TW. dryhumping kinda idk his thang out, i think that’s it! saw twt porn that made me think of caleb so…HERE TAKE IT! DAMN!
ever since the two of you made it official, caleb hasn’t been able to keep his hands off you. in the car, at work, across restaurant tables during dinner—everything about you drives him insane. maybe it’s because he spent so long wanting you, waiting for you, that now he can’t stop himself.
so when he comes home to find you standing at the sink in one of his shirts, quietly washing dishes like you belong there, something in him snaps.
“fuck, pips…” caleb groaned, hands tightening around your hips as he dragged you back against him, letting you feel just how hard he was beneath his uniform. a shudder ran through him when he buried his face in the crook of your neck, breathing you in deep. “smell jus’ like me,” he mumbled, grip bruising when he realized you’d used his body wash.
“c-caleb, wait…” your words dissolved into a soft gasp as he tipped your head back and kissed you hard. he hastily undid his belt, freeing himself from his pants just to continue rutting against you.
“can’t baby, been waiting so long already.” he braced both hands against the counter on either side of you, forehead falling against your shoulder as warm breaths fanned across your spine.
the desperation in his voice chipped away at whatever resolve you had left. you slowly pushed back against him, earning a low curse under his breath. “that’s it,” he groaned. “fuck… jus’ like that.”
you felt his hands hold your waist as he tried to steady himself, already trembling with how close he was. “gonna cum for me, colonel?” you teased softly, “can feel how close you are.”
the sound he made was somewhere between a moan and a strangled groan as pleasure finally overtook him. he whispered your name like a prayer, breathing uneven as he tried to ride out the overwhelming rush of it. even afterward, he stayed wrapped around you, pressing lazy kisses against your neck while he caught his breath.
“so good to me,” he murmured against your skin. “love you so much, baby.”
you barely had time to laugh before he hooked an arm beneath your legs and lifted you effortlessly into his arms. he grinned at the squeal you let out, already carrying you toward the bedroom.
zayne ⋮ he's too overwhelmed seeing you in white .ᐟ caleb ⋮ you just cannot get your hair right .ᐟ xavier ⋮ your wedding is in 5 hours and you haven't slept a wink .ᐟ rafayel ⋮ he finally gets to fuck his bride .ᐟ sylus ⋮ he's not allowed to see you .ᐟ
CW :☆: MDNI! unprotected sex (p in v), semi-public sex, blindfolding, spit play, overstimulation, edging, dirty talk, thigh-fucking, creampie, rafayel nearly ebbing, LIs being mushy
ZAYNE LI ☆
It’s a modest wedding—just close friends and family gathered to bless the two of you. Still, you’re getting married. So here you are, dressing together, and Zayne—god, zayne, is overwhelmed at the sight of you in white. Ready to marry him.
And he doesn’t know what to do with it than to—
“y-yes, use me.” His hand comes up to your chin, grip trembling as he pulls you into a messy, desperate kiss, your lipstick smearing across his mouth. Your wedding dress is bunched at your waist, layers swallowing your husband-to-be as he pistons his hefty dick into you from below. You grind down into him, fingers tangled in his slicked-back hair, holding him there.
“hah—! how are you deeper than before?” you mewl, face in his neck, sucking marks into his heated skin. “can feel you s’deep…”
“you can, can’t you?” he bites back a sound only for it to rip through as a whimper. Your hot, gummy walls spasm around the whole of his length and his hand spreads across your back, holding you flush to him as his hips falter.
His cock twitches inside you before stilling. “on second thought, stay still.” he pulls away. “Let me move. We can’t have you getting too hot.”
He’s moving before you can nod. And all you can do is clutch him tight while his cock grinds into your cervix at each long stroke of his. Your knees dig into the strong muscles of his thighs.
“mmfuuck—!” you cry, eyes squeezing shut.
“spread your legs. We’ll ruin your dress.” His legs part, guiding you wider for him. and somehow, it gives him enough leverage to pull out of you alllll the way out and then bury himself to the hilt, dragging his thick cock over every sensitive inch of your walls in lewd schlick schlick schlicks despite the layers.
His hand disappears in your dress, fingers brushing over the lace garter around your thigh and then higher to part your soaked folds.
“w-wait I’m gonna cum.” You tell him. his pace grows desperate.
“mngh… don’t worry,” he pants, losing whatever composure he had left. “I am too.”
His thumb finds your clit, moving through your slick—down to your hole—where your puffy pussy lips are stretched around him to the limit—and back up to the throbbing bud.
waves of heat roll over your body as you cum with a silent cry. You feel him jump in you, balls tightening against your ass. “finish in me,” you tell him.
He lets out a strangled moan—unable to muster up the composure to protest—spurting jets of warmth in you, pumping you full of his load. Your spasming cunt wriiings out every last drop of release.
He pulls your face close to his, nose bumping with yours as you come down together. He places a small, shy kiss on the bridge of your nose.
“shall we go get married now?”
CALEB XIA ☆
It was supposed to be right. And it was—on paper. It was a wedding ripped right out of the cheesy dramas you binge. except. Your hair didn’t get the memo. Your bridesmaids sat helpless while you handled it in tears—only to toss the curling wand away.
“heyy, what’s wrong?” caleb invites himself in the room. The women step out immediately. Screw the not-seeing-the-bride-before-the-wedding bad luck. This was bad enough.
You sniffle, pressing your face into his chest. “caleb it’s all falling apart…” you look up at him with teary eyes and before you can even stop yourself, your lips crash against his.
“fuck baby—you’re extra soft today, mm?” his long cock pummels into you. his hand reaches down, peeling away a layer of your dress. “hold it up f’me, pips.”
You’ve clutching the thick layers against your chest like your life depends on it while your fiancé absolutely obliterates your leaky cunt one thrust at a time. “s-slow down ‘leb…” you whimper, back arched like a bow for him.
“slow down? how do you plan on making it on time to our wedding?” he chuckles, leaning down to spread your swollen, slick coated pussy lips to reveal your pulsing little bud for him. he drools at the sight. And doesn’t let it go to waste. His warm spit lands on your aching bud, trickling down to mix with the juices you ooze out.
