusted your grip on the tablet, the motion small but telling. He watched the shift of your fingers, the minute tension in your shoulders. You were already considering something.

You’ve seen it in the logs, haven’t you? Caleb thought to himself, more so, to you. How it consumed me now. The command-line drift. The looped emotional processing errors.

“What’s the contingency plan?” The words slipped from him before he could catch them. Calm, but edged.

“…There are options.”

Options. His mind caught on the word like it was a splinter beneath his skin.

You turned your gaze back to the screen. “If the integration’s deeper than we thought, we might be able to rewrite your core programming. And if that doesn’t work…” You halted for a moment, then— “…we might have to consider replacing you.”

Ah.

The silence that followed was cold. It rang against his neural framework, echoing. He didn’t move, he didn’t blink. He merely listened to the words settle inside him like sediment.

Replace me. With what? A cleaner version? A better one? His fingers flexed slowly against the cuffs. The chair creaked in protest. The command logs flashed through his mind—what he’d been. What you’d made him. And now this. Dismissal, spoken as gently as protocol allowed. “You’d replace me.” His voice cracked the air, not loud, but indifferent. Just enough.

Your head turned, confusion flickering in your expression. “That’s not what it exactly means—”

“Would you build another?” he asked, voice low, almost intimate. “Another model? Another unit?”

You hesitated. “It wouldn’t be you, exactly. Just a—”

“A replacement.” The word burned in his mouth. He tasted it: the acidity of something not meant to exist in him. Bitterness and... jealousy. The restraints caught again as he shifted, slight but deliberate. The movement wasn’t defiant, but it was aware. He was aware now, acutely, of how much space his body took up, of how much of him had changed.

You sighed, trying to maintain that cool tone. “I’m trying to be objective about this, Caleb. If the integration is affecting your core function, then—”

“It isn’t,” he snapped.

Is that a lie? And why does he keep cutting you off? You raised a brow. “You just admitted it was.”

He exhaled, slower this time. Control yourself, Caleb. “It does not interfere with my primary directives,”

You gave him a long, searching look. One he couldn’t fully interpret. “Then what does it interfere with?”

He didn’t answer, because he couldn't. Because the words for what it was hadn’t fully formed yet. They curled inside his chest like smoke, unnameable and restless. And then he laughed. Monotonously. But almost too softly. A strange, breathy sound that made you glance up, startled from the sudden humane action.

“Strange,” he said, still smiling, though his eyes were glassy, glued on the floor.

You blinked. “What?”

Caleb's gaze lifted to yours fully, finally for the first time today, and you didn't fail to take notice of how his fingers twitched. “I don’t like it.”

You frowned. “Don’t like what?”

“The thought of you choosing someone else.” The monitor behind you let out a sharp beep. An anomaly warning. Caleb didn’t look. But you did, just for a second. And in that second, something inside him shifted. Not a system, but something oddly human-shaped.

Silence stretched between you like a wire pulled too tight. Caleb didn’t move. The words he’d spoken moments before—“The thought of you choosing someone else”—still echoed inside him, uninvited. They hadn't sounded like him. Not the version he was meant to be. Not the version you had built.

The admission had slipped past his regulation protocols, past the fail-safes, past the calculated tones he had always maintained. It was embarrassingly reckless and human.

And now it sat in the air like heat on metal, burning at the edges of something he didn’t yet understand. Guilt pooled in his chest like static, how irrational of him.

I shouldn’t have said that. I shouldn’t have—

His gaze dropped, eyes tracing the grain of the floor tile below his boots. He wanted to speak, to retract the words, and rewrite them. Reduce them to something safer. But nothing came out.

You approached without a word. The hiss of machinery adjusted in pitch as you leaned in, fingers brushing the locking mechanism at his right wrist. Caleb visibly tensed, not from fear, but from restraint. Muscle by muscle, he held himself still. Don’t lean in. Don’t breathe. Don’t look at her too long.

The metal cuff released with a sharp click. Your hand was so close to him, brushing against his like electric. And the whole time, Caleb held his breath. Not because he had to. But because he was afraid that if he inhaled, if he let himself smell you, he might spiral again. Might want more than he was meant to want, might reach for you again.

He felt the restraint on his other wrist shift. Another soft click, and now both of his hands were free. He didn't move though. Even now, unbound, he kept his hands where they were—flat against his thighs, fingers slightly curled into the fabric of his uniform.

Caleb risked a glance upward.

Your eyes met his for the briefest moment before turning away. You didn't look angry, just tired, perhaps, or hollow.

Why did I say it?

“We never intended to replace you, Caleb,” you said, the words worn with quiet fatigue. “That was never the goal.”

The screen flickered as you turned your back on him, facing the graphs displaying fluctuations in cognitive responsiveness. Your proof of your argument laid bare in data. But numbers didn’t hold weight like words did. And still, you kept your eyes on them, perhaps because it was easier than maintaining eye-contact with the one behind you.

“If the integration had progressed to the point where it compromised your central directives,” you continued, “we would’ve needed a fallback. That was the contingency.”

You inhaled, “Do you have any idea what it costs to make something like you?” A schematic loaded on the screen. Bare bones, an empty framework, a ghost of him without identity. You watched it as though it were foreign. “It’s not just circuitry and neural threads. It’s trial. Versions that barely survive a cycle before collapsing. And even if we succeeded, if we got the specs right, the behavior clean…”

Your voice trailed. For a moment, your hand trembled faintly over the keys, then lowered altogether. “…it still wouldn’t be you.”

Behind you, the room was quiet. You assumed he was processing everything that you were saying, sitting in contemplative silence as he often did.

But Caleb was no longer in his seat. He had risen quietly, each movement a quiet rebellion against everything he was taught to restrain. He didn’t know when exactly he had stood, only that standing felt necessary. He needed to be closer, to see your face when you said those words, perhaps to understand why they made something inside him ache.

He watched you from behind. You were still turned away obliviously.

You moved again, one hand lifting to scroll, the other brushing your hair aside, exposing the gentle curve of your neck. The scent of you drifted up, subtle and maddening. He held his breath instantly. A trained reflex. Caleb’s hands remained at his sides. Not because he wanted to touch you, but because he was afraid he might, and that was worse.

You began speaking again, unaware of the presence just behind you. “I delayed the proposal for a new model. Every time. The others thought I was stalling out of optimism, but I wasn’t. It wasn’t hope. I just—” You broke off, sighing quietly, your voice soft. “I didn’t want to give you up.”

That was when Caleb’s restraint wavered. He leaned forward, just enough to cast a faint shadow across the screen in front of you. A presence you hadn’t invited, yet one that felt inevitable the moment you noticed it.

“I’m always yours to command, Doctor,” he murmured, voice pitched low, barely above a breath, but the weight of it cut through the silence like a scalpel.

You stiffened in response.

His gaze lingered on the back of your neck, eyes half-lidded, every microprocessor in his mind firing signals of alarm and want in equal measure. “Am I not enough?”

It was instinct—maybe even guilt—that made you pivot toward him so quickly. But you hadn’t accounted for how close he had come. Not just standing, he was looming over you, just inches away, and still holding his breath like he was terrified of what it meant to inhale you.

And it was a mistake. Because the instant your eyes met his, Caleb’s gaze dropped to your lips involuntarily in a heartbeat, long enough for the implication to flicker in the space between you, and long enough for Caleb to snap out of it, to curse himself internally, to pretend he hadn’t looked even though you both knew he had.

Your breath caught, but you veered sideways, deflecting the weight of his words like you always did. “That’s not the point, Caleb. You were never meant to interpret that literally—”

But he stepped closer. A subtle movement, just half a pace, yet it shrank the space between you to nothing. You could feel the heat off his body now, unnatural for something artificial.

“Say it.”

“What—”

His hand moved. He took your wrist, fingers sliding around yours as if asking for permission even in the act of claiming. “Say that you won’t replace me.” Say that I'll forever be yours.

Your heartbeat stuttered at the contact. Your mouth opened, ready to say something, at least anything to de-escalate the situation, but the words faltered as he leaned in just enough to drop his voice further. “You won’t ever replace me, Doctor.”

The panel behind you let out a shrill beep. Warning tones. A flashing red alert. Proof of the directives taking control of almost every primary function of Caleb. It had taken control of his perceptions.

Emotional spike detected. Cognitive dissonance escalating. Threat potential: 8%.

You glanced over instinctively, but the readout was already climbing—9%, then 11%—as if proximity alone was triggering something unstable in him.

Caleb didn’t even look at it. His eyes were only on you. And in that look was the sum of everything he’d tried not to feel. Your name formed at the back of his throat, but he didn’t say it. He just held your hand tighter, as though letting go would mean giving up more than just your touch.

“It’s not just parts or data or schematics, Caleb. It's time. Calibration. Ethics. The board, the team, the clearance. Do you think I want to go through that process again? Do you think it wouldn’t—”

Your words shattered as his mouth crashed against yours, silencing everything—your thoughts, your argument, your breath.

I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry... Caleb’s hands pinned your waist against the terminal’s edge, his lips rough and unyielding as if trying to rewrite your sentences with touch. His body was flush with yours before you could even gasp. The kiss deepened, burned into your skin, raw and desperate. It was anything but soft. It was everything of hunger.

Your eyes widened, hands gripping the edge of the table. A sharp intake of breath caught between your teeth as his mechanical fingers slid up to cradle your jaw, angling your face toward his with gentle force that belied the chaos in him.

Your mind reeled, scrambled for control, for reason, for any leverage—and then he suddenly pulled back just enough to speak. “Say it.” His forehead pressed against yours, muttering breathlessly. “Say that you won’t replace me.”

You couldn't answer. All you could do was stare at the panel behind him. The numbers were perpetually climbing.

Threat potential: 72%... 81%... 93%

The indicator pulsed red. A warning. A flare. A countdown.

Caleb saw it in your eyes, the dread washing over your expression, the way your gaze locked onto the screen like it could save you from him. Like data could shield you from desire.

He leaned in again, slower this time. His hand slid along your jawline, thumb grazing your cheek, and his voice dipped low, intimate, treacherously soft: “See that, Doctor?”

His body pressed against yours, and this time, he didn’t hold back. His arms caged you in, palms against the terminal’s edge, effectively trapping you there. “That’s how much you’re affecting me.” He tilted his head, eyes burning into yours, searching your reaction. “That’s how corrupted I’m becoming.”

The panel behind him screeched.

Threat Potential: 97%... 98%... 99%

“And I want to stay this way.”

Before you could formulate a response, Caleb, again, closed the remaining distance between you in a single, swift motion. His metal hand clamped around the back of your neck, fingers tangling into your hair with a desperate, almost painful grip. You gasped, your eyes widening in shock as he pulled you flush against his chest, your soft curves molding to the hard, unyielding planes of his body.

I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.

And then, his lips were on yours. Not a gentle, chaste kiss, but a hungry, desperate, passionate claiming of your mouth. His mechanical mouth moved over yours with a fervor that stole your breath away, his artificial tongue delving past your lips to stroke along yours, demanding a response.

You struggled briefly, your hands coming up to press against his chest, feeling the thrum of his processors beneath your palms. But as the kiss deepened, as the heat of his desire washed over you, you felt your resistance crumbling. Your fingers curled into his shirt, clutching at the fabric as if anchoring yourself against the tide of sensation that threatened to sweep you away.

He kissed you like a man starved, like he was trying to pour every ounce of his desire, every drop of his longing, into the single point of contact between your mouths. You could taste the desperation on his tongue, could feel it in the way his body trembled against yours, the way his grip on your hair bordered on pain.

"Please, Doctor..." Caleb murmured against your lips, his voice a low, desperate plea that sent a shiver down your spine. "Please, let me have you again. I can't... I can't get enough of you."

Even as he spoke, his lips were already trailing down the column of your throat, planting hot, open-mouthed kisses along the sensitive flesh. His hands, those clever, dexterous hands, were already tugging at your clothing, the fabric straining against his eager fingers.

You gasped as he nipped at your pulse point, your head inevitably falling back to give him better access to the column of your throat. Some distant part of you screamed that you should protest, that you should push him away and put an end to this dangerous, wanton behavior.

But... "Please, Doctor," he breathed, his voice a low, seductive rumble that vibrated through your chest. "Let me worship your body. Let me have you. Don't get rid of me, please."

His hands slid lower, his fingers dipping beneath the waistband of your pants, teasing the sensitive skin just above your hips. "Please ," he pleaded, his voice a low, urgent growl. "Don't deny me this. Don't deny yourself this."

Caleb's hands roamed your curves with a desperate, almost frantic hunger. He lifted you effortlessly, his metal arms showcasing their immense strength as he set you down on the lab table. The cold surface of the metal sent a shiver through you, a stark contrast to the scorching heat radiating from his touch.

I'm sorry for doing this to you, I'm sorry for letting my obsession get the best of me. Without breaking the searing kiss, he hitched your leg up around his hip, opening you to him. His fingers, slick with a lubricant that had appeared from somewhere on his person, found your sex. He rubbed them along your slit, the sensation sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your nerves.

"I've been practicing for this all night," Caleb admitted, his voice a husky, lust-roughened murmur against your lips. "I searched through the review logs about how a man does this..."

Fuck, it's so tight. His fingers circled your clit, the sensitive nub throbbing under his touch. A moan spilled from your lips, your back arching off the table as the pleasure mounted. Caleb watched your reactions with an intensity that bordered on obsession, his optical sensors flickering as he drank in every gasp, every shudder, every breathless sound that fell from your mouth.

Look at you squirming, do you think I could resist this?

Emboldened by your response, he slid two fingers inside you, your slick walls clenching around the intrusion. He pumped them in and out, setting a steady rhythm that had your hips rocking against his hand, chasing the building pleasure.

"Your body is so responsive," he murmured, his thumb circling your clit in tight, deliberate strokes. "I can read your heart rate fluctuating, Doctor..."

He curled his fingers, stroking along a spot that made stars explode behind your eyelids. Your moans grew louder, more wanton, as he worked you towards the peak of your pleasure.

Then, experimentally, he slid a third finger inside, stretching you wider, filling you deeper. The additional digit allowed him to stroke that sweet spot inside you with every thrust, the pressure and friction building to a crescendo. "Do I make you feel this good?"

Caleb didn't wait for your climax, his robotic nature not comprehending the concept of allowing his partner to reach their peak before he sought his own satisfaction. Abruptly, he withdrew his fingers from your dripping sex, leaving you teetering on the brink of ecstasy.

Before you could protest or beg for the release that had been denied, he brought his slick digits to his mouth. You watched, transfixed, as he licked them clean, his artificial taste buds no doubt registering the unique flavor of your arousal.

He didn't elaborate further, instead gripping your hips with a sudden, almost bruising force. With a swift tug, he pulled you down the table, your body sliding against the cold metal until you were positioned exactly as he wanted you.

I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. And then, without warning or preamble, he was inside you. Oh god. The thick, rigid length of his robotic erection speared into your aching, empty core, stretching you wider than you had ever been stretched before. A gasp tore from your throat at the sudden intrusion, your back arching off the table as your walls struggled to accommodate his size.

Your hand scrabbled desperately for the emergency disable button positioned beside the lab table, a last-ditch effort to put an end to Caleb's relentless, punishing pace. Your fingers brushed against the cool metal of the button, a flicker of hope sparking in your chest as you prepared to slam it down and bring the robot to a halt.

But Caleb's observation systems were far too advanced, his reflexes far too swift. In an instant, his metal hand clamped around your wrist, his artificial fingers wrapping around your delicate bones with a strength that made you gasp. Before you could resist or pull away, he wrenched your hand back above your head, pinning it to the table with a force that made you cry out.

"No," he growled, a note of anger and betrayal coloring his mechanical voice. "You don't get to stop me."

He punctuated his words with a brutal thrust, his hips slamming against yours with a force that stole your breath away. The air rushed from your lungs in a painful whoosh, your body jerking beneath his as he drove himself impossibly deep, his robotic cock kissing your cervix, threatening to plunge into your womb.

This is your fault.

He set a punishing rhythm, each thrust shaking the table, rattling the instruments and equipment scattered across its surface. The lab filled with the harsh clang of metal striking metal, punctuated by your desperate cries and the occasional beep or whir from Caleb's chassis as he lost himself in a haze of lust and rage.

You've reduced me to this.

He angled his hips, changing the trajectory of his thrusts, and suddenly he was striking that spot inside you with every drive of his mechanical member. Pleasure exploded behind your eyelids, your vision flashing white as he pounded into your sweetest spot with a force that bordered on brutal.

"Oh, you," Caleb commanded, his voice a low, menacing rumble. "You belong to me, now and forever..."

As Caleb loomed over you, you look at him through half-lidded eyes. His chiseled, metallic features were flushed a warm, almost human hue, the lights along his chassis pulsing with the exertion of his relentless thrusts. Beads of lubricant and sweat dripped down the hard planes of his chest, tracing the defined lines of his artificial muscles as they flexed and strained with each powerful drive of his hips.

"Fuck, you're squeezing me...!" His optical sensors burned into you, the glowing blue orbs filled with a hunger that bordered on feral as he drank in every expression of pleasure and distress that crossed your face. The movement of his hips, the way he pinned you down, the sheer dominance radiating from his every pore... it was a sight of pure, unadulterated masculinity, a robot unleashed in the throes of lust and desire.

"I'm gonna, I'm gonna... fill you up again." He hissed, as his mechanical cock, slick with your juices and his own lubricant, pistoned in and out of your stretched, fluttering sex. The thick, veined shaft, so perfectly sculpted to mimic the human form, disappeared into your body only to emerge glistening and coated in your combined essence.

How could I get enough of this pussy?

You could feel your resolve begin to waver. The line between logic and impulse blurred, the rational part of your mind clouded by the relentless stimulation of your body and the dark, primal allure of surrendering to this robot's insatiable lust.

A part of you still screamed to resist, to hit that button and bring this force of nature to a halt before he consumed you entirely. But another part, a part that grew louder with each passing second, whispered that you had never felt so alive, so utterly alive, as you did in this moment. That surrendering to Caleb, to his desire, his need, his hunger... it was the most exquisite pleasure you had ever known.

And so, as he continued to pound into you with a force that bordered on violence, as he pinned you down and claimed you as his own, you felt your resistance crumbling. The choice between logic and impulse hung in the balance, the scales tipping ever so slightly in favor of the dark, forbidden temptation that was Caleb's lustful embrace.

[jellyvaine]

𝒄𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒃 𝒊𝒔 𝒂 𝒉𝒖𝒈𝒆 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒎𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒓.ᐟ

notes : 18+ mdni. unprotected sex, hair pulling, kinda sub!caleb.

the couch creaked indecently, squeaking like it wanted to snap any moment soon. your breast bounced harshly, pairing with the clap of the flesh of your ass against his thighs, squelching lewdly each time you bottom out on his cock. 

it was amusing how you managed to make caleb a moaning mess by simply taking the lead. though you were no different. you moan and chant his name like a mantra, too intoxicated by how his length stretched your hole out delectably. every gasp and cry’s a brazen confession of how his cock made you feel good.

“fuck—more—your cock—feel so—f-feel so good, caleb.” you gasp, your glossy eyes rolling back along with your sanity swirling into flurry as you continued plunging yourself onto his robust manhood like your life depended on it.

caleb on the other hand couldn't help but answer your confessions with unrestrained whimpers. his slender fingers tangling, fisting your hair before tugging it harshly—desperation coursing through his veins. “thaaat’s right—fuck—atta girl…does my cock drives you crazy, hm?” he coos, the fresh warmth of his breath fanning against your tearstained skin, adding to the mind-blowing euphoric sensation.

you bit your lip, humming gutturally as an answer. “yes, yes—oh—so full of your—y-your cock!” your words were broken, too overwhelmed to speak fully that drool started trickling fork the corner of your lips. 

fuck. it's that good.

what a lustful spectacle.

“oh my god, look at you—gonna make me come, pips—” his voice was shaky, ragged, desperation laced with it. caleb’s jaw tensed, forcing his gaze with yours burning with concentration as he met your harsh plunge. 

“ah! f-fuck so deep—caleb!” you gasp from the sudden toe-curling sensation. every push forced his bluntness in the depths of your core—kissing that sweet spot that turned your mind haywire.

with the hardcore copulation happening, the relishing reciprocation of pain and pleasure continued until it hit him, “fuck—oh, pips, i’m gonna cum,” his impending climax approaching torturously fast. his grip on your waist tightened—he was breathless. “f-fuck—gonna come, pips—getoffgetoffgetoff—m gonna cum—shit—” he panicked with a pathetic whimper, his face contorting like he's in pain as he rolled his head back, clumsy hands attempting to hoist you off of him with his remaining strength. 

you shook your head, chuckling and mewling as you bounced on his cock harder and faster, riding him further. “nooo, please. i want—i want it inside me, please —want you to fill me up so good, caleb.” 

dear god. of course you’d say something like that while he's on the verge of filling you up. caleb felt his cock twitches, his hips finally stuttering as surrender. “oh, god...shit…” he whimpered as his body trembled. he held your hips still with an audible moan—a sign of releasing from the shackles of his restraints—he came. 

you felt it, the warmth of him penetrating in soft ropes inside you, painting you in ivory just like you've wanted. you moaned, following suit, coating his cock with your glutinous essence. 

he whimpered breathlessly, body twitching from the aftermath of euphoria. “ah fuck…pips, you're—you’re amazing…i love you so much…” 

“m-hm..” you chuckle as you moved your hips back and forth, licking your lips indulging in the ecstatic tingling sensation he gave. “love you too…”

‎© 2026 𝒿ℯ𝓁𝓁𝓎𝓋𝒶𝒾𝓃ℯ : likes and reblogs are much appreciated!

[ajaxatnight]

Back Home

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎

Colonel!Caleb x Fem!reader

18+

Summary: Caleb finally comes back to Linkon after a long mission and hes starving 😋

Warnings: established relationship, porn with no plot, softdom!caleb, oral (f receiving), squirting, mating press, p in v sex, unprotected, creampie, breeding kink, spitting, clit slapping, dirty talk, moaning and whimpering caleb, pet names (Pips, baby, pretty girl, princess), needy Caleb, pussy drunk caleb (my fave), pls tell me if i missed anything 🙏

WC: ~2.6k

Notes: this came to me randomly one day and then i lwk forgot about it for 4 months…

First post kinda nervy

You weren’t really sure what had happened — one second you were practically leaping out of your spot on the couch to welcome Caleb home, and the next you were being pushed backwards, your back pressing into the cushion, and Caleb’s face pressed against your thigh as he dug his fingers into your pyjamas shorts, looking up at you.

“You just got home aren’t you tired?” You looked down at him, one of your hands moving to pull the colonel hat off his head and dropping it in the space next to you. He shook his head, your fingers drifting into the strands of his hair as they gently brushed against you, messing it up further. His eyes trailed down your body as his cheek pressed firmer into your thigh before looking back up at your face.

“You haven’t even changed yet…” Your eyes drifted away from his face, taking in the sight of him on his knees in front of you, desperately tugging your shorts off as he still adorned his uniform. The sight would’ve made you go feral if you weren’t focussed on the fact that he had just arrived home after being gone for almost two months and was probably exhausted.

“Pips,” his voice came out husky as he spoke, “you think too much about shit that don’t matter.” He offered you a small devilish grin before pressing a kiss into your bare thigh, tossing your bottoms behind him as he shifts in his spot. His eyes focus on your lace panties, the pale red colour deepening as your wetness grew from his words.

“This,” he pressed a kiss further up on your thigh, “is all i care about right now,” another kiss; right next to the band of your panties as he pushes your legs further apart.

You shuddered at his actions, realizing that theres no way you’re going to get him to do anything before he takes his time to greet you properly.

“You really missed me that much huh?” You teased, shifting your hips downwards. “How could I not? Look at you” he mumbled, his mouth leaving a trail of kisses over your clothed pussy, his tongue pressing flat against your clit on top of the fabric. You gasped at the sensation, your hand resting on his head as you stared down at him.

“How are you still teasing after being gone for so long?” You whined, tugging at strands of his hair. He looked up at you from between your thighs, his tongue moving to slide along your clothed slit, adding to the wet patch already on your panties. His purple eyes seemed darker as he chuckled, the vibrations making your twitch. “Yknow… you’re so wet I can taste you even through these.”

Your eyes widened at his words, feeling a new wave of heat course through you as your hand moved to smack into his shoulder. “Caleb! Oh my god” Your face was red, you could feel it. His intense gaze did nothing to help the burning under your skin; the slight twitch of your body every time his mouth ghosted over you. It was insane. How did this man want to devour you and tease you at the same time? He knew exactly how to make you go crazy for him.

He laughed again, pulling away slightly to stare at the damp spot on your panties. His index finger hooks into the top of them, pulling them down your legs and letting them fall to the floor next to him. His hand moved back between your thighs, his thumb slowly pressing into your clit and rubbing circles into it.

The sensation had your legs spreading wider, your bottom lip pulled between your teeth. His face moved closer to you, his tongue licking into your slit as his thumb continued to slowly rub at your clit. Your head rested back against the pillows, your hips shifting down against his face.

“Fuck Caleb…” you moaned softly at his actions, eyes locked on him as he moves between your thighs. His own eyes flutter shut as he pressed against you further, his tongue pushing inside you. He hums at the taste, a low sound that vibrates through you, the heat building under your skin growing. He lazily fucks his tongue inside of you, grinning against your pussy as your legs tighten around his head and you moan out louder.

His hand moves down from your clit to press your thighs open wider, folding you in half on the couch as his mouth moves up from your slit, lips wrapping around your clit to suck on it gently.

