Baby Fever~
♡ Caleb x Fem!Reader, 4.1k words
♡ Summary: At the Farspace Fleet ball, Colonel Caleb and you find yourselves caught between soft dances, stolen glances, and a moment of unexpected baby fever that changes everything. One night, one decision, and a future that suddenly feels very real.
♡ Contents: NSFW 18+, established relationship (married), unprotected sex (with intent to make a baby), creampie?, possessive & jealous Caleb, marking, scratching, nicknames
“Wow… just… wow.”
Caleb’s voice is quiet but wrecked as he steps into the bedroom. “I think my heart just stopped.”
You turn from the mirror, fingers still fussing with your hair, and fix him with an unimpressed look. “You act like you’ve never seen me before.”
His lips curl slowly into that infuriating, confident smirk as his gaze drags over you, unapologetic, reverent. The floor-length dress catches the light when you move, fabric shimmering like starlight, clinging to your curves in a way that feels magical. The makeup, the careful styling, it all feels suddenly very seen under his attention.
“I’ve seen you.” he murmurs, stepping closer, hands settling on your hips like they belong there. “But you look like a goddess.”
You scoff softly, but his grip tightens just a fraction.
“You always do.” he continues, voice lowering, breath warm against your skin, “but—” He exhales, a shaky sound he probably doesn’t mean to let slip, and dips his head to press a gentle kiss to your temple. Then he leans in, lips brushing your ear as he whispers, “This makes me want to stay right here. Not go at all. Take that dress right back off you.”
His hands flex at your waist. “I can’t have people stealing you.” he adds, teasing but possessive, “They’ll see treasure and think it’s theirs to take.”
You giggle and give his chest a light smack. “Just a few hours.” you say, smiling up at him. “Show them their Colonel is present. Then we come back here and have our fun.”
Your hands rise to his tie, sleek black, tugging it into perfect alignment even though it doesn’t need it. Your palms smooth over his chest anyway, lingering.
“You clean up quite well yourself, Colonel Xia.”
His grin widens, pleased and unmistakably smug.
He slips an arm around you and dips you effortlessly, like you’re already on the dance floor, before claiming your lips in a slow, lingering kiss that tastes faintly of anticipation. When he pulls back, he glances at the mirror, at the two of you together, polished, powerful, untouchable.
“Lipstick stain anywhere?” he asks.
You shake your head, but still swipe your thumb across his mouth just because you can. “I chose smudge-proof.” you say sweetly. “So I can kiss you as much as I want.”
Caleb hums approvingly. “That’s my smart woman.”
You grab your clutch, and he helps you into your coat with practiced care, fingers lingering at your shoulders. Then, together, you head out, bound for the Farspace Fleet headquarters and its annual ball, hearts already half left behind in the bedroom.
The Farspace Fleet headquarters is radiant tonight. What’s usually all sharp lines and disciplined efficiency has softened under warm lighting and drifting holographic constellations. Music carries easily through the wide hall, laughter threaded between glasses clinking and low conversation. Officers mingle without ranks weighing quite so heavily, though respect still hums beneath every interaction.
Especially when he walks in.
The moment Caleb steps through the doors with you at his side, the atmosphere shifts. Conversations falter for half a second, then resume, brighter, more animated.
“Colonel!”
A group of officers approaches, uniforms pristine, expressions openly delighted. Their salutes are crisp, respectful, but the smiles that follow are genuine.
“It’s good to see you, sir.” one says. “We were starting to think command had chained you to your office again.”
Caleb huffs lightly. “I escaped. Barely.”
Then their attention turns to you.
And somehow, immediately, you’re the center of it.
Introductions blur into warm compliments. Someone tells you how much they’ve heard about you. Another thanks you for 'keeping the Colonel sane' earning a laugh from the group. Caleb watches it all with folded arms and a polite smile.
A tight polite smile.
When someone laughs a little too hard at something you say, he leans down toward you, voice low. “They like you more than me.”
You grin. “You’re intimidating.”
“I am charming." he mutters. “They should be grateful.”
You accept a drink from a passing server, then another for him, the two of you drifting easily from group to group. Conversation flows, stories from recent deployments, playful teasing, soft awe at the decor. Caleb is relaxed in a way you don’t often get to see at work, shoulders looser, gaze warmer.
Still… you catch him watching.
Not the room.
You.
You feel it every time you turn toward him, the way his eyes linger, dark and appreciative. And when you finally let yourself look back properly, it hits you all over again.