He watches the way your poor, overstretched cunny still manages to swallow him—and god he knows he’s too big for you but look at you. tears prickling at your eyes, whimpering under him dressed in white to be married to him. how on earth did he get so lucky?
“m’so clooose—!” you whine, thighs attempting to press together.
“good god, pips. Y’look so pretty round my cock…” he groans. His hand curls around your thighs hiking it up, letting his fat cockhead drill its way into your sinfully soft channel. His thumb brushes against your clit, rubbing it in tight circles, making you yelp beneath him.
it doesn’t take long for you to finish, clamping around him in wet pulses that his eyes rolling to the back of his skull. Still, he keeps moving. He keeps pounding you through that vision blanking orgasm, until you’re practically sobbing under him.
“mmf—please… s’too much—hic!” and still, you make no attempt to escape. You’re exactly where you want to be—your overstimmed pussy being bullied into another orgasm.
“jus’ like that, keep clamping baby. I’m right there…” he pants, leaning down to kiss a tear away. “you’ll let me cum in you, right? Let caleb stuff you full?”
“y-yes! yes please—oh?!” His dirty talk alone tips you over the edge again, milking him for his release. And he does. Ropes after ropes after ropes of hot, creamy cum pumping into your pussy.
And when you finally calm, he gathers your hair, fixing it into an elegant low bun—murmuring quiet “thank you”s through sniffles for marrying him.
XAVIER SHEN ☆
“I couldn’t sleep either.” You jolt at your fiancé’s voice behind you. You’re ecstatic. And in that excitement, you were dressed and ready before time. In 5 hours, the wedding you dreamed of begins. an early morning ceremony, walking the aisle under stars, sealing it with a kiss as sunlight finally breaks.
The venue lies hushed as you stand together on the balcony, gazing down at the flowered arch where you’ll soon be married.
“xav—ngh!” you grip the railing harder. Your pussy moulds so perfectly around your fiance’s cock, stretched obscenely wide.
His hand reaches around your throat to tip your chin up to have you watch the place you’d soon say vows at. “a-are you sure this will help you sleep?” his voice sounds too normal for his actions.
He’s nearly jackhammering into your velvety hole, causing it to squelch and ooze more of your love juices down your thighs. His foot nudges your legs farther apart, the need to drill deeper into you consuming him enough to bury his face in your hair and groan low.
“mmhm, mhm ye—ah!” you nod, hips pushing back to meet his deep pounding. “don’t want eye bags.”
By the pace at which he’s ramming into your pussy heat, you can already imagine it—imagine yourself walking toward him with shaky legs, his cum still leaking down your thighs. Fuck. There’s no way you were going to clean up after your session. Your legs are quivering at this point, held apart only by his knee.
“alright,” he murmurs, halting entirely. You bite back a whine. “keep them pressed if you want it that way.” He pulls out. His fingers find your gaping hole, two plunging in to coax out translucent strings of your arousal and his pre cum, smearing it between your thighs. And that’s when you feel the fat head of his cock again—pushing its way where your plush thighs press the tightest, and yet, making sure that your swollen clit isn’t left out.
“you keep looking at the arch,” he leans in, one of his hands guiding his cock between your syrupy slit. Your thighs press harder. You’re so close but there’s no way you’re cumming empty like this. He lets out a chuckle, soft enough to be mistaken as innocent. “are you going to cum to the thought of our wedding?”
He breaches your puffy lips again, sliding in with ease with the lewd amount of slick gathered there. “filthy girl… I’m right.” His hand presses down on your lower back, arching you for him as he buries himself balls-deep.
“oh! Hic—just… just let me cum, already!” you clamp around him, all the obscene ideas making your pussy walls stir.
Xavier’s fingers spread your ass cheeks for him and he sinks deeper than ever. You let out a choked sob—very close to rutting your needy clit against the glass if he keeps you on edge any longer. “it’s okay. I’m thinking of that too,”
He pinches your clit once and that has you creaming around his pulsing length. Your pussy clamping around him like heartbeat has him finishing too, keeping you plugged like that for a moment until you come down from the high.
“there’s no way I can sleep after this,” you pout. Xavior huffs out a fond laugh behind you.
“pfft okay, we’ll take a long nap together after the wedding,”
RAFAYEL QI ☆
You wanted to give him something unforgettable for your wedding—something truly special, because he’s been certain about marrying you for as long as you can remember. No exaggeration. And you knew simple nudes wouldn’t cut it.
Until an evil idea pops in your mind. You were no stranger to his “bride kink”. So why don’t you just play with that?
“fuckfuckfuck cutiieee,” he whines pathetically.
his eyes are snapped shut. All he can do is push his stuttering hips flush against yours, feeding your leaking cunt more of his stout inches—all while holding your dress as far away as he can from the mess. Your hole pulses, dribbling out a mixture of your cream and his pre cum that his angry red head can’t stop spilling.
“mngh you’re suuuch an angel—hah!” he grips your thighs, holding them apart as he destroys your overstimulated cunt. “such an angel for letting me fuck this pretty pussy in your wedding dress babymmff—”
He’s made you cum several times—on the pink muscle in his filthy mouth, his slender fingers and even on his pretty cock. And yet, he hasn’t finished once—holding back for lord knows what.
“ra-raf s’enough already!” you whine. It only spurs him more—he buries himself to the hilt, nudging your spongy spot, now swollen from his cruel overstimulation. “we’re gonna be late. Just cum!” your hips chase his as he pulls back and then with a lewd schliiick, slides back home.
“I know I know,” he rasps out too quickly. He’s flushed, dazed. Delirious. And god help you, it’s pushing you closer to that delicious edge. “wanna hold it out. Wanna tattoo the patterns of your pussy walls onto my dick,”
You let out a groan at that, walls fluttering around him in response. He starts moving once again. long brutal strokes, massaging you perfectly, warming you for yet another orgasm.
“I’m gonna cum…” you tell him, your hand coming down to rub your clit. He frowns before swatting your hand away with a pout, replacing it with his.
“me too,” he says fucking finally. “m’gonna fill my pretty little bride up.” he angles his cock to your sweet spot, making you cum so hard that you see stars.