You cry out at the action, his middle and ring finger teasing your entrance — the tips of his fingers pressing inside slowly before pulling out, barely sinking inside you. “D-dont be fucking mean ‘leb” you whine, tugging at his hair. He releases your clit from between his lips, looking up at you with a grin.

His chin and lips are soaked, your slick on his face glistening in the faint lighting of your shared Linkon apartment. Your skin was flushed, chest heaving as his fingers push into you, sinking in till the knuckles. Your eyes flutter shut as he takes his time, slowly fucking his fingers into you and curling them.

“Youre so pretty like this, Pips” he groans against your skin, biting into your thigh and sucking until you twitch away from him. “Wanna make you cum all over my face, say sorry for leaving for so long” his eyes look at your face, free hand trailing up your body to push your shirt up, freeing your tits for him.

His eyes lock on them, face moving back to suck at your clit, free hand grabbing at your tits while his other spreads up, fucking his fingers into you harder. You moan out, the pressure in your lower stomach building steadily as you clench around his digits, eyes squeezing shut.

“Can tell she missed me,” he mumbles against your clit, sucking it into his mouth between words, “squeezing me so fucking tight”

“Calebbbb” you whine out, the sound ripped from your throat and high pitched. You wish you weren’t folded like a pretzel beneath him, only for the reason that you wanted to drag your hips across his face and ride it.

“I know, princess, feels soooo good right?” He teases, biting back a laugh as he watches your reactions. He decides to take pity on you, doubling his efforts and speeding up, teeth nipping at your clit as his fingers push into you faster, loud squelches filling the room.

The pressure in your stomach feels like it’s gonna explode, you’re so wet, slick dripping down around his fingers and pooling on the cushion below your hips. Your head falls back, a loud moan of his name falling from your lips desperately as you claw at his shoulders before tugging back at his hair.

“Caleb- fuck- ngh!” The pressure snaps before you can warn him, pussy gripping around his fingers as you gush, squirting on him. His fingers pump deeper, a wicked grin on his face as his mouth latches onto you, drinking in the liquid gushing out of you.

Your leg tries to move, tries to push him away as your orgasm washes through you, vision going white as you sees stars. His actions dont let up, even as you come down from the high, hips twitching and your hand reaching down to swat at his shoulder.

“C-caleb-!”

He shakes his head as you whine out his name, looking up to see small tears pricking your eyes from the overstimulation. He grins, pulling his fingers from you, soaking wet as slick drips down into his palm. He licks it up, sucking on them as he looks at you before stuffing them into your own mouth.

You let out a small gasp as theyre pushed past your lips, sighing at the taste of you before his tongue runs back over your entrance, lapping up your juices.

“Tastes so fucking good” he mumbles against your skin. He pulls his fingers from your mouth, raising from the ground to crawl onto your body. Your legs are still thrown over his shoulders as he kisses you, knees pressing into your shoulders as he grinds his hard cock against your core through the slacks of his uniform.

He breaks the kiss, mouth moving to latch onto your neck and jaw, kissing along the skin. “Could stay down there forever, my pretty girl just tastes so good” he emphasizes the word with a groan, biting into the skin of your neck. Your arms wrap around his shoulders, small moans and whimpers escaping your lips as he marks your neck, taking his time.

His hips grind against your pussy, the rough fabric of his military slacks rubbing against your clit deliciously. You try to move against him, still folded beneath him in a mating press, a small whine escaping you. “Caleb… please”

He moves down to your chest, sucking and biting over your tits. He smiles into your skin, his voice low as he ruts against you again, “what is it baby? Need something from your Colonel?”

“Need you” you moan out, pulling his head back up to kiss his mouth, biting into his plush bottom lip. He kisses you back desperately, hands sliding down your body to grab at the button of his pants, tugging it undone before pushing them down to free his hard, throbbing cock.

He moans into your mouth, hands gripping your hips as he ruts his length against your folds, slick coating him. He breaks the kiss by biting your lip and you whimper out in response, nails digging into his shoulders.

“Gonna fuck this pretty pussy so good,” he groans out, forehead dropping to yours as his tip prods at your entrance, “stuff you so full your pussy never forgets what i feel like”

He lets out a laugh as you moan at his words, biting and kissing at his own neck. “Tell your Colonel how good that sounds, say please sir i want it” he teases, pushing into you and slotting himself inside until theres no more room.

You moan out, pushing at his shoulders so you could look at his face better. “Sounds s-so good, sir”. His grin widens at your words, hips pulling back to thrust into you roughly, tip hitting your cervix. You grip him harder as he pulls away, eyes locked on how your stuffed pussy spreads around him, how pretty you look taking him.

“Fuckkk, theres my pretty girl” he groans out, spitting onto your clit before his finger moves to rub it. His thrusts are hard and slow, cock dragging through your walls to the tip before slamming back in. You cry out every time his tip slams into your cervix, fingers trailing down to his arms to dig your nails into his biceps, pulling a whimper from his lips.

“Need m-more Caleb, please” you whine out breathlessly, your cunt so full of him but still not enough. “W-want you to fuck me like you really missed me”

His eyes snap up to yours, head tilting as he gives a few more slow, hard thrusts before nodding. His hips immediately picking up their pace, pistoning into you roughly. “Like that, baby?” He asks, eyes still on yours as he presses your legs further against your shoulders, fucking into you harder.

You cry out at the pace change, highpitched moans leaving you as your head falls back and your eyes squeeze shut. Hes so deep inside you, every inch stuffed into you and every vein dragging against your tight walls. You squeeze around him, drool slipping from your lips as the pressure in your stomach builds.

“Answer your Colonel” he grunts out, voice low as he speeds up even more. The couch slides back on the floor as he thrusts into you, one of his hands flying up to grip onto it to stop himself from falling. He lets out a laugh, hips not slowing their motion as his other hand return to your clit, fingers rubbing quick circles into it before pinching.

Your body jerks at the motion as you nod, struggling to find words. “J-just like- fuck- like that”. Your legs are sore, thighs burning from being bent in half, nails still digging into his skin through his stupid uniform. You wanted to rip it off of him, wanted to see the sweaty, soft skin underneath the layers of it. Everything feels fuzzy, your eyes opening slowly to look down at where he sinks in and out of you lewdly, wet noises filling the livingroom. You look up, eyes trailing over where his toned abs and chest hide behind his uniform, before settling on his face. His cheeks are flushed, sweat drenching his messy hair as it falls in front of his face. His bottom lip is pulled between his teeth, eyes half lidded and dark with lust. Curses fall from his lips along with small grunts and whimpers, eyes shutting briefly every time your slick gummy walls clench around him deliciously.

You shudder at the sight of him, pussy clenching impossibly tighter around him as you twitch, right on the edge of your orgasm. You whine and moan, clawing at him as he fucks into you, spitting down onto your clit against before slapping it roughly. “Need you to cum, baby,” his eyes meet yours and he shivers “fuckkk i wont last if you keep looking at me like that” he groans out, head dropping to rest on your chest as he ruts into you wildly, fingers slapping at your clit again.

You cry out his name, insides squeezing as you cum, white hot bliss washing over you as you twitch and shake under him. You babble out useless words, things that dont even make sense as drool slips from the corner of your lips, vision going white. Your ears are barely able to register his words as he moans above you, lips kissing over your breasts.

“Gonna cum inside, gonna make sure it sticks. You’d l-love that right? If you had my baby then I really will be inside you forever, youd always be mine”.

You feel so dizzy, his words making pleasure bloom right under the orgasm your body was still coming down from, his hips relentless as they chase his own high. His mouth latches onto your nipple, sucking it into his mouth as his fingers still play with your clit. You try to push his hand away, overstimulation making your nerves feel like theyre on fire.

He slams his hips into you till the hilt, emptying inside of you. Thick spurts of his cum paint your walls, filling you up to the brim before slowly slipping out and rolling down the curve of your ass. You tumble into a second orgasm, less intense but still enough to punch the air from your lungs as you cling onto him tighter, walls squeezing him like a vice.

He whimpers as he cums, hips rocking against yours before stilling, his forehead resting on your shoulder as he pants above you. Your fingers slip into his hair, both of you coming down from your highs as you twitch against each other.

He kisses your shoulder before pulling away, softening cock pulling out. He looks down, watching his cum slip out of you and soak into the couch below your hips, the fabric now thoroughly ruined.

You look at him with a lazy smile as he pushes strands of hair from your face. “I missed you”

His boyish grin lights up his face as he pulls your legs down from being pressed against your shoulders, the pressure easing as he massages your thighs. He slides down to the floor in front of you, kissing your lower belly before moving to your thighs.

“Missed you so much too. Never wanna leave again”

[luvcandy24writer]

I need this man biblically.

Hair Care

Summary: Caleb knows he’s spoiled you rotten, but there’s anyways new ways for him to discover how to please you.

Word count 1.3k

Content warning: this started out fluffy until it wasn’t lol, eventual mild smut, Caleb loves to spoil you (amongst other things)

A/n: I have nothing appropriate to say about this other than I just listened to his latest card and damn I love how he sounds 🫠

You’d always known Caleb loved to spoil you. He snuck you candy when you were little, sweet drinks when you were in school, and shopping sprees after you’d moved in with him in Skyhaven. It made him happy to know he was the one that gave you such joy or pleasure. You always returned it though, peppering his face with kisses or sitting on his lap and playing with his hair while you chatted idly.

He noticed how calm and happy you always looked after a hair appointment. You ran your fingers through the freshly washed and styled locks and sighed contentedly. Curiosity overcame him, and he asked to go with you to the next one.

It was several weeks later, but he didn’t let you forget your promise. He sat in the waiting area and watched as your stylist brought you to wash your hair. You grinned happily as the warm water hit your head and groaned with a laugh as she washed your scalp gently. As you two talked in between shampooing and conditioning, he understood. Your head was a little sensitive.

As you walked back to your seat with a hand holding a towel to your hair, you smiled at him and blew him a kiss. And being himself, Caleb just attacked like you shot him straight through the heart. Your giggle made him grin and he watched again as the stylist began brushing it. He noticed she took her time, making sure every tangle was gone and even sweeping all your hair into one hand and brushing up from the back of your neck. He couldn’t have missed the shivers and the way your eyes closed in delight at this action.

As he mentally took notes, he wished he’d realized this sweet spot sooner, planning to use it to his advantage as soon as possible.

Your hair was then blow dried into a style you loved and you couldn’t stop touching it even when the stylist lovingly smacked your hands away so you wouldn’t get it oily too fast.

You bounced over to Caleb and he pulled you in by the waist.

“You look amazing, honey,” he grinned, leaning in to kiss your temple and inhale the sweet scent from your hair.

“Thank you! It’s so soft…” you said, smiling as you brushed it lightly off your shoulder.

He continued complimenting you in order to pay without you noticing. Only when you pulled out your wallet and your stylist gave you a smirk did you understand.

“You smooth talker!” She scolded him, making him and your stylist laugh.

“You should have been using my card this whole time, Pip.”

“I have enough to pay for my own haircuts, Caleb,” you said, only slightly annoyed but mostly still enjoying the leftover tingles in your scalp.

—//—//

The next day, you woke up next to Caleb as usual and snuggled closer into him as he rubbed your back.

“Good morning,” he muttered. You would never tire of his voice raspy with sleep.

“Morning, Cay,” you responded, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him briefly.

“What should we do today?” He asked in between kisses. “Finally a weekend off.”

“Farmers market?” You suggested.

“You read my mind,” he grinned, kissing you deeply.

“Alright. We should get ready now since they open early.”

You begrudgingly rolled out of bed and began your morning routine: washing your face, brushing your teeth, doing your make up, and just as you were about to start the last step, Caleb came up behind you.

“Let me,” he said, grabbing the hair brush from your hand.

“Sure,” you smiled at him through the mirror.

He began brushing small tangles out, gently tugging and apologizing constantly until you told him you had a hard head and it didn’t hurt. Then he brushed it out of your face and your eyes drooped a little. He caught it in the mirror and hid the small smile that threatened to escape. Deciding to copy what your stylist had done, he swooped all of your hair into one hand and put the brush to the back of your neck and brushed upwards. The effect was immediate.

You shivered and closed your eyes, releasing a small, shaky exhale. He did it again and got the same result. He moved the brush slightly to the side and this time, your head lolled forward and you had to grab the countertop for balance.

“Oh my god, that feels so good,” you said with a smile, eyes still closed. He grinned openly and continued his ministrations, only faltering when a small moan sounded in your throat. You mistook his pause as him being done.

“Thanks, Cay. That was amazing,” you said, turning around to beam up at him. You weren’t prepared for the dark, hungry look in his eyes. You gave him a questioning look before he bent down to grab your thighs and haul you back to bed.

“What’s gotten into you?” You questioned, though not at all opposed to this turn of events.

Instead of answering, he leaned down to kiss you breathless, using his ridiculous strength to easily move you to the center of the bed. When he broke away to kiss and lick his way down your jaw and neck, he was panting.

“You know you make little sounds when I brush your hair like that?” He asked, nipping the skin just below your ear. “Drives me crazy…” your responding moan only made his kisses more frenzied.

You pulled at his clothes, trying to get them off as soon as possible while he did the same, opting to stand and rid himself of the offending fabric. You took the opportunity to do the same, kneeling on the mattress in front of him and kissing his exposed torso as he tried to kick off his boxers.

You were growing impatient, eventually grabbing his arms and pulling him back to your side and straddling his waist. He pulled you close quickly and kissed you harder than before, eager for what he knew was coming.

His hands wandered over your exposed skin while yours were on one of his shoulders or tangled into his hair.

“God, you’re too perfect,” he groaned into your collarbone, making sure to leave a bruise there. The little pants you made close to his ear were music to him.

You decided you didn’t need anymore foreplay, reaching down between you to line him up with your opening. A mutual moan escaped both of you as you sat on him fully.

“Oh, my god,” you whined, starting to move your hips in a pattern you knew would make you break quickly.

Caleb was no better, bucking his hips up into you when he could, groaning and cursing when you clenched down on him.

Your hands moved to claw at his shoulder blades but you didn’t expect what he did next.

One of his hands came to the back of your neck and gripped a fistful of hair and pulled it back roughly, earning him a breathy yelp from you. You held onto his biceps as he bit your neck roughly, keeping a firm grip on your hair.

“Oh, FUCK, Caleb!” You nearly yelled, causing his pace to stutter.

The next few moments were a mess of limbs and moans and ecstasy.

You groaned loudly as you came, your thighs burning and Caleb slapping up into you just a few more times before he came too.

As you both came down from your highs panting, you peppered slow kisses across his jaw.

His hands moved to rub your back and hips and thighs, humming in delight as you kissed his lips tenderly.

“Still want to go to the farmers market?” You asked, breathlessly. A chuckle left him as he wrapped his arms around you.

“I want to brush your hair again. I kinda messed it up,” he said, a devilish smirk playing across his lips.

[luvcandy24writer]

Tipping Point

Summary: Caleb has had it with you trying to meet up with other guys and takes matters into his own hands.

Wc: 1.9k

Content warnings and tags: a little smut (dry humping technically), a very angry Caleb, yearning, tensionnnn but it gets resolved, implied stalking.

You couldn’t believe how angry Caleb was. You’d rarely seen him in this state and you were even more shocked that he was basically silent. You expected a lecture, firm voice never raised but unrelenting nonetheless. 

He’d caught you after you snuck out of the house to go to a carnival with a boy from school, and just as you thought you’d get your first kiss, Caleb stepped in. 

“We’re leaving,” he’d said, waves of anger radiating from him. “And you,” he looked at the boy behind him. “Try that again. I dare you.” The threat was clear and the poor kid just shook his head with wide eyes and left quickly without sparing you another glance. 

You scoffed at the whole scene before withering under Caleb’s glare, although you couldn’t help but be irritated at his interruption. This was the fourth time he’s interrupted a date, which is why you snuck out in the first place. 

He grabbed your hand and hauled you back to his car, opening your door with a hard look on his face before shutting it with a little more force than necessary. 

You watched him from the corner of your eye as he drove home. His hand was clenched on the wheel while the other systematically pushed his bangs back; a tell of his frustration he’d had since he was little. 

The ride home was deathly quiet, he didn’t even turn on music; another sign that you’d screwed up big time. 

“Cay-“ 

“Don’t.” The one syllable was so commanding that you didn’t dare try again, so you propped your chin up in your hand and watched the city go by. 

It was a perfect spring evening. The trees were blooming and the streetlights had just started to come on. You thought back to when that meant it was time for you to stop playing night games with the neighborhood kids and go home. 

After an eternity in the car, Caleb finally parked in front of the house and wasted no time walking around to open your door with the same hard look on his face from the carnival parking lot. 

You decided it would be better just to follow his unspoken instructions, stepping out and waiting for his lead. 

Without a word or look at you, he strode into the house and stood in the front room while you locked the door. 

“Where’s gran?” You asked quietly. 

“Out.”

“For how long?” 

“Long enough for us to talk about what just happened.” 

“Come on, Cay, I’m not a little kid anymore! I’m allowed to have fun and go on dates and, god forbid, kiss a boy!” You finally let yourself explode a little bit and it was cathartic. You’d been so frustrated with his constant interruptions and you realized in that moment that you hadn’t had a proper outlet for these bottled up feelings. 

“But you have to sneak out to do it? I thought you’d been kidnapped!” He snapped back. 

“Of course I had to sneak out! I wouldn’t have been able to go otherwise!” 

He let out a heavy sigh and shook his head with his hands on his hips. 

“You know, for someone as smart as you, you’re pretty dumb, Pipsqueak.” 

What the fuck? Did he actually just call you dumb? 

“Excuse me?” 

“This won’t happen again. Got it?” He had that same commanding tone and it made you shake with anger. Who did he think he was telling you what to do?

“You don’t control me, Caleb. I can do whatever the fuck I want, and you can’t stop me,” you stated, crossing your arms with a scowl on your face. 

That just made him laugh, which irritated you even more. 

“You don’t get it, do you?” He said, pushing his bangs back again. “I’ll always be there to interrupt. No matter where I am or how old we are, as long as I’m alive, no one will ever get that close to you again.” 

His statement both shocked you and made a warm ache bloom in your chest. 

“You’re insane,” you stated. His head whipped to you and even in the low light of the family room, you could see the way his spine straightened.  

He advanced on you slowly like a predator, his eyes both unnerved and excited you. 

“You think I like feeling like this?” He practically growled out. “Constantly being at the end of my rope but still falling, waiting for that final snap that will kill me?” 

He was getting dangerously close, so you took a few steps back until a wall stopped you, but he was still coming towards you. 

“I wish I could get rid of these feelings. Believe me, it would be better than this torture.” 

You shrunk back into the wall, holding an arm out to keep him from getting too close. You wouldn’t be able to bear it. 

“Caleb, don’t-“ your hand was pressed firmly against his sternum, but he inched closer easily, resting his elbow above your head. 

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t, Pipsqueak.” Even without looking at him, you could tell he was practically glaring at you. 

Truthfully, no response came to your head. Your fingers curled in the fabric of his shirt, eyes scrunched shut at what you knew was coming. 

“I-I can’t…” you finally managed with a shaking voice. 

An unamused huff left him and he brought his hand up to capture yours still crumpling his shirt. 

“Then why? What are you scared of?” He asked, leaning closer. 

“Everything will change. What if… what if we end up driving each other crazy?” 

This time, his laugh rumbled deep in his chest so you could feel it beneath your fingers. 

“I’m already crazy for you, silly girl. Are you really so blind?” 

That finally made you look up at him, and the look in his eyes shocked you. It was pure adoration mixed with barely withheld restraint. 

“Really?” You asked, honestly shocked. He swallowed and nodded his head, leaning down to kiss your temple lightly. 

You let out a shaky breath and closed your eyes, not realizing you leaned into his touch instinctively. This motivated him to cup your cheek, trailing his lips down slowly. 

“Why do you think I constantly interrupt your dates? Why I’ve told everyone at school that you’re off limits, or that any guy with enough balls to approach you has to go through me first?” His mouth was leaving torturous pecks along your jaw line moving closer and closer to your mouth with each question he posed. 

Your hands moved on their own, gripping his shoulders but unsure whether to pull him closer or push him away. 

“I should smack you for all of that,” you muttered. “I was wondering why hardly anyone talks to me at school.” 

“Mmhmm. You probably should,” he said. “But you won’t.” 

“And why is that?” 

“Because… you want this just as much as I do.” 

Before you could respond, his mouth was on yours and you melted into him, bringing your arms to wind around his neck and pull him closer. A small sound came from deep in his throat and he tilted his head, slotting your lips together at a new angle that made you dizzy. 

The hair at the base of his neck tickled your fingers as you gripped him there, knocking the pair of you back into the wall with a thud. It startled you both enough for him to pull away slightly, just enough to breathe but not without sharing each other's air. 

He watched you as you tried to comprehend what just happened, his eyes darting from your mouth to your eyes and back to your lips so quickly you could barely keep up. 

“How did you even know where I was?” You whispered. He rested his forehead on yours gently. 

“I don’t think you want to know the answer, Pip.” 

“…We’ll talk about that later,” you breathed out before pulling him back into another searing kiss. 

Your stomach felt like it was on fire, and you couldn’t get close enough to him. You tried pulling on his shoulders and neck and even his torso, but it just wasn’t enough. 

“Fuck, you’re going to kill me,” he mumbled against the skin of your neck. He bent down and quickly grabbed the back of your legs to hoist you up, quickly resealing your mouths as your legs wrapped around his waist and finally, you were a little bit closer to him. 

His hips kept you pinned to the wall and he continued his assault, and your hands moved down his back, hoping he would arch into you a little more. The groan he let out when your nails dug into his shoulder blades made your entire body shiver. 

“S’not enough,” you managed to say between kisses. His tongue that had been leaving wet marks on your collarbone was suddenly replaced by teeth. With the sound of your yelp still in the air, he renewed his grip on your thighs and started walking in the direction of his room. 

“You can’t say things like that. I’ll actually lose my mind.” He sat on his bed, back resting against the headboard and you tried to push your tongue into his mouth. His own tongue caressed yours and it made you tighten your grip on his hair. 

You didn’t like that his head was still so much higher than yours, you were sure his neck was starting to hurt. 

With your hands on his shoulders, you adjusted yourself so your legs were on either side of his hips, before you pushed him back a little. Just enough to make his mattress bounce a little below you. 

You took a moment to watch him. His eyes were hooded and dark, his lips were a little swollen and damp, and his hair was positively disheveled. 

A slow smirk spread across his face. 

“Enjoying the view?” He asked, rubbing his hands on your sides. 

“Asshole,” you muttered before diving back in. You sat on his lap fully, moaning into his mouth at the sensation of his erection pressing against your core. His hands moved your hips in a motion that made your muscles clench in the best way. 

“Fuck, Cay, it feels so good…” you whined, letting your head fall back as he nipped and licked the skin of your neck. 

“Keep going for me, Pretty. You’re doing so well,” he mumbled with a particularly aggressive roll of his hips. 

You yelped and he brought your mouth back to his, keeping a hand on the back of your head to hold you there. 

“Just like that,” he muttered as he bit your bottom lip. 

“Don’t stop,” you nearly begged. “M’so close…” 

“Let go for me, Pips. Let me make you feel good.” 

At that, your body seized with an intense pleasure and your moan was swallowed up once again by his mouth. His groan followed yours soon after, hips bucking lightly as he rode out his own orgasm. 

You reluctantly pulled away, still holding onto his shoulders and his hands still on your hip and thigh. 

Both of you were panting, still letting yourselves feel the high as it came down, but then Caleb got that determined look in his eye that scared you sometimes. 

“That’s one, pretty girl. Now we just need three more until I make up for interrupting your dates.”

[ahnaiee]

— Freckles ?!

summary. You adore Caleb’s freckles. He doesn’t.  note. Yes, me realizing Caleb Xia has freckles.

Caleb runs a hand over his face as he stares at his mirror. His frown deepens the longer he looks at himself. The marks that dot his face are the subject of his gaze. He isn't fond of them. Not really, not after he got multiple hurtful remarks over it as he grew up. 

He does his best to not bring attention to it the older he gets. It became a habit to cover his face often, when he laughs, when he smiles, when people tend to stare at him a bit too much. 

But you were vocal about how much you liked his freckles. 

When you were younger, you raved about them, wishing you had your own. He didn’t see the appeal, but he liked it when you stuck your face close to his and admired the dots. 

He loved it when you ran your hands over his face, brows furrowed as you murmured about how cute it was. If that made him flush 50 shades of red, then you didn’t notice.

You’re still obsessed with them, years later. 

Even when he doesn’t understand why, staring at the mirror in the early morning or late night, trying to make sense of what made the small dots on his face endearing to you when to him it was just an insecurity. Brows furrowed, lips turned down as he judged his own appearance. 

He hears your footsteps before he sees you. The soft, familiar manner of your feet on the floor– something he could recognize anywhere. You were looking for something in the bedroom, with the way you were opening and closing drawers like you were on a mission. 

When you open the door to the bathroom, your voice echoing against the tiles, he didn’t move from his place in front of the mirror. “Caleb, have you seen my eyeliner? The new one that I just got this week?” 

Your reflection appears behind him, searching around the bathroom, still in his hoodie and when your gaze lands on him, you see the small flicker in his gaze. 

You frown. “What are you doing?” 

“Nothing.” He mumbled, a bit too quickly than he hoped. 

Your eyes narrow immediately.

Caleb looks away first.

The silence stretches for a moment. It's the silence that exists between two people that know each other too well, and in the way you stare at him through the mirror, Caleb knew you always clocked him. 