His dress uniform.
You’ve always loved seeing him in uniform, the authority, the sharpness, the faintly terrifying edge he carries so effortlessly. But this… this is something else entirely. The sleek black fabric fits him perfectly, gold and red accents catching the light when he moves. The stars on his shoulders gleam beneath the drifting constellations, unmistakable, earned.
The youngest Colonel in the Fleet.
And devastatingly handsome.
“You’re staring.” he murmurs, amusement threading his voice.
“Can you blame me?” you reply lightly, eyes still tracing the clean lines of him. “You look unfair.”
His mouth quirks. “Funny. That’s exactly what I was thinking about you.”
The music shifts to something slower. Caleb doesn’t ask, he simply offers his hand, fingers warm and steady. On the dance floor, his presence is grounding, familiar. One hand at your back, the other guiding yours, his movements confident without being showy.
You fit together easily.
As you sway, you feel his gaze dip again, lingering just a second longer than necessary.
“You know... ” he says quietly, “they’re all going to talk about you tomorrow.”
You smile. “Only me?”
He exhales softly, something between pride and mock irritation. “Apparently I’ve been demoted to ‘handsome escort.’”
You laugh, leaning closer. “Jealous, Colonel?”
He tilts his head, brushing his nose against yours. “A little.”
His thumb presses gently into your side, possessive but playful. “But they can look. That’s all they get.”
The music swells, lights glimmering off metal and fabric and stars beyond the windows.
The two of you dance for a while, reminiscent of your wedding, swaying easily to the slow orchestra music. Caleb's gaze doesn't leave yours. While everyone's world may revolve around the sun, he knows his revolves around you, and he won't let himself lose sight of that fact.
By the time you finally sit, plates piled with good food and glasses sweating faintly against the table, the night has settled into something easy and relaxed. Everything has been softened and eased by the alcohol and ranks barely matter anymore.
Caleb loosens just a touch in his chair, jacket still pristine but his posture relaxed, one arm resting behind you like a quiet claim. Across from you, one of the other Colonels’ wives smiles as she joins you, her youngest tucked securely against her chest. The baby is bundled in soft fabric, cheeks round, eyes wide and curious as she takes in the glow of the hall.
The conversation flows naturally, nothing stiff or rehearsed. She tells you about the challenges of fleet life, about juggling postings and parenthood, about how tonight is the first time she’s worn something other than a uniform-adjacent outfit in months. Caleb listens attentively, responding with the same calm warmth he gives his officers, but softer somehow.
The baby giggles.
Caleb’s eyes flick down instinctively. “She’s very alert.” he says, almost to himself.
She laughs. “Too alert. Won’t let me eat unless someone else holds her.”
Before either of you can respond, she shifts, already half-standing. “I’ll be quick—”
And then the baby is in Caleb’s arms.
Just like that.
There’s the briefest pause, barely a second, during which his body stills, surprise flashing across his face. His hands hover for a fraction of a moment, recalibrating.
Then something clicks.
He adjusts his grip naturally, one arm supporting the baby’s head and weight, the other hand steady at their back. He draws them in close, instinctively finding the right balance. The baby squirms once, then settles as Caleb begins to sway, slow, subtle, like it’s muscle memory rather than thought.
You stop mid-bite.
Oh.
He looks down at the baby, expression utterly transformed. The sharp edges of command soften, eyes warm and focused, voice dropping to a low murmur as if the child can understand every word.
“There we go.” he murmurs quietly. “You’re alright.”
The baby blinks up at him, calm and trusting.
Your chest tightens.
Caleb doesn’t even seem to realize what he’s doing, rocking the baby girl gently, thumb brushing absentmindedly over the fabric near her shoulder, perfectly secure. The uniform that usually makes him look formidable now somehow makes the moment even more surreal: the stars on his shoulders glinting while he cradles something impossibly small.
When he finally glances up at you, it’s almost sheepish.
“…she's heavier than she looks.” he says softly.
You swallow. “You’re… really good at that.”
His mouth quirks, a little self-conscious. “I didn’t think I would be.”
The baby lets out a quiet sound, nestling closer.
"It's alright." Caleb coos softly.
And that’s it.
That’s the final blow.
Something blooms low and warm in your chest, an ache you hadn’t been prepared for, impossible to ignore. You imagine him like this without trying, at home, sleeves rolled up, cradling your child in his strong arms.
The baby’s mother returns, smiling instantly at the sight.
“Well," she says warmly, “looks like I chose the right person.”