“ohhh baby fuck—!” he groans deep, hips faltering as he spills into you. “take my cum, my pretty bride. Love feeding your womb…” he pumps his load into you, as deep as your body can take it. Until he begins to melt—
you nearly kick him away before he can start again.
“ow! What was that for?” he looks down, momentarily admiring the trail of white dribbling from your hole before he jumps to his feet.
“uh-oh uh-oh!” he grabs a rag and cleans you up in time.
And later, as you walk down the aisle toward him, you both can’t stop breaking into ugly, snotty laughter at the memory.
SYLUS QIN ☆
“boss lady!”
“boss-man’s back!”
The only downside to marrying the leader of Onychinus was the interruptions—even on your wedding day. You believed Sylus when he said you wouldn’t have to dirty your dress over “pests,” that he’d handle it himself. Still, that didn’t stop you from pacing, restless as you waited for him to return.
“how scandalous,” he lets out a rumble of laugh as you fuck yourself on his impossibly fat dick. “my fiancé ravaging her husband-to-be while our guests outside wait for us to be wed,”
“consummating our marriage before we’re even ma—"
“mmffuck! B-be quiet, sylus.” His cockhead brushes against your sweet spot and you keep him there, grinding.
His fingers hook under the blindfold to see that fucked out expression on your face that only his dick manages to poke out of you. “do-don’t! keep it on.” You swat his hand away. He chuckles, holding his hands up in surrender.
“I can’t see you before the ceremony but you can fuck me? you’re only following rules that are conveni—” you silence him with a kiss, teeth sinking into his plump lower lip. He hisses, before kissing you fervently, holding you still as he pistons his cock into you, just where you want it. You sob into his mouth—all which he happily swallows.
He flips the two of you. “sylus don’t take it—”
“mm im hurt, kitten. do you truly think i need to see you to fuck you proper?” with that, he’s dragging you to his hips, sheathing himself back into you.
“sy o-oh!” your voice cracks as you let out a scream—too far gone to care about the people murmuring outside. “m’gonna cum,”
Sylus leans down, his hot breath fanning over your temple. “I know you were worried. But we are getting married.” He promises, his pace slowing to deep, long thrusts—still managing to knock the air out of your lungs. You sob out, nodding in agreement. “right after I make you cream,”
His hips slam into yours, each thrust punching out choked sounds out of you. his fingers find your clit, gathering all that syrup you’ve dribbled for him. and ohhh the way he touches you down there is nothing short of obscene. A stark contrast to your perfect, innocent white wedding dress you’re getting fucked in.
He massages your pussy lips, fingers moving from your wide-stretched hole, to your clit and back down. he parts your slit only to close your puffy pink lips back around his length as he spears into you with reckless abandon.
Your back feels like it snapped in two as you finish, chanting his name. one more thrust into your juicy, quivering hole has him pumping his thick load into you.
“am I to marry you in this?” he plays with the edge of the cloth over his eyes, still huffing.
You wake to the smell of pancakes. The particular rhythmic scrape of a spatula against a nonstick pan means Caleb’s been up for at least twenty minutes.
Of course he has.
It’s his fucking birthday, June 13th, and Caleb Xia Yi Zhou has never in his life allowed anyone else to cook breakfast for him on his birthday.
Not you, not Gran when she was still alive, not even that time you threatened to superglue his hands to the bedframe the night before. The man is pathologically incapable of receiving without giving first, and honestly, you’ve given up fighting it.
You stretch, feeling the pleasant ache in muscles that haven’t quite forgiven you for the condom extravaganza three days ago. Your pussy gives a sympathetic throb at the memory, Caleb pounding into you with that ultra-thin condom stretched tight over his cock, your legs locked behind your head, his cum contained in that sad little latex balloon you had to keep in your mouth.
The guy came three times and still had the audacity to ask if you could handle more. You’re going to need to start doing pelvic floor exercises just to keep up.
You pad barefoot into the kitchen, and there he is.
Shirtless, because the kitchen is approximately the temperature of the sun’s core and Caleb runs hot anyway. His sweatpants hang low on his hips, that delicious V-cut leading your eyes down to where the fabric tents slightly. He hasn’t noticed you yet, too focused on flipping a pancake.
“You know most people let other people cook for them on their birthday,” you say, leaning against the doorframe.
Caleb doesn’t jump. He never jumps. He just turns, spatula in hand, and his face does that thing where his eyes crinkle at the corners and his mouth pulls into a smile that’s half amusement.
“Most people aren’t dating someone who puts hot sauce in scrambled eggs,” he says. “Happy birthday to me.”
You cross the kitchen and wrap your arms around his waist from behind, pressing your cheek between his shoulder blades. His skin is warm and smells like vanilla soap and apples. “Happy birthday, ge ge.”
He hums, the sound vibrating through his chest and into your cheek. One of his hands covers yours where they rest on his stomach, his thumb rubbing small circles against your knuckles. “You’re up early.”
“Your pancakes are loud. They woke me up with their screaming.”
“My pancakes are perfectly behaved,” he says, and flips another one with a flourish that sends a drop of batter sailing onto the stovetop. “Unlike certain people.”
You bite the curve of his shoulder, not hard, just enough to make him hiss. “I’m a delight and you know it.”
“You’re a nuisance,” he corrects, but he’s smiling, you can hear it in his voice. He plates the pancakes, a stack of three, golden brown and suspiciously perfect, and slides scrambled eggs beside them. The eggs are fluffy and yellow and dotted with what looks like chives. Show-off.
“Sit,” you command, pulling out a chair.
“I was going to—”
“Sit. It’s your birthday. I’m feeding you.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Really?”
“For realsies.” You push him into the chair and straddle his lap before he can protest, because that’s how you eat breakfast now, apparently.
Caleb’s hands settle on your hips like they belong there, which they do, and his cock stirs against your ass in a way that’s becoming as familiar as his smile.
You cut a piece of pancake, spearing it with your fork, and hold it up to his mouth. “Open.”
“Pips, I can feed myself—”
“Open or I’ll shove it up your nose.”