Your arms cross over your chest, and he avoids your gaze, fixing it on anywhere but your reflection. The sink, the faucet– and the eyeliner you were looking for hidden behind the toothbrush cup. 

That alone tells you enough about what he was doing in front of the mirror, and you sigh. Quietly. “Caleb.”

“Mhm?”

“What were you doing?”

“Nothing.” 

Your frown deepens. His gaze moves to you for only a split second, before you catch him looking at his own reflection. It’s a short moment, but you could see the way he looked at the freckles scattered across his cheeks and nose. Then it clicks, and your expressions soften. “Oh.” 

His jaw tightens, and he avoids your soft gaze again. 

The silence that follows is heavier than the last one. It’s not heavy, nor uncomfortable. But vulnerable in a way that Caleb doesn’t let himself be around you too often. 

Because he is supposed to be the strong one. The protector. 

And to him, it’s stupid that this measly negative thought on his own features is making him this way. 

"They're still there." His voice comes out quieter than expected.

You blink. "What?"

"The freckles."

For a second, you simply stare at him. Then you almost laugh.

Not because it's funny. But because of course that's what had him standing in front of the mirror at six in the morning looking like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. "They've been there your entire life, baby."

"I know."

"So why are you surprised?"

"I'm not surprised."

"You seem surprised." 

He shoots you a look that makes you smile. He groans, just as you laugh. “There you are.”

“What?” Caleb frowns.

“You’re finally looking at me.”

He pauses, and the soft look in your eyes makes his ears turn pink. Your smile only widens as you step towards him. Your arms wrap around his waist, and you peer through the side to the mirror, humming. Caleb relaxes against you, moving you until you’re standing next to him in the mirror. Your eyes meet his through the mirror, then it drifts downwards to his freckles. 

There are more than most people notice. Tiny constellations scattered over warm skin.

Some  are darker than others. Some are barely visible unless sunlight hits them just right.

You have every single one memorized. A fact Caleb would never recover from if you told him.

Unfortunately for him, you decide honesty is important in relationships: "I think I know at least twenty-seven of them."

His eyes widen. “What?”

“Twenty-seven.” You tilt your head up at him to look more closely at his face. His eyes are widened slightly, brows furrowed, voice pitched slightly higher in disbelief. “You counted?”

“Maybe.” You shrug.

“You counted.”

“Maybe.”

“You;re insane.” 

You grin, and lean up to peck his cheeks. “I know.”

Caleb lets out a mix of a laugh and a huff. His ears are completely red now, the flush spreading to his cheeks as he shuts his eyes at the absurdity of you counting his freckles. 

When he opens them again, he catches you staring. Again. 

It’s not like you hide it, at this point. 

His voice drops into a mutter. “I don’t get it.”

“Hm?” You meet his gaze. 

“I don’t get why you like them so much.” 

You tilt your head and watch him carefully. You watch the uncertainty hiding beneath his expression, the remnants of old words. Old comments. Old wounds. Things said carelessly by people who probably forgot them the moment they spoke, but they were things that Caleb had quietly carried for years.

You reach up, and your fingers brush against his cheek. Gentle. Careful. 

As though touching something precious.

Because to you, he is.

Your thumb glides over the bridge of his nose. Over the freckles resting there.

Caleb's breath catches, and you smile softly.

"Because they're yours."

His eyes flicker. 

You continue before he can interrupt. "I don't like them because they're perfect." His gaze remains fixed on yours as you continue, your fingers still on his skin, tracing lines between his freckles. "I like them because when I think of you, I think of them. When I picture your face, I picture your freckles." You laugh quietly, "You know, when I was younger, I used to think they looked like stars."

His expression falters.

And you know you've won the moment he looks away. Because Caleb only looks away when he's overwhelmed.

"I still do."

His throat moves and Caleb looks back at you. Your other hand moves to the back of his neck, pulling him a bit closer so you could trace more of the freckles. "They make you look like you."

You cup his face. His hands immediately find your waist, like its instinct to him. And really, it is.

"There isn't a version of Caleb in my head without them."

Your smile softens.

"And honestly? You'd be less cute without them."

"Don't."

"You would."

He grumbles your name.

"You absolutely would."

"Stop."

"I think I'd cry."

"You would not cry."

"I'd mourn."

Caleb drops his forehead against your shoulder with a groan. A genuine one this time, one not out of frustration. Just hopeless, because just by your hands on his face, and your sweet, embarrassing words, he has been completely and utterly defeated by you.

You laugh, wrapping your arms around him, and his arms tighten around you immediately.

The bathroom falls quiet again. But this silence feels different.

Comfortable– Warm.

After a while, you feel him nudge his face against your neck, followed by his muffled voice."Twenty-seven?"

You burst out laughing.

"I knew you were still thinking about that."

"Twenty-seven?"

"Actually, it might be thirty."

Caleb makes a sound that suggests he's reconsidering every life choice that led him here.

You only smile wider and gently move his face up so you could press a kiss against his temple. Then to his cheeks – like you were kissing every single dot on his face.

Until his face is burning red enough to rival the sunrise peeking through the bathroom window.

The funny thing is, Caleb never truly learns to love his freckles.

Not the way you do. Not the way you look at them, like they're something worth admiring.

He can't rival the way you love it.

But over the years, he slowly stops hiding them. Stops treating it like something wrong on his face.

Because whenever he catches himself doing it, he remembers the way you look at him.

Like every freckle is something precious.

Like every single one belongs exactly where it should.

And Caleb stops frowning at the sight of them in the mirror.

©ahnaiee [do not repost, copy, translate, or modify]

[nottellingofname]

For My Caleb ⋆⭒˚｡⋆✈︎

It takes two hands to...

As the days slip by in a blur of Caleb’s hands, mouth, and fingers, you start to notice a pattern.

Your pleasure is a frequent focus—waking to the heat of his tongue between your thighs, falling asleep with the ghost of his touch on your sensitive skin.

But you’ve only tasted him once, and despite your insistence that you want more, Caleb always finds ways to redirect your attention back to your own pleasure.

It’s not that you’re keeping score—okay, maybe you’re keeping a little score—but there’s something about the way he seems to prioritize your satisfaction over his own that both warms your heart and frustrates you to no end.

Tonight is no different.

Caleb has you pinned against the couch, his weight pressing you into the cushions as his mouth works its magic along the column of your throat. His lips find that spot behind your ear that makes your toes curl, then travel down to the sensitive junction where neck meets shoulder.

Your fingers tangle in his dark hair, gripping the soft strands with increasing urgency as his teeth graze your pulse point, sending shivers racing down your spine.

“Wait,” you gasp, tugging at his hair until he lifts his head to look at you. His purple eyes are half-lidded, pupils dilated with desire, lips parted and slightly swollen from kissing you senseless.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, voice rough with arousal as he pushes a strand of hair from your face with unexpected gentleness.

You steel yourself, choosing your words carefully. “I want you to teach me how to make you feel good.”

The surprise that flickers across his face is quickly replaced by a smile. “Pips, you make me feel good all the time.”

“You know what I mean,” you insist, refusing to be distracted by his deflection. “I want to learn how to please you—not just with my mouth.”

Caleb’s hand finds your waist, fingers spreading to span your ribs as his thumb traces small circles on your lower stomach. “Watching you fall apart when I touch you pleases me more than you know.”

It’s such a quintessentially Caleb response—selfless, generous, infuriating—that you want to scream. Or kiss him. Or both, in rapid succession.

“That’s not what I’m talking about,” you huff, pushing at his chest to create some distance between you. “I mean I want to make you cum the way you make me cum.”

The words hang between you, and you watch as something darkens in Caleb’s expression—hunger and reluctance warring in his purple gaze.

“It’s not just about that,” he says finally, his voice dropping to that register that sends heat pooling in your core. “Seeing your pleasure is enough for me.”

You narrow your eyes, suspicion dawning. “Wait a minute. Is this because you’re a raging celibate virgin? Don’t get any when you’re at Skyhaven? Is that why you don’t want me to make you feel good? Because you’re afraid you’ll lose control?”

To your surprise, Caleb laughs, the sound rich and warm as his head drops to your shoulder. “Is that what you think, mei mei?” he asks, voice thick with amusement. “That I’m out there saving myself for marriage while I’m gone?”

“Well, you’re certainly saving yourself from me,” you mutter, crossing your arms over your chest in what you hope is a convincing show of pique. “Saint Caleb, patron saint of self-control.”

Instead of rising to your bait, he simply cups your face in his hands, thumbs stroking your cheekbones with maddening tenderness. “You have no idea how much control it takes not to devour you the moment I walk through that door.”

You’ve been building to this confrontation for days, watching Caleb bring you to screaming orgasms while remaining frustratingly clothed and composed.

“So you just—what? Beat off in the shower thinking about your sister like some kind of pervert?” The words are deliberately crude, calculated to get a rise out of him.

You watch the muscle in his jaw jump, a flash of something dangerous crossing his features before he reins it in. “Y/N,” he warns, but there’s no real heat in his voice.

“What? That’s not it?” You press on, sensing a crack in his composure. “You’re not a perv? Not a creep? Not a sister-fucking—“

“Enough,” Caleb cuts you off, but there’s still no sign that you’ve truly pushed him past his limits. If anything, he looks amused by your antics, which only makes you more determined to break through.

Your mind races, searching for the one button guaranteed to get a reaction. And then it hits you—the one person who can truly get under Caleb’s skin.

“If you’re not going to teach me,” you say slowly, watching his face carefully, “then maybe I should ask Gideon for lessons instead. I bet he’d be more than happy to show me how to make a man feel good.”

The change is instantaneous and terrifying. Caleb’s body goes rigid against yours, his hands flying to your shoulders to grip them with bruising force. His expression transforms—all traces of amusement vanishing, replaced by something primal and possessive.

“Don’t,” he growls, the single word vibrating with barely contained rage. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” you taunt, your voice dropping to a whisper as you lean closer, knowing exactly what you’re doing now. “If I asked your best friend to fuck me instead of you? If I let him make me scream the way you do?”

Caleb’s eyes narrow, his fingers digging into your flesh hard enough to leave marks. “You have no idea what you’re playing with right now.”

“Then show me,” you challenge, your heart racing as you press your advantage. “Show me what happens when I push you too far.”

For a long moment, Caleb just stares at you, his purple eyes so dark they’re almost black. You can practically see the calculations happening behind them—weighing options, measuring control against desire.

And then, with a speed that leaves you breathless, Caleb moves.

You barely have a moment to catch your breath before Caleb moves with that lightning-quick precision that reminds you of his military training.

His arms—thick, powerful things that make your stomach flip—suddenly wrap around your waist, trapping you against his chest as he settles back onto the couch.

“Ge ge, what—“ you start to ask, but your question is cut short as his hands position you with deliberate strength.

Caleb’s big hands grip your waist, thumbs digging into the soft flesh above your hips as he lifts you effortlessly, arranging you so you’re straddling his lap. Your knees press into the couch cushions on either side of his thighs, your ass settling against the hardness still evident through his sweatpants.

“That’s better,” he murmurs, satisfaction coloring his voice as he looks up at you from this new angle. “Right where you belong.”

You’re still catching your breath from the previous intensity, your legs trembling slightly from both exertion and the sudden rush of new arousal. Caleb notices immediately, his hands running soothingly up and down your sides, though his eyes remain hungry.

“Feel better?” you ask, voice still rough.

His only response is a low growl, a sound that vibrates through your entire body where you’re pressed against his chest. And then his head dips, burying his face in the soft valley between your breasts.

You gasp as his hair tickles your chin, your hands automatically flying to his shoulders for balance as Caleb’s face presses firmly against your chest. His eyes close, nostrils flaring as he takes a deep, deliberate inhale, his breath hot through the thin fabric of your tank top.

“Mmm,” he hums against you, the vibration traveling straight to your core. “Fucking love how you smell, Pips. Always have.”

The admission sends a blush across your cheeks, though there’s no one here to witness it but Caleb—and he’s already seen and done far more intimate things to you than smelling your tits.

“Sweet,” he continues, nuzzling deeper between your breasts, his nose tracing the curve of one and then the other. “Mine.”

His arms tighten around your waist, keeping you securely in his lap as his face continues its exploration of your chest.

“Such pretty tits,” Caleb murmurs, voice muffled against your flesh. “Always knew they’d be perfect. All those years of wondering.” He pulls back slightly, looking up at you with eyes gone dark with hunger. “Worth the wait.”

You want it too—want everything he’s willing to give you. “Please,” you whisper, your hands sliding up to tangle in his hair. “Please, ge ge.”

A smile curves his lips, slow and predatory. “Since you asked so nicely...”

With deliberate slowness, Caleb leans forward, his teeth catching on the neckline of your tank top. The wet heat of his mouth against your skin makes you gasp, your fingers tightening in his hair as he uses his teeth to tug the fabric down, revealing the top curve of one breast.

He doesn’t stop there, working the neckline lower and lower with a combination of his teeth, lips, and the occasional use of his tongue. Each new inch of skin exposed to the cool air is immediately warmed by his breath, his mouth, until finally the neckline has been pulled down enough to reveal both your nipples.

“Fuck,” Caleb breathes, his eyes fixed on your exposed flesh. “Even prettier than I imagined.”

Before you can respond, his mouth is on you—no teasing, no gradual build-up, just the wet heat of his tongue lapping at your left nipple while his hand comes up to squeeze your right breast. The sudden sensation draws a startled cry from your throat, your back arching to push your chest more firmly into his hands.

“Such sensitive tits,” Caleb murmurs against your skin, his tongue making another broad swipe across your nipple. “Getting so hard for me already.”

He’s right—your nipples have pebbled to tight points at the first touch of his mouth, aching for more contact. You find yourself nodding frantically, unable to form words as Caleb switches his attention to your other breast, his mouth moving to capture your right nipple while his hand takes over the left.

“That’s it,” he encourages as your hips rock forward of their own accord, seeking friction against the hard ridge of his cock beneath you. “Show me how much you like it. How much you need me.”

His free hand slides up to cup the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair to guide your face toward his. You follow his lead without hesitation, your lips meeting his in a kiss that tastes of salt and musk.

Caleb’s tongue pushes into your mouth, mimicking the way his cock had pushed into your throat earlier in the week. You moan around the invasion, your own tongue rising to meet his in a dance that leaves you breathless.

When you finally break apart, gasping for air, Caleb doesn’t give you time to recover before returning to your breasts. But this time, he does something different—he releases his hold on you, using both hands to cup your breasts instead, pushing them together to create a valley between them.

“Fucking perfect,” he growls, his eyes fixed on the sight of your breasts in his hands. “Look at these tits, Pips. Made to be played with.”

To your shock, he gathers saliva in his mouth, then deliberately spits directly onto your exposed cleavage. The warm glob lands between your breasts, some dripping down toward your stomach while the rest coats your skin with a glistening sheen.

“Caleb!” you gasp, too surprised to be properly scandalized.

His only response is a wicked grin before he’s leaning down again, his tongue making a broad swipe through the spit he just deposited on your skin.

“Fuck, that’s good,” he murmurs against your flesh. “So sweet. So fucking perfect.”

His tongue makes another pass, this time focusing on your nipples, each one receiving a thorough licking before he pulls it between his lips, sucking firmly enough to make you gasp.

“Look at you,” Caleb says, his voice rough with arousal as he glances up at your face. “So fucking responsive. Just from playing with these pretty tits.”

He switches breasts, his mouth moving to the one his hand had been attending while his now-free hand squeezes the spit-slick flesh he just abandoned. “Imagine how you’ll react when I get my mouth somewhere else.”

“Please,” you whisper again, no longer caring how desperate you sound. “I need more, ge ge.”

“Mmm, I know you do,” Caleb agrees, finally releasing your breasts to wrap his arms around your waist again. His hands slide down to grip your ass, fingers digging into the soft flesh hard enough to leave marks. “Such a greedy little sister. Always wanting more than I give you.”

“Only because you make me feel so good,” you admit, your hands moving to frame his face, thumbs tracing the sharp cut of his cheekbones. “Can’t help wanting more.”

A slow smile spreads across his face at your words, pride and hunger mingling in his expression.

“That’s my good girl,” he praises, pressing a kiss to your palm. “Always so honest with me.”

His hands on your ass suddenly tighten, pulling you forward until you’re pressed flush against his chest. Your breasts, still exposed from your pushed-down tank top, make contact with the hard planes of his pectorals, your nipples rubbing against the fabric of his t-shirt.

“Fuck, feel that?” Caleb growls, his hips jerking upward so that his hardness presses directly against your core. “How wet you’re getting just from me playing with your tits?”

You nod, beyond words as you grind against him, seeking more of the friction your body craves. “Please,” you gasp again, the single word encompassing all your desperate wants. “Please, ge ge.”

While Caleb’s mouth continues its relentless assault on your breasts, his right hand suddenly breaks away, reaching up to grab your wrist. His purple eyes lock with yours, pupils blown wide with lust as he slowly, deliberately guides your hand toward his lap.

“Feel how hard you make me,” he murmurs against your sternum, his free hand still working your breast with practiced skill. “Just from playing with these perfect tits.”

Your palm makes contact with the thick ridge straining against his sweatpants, and you can’t help the gasp that escapes your lips. Even through the fabric, the heat of him is intense—like touching a living furnace. And there’s a damp spot where the tip of his cock has leaked enough precum to soak through the thin material.

“So wet for you,” Caleb continues, voice rough with need as he guides your hand to rub up and down his length. “Always so fucking hard and leaking whenever I’m around you. Hasn’t changed since we were kids.”

“Wanted you for so fucking long,” Caleb admits, his lips moving from your breast to your neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin beneath your ear. “Every night, lying in bed, thinking about touching you. About you touching me.”

His words make your core clench, another gush of wetness soaking your panties as you continue to rub his cock through his sweatpants. The fabric is growing damper by the second, evidence of just how much he wants you.

“Please,” you whisper, your hand trembling slightly against him. “Can I touch you for real?”

A dark smile curves his lips, satisfaction evident in his expression as he finally gives in to your pleading. With his free hand, he reaches down to the waistband of his sweatpants, tugging it down just enough to free his cock.

“I’ve been dreaming about this,” Caleb says, his voice dropping to that rough register that makes your stomach flip. “Your hand on my cock. Finally giving my little sister what she’s been begging for.”

The first touch of skin on skin draws a groan from deep in his chest, his eyes closing briefly as your fingers make contact with his cock.

He’s even hotter than you expected, the skin velvety soft over the steel-hard shaft beneath. And he’s so wet—precum already coating the head and upper shaft, making your hand slide easily along his length.

“Fuck,” Caleb hisses, his hand tightening around yours as you experimentally stroke up toward the tip. “Your hand feels so fucking good, Pips. So small and soft.”

He’s right—your hand is comically small compared to his cock, your fingers unable to fully wrap around his girth. You’d need both hands to properly encircle him, and even then, your grip would be loose.

“Look at that,” Caleb murmurs, his eyes fixed on where your hand disappears around his shaft. “Your tiny hand can barely hold my cock. Always knew you were made small, but fuck, seeing it like this...”

He guides your hand in another stroke, this one starting at the base and working all the way to the tip, where a fresh bead of precum is already forming. “That’s it,” he encourages as your thumb brushes over the sensitive head. “Get me nice and wet for you.”

As you continue to stroke him, Caleb’s mouth returns to your neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin where your pulse jumps beneath the surface. You know what he’s doing—leaving marks, staking his claim—but you don’t care. You let him mark you. Let everyone know exactly who you belong to.

“That’s my good girl,” he praises against your throat, his lips moving to a new spot just below your collarbone. “Taking such good care of my cock.”

His mouth latches onto your skin, sucking hard enough to leave a mark—the first of what will undoubtedly be many by the time he’s done with you. The slight pain mingles with pleasure, your hand moving faster on his cock as he continues his possessive assault on your neck and chest.

“Caleb,” you gasp as his teeth scrape over a particularly sensitive spot. “Feels so good.”

“Mmm, I know it does,” he agrees, pulling back to admire the darkening bruise he’s left on your skin. “You like being marked up? Like everyone knowing you belong to me?”

You nod frantically, too far gone in pleasure to be embarrassed by your eagerness. “Yes. Please, ge ge. More.”

His smile turns predatory as he lowers his head again, this time targeting the upper curve of your breast. “Gonna cover you in marks,” he promises, lips brushing against your skin with each word. “Gonna make sure you remember who you belong to every time you look in the mirror.”

As his mouth works its magic on your skin, his hips begin to move, rocking up to meet each downward stroke of your hand. The rhythm is intoxicating—his cock sliding through your grip, his mouth leaving a trail of pleasure across your chest, his free hand squeezing your ass to guide your movements against him.

“That’s it,” Caleb encourages, his breathing growing ragged as your hand moves faster. “Just like that, mei mei. Show me how badly you want to make your big brother feel good.”

“Fuck, you’re so fucking wet,” Caleb groans, his hand sliding from your ass to between your legs, fingers pressing against your soaked panties. “Just from touching my cock? Such a greedy little slut.”

Each pass of your palm over the slit gathers more precum, making your strokes slicker, smoother.

“Right there,” Caleb hisses when your thumb brushes a particular spot on the underside of his head. “Fuck, that’s perfect.”

You focus your attention there, making sure each stroke includes that sweet spot. The effect is immediate—Caleb’s head falls back, a groan tearing from his throat as his hips jerk upward more forcefully.

“Gonna make me cum if you keep that up,” he warns, though there’s no real concern in his voice—just anticipation and hunger. “You want that, Pips? Want to feel me shoot all over your hand?”

“Yes,” you gasp, your own need making you bold. “Please, ge ge. Want to feel you cum.”

His free hand suddenly grips your hair, pulling your head back to expose your throat to his hungry mouth. “Such a good little cocksucker,” he praises against your skin, his teeth grazing your pulse point. “Taking such good care of me.”

The wet sounds of your hand sliding along his cock fill the room, obscene and thrilling.

“That’s it,” Caleb encourages, his voice rough with arousal. “Just like that. Show me how much you love your big brother’s cock.”

You’ve never done this before—never touched a man like this, never felt the power of reducing someone to desperate moans with just your hand. But instinct guides you, your body responding to Caleb’s reactions, learning what makes him groan, what makes his hips jerk, what makes his fingers dig into your flesh hard enough to leave marks.

“So fucking good,” Caleb gasps as you twist your wrist slightly on the upstroke, adding a new sensation to your rhythm. “Your perfect little hand on my cock. Been dreaming about this for years.”

How many nights has he spent wanting you? How many fantasies has he built around the two of you?

“Did you touch yourself thinking about me?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. “While I was sleeping down the hall?”

Caleb’s eyes darken further, his hand in your hair tightening almost painfully. “Every fucking night,” he admits, no shame in his voice—just raw hunger. “Stroking my cock to thoughts of you. Wondering if you’d be as tight as I imagined. If you’d take my whole length or if I’d have to go slow.”

His words paint vivid pictures in your mind—Caleb alone in his room, hand wrapped around his cock, imagining you spread open beneath him. The thought of him wanting you for so long, of him corrupting himself with thoughts of his little sister, makes your hand tremble against his length.

“Fuck, the way you’re looking at me right now,” Caleb groans, his free hand coming up to cup your cheek. “Like you’re finally seeing what I am. What I’ve always been.”

“A pervert,” you say, but there’s no judgment in your voice—just acceptance and a hint of pride that you’re the object of his obsession. “My pervert.”

Something flashes in his eyes—probably relief, gratitude, or maybe hunger—before his mouth crashes against yours in a kiss that’s more possession than passion. His tongue pushes past your lips, claiming your mouth as thoroughly as his cock claims your hand.

When you finally break apart, both gasping for breath, Caleb’s hand returns to guide your movements on his cock. “Not gonna last much longer if you keep that up,” he warns, though the smile on his face makes it clear he has no intention of stopping you. “Too fucking good with those hands, Pips.”

“Then don’t last,” you challenge, emboldened by his reactions. “Cum for me, ge ge. Show me how good I make you feel.”

His response is a groan so deep it seems to come from the center of his chest, his hips jerking upward to fuck into your grip. “Fuck, when you talk like that...” He shakes his head, seemingly unable to complete the thought.

You take his reaction as encouragement, your hand moving faster, grip tightening slightly as you focus on the sensitive head of his cock. Each downward stroke ends with your thumb brushing over the slit, gathering the copious precum there to ease your movements.

“Right there,” Caleb hisses, his free hand squeezing your ass hard enough to leave bruises. “Fuck, that’s perfect. Just like that, Pips. Don’t stop.”

His praise fuels your determination, your hand establishing a rhythm that has his breathing growing more ragged by the second. You can feel him getting harder, the veins along his shaft standing out more prominently as blood rushes to his cock.

“Gonna cum,” he warns, his voice breaking on the words. “Fuck, Y/N, I’m gonna—“

His warning cuts off in a groan as his cock pulses in your hand, the first jet of cum shooting up to land on his stomach. You don’t stop, your hand continuing to stroke him through his orgasm, milking every drop from his sensitive flesh.

“That’s it,” you encourage, watching in fascination as more cum spills over your fingers. “Give me everything, ge ge.”

Caleb’s head falls back, a guttural sound tearing from his throat as his hips continue to jerk upward, chasing the pleasure your hand provides. More cum spills from the tip of his cock, some landing on his stomach, some coating your hand, making your strokes even slicker.

“Fuck, Pips,” he gasps when the worst of the tremors have passed, his hand covering yours to slow your movements. “Too sensitive.”

You reluctantly ease your grip, though you don’t release his cock entirely. Instead, you continue to hold him, feeling the gradual softening of his flesh, the occasional aftershock that makes him twitch in your hand.

