welcome to my page, little apples! down here, we talk about
our love for problematic, disgusting, perverted, things alike
what we do on weekends/weekdays
our love for xavier, zayne, rafayel, sylus, and of course, caleb and valko
my love for women and my dislike-ness for men
our passions, our dreams, our "the things you can't talk to your parents or friends about". we don't judge here, we are classy women. my page is a safe place for those who can't express things that they want to talk about out loud♡
i am not a writer, i have been a reader for many years. but, i do get inspired by things i see. whether it be real life or in fiction
[ BIG NOTICE; DO NOT INTERACT IF YOU AGREE/ARE WITH ANY OF THE FOLLOWING! Racists, Transphobic, Homophobic, Ableist, Trump supporter, If you "stand with israel", Abuser Apologist, Islamphobic, Misogynistic, Radfem, & Incel! ]
if it wasn’t for the image of a perfect baby sibling caleb had of you in his mind he would have thought you were doing this on purpose. tormenting him all summer by walk around in your underwear and a top that barely covers anything. you told him it wasn’t any different than when he walked around shirtless. he wanted to argue with that— it was definitely different but he couldn’t come up with a good reason why it was different that didn’t make him sound like a creep.
caleb took a lot of cold showers over the summer. it was just so hot.. thats all.. the fact that every time he ran off was right after you’d gotten a little too close or bent over in a revealing way was just a coincidence. dont worry about it.
caleb felt like a creep. of course he did, looking at his innocence baby sibling in that way, all while you were just trying to be comfortable in the hot weather, it was disgraceful. still all summer long he found himself staring a little too long at your exposed skin. fantasizing about all the nasty things he wished he could do to you. but he held himself back, doing his damndest to keep a straight face around you and then go rub one out in private after the fact.
maybe if he had known you were actually doing it on purpose those summers together would have gone a little differently..
"It's okay," he slurs over and over as you roll against him. "S'okay. Gege's got you."
You're tangled around each other, skin to skin. With his arm wrapped around your shoulders and your leg draped over his waist, it's hardly possible to be closer.
That doesn't stop him trying.
The tips of his fingers brush over your cunt over and over as he palms your ass like he might be able to drag you tighter against him, aiding your rolling hips.
His hums sound like soothing answers to the desperate little sounds you make into his mouth. He's all-consuming, indulgent, relentless. The sloppy lazy cadence of it might put you to sleep if you weren't so desperate to feel him inside you.
He'd never been inside.
So when he slips his aching cock up against your exposed cunt and holds it there as you grind against each other, your heart practically beats out of your chest.
The hot length of him slips over your soppy cunt over and over as eager anticipation sends shivers through your whole body.
"S'okay," he slurs again as you tremble in his arms. "This is what it's made for, mm?" He rolls his hips in one long glide as he presses his hard length firmly against you, coating himself in your slick. "Made for this. Gege's cock was made for this pretty pussy." He bites your lip gently. "Gege is just for you."
Seemingly satisfied with your responding mewl, he applies a little more pressure to the underside of his tip as you continue rolling into him. Gently, in a way that almost seems accidental, he guides himself to dip inside your entrance as his hot breath tickles your lips.
You freeze.
"Just there," he breathes.
Then, he watches your face with rapt attention as he rolls his hips to meet you—sinking into your wet heat with a broken groan. There's a pause afterwards, a mutual indulgence in the delicious release of tension built over years and years as you clench rhythmically around him.
He's the first to break it.
His eyes stay locked on yours as he grips you firmly, fingers digging into soft skin, and tugs you onto his cock with each undulation of his hips. It's a sensual, languid claiming, following a kind of lazy cadence to mirror the way he'd kissed you.
But when you close the tiny space between your mouths and whisper "I love you" against his sodden lips, he whimpers. It's followed shortly after by a full body tremor.
It's different after that.
He wraps his arms tight around you, buries his face in your shoulder, and begins surging up into you—rasping breaths tickling your skin as he gives himself over to long-repressed hunger.
I am a normal person who understands thought crimes are not real, fiction is not reality, and people can read/write/enjoy whatever they want as long as it’s fiction and no one in real life is harmed. I don’t have to like it, because I know how to mute, block and scroll past what I don’t want to see. Overall I think labels are childish, but by definition I am proship and profic. I am also against censorship.
And if you (general you) shame or harass real people over fiction, you’re a bully and this blog is not a safe place for you.
in my flop era feeling like writing gege!caleb kidnapping u before u can leave to go to college, drugging u and forcing u into submission </3 ik im someone’s niche ik there has to be someone into this
You and Caleb are accidentally hurled two years into the future, straight into his apartment. Trapped in a closet, you’re forced to watch your future selves fuck like they’ve been starving for each other.
The art that inspired this fic: https://x.com/i/status/2077008975359525093
The heat at Grandma's house during peak summer was its own particular brand of suffering. It wasn't the same as the sharp dry heat of the city, this was heavy and wet and it made the air taste like cut grass and warm concrete. By ten in the morning you'd already sweated through your first shirt. By noon you'd given up on doing anything productive.
Which was how you and Caleb ended up in the kitchen at two in the afternoon, arguing about stupid stuff, because there was nothing else to do.
"We're out of green onions," he announced with his head inside the fridge. "And ginger. Grandma said we have to buy soy sauce and it has to be the right brand."
"Which brand?"
He turned around with an expression that said he had absolutely no idea.
"Great," you said. "Really helpful."
"She showed me once. It has a red label. Or maybe yellow." He pulled out a tote bag from the cabinet and dropped it on the counter in your direction. "We'll figure it out when we're there."
"The market is a fifteen minute walk in this heat."
"Then we should leave now."
"Caleb—"
He was already heading for the door. "Come on."
You grabbed the bag and your sunglasses and followed him out into the heat, which hit you like a wall the second you stepped off the porch.
The neighborhood was quiet on summer afternoons, everyone wanted to be inside with their fans on. You walked beside Caleb through streets you'd both known since childhood, past the park, past the corner ice cream store with the faded awning, past Mrs. Yuen's house with the wind chimes that had been making the same sound for fifteen years.
He was telling you about an incident with a new recruit that had happened at a training exercise last month and you were laughing.
"Did he get hurt?" you managed.
"Bruised his ego more than anything." Caleb pushed your sunglasses up. "Poor guy spent the rest of the session pretending it hadn't happened."
The market was cool and smelled like the same brand of air freshener they'd been using since you were ten. You grabbed a basket and split off toward the vegetables while Caleb wandered in the direction of the snack aisle, which —you'd learned over years of shared grocery runs— meant you were going to spend the next several minutes complaining about his choices.
You found the green onions. Found the ginger. Turned the corner into the snack aisle and found Caleb standing in front of the chips with two bags in his hands, deliberating.
"We don't need chips," you said.
"Yes we do."
"We have food at home."
"Chips are not food, chips are a separate category." He held them both up. "Salt and vinegar or barbecue."
"Neither. We're here for dinner ingredients."
"And chips." He put the barbecue in the basket.
You took it out. He put it back in.
"Caleb."
"It's for the walk home. You'll want some on the walk home."
"You are so—" You stopped, pointed at his chest. "Fine. One bag. And you're carrying it."
He was already reaching for a second one.
"One bag."
"Salt and vinegar for you, barbecue for me. That's technically one bag each which is—"
"That's two bags."
"One per person."
You let him keep both bags because the alternative was standing in the snack aisle for another five minutes.
The soy sauce took longer. You found the section, found approximately ten different brands, and stood there for a moment in silence.
"Red label or yellow?" you said.
"I said I wasn't sure."
"You said you'd seen it."
"I'd seen it, I didn't memorize it."
"Caleb, if we get the wrong one—"
He picked one up, turned it over, put it back. Picked up another. "This one looks right."
He put it in the basket and you picked up a different one, compared the labels side by side, and put his back and kept yours.
He switched them back the moment you turned away.
------
You were outside, bag on Caleb's shoulder, chips already open when your hunter's watch went off.
The sound cut straight through everything. Your hand was in the chip bag one second and at your holster the next, the muscle memory of it faster than conscious thought. The screen had gone red.
Wanderer detected. Class: High energy anomaly. Proximity: 100 meters.
Caleb stepped in close "Behind the market. Let's go."
You were already moving.
---
The alley ran behind a row of shops, narrow and shadowed, the air warping at the far end and that meant the Wanderer had already been there long enough to disturb local reality. You pulled your gun and kept your back to the wall, moving fast. Caleb came in on the other side, gravity already building at his hands, the air around his knuckles bending in a way that meant he was ready.
The Wanderer was enormous, the geometry of it not quite making sense no matter which angle you looked from. It moved fast for something that size, swinging a limb in your direction before you'd fully cleared the corner.
You fired twice. The shots connected and it shrieked, momentum redirected enough that the hit meant for you shattered a section of wall instead.
"Flank!" Caleb called.
You were already going wide. He pulled gravity in from the left, compressing the Wanderer's movement, slowing it just enough for you to get behind it and put three more shots into the joint where two of its limbs connected. It screamed and lurched sideways.
"Keep it off the street," you yelled over the noise.
"Working on it." He dragged it backward with a gravity pull that made the pavement crack under the force of it, steering it further into the alley.
It was not a clean fight. It kept redirecting, slamming into the walls, filling the alley with debris that you had to dodge while maintaining your sight lines.
Eventually the thing started to slow. Eventually it disappeared.
Then you saw it.
On the ground where the Wanderer had dissolved — a Protocore, small, throwing off an iridescent white that you'd never seen from a Wanderer before.
"That's not standard," Caleb said, coming to stand beside you. He crouched down to look at it without touching it. "I've never seen one this color."
"Me neither." You holstered your gun. "I should take it to HQ."
"Agreed." You crouched beside him, reaching for the core at the same time he did, and your hands closed around it simultaneously.
White light erupted.
It collapsed inward, pulling everything —sound, light, air, the alley— into a point of white noise and wind, and then nothing, a few seconds later there was a floor coming up very fast.
You hit the carpet with a thud that knocked the breath out of you.
Caleb landed beside you, one arm slamming down to catch his weight before he pushed himself up.
"Are you hurt," he said, breathing hard.
You did a fast inventory. "No. You?"
"No." He looked up. Looked around.
You were inside a huge apartment. Carpeted floor and warm light from the windows. A long couch. A coffee table with papers on it. A mug. A jacket draped over the back of a chair.
Someone's apartment.
You stood up slowly. Caleb was already at the bookshelf, and you followed, and then you saw the first photo and everything in your chest felt strange.
It was you. You and Caleb, standing somewhere sunny, laughing at something out of frame. You were wearing a jacket you didn't own. His hair was slightly different, grown out and pushed back.
There were more. The two of you at a restaurant, faces close across a small table. A shot of you asleep on a couch, and Caleb sitting at the other end with a book, but whoever had taken the photo had caught him looking at you and not at the page.
Your throat felt tight.
"This is my apartment," Caleb said quietly, from somewhere to your left.
You turned to look at him. He was looking at the leather jacket on the chair. His leather jacket, the one currently in his wardrobe back at the base. A pilot's manual on the shelf, the same one he'd been working through. A mug from the Farspace Fleet. A framed photo of your grandmother that matched the one at home.
"The photos—" you started.
"I know."
He crossed to the coffee table, picked up the newspaper and scanned the top page. He held it out.
The date at the top was two years from now. Exactly two years.
---
You spent the rest of the afternoon going through the apartment with careful attention, very aware you were somewhere you weren't supposed to be. You were trying to understand what the last two years had produced.
Caleb's future self left notes everywhere. Fridge, desk, bathroom mirror. His handwriting but with a different quality to it, more settled. There were more photos than you'd first noticed — tucked into the edges of the mirror in the hallway, stuck to the inside of a cabinet. A birthday card in your handwriting on the desk, standing open. A second toothbrush in the bathroom.
You both looked at that for a moment.
"I'm not going to say anything about any of this," you said finally, standing in the kitchen with your arms crossed.
"Good call," Caleb said, from the doorway.
"I'm —this is a lot of information."
"It is."
"And I'm not drawing any conclusions."
He went quiet.
The sun went down. The apartment went from warm gold to dark while you sat on the floor of the living room eating crackers you'd found in the cabinet, your backs against the couch, the Protocore sitting on the coffee table throwing faint white light across the ceiling.
"We'll figure out how to get back," Caleb said.
"I know."
"Same energy that brought us here should be able to—"
"Caleb, I know. I'm not panicking."
He looked at you sideways. "You're quieter than your normal quiet."
"I'm just thinking."
He nodded slowly. Ate a cracker. Didn't push it, he knew when to let something sit. Almost two decades of knowing each other and he'd learned exactly where the lines were.
You were about to say something else when you heard it.
Voices outside.
Both of you were on your feet before the door handle moved. Caleb stepped toward the entryway on pure instinct and you grabbed his arm with both hands and pulled.
"Don't," you said, low and fast.
"I just want to see—"
"You cannot make contact with yourself. Do you understand what that does to the timeline? Do you understand what happens if you alter something?"
"I wasn't going to —"
"Caleb." You got in front of him, hands on his chest, looking up at him with full seriousness. "We hide. Right now. We have to wait."
He looked at the door. The handle was starting to move.
"Fine," he said before he grabbed the protocore and then your wrist to pull you toward the hallway closet in two long strides, opening it fast and pulling you in after him, easing the door shut.
The closet was full. Coats, bags, a stack of boxes on the floor that immediately became a problem because you had nowhere to step back, which meant you were now pressed against Caleb from your shoulders to your knees.
You could feel every breath he took.
"This is very small," you whispered.
"I know," he said, directly behind your ear.
His arms were on either side of you because there was nowhere else for them. His chin was above your head. You could feel him making adjustments to keep whatever minimal distance physics was willing to offer, and it was working as well as you'd expect. Which was not well.
You were two childhood friends in a closet in an apartment that was apparently his, two years in the future, surrounded by photographic evidence of something neither of you had said out loud yet, and he was doing his very best not to press against you and his very best was losing badly to the laws of spatial reasoning.
The front door opened.
Through the slats of the closet door, the living room light clicked on.
"I told you." Your own voice, but looser, threaded through with laughter that had a very specific quality to it. "I told you we shouldn't have had that last drink."
"Yeah," came the reply. Caleb's voice, except it was rougher and stripped of the easy warmth you knew and replaced with something that made the back of your neck prickle. "You were flirting with the bartender just to watch me lose it."
"Maybe I was." Future you sounded unrepentant about this.
Through the slats you watched two people stumble into the living room and your brain took several seconds to process what your eyes were seeing. She was in a dress, form fitting, gorgeous, currently half unzipped down the back. Future Caleb had shed his jacket somewhere between the door and the living room, his shirt untucked with half the buttons open, chest visible, hair slightly wrecked.
Behind you, Caleb had gone completely rigid. You felt it happen, every muscle in his body locking up at once.
Then future Caleb grabbed future you by the waist and walked her backward into the living room wall.
The impact was loud. What followed was louder, the sound of them kissing, which was not the word for what was happening, kissing implied something with more restraint than this. Future Caleb had his hands in her hair and on her waist and sliding down to bunch the fabric of her dress up her thighs, all at the same time.
You made a sound you hadn't planned on making.
Caleb's hand came over your mouth so fast you didn't even see it coming, his palm pressing firm and warm against your lips, his forearm across your collarbone. His chest was heaving against your back and something else was pressing against the small of your back that you were both absolutely not acknowledging.
You made a muffled sound against his hand anyway.
His arm tightened.
Future Caleb pulled back just far enough to speak "You want to play games tonight?" A pause, heavy with intent. "Let's find out how loud I can make you scream."
He pushed his hand up her skirt.
You'd never made that sound in your life. Or apparently you would. In two years. Against that wall.
"Caleb—wait, wait—the couch—"
That was it. That was enough. Your hand shot out in the dark and found the closet door handle and you grabbed it.
Caleb's hand came off your mouth and closed around your wrist, pulling it back against you, his mouth dropping to your ear.
"Don't you dare," he breathed.
"We have to stop watching this—" you hissed.
"If you open that door they'll see us—"
"Then they see us—"
"And alter the timeline," he said. "Your words. Two minutes ago."
He was right and it was the worst possible moment for him to be right.
"Just—" His voice came out strained "Just don't move."
"Caleb—"
"I'm a guy, and you are literally grinding into me," he snapped softly, though there was no real anger in it. His forehead dropped briefly to the back of your head. "Just..." sigh "give me a second."
Outside the closet Caleb lifted her clean off the floor. Her legs wrapped around his waist as he carried her the few steps to the couch and dropped her onto it.
His hands yanked the straps of her dress down, baring her breasts. He pinched a nipple, and she arched with a sharp cry. "You are so fucking wet already. Been thinking about my cock all day? Want me to stretch that pretty pussy out right here?"
"Yes—fuck, Caleb, touch me," she gasped, hips grinding up.
Your breath hitched. Heat flooded between your legs, sudden and embarrassing. Caleb's cock twitched against your ass and you had to bite your lip to stay quiet.
Future Caleb reached down and shoved his pants off. You couldn't look away. He was big, thick, flushed, veins standing out. Ready.
Panic hit you. "Don't look," you whispered frantically. "That's... me. Turn around or do something—"
"Like hell," he said against your ear, teeth grazing the shell. "You're the one staring. You like seeing him like that? Seeing what I— what he wants to do to you?"
"Caleb, shut up," you whimpered, thighs pressing together.
He didn't fuck her right away. He grabbed her ankles, yanked her to the edge of the couch, and spread her wide. Dropped to his knees.
"Caleb—" she started, but it dissolved into a broken moan as he buried his face between her legs.
The sound of his tongue working her was loud and messy, completely shameless. Her head dropped back against the cushions, fingers twisted tight into the fabric, her whole body shaking every time he dragged his tongue over her clit in greedy strokes. He licked broad stripes up her slit before focusing on her clit again, sucking it into his mouth with a low groan.
"Fuck, you taste so good,”Caleb growled against her pussy, voice muffled but clear enough to carry.
"Just like that baby” she moaned, one hand fisting his hair, the other still twisting in the couch cushion.
He pinched her nipple hard with his free hand, rolling it between his fingers as he sucked harder. Her thighs trembled around his head.
Behind you, Caleb let out a broken groan that made your knees go soft. His arm snapped around your waist, holding you steady, fingers digging into your hip the exact same way his future self was gripping her out there.
“Fuck,” you whispered, head falling back against his shoulder before you could stop yourself. Your pussy was throbbing, aching so bad it almost hurt.
“Listen to that. Listen to how wet you get for me.” Caleb shifted his hips, grinding the thick ridge of his cock against your ass through your jeans, dragging the seam right over your soaked cunt.
On the couch, she was losing it. "I need you inside me. I can’t wait anymore.”
Future Caleb pulled back, mouth shiny, breathing hard. He stroked himself once, twice, then lined up and drove into her in one rough thrust. Her legs wrapped around him as he started fucking her deep and hard, the couch creaking like it might give out any second. His back and ass flexed with every thrust, hips snapping forward. “Gonna come on my cock like a good girl?”
He leaned over her, one hand pinning her thigh higher as he fucked her. “Gonna fill you up. Want you leaking my cum the rest of the night. You love being my dirty little slut, don’t you? Say it.”
“Oh my god,” you choked, voice barely there. Watching yourself get railed like that—by him—was too much. The guy whose arms were currently locked around your waist, the same guy you’d known since you were kids, was pounding into a future version of you like he owned her.