He opens. You slide the fork between his lips, and his eyes flutter closed as he chews. Something about watching Caleb eat is unfairly hot. The way his jaw works, the slight parting of his lips, the tiny appreciative noise he makes in the back of his throat. You’re staring, and you know it, and you don’t care.
“Your turn,” he says, and cuts a piece of egg. He holds it up, and you lean forward to take it from the fork, deliberately letting your lips brush his fingers.
“Mmm,” you say around the mouthful. “Good eggs.”
“Good chef.”
“Arrogant chef.”
He grins, that infuriating, beautiful grin, and feeds you another bite. This time his thumb traces your lower lip as the fork pulls away, and your tongue darts out to catch the tip of it. His eyes darken.
“Behave,” he murmurs.
“Make me.”
His hand slides from your hip to the small of your back, pressing you more firmly against his lap. You can feel him hardening beneath you, the ridge of his cock pressing against your ass through two layers of fabric. You rock forward, just slightly, and he inhales sharply.
“Pips.”
“Caleb.”
“If you keep doing that, breakfast is going to get cold.”
You consider this. “Worth it.”
He laughs, the sound warm and rich and so fucking Caleb it makes your chest hurt. His forehead drops to rest against yours, and for a moment you just breathe together, sharing the same air, his pancakes and your eggs forgotten on the table beside you.
“I have presents for you,” you say, pulling back slightly.
Caleb’s expression shifts, that little furrow appearing between his brows. “Pips, you didn’t have to—”
“I know I didn’t have to. I wanted to.” You press a finger to his lips. “Stay. Right here. Eyes closed. Don’t peek.”
“Pips—”
“Eyes. Closed.”
He sighs, but his mouth is twitching. “Yes, ma’am.”
You slide off his lap, and his hands linger on your waist like he’s reluctant to let you go. You plant a quick kiss on his forehead and then you’re skipping down the hallway to your room, your heart doing something stupid and fluttery in your chest.
Behind you, you hear Caleb’s voice, soft and fond. “She’s going to be the death of me.”
You come back with the letter clutched in one hand and the box balanced carefully in the other. The box is nothing fancy. Just a cardboard thing you covered in wrapping paper that has tiny airplanes on it, because you are nothing if not committed to the bit. You spent approximately three hours folding paper stars and cranes until your fingers ached, sprinkling them into the box like confetti made of hope and mild carpal tunnel.
Caleb is still sitting exactly where you left him, eyes closed, hands resting on the table. His face is calm, but there’s a slight upward curve to his mouth that says he’s been smiling the whole time you were gone.
“Okay,” you say. “Open your eyes, but keep your hands where I can see them.”
His eyes open. They find you immediately, warm and amused, and then drop to the letter you’re holding out.
“For me?” he asks, like an idiot.
“No, it’s for the other hot guy with purple eyes who cooks me pancakes. Yes, for you, dumbass.”
He takes the letter. His fingers brush yours, and even that tiny contact sends a spark up your arm. You set the box on the table in front of him and perch on the edge of your chair, knees bouncing, watching his face.
The letter is… well. It’s a letter.
You wrote it at 2 AM after three glasses of wine, which explains the passages about his ass (“like two planets colliding in slow motion”) and the paragraph where you compared his dick to the Space Needle (“tall, impressive, and I want to climb it”).
But there are other parts too.
The parts about how he made you feel safe when you were eight and had chicken pox. Or even when you were sixteen and crying over a boy who didn’t deserve your tears. The parts about his hands, always steady, always there. The parts about how you fell in love with him slowly, then all at once, like a plane taking off, hesitant at first, then suddenly, gloriously airborne.
Caleb reads it all. You watch his face move through the emotions like weather. There was a snort of laughter at the Space Needle bit, his cheeks flushing slightly at the ass planets. Then his expression softens, his thumb tracing the edge of the paper where you’d signed it with a heart and your initials. His eyes flick up to yours, and the look in them is so raw, so unbearably tender, that you have to glance away.
“Pips,” he says, and his voice is rough.
“Don’t you dare make me cry,” you warn. “I don’t want puffy eyes today.”
He sets the letter down carefully, like it’s made of something fragile, and then his arms are around you and he’s pulling you into his lap and kissing you like he’s trying to memorize the shape of your mouth. His hands frame your face, his thumbs brushing your cheekbones, and when he finally breaks the kiss he doesn’t go far. He just rests his forehead against yours, his breath warm on your lips.
“Thank you,” he murmurs.
“You haven’t even seen the box yet.”
“I don’t need to. The letter is—”
“Open the fucking box, Caleb.”
He laughs, that rich, warm sound that does things to your insides, and reaches for the box. The lid comes off, and the paper stars spill out a little, drifting across the table like tiny origami meteors. Caleb’s expression shifts. Surprise, then something softer, his fingers sifting through the trinkets you’ve collected.
There’s a keychain from that terrible roadside attraction you stopped at last summer, the one with the world’s largest ball of twine. A dried flower pressed between two pieces of clear tape—a daisy he gave you once, for no reason, just because. A small wooden airplane, hand-carved and slightly lopsided, that you found at a flea market and knew he would love.
And then his fingers hit fabric.
He pulls out the boxers slowly.
They’re black, cotton, completely ordinary except for the fact that your face is printed directly on the crotch. Not a tasteful, artsy photo, no. You went full unhinged. It’s a close-up of your face, mouth open mid-laugh, eyes crinkled, slightly out of focus because Gideon took the photo while you were trying to swat the phone out of his hand.
Caleb holds the boxers up. Stares at them. His mouth opens, closes, opens again.
Then he fucking loses it. He throws his head back and laughs, loud and genuine, the sound filling the kitchen and bouncing off the walls. His shoulders shake, his free hand braced on the table, and you’re laughing too, helplessly, because his reaction is everything you hoped for and somehow better.
“You’re crazy,” he says, wiping his eyes. “Completely, certifiably insane.”
“Do you like it?”
“I do. God help me, I do.” He turns the boxers around, examining your face on the crotch. “I’m never taking these off.”
“Please wash them occasionally.”
“No promises.”
Beneath the boxers are the vouchers. You made them on cardstock, little tickets decorated with airplane stickers. One for a kiss (“Redeemable anytime, anywhere, no questions asked”). One for a hug (“Minimum thirty seconds, Caleb, I know you’ll try to cheat”). One for a back rub, one for breakfast in bed, one that just says “SEX?” in glitter pen.