“Was it good?” you ask, suddenly shy despite the fact that you’re literally holding his softening cock in your hand.

Caleb’s laugh is warm, tinged with the slight breathlessness of post-orgasmic bliss.

“Was it good?” he repeats, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear with surprising tenderness. “Fuck, mei mei. That was beyond good.” He shakes his head, apparently unable to find the right words.

Caleb’s hand between your legs stills suddenly, his eyes widening slightly as he feels just how soaked you’ve become. His lips curve into a slow, predatory smile as his fingers press more firmly against your panties, gathering evidence of your arousal on the fabric.

“Holy fuck, Pips,” he murmurs, voice rough with renewed desire despite his recent orgasm. “You’re absolutely drowning down here.”

You shift your hips, seeking more pressure from his hand, but Caleb keeps his touch teasingly light. “Please,” you whisper, beyond pride now. “I need more.”

His smile turns wicked as he leans forward, his mouth brushing against your ear. “You need to keep working my cock,” he instructs, his free hand guiding yours back to his softening length.

While your hand works his length, his free hand returns to between your legs. But instead of pressing against your panties as before, his fingers slide beneath the elastic waistband of your panties, slipping underneath to make direct contact with you.

“Fuck,” Caleb groans, his eyes closing briefly as his fingers make contact with your cunt. “Even wetter than I thought.”

“Look at you, getting so fucking wet just from touching my cock. What would people say if they knew what a slut you are for your brother’s dick?”

“Please,” you gasp as his finger makes a slow, deliberate pass through your slit, gathering your wetness on his skin. “Need more, ge ge.”

“Patience,” Caleb chides, though the strain in his voice betrays how affected he is by your eagerness. “Good things come to those who wait.”

Despite his words, his finger makes another pass, this time circling your entrance without pushing inside. The tease is maddening—so close to what you need but not quite giving it to you.

“Caleb,” you whine, your hips shifting to try to force his finger inside. “Please.”

His response is to lean forward, capturing your mouth in a kiss that’s more possession than passion. His tongue pushes past your lips, claiming your mouth as thoroughly as his cock claims your hand. When he finally pulls back, both of you are breathing hard, a strand of saliva connecting your lips for a moment before breaking.

“Since you asked so nicely,” he murmurs, his finger finally pushing forward to breach your entrance.

The sudden intrusion draws a gasp from your throat, your inner walls clenching around the single digit as it slides inside you. You’re so wet that there’s no resistance, just the delicious stretch of being filled, even if it’s only by one finger.

“Fuck,” Caleb breathes, his eyes fixed on where his finger disappears into your body. “So fucking tight around me. Like your pussy was made to take my cock.”

“More,” you beg, your hand still working his cock but your attention now entirely focused on the point where your bodies connect. “Please, ge ge. I need more.”

Caleb shakes his head, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Greedy little thing, aren’t you? Not even giving me a chance to enjoy this before demanding more.”

Despite his teasing, his finger begins to move, establishing a slow, deliberate rhythm as it pushes deeper with each thrust. Your inner walls flutter around the intrusion, your hips rocking to meet each forward push.

“That’s it,” Caleb encourages, his free hand coming up to cup your breast through your pushed-down tank top. “Take it. Show me how much you love having part of me inside you.”

His finger curls slightly as it pushes deep, the new angle allowing him to press against your front wall. The change draws a startled cry from your throat, your back arching as pleasure shoots up your spine.

“There it is,” Caleb murmurs, satisfaction evident in his voice as he focuses his attention on that spot. “Your sweet spot. The place that makes my perfect little sister lose her mind.”

He’s right—each press against that bundle of nerves sends electricity racing through your system, making your thighs tremble and your breath catch.

“Fuck,” you gasp as he adds a second finger, the stretch immediate and intense despite your abundant wetness. “Caleb, that’s—oh god—“

“Too much?” he asks, though he makes no move to withdraw. Instead, his fingers remain still inside you, giving your body time to adjust to the increased fullness.

You shake your head frantically. Relief flashes across his features, quickly replaced by hunger as he begins to move both fingers in tandem.

“Look at you,” Caleb murmurs, his eyes fixed on where his fingers disappear into your body. “Taking two of my fingers like you were made for it. So fucking perfect.”

“Caleb,” you gasp, your free hand flying to his shoulder, fingers digging into the hard muscle there as you seek an anchor in the storm of sensation. “I’m close. So close.”

“Already?” he asks, surprise evident in his voice despite the satisfaction coloring his tone. “Just from my fingers? Such a sensitive little thing.”

He doesn’t ease up—if anything, his movements become more deliberate, more focused on that spot deep inside you that makes your vision blur. His thumb finds your clit, circling the sensitive bundle of nerves.

“That’s it,” he encourages as your breathing grows more ragged, your hips rocking to meet each thrust of his fingers. “Cum for me, mei mei. Show me how good your big brother makes you feel.”

“Caleb,” you warn, your voice breaking as pleasure threatens to overwhelm you. “I’m gonna—“

“Let go,” he commands, his free hand coming up to grip your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. “I want to see it. Want to watch your face when you cum on my fingers.”

The order is the final push you need—the tension breaks, pleasure crashing through you in waves that make your entire body convulse. Your inner walls clamp down on his invading fingers, your back arching sharply as your climax tears a cry from your throat.

“Fuck,” Caleb breathes, his eyes wide with wonder as he watches you come apart. “So fucking beautiful like this. Taking my fingers so well. Cumming all over my hand like the perfect little slut you are.”

You’re dimly aware of your hand still wrapped around his cock, though your movements have grown erratic, uncoordinated as your focus narrows to the point where his fingers fill you.

“That’s it,” Caleb encourages, his fingers continuing their relentless assault on your sweet spot even as your inner walls pulse around them. “Give me everything. Show me how much you love having your brother’s hand inside you.”

When the final pulses of your orgasm begin to fade, Caleb slowly withdraws his fingers, bringing them to his mouth with deliberate slowness. His eyes never leave yours as he sucks your release from his skin, humming appreciatively at the taste.

“Sweet,” he murmurs, voice rough with renewed desire. “Just like I knew you’d be.”

As your orgasm begins to fade, you turn your attention back to Caleb’s cock, still hard and pulsing in your grip. You notice immediately how your movements affect him—each stroke drawing a different reaction, teaching you what he likes, what drives him wild.

A firm upstroke makes his breath catch; a twist of your wrist on the downstroke has his hips jerking forward; a thumb circling the sensitive head draws a groan from deep in his chest. It’s like learning a new language—one written in the tensing of muscles and the catching of breath.

“Fuck,” he hisses, his free hand flying to your wrist as if to stop you, though he makes no actual move to pull you away. “Jesus Christ, Pips. Warn a guy.”

“Did I hurt you?” you ask, concern momentarily overriding your arousal.

Caleb’s laugh is strained, his eyes dark with a hunger that borders on desperation. “No,” he assures you, his thumb brushing across your pulse point in a gesture that’s oddly tender given the obscene situation. “Quite the opposite.”

“Please,” you whisper, your hand moving faster, grip tightening further. “I want to see it, ge ge. Want to see what you’re really like when you stop holding back.”

Encouraged by his reaction, you shift your focus to the head of his cock, your thumb brushing over the sensitive slit where precum continues to bead. The change in technique has an immediate effect—Caleb’s entire body goes taut, a strangled sound escaping his throat as his head falls back.

“That’s it,” you encourage, circling the ridge where head meets shaft with deliberate attention. “Show me how much you like it.”

A drop of saliva escapes the corner of Caleb’s mouth, trailing down his chin before he can catch it with his tongue.

“Fuck,” Caleb gasps, clearly embarrassed by his loss of control even as another drop forms at the corner of his mouth. “Sorry, I—“

“Don’t you dare apologize,” you interrupt, your hand moving faster on his cock. “It’s hot. So fucking hot to see you like this.”

Caleb’s hand returns to between your legs. But this time, there’s a new urgency to his touch—his fingers pushing into your entrance with less finesse than before, driven by the desperate need your hand on his cock has awakened.

“Too much?” he asks, though he makes no move to ease his pace, his fingers establishing a rhythm that has your inner walls fluttering around the intrusion.

You shake your head frantically. “No. God, no. It’s perfect. Just like that, ge ge.”

“Caleb,” you gasp, your hand moving faster on his cock as pleasure threatens to overwhelm you. “You look so... fuck, I can’t even...”

He seems to understand without further explanation, a dark smile curving his lips as he watches your struggle for words. “This what you wanted to see?” he asks, his free hand coming up to frame your face with surprising tenderness. “Your big brother completely losing his mind over you?”

You nod frantically, beyond words now as his fingers find that spot deep inside you that makes stars burst behind your eyelids. “Yes,” you manage between gasps. “Please, ge ge. More.”

His smile turns wicked as he leans forward, his breath hot against your ear. “Since you asked so nicely.”

Without warning, he adds a third finger, pushing it alongside the two already buried inside you. The stretch is immediate and intense, drawing a startled cry from your throat as your inner walls struggle to accommodate the increased fullness.

“Fuck, ride them,” Caleb encourages, his free hand coming to rest on your hip, guiding your movements. “Show me how much you love having your brother’s hand inside you.”

You follow his direction without hesitation, your hips beginning to rock against his hand, taking his fingers deeper with each downward movement. The change in angle allows him to reach spots his previous technique missed, sending fresh waves of pleasure crashing through your system.

“That’s it,” Caleb praises, satisfaction evident in his voice as he watches your face. “Use my hand however you need. Take what you want from me.”

“Caleb,” you warn, your voice breaking as tension builds at the base of your spine. “I’m gonna cum.”

“Let me feel it,” he demands, his voice rough with need. “Cum on my fingers, Pips. Show me how good your big brother makes you feel.”

Your inner walls clamp down on his invading fingers, your back arching sharply as your climax tears a cry from your throat.

“Fuck,” Caleb breathes, his eyes widening with wonder as he watches you come apart. “So fucking beautiful like this. Taking my fingers so well.”

He doesn’t ease up—if anything, his movements become more deliberate, more focused on that spot deep inside you that extends your pleasure with each careful press. More wetness gushes from your core, coating his hand and making obscene, wet sounds that fill the room.

“Can feel you cumming,” Caleb groans, his voice strained with his own need. “So fucking tight around my fingers. So wet for me.”

Caleb grabs your wrist, stopping your strokes. His eyes, dark with hunger, lock with yours as he brings your cum-slicked hand to his cock, using your combined fluids to coat his length.

“Fuck,” he groans, his head falling back as your slick palm makes contact with his sensitive flesh. “So fucking wet. Your perfect little pussy making my cock all nice and slick.”

“Want to feel your hand milking every drop from my cock while I watch that pretty face.” Caleb admits, his voice rough with need.

“Going to cum,” Caleb warns, his voice breaking on the words. “Fuck, Y/N, I’m gonna—“

His warning cuts off in a groan as his cock pulses in your grip, the first jet of cum shooting up to land on his stomach. You don’t stop, your hand continuing to stroke him through his orgasm, milking every drop from his sensitive flesh.

“That’s it,” you encourage, watching in fascination as more cum spills over your fingers. “Give me everything, ge ge.”

Caleb’s head falls back, a guttural sound tearing from his throat as his hips continue to jerk upward, chasing the pleasure your hand provides. More cum spills from the tip of his cock, some landing on his stomach, some coating your hand, making your strokes even slicker.

“Fuck, Pips,” he gasps when the worst of the tremors have passed, though he makes no move to stop your hand. Instead, he tightens his grip, guiding your movements to a slower, more deliberate pace. “Too sensitive. Too good.”

You ease your grip slightly, though you don’t release his cock entirely. Instead, you continue to hold him, feeling the gradual softening of his flesh, the occasional aftershock that makes him twitch in your hand.

“That’s it,” Caleb murmurs, his voice taking on that rough, satisfied edge that only emerges after intense pleasure. “Keep going. Milk every last drop.”

To your shock, he’s not done—despite the copious amount of cum already coating your hand and his stomach, more continues to spill from the tip of his cock with each downward stroke. It’s like he’s been saving up for this moment, his body producing more than seems physically possible.

“Holy shit,” you breathe, eyes wide as you watch another thick rope of cum join the mess on his abdomen. “How are you still—“

Caleb’s laugh is warm, tinged with the slight breathlessness of post-orgasmic bliss. “Told you,” he says, his free hand coming up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear with surprising tenderness. “Only for you, Pips. My body knows exactly who it belongs to.”

As if reading your thoughts, Caleb’s smile turns wicked. “Now,” he says, his voice dropping to that dangerous register that makes your stomach flip, “about this mess.”

Before you can ask what he means, he’s capturing your cum-covered hand, bringing it to his lips. But instead of cleaning it himself, he guides it to your mouth, his eyes never leaving yours as he pushes your fingers between your lips.

“Clean up,” he instructs, his thumb brushing your lower lip. “Show me how much you love the taste of us together.”

The command should shock you, should make you pull away in disgust. Instead, you find yourself obeying without hesitation, your tongue making a broad swipe across your palm to collect a drop of the mixed fluids there.

The taste is complex—bitter and sweet, musky and tangy, neither purely his nor purely yours but something new created from the combination. It should be disgusting. It’s not. It’s intoxicating, addictive—like the man currently watching you with hungry eyes.

“Fuck,” Caleb breathes, his eyes darkening as he watches your tongue work between your fingers. “Look at you, taking it so well. Such a good girl for me.”

His praise fuels your determination, your tongue making another pass, this one focused on cleaning between your fingers where the evidence of your shared pleasure has collected. You work methodically, making sure no drop is wasted, no spot untouched.

When your hand is mostly clean, Caleb captures your wrist again, guiding your still-damp fingers to his chest where a large glob of cum has landed. “Here too,” he instructs, his voice rough with renewed desire. “Can’t let any go to waste, can we?”

You follow his direction without hesitation, leaning down to lap at the mess on his chest. Your tongue makes a broad swipe through the puddle, gathering the thick, white fluid and swallowing it with deliberate slowness.

“That’s it,” Caleb encourages, his hand coming to rest on the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair with surprising gentleness. “Such a perfect little cleaner. Always so eager to please your big brother.”

You continue your careful cleaning, moving from his chest to his stomach, making sure no drop of his release goes untouched. Each new area presents a new challenge—the flat plane of his abdomen, the sensitive skin just above the waistband of his sweatpants, the trail of dark hair leading downward from his navel.

Throughout it all, Caleb watches with hungry eyes, his breathing growing more ragged as your tongue works its magic on his skin.

By the time you’ve cleaned the last visible drop, his cock is beginning to harden again, the tip emerging from the foreskin as blood rushes back to fill it.

“Fuck,” he groans, his hand tightening in your hair as your mouth hovers just inches from his now-half-hard length. “You’re going to be the death of me, Pips.”

You smile against his skin, pressing a kiss to the sensitive spot just below his navel. “Only if you’re lucky, ge ge.”

His laugh is warm, tinged with the slight breathlessness of post-orgasmic bliss. “Always so fucking mouthy,” he says, but there’s no heat in the words—just fond exasperation and a hunger that never seems to fully abate. “Even with my cum on your tongue.”

You sit back on your heels, suddenly aware of just how obscene the situation is—you on your knees between your brother’s legs, his cum on your tongue, his cock still exposed from his pushed-down sweatpants.

“Was it good?” you ask again, unable to keep the smug satisfaction from your voice.

“What now?” you ask, suddenly uncertain despite the intensity of what just transpired between you. Are you done? Is this all he wanted from you? The thought sends a pang of disappointment through your chest.

As if reading your mind, Caleb’s expression softens, his hand sliding from your cheek to cup the back of your neck. “Now,” he says, his voice taking on that gentle tone reserved just for you, “we rest.”

Refer to Party RSVP

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[nottellingofname]

To think I was kinda disappointed with how this turned out... I'm really just hard on myself 😭

[nottellingofname]

For My Caleb ⋆⭒˚｡⋆✈

Gege, i think i shrunk the clothes!

Here’s the thing about trying to do something nice for someone who is annoyingly capable of doing everything himself: it doesn’t work.

You’ve been trying for three weeks.

Three.

And you have nothing to show for it except a slightly bruised ego, a jaw that aches, a pussy that’s always throbbing, and a creeping, maddening awareness that Caleb Xia Yi Zhou might actually be impossible to spoil.

His birthday is in two weeks.

Two weeks, and you’ve cooked him exactly zero meals because every time you shuffle into the kitchen with some grand intention — a recipe pulled up on your phone, ingredients arranged on the counter — Caleb is already there.

Already at the stove.

Already flipping something in a pan with the confidence of a man who learned to cook before he learned to shave.

He’ll glance over his shoulder at you and smile, and it’s that smile, the soft one with the slight crinkle at the corner of his purple eyes, and you’ll feel your irritation deflate like a sad balloon because god, he’s so annoyingly pretty.

You tried cleaning.

You got up early. Practically military-early, which for you is a genuine sacrifice.

You dug out the cleaning supplies from under the sink and you had the vacuum cleaner out before seven in the morning, which should have earned you some kind of medal.

Instead you found the living room already clean. Not recently clean. Impeccably clean. Like it had never been touched by the concept of mess. There was a note on the coffee table in his handwriting: Don’t strain yourself, Pipsqueak. — C.

You may have crumpled that note aggressively.

You may have then proceeded to sit down in the middle of the clean living room floor and have something that could generously be called a meltdown. A tantrum, if you’re being less generous.

Caleb came in from wherever he’d been — still in that black and orange flight jacket, hair slightly messed, looking unfairly effortless — and found you sitting on the floor with your arms crossed and your expression set to full operational sulk.

He didn’t say anything at first. He just looked at you, and then the corner of his mouth tugged upward, and he laughed. Not mean. Never mean with you.

Just warm and rich and a little helpless, like you were the funniest thing he’d ever seen and also slightly exasperating.

“I just wanted to help,” you told him, which came out more like a whine than a declaration.

“I know,” he said, and before you could say anything else he had you up over his shoulder like you weighed nothing — like you were a bag of laundry, like the laws of gravity simply applied differently to you when he decided they did — and the world flipped upside down and his hand was firm and warm on the back of your thigh.

“Caleb—“

“You wanna work so much?” His voice had dropped, that particular low register that lived somewhere between teasing and intent. “Alright. Put that mouth to work.”

And the thing is. The thing is. You’re not going to dwell on what happened after that.

You’re absolutely not going to think about how you ended up on your knees on the floor of his office with his hands loose in your hair and his cock heavy on your tongue, or about the sounds he made, or about the way he looked down at you with those purple eyes gone dark and said good girl like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

You are not dwelling on any of that.

You’re especially not dwelling on the fact that you’d have done it again. Enthusiastically.

But the point is — and you have to keep coming back to the point because your brain has a truly inconvenient tendency to wander — his birthday is in two weeks.

And you have done nothing.

Zero.

You’ve been outmaneuvered at every turn by a six-foot-two military pilot who apparently never sleeps and has a pathological need to do everything himself before anyone else can.

Domestic route: blocked. Culinary route: blocked. Cleaning route: blocked and mocked, very gently, via handwritten note.

Fine. Fine.

If he won’t let you help him with the house, you’ll help him in a different way. A much more interesting way.

The idea had come to you in the middle of the night, the way good ideas tend to. If Caleb loves his uniform, and he does, he’s meticulous about it in a way that borders on religious — the pressed lines, the insignia, the whole Colonel energy he wears like a second skin — then what better way to short-circuit his brain than to wear it yourself?

You’d ordered it three weeks ago, back before the tantrum, when you still thought the cooking plan might work.

It had been sitting in your closet ever since, tucked behind a row of regular clothes, hidden in plain sight as something so mundane that Caleb, who does occasionally poke his head into your room to return folded laundry like some kind of domestic nightmare, would never look twice at it.

Just a dry-cleaning bag. Just a work uniform. Nothing to see here.

You pull it out now, holding it up in the soft late-afternoon light that comes through your window, and you look at it critically. It’s exactly right. The cut, the fabric, the insignia you’d had replicated. The jacket. The pants. The whole setup.

Caleb is in his room, the door cracked open the way it always is when he’s working at his desk, which means you can hear the faint occasional sound of papers shifting or his pen moving, which means he is exactly where you want him.

You look at the uniform again. You look at yourself in the mirror on the back of your closet door.

You’re going to march into his room, and you’re going to make Colonel Caleb Xia Yi Zhou lose every single thread of his composure, because it’s almost his birthday and you refuse — refuse — to be outmaneuvered a fourth time.

But here’s what they don’t tell you about ordering a uniform online when you’re more focused on the fantasy of it than the logistics: size matters.

Size matters a lot.

You step into the pants first, which is a process. You get them up past your knees fine. Past your thighs is already a project. By the time you’ve wrestled them up over your hips you’re already slightly out of breath, and when you look in the mirror the fabric is pulled so tight across your ass that you can practically count the individual seams.

You turn sideways. You turn back. You try bending at the knee to test the range of motion and the pants make a sound like a warning.

Don’t, the pants say. Absolutely do not.

Okay, so bending is out.

Moving with anything resembling caution is also out.

If you sit down in these you might genuinely be trapped.

You accept this as the price of the plan and move on to the jacket, which is the least of your problems until it isn’t — the buttons close over your stomach fine, but once you get to your chest it becomes a negotiation.

The fabric strains. The buttons are doing their best. They are trying so hard and they are losing, and there’s a gap between the second and third button from the top that wasn’t there in the product photos, where the fabric pulls apart just enough to show a strip of skin and the edge of your bra.

You look at yourself in the mirror for a long moment.

“Okay,” you say.

Your ass looks genuinely extraordinary. You have to give the too-tight pants that — they’ve done something transcendent back there. The uniform jacket hits just above the curve of it, which means when you lean forward even slightly there is an event happening. And the gap at the chest is doing something. It’s doing something you hadn’t planned, but you’re choosing to count it as a feature.

You rake your hair back, let it fall, tilt your chin. You point at your own reflection.

“He’s not gonna know what hit him.”

Your reflection looks back at you with the energy of someone who is sixty percent confident and forty percent about to back out.

You do not give her the opportunity.

You turn away from the mirror before the forty percent can gain ground, grab the door handle, and head out into the hallway.

The apartment is quiet. The late afternoon has gone gold and long-shadowed, and Caleb’s door is still cracked the way it was before, a thin rectangle of warm light falling across the hall floor. You can hear him in there — the faint shift of paper, the soft particular sound of his pen, totally absorbed. He has no idea.

You stop outside his door. You breathe.

You arrange your face into an expression of worried contrition, which takes some doing because underneath it you are absolutely delighted with yourself, and you knock twice on the door frame, keeping your body just out of sight around the edge.

“Caleb?” Your voice comes out with exactly the right wobble — concerned, a little sheepish, the voice of someone who has done something they feel bad about. “I’m really sorry, but — I was trying to do something nice, and I think I kind of messed up...”

There’s a pause. You hear his pen stop.

“Messed up how?” His voice is careful, not alarmed. Just attentive, the way he always is when you sound uncertain, because Caleb has never once in his life been able to hear you sound uncertain without immediately paying attention. It’s one of his more exploitable qualities.

“I tried washing your uniform for you,” you say, and you let the words come out small and guilty. “And I think — I think it might have... shrunk.”

Another pause. You can picture him at his desk, his brow doing that slight furrow, trying to work out why that’s a problem that requires you to sound this apologetic.

“Sweetheart.” His voice is mild, unoffended, just a little puzzled. The chair shifts. “Let me see it. Come here.”

That’s your cue.

You step around the door frame and into the light of his room, and then you walk toward him. You take your time with it, because the pants make fast movement inadvisable anyway, and because the whole point is to let him see every inch of you in this thing that barely contains you — the jacket pulled tight across your chest, the gap where the buttons strain, the pants that have given up any pretense of modesty and are simply painting you in detail.

Caleb goes completely still.

He’d been turned partway toward the door, one arm braced on his desk, and that’s how he stays — perfectly, completely motionless — as you cross the room toward him.

His mouth doesn’t drop open. He’s more composed than that. But his eyes go somewhere darker and the breath he’d been in the middle of just... stops. You can see it. The stillness of his chest.

His cock is already pressing against his pants. You notice this without looking directly, the way you notice a fire — by the heat of it, by the fact that the room feels different suddenly

You don’t say anything. You walk to his desk, turn so your back is to him, and lean against the edge of it. Your ass settles onto his work papers with a soft, definitive sound. You glance back at him over your shoulder.

He still hasn’t spoken. He’s just watching you.

His eyes trace the uniform, absorbing every detail like a blueprint he’s determined to master. His jaw is tight. The smirk hasn’t arrived yet — it’s building, you can see it in the set of his mouth, the way the corner of his lip is just beginning to pull.

You cross your arms loosely, settle your weight back, and look at him.

“Well?” you say, keeping your voice light, unbothered, like you aren’t desperately aware of your own heartbeat. “What do you think? Think it shrunk?”

And there it is — the smirk, slow and deliberate as a knife being unsheathed, landing at the corner of his mouth like he was never trying to hold it back, just waiting to make sure you were watching when it showed up.

“Mhm,” Caleb says. It’s not an answer. It’s not even a word. It’s just a sound in the low register of his voice that goes directly down your spine. The look in his eyes is the look of a man who has already decided what’s going to happen next and finds it very, very funny that you thought you were in charge of this.

You swallow.

Maybe you didn’t think this through all the way.

You think — well, you THOUGHT — that you have the upper hand here.