She gasped between moans, nails now digging into his back. “Yes—your slut, Caleb—harder—”
“That’s my girl.” His hips snapped faster “Come on my cock like you did last night."
In the closet, Caleb’s forehead dropped to your shoulder, his cock twitched hard against your ass, hips making tiny, helpless thrusts.
You couldn’t tear your eyes away, every filthy word making the ache between your legs worse.
“Jesus,” Caleb whispered raggedly “We really talk like that?”
You twisted hard, trying to turn around in the cramped space so you wouldn’t have to see it anymore.
“Stop moving,” Caleb gasped, his control fraying fast as your ass rubbed right over the head of his cock.
“I can’t watch this—let me turn—”
Your foot caught on a heavy boot buried in the mess at the bottom of the closet. Balance gone.
“Whoa—” Caleb grabbed for you, but it was too late. Your combined weight slammed into the door.
The cheap magnetic latch popped open with a sad little click.
The squeaking of the couch cut off like someone had yanked the plug on the whole universe.
The silence that followed rang in your ears. You pushed up on your elbows, face so hot you were surprised you hadn’t spontaneously combusted. Caleb was beside you, shirt rucked up, the very obvious, very hard line of his erection pressing against your thigh.
You both slowly turned your heads toward the couch.
A few meters away, future Caleb was frozen mid thrust, hands locked on future you’s hips, his body still buried deep inside her. She had one leg hooked high around his waist, hair a wild mess, chest heaving. Both of them stared at you with identical expressions of what the actual fuck.
They were a sweaty, flushed disaster, very naked and very, very mid fuck.
“What the…” future Caleb started.
Future you blinked slowly. “Is that… us?”
You opened your mouth, brain offering the most useless sentence in history. “We were just looking for soy sauce—”
The white light from the Protocore exploded again. The apartment, the couch, your naked and extremely confused future selves—all of it ripped away in a roar of rushing air.
Thud.
You hit the dirty alley hard enough to knock the wind out of you again.
Caleb groaned beside you, flat on his back, one arm flung over his eyes. His chest rose and fell in sharp pulls. You could still feel the ghost of his hardness against you, the way his fingers had dug into your hip in the closet. Your own body was still buzzing, thighs slick, pulse pounding between your legs like a second heartbeat.
For a moment, neither of you moved.
Then Caleb let out a shaky laugh that sounded half hysterical. “Soy sauce. Really?”
You rolled onto your side, wincing at the scrapes on your elbows. “It was the first thing that came to mind, okay? We just watched ourselves— I mean, they— we were—” You gestured vaguely, face burning all over again. “You know.”
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I know.”
He sat up slowly and ran a hand through his hair. The front of his shorts was still a bit tented. He didn’t bother trying to hide it. You weren’t exactly in a position to judge, your nipples were tight against your shirt, and you were pretty sure your face was the color of a ripe tomato.
The protocore gave one last weak shimmer and dissolved into harmless blue dust that scattered across the pavement.
Caleb looked at you. “So… two years from now, huh?”
You swallowed. “Apparently we, uh… figured some things out.”
He huffed another laugh, but it was softer this time. Almost wondering. He reached over and brushed a bit of alley dirt off your cheek with his thumb. The touch lingered.
“We should probably go”
You nodded, but neither of you stood up right away. The air between you felt thicker than the summer humidity, charged with everything you’d just seen and felt in that stupid closet.
Caleb’s gaze dropped to your mouth for a second, then flicked back up. “When we get back to the house…”
“Yeah?” you whispered.
He smiled, small and crooked and a little nervous, the same smile he’d given you a thousand times growing up, except this one felt different.
“I’m not waiting two years,” he said.
Your heart did something complicated in your chest.
You grabbed his hand, pulled him up with you, and the two of you started walking out of the alley like nothing had happened.
But everything had happened.
And as your fingers brushed again while you walked, neither of you pulled away.
Summary: While stuck in bed with matching fevers, you and Caleb finally give in to the obsessive love you’ve secretly shared for years. After confessing your feelings, the two of you desperately kiss, dry hump until Caleb cums in his basketball shorts and you climax against him too, before falling asleep wrapped in each other’s arms, promising you’ll never let each other go again.
It wasn’t often that Caleb got sick. It especially wasn’t often that he got sick while visiting you back home in Linkon. But there was a first time for everything, you supposed. It was flu season, after all. You weren’t surprised when you came down with something first, spending the day cooped up in your apartment with a fever that left every inch of your body aching and your head feeling as though it had been stuffed full of cotton. The chills came and went without warning, your joints protested every movement, and even thinking took more effort than it should have. What you hadn’t expected was for your stepbrother to catch it too, and the exact same time.
So much for him coming home to spend the next week with you while the two of you enjoyed a rare stretch of paid vacation together. So much for the amusement parks you’d spent weeks planning to visit, debating which rides to tackle first and which food stalls were worth trying. So much for the late-night food runs, aimless drives through the city with the windows cracked just enough to let the cool evening air in, and every other little plan you’d been quietly looking forward to. Instead, your apartment had transformed into what looked more like a quarantine zone than a home. Tissues littered nearly every trash can, medicine bottles crowded the coffee table beside blister packs of cold medicine, and mugs of tea were constantly being emptied and refilled as the two of you sniffled, coughed, and complained your way through what had to be the worst possible timing.
The one thing you absolutely refused to compromise on, however, was where Caleb was going to sleep. You’d caught him trying to settle onto your small couch for a nap, bundled beneath one of your throw blankets that barely reached past his knees. His long legs hung awkwardly over the edge of the cushions, yet he still had the audacity to insist he’d be perfectly comfortable there. As if you were actually going to let that happen. Not a chance.
You’d marched straight over, hauled his sick ass off the couch with far more determination than either of your feverish bodies probably should’ve possessed, and informed him that if he intended to survive the week, he’d be sleeping in an actual bed, in yours, with you, like he usually would when he’d stay in Linkon. Caleb, of course, had immediately argued that he didn’t want to kick you out of your own room. You, equally stubborn and feeling far too miserable to entertain his self-sacrificing nonsense, had threatened him with death if he didn’t stop being an idiot and listen.
What followed was several exhausting minutes of arguing in circles, both of you wrapped in blankets, shivering despite the warmth of the apartment while your fevers drained whatever little energy you had left. Every point he raised was met with another from you. Every excuse he offered was shot down almost as quickly as he could think of it, until the entire conversation blurred into one long, fever-induced cycle of stubbornness neither of you was truly equipped to win.
Eventually, whether because he realized you weren’t backing down or because he simply didn’t have the strength to keep arguing anymore, Caleb let out a long, tired sigh. His shoulders sagged in quiet defeat, and without another complaint, he finally gave in, obediently following you down the short hallway toward your bedroom.
You’d already turned on the heating pad beneath the blankets near the foot of the bed, knowing your perpetually cold feet would be miserable otherwise, and had pulled on a pair of fuzzy socks before climbing underneath the comforter beside him. Both of you were dressed in your pajamas, looking every bit as pitiful as you felt, though Caleb’s choice of sleepwear did him absolutely no favors.
Normally, he was practically a human furnace. It was one of the many things you relentlessly teased him about, considering he could somehow be warm even in the middle of winter. Apparently, the flu had robbed him of that particular talent. Dressed in nothing more than a baggy T-shirt and a pair of basketball shorts, he curled into his side of the bed with the blankets pulled up to his neck, trying, and failing, to hide the occasional shiver that ran through him. His nose was flushed from blowing it all day, his hair stuck out in soft, sleep-rumpled tufts, and the exhaustion settling over his features made him look far younger than the composed, dependable colonel everyone else knew.
After a moment, he cautiously slipped one hand out from beneath the warmth of the blankets, visibly regretting it the instant the cool air hit his skin. He fumbled around the nightstand until his fingers found the television remote, then pressed the power button. The screen flickered to life, filling the dim bedroom with soft light and the familiar murmur of whatever happened to be playing, giving the two of you something mindless to watch while you waited for the worst of the flu to pass.
“it’s so bright,” you whined, tugging the comforter over your head until the blanket cocooned you from the harsh glow spilling across the room. Even with your eyes squeezed shut, the light seemed to press insistently against your eyelids, making your already pounding head throb even harder, “Caleb, can you turn the lights off if you’re gonna have the TV on?”
“Sure.”
He was already pushing himself upright before you had even finished asking. Every movement looked sluggish, weighed down by the same fever that had settled into your own bones. His voice was thick with congestion, each word muffled by the stuffiness clogging his sinuses, while the lingering flush across his cheeks and the tiredness clouding his eyes made it painfully obvious how miserable he felt. Still, he shuffled across the room without complaint, shoulders slightly hunched as another chill ran through him, making him instinctively hug his arms closer to himself while he made his way toward the light switch.
“I wasn’t really planning to watch anything,” he said, “just figured we could use some background noise so ya won’t have to hear me.”
“Hear you?” You repeated, lowering the blanket just enough to peek out from underneath it.
You watched him flip off the lights, the bedroom immediately falling into a softer darkness illuminated only by the muted glow of the television. The flickering screen painted gentle washes of color across the walls as Caleb turned around, his bare legs making quick work of the short distance back to the bed. Even bundled in nothing more than his oversized T-shirt and basketball shorts, he still looked like he couldn’t get warm, another visible shiver passing through him before he reached the mattress.
“Yeah,” he hurried, climbing back beneath the blankets so quickly that the mattress dipped beneath his weight and bounced lightly beside you. He wasted no time scooting back into his corner, pulling the comforter up around himself until only his shoulders and messy brown hair remained visible, “I keep makin’ this weird noise right when I’m about to fall asleep cause of all the stuffiness.”
Your lips curled into an amused smile. Only then did you notice how much space he’d deliberately left between the two of you, practically plastering himself against the edge of the bed as though he were still trying to avoid getting any closer than necessary. Even now, after you’d practically threatened bodily harm to convince him to sleep somewhere comfortable, he was somehow still trying to make himself as small and unobtrusive as possible.
“What noise?”
“Like this,” he obediently demonstrated, letting his head sink into the pillow as he exaggeratedly pretended to drift off to sleep. A second later, he made a flat, deep, almost robotic sound, “uhh!”
The ridiculous noise caught you completely off guard. A laugh escaped before you could stop it, warm and genuine despite how awful you felt, “what the fuck? I haven’t heard you do that.”
“Well yeah, cause I’ve been trying to stay the hell away from you,” he couldn’t help but laugh back, the corners of his mouth lifting into the first real smile you’d seen from him all day. With an embarrassed little huff, he rolled back onto his side until his back faced you again, retreating into the blankets as though hiding from his own admission. Even sick, exhausted, and running a fever, he was still more worried about inconveniencing you than himself.
Ignoring the gap he’d so carefully put between the two of you, you scooted closer anyway. Then closer still. Until your chest rested lightly against his back and you could settle your cheek between his broad, muscular shoulder blades. Even through the thin cotton of his T-shirt, you could feel the warmth radiating from him. Normally, Caleb always ran hot enough to make you complain whenever he stole the blankets, but now the fever had turned that familiar warmth into something almost comforting, a steady heat that seeped into your chilled skin the moment you touched him. The contact made him stiffen ever so slightly beneath you.
“Why?“ You asked, “it’s not like either of us are really contagious to each other…”
He was quiet for a moment before answering.
“…Well, I don’t wanna wake you up if you fall asleep and you hear me make noises next to you,” he murmured, his voice softened by exhaustion and hopelessly stuffed with congestion, “you need rest. I was honestly fine on the couch. Don’t blame me if ya can’t fall asleep, now…”
A small laugh escaped you, weak and scratchy from your sore throat. You slipped an arm around his waist from behind, holding him loosely as you nestled closer against the broad span of his back, shamelessly stealing whatever warmth you could.
“I don’t think I can fall asleep, even if I tried,” you admitted with another tired chuckle, “I’m too sick…You can sleep though. Are you sleepy?”
“Kinda? But I don’t think I could fully fall asleep either. Everything‘s all achy,” the last few words dissolved into a miserable groan, followed by a congested snort that made him sound every bit as pathetic as he felt.
You frowned sympathetically, “do you want another Sudafed?”
“Maybe. I’ll get you one right now.”
No sooner had the words left his mouth than he started to push himself upright, already trying to wriggle out of your embrace despite looking like standing up would require the effort of climbing a mountain.
You immediately tightened your hold just enough to stop him, “no, you stay put. I got it.”
He barely made it halfway upright before you nudged him firmly back toward the mattress.
“No, Pips, quit getting up,” he protested, trying to sit back up again despite the obvious fatigue dragging at every movement,“you needa just stay put and get some rest until your temperature goes down.”
“Well, we left the thermometer in the kitchen,” you reminded him, “I have to get that, too.”
That only seemed to strengthen his resolve. With a determined little grunt, Caleb sat upright again, preparing to swing his legs over the side of the bed. You were quicker. Holding up a single finger, you fixed him with the sternest look your fever-addled brain could manage.
“Stay,” you warned, widening your eyes for emphasis, “don’t make me have to fight you! If you want me to rest so bad, then stop being a stubborn idiot and let me take care of you. You’re doing too much.”
For a long moment, he simply stared back at you. Then his shoulders sagged. A helpless, thoroughly miserable groan escaped him as he surrendered, letting himself flop backward onto the mattress with all the dramatic defeat of a man who’d just lost the most important battle of his life. He huffed out a long breath through his nose before muttering, “you never listen…”
“If I listened, you’d be twisting your spine in all kinds of uncomfortable positions on my shitty couch,” you pointed out.
Crossing your arms against the lingering chill that still clung to your body the moment you stepped away from Caleb’s warmth, you climbed out of bed and shuffled toward the bedroom door, already bracing yourself for the cold walk to the kitchen.
By the time you made it to the kitchen, you were questioning whether the short walk had always been that long. Your head felt heavy with congestion, your fever leaving you lightheaded enough that you had to steady yourself against the countertop for a moment before opening the medicine cabinet. You fished out the box of Sudafed with sluggish fingers, popped one of the tablets from its blister pack, and swallowed it down with a glass of water. The cool drink did little to soothe the raw ache in your throat, but it was enough to make you feel marginally more human.
Remembering Caleb, you pressed out another pill before moving to the refrigerator. A pitcher of pink lemonade sat on the top shelf, and the thought of something cold sounded infinitely more appealing than another cup of tea. You filled a second glass nearly to the brim, the pale pink liquid clinking softly against the ice cubes before gathering everything in your hands and carefully making the slow trek back toward your bedroom, completely forgetting the thermometer and leaving it for later.
The room was quiet when you returned, save for the muffled murmur of the television still playing in the background. You set your own water down on your nightstand before carrying the lemonade and Sudafed over to Caleb’s side of the bed. He’d apparently managed to drift off in the minute or two you’d been gone. Curled beneath the blankets, he looked completely boneless, his breathing slow and even as exhaustion claimed him almost instantly. You reached out and gently nudged his shoulder.
“Caleb,” you murmured softly, motioning for him to sit up.
The moment he stirred, a strange, congested sound escaped him, “uhh!”
His violet eyes flew open, unfocused at first as they locked onto the ceiling. A second later they found you standing beside the bed, and almost immediately, he looked away with unmistakable embarrassment.
“See, it’s that stupid sound…” He complained.
A quiet giggle slipped past your lips despite yourself. You slipped an arm behind his shoulders to help him sit upright before placing the pill into his hand, “I think you sound cute.”
The tips of his ears immediately turned a shade pinker than they already were from the fever. He answered with the tiniest groan of embarrassment, his expression twisting into reluctant resignation. Even now, he still seemed uncomfortable letting you witness him like this; sniffling, exhausted, making involuntary noises every time he started to drift off, as though getting sick around you was somehow something to be embarrassed about.
It wasn’t as if he’d had much choice. He accepted the glass from you, tossing back the Sudafed before washing it down with a long drink of the pink lemonade. The change in his expression was immediate. His brows lifted ever so slightly, pleasant surprise flickering across his tired features as he looked down into the glass, then back up at you.
“Ohhh…” A warm smile spread across his face, softer than any you’d seen from him all day, as he watched you climb back into bed on your side, “pink lemonade, huh? Thanks, Pips…You’re the best. Want some?”
You smiled back, scooting closer once you’d settled beneath the blankets again. Instead of answering, you simply reached over and took the glass from his hands. The first sip was bliss. The lemonade was cold enough to soothe the heat lingering in your mouth, its tartness tempered by just enough sweetness to take the edge off your sore throat as it slid down. You hadn’t realized how thirsty you’d been until then, and for a brief moment, the cool drink was enough to distract you from the pounding in your head and the ache in your body.
With an approving nod, you handed the glass back. Caleb finished setting it on the nightstand before easing himself down onto the pillow once more, and a second later you followed, the mattress dipping gently beneath the combined weight of the two of you as you settled back into bed together while the television continued to murmur quietly in the background.
“Don’t crawl away,” you whined, catching him before he could slip from your reach. You rested your cheek against the steady warmth of his chest, letting out a quiet sigh as you threw one leg over his thigh to trap him beneath you. Your arm slid around his tummy, holding him close while you burrowed into him in search of the warmth he always seemed to carry, “I’m freezing! Stop running from me, Caleb…You’re so annoying.”
A soft laugh escaped him, low enough that you felt it rumble beneath your ear before you heard it. After only a moment of resistance, he finally relented, his long arm settling carefully across your backside as the stiffness that always lingered in his body gradually eased, “fine, fine, I’ll stay put. I just don’t want you getting any sicker…”
You knew that was only half the truth. Caleb had always been the type to disappear whenever he was the one feeling ill, brushing off your concern and avoiding you until he recovered, unwilling to let you witness even the smallest sign of weakness. But this was different. This wasn’t just about protecting you from catching whatever he had. Caleb had another habit; one you’d quietly taken notice of over the years.
Whenever you became too physically close, something inside him seemed to lock up. A simple nap together was easy enough until you instinctively curled against him, and then he’d go rigid beneath your touch, every muscle drawn tight as if he were afraid to move. Even the quick kisses you pressed to his cheek, something the two of you had shared so naturally for years, still managed to paint his face a deep shade of red every single time. Whenever you rested your head in his lap and asked him to play with your hair, his fingers would always hesitate first, trembling ever so slightly before they finally threaded through the strands. He never pushed you away. He never asked you to stop. He simply endured every affectionate gesture with an almost painful restraint.
It made sense on paper…Didn’t it? Caleb had grown up beside you. Grandma Josephine had raised the two of you under the same roof, giving you the same home, the same family, and the same childhood memories. Even after everything had changed, after Josephine’s passing, after the explosion, after the Fleet, after your adoption papers and the legal ties to him were absolved so you were no longer step siblings in any legal sense, some things had never truly changed. Caleb still carried himself around you with careful hesitation, drawing invisible boundaries that no longer needed to exist. Yet no matter how often you tried to convince yourself that was all it was, the question refused to leave your mind. Was he still treating you like the little stepsister he’d spent his whole life protecting…Or was it because, somewhere beneath all that restraint, he saw you the same way you had always seen him, even when you were children?