Caleb flips through them, his smile growing with each one. “These are very… specific.”
“I know what I’m about.”
Next, the bottles. Three glass ones, corked, filled with tiny scrolls. You labeled them simply: OPEN WHEN YOU MISS ME. OPEN WHEN YOU’RE STRESSED. OPEN WHEN YOU NEED TO LAUGH.
“For the fleet,” you explain, suddenly shy. “When I can’t answer your calls. So you know I’m thinking about you, even when I’m not there.”
Caleb picks up one of the bottles, holding it to the light. The scrolls inside are colored, blue, green, orange. Each one containing something you wrote. A joke. A memory. A promise. His thumb traces the glass, and when he looks up at you, his eyes are suspiciously bright.
“Pips,” he says, and there’s that roughness in his voice again.
“Don’t start,” you warn. “There’s more.”
At the bottom of the box, beneath a layer of paper cranes, are the tickets. Two of them, printed on heavy cardstock, embossed with the logo of the Pacific Northwest Aviation Museum.
T-93 EXPERIENCE: FLY THE LAST AIRWORTHY T-93 JET. 60 MINUTES. PILOT AND CO-PILOT.
Caleb goes very, very still.
The T-93.
The jet he’s been talking about since he was twelve years old, building model versions of it that hung from his bedroom ceiling. The jet that started his obsession with flying, that led him to the DAA, that made him the man he is.
The last flyable T-93 in existence, and you got tickets for two.
“I called in every favor,” you say quietly. “Gideon knows a guy who knows a guy who volunteers at the museum. It took three months and I had to promise Gideon I’d find him a girlfriend, but…” You shrug, trying for casual and missing by a mile. “Happy birthday.”
Caleb picks up one of the tickets. His fingers are trembling, just slightly. He reads it once, twice, like he’s making sure it’s real.
“The other ticket is for Gideon,” you explain. “I thought you two could—”
“No.” The word comes out sharp, decisive. Caleb sets the ticket down and looks at you, his expression fierce. “You’re coming with me.”
“But I thought—”
“I don’t care what you thought.” His hand finds yours across the table, squeezing. “Gideon can come. He can stand on the ground and hold our bags and take pictures. But the person in that co-pilot seat is going to be you.”
Something warm and liquid fills your chest, spreading outward until your fingertips tingle with it. “Caleb…”
“You gave me this,” he says, his voice low and intense. “You. So you’re going to be there when I fly it. That’s not negotiable.”
You look at him, really look at him, and the force of what you feel hits you like a physical thing, a pressure behind your ribs that makes it hard to breathe.
“Okay,” you say softly. “I’ll be your co-pilot.”
His smile could power a small city. “Good. Because we leave in three hours, and I’m not taking no for an answer.”
The Pacific Northwest Aviation Museum is, frankly, a fucking dump.
It’s a Quonset hut with delusions of grandeur, perched on the edge of an airfield that’s seen better decades. The T-93 sits on the tarmac like a relic from another time.
Sleek, silver, its fuselage scarred with the patina of age but its lines still sharp enough to cut glass. You stand beside it with your neck craned back, trying not to look as intimidated as you feel, while Gideon takes your overnight bag with the enthusiasm of someone being handed a dead fish.
“I cannot believe,” he says, very slowly, like he’s speaking to a child, “that I am standing here holding your underwear while you two go joyriding in a museum piece.”
“It’s not joyriding if we have tickets,” you point out.
“It’s joyriding if Colonel Smiles-a-Lot over there looks like he’s about to have a religious experience.” Gideon nods toward Caleb, who is currently having what can only be described as a moment with the T-93. He’s running his hand along the wing with the reverence of a man touching his firstborn, his eyes bright, his mouth curved in a smile so genuine it makes your chest ache.
“Let him have this,” you say quietly.
Gideon sighs. “I am. That’s why I’m standing here with your bag instead of making snide comments about the structural integrity of a jet that was built when my grandfather was in diapers.” He shoves the bag at you. “There’s a change of clothes in there. And condoms. Because I know you two, and I am not cleaning cum out of a historic aircraft.”
You take the bag. “You’re a good friend, Gideon.”
“I’m a saint. Now go before Colonel Dreamy over there spontaneously combusts.”
The cockpit of the T-93 is smaller than you expected. Two seats, side by side, a console of dials and switches that look like they belong in a steampunk novel.
Caleb helps you into the co-pilot seat, his hand steady on your elbow, his voice low and patient as he explains which things you are absolutely NOT allowed to touch, and then he’s in the pilot’s seat, running through pre-flight checks.
“Ready?” he asks, and his eyes are alive with something you’ve never seen before. Pure, unfiltered joy of a pilot.
“As I’ll ever be.”
The engines roar to life beneath you. The vibration travels up through the seat, into your spine, into your teeth. Caleb taxis onto the runway with the easy confidence of someone born to do this, and then he’s pushing the throttle forward and the world drops away.
The g-force hits you like a wall. Your body is suddenly twice its weight, pressed into the seat as the T-93 climbs at an angle that feels physically impossible. Your stomach lurches, your vision narrows, and your hand flies out to grip Caleb’s thigh hard enough to leave marks.
He laughs. The bastard actually laughs, the sound bright and exhilarated above the scream of the engines.
“First time?” he shouts.
“Fuck you!” you shout back, but you’re grinning, because the fear is already transforming into something else. A wild, giddy euphoria as the ground falls away and the sky opens up around you. The T-93 banks sharply, and the horizon tilts, the world becoming a blue-and-green smear outside the canopy.
Caleb takes you through a loop. A real, honest-to-god loop, the kind where the sky becomes the ground and the ground becomes the sky and for one glorious, disorienting second you are weightless, suspended between earth and heaven with nothing but Caleb’s steady hands on the controls.
You scream. It’s not a scared scream. It’s the kind of scream that comes from somewhere deep in your chest, raw and unfiltered, the sound of pure joy being forcibly expelled from your lungs. Caleb’s laugh mixes with it, and for a moment you’re just two people making noise in a metal tube hurtling through the air, and it’s perfect.