You’re sitting on his desk, his papers crinkled under your ass, wearing his uniform like you own it, and he’s just standing there in front of you looking at you with that smirk, and you think: yeah, okay, I’ve got him. You think: he’s flustered and I did that. You think a lot of things very quickly, in the way you do when you’re trying to feel confident and your brain is helping you lie to yourself.

Then Caleb stands up.

He’d been leaning slightly forward, one hand on the arm of his chair. He rises to his full height like the tide coming in, slow and inevitable, and suddenly he is very tall.

You’ve always known he’s tall. Six-foot-two is not a secret.

You have lived with this man, you’ve stood next to him at the grocery store and craned your neck at him across the dinner table and had him tuck you under his arm for years without really registering it the way you register it now.

You have to lean back just to keep eye contact. Your hands go automatically to the desk behind you, bracing.

“Hi,” you say, which is not what you’d planned to say.

He doesn’t answer. Instead he reaches out — and picks you up. Both hands, one at your hip and one at your thigh, and he lifts you like you’re a piece of paper he’s clearing off the desk and deposits you further back on the desk surface, higher up, and the pants — the beautiful, already-suffering pants — finally meet their end.

The seam goes with a sharp tearing sound right down the middle, and you feel the cool air of the room find your inner thighs, and you make a sound you hadn’t planned to make, somewhere between a gasp and a laugh, and your hands fly down to cover yourself automatically. That does nothing, by the way, because Caleb’s hands are already there, wrapping around your wrists and holding them to the side with a calm, immovable firmness.

His hands are enormous around your wrists. You could probably fight it but you don’t, because you’ve already forgotten what you were fighting for.

Your panties are orange. Bright, irreverent orange, the exact same color as the stripe on his flight jacket, and they are completely visible through the wreckage of the pants.

Caleb stares at them.

And then he does something you didn’t predict, because you should have known by now that Caleb in this mode is ungovernable: he drops his head.

He dips down between your thighs and puts his nose right against the fabric, and inhales. Long and deep and completely shameless, like you’re something he’s been wanting to smell for a long time and he is going to take his time about it.

You feel the breath of it through the fabric, warm and deliberate, and your hands jerk reflexively in his grip but he doesn’t let go.

“Caleb—“

He licks. A long, slow drag of his tongue over the front of your underwear, and the fabric is thin enough that you feel all of it — the wet heat, the pressure, the shape of his mouth working against you like he’s trying to memorize you through the cotton.

He does it again. He makes a sound low in his throat that is not a civilized sound, that belongs to something older and less housebroken than any version of Caleb you’ve been allowed to see before.

There is saliva soaking into the fabric now. There is the obscene warmth of his mouth. And there is you, gripping the edge of his desk with fingers gone white, breathing through your teeth.

He lets go of your wrists, steps back, and reaches into his own pants. He doesn’t bother taking them off — just shoves them down to his knees, enough to free himself, and his cock springs out like it’s been waiting for this, already flushed and heavy, standing up toward his stomach.

He wraps one hand around the base of it and strokes it slowly, watching you, watching the orange of your panties, watching the evidence of what he’s already done to them.

“Mmm,” he says again, that low sound from before. Not a word. An assessment.

Then he steps forward, and instead of pushing in — instead of doing the obvious thing, the thing you are absolutely ready for whether you’ll admit it or not — he just leans against you.

Pushes his cock down flat against the front of your panties, along your stomach, and the length of him is just. There. You both look down at the same time.

His tip passes your navel. Surpasses it. There’s cock laid against your stomach in a way that makes the math of the situation very, very clear.

“Look here, Pips.” His voice is low and easy, like he’s making an observation about the weather, like he’s discussing something reasonable and not currently resting every inch of himself against your skin. “I’m gonna be in here one day.”

Not I want to. Not can I? Just — I’m going to. The same tone he uses when he talks about flight routes and promotions and things he’s already decided are going to happen.

Your mouth opens. Nothing comes out.

He pulls back, and there are wet spots on your panties, and he looks at them with an expression of profound satisfaction before he presses himself back against you. Not inside, just along you, rubbing the length of his cock over your pussy through the ruined fabric. You’re so wet that it soaks through immediately and he can feel it.. You can tell by the hitch in his breath and the way his hips rock forward once, twice, following the slick heat of you like he can’t help it.

“Fuck,” he breathes, and it comes out reverent.

His cock moves against you in long, rolling strokes, gathering up your slick, dragging it across the fabric. Spreading isn’t enough. It isn’t enough, and Caleb knows it, and you know it, and the knowing doesn’t stop anything.

You feel the exact moment he loses the last organized thought in his head. It’s in the shift of his hips, the way they press forward with new intent instead of the rolling stroke from before.

His hands grip the backs of your thighs, and he pushes, and the wet cotton of your panties catches him, gives just a little, and his tip nudges in by a fraction — barely there, barely a suggestion of inside — and that’s all it takes.

He cums.

Just like that.

A low, bitten-off sound tears out of him, and you feel it — the heat of it soaking into the fabric, spreading in a wet rush that joins everything already there, and he’s still pressed against you, shuddering, his forehead dropping toward your shoulder without quite landing.

“Jesus—“ he breathes, and it comes out broken, like he wasn’t expecting himself.

You look down. The orange cotton is wrecked, soaked through and stained, clinging to you with the weight of what he’s done, and Caleb is looking down at it too.

“Again,” he decides, out loud, which is not a request.

He draws back and pushes forward again, harder this time, and the fabric holds for approximately one more second before it doesn’t.

The seam at the center tears cleanly, cotton splitting apart, and with the combined slick of you and the mess he’s already made, his cock slides and then doesn’t quite find the angle it was looking for. Instead it slides up, and he ends up fitted snugly between your lips, sandwiched in the wet heat of you, your folds closing around him on either side without him getting inside. The tip of him grazes your clit.

You make a sound that isn’t your voice, or isn’t a voice you’ve used before.

He goes still. Then his hips roll, experimentally, once, feeling it — the slick of you on both sides of him, your flesh pressing in, and the soft brush of your pubic hair against the base of his cock strike him directly in the brain stem.

“Oh, fuck.”

His hips find a rhythm, a steady roll that sends his cock gliding between your lips. Each thrust drags him against your clit, his length slick with your desire and the remnants of his own release. The room echoes with filthy, sloppy sounds—the smack of skin on skin, the lewd squish of his cock plowing through the fucking mess you’ve made together.

He cums again. Just erupts, fountaining up your stomach, over the ripped hem of the costume jacket, and it goes everywhere and he watches it go everywhere. His cock is still twitching.

Then he looks up at you.

“Ma’am,” he says, and the word is wrong and filthy in his mouth. Wrong because you’re not his superior, wrong because he’s never called you that in his life, wrong because of everything. He says it with a straight face.

With his hand already moving, rubbing the flat of his palm over your stomach, spreading what he’s put there into your skin. His jaw is tight. “I don’t think this uniform belongs to me anymore.”

“Caleb—“

“’Yes, sir’ works.” He isn’t looking at your face. He’s watching his own hand move, the cream worked into your skin going slick and shining. His thumb drags through the mess of you and he pushes it between your pussy lips — against them, not in, just the pressure of him insisting — and your thighs try to close and his hips stop them. “You’re so wet for me, Pips. You’re soaking. Did you know that?”

You knew. You’ve known for the last fifteen minutes in excruciating detail.

“You did this to me,” you manage.

“Yeah,” he agrees, like that pleases him enormously. “I did.”

He takes the ruined waistband of your panties in both hands, the torn fabric hanging in tatters, and pulls the remnants taut. A strip of it pressed flat against you, between your lips, and then he presses his cock back over it, and the combined friction is something your nervous system genuinely wasn’t prepared for.

He drags. Long and deliberate and slow, forcing the fabric tight against your skin, and the edge of the seam catches your clit just right and you make a noise loud enough to embarrass yourself, your hands scrabbling at the back of his neck.

“There she is,” Caleb says, very quietly, and he does it again.

Your thighs shake. The pressure builds with a speed that makes you feel cheated out of the anticipation of it, and when you tip over the edge you take him with you. You squirt, sudden and surprised and messy, and it hits him across the lower stomach and the base of his cock and he makes a sound like he’s been hit.

You expected this to slow him down. You expected this to be the moment he regroups, take a breath, bring some of that Colonel composure back to bear.

He grabs your hips instead.

His eyes are wide and dark and there is nothing composed about him. He looks at the mess between your bodies, your slick and his cum and the ruined orange cotton of your underwear, and his expression is the expression of a man who has found the meaning of life,

“Need gege to clean you up?” He asks.

His hips roll forward, coating himself back in you, and the mess makes a sound, and Caleb Xia Yi Zhou, Colonel, decorated pilot, the most responsible person in your life, looks at you with your ruined uniform jacket hanging off your shoulders and your thighs wrapped around him and his cock slick with everything that’s passed between you, and he smiles. Wide and a little wild and completely without apology.

You are in so much trouble.

Caleb grabs the remnants of your panties in both fists and pulls, and they give immediately. The cotton is already destroyed, and the last of it comes away with a sound of final surrender.

He drops it somewhere. He grabs the shredded ends of the costume pants, what’s left of them still clinging to your legs, and those go too, peeled down and discarded over the edge of the desk. You’re bare from the waist down in the ruins of this cheap costume uniform and the cool air of his room comes for your skin all at once.

Caleb doesn’t notice, or maybe he doesn’t care. He’s looking at you with the focused, slightly unhinged attention, and his cock is still hard and flushed and absolutely ready despite cumming all his kids all over you.

He picks his cock back up in his hand. Looks at you. And then he brings it down against your pussy in a single, deliberate slap.

The sound it makes is obscene. Wet and sharp and loud in the quiet room, and the splatter of everything already there — your slick, his cum, the accumulated evidence of the last twenty minutes — goes everywhere, and you jerk. Your thighs try to close and Caleb puts one hand flat on your inner thigh, open-palmed, holding you in place.

“Stay,” he says, like you’re a very beloved problem.

He does it again. The slap of his cock against your pussy, light and then firmer, and every impact sends a shock up through your hips. The wet sound of it fills the room and he is watching — watching it happen, watching the cream fly, watching the way your lips part and close around the impact, and his expression is so rapt and so unabashedly delighted that you almost laugh except that you’re too busy making sounds that aren’t laughter.

“Caleb—“

“Sir,” he corrects, absently, still watching what he’s doing with the focus of someone who finds it genuinely fascinating. “Or ma’am, I don’t care, pick one.”

“I’m not calling you ma’am,” you say, breathless.

“No, you’re the ma’am.” He looks up briefly. “You’re in uniform, Pips.” Then back down. “You’re technically outranking me right now.”

This is demented reasoning and you both know it. But it doesn’t matter because he’s moved on from slapping his dick on you to pressing his tip directly against your clit, circling it in slow, lazy strokes like he’s drawing something. His free hand has found your pussy lips, two fingers sliding along either side, pressing them together, releasing, pressing again, the wet sounds mortifying and you’re watching him do it with your mouth open because apparently your body has decided to spectate.

“Hi,” Caleb says to your pussy, conversationally. His fingers press your lips together again. They make a sound. “Yeah,” he says, nodding, like he’s hearing something only he can understand. “I know. Me too.”

“Are you talking to it—”

“Shh.” His tip presses down and rolls over your clit again and your sentence evaporates. “We’re having a moment.”

You are going to lose your mind.

In fact, you are already losing it.

You lost it approximately seventeen minutes ago and you’ve just been running on the fumes of it.

And Caleb is still working that slow deliberate circle with the head of his cock and squishing your lips between his fingers with the focus of a man who has found his calling.

“You’re so goddamn soft,” he says, and now his voice has dropped all the way down, into that register that does things to your ovaries.

“You know that? Every time I think about how — “ he presses down harder, rolls, and you make a sound that does things to his expression — “how fucking small you are—“ another stroke, the tip dragging slick — “I can’t even, Pips. I would fill you up to your throat, do you understand that? I’m not — I’m being serious right now—“

“Caleb—“

“Sir,” he says again, more firmly this time, though it’s undercut by the fact that he’s clearly struggling to form sentences himself.

His hips have started moving again with that roll, working himself against you, and the slick built between you is audible and continuous and bubbly. “I would split you in half, sweetheart, I would be so far in you—”

He cums.

It happens mid-sentence, which would be funny under other circumstances. His voice just stops, replaced by a rough broken sound, and he tilts forward and his cock kicks upward and he paints you with it. Long white stripes landing across your stomach and the open front of the costume jacket, soaking into the fabric and your skin alike. And he keeps stroking through it with his fist, milking every last drop out, watching it land.

The uniform is destroyed.

It is a complete loss.

There is no dry cleaner in the world that could help this uniform.

You don’t care. You reach out and grab his wrist.

“Again, sir,” you say, which is what he said earlier.

He looks at you. His chest is heaving. His hair is messed up, falling across his forehead. His pants are still at his knees, which looks ridiculous, but on Caleb it just looks like a man who didn’t have time for niceties.

He tries. He genuinely tries.

His hips shift forward, his hand moves, and then his whole body seems to make a decision. Caleb falls forward, catching himself on his forearms on the desk, and lowers his head until his forehead rests in the crook of your neck. His weight on you but managed, warm and enormous, his breath coming against your collarbone in deep, ragged pulls.

He doesn’t move.

The room is very quiet.

After a moment, Caleb says, in a muffled, genuine tone, “I think my soul just left my body, Pips.”

You stare at the ceiling. Your chest is heaving.

There is cum on the costume. There is cum on you.

Your pants are in pieces on the floor and you are sitting on his work papers and his face is in your neck and he has just, apparently, experienced some kind of astral event.

“Are you dead?”

“Yes.” A pause. “Don’t tell Gran.”

You bring your hand up — slowly, because everything is a little slow right now — and rest it on the back of his head.

His hair is soft. It’s always soft, stupidly soft, and he makes a low satisfied sound at the contact like a very large, very spent dog who has found his spot and has no plans to relocate.

“Don’t die yet,” you tell the ceiling.

Caleb laughs into your neck. It’s muffled and helpless and warm, and it shakes through his whole chest and into you, and you feel it everywhere.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Refer to Party RSVP

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[nottellingofname]

I've explored something new about myself while I wrote this.

New kink unlocked - uniform kink 😝😝

[nottellingofname]

For My Caleb ⋆⭒˚｡⋆✈

Gege, i think i shrunk the clothes!

Here’s the thing about trying to do something nice for someone who is annoyingly capable of doing everything himself: it doesn’t work.

You’ve been trying for three weeks.

Three.

And you have nothing to show for it except a slightly bruised ego, a jaw that aches, a pussy that’s always throbbing, and a creeping, maddening awareness that Caleb Xia Yi Zhou might actually be impossible to spoil.

His birthday is in two weeks.

Two weeks, and you’ve cooked him exactly zero meals because every time you shuffle into the kitchen with some grand intention — a recipe pulled up on your phone, ingredients arranged on the counter — Caleb is already there.

Already at the stove.

Already flipping something in a pan with the confidence of a man who learned to cook before he learned to shave.

He’ll glance over his shoulder at you and smile, and it’s that smile, the soft one with the slight crinkle at the corner of his purple eyes, and you’ll feel your irritation deflate like a sad balloon because god, he’s so annoyingly pretty.

You tried cleaning.

You got up early. Practically military-early, which for you is a genuine sacrifice.

You dug out the cleaning supplies from under the sink and you had the vacuum cleaner out before seven in the morning, which should have earned you some kind of medal.

Instead you found the living room already clean. Not recently clean. Impeccably clean. Like it had never been touched by the concept of mess. There was a note on the coffee table in his handwriting: Don’t strain yourself, Pipsqueak. — C.

You may have crumpled that note aggressively.

You may have then proceeded to sit down in the middle of the clean living room floor and have something that could generously be called a meltdown. A tantrum, if you’re being less generous.

Caleb came in from wherever he’d been — still in that black and orange flight jacket, hair slightly messed, looking unfairly effortless — and found you sitting on the floor with your arms crossed and your expression set to full operational sulk.

He didn’t say anything at first. He just looked at you, and then the corner of his mouth tugged upward, and he laughed. Not mean. Never mean with you.

Just warm and rich and a little helpless, like you were the funniest thing he’d ever seen and also slightly exasperating.

“I just wanted to help,” you told him, which came out more like a whine than a declaration.

“I know,” he said, and before you could say anything else he had you up over his shoulder like you weighed nothing — like you were a bag of laundry, like the laws of gravity simply applied differently to you when he decided they did — and the world flipped upside down and his hand was firm and warm on the back of your thigh.

“Caleb—“

“You wanna work so much?” His voice had dropped, that particular low register that lived somewhere between teasing and intent. “Alright. Put that mouth to work.”

And the thing is. The thing is. You’re not going to dwell on what happened after that.

You’re absolutely not going to think about how you ended up on your knees on the floor of his office with his hands loose in your hair and his cock heavy on your tongue, or about the sounds he made, or about the way he looked down at you with those purple eyes gone dark and said good girl like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

You are not dwelling on any of that.

You’re especially not dwelling on the fact that you’d have done it again. Enthusiastically.

But the point is — and you have to keep coming back to the point because your brain has a truly inconvenient tendency to wander — his birthday is in two weeks.

And you have done nothing.

Zero.

You’ve been outmaneuvered at every turn by a six-foot-two military pilot who apparently never sleeps and has a pathological need to do everything himself before anyone else can.

Domestic route: blocked. Culinary route: blocked. Cleaning route: blocked and mocked, very gently, via handwritten note.

Fine. Fine.

If he won’t let you help him with the house, you’ll help him in a different way. A much more interesting way.

The idea had come to you in the middle of the night, the way good ideas tend to. If Caleb loves his uniform, and he does, he’s meticulous about it in a way that borders on religious — the pressed lines, the insignia, the whole Colonel energy he wears like a second skin — then what better way to short-circuit his brain than to wear it yourself?

You’d ordered it three weeks ago, back before the tantrum, when you still thought the cooking plan might work.

It had been sitting in your closet ever since, tucked behind a row of regular clothes, hidden in plain sight as something so mundane that Caleb, who does occasionally poke his head into your room to return folded laundry like some kind of domestic nightmare, would never look twice at it.

Just a dry-cleaning bag. Just a work uniform. Nothing to see here.

You pull it out now, holding it up in the soft late-afternoon light that comes through your window, and you look at it critically. It’s exactly right. The cut, the fabric, the insignia you’d had replicated. The jacket. The pants. The whole setup.

Caleb is in his room, the door cracked open the way it always is when he’s working at his desk, which means you can hear the faint occasional sound of papers shifting or his pen moving, which means he is exactly where you want him.

You look at the uniform again. You look at yourself in the mirror on the back of your closet door.

You’re going to march into his room, and you’re going to make Colonel Caleb Xia Yi Zhou lose every single thread of his composure, because it’s almost his birthday and you refuse — refuse — to be outmaneuvered a fourth time.

But here’s what they don’t tell you about ordering a uniform online when you’re more focused on the fantasy of it than the logistics: size matters.

Size matters a lot.

You step into the pants first, which is a process. You get them up past your knees fine. Past your thighs is already a project. By the time you’ve wrestled them up over your hips you’re already slightly out of breath, and when you look in the mirror the fabric is pulled so tight across your ass that you can practically count the individual seams.

You turn sideways. You turn back. You try bending at the knee to test the range of motion and the pants make a sound like a warning.

Don’t, the pants say. Absolutely do not.

Okay, so bending is out.

Moving with anything resembling caution is also out.

If you sit down in these you might genuinely be trapped.

You accept this as the price of the plan and move on to the jacket, which is the least of your problems until it isn’t — the buttons close over your stomach fine, but once you get to your chest it becomes a negotiation.

The fabric strains. The buttons are doing their best. They are trying so hard and they are losing, and there’s a gap between the second and third button from the top that wasn’t there in the product photos, where the fabric pulls apart just enough to show a strip of skin and the edge of your bra.

You look at yourself in the mirror for a long moment.

“Okay,” you say.

Your ass looks genuinely extraordinary. You have to give the too-tight pants that — they’ve done something transcendent back there. The uniform jacket hits just above the curve of it, which means when you lean forward even slightly there is an event happening. And the gap at the chest is doing something. It’s doing something you hadn’t planned, but you’re choosing to count it as a feature.

You rake your hair back, let it fall, tilt your chin. You point at your own reflection.

“He’s not gonna know what hit him.”

Your reflection looks back at you with the energy of someone who is sixty percent confident and forty percent about to back out.

You do not give her the opportunity.

You turn away from the mirror before the forty percent can gain ground, grab the door handle, and head out into the hallway.

The apartment is quiet. The late afternoon has gone gold and long-shadowed, and Caleb’s door is still cracked the way it was before, a thin rectangle of warm light falling across the hall floor. You can hear him in there — the faint shift of paper, the soft particular sound of his pen, totally absorbed. He has no idea.

You stop outside his door. You breathe.

You arrange your face into an expression of worried contrition, which takes some doing because underneath it you are absolutely delighted with yourself, and you knock twice on the door frame, keeping your body just out of sight around the edge.

“Caleb?” Your voice comes out with exactly the right wobble — concerned, a little sheepish, the voice of someone who has done something they feel bad about. “I’m really sorry, but — I was trying to do something nice, and I think I kind of messed up...”

There’s a pause. You hear his pen stop.

“Messed up how?” His voice is careful, not alarmed. Just attentive, the way he always is when you sound uncertain, because Caleb has never once in his life been able to hear you sound uncertain without immediately paying attention. It’s one of his more exploitable qualities.

“I tried washing your uniform for you,” you say, and you let the words come out small and guilty. “And I think — I think it might have... shrunk.”

Another pause. You can picture him at his desk, his brow doing that slight furrow, trying to work out why that’s a problem that requires you to sound this apologetic.

“Sweetheart.” His voice is mild, unoffended, just a little puzzled. The chair shifts. “Let me see it. Come here.”

That’s your cue.

You step around the door frame and into the light of his room, and then you walk toward him. You take your time with it, because the pants make fast movement inadvisable anyway, and because the whole point is to let him see every inch of you in this thing that barely contains you — the jacket pulled tight across your chest, the gap where the buttons strain, the pants that have given up any pretense of modesty and are simply painting you in detail.

Caleb goes completely still.

He’d been turned partway toward the door, one arm braced on his desk, and that’s how he stays — perfectly, completely motionless — as you cross the room toward him.

His mouth doesn’t drop open. He’s more composed than that. But his eyes go somewhere darker and the breath he’d been in the middle of just... stops. You can see it. The stillness of his chest.

His cock is already pressing against his pants. You notice this without looking directly, the way you notice a fire — by the heat of it, by the fact that the room feels different suddenly

You don’t say anything. You walk to his desk, turn so your back is to him, and lean against the edge of it. Your ass settles onto his work papers with a soft, definitive sound. You glance back at him over your shoulder.

He still hasn’t spoken. He’s just watching you.

His eyes trace the uniform, absorbing every detail like a blueprint he’s determined to master. His jaw is tight. The smirk hasn’t arrived yet — it’s building, you can see it in the set of his mouth, the way the corner of his lip is just beginning to pull.

You cross your arms loosely, settle your weight back, and look at him.

“Well?” you say, keeping your voice light, unbothered, like you aren’t desperately aware of your own heartbeat. “What do you think? Think it shrunk?”

And there it is — the smirk, slow and deliberate as a knife being unsheathed, landing at the corner of his mouth like he was never trying to hold it back, just waiting to make sure you were watching when it showed up.

“Mhm,” Caleb says. It’s not an answer. It’s not even a word. It’s just a sound in the low register of his voice that goes directly down your spine. The look in his eyes is the look of a man who has already decided what’s going to happen next and finds it very, very funny that you thought you were in charge of this.

You swallow.

Maybe you didn’t think this through all the way.

You think — well, you THOUGHT — that you have the upper hand here.

You’re sitting on his desk, his papers crinkled under your ass, wearing his uniform like you own it, and he’s just standing there in front of you looking at you with that smirk, and you think: yeah, okay, I’ve got him. You think: he’s flustered and I did that. You think a lot of things very quickly, in the way you do when you’re trying to feel confident and your brain is helping you lie to yourself.

Then Caleb stands up.

He’d been leaning slightly forward, one hand on the arm of his chair. He rises to his full height like the tide coming in, slow and inevitable, and suddenly he is very tall.

You’ve always known he’s tall. Six-foot-two is not a secret.

You have lived with this man, you’ve stood next to him at the grocery store and craned your neck at him across the dinner table and had him tuck you under his arm for years without really registering it the way you register it now.

You have to lean back just to keep eye contact. Your hands go automatically to the desk behind you, bracing.

“Hi,” you say, which is not what you’d planned to say.

He doesn’t answer. Instead he reaches out — and picks you up. Both hands, one at your hip and one at your thigh, and he lifts you like you’re a piece of paper he’s clearing off the desk and deposits you further back on the desk surface, higher up, and the pants — the beautiful, already-suffering pants — finally meet their end.

The seam goes with a sharp tearing sound right down the middle, and you feel the cool air of the room find your inner thighs, and you make a sound you hadn’t planned to make, somewhere between a gasp and a laugh, and your hands fly down to cover yourself automatically. That does nothing, by the way, because Caleb’s hands are already there, wrapping around your wrists and holding them to the side with a calm, immovable firmness.

His hands are enormous around your wrists. You could probably fight it but you don’t, because you’ve already forgotten what you were fighting for.

Your panties are orange. Bright, irreverent orange, the exact same color as the stripe on his flight jacket, and they are completely visible through the wreckage of the pants.

Caleb stares at them.

And then he does something you didn’t predict, because you should have known by now that Caleb in this mode is ungovernable: he drops his head.