You wondered sometimes if there was something fundamentally wrong with you. Maybe everyone else would call it obsession. Delusion. Maybe they would say you were sick for keeping such meticulous track of every tiny thing Caleb did, cataloging each fleeting expression and every unconscious gesture like precious evidence locked away inside your own mind. You couldn’t help it. Your brain did it before you even realized it was happening. Every blush that dusted his cheeks after you kissed them. Every time his hand instinctively reached for yours before he thought better of it. Every lingering glance that lasted a heartbeat too long. Every tiny tremor that ran through his fingers whenever you leaned into his space. You remembered all of it. You replayed it over and over until the moments felt engraved into you, convincing yourself that no one reacted like that unless they felt something. Unless they loved you too. You needed to believe that. Because if those moments didn’t mean anything…Then what did that make you?
Eventually, the doubt became unbearable, and you started testing reality against everyone else’s. You’d slip seemingly innocent questions into conversations with friends, pretending they were meaningless hypotheticals while your stomach twisted itself into knots waiting for their answers. Was it weird to cuddle with your stepbrother? To fall asleep in the same bed because you both slept better that way? To drag him around the grocery store by the hand simply because you liked knowing exactly where he was? To disappear beneath the same blanket during scary movies until you were practically wrapped around him? To miss him so much after a single day apart that your chest physically ached?
Every answer came back the same. No. That wasn’t normal. The awkward looks, the uncomfortable laughter, the way conversations suddenly shifted away from the topic—they all told you more than words ever could. Little by little, their reactions burrowed beneath your skin, feeding the ugly voice already living inside your head. Maybe you were exactly what they’d think you were if they ever knew the truth. Maybe “stepbrother” was enough to make every feeling you’d ever had disgusting in the eyes of everyone else. Maybe they’d call you obsessive. Possessive. Deranged. Maybe they would say the way your entire world revolved around Caleb wasn’t love at all, but something warped. Something taboo. Something that should have been buried instead of cherished.
The thought made something ugly curl inside your chest. You hated them for it. You hated that strangers who had never seen the way Caleb looked at you somehow believed they had the right to decide what your relationship was supposed to be. They hadn’t watched him give you the larger half of every meal without thinking. They hadn’t seen the way his eyes found you first in every crowded room or how he instinctively reached for you whenever you were within arm’s length. They hadn’t noticed the blushes he tried to hide, the hesitation in his breathing whenever you touched him, the way he endured your closeness while looking as though every ounce of restraint he possessed was hanging by a thread. They didn’t know him. They didn’t know you. They certainly didn’t know what existed between the two of you. So why should their opinions matter?
Still…The question lingered anyway, scratching relentlessly at the back of your mind until it hurt. What if they were right? What if every stolen glance and trembling touch meant nothing? What if you’d built an entire fantasy out of ordinary affection because you wanted him so desperately that your own mind had begun lying to you? The thought made your stomach churn. You couldn’t bear it. You refused to bear it.
“Pips?”
His voice sliced cleanly through the spiral before it could drag you any deeper. You blinked hard, your thoughts scattering as you lifted your head to find Caleb already studying you, concern softening the sharp edges of his expression. His violet eyes searched yours with quiet intensity before he raised the back of his left hand to your forehead, his cooler skin a stark contrast against the fever radiating from your own.
“You okay?” He asked quietly, “you’re really warm…And you’re squeezin’ the life out of me.”
Only then did you realize how tightly you were holding him. Your leg had locked around his thigh with enough force to keep him pinned exactly where he was, while your fist had twisted itself into the hem of his shirt beneath the blanket, the fabric wound tightly around your fingers until your knuckles had gone tight. You hadn’t even noticed yourself doing it. Somewhere in the middle of your spiraling thoughts, your body had decided that if your mind couldn’t guarantee Caleb would never leave you, your hands would simply refuse to let him.
“Sorry…” You loosened your grip only enough that he could breathe before instinct pulled you right back against him, greedily reclaiming every inch of warmth his body offered. Your cheek settled over his heart again, your fingers smoothing absentmindedly over his side as you guided his arm back around your waist where it belonged. Wrapped in him, surrounded by him, you could almost pretend the rest of the world had disappeared, “I just…I’m cold. Just wanna crawl inside of you and wear you like a blanket right now.”
It wasn’t even entirely a joke. The thought had crossed your mind before. More than once. If you could unzip him and crawl beneath his skin, tuck yourself safely inside his ribs where no one else could ever reach you, you thought you probably would. You were almost certain you’d finally stop worrying then. No more wondering where he was. No more waiting for him to come home. No more fear that something, or someone, would take him away from you again. You could stay with him forever, nestled beneath his heartbeat where you belonged.
Caleb laughed beneath your ear, the sound warm despite the fever weakening it, vibrating through his chest until you could feel it as clearly as you heard it. His fingertips found your hair with practiced affection, combing slowly through the strands before his free arm joined the other around your body, surrounding you completely. The embrace made something inside you bloom so violently it almost hurt. Half of you basked in the simple joy of being held exactly the way you’d always wanted. The other half ached with an endless, ravenous longing, mourning everything you still weren’t allowed to have.
“What, ya want me to be your skin suit?” He teased, his voice dripping with easy affection.
“Yes, actually,” you tipped your head back without hesitation, your eyes locking onto his as your arms instinctively tightened around him again. Your breath fanned softly beneath his chin, leaving barely any space between your faces, “I do, Caleb. Is there something wrong with that?”
For the briefest moment, you watched it happen. His throat bobbed. His breathing caught. His entire body stiffened just enough for you to notice. There it was again. Another one. Another tiny reaction to quietly tuck away with all the others. Another secret little piece of evidence your mind greedily collected before anyone else could explain it away. Then, just as quickly, he forced himself to relax.
“Nah…” He chuckled, a faint flush already beginning to creep toward the tips of his ears, “but I might be too big for ya. You might have to lop off my legs at the shins.”
A bright giggle escaped you before you buried your face into the comforting heat of his neck, laughing against his skin while his own quiet snickers vibrated beneath your cheek. You lingered there for another moment, breathing him in until the familiar scent of detergent, soap, and Caleb settled the frantic beating of your heart. Then curiosity, and mischief, got the better of you. You pushed yourself farther up his body until you were practically draped over him, cupping his face between both hands before immediately beginning to squish his cheeks together. His lips stretched into the most ridiculous shape imaginable, completely ruining the composed, handsome face that always made your heart stutter. You couldn’t stop laughing.
“What about your giant head?” You whispered between amused giggles, giving his cheeks another playful squeeze before one hand wandered into the stick straight strands of his bangs. You pinched a lock of brown hair between your fingers and tugged it upward until it stuck straight into the air, making him look even more ridiculous “what should I do with it?”
“Make a hood out of it, you silly goober,” he laughed, finally catching both your wrists before you could completely destroy whatever was left of his hair. His fingers wrapped gently around them, more restraining than scolding as he smiled at you, “you can turn me into one of those cute Kigurumi onesies.”
You burst into delighted laughter, the sound bright enough to fill the room as you poked both of your index fingers into his dimpled, grinning cheeks, delighting in the way they squished beneath your fingertips, “you’d make the cutest onesie…I’d wear you to bed every night!”
He looked up at you with an almost offended little pout, his brows knitting together just enough to make you smile wider, “just, to bed?”
You blinked, amused by the genuine disappointment in his voice, “why, you’d want me to wear you during the day, too?”
“I’d want you to wear your Caleb onesie twenty-four seven,” he replied without missing a beat, his smile softening into something quieter, something that settled heavily between the two of you. His hands remained comfortably around your wrists, his thumbs absently stroking over your skin as though they belonged there, “I’d never want you to take me off of ya.”
Your teasing smile faltered for the briefest moment. He’d said it like a joke. But Caleb had always hidden his truest feelings inside jokes. You knew that better than anyone. Your heart gave a painful squeeze because, if he truly meant even half of that, then it mirrored a desire you had buried for years. There wasn’t a part of you that didn’t crave his constant presence. You wanted to wake up with him every morning, fall asleep against him every night, know where he was every second in between. The months you’d spent believing he had died had carved something ugly into your heart, something possessive and desperate that never seemed to heal. Ever since he’d come back, every goodbye made a quiet panic bloom beneath your ribs, irrationally terrified that the next time he walked away, he wouldn’t return. If there was a way to keep Caleb with you forever, to make sure no war, no Fleet assignment, no cruel twist of fate could ever steal him away again, you weren’t entirely convinced you wouldn’t take it.
“What about when I shower?” You asked curiously.
He blinked at you, visibly caught off guard before an unmistakably thoughtful expression settled across his face. Rather than dismissing the question, he actually considered it, his violet eyes drifting for a moment as though he were searching for the most practical solution to an otherwise ridiculous problem. You couldn’t help smiling. That was Caleb. No matter how absurd the conversation became, he always met you there without hesitation.
Finally, he reached up and gently guided both of your hands over his face, covering his eyes with your palms. His larger fingers curled securely around yours, holding them in place with an easy familiarity.
“I’ll close my eyes like the perfect gentleman,” he promised with a laugh that rumbled softly beneath your hands, “promise I won’t peek.”
Mischief bubbled up inside you as you slowly spread your ring and middle finger apart, creating a narrow gap until one of his eyes peeked through. It immediately found yours, as though it had been searching for you the entire time.
“Well…” Your voice softened without meaning to, “if you were my skin suit…I wouldn’t be mad if you did…”
The words slipped out before you had the chance to catch them. The moment you realized what you’d admitted, heat flooded your face, and you instinctively looked away, suddenly fascinated by a wrinkle in the blanket instead of meeting his eyes. For a second, Caleb said nothing. You felt his gaze instead. Steady. Unwavering. Almost unbearably warm. When you finally risked another glance, his face had turned just as red as yours, the blush stretching across his cheeks before disappearing beneath the tips of his ears. He laughed, but it sounded almost breathless this time, as though your words had lodged somewhere deep inside him.
“You’re such a silly goober,” he murmured, smiling with a tenderness that made your chest ache.
One hand slipped free to affectionately ruffle your hair, but instead of stopping after a few playful passes, his fingers lingered there, combing gently through the messy strands. His touch slowed until it became absentminded, almost possessive, as though he simply liked feeling you beneath his hand.
“Besides…” He added with a crooked grin that was just a little too knowing, “if you’re wearin’ me all the time, nobody else gets to borrow me.”
The joke should have sounded ridiculous. Instead, it settled into the same strange corner of your heart where all the others did. Because you realized, with a quiet sort of horror and delight, that you didn’t want anyone else borrowing him either. Not even for a little while.
Before you could hide behind your embarrassment any longer, Caleb gently tugged you back down against him, answering your fluster with action instead of teasing. His arms slipped around you in one smooth motion, strong and certain as they gathered you completely against his chest until your face was buried against the feverish warmth of his neck. He hugged you with enough strength that you felt safely trapped, your back pressed firmly beneath one arm while the other settled securely around your waist, drawing you impossibly closer. A tiny, contented sound escaped him; soft enough that anyone else might have missed it, but you felt it vibrate against your cheek. It was a sound of pure happiness, unguarded and instinctive, and it made your heart swell so painfully you thought it might burst.
You wasted no time returning it. Your own arms tightened around him with equal desperation, your fingers spreading across the broad plane of his back before kneading gently between his shoulder blades. Even through the fabric of his shirt, you could feel the hard lines of muscle beneath your palms, each slow pass reminding you just how solid he was, how real he was, how he was here. Alive. Breathing. Holding you. You never took that for granted anymore. Not after losing him once.
Caleb rocked you slowly from side to side, the movement absentminded and soothing, as though his body had fallen into a rhythm it already knew by heart. It felt so natural that a dangerous thought slipped quietly into your mind. You fit here. You always had. Against his chest. Wrapped inside his arms. Hidden away where the rest of the world couldn’t touch either of you. You wished time would stop. You wished duty would forget his name. You wished the Fleet would lose every record they had on Colonel Caleb, leaving only the boy who belonged here with you. The thought was selfish. Horribly selfish. You knew that. You didn’t care. If loving him meant becoming the sort of person who wanted to keep him tucked safely away from the rest of the world forever, then perhaps you had already crossed that line years ago.
Eventually, almost reluctantly, his embrace loosened. Not because he seemed to want to let go. He knew he had to. His hands lingered on your back long after the hug should have ended, rubbing slow circles between your shoulder blades before patting you gently, as though trying to memorize the feeling of you beneath his palms. There was something equally unwilling in the way his fingers dragged ever so slightly before finally settling again, like some quieter part of him resented every inch of distance that returned between you.
When you finally lifted your face, you found him already looking at you. He was smiling. Not the easy, teasing grin he wore whenever he wanted to make you laugh. This one was softer. Quieter. Almost wistful. There was regret hidden inside it. You’d seen that expression more times than you could count. It always appeared whenever Caleb drifted somewhere far away inside his own thoughts, his violet eyes growing distant while words gathered behind them that never quite found their way into the open. It was the same look he wore whenever he insisted everything was fine despite the unmistakable weight settling across his shoulders. As though he carried entire conversations inside himself that he refused to let anyone else hear. Especially you.
You wondered, not for the first time, if the secret lodged inside his heart resembled the one poisoning yours. If he spent sleepless nights swallowing the same impossible confession. If every smile he buried, every blush he disguised, every touch he hesitated over existed for the same reason your own heart had become such a hopeless mess. That he loved you so completely it had become unbearable to keep pretending he didn’t.
“…Caleb?” Your voice broke the comfortable silence before it could stretch any farther.
Both of your hands rose to cradle his warm face, your thumbs brushing lightly along his fever-flushed cheeks while, almost automatically, his own fingers wandered back into your hair. They combed through it with slow familiarity, lingering near the nape of your neck as though he simply couldn’t help himself.
“Do I…” You hesitated, suddenly unsure whether you wanted to hear the answer after all, “…Ever make you uncomfortable?”
“Hm?” His brows lifted with genuine confusion, his expression softening almost immediately, “nah, I don’t think so…Why?”
Your stomach twisted. You searched his face for even the smallest hint that he already understood what you were trying to ask.
“…Because whenever I wanna get closer…” Your voice came out quieter this time, your thumbs unconsciously stroking his cheeks as though reassuring yourself he was still there, “…You get tense…And freeze up.”
The words left your mouth before you could swallow them back, and almost instantly you wished you could. Not because you regretted asking, but because the answer suddenly felt terrifying. If he’d only ever stiffened because he truly saw you as family, you weren’t sure your heart would survive hearing him say it out loud. Yet another part of you, the same obsessive, hopeful part that counted every blush and every trembling breath, clung stubbornly to the possibility that his hesitation had never been rejection at all. That perhaps Caleb froze for the same reason you did whenever you caught yourself imagining a future where neither of you had to pretend anymore.
He blinked at you, the confusion on his face lingering for only a heartbeat before realization slowly settled over his features. His eyes widened just slightly, followed by a quiet, almost breathless, “ohhh…”
He looked away with an embarrassed smile, rubbing the back of his neck for a moment before his gaze found you again.
“Well, I just don’t wanna make you uncomfortable, that’s why,” he explained, “I’m a guy…You’re a girl…And I get scared that if I let you get too close, it’ll be too much for your comfort. That I’ll be pushing past your boundaries.”
His explanation should have eased the ache in your chest, but instead it only deepened it. Even now, after everything the two of you had survived together, Caleb’s first instinct was still to protect you. He always worried about everyone else before himself, and somehow he’d even convinced himself that the greatest thing you needed protecting from might be him.
A small pout tugged at your lips as you looked at him, “but I can think for myself…I’m aware of my boundaries. Sometimes it feels like you forget I have autonomy, too…You don’t have to look after me so closely, Caleb. I’m an adult, now…I can decide things for myself.”
He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he sat quietly with your words, his gaze drifting downward until it settled on your lips with an intensity that made your pulse stumble. He looked almost unaware he was doing it, as though he’d become lost somewhere inside thoughts he had no intention of sharing. You watched the subtle tightening of his jaw before his hand rose almost unconsciously to cover his own mouth. The gesture wasn’t awkward or embarrassed. It looked instinctive, like a reflex he’d repeated so many times he no longer realized he was doing it. It felt less as though he were shielding himself and more as though he were shielding you from whatever lived inside his own head. The sight made something click painfully into place inside yours. Maybe he had never been afraid of making you uncomfortable. Maybe he’d been terrified of what would happen if he stopped holding himself back.
“You don’t—…” Your voice softened as your hand found his, your fingers carefully wrapping around his pinkie before slowly guiding his hand away from his face. He could have resisted. He could have pulled away. Instead, he let you move him, his fingers relaxing beneath yours until nothing remained between your faces, “…Have to protect me from you. I—…I don’t want there to be anything standing between us…”
His breath caught so quietly you almost questioned whether you’d imagined it, but then you felt his heartbeat quicken beneath you as you lay against his chest. Your fingertips lingered against the back of his hand before drifting upward to trace the line of his chin and the strong curve of his jaw. His skin was warm beneath your touch, fever heating him almost as much as the blush steadily blooming across his cheeks. You could feel the restraint humming through every inch of him. He wasn’t retreating from your touch, nor was he leaning into it. Instead, he remained perfectly still, as though every instinct urging him closer was being held in place by years of relentless self-discipline. It struck you then that his hesitation had never felt like rejection. It felt like someone clinging desperately to the last thread of control, terrified that if he indulged himself even once, he’d never be able to stop.
“…Would it really be that terrible if we got just a little closer?” You whispered, your voice carrying more vulnerability than you’d intended as your thumb gently stroked the warmth of his jaw. Caleb continued looking up at you with an expression so painfully conflicted it made your chest ache. There was longing in his eyes that matched your own, softened by guilt, restraint, and an affection so profound it almost looked painful to carry, “Caleb…It’s always felt this way for me. Like—…Like close is never quite close enough. You know what I mean?”
Something inside him softened at your confession. His eyes searched yours. The hand you’d guided away from his mouth never returned there. Instead, it slowly settled against your side, his fingers curling gently into the fabric of your shirt. The grip wasn’t forceful, but it lingered with quiet intention, betraying a possessiveness he was trying very hard to disguise as tenderness. It felt less like someone afraid of crossing your boundaries and more like a man who had spent years convincing himself that if he ever allowed himself to hold you the way he truly wanted to, he might never find the strength to let you go again.
“…Yeah?” He asked quietly, the single word carrying far more uncertainty than the question itself.
It sounded less like disbelief and more like he was searching for reassurance, for permission, for the impossible comfort of hearing you say it again.
“You want us to be even closer than we already are? You’re—…” He swallowed hard, the movement visible beneath your gaze, “you’re literally on top of me right now, Pips…I don’t know how much closer we could get. I mean—…”
You could. You had spent years imagining all the ways. Your fingertips drifted upward with agonizing slowness, brushing beneath his lower lip before tracing the familiar line of his chin. Every inch of him radiated warmth, the fever making his skin almost unbearably hot beneath your touch. You followed the strong line of his throat until your fingers settled over the frantic flutter of his pulse. It pounded against your fingertips with such urgency that you couldn’t stop yourself from smiling. Gently, almost reverently, your hand curved around his throat, your thumb resting beneath his jaw while your fingers cradled the opposite side. You weren’t squeezing. You didn’t need to. Simply holding him there, feeling the life racing beneath his skin, was enough to satisfy the possessive ache blooming inside your chest.
Caleb’s reaction came immediately. His eyelids fluttered weakly, his breathing turning uneven as another helpless swallow rolled beneath your palm. You felt every tiny movement, every involuntary response. His pulse only grew faster the longer your hand remained there, hammering wildly against your fingertips while the rest of him stayed perfectly still beneath you, as though he didn’t trust himself to move. A sheen of perspiration glistened across his forehead, dampening the loose strands of brown hair that framed his face, and the flush warming his cheeks deepened until it reached the tips of his ears. Watching him unravel beneath you sent a feverish thrill coursing through your body. Even if you hadn’t been sick, you knew it would have affected you exactly the same.