Then Caleb’s expression changes.
You see it happen. The shift from playful to intense, his eyes narrowing, his jaw setting. He’s looking past you, out the canopy, and you follow his gaze to see two other jets cutting across the sky maybe half a mile away. Military trainers, by the look of them, their pilots running drills in formation.
Something possessive flashes across Caleb’s face. Something that says mine.
“Hold on,” he says, and it’s not the playful warning from before. It’s Colonel Xia Yi Zhou, and he means business.
The T-93 surges forward. The acceleration pins you to your seat, the g-force returning with a vengeance as Caleb pushes the jet to its limits. He climbs, steep, aggressive, the nose pointing toward the sun, and the other jets shrink beneath you, becoming specks against the blue.
“What are you doing?” you gasp, your hand white-knuckled on the armrest.
“Flying,” Caleb says, and there’s a smile in his voice that’s all sharp edges. “They want to show off? I’ll show them what a real pilot looks like.”
He takes you higher. The air thins, the sky darkens from blue to indigo, and then you’re punching through a layer of clouds. White, cotton-thick, the T-93 slicing through them like a knife through foam. For a moment you’re blind, surrounded by whiteness, and then you burst out above the cloud layer and the world opens up.
The sunset.
Holy shit, the sunset.
It’s not like any sunset you’ve ever seen from the ground.
Up here, the clouds are a sea of burning gold, stretching to the horizon in rolling waves of orange and pink and deep, bloody red. The sun hangs low and enormous, a disc of fire painting everything in its light.
The T-93 seems to hover at the edge of it all, suspended between earth and heaven, and the silence is absolute. Jjust the faint hum of the engines and the sound of your own heartbeat in your ears.
“Caleb,” you whisper, because speaking at full volume feels wrong, like you’ll break the spell.
He’s already looking at you. Not at the sunset, not at the controls. At you, his eyes reflecting the gold of the sky, his expression so tender it makes your throat tight.
“Beautiful,” he says, and you’re not sure if he means the sunset or you. (cliche i know)
Probably both. The man has always been an overachiever.
His hands move across the console, flipping switches, adjusting dials. The hum of the engines settles into a steady, constant drone. Autopilot engaged.
Then he unfastens his harness and gestures to his lap. “Come here.”
You don’t need to be told twice. You unbuckle, careful in the confined space, and slide from your seat into his. His thighs are solid beneath you, his arms coming around your waist to hold you secure. The position is awkward. The cockpit wasn’t designed for this, but Caleb makes it work, adjusting until you’re settled against his chest, your back to the sunset, his face lit gold by the dying light.
“Hi,” you say softly.
“Hi,” he answers, and then he’s kissing you, slow and deep, his hand cradling the back of your head like you’re something precious.
The sunset washes over you both, painting your skin in fire, and Caleb’s mouth is warm and sure against yours, tasting like the coffee he drank before the flight.
You break the kiss, just enough to rest your forehead against his.
“Thank you,” he murmurs.
“For what?”
“For this. For you. For knowing exactly what I needed.”
You smile, tracing the line of his jaw with your thumb. “Happy birthday, ge ge.”
His arms tighten around you, and you sit there in the cockpit of a sixty-year-old jet, above the clouds, watching the sun set on Caleb’s birthday, and you think, “I could stay here forever.”
Forever turns out to be approximately ninety seconds.
Caleb’s hand, which has been resting comfortably on the small of your back, decides to go exploring. It slides down, fingers tracing the curve of your spine, dipping beneath the waistband of your pants.
“What are you—”
“Admitting something,” Caleb says, his voice a low rumble against your chest. His hand continues its journey, palming the swell of your ass through your jeans. “I may have been showing off a little with those loops.”
“You think?”
“The g-force thing.” His thumb hooks into your belt loop, tugging gently. “You grab onto me when you’re scared. I like it when you grab onto me.”
You stare at him. The sunset is painting his face in shades of gold and amber, highlighting the sharp cut of his jaw, the slight quirk of his mouth that means he’s not even remotely sorry.
“You did aerial acrobatics,” you say slowly, “at several hundred miles per hour, in a sixty-year-old jet, because you wanted me to cling to your thigh?”
“Yes.”
“You’re insane.”
“I’ve been told.” His hand slides around to the front, fingers finding the button of your jeans. “Can I?”
You’re about to say something scathing about his priorities and the structural integrity of vintage aircraft, but then his fingertips brush against your clit through the fabric of your panties and whatever clever retort you had prepared dissolves into a stuttered exhale that is absolutely not a moan.
It’s a moan. It’s definitely a moan, and Caleb swallows it with his mouth, kissing you deeply as his fingers circle your clit through the cotton. The pressure is light, teasing, just enough to make your hips jerk forward involuntarily.
“Fuck,” you gasp against his lips.
“That’s the idea.” His free hand finds the lever on the side of the pilot’s seat, adjusting it to recline slightly.
Then he’s lifting you, effortlessly, because the man is built like he bench-presses small cars for fun, and setting you in the chair he just vacated. The leather is warm from his body, and you have approximately half a second to appreciate this fact before Caleb is on his knees between your spread legs, yanking your jeans down your thighs.
The cockpit is not designed for this. Your knees bump against the console, your ass is half off the seat, and Caleb has to duck to avoid hitting his head on the canopy, but none of that seems to deter him. He gets your jeans to your knees and then stops, his eyes dropping to your panties.
And he fucking loses it.
The laughter starts as a snort, then builds into a full-bodied roar that echoes in the confined space of the cockpit. Caleb’s head drops forward, his shoulders shaking, and for a moment you think he might be having some kind of seizure.
“What?” you demand. “What is so funny about my—”
Then you remember. The panties.
They’re plain black cotton, completely ordinary except for the fact that Caleb’s face is printed directly on the crotch. Not a tasteful photo, either. You went with the same unhinged energy as the boxers. It’s a close-up of his face, mid-laugh, his eyes crinkled, his mouth open.
Caleb is still laughing, wiping tears from his eyes. “You—you actually—”
“You have my face on your boxers!” you protest. “I’m matching!”