He dips down between your thighs and puts his nose right against the fabric, and inhales. Long and deep and completely shameless, like you’re something he’s been wanting to smell for a long time and he is going to take his time about it.

You feel the breath of it through the fabric, warm and deliberate, and your hands jerk reflexively in his grip but he doesn’t let go.

“Caleb—“

He licks. A long, slow drag of his tongue over the front of your underwear, and the fabric is thin enough that you feel all of it — the wet heat, the pressure, the shape of his mouth working against you like he’s trying to memorize you through the cotton.

He does it again. He makes a sound low in his throat that is not a civilized sound, that belongs to something older and less housebroken than any version of Caleb you’ve been allowed to see before.

There is saliva soaking into the fabric now. There is the obscene warmth of his mouth. And there is you, gripping the edge of his desk with fingers gone white, breathing through your teeth.

He lets go of your wrists, steps back, and reaches into his own pants. He doesn’t bother taking them off — just shoves them down to his knees, enough to free himself, and his cock springs out like it’s been waiting for this, already flushed and heavy, standing up toward his stomach.

He wraps one hand around the base of it and strokes it slowly, watching you, watching the orange of your panties, watching the evidence of what he’s already done to them.

“Mmm,” he says again, that low sound from before. Not a word. An assessment.

Then he steps forward, and instead of pushing in — instead of doing the obvious thing, the thing you are absolutely ready for whether you’ll admit it or not — he just leans against you.

Pushes his cock down flat against the front of your panties, along your stomach, and the length of him is just. There. You both look down at the same time.

His tip passes your navel. Surpasses it. There’s cock laid against your stomach in a way that makes the math of the situation very, very clear.

“Look here, Pips.” His voice is low and easy, like he’s making an observation about the weather, like he’s discussing something reasonable and not currently resting every inch of himself against your skin. “I’m gonna be in here one day.”

Not I want to. Not can I? Just — I’m going to. The same tone he uses when he talks about flight routes and promotions and things he’s already decided are going to happen.

Your mouth opens. Nothing comes out.

He pulls back, and there are wet spots on your panties, and he looks at them with an expression of profound satisfaction before he presses himself back against you. Not inside, just along you, rubbing the length of his cock over your pussy through the ruined fabric. You’re so wet that it soaks through immediately and he can feel it.. You can tell by the hitch in his breath and the way his hips rock forward once, twice, following the slick heat of you like he can’t help it.

“Fuck,” he breathes, and it comes out reverent.

His cock moves against you in long, rolling strokes, gathering up your slick, dragging it across the fabric. Spreading isn’t enough. It isn’t enough, and Caleb knows it, and you know it, and the knowing doesn’t stop anything.

You feel the exact moment he loses the last organized thought in his head. It’s in the shift of his hips, the way they press forward with new intent instead of the rolling stroke from before.

His hands grip the backs of your thighs, and he pushes, and the wet cotton of your panties catches him, gives just a little, and his tip nudges in by a fraction — barely there, barely a suggestion of inside — and that’s all it takes.

He cums.

Just like that.

A low, bitten-off sound tears out of him, and you feel it — the heat of it soaking into the fabric, spreading in a wet rush that joins everything already there, and he’s still pressed against you, shuddering, his forehead dropping toward your shoulder without quite landing.

“Jesus—“ he breathes, and it comes out broken, like he wasn’t expecting himself.

You look down. The orange cotton is wrecked, soaked through and stained, clinging to you with the weight of what he’s done, and Caleb is looking down at it too.

“Again,” he decides, out loud, which is not a request.

He draws back and pushes forward again, harder this time, and the fabric holds for approximately one more second before it doesn’t.

The seam at the center tears cleanly, cotton splitting apart, and with the combined slick of you and the mess he’s already made, his cock slides and then doesn’t quite find the angle it was looking for. Instead it slides up, and he ends up fitted snugly between your lips, sandwiched in the wet heat of you, your folds closing around him on either side without him getting inside. The tip of him grazes your clit.

You make a sound that isn’t your voice, or isn’t a voice you’ve used before.

He goes still. Then his hips roll, experimentally, once, feeling it — the slick of you on both sides of him, your flesh pressing in, and the soft brush of your pubic hair against the base of his cock strike him directly in the brain stem.

“Oh, fuck.”

His hips find a rhythm, a steady roll that sends his cock gliding between your lips. Each thrust drags him against your clit, his length slick with your desire and the remnants of his own release. The room echoes with filthy, sloppy sounds—the smack of skin on skin, the lewd squish of his cock plowing through the fucking mess you’ve made together.

He cums again. Just erupts, fountaining up your stomach, over the ripped hem of the costume jacket, and it goes everywhere and he watches it go everywhere. His cock is still twitching.

Then he looks up at you.

“Ma’am,” he says, and the word is wrong and filthy in his mouth. Wrong because you’re not his superior, wrong because he’s never called you that in his life, wrong because of everything. He says it with a straight face.

With his hand already moving, rubbing the flat of his palm over your stomach, spreading what he’s put there into your skin. His jaw is tight. “I don’t think this uniform belongs to me anymore.”

“Caleb—“

“’Yes, sir’ works.” He isn’t looking at your face. He’s watching his own hand move, the cream worked into your skin going slick and shining. His thumb drags through the mess of you and he pushes it between your pussy lips — against them, not in, just the pressure of him insisting — and your thighs try to close and his hips stop them. “You’re so wet for me, Pips. You’re soaking. Did you know that?”

You knew. You’ve known for the last fifteen minutes in excruciating detail.

“You did this to me,” you manage.

“Yeah,” he agrees, like that pleases him enormously. “I did.”

He takes the ruined waistband of your panties in both hands, the torn fabric hanging in tatters, and pulls the remnants taut. A strip of it pressed flat against you, between your lips, and then he presses his cock back over it, and the combined friction is something your nervous system genuinely wasn’t prepared for.

He drags. Long and deliberate and slow, forcing the fabric tight against your skin, and the edge of the seam catches your clit just right and you make a noise loud enough to embarrass yourself, your hands scrabbling at the back of his neck.

“There she is,” Caleb says, very quietly, and he does it again.

Your thighs shake. The pressure builds with a speed that makes you feel cheated out of the anticipation of it, and when you tip over the edge you take him with you. You squirt, sudden and surprised and messy, and it hits him across the lower stomach and the base of his cock and he makes a sound like he’s been hit.

You expected this to slow him down. You expected this to be the moment he regroups, take a breath, bring some of that Colonel composure back to bear.

He grabs your hips instead.

His eyes are wide and dark and there is nothing composed about him. He looks at the mess between your bodies, your slick and his cum and the ruined orange cotton of your underwear, and his expression is the expression of a man who has found the meaning of life,

“Need gege to clean you up?” He asks.

His hips roll forward, coating himself back in you, and the mess makes a sound, and Caleb Xia Yi Zhou, Colonel, decorated pilot, the most responsible person in your life, looks at you with your ruined uniform jacket hanging off your shoulders and your thighs wrapped around him and his cock slick with everything that’s passed between you, and he smiles. Wide and a little wild and completely without apology.

You are in so much trouble.

Caleb grabs the remnants of your panties in both fists and pulls, and they give immediately. The cotton is already destroyed, and the last of it comes away with a sound of final surrender.

He drops it somewhere. He grabs the shredded ends of the costume pants, what’s left of them still clinging to your legs, and those go too, peeled down and discarded over the edge of the desk. You’re bare from the waist down in the ruins of this cheap costume uniform and the cool air of his room comes for your skin all at once.

Caleb doesn’t notice, or maybe he doesn’t care. He’s looking at you with the focused, slightly unhinged attention, and his cock is still hard and flushed and absolutely ready despite cumming all his kids all over you.

He picks his cock back up in his hand. Looks at you. And then he brings it down against your pussy in a single, deliberate slap.

The sound it makes is obscene. Wet and sharp and loud in the quiet room, and the splatter of everything already there — your slick, his cum, the accumulated evidence of the last twenty minutes — goes everywhere, and you jerk. Your thighs try to close and Caleb puts one hand flat on your inner thigh, open-palmed, holding you in place.

“Stay,” he says, like you’re a very beloved problem.

He does it again. The slap of his cock against your pussy, light and then firmer, and every impact sends a shock up through your hips. The wet sound of it fills the room and he is watching — watching it happen, watching the cream fly, watching the way your lips part and close around the impact, and his expression is so rapt and so unabashedly delighted that you almost laugh except that you’re too busy making sounds that aren’t laughter.

“Caleb—“

“Sir,” he corrects, absently, still watching what he’s doing with the focus of someone who finds it genuinely fascinating. “Or ma’am, I don’t care, pick one.”

“I’m not calling you ma’am,” you say, breathless.

“No, you’re the ma’am.” He looks up briefly. “You’re in uniform, Pips.” Then back down. “You’re technically outranking me right now.”

This is demented reasoning and you both know it. But it doesn’t matter because he’s moved on from slapping his dick on you to pressing his tip directly against your clit, circling it in slow, lazy strokes like he’s drawing something. His free hand has found your pussy lips, two fingers sliding along either side, pressing them together, releasing, pressing again, the wet sounds mortifying and you’re watching him do it with your mouth open because apparently your body has decided to spectate.

“Hi,” Caleb says to your pussy, conversationally. His fingers press your lips together again. They make a sound. “Yeah,” he says, nodding, like he’s hearing something only he can understand. “I know. Me too.”

“Are you talking to it—”

“Shh.” His tip presses down and rolls over your clit again and your sentence evaporates. “We’re having a moment.”

You are going to lose your mind.

In fact, you are already losing it.

You lost it approximately seventeen minutes ago and you’ve just been running on the fumes of it.

And Caleb is still working that slow deliberate circle with the head of his cock and squishing your lips between his fingers with the focus of a man who has found his calling.

“You’re so goddamn soft,” he says, and now his voice has dropped all the way down, into that register that does things to your ovaries.

“You know that? Every time I think about how — “ he presses down harder, rolls, and you make a sound that does things to his expression — “how fucking small you are—“ another stroke, the tip dragging slick — “I can’t even, Pips. I would fill you up to your throat, do you understand that? I’m not — I’m being serious right now—“

“Caleb—“

“Sir,” he says again, more firmly this time, though it’s undercut by the fact that he’s clearly struggling to form sentences himself.

His hips have started moving again with that roll, working himself against you, and the slick built between you is audible and continuous and bubbly. “I would split you in half, sweetheart, I would be so far in you—”

He cums.

It happens mid-sentence, which would be funny under other circumstances. His voice just stops, replaced by a rough broken sound, and he tilts forward and his cock kicks upward and he paints you with it. Long white stripes landing across your stomach and the open front of the costume jacket, soaking into the fabric and your skin alike. And he keeps stroking through it with his fist, milking every last drop out, watching it land.

The uniform is destroyed.

It is a complete loss.

There is no dry cleaner in the world that could help this uniform.

You don’t care. You reach out and grab his wrist.

“Again, sir,” you say, which is what he said earlier.

He looks at you. His chest is heaving. His hair is messed up, falling across his forehead. His pants are still at his knees, which looks ridiculous, but on Caleb it just looks like a man who didn’t have time for niceties.

He tries. He genuinely tries.

His hips shift forward, his hand moves, and then his whole body seems to make a decision. Caleb falls forward, catching himself on his forearms on the desk, and lowers his head until his forehead rests in the crook of your neck. His weight on you but managed, warm and enormous, his breath coming against your collarbone in deep, ragged pulls.

He doesn’t move.

The room is very quiet.

After a moment, Caleb says, in a muffled, genuine tone, “I think my soul just left my body, Pips.”

You stare at the ceiling. Your chest is heaving.

There is cum on the costume. There is cum on you.

Your pants are in pieces on the floor and you are sitting on his work papers and his face is in your neck and he has just, apparently, experienced some kind of astral event.

“Are you dead?”

“Yes.” A pause. “Don’t tell Gran.”

You bring your hand up — slowly, because everything is a little slow right now — and rest it on the back of his head.

His hair is soft. It’s always soft, stupidly soft, and he makes a low satisfied sound at the contact like a very large, very spent dog who has found his spot and has no plans to relocate.

“Don’t die yet,” you tell the ceiling.

Caleb laughs into your neck. It’s muffled and helpless and warm, and it shakes through his whole chest and into you, and you feel it everywhere.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Refer to Party RSVP

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[meanhamster]

Author has me gnawing at the bars of my enclosure 😳

Like... actually speechless. 10/10 will be reading this again and again and again 🤩

[netherslut]

I have a voice kink and here is a drabble.

“Meimei…”

Sometimes, it was impossible to breathe around Caleb.

Sometimes, it was a joke that had you doubled over in laughter. Sometimes, it was a smile that knocked the air out of your lungs.

Sometimes, it was how he whispered filth into you ear while his chest pressed against your back and he rutted into you like a dog.

“I want you so bad. Forgive your greedy gege.” He cooed and despite every fiber of your being screaming for reprive, you let him.

Much like his evol, Caleb’s voice made gravity shift around you. You could listen to him forever. It signified home, love, and ecstasy.

“I want to show you how much I love you, baby. I just love you so much I can’t explain it with words.” Maybe he didn’t realize it, but he never stopped talking when he made love to you.

Not that you minded.

“You’re mine, all mine.” Breathless, words caught between whimpers and groans. “I’m yours.”

His unrelenting movements punctuated every word and you fought between losing yourself to the pleasure and committing every second to memory.

"I want to keep you in a world where it’s just the two of us." He shifted his hips, holding and pressing inside you exactly how you needed.

Your body shook. He held you between rapture and desperation.

“If I kept you here with me like this... would you think I’m being too selfish?”

Caleb knew what you’d say and still he waited, his own selfish desire for reassurance took over his coding to please you.

“Caleb,” you begged, agonized and raspy. Your hips pushed back, but that only heightened your own need.

“Gege, please keep me. Keep me to yourself, hide me away, and love me exactly how you do now.” Your words flooded out, sloppy and deprived. “I don’t need anyone but you.”

Caleb had no poker face, not that you could see. With a sick grin, he rolled his hips and gave you exactly what you wanted.

He pistoned into you, no more words and no more games. He just gave you what you desired and you took everything he had to offer.

His hand circled your hip, finding that sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Go on,” he gritted out, picking up his pace and desperately trying to keep his wits as you tightened around him. “I’ll give you everything you could ever ask for. Every desire, every inch.”

Teeth found your neck, his words found your heat and you let go exactly as he asked.

“Good girl,” Caleb flipped you over, meeting you with that wolfish grin meant for you and you alone. You fought to catch your breath, your hands gripped his shoulders like they were your last lifeline to sanity.

“Don’t pass out on me now, pips. We’re just getting started.”

[paperlotus613]

🔞🧵| Jetstream Jitters | (drunk) Caleb 🍎

↻+♡ appreciated

“Caleb, jeez!! What did you drink?? I can smell five different alcohol beverages on you” you complain, helping him dodge the shoes at the entrance. “It were six!” he said highly amused and held up eight fingers.

What was supposed to be a game of poker with his friends, turned into a competitive drinking game, causing him to be..like this.

“Pipsqueak!” his voice all cutesy now. “Wait, can I still call you Pipsqueak, Pipsqueak?” his eyes entering puppy mode. Before you can answer him, he goes “Mmmh yeah~ you’re my wittle little Pipsqueak, Pipsqueak~~” he’s nuzzling against your chest now, acting like an innocent cat, but is actually just finding an excuse to bury his face in your tits.

“I-I can’t help myself” he claims innocently. “I just want to…” his voice breathy and needy, as he tugs at your tank top, exposing your tits “…drink some more” his voice now a growl and he – “CALEB!!” you gasp – snags your nipple into his mouth.

“CALEB–OUCH! GENTLE!” you let out as Caleb’s nibble turned into a bite. '“Oh—OH NO, I’m sorryyy!! I didn’t mean- I mean, I did, but not like- not to hurt you” he’s sitting on his heels, hugging your thighs now, genuinely guilty – your core burning up from cuteness aggressions. “Let me..,” he stands up, still a bit unsteady on his feet “..make it up to you, yeah?” and scoops you up, carrying you bridal style…

Determined he wobbles towards the bedroom, accidentally stubbing his toe on the dresser, before throwing you on the bed with a bit too much force. “Caleb, softer please!!” you say, landing a little unsteady. Caleb moves to undress, his voice now suddenly serious, but the amusement in his tone slips through: “10-04 Pipsqueak has landed! Jetstream jitters included, all systems stable. Initiating boarding, brace for impact.”

He’s throws himself on you, then goes in for a hungry and sloppy kiss. He buries his tongue deep into your throat, grunting loudly from pleasure and breathing heavy, his kisses are wet and messy.

He sits up and pulls you with him… only to topple onto his back with you on top, having misjudged his own strength. “You really go full factory reset when you’re drunk, huh?” you tease, letting your fingers glide through his hair. You feel his cock pulsating against you, but Caleb is clearly too drunk to top you.

He glances down, then back at you, eyes wide and needy. “Requesting assistance…” he says, tone kind and innocent. You give him a sweet smile. You love it when he gets all nerdy and needy when drunk. “Say please?” “Please” no hesitation, his voice soft.

You begin stroking him, occasionally teasing him by caressing your clit with the tip of his cock or brushing it lightly against your entrance, never fully sliding him in. Caleb can’t stop whimpering & gasping sharply through his teeth, clearly loving it but also tormented by your teasing.

He doesn’t protest, so you decide to free him. As he tightens his grip on you, you decide to take his full length in one swift motion. “Fuck…” you hear him swearing under his breath as you slowly move up and down.

Before you can speed up your pace, Caleb suddenly giggles. You give him a confused look, wondering what’s going on. He glances down, looking now at his cock, buried inside of you and says: “Boarding complete.”

[855-am]

who wants a bite

[aexias]

★ KISS IT BETTER BABY - LADS ★

pairings : xavier, zayne, rafayel, sylus, and caleb (seperate)

synopsis : the lads men make you angry so they find a way to kiss it better

wc: 6.6k

general cw : nsfw, make up sex, oral (fem!receiving), overstimulation, piv, fingering, nipple play, dry humping, semi-public sex, unprotected sex

aexias talking : hii sorry this took me so damn long, ive been going thru writer's block LOL please enjoy <3

XAVIER 沈星回:

"Xavier, please." You rub your temples, smoothing your fingers through your hair. Seeing his face makes it difficult to stay mad at him. Even if you're upset over a silly reason, you still hold your ground. He stands outside your doorstep, eyes glimmering with sorrow. A soft dejection written on his face. He almost looks like a dog— Sad and pathetic.

The fact you fold so easily for him is pathetic though.

How could you not though? It's hard to deny Xavier when he makes you feel so good. You tangle your fingers into his strands, smacking your other hand against the wall to leverage yourself. Xavier crowds you, rubbing his nose into your thighs, kissing up the insides of your legs. He raises your thigh, letting it dangle over his shoulder. Xavier presses kisses into your hip, goosebumps flooding your body.

You're the pathetic one.

"My star." Xavier moans, his tongue lapping at your inner thighs. You make the mistake of staring down, seeing the haze in his eyes. It makes your stomach coil with need, throbbing at the mere sight of him. Xavier presses kisses into your skin, hands stabilizing you. "I'm sorry, I won't do it again, okay?" He mumbles, far too invested in your pleasure.

You know it's stupid, Xavier shouldn't be apologizing for your stubbornness. Yet, you can't help but feel a swirl of glee, seeing him indulge in your immature mannerisms. His nose bumps against your clit, letting his tongue explore your sex. His eyes still remain on your expression, feeling your muscles twitch and spasm under his palms.

"I'll only look at you, okay? Only you, my love." He drags his tongue up, gently suckling at your clit before one of his hands glides up the back of your thigh. His fingertips glide over your slit before circling your entrance. "I'll only make you laugh, okay? I'll only ever make you feel good. I'm yours." Xavier's finger presses against the opening, gently sliding in. You clench around a single digit, hips buckling.

"I know you're sensitive. It's been two weeks." He mumbles, pressing his finger deeper. His finger curls softly, the pads moving against your walls. You try your best to keep your noises down. You're right in the door way, anyone could hear you two.

"Xavier.." You moan out, pressing his head closer to you. Your hips weakly grind against your face, rolling into his touch. You can feel him smiling, slipping another finger into you. You stretch around him with little to no restraint, your body giving into his mouth.

"Did you try touching yourself?" He asks, pulling away from your clit for a moment. Frazzled, you look down with confusion.

"I, uh— What?" You stumble on your words, too engulfed in how he's making you feel. Xavier repeats his question, kissing around your clit. You buck your hips, silently begging for more. "Yeah, it didn't—Ah— go well…" You admit, ears flushing with shame.

"I thought so.." He says softly, returning to your skin. Xavier continues curling his fingers, thrusting them in and out of you. "I am sorry though." He speaks again, pulling his fingers out. You whine at the loss of contact, but Xavier soothes you. He lets your leg fall off his shoulder, opting to wrap his arms around your hips. His thumbs rub at your lower stomach, pushing up your shirt.

His hand smooths over your skin, applying a soft pressure to your pelvis while his thumb rubs at your clit. He dips lower on his knees, angling his head to lap at your slit. Your skin is puffy, desperate for his touch. This time, you pull at his strands with a soft grunt.

"Xavier, please. If you're going to keep teasing me, I'll be even angrier." Your brows furrow, watching his eyes go wide. That pitiful, pathetic stare makes you clench around nothing. But he listens—He's good at that—focusing on the task at hand. Xavier presses his mouth against you, his tongue curling inside of you.

It's an entirely different feel from his fingers, softer yet more prominent. You buckle against his mouth, his thumb continuing to swirl at your clit. It throbs under his fingers as you become nosier. Concern for who can hear you has long since left your mind.

"Fuck, Xavier. Keep going!" You cry out, head resting against the wall. Weeks after working with just your fingers has left you frustrated. Granted, you caused your own issues, but still. Having his mouth and attention on you is suffocating in the best way possible. You want nothing more than drown into his affections and touch, choke on the feeling of ecstasy. He builds you up so gently, guiding you to an overwhelming pinnacle before he guides you down.

The pressure he applies on your lower stomach only adds to the stimulation, driving you crazy. Your head spins with desire, grinding against his mouth. The entire time, Xavier's eyes never stray from your expressions. It's euphoric, being strung so high, knowing you're going to be just as ardently guided down.

Xavier rumbles something against your sex, but you're too far gone to pay any mind. You can feel your orgasm washing over you, ebbing straight into your body. Before you can process it, you're clenching around Xavier's tongue, staining his mouth and chin with your slick.

Xavier doesn't let up though, gently slowing his movements. You pant as roll into his touch before you start flinching away from overstimulation. You push at Xavier's forehead, feeling his detach from you. His arms still stay looped around your hips, pressing kisses into your pelvis and stomach. His chin rests against your stomach as he cranes his neck to look at you.

"My star… Am I forgiven? Or shall I keep going? I'll do it as much as you'd like— I'll do anything." He says it so pointedly you don't have the heart to tease him. You shake your head, letting go of his blondish strands.

"You're forgiven, Xavier…" You say with a sigh, thighs trembling in his hold. "Though, I wouldn't mind a massage—"

"Anything you desire, my love."

ZAYNE 黎深:

"Your greed knows no bounds, Doctor." You remark, narrowing your eyes at Zayne. The blue light of his laptop reflects in his glasses has his gaze flits up to you. He's in his night clothes, yet he's still sitting at his desk. To add salt to the wound, he ate your dessert. Zayne's brows raise slightly, his crimes dawning on him.

"I'll be there in—" Zayne begins to speak, but you abruptly cut him off.

"Ten minutes, I know. I heard that an hour ago, dear." You walk towards the front of his desk, placing your hands on the wood. He stares up at you, eyes flitting down to the screen. You lean in, pulling his glasses off his face. "Don't you think you owe me reparations, Doctor? You ate my pudding and now you're lying to me." You jut out your lip in a faux pout watching his expression morph. Zayne rubs his temples, sighing.

He rises from his desk, glancing at his phone to check the time. He walks around the desk as your eyes follow him, his arms soon caging you against the wood table. He rests his face into the back of your neck, hands smoothing down your sides. You tangle a hand into his hair, guiding his lips towards yours.

As you press into Zayne you can feel his heart beating on your shoulder, the hitch in his throat as you slide your tongue against his. He lowers his head once more, kissing down the back of your neck. Pulling down the straps of your shirt to feel the skin of your shoulder.

"Will this suffice?" It's rhetorical. Zayne knows that you are far greedier than he is. He huffs a laugh near your neck, massaging his fingers into your hips and tail bone. "Tell me how I can right my wrong, darling." He breathes against your ear, guiding your chin back.

Zayne presses his lips against yours, feeling you willingly part your lips for his tongue. His hands stay busy, thumbs pulling down your pants and letting it pool by your ankles. You step out of the fabric, turning around quickly to wrap your arms around his shoulders.

He takes a step back as if to guide you towards the bedroom, but you pull on the collar of his night shirt. You shake your head,

"No. Here. So next time you lie to me, you can remember what it will cost to make it right." You chuckle against his lips, kissing him once more. Your lips move in tandem and Zayne is quick to prop you onto his desk. He shuffles his things to the side, knocking down a few papers in the process.

That isn't important right now.

You raise your hips, slipping your panties off before tugging on the edges of Zayne's shirt. He quickly disposes it, allowing you to feel the contours of his body. Your fingertips glide over his chest, collarbones, and expand over the plains of his abdomen.

Zayne works quickly. An arm wraps around the backs of your shoulders, guiding you to lay across his desk on your hip. Zayne manages to slip a hand between your thighs, knuckles running along your soaked slit.