You loved seeing him like this. Not because he looked vulnerable. Because he was yours. At least, that was how your heart wanted to believe it. The world had already stolen him from you once. It had ripped him away without warning and left you to grieve a future that never happened. Ever since he’d returned, a quiet panic had rooted itself somewhere deep inside you, whispering that it could happen again if you weren’t careful enough. You hated that feeling. You hated every mission that took him away, every order that demanded his attention, every person who borrowed pieces of him you selfishly believed belonged to you.
Sometimes your love stopped feeling soft. Sometimes it became desperate. Hungry. You wanted to wrap it around him so tightly that nothing, not death, not war, not the endless stars themselves, could ever pull him free again. You wanted to shackle him with every ounce of affection your heart could hold until loving you became as inescapable as gravity itself. You wanted him hopelessly tangled in your orbit, bound so completely to your side that leaving would become impossible, not because he was forced to stay, but because the very thought of existing anywhere without you felt unthinkable. The frightening part wasn’t the thought itself. It was how right it felt.
“…We could get even closer,” you whispered, your thumb absently stroking beneath his jaw as you watched his pupils slowly widen, swallowing more and more of the brilliant violet until his eyes resembled galaxies collapsing inward, “we could get so close that I never have to worry about losing you again. That I could just…I could just meld you to my side forever and ever. Wouldn’t you want that, Gege?”
The nickname seemed to melt straight through him. His lips parted soundlessly, his next breath catching in his throat beneath your hand as though the single word had reached somewhere he’d spent years trying to bury. His pulse fluttered wildly against your fingertips, betraying him long before his face did, and for a fleeting moment the restraint he’d worn so faithfully looked dangerously close to splintering. There was no fear in his expression, no discomfort, no desire to escape your touch. Instead, he looked at you with an aching hunger that mirrored your own, as though your impossible fantasy wasn’t frightening to him at all. If anything, it looked painfully familiar, like you’d just spoken aloud the very thought he’d spent years locking away inside himself, terrified that if he ever admitted how badly he wanted to keep you just as close, he might never be able to pretend otherwise again.
“…You know that’s a line we’ll never be able to uncross if we cross it, right?” He breathed, his voice barely louder than the space between you.
The words sounded like a warning, but they lacked conviction. If anything, they carried the aching uncertainty of someone who already knew the answer and was desperately hoping the other person would make the choice for him. There was fear in his eyes, but it wasn’t fear of you. It was fear of himself. Fear that if he took even one step beyond the invisible boundary he’d spent years drawing around the two of you, he’d never possess the strength to walk back across it again.
Your lips curled into the smallest smile, “yeah…”
The answer came so easily it almost surprised you. You’d made peace with that possibility long before this conversation had ever happened. Slowly, almost absentmindedly, you shifted against him, arching your spine just enough that your body settled even more completely over his. The movement was subtle, but you felt the immediate effect it had on him. His hands, already resting at your waist, tightened instinctively until they trembled. His fingers curled into the fabric of your shirt and sweats beneath the blanket, gathering them into tight fists as though he needed something to anchor himself before every ounce of restraint he’d built over the years simply dissolved. The grip wasn’t enough to hurt. It wasn’t even enough to stop you. It was enough to keep you there. Enough to make sure you couldn’t drift even an inch farther away.
You couldn’t help noticing the irony. Caleb had spent years pretending he was the one constantly creating distance between you, convincing himself every careful hesitation was an act of self-control. Yet whenever you actually found yourself in his arms, he never seemed capable of letting you go. Every embrace lingered longer than it should have. Every goodbye ended with his hand still resting on your back for one last second. Even now, while insisting he was afraid of crossing lines, his body betrayed him completely. His grip clung to you with a quiet desperation that felt almost unconscious, as though some instinct buried deep inside him refused to risk losing contact once he’d finally been allowed to hold you.
Typical Caleb. Always pretending he was the composed one. Always pretending he wasn’t just as needy. Just as clingy. Just as hopelessly attached.nThe realization made something warm bloom inside your chest because, for all the ways you liked to imagine yourself as the more obsessive one, the truth was beginning to look far more balanced than either of you had ever admitted. You counted every blush and every trembling breath like treasured keepsakes, secretly wanting to wrap him so tightly in your love that nothing in the universe could ever pull him away from you again. Caleb, meanwhile, spent every waking moment convincing himself not to reach for you while unconsciously refusing to loosen his grip whenever he finally did. The two of you weren’t standing on opposite sides of the same line. You were simply staring at it from opposite directions.
“But…” Your hand slowly left his shoulder, one fingertip drifting upward until it found his lower lip. You traced it with impossible gentleness, feeling the faint, familiar layer of lip balm he’d only ever seemed to remember when you were around. The thought made your heart ache with quiet affection. You wondered if he’d ever noticed that little habit himself or whether he’d simply grown so accustomed to wanting to look after every tiny thing whenever you were near that he’d stopped questioning it altogether. Your thumb lingered there for another heartbeat before your eyes lifted to meet his again, “…What if I told you that I wanna cross every line? Would you cross them with me?”
The room fell impossibly still. Caleb didn’t answer. Not because he didn’t know. Because he did. His gaze remained locked with yours, his pupils swallowing the violet of his irises until almost nothing remained but black, and the hands gripping your waist tightened by the smallest fraction. It wasn’t enough to restrain you. It was enough to tell you that somewhere beneath all his discipline, all his careful boundaries, all the promises he’d made to himself about protecting you from the parts of him he considered too selfish to deserve daylight, there lived a man who had spent years standing at that very same line, wondering what it would feel like if, just once, the two of you stopped pretending neither of you wanted to cross it.
The poor man looked as though he were moments away from spontaneously combusting beneath you, and the sight sent an intoxicating rush through your already fever-addled mind. His face had flushed so deeply that the color stretched from his cheeks to the tips of his ears, every shallow breath lifting his chest beneath you while his violet eyes remained hopelessly fixed on yours. You couldn’t tear your gaze away from him. Every tiny reaction he gave you felt impossibly precious, each one feeding the obsessive part of your heart that had spent years wondering if you were alone in your feelings.
Your own pulse raced just as wildly, your thoughts softened into a hazy blur by the fever burning through your body. Logic had long since melted away beneath the relentless heat and the unbearable closeness between you. Somewhere in that delirious warmth, a reckless thought settled into your mind, growing impossible to ignore. It was something you knew you would never have the courage to do under ordinary circumstances. If he didn’t want it, if you’d misunderstood everything, you could blame the fever afterward. You could both laugh it off, call yourselves delirious, pretend your overheated minds had wandered somewhere they never truly intended to go. The possibility offered just enough courage for your body to move before your fear could stop it.
Slowly, you shifted lower against him, your body gliding only a few inches down his taller frame until your hips settled nearer his. The movement was tentative, almost hesitant, until both of you inhaled sharply at exactly the same moment. The shared gasp hung suspended between you as Caleb’s hands flew instinctively to your hips, gripping them with trembling urgency. The hold felt beautifully conflicted. One hand seemed determined to stop you where you were, while the other betrayed him completely, pulling you the last fraction of an inch closer instead.
Then you felt it. Heat. Firmness. An unmistakable hardness resting beneath the loose fabric of his basketball shorts. It lay slanted across the hard line of his pelvis, pressed along the space above his thigh, fever-warm and impossibly rigid beneath the thin material separating the two of you. Even with no experience of your own, there was no mistaking what your body had found. That was his cock. His rock hard cock. The realization stole the breath from your lungs. Your heart lurched so violently it almost hurt. Every blush, every trembling hand, every frozen embrace, every carefully measured breath suddenly rearranged themselves into something painfully obvious. He wanted you. God, he wanted you.
The thought echoed through your feverish mind with dizzying intensity. Something possessive inside you bloomed almost painfully at the discovery, wrapping itself around the realization with greedy delight. Somehow, seeing the physical proof affected you more than any confession ever could. His body had betrayed every secret he’d fought so desperately to bury, and for one fleeting, intoxicating moment, he was completely incapable of hiding from you. It made your chest tighten with an almost overwhelming need to gather him closer, to cradle him until there wasn’t a single inch of distance left between either of you. Every irrational part of you wanted to keep him exactly like this forever; flustered beneath you, blushing because of you, unable to disguise how deeply he wanted you in return. You wanted to lock this moment away somewhere no one else could ever reach, selfishly hoarding it alongside every blush and every stolen glance you’d spent years collecting.
“Please,” Caleb breathed, the word escaping him with heartbreaking vulnerability. His voice sounded rough, strained almost to the point of breaking as another shaky breath left him. Fever had left him flushed and unsteady, but there was something else unraveling him now, something he’d clearly spent years holding together through sheer force of will, “Y/n, I’m too weak to think straight right now, I—…Might just…Give in…You sure? There’s no going back once—“
“—I’m sure,” you answered before he could finish, the words leaving you almost faster than your thoughts could keep up.
Relief crashed through you with such overwhelming force that it nearly made you dizzy. It had never all been in your head. You weren’t the only one carrying this impossible secret. The love you’d spent years hiding, nurturing, questioning, and quietly convincing yourself was too obsessive to ever be returned had been living inside Caleb all along, just as fiercely, just as painfully restrained. Neither of you had been suffering alone. Neither of you had been the only one standing at that invisible line, terrified to take the first step across it. All those years of carefully dancing around one another suddenly felt unbearably unnecessary. The final barrier that had existed between you, the one built from fear, guilt, and relentless self-denial, finally stood within reach, ready to crumble beneath the weight of everything the two of you had been starving to admit.
Unable to stop yourself, you eagerly climbed back up his body until your faces were only inches apart once more. Your hands rose instinctively to cradle his fever-warmed cheeks, your thumbs brushing softly across skin that had become impossibly familiar over the years. His eyes never left yours. They searched your face with almost desperate tenderness, as though he were still trying to convince himself this wasn’t another dream destined to disappear. His arms circled your waist again without hesitation, pulling you securely against him while one hand slipped into your hair with practiced familiarity. His fingers threaded through the strands before cupping the back of your head, guiding you just a little closer until scarcely enough space remained for another breath between you. The gesture was gentle, but there was nothing uncertain about it anymore. It felt like the first time he’d allowed himself to hold you the way he’d secretly wanted to for years, no longer pretending that letting you go had ever been something he truly wished to do.
“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life,” you finally confessed.
Caleb closed the distance himself. The realization didn’t fully register at first. For one dizzy, impossible heartbeat, your fever-clouded mind refused to believe what your body was feeling. Surely the heat had finally cooked the last sensible part of your brain. Surely this was another dream; the kind that had haunted you for years, so vivid they left you grieving when you woke. But dreams had never felt like this. Dreams had never carried the scorching warmth of his skin as his face fit naturally against yours. Dreams had never pressed trembling lips against your own with such aching certainty. Caleb was kissing you. Caleb had chosen to kiss you. He had been the one to erase the final inch between you, his fist tightening involuntarily at the roots of your hair as though even now, after finally surrendering, he couldn’t stop himself from holding on.
Your head spun so violently you thought you might lose consciousness. Fireworks exploded behind your closed eyelids, bright enough that the rest of the room simply disappeared. Nothing existed except him. You clutched him with the same desperate hunger, one fist knotting itself into the damp collar of his shirt while your other hand cradled his burning jaw, terrified that if you loosened your grip for even a second, reality would remember itself and rip him away again.
At last. After all these years…At fucking last. Every lonely, miserable night came crashing back into you all at once. Every time you’d lain awake staring at the ceiling until dawn because your heart wouldn’t let you sleep. Every time you’d hidden beneath your blankets, too ashamed to admit where your thoughts always wandered. Every stolen fantasy that ended with Caleb’s face. Every trembling kiss you’d practiced against the back of your own hand while pretending, just for a moment, that it was really him. Every time you’d touched yourself between the legs while imagining his voice, his hands, his body, only to come apart with his name trapped silently inside your throat before curling into yourself afterward, consumed by the crushing certainty that there had to be something deeply broken inside you. You had cried over it more than once. You had begged yourself to stop. You had promised yourself you would move on, that you would bury those feelings somewhere no one, including Caleb, could ever find them.
You never could. No matter how much guilt hollowed you out afterward, no matter how disgusted you felt with yourself, no matter how desperately you wished your heart would simply choose someone else, it always circled back to him. It was always Caleb. Every fantasy. Every impossible future. Every aching daydream. Loving him had become less like a feeling and more like an illness that had rooted itself so deeply inside you that separating it from your own identity no longer seemed possible. Sometimes you genuinely wondered whether your brain had been wired wrong from the very beginning. Whether something inside you had always been hopelessly twisted. Obsessive. Possessive. Irredeemably depraved. You had spent years believing you were carrying that sickness alone.
You weren’t. Caleb was kissing you back. Not cautiously. Not out of pity. Not because the fever had stolen his judgment. He kissed you like a starving man who had finally been allowed to eat. His lips met yours with years of restrained longing poured into a single impossible moment, every careful wall he’d built around himself collapsing all at once. You felt it in the way he held you, in the way his fingers refused to leave your hair, in the way his body instinctively drew yours closer instead of letting you drift away. He had wanted this. He had wanted you. For how long? The question made your heart ache almost as much as it thrilled you.
Maybe every blush you’d collected, every trembling hand, every frozen embrace, every lingering glance hadn’t simply been evidence of hidden affection. Maybe they had been evidence of the exact same madness. Maybe Caleb had spent years swallowing the same unbearable hunger. Maybe he’d stared at the ceiling at night imagining you. Maybe he’d hated himself afterward, just as fiercely as you had hated yourself. Maybe he’d spent years pretending distance was enough because he knew that if he ever allowed himself one kiss, one confession, one selfish moment, there would be no putting the pieces back where they belonged. Maybe he was every bit as obsessive. Every bit as possessive. Every bit as hopelessly ruined by loving you as you had always been by loving him.
The thought should have frightened you. Instead, it soothed something ancient and aching inside your chest. You weren’t alone. You never had been. The secret that had poisoned both of your hearts for years had never belonged to just one of you. Relief crashed through you so fiercely it almost hurt. Your lips chased his with desperate devotion, kissing him harder, greedier, pouring every lonely year into the way you held him. You coaxed his mouth open with gentle insistence until he finally surrendered, and the first tentative brush of his tongue against yours drew the same helpless sound from both of you. The quiet moans dissolved into the warmth between your mouths as your fingers dug deeper into each other, neither of you capable of deciding whether you were trying to pull closer or simply afraid to let go. Beneath the blanket your bodies pressed together with a desperation that felt years in the making, clinging to one another with the quiet panic of two people who had already lost each other once and silently vowed they would never survive enduring it again.
When the two of you finally broke apart to breathe, it wasn’t because either of you wanted to. It was because neither of you could pull enough air through your congested noses, leaving you both panting softly into the narrow space between your faces. Even then, neither of you loosened your hold. Your fingers remained buried in his sweat-damp shirt, in his hair, against the feverish warmth of his skin, while Caleb clung to you with equal desperation, his hands refusing to leave your back as though they had forgotten how to exist anywhere else.
When you looked into his eyes, another shiver rolled deliciously down your spine. His violet gaze had gone heavy-lidded, half hooded beneath lashes dampened by fever, the intensity behind it almost frightening. He looked completely overtaken by you. His breathing came in uneven pants, his cheeks burned crimson, and whatever discipline had once lived inside that brilliant, controlled mind of his had finally been drowned beneath the same delirious sickness consuming your own. The realization sent adrenaline surging through your already depraved little brain. He looked every bit as poisoned as you were. Every bit as hopelessly gone. It filled you with a sick, overwhelming sort of joy that made your arms instinctively tighten around him. You wanted him closer. Closer than this. Close enough that there would never again be room for anyone or anything to wedge itself between the two of you.
The need became unbearable. Before either of you consciously decided to move, your mouths crashed together again, the second kiss carrying none of the tentative disbelief of the first. It was greedier. Hungrier. Years of starving restraint finally collapsing beneath the weight of mutual surrender. You kissed him like someone terrified he might disappear if you stopped, your lips chasing his with desperate devotion while his answered with equal urgency, every sound he made dissolving against your mouth.
Somewhere in the haze of fever and adrenaline, your body moved before your thoughts could catch up. Without thinking, you shifted against him, instinctively seeking the hard length of his cock beneath the thin fabric separating you. The moment you found it, both of you gasped into the kiss. His cock settled firmly between your thighs, thick, feverishly hot, and throbbing with a quick, undeniable pulse that made your entire body tense in response. Dear God…He was so warm. So achingly, irresistibly real. The sensation tore a shameless whine from him, loud enough that it echoed softly through the quiet room before disappearing into your mouth.
You felt his throat bob beneath your fingertips as he swallowed hard, only to kiss you even more desperately than before. His powerful arms cinched around the entirety of your back until you were almost crushed against him, holding you with an intensity that bordered on possessive desperation. When you slowly ground yourself down along the unmistakable shape of his thick cock, you felt him shudder beneath you, his body trembling as though every nerve had become painfully attuned to yours. The sound he made against your lips was equal parts relief and torment, and it unraveled something inside your own chest.
“I’ll cum,” he blurted out with naked desperation, the warning tumbling helplessly from him even as he devoured your mouth in another kiss. His words were swallowed between your lips, breathless and strained, while his hands roamed over every place they dared to touch. They pressed along your sides, your waist, your back, his fingers flexing helplessly against you as though he was trying to memorize every inch of your body without crossing the final line his restraint still desperately clung to. His palms followed the slow roll of your hips with aching precision, trembling as if every instinct inside him screamed to grab your ass and grind you down harder against him himself, “I’ll cum if you keep doing that—!”
The sound of him nearly shattered whatever composure you had left. His voice had always done something dangerous to you, but you’d never heard it like this. It was wound so tightly with arousal that every syllable trembled beneath the strain of it, roughened by need until it bordered on pleading. It was exactly the sound you’d spent years imagining in the privacy of your own bedroom, the sound that had haunted countless fantasies until you could practically hear it whenever your thoughts wandered to him.
There had been so many nights when you’d buried your face into your pillow to muffle your own moans while imagining Caleb saying your name with that same helpless desperation, your fingers working furiously between your thighs until your entire body fell apart around the fantasy of him. Every time it happened, guilt always followed. Shame always followed. You’d lie there afterward with tears stinging your eyes, furious with yourself for being so hopelessly fucked in the head that even your own pleasure belonged to him. Yet none of those fantasies had come close to this. Nothing your imagination had ever conjured compared to the reality of hearing Caleb unravel beneath you.
Heat exploded low in your stomach, so fierce and all-consuming that it almost hurt. It pooled between your thighs until your entire body seemed to move on instinct alone. Before you realized what you were doing, you pushed yourself upright, climbing fully over him until you straddled his hips with frantic determination. The sudden motion made the room tilt violently around you, your fever and the dizzying intensity of kissing Caleb threatening to send you tumbling sideways. For one brief, disorienting moment, you actually thought you were going to fall.