“I know, that’s what’s—” He dissolves into giggles again, the sound so unexpectedly boyish and delighted that you can’t help but join in. He reaches for the waistband of his pants, tugging it down just enough to reveal the boxers beneath, your face staring up at you from his crotch, slightly distorted by the bulge of his cock.
You look down at your panties. His face.
He looks down at his boxers. Your face.
You both burst into laughter at the same time, the sound bouncing off the canopy of the T-93 as the sunset burns gold around you.
Caleb’s forehead drops to rest on your thigh, his shoulders shaking, and you’re clutching the armrests of the pilot’s seat, wheezing with the kind of laughter that hurts your ribs and makes your eyes water.
It takes a full minute for the giggles to subside. They taper off gradually, leaving behind a warm, comfortable silence filled only by the distant hum of the autopilot and the sound of your breathing.
Caleb looks up at you. His eyes are bright, his smile soft at the edges. One of his hands rests on your bare thigh, his thumb tracing idle circles on your skin.
“I want this,” you say quietly. The words come out before you can stop them, unbidden and completely sincere. “Not just—this. The laughing. I want a house full of it. I want to wake up to you making stupid jokes and go to bed with your arms around me and have every day in between be…” You gesture vaguely, unable to find the right word.
“A fucking disaster?” Caleb suggests, but his voice is warm.
“A beautiful disaster,” you correct. “Our disaster. With laughter. And joy. And matching underwear, apparently.”
His hand slides up your thigh, his fingers tracing the waistband of the panties. His face pressed against your cunt, your face pressed against his cock.
“I want that too,” he says simply. “More than anything.”
You reach for him, cupping his face in your hands, and he leans into the touch like a flower turning toward the sun. His stubble is rough against your palms, his skin warm, and you can feel the steady thrum of his pulse beneath your fingertips.
For a moment, you just look at each other. The sunset is fading now, the gold bleeding into purple at the edges of the sky, and Caleb’s eyes are dark and endless in the dimming light.
Then his expression changes. Something shifts behind his eyes and his hand tightens on your thigh.
“Pips,” he says, and his voice has a new edge to it, low and intent. “Do you have any condoms on you?”
The question hangs in the air between you. Caleb’s eyes are dark, fixed on yours. He has the same look he gets before he does something reckless, something glorious, something that will change everything.
You reach into the inner pocket of your shirt jacket. Your fingers close around foil packets, three of them, because Gideon packed your bag and Gideon knows you two better than you know yourselves. You pull them out, holding them up like evidence.
Caleb takes them. His fingers brush yours, and the contact sends a jolt up your arm. He examines the condoms for a moment. And then, with a casual flick of his wrist, he tosses them out the partially open side window of the cockpit.
They disappear into the cloud layer below, three tiny foil meteors burning up on reentry into your former sex life.
You are on your feet before your brain has fully processed what just happened. The cockpit is small, so “on your feet” means mostly upright with your head ducked under the canopy, but the intent is clear. You are standing, and you are shocked, and your mouth is open in a perfect O of disbelief.
“Did you just—” you start.
Caleb doesn’t let you finish. His hand finds your waist and spins you, pushing you forward until your palms hit the console. The controls dig into your hands. Buttons, levers, switches that probably do important aviation things you absolutely should not be pressing with your tits. His hand is between your shoulder blades, pressing you down, and then you feel it.
His gravity evol. Holding you in place.
“Caleb,” you gasp, because you can move, but barely. Every limb feels like it’s filled with lead, your body pinned to the console by a force you can’t fight. “What are you—”
His answer is the sound of your panties being dragged down your thighs. The cotton catches on his face. His own face, printed on the fabric currently being shoved past your knees and he laughs, low and warm against the back of your thigh.
“These are coming home with me,” he murmurs, and then his mouth is on you.
His tongue drags along your slit from behind, slow and deliberate, and the moan that tears from your throat is embarrassingly loud in the confined space. Caleb works you open with his mouth like he’s memorizing the taste of you, his tongue flat against your cunt before focusing on your clit, circling it with a precision that makes your knees buckle.
Not that they can buckle. The gravity hold has your legs locked, spread, your ass lifted and presented for him like an offering. All you can do is take it, your forehead pressed to the cool plastic of the console, your fingers scrambling for purchase on whatever switches they can reach.
“Fuck,” you whimper. “Caleb, your mouth—”
“Shh,” he murmurs against your pussy, the vibration of his voice traveling through your clit and straight up your spine. “Let me taste you. So fucking sweet.” His tongue pushes inside you, curling, and your inner walls clench around nothing, desperate for more. “That’s it. Get wet for me. Soak my tongue.”
He’s talking to your pussy now, his lips pressed against your folds, his words muffled but unmistakable. “You gonna take my cock, pretty girl? You gonna let me fill you up?” His tongue flicks your clit, and you jerk against the gravity hold, a broken sound escaping you. “That’s what I thought. Dripping for me already.”
You are. God, you are.
You can feel it, slick and hot between your thighs, Caleb’s mouth working you into a state of desperate, aching need. His fingers join his tongue, two of them pushing into your cunt while his thumb circles your clit, and the stretch is perfect, exactly what you need but nowhere near enough.
“Ready?” he asks, pulling back. His chin is glistening with your wetness, his eyes black with want.
You nod frantically, beyond words.
The gravity hold releases suddenly, your body lightening so fast you almost pitch forward into the console. Caleb’s hands are on your hips, steadying you, and then you feel the hot, blunt pressure of his cockhead against your entrance.
He teases you. Just the tip, rubbing through your slick folds, catching on your clit with each pass. Your hips rock back, seeking more, and Caleb makes a sound that’s half laugh, half groan.
“Impatient,” he chides. “You want it? Take it.”
And then he shoves forward, one thrust, burying himself to the hilt in one smooth, devastating movement.
Your cunt stretches around him, your inner walls gripping his cock with a tightness that borders on painful, and Caleb makes a noise that doesn’t sound human. A ragged, broken groan that vibrates through both of you. His hips jerk involuntarily, and you feel the pulse of his cock inside you, the warm flood as he cums almost immediately, his release filling you in thick, urgent pulses.