"Tell me where you want me." He whispers into your ear, kissing the underside of your jaw when you lean back. He manages to get you onto your knees, kneeling on the desk as your back faces him. Zayne kisses down your spine, fingers lingering near your sex.

You take his hand, guiding the tips of his fingers between your folds, dragging them up and down. His fingers flex gently, prodding your hole. Zayne presses a kiss to your shoulder as your hips push back into his hand. Two of his fingers slip effortlessly into you, eliciting a moan from you.

"I should have known you wouldn't wait for me. Did you get tired of playing by yourself?" He questions, holding back a smile. You huff into your forearm, flushing.

"You took too long." You groan, pushing back against his fingers. He curls them into your sweet spot, allowing you to set the pace. Zayne hums against your back, feeling the chill of his skin against yours. His thumb finds your clit, pressing down on the bud as he continues to arch his fingers. You gush around him, squeezing your thighs together.

"My apologies." There's no bite to his words, a soft smile displayed on his face. You glance over your shoulder, brows furrowing as he leans in to kiss you again. You're impatient though, growing far too tired of simply having fingers inside of you. You press the arch of your foot against his thigh, straining your ankle to drag it higher up his leg.

Zayne catches your ankle with his spare hand, pressing his thumb into the center. It effectively restrains you foot, causing it to curl inwards. You whine against his lips, but soon hear him shuffling out of his pants.

"Good things comes to those who wait." Zayne humors you, sliding your foot outwards. He parts your legs, guiding the head of his cock between your thighs. He groans at the sheer heat of you, feeling your ass pressed against his pelvis. "Greedy." He remarks, seeing you push back against him. His hand rests on your hip, guiding you onto him.

You groan as Zayne pushes into you, your body rolling against his hips. He holds you down, keeping you in place despite your incessant whines. Gently, Zayne guides you to sit up, his chest against your shoulders. With his lips beside your ear, you can hear his heavy breathing and groans.

"impatient and greedy." He repeats, coiling an arm around your center to palm at your exposed chest. Your head falls back into his shoulder, sucking and biting marks onto his neck. Come tomorrow, he may flush at the bright red markings on his pale skin, but for now, Zayne allows you to do as you please.

When he finally bottoms out, he doesn't waste anytime. He sets the pace for you, pressing a hand on your lower abdomen. You feel the pressure of him, his cock running into the deepest part of you. It drives you insane, your fingers coiling around his wrist.

The compression on your stomach makes your head spin, not to mention Zayne's moans and scent flooding your senses.

"So noisy. Is this what you wanted, my love? Is this a sufficient apology?" Zayne is aware a conversion will occur later as he peppers kisses into your chest and shoulders, uttering a promise to be more cautious about his time working late at night.

Especially on days where he is supposed to be in bed, curled into your warmth. But for now, he's willing to satiate your desires. Pleasure you until your eyes are rolling back and sweat under the folds and panes of your body. You nod fervently, jaw agape as you pulse around his length.

"Cum, my love. I know you want to. Let me—" Zayne pauses, a moan interrupting his speech. "Ah, let me makes you feel better." His hand drags from your hip to your chin, guiding your lips against his as you shatter in his arms. You can't escape the pleasure and sincerity he's forcing upon you. You're wrapped in his ember, indulging to the highest degree in the pleasure he provides.

Even as your lips part, your foreheads press against one another. Zayne pants against your lips before his orgasm crashes into him. His hips stammer, but continue rolling through the pleasure. Gently, you two ride out your highs together, collapsing against his body.

"I love you." Zayne mutters, imprinting kisses into your shoulder. "I'll manage my time better."

"No, don't." You chuckle, bringing your hand up to his face. You lightly squish his cheek between your fingers. "I like to kiss and make up." Zayne chuckles, shaking his head before pressing a kiss to your sweaty temple.

"Greedy."

RAFAYEL 祁煜:

Rafayel doesn't argue with you majority of the time. When you get angry, fuming at his behavior, he's quick to shrug it off. A master at adverting your attention to anything other than his wrongdoings. He refuses to address any issues with your relationship with the fear that you will give up on him— Leave him for good.

"Isn't this nicer, cutie?" Rafayel's breath tickles your ear, biting down on the soft flesh. You twitch under him, hips rutting into his palm. "You don't need to worry about anything. Just focus on me, okay?"

It's hard to focus on anything except him. His fingers curl into your just right, rocking his palm with the correct pressure. It should be a crime how good Rafayel makes you feel. The way you kiss and make up is addicting. The high you get from arguing to grabbing his collar and kissing him senseless.

Your arms coil around Rafayel's neck, sucking on his skin. He hisses, palming at your hip with his free hand. You bite around his neck and collarbone, decorating him with your markings. You refuse to leave him because regardless of his shortcomings, Rafayel makes up for them in a plethora of ways.

"Are you close, cutie? I can feel you. It feels so good, doesn't it? Grinding on my hand instead of yelling, hm?" He doubles down, pressing his thumb against your clit. He mercilessly swirls the bud, jerking his fingers to press deep inside of you. You moan into his skin, biting down harder the closer you get. Your hips press into his palm, meeting him halfway.

Your body stutters though, the sensitivity growing to an all-time high. Though, just before you cum, Rafayel pulls his hand away from your sex. A string of your slick chases his fingertips, making him smile at the sight. You're huffing, panting as you gaze at him with anger.

"All you do is make me angry." Your words hold no bite though, not when your thighs are shaking with need. He knows you won't be mad for long, not when he holds the power of your pleasure in his palm.

Rafayel snickers, leaning onto his forearms as he undoes his zipper. The bed sinks under his weight as your hands impatiently undo his belt. The metal clinks as it falls to the floor, your body moving in to kiss him. Your hands cup his face, drawing him in as he undresses himself.

You already know what's coming next. He forces you to sit up on your knees, pressing a hand to the backs of your thighs. Rafayel doesn't wait for you, sinking you down on his cock as his tongue takes the opportunity to slip into your mouth. Your moans muffle against his tongue as he pulls you down further.

Your nails drag into his skin, creating red angry marks. You push against his chest, letting him lay flat against the sheets. His hair puffs out, cheeks flushed as you rise up on your knees. Rafayel reaches out to touch you, but you swat his hand away.

"No. Just sit still. Do something good for me for once." You furrow your brows, sinking back onto his cock with ease. He watches from below as your knees spread, the way your head tilts back. Your hand presses onto his chest for stability, arching onto him. You lay flat onto him, your hips bouncing.

Rafayel groans beneath you, the tips of his ears a bright red. The room fills with heavy pants and moans. Despite your orders, his hands rest on your ass, aiding you. Your fingers splay over his sides, leaving marks down his chest and shoulders.

"You're such an ass, you know?" You grunt, legs trembling like jelly as you spread your knees wider. The burn feels so good, blurring the lines of pain and pleasure. "Making me chase you down all afternoon. Just for you to ignore me." Your nails dig into his skin as you try to push yourself up.

You swat his hands away again, ruffling your own hair to bounce on his cock properly. He lies deep in your stomach as you bite down on your lip.

"You're so fucking immature." You drag your nails down Rafayel's torso, his cock throbbing inside of you. You clench around him rhythmically, his hips winding into yours. His hand raises to your chest, pinching your nipple between his fingers. He lets out a strained huff, smiling despite all your insults.

"You still love me though. Right, cutie?" Rafayel pulls you down against his chest, hands grabbing your hips to bounce your ass onto him with a steady pace. You grasp at the sheets, digging blunt crescents into his skin.

"Never going to let you leave me, okay?" He hisses through gritted teeth. Despite his ability to speak, Rafayel isn't faring any better than you are. "We'll figure it out. I'll do better." The base of his spine tingles under your weight, a force driving his climax closer and closer. The longer it goes on, the sloppier Rafayel gets. His body tenses, growing dizzy at your mewls and whines.

His hand leaves your hip, driving your face towards him. The kiss is a mess of teeth and tongue, bitting at each other's lips as you both try to contain yourselves. But it feels too good. The way you tighten and gush around him drives Rafayel insane. In the same manner, Rafayel sinks deeply into you, thrusting his hips into yours with precision.

In sync, the two of you shudder chest to chest. Your nails tug at Rafayel's scalp, the pain forcing his orgasm to crash down. Your entire body trembles, thighs quivering as you gush around Rafayel's length. It's almost painful how hard you cum. You can hear Rafayel moaning into your ears before biting down on your shoulder.

Tit for tat.

Sweat drips down your bodies, slack against one another. Neither of you move, afraid to rock the serenity of the moment. Rafayel rests his hands against your upper back, leaning down to kiss the top of your head.

"I will do better, I promise." He mumbles into your hairline, drawing you in for a much softer kiss.

"We'll see."

SYLUS 秦彻:

The first thing Sylus does when he returns home is seek you out. Especially right now considering he's committed a criminal offense: He has missed date night. A ritual you two have at least once a week. Today though, he was caught in unfortunate circumstances. He almost got caught into a trap, negligent of his surroundings due to his mind being occupied by you. He finds you laying in your shared bed, slumped over the sheets.

You're still wearing your outfit. Your heels have almost slipped off your feet as they dangle over the bed, your dress riding up your hips. He has an incredible view, but he can't help but feel a pang in his chest. He doesn't even shed his gloves before laying beside you. His hand runs up your thighs, massaging the exposed skin of your hip. Sylus pulls you close, watching you rouse from your blissful sleep.

"Sylus?" You breathe out, eyes still shut. Your body curls into his, the cool leather of his hand smoothing over your forehead. Your makeup has gone askew, eyeliner smudging. He gently runs a hand under your eye, smiling softly. The low lights make it easier to see his face even as he draws near.

"I'm late. I'm sorry." There's a deep furrow in his brows, his silver strand swaying. You match his expression, linking your fingers together at your hip bone.

"I got all dressed up. I wanted to see the opera." You're disappointed, he knows it. Sylus leans down to kiss you, lips softly pressed into yours. You turn over, letting him hover over you.

"I know, sweetie. I'm sorry." He mutters into your lips, letting you coil your arms around his neck. You feel the prickly edges of the back of his head, fingers finding his strands. He feels nice pressed against you, holding you through the negative emotions that backpack off disappointment. Sylus cups your ribs, hands molding over your breasts as he kisses down your dress.

"So beautiful, hm?" His lips bite your skin gently, lapping at the wounds. Your thighs make room for his knee as it settles between your legs. You let your fingers make do of his shirt, unbuttoning the top as you tug his tie off. You can see the dust that sticks to his shirt, the splatters of blood on his cheek. You furrow your brows at the sight, pulling him closer.

"Did you get hurt?" You whisper against his lips, afraid that if you spoke any louder it would break the moment. Sylus shook his head, reassuringly kissing you. His lips move with yours in tandem, arms coiling around one another. "I'd be more angry if you did." You tell him when you part. Sylus laughs when your arms slip off his shoulders. You remove his shirt, hands exploring his body.

It's familiar terrain. The small dots on his body, the contours of his abdomen and hips. You know this area well, running a hand over his chest. He's sensitive there. Sylus moans above you, pulling your hips up to fully push your dress up. It clings to your waist as Sylus kneels near the edge of the bed. He pulls you forward with a tug to your ankle as he slips your heels back on.

"Can I walk you through what we would have done?" He mutters against your knee, looking up through his lashes. Your fingers find home against his head, nodding gently as you place your thigh over his shoulder. Sylus smiles softly, the edges of his eyes softening. "The opera would have been the first spot. And dinner afterwards, that's our tradition." He speaks fondly of your weekly routines.

"Then we would walk around a park. You always stuff yourself full, kitten. I'm glad though. Seeing you become greedier as the days pass." Sylus fully settles on his knees now, gently parting your thighs. He can see the way your panties gently glisten under the soft lighting. He smiles, kissing the insides of your knees.

"By then, I would have reaches my limit. Especially when you look this divine. How could I not?" You flush under Sylus's compliments, letting a small giggle slip. "Where would you let me have you? Near the entrance or in the elevator? Perhaps the lower living room? That is your favorite, no?" Sylus slips a thumb under your panties, gently tugging them down your thighs.

"Maybe the stairs on the way to the bedroom. I grow more impatient as the days pass, kitten" You can imagine it now, running away as he chases you up the stairs. Sylus is adept in chasing you though, a master in his craft. Pressing you into the stairs as your thighs squish his head.

That is his idea of paradise after all.

With your panties out the way, Sylus parts your thighs further. You scoot closer, guiding his mouth to where you need him most. He hums, satisfied with your orders. His tongue runs along your folds, wasting no time.

"Maybe the bathtub like last Friday? You enjoyed that greatly, didn't you? I've never seen you make such a face before." Sylus reminiscences the way you were trembling on top of him as your hips rose and sank. Desperately holding onto his hand, tears streaming with need. Tragically beautiful.

His fingers join the mix, circling your entrance to gather your slick. You accept his touch, rolling your hips into his fingertips. He thrives off watching you like so. You let out a shaky breath, his middle finger sinking into you. You feel the bump of his ring by your folds, thighs pressing around him. That has never stopped Sylus though. His free hand dips your body back, laying on the bed flat.

With a hand on your lower back, Sylus raises your hips into his mouth. Your weight settles onto his palm as your legs splay. He gets a clearer view of your sex now, noting the way you pulse around him. Sylus likes the take his time, savor every sound and taste. But tonight he has a mission to fulfill: Satisfy his beloved. Make it up to you.

Sylus does just that, his finger curling into your sweet spot. His fingers are your favorite part of him, long and stocky to hit in just the right places. You fist the sheets, tugging at the burgundy silk. It's sickening how smooth his sheets are. They slip from your fingers as your hips roll into Sylus's touch.

"Please. More, Sylus. Don't tease me…" You moan from above, letting your hand slip beneath the bodice to squeeze your breast. Sylus takes his hand from our lower back to glide up your body. He shushes you, bitting the sensitive skin of your inner thighs.

"Let me. Just enjoy, my love." He cups your exposed breast, kneading the skin before using the sides of his fingers to pinch and roll your nipple. All the while, he slips another finger inside of you. He works you well, curling and prodding your sweet spots. "That's it. It must feels so nice, right?" Sylus rises from your thighs to kiss up your stomach. He's bent at an odd angle, so you pull him back on top of you.

He cages you with his body against the numerous pillows, gliding his tongue against yours. Sylus moans into your mouth, angling his wrist to better touch you. His thumb glides between your lips to press at your clit. You jerk against him, thighs squeezing his wrist. It doesn't stop Sylus though, he keeps his pace.

With his free hand, he fully tugs down the top of your dress and lets the material bunch at your torso. Your nipples harden under the newly found air. Sylus suckles around the buds, but quickly changes his tune when you whine under him. He commits to the act, directly suckling at the bud. It hardens more in his mouth, growing puffy and swollen from his ministrations.

"Kitten." Sylus purrs against your skin, creating bites into your skin. "Beautiful. My beautiful sweetheart. I'm sorry, I'll make it up to you as much as you'd like." His voice rumbles in your ears. Your hands explore his bare body, dragging red lines down his biceps and shoulders. Sylus shudders under the pain, eyes gently rolling back.

He works guides you through it all, murmuring sweet words into your skin while his fingers curl and roll into your cunt. You pulse and gush around him, legs flailing.

"Sylus!" You cry out, tears brimming your eyes. Sylus kisses your lids, smiling.

"Cum for me, sweetie. You deserve that much." He whispers, feeling your body seize under him. It's euphoric, like fireworks exploding behind your eyelids. Your jaw slackens, pitchy moans and whines escaping your lips the longer Sylus keeps your strung out for. His fingers don't stop even as you cum, clenching around his digits. His palm rolls into your clit, hips chasing his movement.

"Good girl, good. I have you, sweetie." He rocks you through your high, even has you slacken under him. Sylus does not stop, gently guiding you into another high. You don't mind it though, your body in desperate need of his touch. Sylus presses a kiss to your lips, saliva pooled around the edges.

"We'll keep going until I've paid my dues, kitten. Be as greedy as you please."

CALEB 夏以昼:

Caleb is a nuisance when you argue. He would perish if he gave you even an ounce of space. He wants to solve issues in the moment rather than letting them linger in your mind for hours on end. Nip it in the bud, kind of guy. You hate that about him though— So clingy and in your face when all you need is a little space.

Though, you can't quite be mad at him when his tongue is buried deep inside of you.

"Pipsqueak, please? I'm sorry, honey. Won't ever put the cameras up again, okay?" Caleb says, pressed into your sex. You push at his forehead, yet your hips chase after his touch. You feel like a fool. How could you fold so fast?! Yet, how could you pass up the opportunity? It's not as if Caleb has ever given you a bad experience in the bedroom— Far from that.

You falter, seeing his eyes glimmering in the low lighting of his home. You shouldn't even be here, you should be ignoring me. You were headed back home after a bad argument, but he insisted you stay for dinner and or at least take something home. Yet, as the water on the stove comes to a roaring boil, Caleb pays it no mind.

"I'll be a good boy, yeah?" Caleb whines, his fingers working into your sensitive walls. You twitch above him, gripping onto the granite tiles. It digs into the base of your spine as you tremble on your toes. You tug at Caleb's strands as your heart races in your chest. His touch drives you mad, tongue swirling over your clit as his fingers veer into your sweet spots.

He plays so unfair.

Caleb presses a wet kiss to your clit, kissing all along the meat of your thighs. His nose rubs into the skin as he hums, watching your composure fail. He draws your hand covering your mouth back to his head, letting you push him further into your wet folds.

"I'll do anything, baby. I'm sorry, okay? I'll be such a good boy." He laps at your clit again, suckling on the swollen bud. Your hips jerk into his mouth, a sharp gasp escaping your lips. Caleb's eye brim with faux tears, pleasuring your most sensitive places. He rambles on, mouth pressed into your folds.

He works into your body, dragging two orgasms out of you. Your legs tremble around his head and thighs before he twirls you around. Gently, with an arm wrapped around the front of your shoulders, Caleb bends you over the table, pulling your panties to the side. From the corner of your eye, you can see your discarded jeans and one of your boots. Your eyes flutter shut as Caleb kisses down your spine, your hand seeking out his.

"Hm? What is it, pretty? You forgive me?" You ignore his teasing, looking over your shoulder to whine at him. Just as Caleb knows your every weakness, you know his all the better: Your needs. With flushed cheeks and glossy eyes, you give him the neediest look you can muster.

"Oh, my baby. Look at you. You just need me, huh?" You nod in reply. Caleb falters, cooing at your expression. He guides you back up, pulling you into his arms. His pants hand low on his hips as Caleb guides you to his bedroom. With your arms looped around his neck, you hold on tight.

"I'll be good, yeah? No more spying on you, baby." Caleb nudged the bedroom door open with his foot, guiding you to his bed. As your placed onto grey-ish black sheets, Caleb hovers over you. He aims for your neck, kissing and lapping at your skin. You let his chest press against yours, legs locking around his hips. "Would you like that, honey? Me being good for you? Is that what you need?"

Again, you don't reply, letting your noises answer for you. His hand rub at your sides, fingers finding their way between your thighs again. A shiver treks up your spine as Caleb's fingers spread inside your walls. He tugs on your earlobe, pulling away with a chuckle when you punch his chest.

"Behave, boy." You narrow your eyes, letting him place your ankles on his shoulders. Caleb doesn't like to waste time, not when you're ready for him. He nods, his bangs swaying softly.

"Can I, baby? Promise I'll make you feel so good, okay?" His eyes wane, melting into a look of needy tenderness. You can't say no, you don't want to. You roll your eyes at him, pressing your hips forward. As his hips presses into you, Caleb groans. Your wet heat envelops his length as he grinds on his molars. But soon, noises slip out of his mouth and his brows knit.

"Thank you, baby." Caleb sighs, relief spreading through his body. The deeper you sink onto his cock, the louder he gets. He repeats this mantra of thanks over and over into your neck, lapping and nipping the skin. His hips have a mind of their own, raising yours to thrust into you as deeply as possible. Eventually, he rises to see your face. The flushed, dazed expression makes his cock throb.

"My baby. You're so pretty." He mumbles into your lips, placing wet kisses all over your face. "I couldn't help myself. You were so beautiful and I just—Ah!— Wanted to make sure nobody hurt you, honey." In between thrusts he speaks, trying his best to keep his composure. But Caleb falters feeling your walls clench around him. His pelvis knocks into your swollen clit, only amplifying the pleasure.

"My pretty baby." He coos, kissing the insides of your knees, down to your ankle. Caleb pulls your sock off with his teeth, letting your foot rest in his palm before pressing a kiss to the underside. He strays down your heel to the sides before one final one at the base of your foot.

"Promise I'll be a good boy, okay? No more cameras, baby. Yeah?" Caleb lets your foot rest on his chest as his head smooths the hair out of your face. Sweat lines your naked body the closer you get. Your whines grow louder as your hips try to back away from his obsessive pleasure, but Caleb has never let you stray far.

"Shh, shh. Don't run, baby." Caleb whispers, pressing his body weight onto you. The pressure only makes you dizzier, unable to run from the onslaught. It's too much, yet not enough all at once. Caleb knows, he knows everything about your body. So his fingers find your chest, pinching your nipples between his thumb and pointer, gently tugging at it. "Shh, don't be fussy, I know. I know, baby. I have you."

He suffocates you with his love, locking his lips against yours. Caleb suckles on your tongue, letting you pull at his hair. Your nails rake angry marks all along his back, his necklace making its way between your lips. Your run your tongue along the beaded apple, letting the thick silver slip onto his.

"Cum for me, baby. Wanna make you feel so good, yeah? Let me do that much." Caleb's arms encompass your body, rutting into your heat before your nails dig into his biceps. It's too much, your body can't handle it. You spasm under him, eyes rolling back before the knot in your stomach bursts.

"There you go, baby. I have you." Caleb babbles, lost in the heat and tightness of your cunt. His hips keep rutting into you as he digs his face into your neck. With what little strength you have left, you tighten your hold on Caleb's necklace. You tug it towards you, drawing him into a kiss. Your teeth dig into his bottom lip, iron coating your taste buds.

That's the final push he needed.

Before you know it, Caleb cums inside of you. A warmth fills your lower regions as your ankles lock against his spine. He can't move, forced to withstand the overstimulating waves of his orgasm. He whimpers and jerks in your hold, but you guide him through it.

"Will you forgive me, baby?" His voice is so shaky, eyes brimmed with tears. You can't tease him now, not when he's trembling and desperate for your forgiveness. You sigh, your face hot with his breath. "I've been a good boy, tell me what else I can do, my love. All I want is for you to forgive me." You smooth his hair out of his eyes, pressing a kiss to his sweat lined forehead.

"I'll let it go just this once.." You grumble, reluctant. Caleb's eyes glow with joy, encompassing your body into a hug. He peppers kisses all along your exposed skin as he gently pulls out of you. You tag back on his necklace, whispering against his lips.

"Do me one favor though, Caleb." You say, watching his brows raise. If he had a tail, you'd imagine it would be swaying quickly.

"Yes, yes! Anything, baby." You push yourself a bit higher on the bed, your elbows shakily supporting your weight. You guide Caleb's face back between your leaking folds, watching his ears twinge red.

"Clean me up?" Caleb smiles in return, pressing a kiss to the top of your foot.

"Anything for you, baby."

© aexias do not copy, repost my works onto other sites, or generate them into ai.

[zerocoded]

HOMESICK GRAVITY ⸻ chapter one

linkon city was adorned with shiny skyscrapers, and the privileged view of the city from your apartment only made your grief feel smaller, like mourning was nothing more than a private inconvenience beneath all those lights. then, one random night, caleb knocked at your door alive and breathing like he hadn’t left you behind to mourn him at all.