Caleb caught you before gravity had the chance. His large hands closed securely around your hips with practiced steadiness, grounding you as effortlessly as though he’d been waiting for you to lose your balance. You instinctively braced yourself with both hands against his broad chest, your fingers gripping tightly enough to wrinkle the sweat-soaked fabric stretched across hard muscle beneath your palms. His body radiated heat. It poured through the damp cotton until it almost burned your skin, and everywhere the shirt clung to him, you could see the darker stains left by fever and exertion. The material hugged every contour of his body, tracing the powerful curve of his chest before dipping into the deep line dividing his pecs and stretching lower across the sharply carved planes of his abdomen. Even hidden beneath fabric, the strength of him stole your breath.
Dear God…You couldn’t stop staring. You didn’t want to. The sight of him beneath you, flushed scarlet from fever and want alike, panting softly as those impossibly violet eyes looked up at you with complete, undisguised awe, sent another wave of longing crashing through your chest. He looked almost overwhelmed by you, as though he still couldn’t quite believe you were real, and the expression made your heart ache with possessive affection. Every irrational part of you wanted to keep that look forever. To make sure no one else ever inspired it. To selfishly hoard every blush, every breathless stare, every beautiful, vulnerable expression until they all belonged to you and you alone.
Without thinking, your hands abandoned his chest and reached instead for the hem of his shirt. The decision felt completely instinctive. You didn’t ask. You simply needed him. Needed one less barrier standing between the two of you. Your fingers hurried beneath the damp fabric, racing to tug it upward, and for the briefest moment you wondered whether he’d stop you. He didn’t. If anything, Caleb moved faster than you did.
The instant he realized what you wanted, his own hands flew to the shirt, helping you yank it over his head with an urgency so wonderfully clumsy it made your heart race even harder. The fabric caught briefly around his arms before he finally tore it free, tossing it somewhere into the room without either of you sparing it a second glance. A heartbeat later he dropped back against the mattress, bare-chested and breathing hard, his skin glistening faintly with perspiration as the fever left him flushed from throat to chest. His hands found your hips again almost immediately, settling there with unmistakable familiarity as though they’d already decided they belonged nowhere else, his fingers curling just a little tighter than before, reluctant to risk even the smallest chance that you might slip away now that he’d finally been allowed to hold you like this.
“Put your weight down on me…” He breathed hoarsely, his voice rough enough that it barely sounded like him anymore.
His hands tightened around your hips in a slow, encouraging squeeze that hovered dangerously close to possessive as he guided you to settle your full weight over the throbbing, feverishly hot hardness trapped between him and your pussy. The instant you sank against him, a sharp sigh tore free from his chest. His violet eyes fluttered before rolling back beneath heavy lids, his lips falling open as every muscle in his neck strained visibly beneath skin slick with perspiration. His broad chest rose sharply beneath your trembling hands while a shudder raced through his entire body.
“F-fuck! Oh my God, I can’t believe you’re—…D-doing this to me!” The last words escaped between gritted teeth, dragged from somewhere deep inside him with a growl that sounded equal parts overwhelmed and utterly ruined.
The sound alone nearly unraveled you. Your pussy fluttered helplessly around nothing, your clit buzzing with sharp, relentless electricity as you rolled your hips along the unmistakable shape of his cock without the slightest trace of hesitation. There was no teasing. No coy smiles. No careful restraint. Years of starving yourselves for one another had stripped away every ounce of patience either of you possessed, leaving behind nothing but raw, savage need.
You moved against him with the desperate greed of someone who had spent too many nights imagining this exact moment, chasing every impossible fantasy until reality finally surpassed it. Watching Caleb come apart beneath you was intoxicating in a way you never could have prepared yourself for. Every strained breath, every helpless grunt, every growl vibrating up from his chest sent another violent pulse of heat crashing low through your stomach. His voice, roughened by fever and pleasure alike, poured deliciously into your ears until another shiver raced through your entire body. You couldn’t tell anymore whether you were burning because of the fever or because Caleb looked so devastatingly beautiful losing himself beneath you.
Your thoughts dissolved into complete mush. All you could think about was him. The way his hands kept begging at your hips, gripping tighter every time you rolled yourself over the thick press of his cock as though he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to slow you down or desperately encourage more. The way his entire body refused to stay still, restless beneath you as grunts, sharp sighs, rough growls, and the occasional miserable little sniffle slipped free despite his obvious attempts to keep himself composed. Even now, sick and flushed and panting, Caleb still looked as though some stubborn part of him wanted to maintain control, yet every movement of your hips shattered another piece of that discipline until all that remained was the man underneath it; the one who had spent years pretending he didn’t ache for you exactly like this.
It thrilled you. God…It thrilled you so much it almost frightened you. Some possessive, ugly part of your heart drank in every helpless sound he made. You wanted to memorize them all. Lock them away beside every blush, every trembling breath, every stolen glance you’d hoarded over the years. You wanted to be the only person who ever heard Caleb sound like this. The only one who ever made him fall apart so completely. The thought was selfish. Twisted. Maybe even a little insane. You knew that. Yet instead of pushing it away, you only found yourself grinding harder, greedier, silently delighting in the way his body answered yours so eagerly. If loving him had turned you into something obsessive, then perhaps there had never been any saving you. Judging by the way Caleb clung to you with equal desperation, perhaps there had never been any saving him either.
The room dissolved into nothing but heat. Both of you panted into the tiny space as your bodies writhed together with desperate, uncoordinated urgency. Every roll of your hips drew another strained sound from Caleb, every helpless thrust of his hips beneath you answering yours without conscious thought until neither of you seemed capable of remembering who had begun moving first. The heat between your legs grew blinding. Your clit throbbed with relentless intensity, every brush against him sending another wave crashing through your body while your thighs burned from the effort of refusing to stop. Sweat dampened your skin until strands of hair clung to your forehead, your breathing dissolving into broken little pants as the pressure low in your stomach tightened so suddenly it almost stole the air from your lungs.
The realization struck all at once. Your entire body tensed. A startled gasp tore from your throat as your fingers dug instinctively into Caleb’s flushed, sweat-slick chest, your nails leaving crescent-shaped marks against his skin while your hips faltered for only a heartbeat, “I-I’m gonna cum! I’m gonna cum! I’m gonna cum, oh, fuck!”
Before your mind could even catch up, Caleb’s fist shot forward, latching onto the front of the elastic waistband of your sweats. His fingers balled the fabric with such desperate force that you felt the urgency pouring out of him seep through your very skin, as though his need had become something tangible enough to wrap around you completely. Your eyes flew open for the briefest moment, only to find him staring up at you with an expression so fiercely, frighteningly passionate that it stole the last coherent thought from your mind. His violet eyes looked completely consumed by you, stripped of every careful wall he’d spent years hiding behind. The intensity of that gaze alone was enough to send you tumbling over the edge, and when his desperate grip silently urged your hips into another merciless grind against him, the pressure bursting through your clit became too much to bear.
“Caleb!” You cried, your jaw falling open as your head tipped back toward the ceiling.
Your eyes squeezed shut so tightly that bursts of brilliant color exploded behind them, white-hot pleasure crashing through your clit before radiating violently through every inch of your body. Your entire frame shook from your head down to your curled toes, every muscle locking and trembling as wave after wave ripped through you. You desperately shoved yourself along the thick shape of his cock, riding out your climax with broken moans and ragged gasps while your fingertips dug helpless crescent marks into his flushed, sweat-slick chest. The sensation overwhelmed you so completely that you couldn’t tell where your own body ended and his began anymore. Everything inside you had become heat, trembling, and Caleb.
“Cum for me!” Caleb fell apart beneath you with absolutely no shame, his voice bursting from him in a feverish frenzy that sounded almost euphoric. His powerful hands locked around you as though he couldn’t bear the thought of you slipping away even a fraction, holding you firmly against the trembling grind of his hips as they bucked helplessly beneath yours, “Y/n! Y/n, cum! Yeah! Yeah, cum on it! C-cum—! With me—! Cum with me…”
Every word dissolved into a groan so deep and raw that it vibrated through his entire chest beneath your hands. Even without any experience, there was no mistaking that sound. It wasn’t simply another moan or another strained breath. It was unmistakably the sound of Caleb coming apart beneath you. His whole body convulsed in powerful shudders as his cock pulsed hotly between your legs, each involuntary tremor stealing another helpless sound from his throat while his breathing dissolved into broken pants. The expression on his face, eyes squeezed shut, brows drawn tight, lips parted around another wrecked groan, burned itself into your memory with painful clarity. You knew, without anyone ever needing to tell you, that you were witnessing his climax, and something fiercely possessive bloomed inside your chest at the realization that you were the one who had undone him like this.
The room pitched violently around you. Your head spun so hard that you couldn’t remain upright any longer, your exhausted body threatening to collapse as the aftershocks still rolled through your trembling thighs. Caleb caught you before you could even begin to fall. His arms wrapped around you with the same instinctive certainty they’d always had, gently pulling you down until your body melted against his burning, sweat-slick chest.
You couldn’t think. You couldn’t move. You could barely remember how to breathe. All you could hear was the frantic pounding of his heart beneath your ear, still hammering wildly inside his chest as though it hadn’t yet realized everything was over. His arms trembled from exertion and fever alike as they settled around you, but they never loosened. One broad hand found the back of your head, cradling you with impossible tenderness while his fingers lazily stroked through your hair. The slow rise and fall of his chest rocked you gently as you buried your face against the heated scent of his damp neck, finally allowing yourself to sink into him completely.
The two of you lay there for a long while without speaking, still tangled together beneath the blankets as you caught your breath in quiet unison. Caleb continued holding you with absentminded affection, his thumb tracing slow circles through your hair while every so often his lips brushed softly against your forehead or temple, as though reassuring himself you were still there. You noticed he never once loosened his embrace. If anything, he seemed to gather you a little closer every passing minute, unable to stop touching you now that he’d finally allowed himself to.
“I’m never letting you go, Pips…” He breathed quietly, his voice warm against your hair, “you know that, right?”
A tired smile found your lips as sleep began pulling at your heavy eyelids. You nodded weakly against his neck. You’d known long before he’d ever said it aloud. After everything the two of you had buried, denied, and survived together, you weren’t letting him go either. With the last of your strength, you pressed one gentle kiss against the warm skin of his neck before exhaustion finally claimed you, safe inside the only place that had ever truly felt like home.
i just found out about the 一有美 (yi you mei) girls on twitter, from a tiktok video harassing cosplayers. cosplayers who cosplay fictional characters that they like.
please go find a fucking job. what the do you mean your HARASSING PEOPLE FOR COSPLAYING YOUR FAVORITE CHARACTERS?? THE FUCKKKK😭😭😭 so fucking crazy.
saw someone harass a xavier cosplayer for cosplaying him ....like please for your mental health, go outside and actually talk to people. how can you be so parasocial to a fictional character that your attachment causes you to harass normal fucking people? even though this fandom is full of grown women, there isn't never a point where someone just can't exist in this fandom without getting harassed for literally doing NOTHING. this shit is so fucking annoying, wrap it up TODAY.
Summary: While stuck in bed with matching fevers, you and Caleb finally give in to the obsessive love you’ve secretly shared for years. After confessing your feelings, the two of you desperately kiss, dry hump until Caleb cums in his basketball shorts and you climax against him too, before falling asleep wrapped in each other’s arms, promising you’ll never let each other go again.
It wasn’t often that Caleb got sick. It especially wasn’t often that he got sick while visiting you back home in Linkon. But there was a first time for everything, you supposed. It was flu season, after all. You weren’t surprised when you came down with something first, spending the day cooped up in your apartment with a fever that left every inch of your body aching and your head feeling as though it had been stuffed full of cotton. The chills came and went without warning, your joints protested every movement, and even thinking took more effort than it should have. What you hadn’t expected was for your stepbrother to catch it too, and the exact same time.
So much for him coming home to spend the next week with you while the two of you enjoyed a rare stretch of paid vacation together. So much for the amusement parks you’d spent weeks planning to visit, debating which rides to tackle first and which food stalls were worth trying. So much for the late-night food runs, aimless drives through the city with the windows cracked just enough to let the cool evening air in, and every other little plan you’d been quietly looking forward to. Instead, your apartment had transformed into what looked more like a quarantine zone than a home. Tissues littered nearly every trash can, medicine bottles crowded the coffee table beside blister packs of cold medicine, and mugs of tea were constantly being emptied and refilled as the two of you sniffled, coughed, and complained your way through what had to be the worst possible timing.
The one thing you absolutely refused to compromise on, however, was where Caleb was going to sleep. You’d caught him trying to settle onto your small couch for a nap, bundled beneath one of your throw blankets that barely reached past his knees. His long legs hung awkwardly over the edge of the cushions, yet he still had the audacity to insist he’d be perfectly comfortable there. As if you were actually going to let that happen. Not a chance.
You’d marched straight over, hauled his sick ass off the couch with far more determination than either of your feverish bodies probably should’ve possessed, and informed him that if he intended to survive the week, he’d be sleeping in an actual bed, in yours, with you, like he usually would when he’d stay in Linkon. Caleb, of course, had immediately argued that he didn’t want to kick you out of your own room. You, equally stubborn and feeling far too miserable to entertain his self-sacrificing nonsense, had threatened him with death if he didn’t stop being an idiot and listen.
What followed was several exhausting minutes of arguing in circles, both of you wrapped in blankets, shivering despite the warmth of the apartment while your fevers drained whatever little energy you had left. Every point he raised was met with another from you. Every excuse he offered was shot down almost as quickly as he could think of it, until the entire conversation blurred into one long, fever-induced cycle of stubbornness neither of you was truly equipped to win.
Eventually, whether because he realized you weren’t backing down or because he simply didn’t have the strength to keep arguing anymore, Caleb let out a long, tired sigh. His shoulders sagged in quiet defeat, and without another complaint, he finally gave in, obediently following you down the short hallway toward your bedroom.
You’d already turned on the heating pad beneath the blankets near the foot of the bed, knowing your perpetually cold feet would be miserable otherwise, and had pulled on a pair of fuzzy socks before climbing underneath the comforter beside him. Both of you were dressed in your pajamas, looking every bit as pitiful as you felt, though Caleb’s choice of sleepwear did him absolutely no favors.
Normally, he was practically a human furnace. It was one of the many things you relentlessly teased him about, considering he could somehow be warm even in the middle of winter. Apparently, the flu had robbed him of that particular talent. Dressed in nothing more than a baggy T-shirt and a pair of basketball shorts, he curled into his side of the bed with the blankets pulled up to his neck, trying, and failing, to hide the occasional shiver that ran through him. His nose was flushed from blowing it all day, his hair stuck out in soft, sleep-rumpled tufts, and the exhaustion settling over his features made him look far younger than the composed, dependable colonel everyone else knew.
After a moment, he cautiously slipped one hand out from beneath the warmth of the blankets, visibly regretting it the instant the cool air hit his skin. He fumbled around the nightstand until his fingers found the television remote, then pressed the power button. The screen flickered to life, filling the dim bedroom with soft light and the familiar murmur of whatever happened to be playing, giving the two of you something mindless to watch while you waited for the worst of the flu to pass.
“it’s so bright,” you whined, tugging the comforter over your head until the blanket cocooned you from the harsh glow spilling across the room. Even with your eyes squeezed shut, the light seemed to press insistently against your eyelids, making your already pounding head throb even harder, “Caleb, can you turn the lights off if you’re gonna have the TV on?”
“Sure.”
He was already pushing himself upright before you had even finished asking. Every movement looked sluggish, weighed down by the same fever that had settled into your own bones. His voice was thick with congestion, each word muffled by the stuffiness clogging his sinuses, while the lingering flush across his cheeks and the tiredness clouding his eyes made it painfully obvious how miserable he felt. Still, he shuffled across the room without complaint, shoulders slightly hunched as another chill ran through him, making him instinctively hug his arms closer to himself while he made his way toward the light switch.
“I wasn’t really planning to watch anything,” he said, “just figured we could use some background noise so ya won’t have to hear me.”
“Hear you?” You repeated, lowering the blanket just enough to peek out from underneath it.
You watched him flip off the lights, the bedroom immediately falling into a softer darkness illuminated only by the muted glow of the television. The flickering screen painted gentle washes of color across the walls as Caleb turned around, his bare legs making quick work of the short distance back to the bed. Even bundled in nothing more than his oversized T-shirt and basketball shorts, he still looked like he couldn’t get warm, another visible shiver passing through him before he reached the mattress.
“Yeah,” he hurried, climbing back beneath the blankets so quickly that the mattress dipped beneath his weight and bounced lightly beside you. He wasted no time scooting back into his corner, pulling the comforter up around himself until only his shoulders and messy brown hair remained visible, “I keep makin’ this weird noise right when I’m about to fall asleep cause of all the stuffiness.”
Your lips curled into an amused smile. Only then did you notice how much space he’d deliberately left between the two of you, practically plastering himself against the edge of the bed as though he were still trying to avoid getting any closer than necessary. Even now, after you’d practically threatened bodily harm to convince him to sleep somewhere comfortable, he was somehow still trying to make himself as small and unobtrusive as possible.
“What noise?”
“Like this,” he obediently demonstrated, letting his head sink into the pillow as he exaggeratedly pretended to drift off to sleep. A second later, he made a flat, deep, almost robotic sound, “uhh!”
The ridiculous noise caught you completely off guard. A laugh escaped before you could stop it, warm and genuine despite how awful you felt, “what the fuck? I haven’t heard you do that.”
“Well yeah, cause I’ve been trying to stay the hell away from you,” he couldn’t help but laugh back, the corners of his mouth lifting into the first real smile you’d seen from him all day. With an embarrassed little huff, he rolled back onto his side until his back faced you again, retreating into the blankets as though hiding from his own admission. Even sick, exhausted, and running a fever, he was still more worried about inconveniencing you than himself.
Ignoring the gap he’d so carefully put between the two of you, you scooted closer anyway. Then closer still. Until your chest rested lightly against his back and you could settle your cheek between his broad, muscular shoulder blades. Even through the thin cotton of his T-shirt, you could feel the warmth radiating from him. Normally, Caleb always ran hot enough to make you complain whenever he stole the blankets, but now the fever had turned that familiar warmth into something almost comforting, a steady heat that seeped into your chilled skin the moment you touched him. The contact made him stiffen ever so slightly beneath you.
“Why?“ You asked, “it’s not like either of us are really contagious to each other…”
He was quiet for a moment before answering.
“…Well, I don’t wanna wake you up if you fall asleep and you hear me make noises next to you,” he murmured, his voice softened by exhaustion and hopelessly stuffed with congestion, “you need rest. I was honestly fine on the couch. Don’t blame me if ya can’t fall asleep, now…”
A small laugh escaped you, weak and scratchy from your sore throat. You slipped an arm around his waist from behind, holding him loosely as you nestled closer against the broad span of his back, shamelessly stealing whatever warmth you could.
“I don’t think I can fall asleep, even if I tried,” you admitted with another tired chuckle, “I’m too sick…You can sleep though. Are you sleepy?”
“Kinda? But I don’t think I could fully fall asleep either. Everything‘s all achy,” the last few words dissolved into a miserable groan, followed by a congested snort that made him sound every bit as pathetic as he felt.
You frowned sympathetically, “do you want another Sudafed?”
“Maybe. I’ll get you one right now.”
No sooner had the words left his mouth than he started to push himself upright, already trying to wriggle out of your embrace despite looking like standing up would require the effort of climbing a mountain.
You immediately tightened your hold just enough to stop him, “no, you stay put. I got it.”
He barely made it halfway upright before you nudged him firmly back toward the mattress.