Caleb hands the baby back with care, lingering just long enough to make sure she's settled, his expression thoughtful even as the child leaves his arms.
When you’re alone again, he reaches for his glass, clearing his throat.
“… Don’t look at me like that.”
You smile, soft and helpless. “Like what?”
“Like you’re planning a future.”
You lean closer, voice light but honest. “Too late.”
He exhales through his nose, a quiet laugh betraying him. “Dangerous night.” he murmurs.
You glance around, the lights, the music, the stars beyond the glass, and then back at him.
Yeah.
Very dangerous.
“Let’s go home.” you say softly, but there’s no mistaking the insistence beneath it. Your fingers curl around his sleeve. “Right now. And make one of our own.”
Caleb lets out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head as if indulging a playful thought. He lifts his glass, taking a casual sip of wine... and nearly chokes.
He lowers it slowly, eyes snapping back to you as the realization lands. “You’re… you’re serious?”
Heat rushes to his cheeks, a flush blooming so vividly it creeps all the way to his ears. For once, the unshakable Colonel of the Farspace Fleet is completely, utterly flustered.
You smile, warm and unwavering, and take his free hand in yours. “I am.” you say gently. “We’ve talked about it here and there. Joked about it. Probably thought about it even more than we ever admitted. At least I have.”
His throat works as he swallows, gaze searching yours, measuring, grounding himself. Slowly, deliberately, he sets his glass down, fingers lingering on the stem as if anchoring himself to the moment.
“This isn’t…” he starts, then stops, exhaling softly. His expression shifts, something resolute settling in beneath the blush. “This isn’t just the wine talking?”
“No.” you whisper. “It’s not new. Just… stronger now.”
He nods once, jaw tightening with emotion he doesn’t bother hiding. Then he stands, pulling you up with him, his grip steady but reverent.
“Then,” he says quietly, voice low and sure, “let’s go home.”
The music swells behind you, lights glimmering across polished floors and distant stars, but none of it matters anymore. Not the ball. Not the Fleet.
Just the two of you, and the future that suddenly feels closer than ever.
The door barely has time to slide shut before Caleb’s hands are on you again, warm, sure and familiar. He exhales a quiet laugh under his breath, before lifting you with effortless strength. You gasp softly, arms instinctively looping around his neck.
“Caleb—”
“I’ve got you.” he murmurs, already moving, carrying you through the apartment like you weigh nothing at all. His steps are unhurried, steady, as if this moment deserves nothing less than his full attention. The lights are low, the city beyond the viewport a distant shimmer, but all you feel is him, solid, grounding and real.
When he reaches the bedroom, he slows even more. He settles you onto the bed like something precious, hands lingering as if to make sure you’re truly there, truly safe. For a moment, he just looks at you, really looks, eyes dark, soft, full of a devotion that steals your breath.
His fingers find the fastenings of his uniform next, movements deliberate as he sheds each layer. The jacket comes first, placed carefully aside. Then the gloves. The weight of command slips from him piece by piece, until it’s just Caleb standing before you, not the Colonel.
He pauses, searching your face.
“Are you sure?” he asks quietly.
The question is gentle, not hesitant, but protective. It makes something flutter in your chest, warm and fragile all at once.
A flicker of uncertainty blooms anyway. “Do you… not want to?” you ask softly, hating how small the question sounds.
He’s with you instantly.
Caleb cups your face in both hands, thumbs brushing your cheeks as if grounding you. “No.” he says firmly, eyes locking onto yours. His voice softens, steady and certain. “My love for you, and wanting this, might be the only things I’m completely sure of.”
The words settle deep, anchoring you.
You breathe him in, fingers curling into his shirt as he leans his forehead against yours, the world narrowing to the space between your hearts.
Caleb leans in first, slow enough that you feel the intent before the contact.
His lips brush yours like a question, soft and unhurried, as if he’s memorizing the shape of you. When you respond, he exhales, relieved, almost grateful, and the kiss deepens just a little. Nothing rushed. Nothing desperate. Just warmth and certainty and the quiet awe of being here together.
His hands cradle you with the same care he used earlier, thumbs tracing along your jaw, your cheek, your collarbone. Every touch feels deliberate, like he’s reminding himself you’re real.
“I don’t say this enough,” he murmurs against your lips, voice low and steady, “but I need you to know.”
He kisses you again, your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth, each one slow, lingering, almost reverent.
