꩜ trigger warnings | this is suggestive content . contains mentions and/or descriptions of jealous and possessive! caleb. very brief mentions of sex.
contrary to popular belief but caleb really loves it when other guys approach you. he loves watching them attempt to sweet talk you with absolutely no idea that your boyfriend - caleb - is towering right behind them. his commanding presence is only amplified by his imposing physique that he's spent years perfecting.
caleb’s physique is the kind that commands attention before he even speaks, his shadowed outline of his figure speaking for him in most situations. he’s built like someone who’s spent years honing his strength, not just for aesthetics but for sheer, unrelenting power — it's served him well during his time in the military. his broad shoulders taper into a defined waist, one you love wrapping your arms around, his entire frame sculpted with muscle—lean yet heavy with raw strength, strength that you've felt when he fucked you, held you, pinned you down and made you cry with pleasure. his arms, thick with coiled sinew, carry the kind of effortless dominance that makes men hesitate before testing him. well... most of them, at least.
he doesn’t need to say much—his presence does the talking. the not so subtle shift of his jaw as he clenches it, the way his eyes darken just a fraction, the slow, deliberate inhale through his nose before exhaling just a little too quietly — all for show. his stance remains relaxed behind whoever was dumb enough to approach a pretty thing like yourself, but it’s the kind of stillness that suggests something dangerous waiting just beneath the surface, like the wind that brews in the air before a storm, dangerous. waiting.
this poor guy is making the worst mistake of his life, caleb thinks. the idiot just doesn't know it yet.
when caleb crosses his arms, his biceps swell, pushing against the fabric of his shirt until the seams of the black compression shirt strain ever so slightly. veins track over his forearms where he had pushed the sleeves up earlier, pulsing with controlled tension, like a predator holding back the urge to strike. the casual act of folding his arms transforms into a silent display of power, a warning wrapped in steel-like muscle, daring the clueless invader to keep pushing his luck.
if the poor bastard talking to you doesn’t catch on from his shadowed presence alone, caleb might tilt his head just slightly, surveying them like they’re an insect under a boot, nothing more than a measly speck of dust that served no purpose. a slow smirk plays at the corner of his lips, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. there's no way this guy doesn't know caleb is standing right behind him by now.
and if they’re particularly stupid? caleb might just take a step closer, just enough for the heat of his presence to press in, forcing the idiot to acknowledge the sheer difference in power, in size and strength combined.
but the real intimidation comes when he speaks—low, steady, a single sentence laced with something heavier than anger: a promise. and caleb was someone who never went back on his spoken word.
caleb's tone is deceptively polite yet his words are infused with a not so subtle edge, a thinly veiled threat that dares whoever was stupid enough to think they had a chance with you to try their luck further. he tilts his head, there's a ghostly flicker of a mocking smile tugging at his lips as he tilts his head, waiting for an answer.
"you done talking to my girlfriend?"
the man whips his head around, stumbles over his words and then politely excuses themselves to stumble back into the crowd of passing faces. smart choice. caleb watches the man with an predatory glare until they disappear from view.
caleb waits until you’re alone before he acts. his patience had been a razor-thin thread, his restraint a battle he barely won, but somehow your presence always manages to guide him through these short lived moments of irritation. now, with no one to witness, to interrupt or question, he takes what’s his.
his calloused and rough hands find your waist, fingers spreading possessively as he tugs you flush against him. his grip is firm and unyielding, but the way he holds you is careful, like you're both precious and his to claim, a delicacy he's scared of ruining. his jaw is tight, his breaths slow, controlled, strands of hair falling over his eyes —until you looks up at him, wide-eyed, soft, still his.
that’s when caleb breaks.
his lips crash against yours, the heat of his frustration melting into something deeper, something primal, uncontrolled and wanting, aching. he kisses you like he needs to, like he’s reminding you both that no one else could ever have you like this. his fingers slide across the nape of your neck, tilting your head back with five possessive fingers as he devours every shaky breath you give him.
when he finally pulls away, his forehead presses against yours, his voice rough, edged with something dark and possessive, a tone that never fails to make you shiver and ache in the best ways possible.
“you’re mine.” the pad of a thumb strokes your jaw, slow, reverent. “don’t forget it.” then... softer, murmured against your lips— “I won’t let anyone touch what’s mine.”