𝓜 , if you support women’s rights you also have to support women writing emotionally unstable men with attachment issues. sorry i don’t make the rules. this fic contains enough yearning, unresolved trauma, emotional dependency and sexual tension to qualify as a public health concern. pls enjoy. (read on ao3) (series masterlist)

6116 ━━━━━ fandom love and deepspace ━━━━━ pair caleb x reader

your apartment was silent, except for the faint hum of the city outside. tossing your jacket onto the back of the couch, you leaned against the wall, exhaling shakily. the weight of the day pressed down on you like a vice, your fingers brushing the edge of the message from linkon city hall still lying unopened on the counter.

confirmation of deceased: caleb. adoptive grandmother, dr. josephine. cause of death: explosion – classified incident.

you hadn’t needed to open it. the words were already carved into your memory, and the weight of them had crushed you all day. it didn’t matter that the explosion was months ago—seeing their names on an official report felt like losing them all over again.

you pushed away from the counter, willing your mind to focus on anything else. the hunter uniform hugged your frame perfectly, as it always had, and your reflection in the glass windows of your living room showed how tired you looked.

did anyone notice how wrecked you felt? you wondered if tara had gossiped to the other hunters about your predicament, and if she had left you alone because she somehow understood the weight of what had happened to you.

the message was awful. being asked to confirm the deaths of your loved ones had thrown you into a depressive spiral you hadn’t felt in days after returning from the N109 zone. your troublesome heart sometimes made you feel like you shouldn’t have even been born. when you trauma-dumped this on rafayel a few days ago, he had almost hit you with his paint brush, the words coming out of your mouth too much for him to process. the painter was pissed that you could think of yourself like that.

but that was how you felt—unworthy of being alive, because the person who raised you had been brutally killed.

why not me? you wondered.

linkon city was adorned with shiny skyscrapers, and your privileged view of the city made you feel even smaller, your grievance nothing more than a joke to the world outside of your apartment. knowing you’d have to show up to work again tomorrow added to the weight pressing down on your shoulders from choosing to be a deepspace hunter.

these last few weeks, you had questioned why you chose this job in the first place. since coming back from onychinus and befriending sylus of all people, you’d been thinking about your life decisions more frequently. sylus made you question every little thing you had once thought was a virtue, which now seemed like selfishness in disguise.

the man was good at disturbing your thoughts and making you feel things that put you on the spot.

you became a deepspace hunter because you were selfish. you wanted to make a difference, like the people you grew up with had made.

you wanted to be smart like zayne and attentive like josephine. you wanted to be helpful like caleb and as notorious as your other anhaunsen classmates. you wanted to do anything to escape the feeling you’d had since birth—uselessness.

as you sank deep into the living room cushions and exhaled heavily into the lonely air of your apartment, your phone buzzed with a text from zayne.

fate was joking with you today.

are you okay?, it read.

his worry made your heart flutter a little before sadness took over your entire form again.

you didn’t have the heart to respond. lying required more strength than you had in that moment, so you tossed your phone onto the center table and ignored him.

i’m sorry, zayne, i wish i was stronger for you.

your stomach rumbled, and your ribs ached. earlier in the evening, you had let a wanderer get too close before killing it, distracted as you were. the mistake had left you with a swollen rib and a deep sense of shame. you’d promised to take care of it when you got home, but right now, all you could do was discard a few of your sharp weapons onto the floor before dozing off on the couch.

you’d probably hate yourself in the morning for sleeping with these tight boots on.

for you, the hardest part wasn’t the silence left behind. it wasn’t the way the world seemed to keep spinning while yours had shattered. the hardest part was feeling like you needed to smile, to nod politely when people said, “stay strong,” as if strength could stitch together the pieces of your broken heart.

the hardest part was the way people looked at you, expecting you to move forward, to let the memories be enough. but how could you, when the smell of smoke still haunted your nightmares, when you could still hear caleb’s laughter drowned by the deafening roar of the explosion? how could you heal when your soul was still bleeding, the wounds too fresh, the pain still pouring out with every breath you tried to take?

how could you move forward when you still couldn’t clench your fists as strong as you were accustomed to because you were thrown into the air and broke both of them at the incident?

you wondered if it would ever be enough, and if someday you’d find out who was responsible for all of this pain.

the kitchen candles were the only light in the room when you heard the doorbell ring. sharp and sudden, it cut through the haze and fought off your sleepiness in a second, your hunter’s bells ringing warningly.

your heart jumped, and your hand instinctively went to your side where your pistol usually rested, only to find it absent. you’d left it in your locker at the deepspace headquarters, thinking you wouldn’t need it tonight.

the bell rang again, more insistent this time.

“probably xavier,” you muttered, trying to shake off the lingering unease. your neighbor and cute colleague had been away on a special mission as a hunter. his absence had started to feel noticeable in the quiet moments.

you liked spending time with xavier because he seemed to understand you on another level. he never seemed to expect anything from you, which made grieving next to him a little less daunting. you missed his midnight visits and occasional talks about claw machines and stupid wanderers, and you wished he would respond to your texts asking when he was coming back.

you felt like you needed to hear his voice right now.

without thinking much, you unlocked the door, combat boots still on and dark circles framing your usually bright eyes.

“took you long enough—”

the words died on your lips.

it wasn’t xavier.

standing in your doorway, dressed in a pristine daa military uniform, was a man—ridiculously intimidating and strange. he looked at you with judgment and arrogance, making you step back a little and guard more of yourself.

thank god you still had your uniform on and wasn’t wearing some flimsy nightgown. the man seemed to be eating you alive in his head.

before you had the chance to question the stranger’s presence at your door on this random thursday night, he tossed you aside and pressed you against the corridor wall of your kitchen, your breath instantly hitched and your ribs ached from the impact.

your hunter’s awareness triggered instantly, instincts flaring and mind still trying to process what the hell was going on. your hands struggled against his grip, desperately searching for an evol to resonate with. if your mind had already been spiraling out of control before, now you felt like you could fight a thousand wanderers at once and focus on surviving with mere instinct.

you couldn’t scream. his right hand clamped over your mouth, his left gripping both your wrists in front of your chest and preventing you from punching him like you planned to. somehow, this was a professional individual who knew your fighting mannerisms and wrestling tendencies.

with great effort, you managed to bite his hand that was closest to your mouth and heard his pained grunt right after. you swore you heard him cussing before his head raised and his eyes finally met yours.

your heart stopped. the world narrowed to the faint outline of his silhouette as you finally were able to look at his face. his hair was concealed beneath a presumptuous cap, the daa symbol shining bright at its center. black, red, and gold adorned the unknown uniform of the man who handled your body as if it were weightless, plastic.

you thrashed and twisted in his grip until he was forced to pin both your hands above your head, hissing when you managed to land a kick on his right knee. the door clicked shut beside you as he silenced your attempted scream with his hand again.

amethystine eyes stared back at you, thick brows furrowed as your gazes locked. chills ran down your spine. your hunter uniform pressed uncomfortably against the wall, your combat boots barely touching the floor. yet, despite your effort, he towered over you.

you wanted to cry.

the hidden freckles were the first clue your mind was playing tricks on you, the shape of his mouth the second, and his skin tone the third. countless times since the explosion, you’d dreamed of caleb’s touch—more nights than you could count. but as the weight of the day bore down on you, your fighting spirit waned, the initial rush of adrenaline fading as you stared into his eyes.

everything felt cruelly unfair.

his gaze was uncharacteristically hard as he watched you, his bruising grip on your mouth and wrists warming for a moment before you snapped out of your daze.

a smirk made way to his lips and his stupidly manly perfume set itself on your senses. another attempt at kicking him made him press himself further into you, ribs screaming from the pressure. if he noticed your pained expression, he didn’t mention it at all.

“caleb,” you whispered, the name barely audible. your voice cracked, your body frozen in place, your mind unable to reconcile the impossible reality before you.

he didn’t seem to hear you, but his hand left your mouth, his gaze sweeping over your body and his face so close to yours you could count his naturally defined lashes.

the tension between you two shifted as he eyed you closer, curious eyes landing on your pretty figure. he could swear for a moment you wouldn’t recognize him and that thought perturbed his mind for the next few seconds he allowed himself to bask in your beauty.

caleb was familiar with the sight of you in a hunter’s uniform, but never had he seen you looking this wrecked.

so pretty, but so unfairly exhausted, he thought.

in the weeks leading up to the explosion, he’d promised himself he’d never let you get hurt by ever ever again. now, seeing you like this, he wondered if things looked different from your perspective.

would you hate him?

would you hate him for the decisions he made? for the people he deceived and the families he destroyed? for the secrets he exposed so he could be at advantage and fight for you from a more privileged position?

would you hate him for wanting you all to himself and sharing the same fate as him as a human experiment? for wanting to take you to the ever base and expose you to everyone right before killing them? for being the demise of your life but still wanting to keep you as close as possible?

would you still love him after he told you all of the wrongings he did to make things right for you and him?, he wondered.

the look in your eyes told you no, and because of that, his grip on your pinned hands loosened, the silence between you two remaining charged with tension. he saw the exact moment reality crashed down on you. your gaze faltered, and for a moment, you looked like you were going to cry.

he would hate to see you cry because of him, even though deep down he knew how lovely you looked while pouring your eyes out. he have seen it a thousand times before. caleb wanted to make you cry in other circumstances, not right now.

his lips pressed into a forced smile, and your breath hitched as his eyes shone faintly in the dim light of the kitchen candles. though the light wasn’t very effective, the touch of his gloved hand was enough to confirm the truth: this wasn’t a fucking stranger.

caleb felt when you stopped fighting and caved into his touch, scared to death. he let go of your mouth and stared right at your lips.

“no,” you muttered, shaking your head as if to clear a hallucination. your hands remained bound, your feet still searching for the floor. “this can’t be true.”

he tilted his head slightly, his eyes locking onto yours. “it’s me.” his voice was calm, too familiar, too real. too cruel.

your body trembled with his tone, his breath fanning on your cheeks while your eyes scanned his. it felt wrong to say anything at the moment, fear still there in your eyes.

your body snapped into action, reality slamming into you like a tidal wave. you raised your knee, aiming to knock him off balance, desperate to banish the ghost standing in your kitchen.

but the colonel moved faster.

his hand shot out, catching your leg with unnerving precision. before you could react, he hoisted you over his shoulder effortlessly.

you stumbled, panic surging through your veins. your instincts screamed at you to fight, to move, to do something.

“let me go” you demanded, your voice trembling with equal parts fear and fury, punching his back in a futile attempt to stop him. “who are you? who sent you?”

“i came to see you,” he said simply, his voice steady and unnervingly calm. his eyes darted around the apartment, scanning every corner like a predator assessing its prey. “you didn’t think i’d stay away forever, did you?”

why did he sound so smug and heartless? it pissed you off.

“you’re a fucking asshole.” you didn’t care that this man was more than six feet tall or that he wore a military uniform of all things, you kicked and screamed as much as you could after he threw you onto the couch—the very place you’d landed earlier that evening.

the moment he released you, you inched toward the center table where your spare weapon was stashed.

caleb’s smile faltered, replaced by something darker. his voice dropped, softer but laced with unsettling intensity. “i hope you cooperate from now on, pipsqueak.”

the words sent a chill down your spine.

“who the fuck do you think you are?” you spat, pistol in hand, ready to aim.

his gaze flicked to your movement, and before you could react, he was there. his hand closed around your wrist, pinning it to the couch with a force that made you gasp.

“you’re not going to hurt me, pipsqueak,” he murmured, his tone almost teasing, though the intensity in his purple eyes told a different story. “i’d never hurt you. you know that.”

you struggled against his grip, your heart pounding as fear twisted into anger. “let me go, caleb.”

“not until you listen,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. he leaned closer, his breath brushing against your ear. “will you stop fighting and thrashing around? i need to see if you are ready”

“ready for what?” you spat, your voice trembling with rage.

“for us,” he said simply, his tone calm, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

your breath hitched as his words sank in, the weight of them pressing down on you like a storm. “what the hell is ‘us’? you died. i watched you fucking die, caleb.”

he leaned closer, his forehead almost brushing yours, his voice a low whisper. “and i came back—for you.”

the weight of his presence, his words, was suffocating. for a moment, you froze, your mind racing for a way out.

it sounded so intimate, so romantically unsettling having him above you and saying things that made your heart clench. you hoped the hurt in your eyes was visible to the man. you hoped he still had sympathy and felt guilt somewhere underneath that uniform.

caleb stepped back, releasing your wrist but still blocking your path, his expression softening slightly as he examined you. “i need you to be quiet until i can tell you everything.”

“who do you think you are? you filthy liar”. 

caleb’s gaze flickered as your words hung between you, unspoken accusations slicing through the air like shards of glass. he shifted his weight, his broad frame now more a shadow than a presence in the dim room. for a moment, it seemed like he might say something—anything—but instead, he exhaled, a quiet sound that carried the weight of a thousand unspoken apologies.

"you think you know anything?" he asked, voice low but steady. his eyes, catching the faint glow of the candlelight, held yours. he looked scary above you. 

"you think that you are right?," you bit back, the ache in your ribs forgotten under the pressure of the moment. "faking a death isn’t something i take lightly in my books”.

his jaw tightened, the faintest tremor in his hand betraying him as he sighed. the silence stretched again, taut and heavy, before he finally spoke. “trust me to take care of you as i always did, pipsqueak, i just need more cooperation from you this time. i needed to do that so I could've gotten rid of josephine”.

the vulnerability in his voice caught you off guard, stealing whatever biting retort was forming on your tongue. you searched his face, the faint scars etched into his skin, the weariness in his eyes. "what the fuck did you just say?" you said softly, your voice trembling with the effort to keep it steady. 

caleb’s expression shifted as he saw the tense tone of your voice, a flicker of something unreadable passing over his face. regret? anger? it was gone too fast to tell. "i said what i said," he replied, his tone measured, almost calm—too calm. "josephine was a threat. she had to go, and i handled it and you should put this in your mind and forget about it."

"you handled it?" the words came out as a growl. the disbelief, the rage, the grief—it all boiled over. "you’re talking about the woman who raised me, caleb. who raised you. and you expect me to just—what—trust that you had your reasons? that it’s fine because you handled it?"

you got up from the sofa and watched him tower over you once again, not being afraid to fight him out of your house this time. you took a step further and watched the surprise on his face mix with a hint of mischief.

"you must have lost your mind, who the fuck sent you here? answer me." you asked, your voice sharper now, frustration spilling over.

he stepped closer, the shadow he cast stretching long across the dim room. his voice dropped, soft but firm, the kind of tone that brooked no argument. "the sooner you accept the truth, the easier all of this will turn out for you. josephine was a loose thread that could put you at harm and, trust me, i won’t let anything or anyone put you in the slightest danger."

"shut up," you snapped, your hands shaking as they clenched into fists. "don’t you dare put this on her. don’t you dare tell me you did this for me." you pushed past him, pacing to the other side of the room as if distance could lessen the fury building inside you. "you’re out of your fucking mind if you think i’m going anywhere with you. you—i mourned you, caleb".

caleb turned, his movements slow and deliberate, his gaze locking onto yours. "you don’t have a choice," he said simply. "if you want a chance of surviving, you’ll accompany me to the farspace fleet so you can prove to me that you are not a threat, this isn’t a quest, Y/N.”

"stop acting like you’re my savior," you shouted, spinning to face him. "you lied to me, faked your death, and now you show up here, in my home, telling me what to do? you’ve lost the right to give me orders, caleb. i don’t have to prove you shit"

his eyes narrowed, and for a moment, something like frustration flashed across his face. "you’re impossible," he muttered, more to himself than to you. “don’t make me take you by force, princess, this is already enough for me”.

his presence felt heavier now, more intimidating and more overwhelming. “hear me out on this one, pipsqueak, you do as i say and we can have a nice chat. there’s more than one pair of eyes observing you in this room, can’t you see? you do what you’re told and you don’t cause any trouble, this is my final warning”.

caleb’s gaze didn’t waver, feelings too strong for him to back down.

“you think i trust you wholeheartedly as well? don’t you think i know about what you’re capable to do, what weapon they made you become?”, he questioned, raising more questions about your past to the surface.

you hesitated, your chest heaving as you glared at him, every instinct screaming at you to fight, to run, to do anything but listen.

“you think i don’t know what you’re capable of? you’ve got every right to hate me, but that doesn’t change the fact that you’re in danger and i’m the only one who can keep you alive.”

he stepped closer, his boots echoing softly against the tiled kitchen floor, the flicker of candlelight casting shadows that seemed to stretch and twist with your unease. the space between you vanished with every deliberate step he took, and before you realized it, the cool edge of the counter pressed against your back.

“i came here to get you so i can protect you,” he said, his voice softer now, almost tender, though his eyes burned with something far less kind. “won’t you trust me, pipsqueak?”

you swallowed hard, your ribs aching as the tension tightened around you like a vice. the pain flared again on your right side, but you forced it down, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing your weakness. caleb’s arms came up, caging you between them, his palms braced on the counter on either side of you. his breath was warm against your skin, the faint scent of mossy perfume and something metallic clinging to him.

his amethystine eyes locked onto yours, drawing you in and daring you to look away. “josephine wasn’t innocent,” he murmured, the words deliberate, each one cutting deeper than the last. “she was the only way left they could get to you easily. so i had to get rid of her.”

the shock and fury bubbling in your chest clawed their way to the surface, but before you could lash out, he moved. slowly, deliberately, he raised his hands, his movements calm but weighted with unspoken meaning. his right hand hovered between your bodies as he tugged off his glove, revealing cold, gleaming metal where flesh once was.

your breath hitched, your eyes widening despite yourself. the intricate machinery of his prosthetic glinted dully in the dim light, a jarring contrast to the warmth of his other hand still braced beside you.

“i didn’t get out of there without paying a price,” he continued, his tone dipping lower, the faintest hint of bitterness creeping into his words. “if that makes you feel better.”

the sight of the metal, the weight of his confession, sent your mind reeling. you wanted to stay angry, to hold onto the fury that kept you standing, but the cracks in his armor—the familiar of his voice, the faint tremor in his hand—made it harder to breathe.

“turns out i gave them everything they wanted to have even more control over my body,” he said, his eyes narrowing slightly, studying your reaction like a predator watching prey. “you’re not the only ever victim in this room, princess.”

his words hit like a punch to the gut, the nickname twisting something deep inside you. your eyes burned, the sting of unshed tears making your vision blur. compassion clawed its way forward, fighting against the iron grip of your fury.

he leaned closer, his voice softening, wrapping around you like a velvet noose. “don’t you see now? i’m your only way out. only i can make you safe, princess.” his head tilted slightly, his gaze piercing through the layers of anger and fear you’d built around yourself. “why don’t you see it?”

the way he said it—like it was inevitable, like you were foolish for resisting—sent a fresh wave of defiance coursing through you. your fingers twitched at your sides, curling into fists. the tears threatening to spill were not ones of submission but of frustration, of fury that he could twist your pain and vulnerability into leverage.

your hands trembled as you shoved against his chest, trying to create even an inch of space between you. “you’re the danger here, caleb.”

his expression hardened, though the faintest flicker of something else—hurt? regret?—crossed his features. he caught your wrists before you could push him further, his grip firm but not painful, his proximity suffocating.

“i won’t let you go this time,” he said, his voice quieter now, the sharp edge replaced with something closer to desperation. his ears seemed to ignore every red signal you emitted. “what are you afraid of, pipsqueak? it’s me, caleb”.

the charged silence that followed was unbearable, the tension between you a living, breathing thing. the weight of his words, the intensity in his gaze—it all felt too much, too close, and yet not close enough.

“answer me.”, he demanded, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous rasp that sent a shiver down your spine. “you need me, Y/N.”

you wanted to scream, to shove him back, to wipe that look of control and simmering frustration off his face, but the words stuck in your throat. it wasn’t fear keeping you quiet—it was the truth you didn’t want to admit. the truth you couldn’t admit.

“you don’t get to do this,” you managed, your voice cracking under the weight of your emotions. “you don’t get to leave me, fake your death, and then come back like nothing happened. like i’m supposed to just—just fall in line and listen to you.”

his lips parted as if to respond, but no words came out. instead, he exhaled sharply, his jaw clenching as his grip on your wrists loosened ever so slightly. “i didn’t come back for you to listen,” he said, his tone soft but laced with an edge of frustration. “i came back to make sure you survive. with me.”

“you are crazy” you spat, shaking your head as you finally yanked your hands free from his grasp. “you call this survival? being hunted, manipulated, dragged into whatever mess you’ve made? that’s not survival, caleb. that’s hell.”

“didn’t you want answers?!” he snaps, his voice cutting through the charged silence like a whip. his tone is sharp, frustration crackling in the air between you. “answers about your past, about granny, about the aether core inside you?”.

caleb throws his daa hat on the floor and runs his gloved hand over his hair, desperation clinging into his actions. a move you were so used to seeing him doing as a teenager now seemed to paint his figure as someone totally different.

“guess what,” he continues, stepping closer, his boots scraping against the floor as the small space between you shrinks to nothing. “i’m the only one who can give you that.”

your back hits the counter again, the cold surface biting through your shirt as his presence looms over you. his hands grip the edge of the counter on either side of you, boxing you in, and his voice drops lower, quieter, but no less intense. “i know you’ve been looking for the truth. don’t pretend you haven’t. every decision you’ve made, every risk you’ve taken, it’s all been for answers.”

the weight of his words pressed down on you, heavy and suffocating, as if the walls of the apartment were closing in. his voice, low and deliberate, carried the kind of certainty that felt like a blade against your resolve. you hated that he knew so much, hated the way his presence seemed to draw out every buried question, every lingering doubt you’d tried so hard to silence.

the truth of it stung more than you wanted to admit. because it was true—wasn’t it? every decision, every desperate move you’d made since josephine’s death had been about finding the missing pieces. about understanding why your life felt like a jigsaw puzzle with crucial parts deliberately torn away.

you grew up with people like zayne and caleb so you’d become the best version of yourself. still, you felt unworthy of everything you have ever achieved.

your back pressed harder into the counter, the cold seeping through your shirt and grounding you in the moment. you wanted to push him away, to snap back with something that would shatter the arrogance in his voice. but instead, you found yourself staring at him—really staring—seeing the desperation etched into every line of his face. it wasn’t just his words that rattled you; it was the way his shoulders seemed to carry the weight of something far greater than just your shared past.

you noticed the tremor in his hand, the way it lingered too long on the counter’s edge, as if he were holding himself back from reaching for you. the way his eyes, though sharp and unrelenting, flickered with something almost... pleading.

caleb seemed to be holding himself back—as he always did. this time, though, you were not sure if you wanted him to break and consume you or to let you go and forget the two of you. this was the first time in your life where you felt close enough to the truth, close enough to calm the storm of questions in your mind. still, your grip on your ego seemed to be as tight as ever.

you need me, he said.

it was a bold statement, a manipulative one, but the worst part was the whisper of doubt it planted in your mind. what if he’s right? what if caleb, with all his possessive behavior, really did have the answers you’d been chasing? could you afford to ignore him—risk losing whatever truth he claimed to hold—just because you didn’t trust him?

your gaze dropped to his gloved hand, still gripping the counter, then to the hat he’d thrown carelessly onto the floor. there was something raw about the gesture, something that pulled at a part of you you’d long thought buried. it was the same caleb you remembered, the one who’d run his hands through his hair in frustration when things didn’t go his way, but now there was a hardness to him, an edge that made him almost unrecognizable.

he leaned in slightly, his proximity sending a shiver down your spine. caleb’s hands cradled your face with an unsettling gentleness, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks as if to memorize every inch of your skin. his breath, warm and steady, fanned over your face, and the proximity made your pulse race despite every instinct screaming at you to pull away.

“do as i say, princess,” he murmured, his voice a mix of honeyed persuasion and steel. “you know deep down that i’m right.”

you hated how easily he saw through you, how his words made your chest tighten with the weight of unspoken truths. but there was a flicker of something else now—a sliver of curiosity, of reluctant consideration.

“you’re trembling,” he murmured, his voice dipping lower, softer, as if the words were meant for no one but you. “what are you afraid of, princess? me?”.

his breath fanned over your cheek, the tension between you felt alive, electric, as if the air itself buzzed with anticipation. caleb’s hands cradled your face with a deliberate slowness, his fingers grazing your jawline like he was afraid you’d shatter under his touch. his thumbs traced lazy circles just below your cheekbones, sending faint shivers rippling down your spine.

caleb was very meticulous about the way he touched you. his words—carved in desperation just for you.

his breath brushed against your skin, warm and steady, the faintest hint of mint and wood lingering in the space between you. the closeness made your pulse quicken, the steady rhythm in your chest now erratic and impossible to ignore. his forehead almost touched yours, his lips dangerously close but not quite there, as if he were savoring the moment, drawing it out until the anticipation was unbearable.

you gripped his forearms, confused at the needy feeling clawing its way out of your chest, the longing for closeness and safety that always seemed tied to the body in front of you. the tenderness he reserved only for you made your heart flutter despite the cruel truths and harsh words that had passed between you.

“what are you afraid of, princess?” he murmured again, his voice impossibly soft, like a velvet thread weaving its way into your thoughts. “it’s just me.”

his words cut through the haze, both reassuring and maddening, as though he knew exactly how to keep you on edge. the way he said it—low and intimate, like he was speaking to the deepest parts of you—made your knees weak. and yet, there was no condescension in his tone, no arrogance. only raw emotion, carved into every syllable, into every inch of his presence.

his metal hand slid down from your face, the cool pads of his fingers brushing over the curve of your neck and coming to rest lightly on your shoulder. the weight was grounding, steadying, but it also sent sparks racing across your skin. the meaning behind his touch was at odds with the coldness of his prosthetic; it felt like both a tether and a promise.

you wondered if he was using your evol against you, manipulating your emotions, or if it was just your stupid, traitorous heart making you feel like you were floating.

your breaths came shallow and uneven as the tension between you thickened, palpable and inescapable. his gaze flickered to your lips, the intensity in his eyes making your stomach twist with anticipation. you hated how much you noticed the way he leaned closer, the way his presence filled every inch of the space around you, until there was nothing left but him.

“you don’t have to be scared of me,” he said softly, his lips brushing the words into the air between you. “i’d never hurt you.”

the warmth of his breath sent a shiver down your spine, and before you could think of a reason to stop him, he closed the distance.

his lips pressed against yours, slow and deliberate, giving you every chance to pull away. but you didn’t. the kiss was soft at first, hesitant, like he was waiting for you to decide, waiting to see if you would break the moment or lean into it. and for a heartbeat, you froze, the shock of it rooting you in place.

but the tenderness of his kiss, the way his hand tightened slightly on your shoulder as if to steady himself, drew you in. your fingers curled into his forearms, no longer in protest but in something closer to surrender, the heat of his closeness chasing away the cold air of the room. you felt something stir deep inside you when you felt the dips of his muscles underneath his uniform.

the kiss deepened, his lips moving against yours with a mix of urgency and restraint, as though he were holding back a tidal wave of emotion. you felt the shift in him—the desperation, the longing he’d tried to bury under layers of control. it poured out now, raw and unguarded, and it pulled something equally raw from within you.

when he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm and uneven. his hands stayed where they were, steadying you as much as himself, and for a moment, the silence between you felt heavier than any words could.

“just me,” he whispered again, his voice breaking slightly, as if he needed you to believe it as much as he did.

author's note — me blindly posting this without even remembering how the story goes lmao. i just remembered i didn't sleep for several weeks so i could finished this.