“No, Pips, quit getting up,” he protested, trying to sit back up again despite the obvious fatigue dragging at every movement,“you needa just stay put and get some rest until your temperature goes down.”
“Well, we left the thermometer in the kitchen,” you reminded him, “I have to get that, too.”
That only seemed to strengthen his resolve. With a determined little grunt, Caleb sat upright again, preparing to swing his legs over the side of the bed. You were quicker. Holding up a single finger, you fixed him with the sternest look your fever-addled brain could manage.
“Stay,” you warned, widening your eyes for emphasis, “don’t make me have to fight you! If you want me to rest so bad, then stop being a stubborn idiot and let me take care of you. You’re doing too much.”
For a long moment, he simply stared back at you. Then his shoulders sagged. A helpless, thoroughly miserable groan escaped him as he surrendered, letting himself flop backward onto the mattress with all the dramatic defeat of a man who’d just lost the most important battle of his life. He huffed out a long breath through his nose before muttering, “you never listen…”
“If I listened, you’d be twisting your spine in all kinds of uncomfortable positions on my shitty couch,” you pointed out.
Crossing your arms against the lingering chill that still clung to your body the moment you stepped away from Caleb’s warmth, you climbed out of bed and shuffled toward the bedroom door, already bracing yourself for the cold walk to the kitchen.
By the time you made it to the kitchen, you were questioning whether the short walk had always been that long. Your head felt heavy with congestion, your fever leaving you lightheaded enough that you had to steady yourself against the countertop for a moment before opening the medicine cabinet. You fished out the box of Sudafed with sluggish fingers, popped one of the tablets from its blister pack, and swallowed it down with a glass of water. The cool drink did little to soothe the raw ache in your throat, but it was enough to make you feel marginally more human.
Remembering Caleb, you pressed out another pill before moving to the refrigerator. A pitcher of pink lemonade sat on the top shelf, and the thought of something cold sounded infinitely more appealing than another cup of tea. You filled a second glass nearly to the brim, the pale pink liquid clinking softly against the ice cubes before gathering everything in your hands and carefully making the slow trek back toward your bedroom, completely forgetting the thermometer and leaving it for later.
The room was quiet when you returned, save for the muffled murmur of the television still playing in the background. You set your own water down on your nightstand before carrying the lemonade and Sudafed over to Caleb’s side of the bed. He’d apparently managed to drift off in the minute or two you’d been gone. Curled beneath the blankets, he looked completely boneless, his breathing slow and even as exhaustion claimed him almost instantly. You reached out and gently nudged his shoulder.
“Caleb,” you murmured softly, motioning for him to sit up.
The moment he stirred, a strange, congested sound escaped him, “uhh!”
His violet eyes flew open, unfocused at first as they locked onto the ceiling. A second later they found you standing beside the bed, and almost immediately, he looked away with unmistakable embarrassment.
“See, it’s that stupid sound…” He complained.
A quiet giggle slipped past your lips despite yourself. You slipped an arm behind his shoulders to help him sit upright before placing the pill into his hand, “I think you sound cute.”
The tips of his ears immediately turned a shade pinker than they already were from the fever. He answered with the tiniest groan of embarrassment, his expression twisting into reluctant resignation. Even now, he still seemed uncomfortable letting you witness him like this; sniffling, exhausted, making involuntary noises every time he started to drift off, as though getting sick around you was somehow something to be embarrassed about.
It wasn’t as if he’d had much choice. He accepted the glass from you, tossing back the Sudafed before washing it down with a long drink of the pink lemonade. The change in his expression was immediate. His brows lifted ever so slightly, pleasant surprise flickering across his tired features as he looked down into the glass, then back up at you.
“Ohhh…” A warm smile spread across his face, softer than any you’d seen from him all day, as he watched you climb back into bed on your side, “pink lemonade, huh? Thanks, Pips…You’re the best. Want some?”
You smiled back, scooting closer once you’d settled beneath the blankets again. Instead of answering, you simply reached over and took the glass from his hands. The first sip was bliss. The lemonade was cold enough to soothe the heat lingering in your mouth, its tartness tempered by just enough sweetness to take the edge off your sore throat as it slid down. You hadn’t realized how thirsty you’d been until then, and for a brief moment, the cool drink was enough to distract you from the pounding in your head and the ache in your body.
With an approving nod, you handed the glass back. Caleb finished setting it on the nightstand before easing himself down onto the pillow once more, and a second later you followed, the mattress dipping gently beneath the combined weight of the two of you as you settled back into bed together while the television continued to murmur quietly in the background.
“Don’t crawl away,” you whined, catching him before he could slip from your reach. You rested your cheek against the steady warmth of his chest, letting out a quiet sigh as you threw one leg over his thigh to trap him beneath you. Your arm slid around his tummy, holding him close while you burrowed into him in search of the warmth he always seemed to carry, “I’m freezing! Stop running from me, Caleb…You’re so annoying.”
A soft laugh escaped him, low enough that you felt it rumble beneath your ear before you heard it. After only a moment of resistance, he finally relented, his long arm settling carefully across your backside as the stiffness that always lingered in his body gradually eased, “fine, fine, I’ll stay put. I just don’t want you getting any sicker…”
You knew that was only half the truth. Caleb had always been the type to disappear whenever he was the one feeling ill, brushing off your concern and avoiding you until he recovered, unwilling to let you witness even the smallest sign of weakness. But this was different. This wasn’t just about protecting you from catching whatever he had. Caleb had another habit; one you’d quietly taken notice of over the years.
Whenever you became too physically close, something inside him seemed to lock up. A simple nap together was easy enough until you instinctively curled against him, and then he’d go rigid beneath your touch, every muscle drawn tight as if he were afraid to move. Even the quick kisses you pressed to his cheek, something the two of you had shared so naturally for years, still managed to paint his face a deep shade of red every single time. Whenever you rested your head in his lap and asked him to play with your hair, his fingers would always hesitate first, trembling ever so slightly before they finally threaded through the strands. He never pushed you away. He never asked you to stop. He simply endured every affectionate gesture with an almost painful restraint.
It made sense on paper…Didn’t it? Caleb had grown up beside you. Grandma Josephine had raised the two of you under the same roof, giving you the same home, the same family, and the same childhood memories. Even after everything had changed, after Josephine’s passing, after the explosion, after the Fleet, after your adoption papers and the legal ties to him were absolved so you were no longer step siblings in any legal sense, some things had never truly changed. Caleb still carried himself around you with careful hesitation, drawing invisible boundaries that no longer needed to exist. Yet no matter how often you tried to convince yourself that was all it was, the question refused to leave your mind. Was he still treating you like the little stepsister he’d spent his whole life protecting…Or was it because, somewhere beneath all that restraint, he saw you the same way you had always seen him, even when you were children?
You wondered sometimes if there was something fundamentally wrong with you. Maybe everyone else would call it obsession. Delusion. Maybe they would say you were sick for keeping such meticulous track of every tiny thing Caleb did, cataloging each fleeting expression and every unconscious gesture like precious evidence locked away inside your own mind. You couldn’t help it. Your brain did it before you even realized it was happening. Every blush that dusted his cheeks after you kissed them. Every time his hand instinctively reached for yours before he thought better of it. Every lingering glance that lasted a heartbeat too long. Every tiny tremor that ran through his fingers whenever you leaned into his space. You remembered all of it. You replayed it over and over until the moments felt engraved into you, convincing yourself that no one reacted like that unless they felt something. Unless they loved you too. You needed to believe that. Because if those moments didn’t mean anything…Then what did that make you?
Eventually, the doubt became unbearable, and you started testing reality against everyone else’s. You’d slip seemingly innocent questions into conversations with friends, pretending they were meaningless hypotheticals while your stomach twisted itself into knots waiting for their answers. Was it weird to cuddle with your stepbrother? To fall asleep in the same bed because you both slept better that way? To drag him around the grocery store by the hand simply because you liked knowing exactly where he was? To disappear beneath the same blanket during scary movies until you were practically wrapped around him? To miss him so much after a single day apart that your chest physically ached?
Every answer came back the same. No. That wasn’t normal. The awkward looks, the uncomfortable laughter, the way conversations suddenly shifted away from the topic—they all told you more than words ever could. Little by little, their reactions burrowed beneath your skin, feeding the ugly voice already living inside your head. Maybe you were exactly what they’d think you were if they ever knew the truth. Maybe “stepbrother” was enough to make every feeling you’d ever had disgusting in the eyes of everyone else. Maybe they’d call you obsessive. Possessive. Deranged. Maybe they would say the way your entire world revolved around Caleb wasn’t love at all, but something warped. Something taboo. Something that should have been buried instead of cherished.
The thought made something ugly curl inside your chest. You hated them for it. You hated that strangers who had never seen the way Caleb looked at you somehow believed they had the right to decide what your relationship was supposed to be. They hadn’t watched him give you the larger half of every meal without thinking. They hadn’t seen the way his eyes found you first in every crowded room or how he instinctively reached for you whenever you were within arm’s length. They hadn’t noticed the blushes he tried to hide, the hesitation in his breathing whenever you touched him, the way he endured your closeness while looking as though every ounce of restraint he possessed was hanging by a thread. They didn’t know him. They didn’t know you. They certainly didn’t know what existed between the two of you. So why should their opinions matter?
Still…The question lingered anyway, scratching relentlessly at the back of your mind until it hurt. What if they were right? What if every stolen glance and trembling touch meant nothing? What if you’d built an entire fantasy out of ordinary affection because you wanted him so desperately that your own mind had begun lying to you? The thought made your stomach churn. You couldn’t bear it. You refused to bear it.
“Pips?”
His voice sliced cleanly through the spiral before it could drag you any deeper. You blinked hard, your thoughts scattering as you lifted your head to find Caleb already studying you, concern softening the sharp edges of his expression. His violet eyes searched yours with quiet intensity before he raised the back of his left hand to your forehead, his cooler skin a stark contrast against the fever radiating from your own.
“You okay?” He asked quietly, “you’re really warm…And you’re squeezin’ the life out of me.”
Only then did you realize how tightly you were holding him. Your leg had locked around his thigh with enough force to keep him pinned exactly where he was, while your fist had twisted itself into the hem of his shirt beneath the blanket, the fabric wound tightly around your fingers until your knuckles had gone tight. You hadn’t even noticed yourself doing it. Somewhere in the middle of your spiraling thoughts, your body had decided that if your mind couldn’t guarantee Caleb would never leave you, your hands would simply refuse to let him.
“Sorry…” You loosened your grip only enough that he could breathe before instinct pulled you right back against him, greedily reclaiming every inch of warmth his body offered. Your cheek settled over his heart again, your fingers smoothing absentmindedly over his side as you guided his arm back around your waist where it belonged. Wrapped in him, surrounded by him, you could almost pretend the rest of the world had disappeared, “I just…I’m cold. Just wanna crawl inside of you and wear you like a blanket right now.”
It wasn’t even entirely a joke. The thought had crossed your mind before. More than once. If you could unzip him and crawl beneath his skin, tuck yourself safely inside his ribs where no one else could ever reach you, you thought you probably would. You were almost certain you’d finally stop worrying then. No more wondering where he was. No more waiting for him to come home. No more fear that something, or someone, would take him away from you again. You could stay with him forever, nestled beneath his heartbeat where you belonged.
Caleb laughed beneath your ear, the sound warm despite the fever weakening it, vibrating through his chest until you could feel it as clearly as you heard it. His fingertips found your hair with practiced affection, combing slowly through the strands before his free arm joined the other around your body, surrounding you completely. The embrace made something inside you bloom so violently it almost hurt. Half of you basked in the simple joy of being held exactly the way you’d always wanted. The other half ached with an endless, ravenous longing, mourning everything you still weren’t allowed to have.
“What, ya want me to be your skin suit?” He teased, his voice dripping with easy affection.
“Yes, actually,” you tipped your head back without hesitation, your eyes locking onto his as your arms instinctively tightened around him again. Your breath fanned softly beneath his chin, leaving barely any space between your faces, “I do, Caleb. Is there something wrong with that?”
For the briefest moment, you watched it happen. His throat bobbed. His breathing caught. His entire body stiffened just enough for you to notice. There it was again. Another one. Another tiny reaction to quietly tuck away with all the others. Another secret little piece of evidence your mind greedily collected before anyone else could explain it away. Then, just as quickly, he forced himself to relax.
“Nah…” He chuckled, a faint flush already beginning to creep toward the tips of his ears, “but I might be too big for ya. You might have to lop off my legs at the shins.”
A bright giggle escaped you before you buried your face into the comforting heat of his neck, laughing against his skin while his own quiet snickers vibrated beneath your cheek. You lingered there for another moment, breathing him in until the familiar scent of detergent, soap, and Caleb settled the frantic beating of your heart. Then curiosity, and mischief, got the better of you. You pushed yourself farther up his body until you were practically draped over him, cupping his face between both hands before immediately beginning to squish his cheeks together. His lips stretched into the most ridiculous shape imaginable, completely ruining the composed, handsome face that always made your heart stutter. You couldn’t stop laughing.
“What about your giant head?” You whispered between amused giggles, giving his cheeks another playful squeeze before one hand wandered into the stick straight strands of his bangs. You pinched a lock of brown hair between your fingers and tugged it upward until it stuck straight into the air, making him look even more ridiculous “what should I do with it?”
“Make a hood out of it, you silly goober,” he laughed, finally catching both your wrists before you could completely destroy whatever was left of his hair. His fingers wrapped gently around them, more restraining than scolding as he smiled at you, “you can turn me into one of those cute Kigurumi onesies.”
You burst into delighted laughter, the sound bright enough to fill the room as you poked both of your index fingers into his dimpled, grinning cheeks, delighting in the way they squished beneath your fingertips, “you’d make the cutest onesie…I’d wear you to bed every night!”
He looked up at you with an almost offended little pout, his brows knitting together just enough to make you smile wider, “just, to bed?”
You blinked, amused by the genuine disappointment in his voice, “why, you’d want me to wear you during the day, too?”
“I’d want you to wear your Caleb onesie twenty-four seven,” he replied without missing a beat, his smile softening into something quieter, something that settled heavily between the two of you. His hands remained comfortably around your wrists, his thumbs absently stroking over your skin as though they belonged there, “I’d never want you to take me off of ya.”
Your teasing smile faltered for the briefest moment. He’d said it like a joke. But Caleb had always hidden his truest feelings inside jokes. You knew that better than anyone. Your heart gave a painful squeeze because, if he truly meant even half of that, then it mirrored a desire you had buried for years. There wasn’t a part of you that didn’t crave his constant presence. You wanted to wake up with him every morning, fall asleep against him every night, know where he was every second in between. The months you’d spent believing he had died had carved something ugly into your heart, something possessive and desperate that never seemed to heal. Ever since he’d come back, every goodbye made a quiet panic bloom beneath your ribs, irrationally terrified that the next time he walked away, he wouldn’t return. If there was a way to keep Caleb with you forever, to make sure no war, no Fleet assignment, no cruel twist of fate could ever steal him away again, you weren’t entirely convinced you wouldn’t take it.
“What about when I shower?” You asked curiously.
He blinked at you, visibly caught off guard before an unmistakably thoughtful expression settled across his face. Rather than dismissing the question, he actually considered it, his violet eyes drifting for a moment as though he were searching for the most practical solution to an otherwise ridiculous problem. You couldn’t help smiling. That was Caleb. No matter how absurd the conversation became, he always met you there without hesitation.
Finally, he reached up and gently guided both of your hands over his face, covering his eyes with your palms. His larger fingers curled securely around yours, holding them in place with an easy familiarity.
“I’ll close my eyes like the perfect gentleman,” he promised with a laugh that rumbled softly beneath your hands, “promise I won’t peek.”
Mischief bubbled up inside you as you slowly spread your ring and middle finger apart, creating a narrow gap until one of his eyes peeked through. It immediately found yours, as though it had been searching for you the entire time.
“Well…” Your voice softened without meaning to, “if you were my skin suit…I wouldn’t be mad if you did…”
The words slipped out before you had the chance to catch them. The moment you realized what you’d admitted, heat flooded your face, and you instinctively looked away, suddenly fascinated by a wrinkle in the blanket instead of meeting his eyes. For a second, Caleb said nothing. You felt his gaze instead. Steady. Unwavering. Almost unbearably warm. When you finally risked another glance, his face had turned just as red as yours, the blush stretching across his cheeks before disappearing beneath the tips of his ears. He laughed, but it sounded almost breathless this time, as though your words had lodged somewhere deep inside him.
“You’re such a silly goober,” he murmured, smiling with a tenderness that made your chest ache.
One hand slipped free to affectionately ruffle your hair, but instead of stopping after a few playful passes, his fingers lingered there, combing gently through the messy strands. His touch slowed until it became absentminded, almost possessive, as though he simply liked feeling you beneath his hand.
“Besides…” He added with a crooked grin that was just a little too knowing, “if you’re wearin’ me all the time, nobody else gets to borrow me.”
The joke should have sounded ridiculous. Instead, it settled into the same strange corner of your heart where all the others did. Because you realized, with a quiet sort of horror and delight, that you didn’t want anyone else borrowing him either. Not even for a little while.
Before you could hide behind your embarrassment any longer, Caleb gently tugged you back down against him, answering your fluster with action instead of teasing. His arms slipped around you in one smooth motion, strong and certain as they gathered you completely against his chest until your face was buried against the feverish warmth of his neck. He hugged you with enough strength that you felt safely trapped, your back pressed firmly beneath one arm while the other settled securely around your waist, drawing you impossibly closer. A tiny, contented sound escaped him; soft enough that anyone else might have missed it, but you felt it vibrate against your cheek. It was a sound of pure happiness, unguarded and instinctive, and it made your heart swell so painfully you thought it might burst.
You wasted no time returning it. Your own arms tightened around him with equal desperation, your fingers spreading across the broad plane of his back before kneading gently between his shoulder blades. Even through the fabric of his shirt, you could feel the hard lines of muscle beneath your palms, each slow pass reminding you just how solid he was, how real he was, how he was here. Alive. Breathing. Holding you. You never took that for granted anymore. Not after losing him once.
Caleb rocked you slowly from side to side, the movement absentminded and soothing, as though his body had fallen into a rhythm it already knew by heart. It felt so natural that a dangerous thought slipped quietly into your mind. You fit here. You always had. Against his chest. Wrapped inside his arms. Hidden away where the rest of the world couldn’t touch either of you. You wished time would stop. You wished duty would forget his name. You wished the Fleet would lose every record they had on Colonel Caleb, leaving only the boy who belonged here with you. The thought was selfish. Horribly selfish. You knew that. You didn’t care. If loving him meant becoming the sort of person who wanted to keep him tucked safely away from the rest of the world forever, then perhaps you had already crossed that line years ago.
Eventually, almost reluctantly, his embrace loosened. Not because he seemed to want to let go. He knew he had to. His hands lingered on your back long after the hug should have ended, rubbing slow circles between your shoulder blades before patting you gently, as though trying to memorize the feeling of you beneath his palms. There was something equally unwilling in the way his fingers dragged ever so slightly before finally settling again, like some quieter part of him resented every inch of distance that returned between you.