“I love you.” he continues softly. “Not just in the way that’s easy or familiar. I love you in the way that makes everything else make sense. In a way that's so all consuming. In a way my thoughts and desires mingle with you. Knowing me is knowing you. You're a part of me, inseparable from my soul.”
His forehead rests against yours now, breath warm, hands splayed over your back as if holding you close anchors him.
“I spend my life making decisions that affect entire fleets.” he admits quietly. “Carrying responsibility, weighing outcomes.” His thumb brushes gentle circles against your skin. “But choosing you was never a decision. It was instinct.”
You feel his chest rise with a careful breath.
“I’m lucky.” he says, and there’s no pride in it, only sincerity. “To be loved by you. To be trusted like this. To even be considered worthy of a future with you.”
He kisses you again, slower still, like a promise rather than a spark. When he pulls back, his gaze is open, vulnerable in a way few ever see.
“I don’t take that lightly.” he whispers. “I never will.”
You don't reply, you're not sure you'd even find the right words, instead, you pull him down by the nape, into another kiss, deeper this time, his tongue slipping between your lips, exploring what he already knows by heart.
"No protection? You're sure?" He asks softly, breathless, his forehead resting against yours. You nod, gaze fixed on his.
"OK, then let's make a baby, my love." He murmurs, before his lips press to yours again, his hands slipping behind your back, tugging down the zipper of your dress. The sparkling fabric falls away to reveal your matching lacy underwear. Caleb is left speechless, inhaling sharply at the sight of your curves clad in black lace.
"I feel like you planned for this." He says, dropping the dress onto the pile of his discarded clothes on the floor.
You shrug, smiling. "I did plan for sex to be fair... the unprotected part... was not planned until an hour ago."
Caleb's hands skim along your sides, his touch causing a shiver of anticipation to run down your spine. You want him. So bad.
His hands slip behind your back again, fingers at the clasps of your bra. He looks at you questioningly, asking for permission. You nod and a second later he lets it fall away.
"You're so beautiful." He mutters, breathless, his head dipping down to press gentle kisses to your breasts, sucking on your nipples. "My perfect wife."
You arch into his touch, moaning as he alternates between biting, sucking and licking your nipples until they feel raw. One hand squeezes your supple flesh while the other glides down, rubbing circles into your clit.
"You're so wet, baby." He remarks, one finger slipping in effortlessly, curling against your walls.
"Mhh, Leb. More."
Immidietly, he slips a second finger inside, marveling at how easily his fingertips sink between your folds, parting you, and thrusting slow at first, back and forth as be picks up speed, preparing you, stretching you. You buck up into his hand, eager for more.
"Shhh. You'll get what you want in a minute love." He soothes, his fingers curling inside you. Caleb tilts your chin up, his lips eager to meet yours in another heated kiss. "Will you come for me?" He raps against your mouth, sharing your breath. You nod and moan, already lost in the throes of pleasure.
Caleb knows exactly what spot to hit to make you see stars, to make your toes curl and cause you to moan his name. Your nails claw at his back, leaving long red marks as his fingers thrust into you fast and reckless.
Pleasure drowns you like ocean waves, washing over you in an all consuming storm of heat and wetness. You mumble incoherent things, muttering about how much you love him and want to carry his baby, while his fingers fuck you through the orgasm, cooing softly, one hand at your cheek, thumb swiping gently at the tears rolling down.
"I love you more." He whispers, his hands stilling inside of you. "So so much."
As he pulls his fingers out, licking them clean, and you're left feeling utterly empty. "Should I ask again if-" Caleb breaks off as you shake your head insistently.
His fingers slip into the waistband of his boxers, pulling them down until they fall to the floor, his cock hanging proud and large between his legs.
You can feel his heart pounding rapidly against your chest as he aligns himself, nudging his head against your opening, and slipping inside in one easy, languid thrust. He grunts low, the noise reverberating through his broad chest.
"Just say the word, love." He whispers. His lips press to your neck, sucking at your racing pulse, leaving his mark.
You take a moment to adjust, to enjoy the feeling of being filled so deliciously, to the brim. The incredible closeness and intimacy of it. Then you nod.
"I'm ready." You whisper, and not even a second later Caleb starts to move. Slow and gentle, one hand at your hip, to steady and ground you.
His gaze finds yours, beautiful purple with orange swirls staring down at you with love and adoration. His lips curl into damn cocky smirk of his you love, as he thrusts shallowly, picking up speed, finding his rhythm.
"Our babies are gonna be so beautiful." He murmurs, his other hand gripping your nape, tangling in your hair. "I hope it'll look like you."