When you finally lifted your face, you found him already looking at you. He was smiling. Not the easy, teasing grin he wore whenever he wanted to make you laugh. This one was softer. Quieter. Almost wistful. There was regret hidden inside it. You’d seen that expression more times than you could count. It always appeared whenever Caleb drifted somewhere far away inside his own thoughts, his violet eyes growing distant while words gathered behind them that never quite found their way into the open. It was the same look he wore whenever he insisted everything was fine despite the unmistakable weight settling across his shoulders. As though he carried entire conversations inside himself that he refused to let anyone else hear. Especially you.
You wondered, not for the first time, if the secret lodged inside his heart resembled the one poisoning yours. If he spent sleepless nights swallowing the same impossible confession. If every smile he buried, every blush he disguised, every touch he hesitated over existed for the same reason your own heart had become such a hopeless mess. That he loved you so completely it had become unbearable to keep pretending he didn’t.
“…Caleb?” Your voice broke the comfortable silence before it could stretch any farther.
Both of your hands rose to cradle his warm face, your thumbs brushing lightly along his fever-flushed cheeks while, almost automatically, his own fingers wandered back into your hair. They combed through it with slow familiarity, lingering near the nape of your neck as though he simply couldn’t help himself.
“Do I…” You hesitated, suddenly unsure whether you wanted to hear the answer after all, “…Ever make you uncomfortable?”
“Hm?” His brows lifted with genuine confusion, his expression softening almost immediately, “nah, I don’t think so…Why?”
Your stomach twisted. You searched his face for even the smallest hint that he already understood what you were trying to ask.
“…Because whenever I wanna get closer…” Your voice came out quieter this time, your thumbs unconsciously stroking his cheeks as though reassuring yourself he was still there, “…You get tense…And freeze up.”
The words left your mouth before you could swallow them back, and almost instantly you wished you could. Not because you regretted asking, but because the answer suddenly felt terrifying. If he’d only ever stiffened because he truly saw you as family, you weren’t sure your heart would survive hearing him say it out loud. Yet another part of you, the same obsessive, hopeful part that counted every blush and every trembling breath, clung stubbornly to the possibility that his hesitation had never been rejection at all. That perhaps Caleb froze for the same reason you did whenever you caught yourself imagining a future where neither of you had to pretend anymore.
He blinked at you, the confusion on his face lingering for only a heartbeat before realization slowly settled over his features. His eyes widened just slightly, followed by a quiet, almost breathless, “ohhh…”
He looked away with an embarrassed smile, rubbing the back of his neck for a moment before his gaze found you again.
“Well, I just don’t wanna make you uncomfortable, that’s why,” he explained, “I’m a guy…You’re a girl…And I get scared that if I let you get too close, it’ll be too much for your comfort. That I’ll be pushing past your boundaries.”
His explanation should have eased the ache in your chest, but instead it only deepened it. Even now, after everything the two of you had survived together, Caleb’s first instinct was still to protect you. He always worried about everyone else before himself, and somehow he’d even convinced himself that the greatest thing you needed protecting from might be him.
A small pout tugged at your lips as you looked at him, “but I can think for myself…I’m aware of my boundaries. Sometimes it feels like you forget I have autonomy, too…You don’t have to look after me so closely, Caleb. I’m an adult, now…I can decide things for myself.”
He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he sat quietly with your words, his gaze drifting downward until it settled on your lips with an intensity that made your pulse stumble. He looked almost unaware he was doing it, as though he’d become lost somewhere inside thoughts he had no intention of sharing. You watched the subtle tightening of his jaw before his hand rose almost unconsciously to cover his own mouth. The gesture wasn’t awkward or embarrassed. It looked instinctive, like a reflex he’d repeated so many times he no longer realized he was doing it. It felt less as though he were shielding himself and more as though he were shielding you from whatever lived inside his own head. The sight made something click painfully into place inside yours. Maybe he had never been afraid of making you uncomfortable. Maybe he’d been terrified of what would happen if he stopped holding himself back.
“You don’t—…” Your voice softened as your hand found his, your fingers carefully wrapping around his pinkie before slowly guiding his hand away from his face. He could have resisted. He could have pulled away. Instead, he let you move him, his fingers relaxing beneath yours until nothing remained between your faces, “…Have to protect me from you. I—…I don’t want there to be anything standing between us…”
His breath caught so quietly you almost questioned whether you’d imagined it, but then you felt his heartbeat quicken beneath you as you lay against his chest. Your fingertips lingered against the back of his hand before drifting upward to trace the line of his chin and the strong curve of his jaw. His skin was warm beneath your touch, fever heating him almost as much as the blush steadily blooming across his cheeks. You could feel the restraint humming through every inch of him. He wasn’t retreating from your touch, nor was he leaning into it. Instead, he remained perfectly still, as though every instinct urging him closer was being held in place by years of relentless self-discipline. It struck you then that his hesitation had never felt like rejection. It felt like someone clinging desperately to the last thread of control, terrified that if he indulged himself even once, he’d never be able to stop.
“…Would it really be that terrible if we got just a little closer?” You whispered, your voice carrying more vulnerability than you’d intended as your thumb gently stroked the warmth of his jaw. Caleb continued looking up at you with an expression so painfully conflicted it made your chest ache. There was longing in his eyes that matched your own, softened by guilt, restraint, and an affection so profound it almost looked painful to carry, “Caleb…It’s always felt this way for me. Like—…Like close is never quite close enough. You know what I mean?”
Something inside him softened at your confession. His eyes searched yours. The hand you’d guided away from his mouth never returned there. Instead, it slowly settled against your side, his fingers curling gently into the fabric of your shirt. The grip wasn’t forceful, but it lingered with quiet intention, betraying a possessiveness he was trying very hard to disguise as tenderness. It felt less like someone afraid of crossing your boundaries and more like a man who had spent years convincing himself that if he ever allowed himself to hold you the way he truly wanted to, he might never find the strength to let you go again.
“…Yeah?” He asked quietly, the single word carrying far more uncertainty than the question itself.
It sounded less like disbelief and more like he was searching for reassurance, for permission, for the impossible comfort of hearing you say it again.
“You want us to be even closer than we already are? You’re—…” He swallowed hard, the movement visible beneath your gaze, “you’re literally on top of me right now, Pips…I don’t know how much closer we could get. I mean—…”
You could. You had spent years imagining all the ways. Your fingertips drifted upward with agonizing slowness, brushing beneath his lower lip before tracing the familiar line of his chin. Every inch of him radiated warmth, the fever making his skin almost unbearably hot beneath your touch. You followed the strong line of his throat until your fingers settled over the frantic flutter of his pulse. It pounded against your fingertips with such urgency that you couldn’t stop yourself from smiling. Gently, almost reverently, your hand curved around his throat, your thumb resting beneath his jaw while your fingers cradled the opposite side. You weren’t squeezing. You didn’t need to. Simply holding him there, feeling the life racing beneath his skin, was enough to satisfy the possessive ache blooming inside your chest.
Caleb’s reaction came immediately. His eyelids fluttered weakly, his breathing turning uneven as another helpless swallow rolled beneath your palm. You felt every tiny movement, every involuntary response. His pulse only grew faster the longer your hand remained there, hammering wildly against your fingertips while the rest of him stayed perfectly still beneath you, as though he didn’t trust himself to move. A sheen of perspiration glistened across his forehead, dampening the loose strands of brown hair that framed his face, and the flush warming his cheeks deepened until it reached the tips of his ears. Watching him unravel beneath you sent a feverish thrill coursing through your body. Even if you hadn’t been sick, you knew it would have affected you exactly the same.
You loved seeing him like this. Not because he looked vulnerable. Because he was yours. At least, that was how your heart wanted to believe it. The world had already stolen him from you once. It had ripped him away without warning and left you to grieve a future that never happened. Ever since he’d returned, a quiet panic had rooted itself somewhere deep inside you, whispering that it could happen again if you weren’t careful enough. You hated that feeling. You hated every mission that took him away, every order that demanded his attention, every person who borrowed pieces of him you selfishly believed belonged to you.
Sometimes your love stopped feeling soft. Sometimes it became desperate. Hungry. You wanted to wrap it around him so tightly that nothing, not death, not war, not the endless stars themselves, could ever pull him free again. You wanted to shackle him with every ounce of affection your heart could hold until loving you became as inescapable as gravity itself. You wanted him hopelessly tangled in your orbit, bound so completely to your side that leaving would become impossible, not because he was forced to stay, but because the very thought of existing anywhere without you felt unthinkable. The frightening part wasn’t the thought itself. It was how right it felt.
“…We could get even closer,” you whispered, your thumb absently stroking beneath his jaw as you watched his pupils slowly widen, swallowing more and more of the brilliant violet until his eyes resembled galaxies collapsing inward, “we could get so close that I never have to worry about losing you again. That I could just…I could just meld you to my side forever and ever. Wouldn’t you want that, Gege?”
The nickname seemed to melt straight through him. His lips parted soundlessly, his next breath catching in his throat beneath your hand as though the single word had reached somewhere he’d spent years trying to bury. His pulse fluttered wildly against your fingertips, betraying him long before his face did, and for a fleeting moment the restraint he’d worn so faithfully looked dangerously close to splintering. There was no fear in his expression, no discomfort, no desire to escape your touch. Instead, he looked at you with an aching hunger that mirrored your own, as though your impossible fantasy wasn’t frightening to him at all. If anything, it looked painfully familiar, like you’d just spoken aloud the very thought he’d spent years locking away inside himself, terrified that if he ever admitted how badly he wanted to keep you just as close, he might never be able to pretend otherwise again.
“…You know that’s a line we’ll never be able to uncross if we cross it, right?” He breathed, his voice barely louder than the space between you.
The words sounded like a warning, but they lacked conviction. If anything, they carried the aching uncertainty of someone who already knew the answer and was desperately hoping the other person would make the choice for him. There was fear in his eyes, but it wasn’t fear of you. It was fear of himself. Fear that if he took even one step beyond the invisible boundary he’d spent years drawing around the two of you, he’d never possess the strength to walk back across it again.
Your lips curled into the smallest smile, “yeah…”
The answer came so easily it almost surprised you. You’d made peace with that possibility long before this conversation had ever happened. Slowly, almost absentmindedly, you shifted against him, arching your spine just enough that your body settled even more completely over his. The movement was subtle, but you felt the immediate effect it had on him. His hands, already resting at your waist, tightened instinctively until they trembled. His fingers curled into the fabric of your shirt and sweats beneath the blanket, gathering them into tight fists as though he needed something to anchor himself before every ounce of restraint he’d built over the years simply dissolved. The grip wasn’t enough to hurt. It wasn’t even enough to stop you. It was enough to keep you there. Enough to make sure you couldn’t drift even an inch farther away.
You couldn’t help noticing the irony. Caleb had spent years pretending he was the one constantly creating distance between you, convincing himself every careful hesitation was an act of self-control. Yet whenever you actually found yourself in his arms, he never seemed capable of letting you go. Every embrace lingered longer than it should have. Every goodbye ended with his hand still resting on your back for one last second. Even now, while insisting he was afraid of crossing lines, his body betrayed him completely. His grip clung to you with a quiet desperation that felt almost unconscious, as though some instinct buried deep inside him refused to risk losing contact once he’d finally been allowed to hold you.
Typical Caleb. Always pretending he was the composed one. Always pretending he wasn’t just as needy. Just as clingy. Just as hopelessly attached.nThe realization made something warm bloom inside your chest because, for all the ways you liked to imagine yourself as the more obsessive one, the truth was beginning to look far more balanced than either of you had ever admitted. You counted every blush and every trembling breath like treasured keepsakes, secretly wanting to wrap him so tightly in your love that nothing in the universe could ever pull him away from you again. Caleb, meanwhile, spent every waking moment convincing himself not to reach for you while unconsciously refusing to loosen his grip whenever he finally did. The two of you weren’t standing on opposite sides of the same line. You were simply staring at it from opposite directions.
“But…” Your hand slowly left his shoulder, one fingertip drifting upward until it found his lower lip. You traced it with impossible gentleness, feeling the faint, familiar layer of lip balm he’d only ever seemed to remember when you were around. The thought made your heart ache with quiet affection. You wondered if he’d ever noticed that little habit himself or whether he’d simply grown so accustomed to wanting to look after every tiny thing whenever you were near that he’d stopped questioning it altogether. Your thumb lingered there for another heartbeat before your eyes lifted to meet his again, “…What if I told you that I wanna cross every line? Would you cross them with me?”
The room fell impossibly still. Caleb didn’t answer. Not because he didn’t know. Because he did. His gaze remained locked with yours, his pupils swallowing the violet of his irises until almost nothing remained but black, and the hands gripping your waist tightened by the smallest fraction. It wasn’t enough to restrain you. It was enough to tell you that somewhere beneath all his discipline, all his careful boundaries, all the promises he’d made to himself about protecting you from the parts of him he considered too selfish to deserve daylight, there lived a man who had spent years standing at that very same line, wondering what it would feel like if, just once, the two of you stopped pretending neither of you wanted to cross it.
The poor man looked as though he were moments away from spontaneously combusting beneath you, and the sight sent an intoxicating rush through your already fever-addled mind. His face had flushed so deeply that the color stretched from his cheeks to the tips of his ears, every shallow breath lifting his chest beneath you while his violet eyes remained hopelessly fixed on yours. You couldn’t tear your gaze away from him. Every tiny reaction he gave you felt impossibly precious, each one feeding the obsessive part of your heart that had spent years wondering if you were alone in your feelings.
Your own pulse raced just as wildly, your thoughts softened into a hazy blur by the fever burning through your body. Logic had long since melted away beneath the relentless heat and the unbearable closeness between you. Somewhere in that delirious warmth, a reckless thought settled into your mind, growing impossible to ignore. It was something you knew you would never have the courage to do under ordinary circumstances. If he didn’t want it, if you’d misunderstood everything, you could blame the fever afterward. You could both laugh it off, call yourselves delirious, pretend your overheated minds had wandered somewhere they never truly intended to go. The possibility offered just enough courage for your body to move before your fear could stop it.
Slowly, you shifted lower against him, your body gliding only a few inches down his taller frame until your hips settled nearer his. The movement was tentative, almost hesitant, until both of you inhaled sharply at exactly the same moment. The shared gasp hung suspended between you as Caleb’s hands flew instinctively to your hips, gripping them with trembling urgency. The hold felt beautifully conflicted. One hand seemed determined to stop you where you were, while the other betrayed him completely, pulling you the last fraction of an inch closer instead.
Then you felt it. Heat. Firmness. An unmistakable hardness resting beneath the loose fabric of his basketball shorts. It lay slanted across the hard line of his pelvis, pressed along the space above his thigh, fever-warm and impossibly rigid beneath the thin material separating the two of you. Even with no experience of your own, there was no mistaking what your body had found. That was his cock. His rock hard cock. The realization stole the breath from your lungs. Your heart lurched so violently it almost hurt. Every blush, every trembling hand, every frozen embrace, every carefully measured breath suddenly rearranged themselves into something painfully obvious. He wanted you. God, he wanted you.
The thought echoed through your feverish mind with dizzying intensity. Something possessive inside you bloomed almost painfully at the discovery, wrapping itself around the realization with greedy delight. Somehow, seeing the physical proof affected you more than any confession ever could. His body had betrayed every secret he’d fought so desperately to bury, and for one fleeting, intoxicating moment, he was completely incapable of hiding from you. It made your chest tighten with an almost overwhelming need to gather him closer, to cradle him until there wasn’t a single inch of distance left between either of you. Every irrational part of you wanted to keep him exactly like this forever; flustered beneath you, blushing because of you, unable to disguise how deeply he wanted you in return. You wanted to lock this moment away somewhere no one else could ever reach, selfishly hoarding it alongside every blush and every stolen glance you’d spent years collecting.
“Please,” Caleb breathed, the word escaping him with heartbreaking vulnerability. His voice sounded rough, strained almost to the point of breaking as another shaky breath left him. Fever had left him flushed and unsteady, but there was something else unraveling him now, something he’d clearly spent years holding together through sheer force of will, “Y/n, I’m too weak to think straight right now, I—…Might just…Give in…You sure? There’s no going back once—“
“—I’m sure,” you answered before he could finish, the words leaving you almost faster than your thoughts could keep up.
Relief crashed through you with such overwhelming force that it nearly made you dizzy. It had never all been in your head. You weren’t the only one carrying this impossible secret. The love you’d spent years hiding, nurturing, questioning, and quietly convincing yourself was too obsessive to ever be returned had been living inside Caleb all along, just as fiercely, just as painfully restrained. Neither of you had been suffering alone. Neither of you had been the only one standing at that invisible line, terrified to take the first step across it. All those years of carefully dancing around one another suddenly felt unbearably unnecessary. The final barrier that had existed between you, the one built from fear, guilt, and relentless self-denial, finally stood within reach, ready to crumble beneath the weight of everything the two of you had been starving to admit.
Unable to stop yourself, you eagerly climbed back up his body until your faces were only inches apart once more. Your hands rose instinctively to cradle his fever-warmed cheeks, your thumbs brushing softly across skin that had become impossibly familiar over the years. His eyes never left yours. They searched your face with almost desperate tenderness, as though he were still trying to convince himself this wasn’t another dream destined to disappear. His arms circled your waist again without hesitation, pulling you securely against him while one hand slipped into your hair with practiced familiarity. His fingers threaded through the strands before cupping the back of your head, guiding you just a little closer until scarcely enough space remained for another breath between you. The gesture was gentle, but there was nothing uncertain about it anymore. It felt like the first time he’d allowed himself to hold you the way he’d secretly wanted to for years, no longer pretending that letting you go had ever been something he truly wished to do.
“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life,” you finally confessed.
Caleb closed the distance himself. The realization didn’t fully register at first. For one dizzy, impossible heartbeat, your fever-clouded mind refused to believe what your body was feeling. Surely the heat had finally cooked the last sensible part of your brain. Surely this was another dream; the kind that had haunted you for years, so vivid they left you grieving when you woke. But dreams had never felt like this. Dreams had never carried the scorching warmth of his skin as his face fit naturally against yours. Dreams had never pressed trembling lips against your own with such aching certainty. Caleb was kissing you. Caleb had chosen to kiss you. He had been the one to erase the final inch between you, his fist tightening involuntarily at the roots of your hair as though even now, after finally surrendering, he couldn’t stop himself from holding on.
Your head spun so violently you thought you might lose consciousness. Fireworks exploded behind your closed eyelids, bright enough that the rest of the room simply disappeared. Nothing existed except him. You clutched him with the same desperate hunger, one fist knotting itself into the damp collar of his shirt while your other hand cradled his burning jaw, terrified that if you loosened your grip for even a second, reality would remember itself and rip him away again.
At last. After all these years…At fucking last. Every lonely, miserable night came crashing back into you all at once. Every time you’d lain awake staring at the ceiling until dawn because your heart wouldn’t let you sleep. Every time you’d hidden beneath your blankets, too ashamed to admit where your thoughts always wandered. Every stolen fantasy that ended with Caleb’s face. Every trembling kiss you’d practiced against the back of your own hand while pretending, just for a moment, that it was really him. Every time you’d touched yourself between the legs while imagining his voice, his hands, his body, only to come apart with his name trapped silently inside your throat before curling into yourself afterward, consumed by the crushing certainty that there had to be something deeply broken inside you. You had cried over it more than once. You had begged yourself to stop. You had promised yourself you would move on, that you would bury those feelings somewhere no one, including Caleb, could ever find them.