You shake your head, fingernails raking over his chest. "No, I want a mini Leb!" You protest and Caleb chuckles.
He grips one thigh, throwing it onto his broad shoulder, the new angle allowing him to thrust deeper, eliciting a breathless moan from you.
"Good?" He asks, hips grinding against yours.
"The best." You reply breathless.
Caleb grunts and thrusts harder, his tip slapping against your cervix. A string of profanities spills from his lips at the feeling, while you blink away stars.
He's so beautiful on top of you. His beauty never lost it's effect on you, not even after years of this sight.
His brown hair is a tousled mess on top of his head, his bangs damp with sweat, sides freshly cropped for the event. You scratch at his sideburns, then at his nape, pulling at his hair. Caleb groans, leaning into your touch, his eyelids fluttering closed to savor every single point of contact between the two of you.
"My beautiful Colonel." You murmur.
Caleb shakes his head. "Not right now... not here." He grunts, eyebrows furrowed as he pistons into you. "Here I'm... your man. Just yours." His voice is shaky, as if he's about to snap from the pleasure. Crack wide open. "Oh fuck. You feel so good. Gonna put a baby in you and it's gonna be so fucking perfect, just like it's mommy."
Heat blossoms everywhere. In your chest, because of his words, and low in your belly, because of his deep thrusts.
Caleb grips your other thigh, swinging it over his shoulder and pressing you down into the mattress, your knees folded against your chest.
His movements are deep and fast now, almost relentless, bridging pleasure and pain in a delicious tightrope that makes you moan so loud the sounds echo throughout the room.
His gaze doesn't leave yours. The purple of Caleb's eyes is swallowed almost completely by his black pupils, blown with pleasure. He wants to see the exact moment you come for him. See you unravel because of his dick once again, savor the expression you always make, like he's a man starved and he feeds off of it.
You come, like so often, with his name on your lips. Pleasure explodes within you and for a moment you feel like a kaleidoscope of sensations. His twitching tip deep inside, as he grunts and fills you up, his hands on your face, calloused thumbs caressing your cheeks, his soft lips pressing to your temple, your nose, then your lips. And the incredible heat behind it all.
Caleb breathes heavily, his chest rising and falling rapidly, pressed against your thighs. You close your eyes, floating in the aftershocks of pleasure.
"Are you ok?" He rasps, one hand massaging your scalp. You nod weakly, eyelids fluttering open to stare up at him again. He presses a long, soft kiss to your lips. No hunger behind it, just appreciation.
Slowly, as if afraid to break you, even though he'd you folded into a mating press just moments before, he pulls out.
“I’ll, uh… get something to clean you.” he murmurs, starting to shift off the bed on slightly shaky legs.
“Shh.” you coo softly, catching his wrist and tugging him back down. “No. Stay. Just a moment.”
You curl closer. “I want cuddles.”
He chuckles, the sound low and tired, and pulls you into his chest without hesitation. “How could I ever say no to that?”
Your cheek rests over his heart. You can feel it, still fast at first, a wild rhythm, gradually slowing beneath you, transforming from a rapid drum into something deep and steady, a soothing lullaby.
“I love you.” you whisper, pressing a few lazy kisses to his sternum.
“I love you.” he replies quietly, the words vibrating through his chest. “So much.”
His arm tightens around you just a little. “I’m so incredibly thankful… I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
His lips press to the crown of your head, lingering there as he inhales your soft, familiar scent like it anchors him.
For a while, there’s nothing but breathing and warmth and closeness.
“How about a shower?” he murmurs. “Maybe… a round two?”
A pause.
“Would that double our chances of twins?”
You snort softly against his chest. “I don’t think that’s how that works, Caleb.”
He hums thoughtfully. “But it’d double the chances of the good swimmers making it, wouldn’t it?”
You lift your head just enough to look at him, eyes heavy with sleep and affection. “You’re a highly decorated Colonel in the Farspace Fleet.”
“And currently running on, wine, zero sleep and too much emotion.” he admits, smirking faintly. “So my science might be… optimistic.”
You laugh quietly, pressing a kiss to his chest again. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Hopelessly in love.” he corrects gently, kissing your hair. “There’s a difference.”
He holds you a little tighter, protective, content.
A/N: This was initially just supposed to be a drabble about Caleb holding a baby, how he's just such a natural at it and the baby Fever that moment evokes. But...then I thought a little smut never hurt anybody and tried to go all in.