You never could. No matter how much guilt hollowed you out afterward, no matter how disgusted you felt with yourself, no matter how desperately you wished your heart would simply choose someone else, it always circled back to him. It was always Caleb. Every fantasy. Every impossible future. Every aching daydream. Loving him had become less like a feeling and more like an illness that had rooted itself so deeply inside you that separating it from your own identity no longer seemed possible. Sometimes you genuinely wondered whether your brain had been wired wrong from the very beginning. Whether something inside you had always been hopelessly twisted. Obsessive. Possessive. Irredeemably depraved. You had spent years believing you were carrying that sickness alone.
You weren’t. Caleb was kissing you back. Not cautiously. Not out of pity. Not because the fever had stolen his judgment. He kissed you like a starving man who had finally been allowed to eat. His lips met yours with years of restrained longing poured into a single impossible moment, every careful wall he’d built around himself collapsing all at once. You felt it in the way he held you, in the way his fingers refused to leave your hair, in the way his body instinctively drew yours closer instead of letting you drift away. He had wanted this. He had wanted you. For how long? The question made your heart ache almost as much as it thrilled you.
Maybe every blush you’d collected, every trembling hand, every frozen embrace, every lingering glance hadn’t simply been evidence of hidden affection. Maybe they had been evidence of the exact same madness. Maybe Caleb had spent years swallowing the same unbearable hunger. Maybe he’d stared at the ceiling at night imagining you. Maybe he’d hated himself afterward, just as fiercely as you had hated yourself. Maybe he’d spent years pretending distance was enough because he knew that if he ever allowed himself one kiss, one confession, one selfish moment, there would be no putting the pieces back where they belonged. Maybe he was every bit as obsessive. Every bit as possessive. Every bit as hopelessly ruined by loving you as you had always been by loving him.
The thought should have frightened you. Instead, it soothed something ancient and aching inside your chest. You weren’t alone. You never had been. The secret that had poisoned both of your hearts for years had never belonged to just one of you. Relief crashed through you so fiercely it almost hurt. Your lips chased his with desperate devotion, kissing him harder, greedier, pouring every lonely year into the way you held him. You coaxed his mouth open with gentle insistence until he finally surrendered, and the first tentative brush of his tongue against yours drew the same helpless sound from both of you. The quiet moans dissolved into the warmth between your mouths as your fingers dug deeper into each other, neither of you capable of deciding whether you were trying to pull closer or simply afraid to let go. Beneath the blanket your bodies pressed together with a desperation that felt years in the making, clinging to one another with the quiet panic of two people who had already lost each other once and silently vowed they would never survive enduring it again.
When the two of you finally broke apart to breathe, it wasn’t because either of you wanted to. It was because neither of you could pull enough air through your congested noses, leaving you both panting softly into the narrow space between your faces. Even then, neither of you loosened your hold. Your fingers remained buried in his sweat-damp shirt, in his hair, against the feverish warmth of his skin, while Caleb clung to you with equal desperation, his hands refusing to leave your back as though they had forgotten how to exist anywhere else.
When you looked into his eyes, another shiver rolled deliciously down your spine. His violet gaze had gone heavy-lidded, half hooded beneath lashes dampened by fever, the intensity behind it almost frightening. He looked completely overtaken by you. His breathing came in uneven pants, his cheeks burned crimson, and whatever discipline had once lived inside that brilliant, controlled mind of his had finally been drowned beneath the same delirious sickness consuming your own. The realization sent adrenaline surging through your already depraved little brain. He looked every bit as poisoned as you were. Every bit as hopelessly gone. It filled you with a sick, overwhelming sort of joy that made your arms instinctively tighten around him. You wanted him closer. Closer than this. Close enough that there would never again be room for anyone or anything to wedge itself between the two of you.
The need became unbearable. Before either of you consciously decided to move, your mouths crashed together again, the second kiss carrying none of the tentative disbelief of the first. It was greedier. Hungrier. Years of starving restraint finally collapsing beneath the weight of mutual surrender. You kissed him like someone terrified he might disappear if you stopped, your lips chasing his with desperate devotion while his answered with equal urgency, every sound he made dissolving against your mouth.
Somewhere in the haze of fever and adrenaline, your body moved before your thoughts could catch up. Without thinking, you shifted against him, instinctively seeking the hard length of his cock beneath the thin fabric separating you. The moment you found it, both of you gasped into the kiss. His cock settled firmly between your thighs, thick, feverishly hot, and throbbing with a quick, undeniable pulse that made your entire body tense in response. Dear God…He was so warm. So achingly, irresistibly real. The sensation tore a shameless whine from him, loud enough that it echoed softly through the quiet room before disappearing into your mouth.
You felt his throat bob beneath your fingertips as he swallowed hard, only to kiss you even more desperately than before. His powerful arms cinched around the entirety of your back until you were almost crushed against him, holding you with an intensity that bordered on possessive desperation. When you slowly ground yourself down along the unmistakable shape of his thick cock, you felt him shudder beneath you, his body trembling as though every nerve had become painfully attuned to yours. The sound he made against your lips was equal parts relief and torment, and it unraveled something inside your own chest.
“I’ll cum,” he blurted out with naked desperation, the warning tumbling helplessly from him even as he devoured your mouth in another kiss. His words were swallowed between your lips, breathless and strained, while his hands roamed over every place they dared to touch. They pressed along your sides, your waist, your back, his fingers flexing helplessly against you as though he was trying to memorize every inch of your body without crossing the final line his restraint still desperately clung to. His palms followed the slow roll of your hips with aching precision, trembling as if every instinct inside him screamed to grab your ass and grind you down harder against him himself, “I’ll cum if you keep doing that—!”
The sound of him nearly shattered whatever composure you had left. His voice had always done something dangerous to you, but you’d never heard it like this. It was wound so tightly with arousal that every syllable trembled beneath the strain of it, roughened by need until it bordered on pleading. It was exactly the sound you’d spent years imagining in the privacy of your own bedroom, the sound that had haunted countless fantasies until you could practically hear it whenever your thoughts wandered to him.
There had been so many nights when you’d buried your face into your pillow to muffle your own moans while imagining Caleb saying your name with that same helpless desperation, your fingers working furiously between your thighs until your entire body fell apart around the fantasy of him. Every time it happened, guilt always followed. Shame always followed. You’d lie there afterward with tears stinging your eyes, furious with yourself for being so hopelessly fucked in the head that even your own pleasure belonged to him. Yet none of those fantasies had come close to this. Nothing your imagination had ever conjured compared to the reality of hearing Caleb unravel beneath you.
Heat exploded low in your stomach, so fierce and all-consuming that it almost hurt. It pooled between your thighs until your entire body seemed to move on instinct alone. Before you realized what you were doing, you pushed yourself upright, climbing fully over him until you straddled his hips with frantic determination. The sudden motion made the room tilt violently around you, your fever and the dizzying intensity of kissing Caleb threatening to send you tumbling sideways. For one brief, disorienting moment, you actually thought you were going to fall.
Caleb caught you before gravity had the chance. His large hands closed securely around your hips with practiced steadiness, grounding you as effortlessly as though he’d been waiting for you to lose your balance. You instinctively braced yourself with both hands against his broad chest, your fingers gripping tightly enough to wrinkle the sweat-soaked fabric stretched across hard muscle beneath your palms. His body radiated heat. It poured through the damp cotton until it almost burned your skin, and everywhere the shirt clung to him, you could see the darker stains left by fever and exertion. The material hugged every contour of his body, tracing the powerful curve of his chest before dipping into the deep line dividing his pecs and stretching lower across the sharply carved planes of his abdomen. Even hidden beneath fabric, the strength of him stole your breath.
Dear God…You couldn’t stop staring. You didn’t want to. The sight of him beneath you, flushed scarlet from fever and want alike, panting softly as those impossibly violet eyes looked up at you with complete, undisguised awe, sent another wave of longing crashing through your chest. He looked almost overwhelmed by you, as though he still couldn’t quite believe you were real, and the expression made your heart ache with possessive affection. Every irrational part of you wanted to keep that look forever. To make sure no one else ever inspired it. To selfishly hoard every blush, every breathless stare, every beautiful, vulnerable expression until they all belonged to you and you alone.
Without thinking, your hands abandoned his chest and reached instead for the hem of his shirt. The decision felt completely instinctive. You didn’t ask. You simply needed him. Needed one less barrier standing between the two of you. Your fingers hurried beneath the damp fabric, racing to tug it upward, and for the briefest moment you wondered whether he’d stop you. He didn’t. If anything, Caleb moved faster than you did.
The instant he realized what you wanted, his own hands flew to the shirt, helping you yank it over his head with an urgency so wonderfully clumsy it made your heart race even harder. The fabric caught briefly around his arms before he finally tore it free, tossing it somewhere into the room without either of you sparing it a second glance. A heartbeat later he dropped back against the mattress, bare-chested and breathing hard, his skin glistening faintly with perspiration as the fever left him flushed from throat to chest. His hands found your hips again almost immediately, settling there with unmistakable familiarity as though they’d already decided they belonged nowhere else, his fingers curling just a little tighter than before, reluctant to risk even the smallest chance that you might slip away now that he’d finally been allowed to hold you like this.
“Put your weight down on me…” He breathed hoarsely, his voice rough enough that it barely sounded like him anymore.
His hands tightened around your hips in a slow, encouraging squeeze that hovered dangerously close to possessive as he guided you to settle your full weight over the throbbing, feverishly hot hardness trapped between him and your pussy. The instant you sank against him, a sharp sigh tore free from his chest. His violet eyes fluttered before rolling back beneath heavy lids, his lips falling open as every muscle in his neck strained visibly beneath skin slick with perspiration. His broad chest rose sharply beneath your trembling hands while a shudder raced through his entire body.
“F-fuck! Oh my God, I can’t believe you’re—…D-doing this to me!” The last words escaped between gritted teeth, dragged from somewhere deep inside him with a growl that sounded equal parts overwhelmed and utterly ruined.
The sound alone nearly unraveled you. Your pussy fluttered helplessly around nothing, your clit buzzing with sharp, relentless electricity as you rolled your hips along the unmistakable shape of his cock without the slightest trace of hesitation. There was no teasing. No coy smiles. No careful restraint. Years of starving yourselves for one another had stripped away every ounce of patience either of you possessed, leaving behind nothing but raw, savage need.
You moved against him with the desperate greed of someone who had spent too many nights imagining this exact moment, chasing every impossible fantasy until reality finally surpassed it. Watching Caleb come apart beneath you was intoxicating in a way you never could have prepared yourself for. Every strained breath, every helpless grunt, every growl vibrating up from his chest sent another violent pulse of heat crashing low through your stomach. His voice, roughened by fever and pleasure alike, poured deliciously into your ears until another shiver raced through your entire body. You couldn’t tell anymore whether you were burning because of the fever or because Caleb looked so devastatingly beautiful losing himself beneath you.
Your thoughts dissolved into complete mush. All you could think about was him. The way his hands kept begging at your hips, gripping tighter every time you rolled yourself over the thick press of his cock as though he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to slow you down or desperately encourage more. The way his entire body refused to stay still, restless beneath you as grunts, sharp sighs, rough growls, and the occasional miserable little sniffle slipped free despite his obvious attempts to keep himself composed. Even now, sick and flushed and panting, Caleb still looked as though some stubborn part of him wanted to maintain control, yet every movement of your hips shattered another piece of that discipline until all that remained was the man underneath it; the one who had spent years pretending he didn’t ache for you exactly like this.
It thrilled you. God…It thrilled you so much it almost frightened you. Some possessive, ugly part of your heart drank in every helpless sound he made. You wanted to memorize them all. Lock them away beside every blush, every trembling breath, every stolen glance you’d hoarded over the years. You wanted to be the only person who ever heard Caleb sound like this. The only one who ever made him fall apart so completely. The thought was selfish. Twisted. Maybe even a little insane. You knew that. Yet instead of pushing it away, you only found yourself grinding harder, greedier, silently delighting in the way his body answered yours so eagerly. If loving him had turned you into something obsessive, then perhaps there had never been any saving you. Judging by the way Caleb clung to you with equal desperation, perhaps there had never been any saving him either.
The room dissolved into nothing but heat. Both of you panted into the tiny space as your bodies writhed together with desperate, uncoordinated urgency. Every roll of your hips drew another strained sound from Caleb, every helpless thrust of his hips beneath you answering yours without conscious thought until neither of you seemed capable of remembering who had begun moving first. The heat between your legs grew blinding. Your clit throbbed with relentless intensity, every brush against him sending another wave crashing through your body while your thighs burned from the effort of refusing to stop. Sweat dampened your skin until strands of hair clung to your forehead, your breathing dissolving into broken little pants as the pressure low in your stomach tightened so suddenly it almost stole the air from your lungs.
The realization struck all at once. Your entire body tensed. A startled gasp tore from your throat as your fingers dug instinctively into Caleb’s flushed, sweat-slick chest, your nails leaving crescent-shaped marks against his skin while your hips faltered for only a heartbeat, “I-I’m gonna cum! I’m gonna cum! I’m gonna cum, oh, fuck!”
Before your mind could even catch up, Caleb’s fist shot forward, latching onto the front of the elastic waistband of your sweats. His fingers balled the fabric with such desperate force that you felt the urgency pouring out of him seep through your very skin, as though his need had become something tangible enough to wrap around you completely. Your eyes flew open for the briefest moment, only to find him staring up at you with an expression so fiercely, frighteningly passionate that it stole the last coherent thought from your mind. His violet eyes looked completely consumed by you, stripped of every careful wall he’d spent years hiding behind. The intensity of that gaze alone was enough to send you tumbling over the edge, and when his desperate grip silently urged your hips into another merciless grind against him, the pressure bursting through your clit became too much to bear.
“Caleb!” You cried, your jaw falling open as your head tipped back toward the ceiling.
Your eyes squeezed shut so tightly that bursts of brilliant color exploded behind them, white-hot pleasure crashing through your clit before radiating violently through every inch of your body. Your entire frame shook from your head down to your curled toes, every muscle locking and trembling as wave after wave ripped through you. You desperately shoved yourself along the thick shape of his cock, riding out your climax with broken moans and ragged gasps while your fingertips dug helpless crescent marks into his flushed, sweat-slick chest. The sensation overwhelmed you so completely that you couldn’t tell where your own body ended and his began anymore. Everything inside you had become heat, trembling, and Caleb.
“Cum for me!” Caleb fell apart beneath you with absolutely no shame, his voice bursting from him in a feverish frenzy that sounded almost euphoric. His powerful hands locked around you as though he couldn’t bear the thought of you slipping away even a fraction, holding you firmly against the trembling grind of his hips as they bucked helplessly beneath yours, “Y/n! Y/n, cum! Yeah! Yeah, cum on it! C-cum—! With me—! Cum with me…”
Every word dissolved into a groan so deep and raw that it vibrated through his entire chest beneath your hands. Even without any experience, there was no mistaking that sound. It wasn’t simply another moan or another strained breath. It was unmistakably the sound of Caleb coming apart beneath you. His whole body convulsed in powerful shudders as his cock pulsed hotly between your legs, each involuntary tremor stealing another helpless sound from his throat while his breathing dissolved into broken pants. The expression on his face, eyes squeezed shut, brows drawn tight, lips parted around another wrecked groan, burned itself into your memory with painful clarity. You knew, without anyone ever needing to tell you, that you were witnessing his climax, and something fiercely possessive bloomed inside your chest at the realization that you were the one who had undone him like this.
The room pitched violently around you. Your head spun so hard that you couldn’t remain upright any longer, your exhausted body threatening to collapse as the aftershocks still rolled through your trembling thighs. Caleb caught you before you could even begin to fall. His arms wrapped around you with the same instinctive certainty they’d always had, gently pulling you down until your body melted against his burning, sweat-slick chest.
You couldn’t think. You couldn’t move. You could barely remember how to breathe. All you could hear was the frantic pounding of his heart beneath your ear, still hammering wildly inside his chest as though it hadn’t yet realized everything was over. His arms trembled from exertion and fever alike as they settled around you, but they never loosened. One broad hand found the back of your head, cradling you with impossible tenderness while his fingers lazily stroked through your hair. The slow rise and fall of his chest rocked you gently as you buried your face against the heated scent of his damp neck, finally allowing yourself to sink into him completely.
The two of you lay there for a long while without speaking, still tangled together beneath the blankets as you caught your breath in quiet unison. Caleb continued holding you with absentminded affection, his thumb tracing slow circles through your hair while every so often his lips brushed softly against your forehead or temple, as though reassuring himself you were still there. You noticed he never once loosened his embrace. If anything, he seemed to gather you a little closer every passing minute, unable to stop touching you now that he’d finally allowed himself to.
“I’m never letting you go, Pips…” He breathed quietly, his voice warm against your hair, “you know that, right?”
A tired smile found your lips as sleep began pulling at your heavy eyelids. You nodded weakly against his neck. You’d known long before he’d ever said it aloud. After everything the two of you had buried, denied, and survived together, you weren’t letting him go either. With the last of your strength, you pressed one gentle kiss against the warm skin of his neck before exhaustion finally claimed you, safe inside the only place that had ever truly felt like home.
me as a teenager: man it sucks to have no privacy or autonomy but i guess its for a good reason. when i turn 18 i will realise how young i was and understand why they did all that.
me as an adult: teenagers are an oppressed class, their abuse is normalised and systemic and they need to start killing people
I'm fr fr annoyed abt how infold have handled this whole thing like the marketing team is probably fucking awful atm with all the hate THEYRE getting even though its literally not their decision and the fact that from what I've seen the update messed with photo booth WORSE than it was before... AND to add insult to injury cant even play LADS bc the update is so big I can't delete enough things to make room. The largest file on my tablet? LADS. Like. 🙃
What's killing me is infold is just trying to keep it pushing?? Like bffr we can't take a fucking break for a minute? We need to run a rerun? We need a new banner going on in this mess? Like what the fuck.
I genuinely don't understand what the fuck they thought would happen when they canceled Valko like he was the fucking issue. I certainly don't think they were expecting this big of a shit storm, regardless??
They're still actively choosing to ignore the global players. They're still actively choosing to be radio silent in this entire mess. They're still choosing to fuck up their game for what?? Profit?? I genuinely do not understand what their end goal is with just throwing random shit at us.
Poor Raf is about to get his 4th myth too, because you know infold doesn't care one bit and is going to toss that shit at us and nobody is gonna gaf because they're just proving it's a money grab.
𝐈𝐓’𝐒 𝐀 𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐔𝐋𝐋𝐘, 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐋𝐘, 𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐑… Inspired by Universal Studios Halloween Horror Nights, our Kinktober 2026 event, HORRORLAND, is back! With fandoms featuring JUJUTSU KAISEN and RESIDENT EVIL, would you dare venture our themed haunted houses, experience our thrilling attractions and parklands, and immerse yourself into sex and horror galore this Halloween?
𖤐 ORDER TICKETS HERE [TAGLIST] 𖤐
ㅤ ↓ VIEW PARKLANDS (KINKTOBER MASTERLIST) ↓
┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈
S&H CITY FRIDAYS🩸horrorland’s most iconic, number one parkland is back! the depths of hell fall on this dark and gloomy known as the devil’s playground, beholding true sex and terror that which may also arouse parkland guests…
CARNALVANIA SATURDAYS 🏰 a hellish and rotten kingdom built on violent, lethal desire for power, corruption, and rumors of an ancient race. would you venture a realm where three distinct affairs collide into a carnal nightmare…?