“Fuck,” he gasps, his forehead dropping between your shoulder blades. “Fuck, Pips, I’m—I couldn’t—”
You’re about to tease him. You’re about to turn your head and say something devastating about his stamina, but the words die in your throat because Caleb isn’t stopping. His cock is still hard inside you, still pulsing with the aftershocks of his orgasm, and he’s already moving, pulling back and thrusting forward again with a rhythm that’s steadier than it has any right to be.
“One load,” he mumbles against your back, his voice wrecked. “One load isn’t enough. Not for what I want.” His hand slides around to your stomach, pressing flat against your lower abdomen. “You feel that? Feel how deep I am? That’s where I want to put a baby. My baby. Our baby.”
Your cunt clenches around him at the words, and Caleb groans, his pace increasing. The console creaks beneath your weight, buttons pressing under your palms with soft, electronic beeps that neither of you pay any attention to.
“Look at you,” he continues, and he’s babbling now, his words coming in a breathless stream as he fucks into you. “Taking my cum like you were made for it. This pretty pussy—” His hand slides between your legs, fingers finding your clit. “—this perfect, greedy pussy—you want more, don’t you? Tell me you want more.”
“Yes,” you gasp, because what else can you say? Your body is singing, every nerve alight, Caleb’s cock hitting spots inside you that make your vision blur. “Yes, please, more, I want—”
“Gonna fill you up,” he promises, his voice rough with want. “Gonna pump you so full you’ll feel me for days. My cum in your pussy, my baby in your belly—fuck, Pips, the way you take me—”
His rhythm falters, his hips stuttering, and you feel the second orgasm hit him deeper this time, his cock swelling inside you as he empties himself again. The wet sounds are obscene, the slap of his hips against your ass echoing in the cockpit, and your own climax crashes through you on the heels of his, your cunt milking his cock for every drop.
Caleb doesn’t stop. He can’t stop, or won’t, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise as he drives into you with a desperation that borders on frenzy. One of his hands finds your thigh, lifting your leg, bending it at the knee and pushing it up onto the console beside your hand.
The new angle is devastating. His cock drives deeper than before, the head catching on your cervix with each thrust, and the sensation walks the line between pleasure and pain so perfectly you can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.
Your hands are splayed across the console, fingers pressing buttons at random, lights flicker on the instrument panel, a soft alarm begins to beep somewhere to your left, and Caleb either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. His focus is singular, absolute. Your pussy, his cock, the place where your bodies join.
“That’s it,” he murmurs, his voice thick. “Take it all. Every fucking drop. I want you dripping with me, Pips. I want you to feel me every time you move tomorrow.”
His pace increases, his cock pistoning into you with a force that rocks the entire seat, and you can feel him building toward a third climax. His breathing ragged, his fingers digging into your thigh, his cock pulsing inside you with each thrust.
“Cum with me,” he demands. “Cum on my cock. Let me feel you.”
Your orgasm rips through you with a violence that steals your breath, your cunt clamping down on his cock in rhythmic pulses, and Caleb follows you over the edge with a groan that sounds like it’s been torn from the depths of him.
His hips slam forward, holding deep, and you feel the warm rush of his cum flooding you for the third time, his release so abundant you can feel it leaking down your thighs almost immediately.
Your forehead is pressed to the console, your breath coming in ragged gasps. Caleb is draped over your back, his chest heaving against your spine, his cock still buried inside you, still pulsing with the occasional aftershock.
Then, very quietly, from somewhere below you: beep beep beep.
Caleb lifts his head. “Did we break something?”
You laugh. You can’t help it. The sound bubbles up from somewhere deep in your chest, slightly hysterical, slightly delirious, and Caleb joins in, his laughter vibrating through both of you where you’re still connected.
“Probably,” you manage. “Gideon’s going to kill us.”
“Worth it,” Caleb murmurs, and presses a kiss to the nape of your neck. His hand slides around to your stomach again, resting there with a tenderness that makes your chest ache. “So round 4?”
Meanwhile, down on the ground, Gideon is having a normal day in the control room. Which is to say he is slowly dying of boredom while monitoring a radar screen that shows one blip moving in leisurely circles above the cloud layer.
The control room is, like everything else in this museum, a relic. The equipment dates from approximately the Mesozoic era, the chairs squeak when you breathe wrong, and the coffee tastes like it was brewed in a sock. Gideon is slouched in the least squeaky chair, scrolling through his phone with one hand and sipping the sock-coffee with the other, while the two volunteers manning the other stations discuss the migratory patterns of Canadian geese.
Then the speakers crackle to life.
At first, it’s just static. The white noise of an open comm channel, the faint hum of engines. Gideon doesn’t look up. Probably just Colonel Dreamy checking in, or the autopilot doing whatever autopilots do.
Then he hears it.
A moan. Low, feminine, unmistakable.
Gideon freezes. His coffee cup halts halfway to his mouth.
The moan comes again, louder this time, followed by a gasp that has absolutely no business being broadcast through museum-grade speakers at a volume that makes the goose enthusiasts pause mid-sentence.
“—fuck, Caleb, your mouth—”
Gideon is on his feet so fast his chair rolls backward and slams into a filing cabinet. The coffee sloshes over his hand, burning, but he doesn’t feel it. What he feels is the cold, creeping horror of realization as Colonel Caleb Xia Yi Zhou’s voice comes through the speakers, low and rough and entirely too recognizable.
“—gonna take my cock, pretty girl? You gonna let me fill you up?”
One of the goose enthusiasts, a woman in her sixties with kind eyes and hearing aids, blinks. “Is that…?”
“DRILL!” Gideon shouts, with the desperate belief of a man who has just witnessed the first signs of the apocalypse. “EMERGENCY DRILL! EVERYBODY OUT!”
The volunteers stare at him.
“NOW!” Gideon claps his hands like a kindergarten teacher herding particularly stupid children. “Evacuation procedure! Remember the handbook! Chapter twelve! The part about—about—” His brain, racing at approximately Mach 3, grabs the first plausible excuse it can find. “—RADIOACTIVE GEESE!”
The speakers choose this moment to deliver a particularly obscene wet sound, followed by a moan that would make a porn star blush.
The kind-eyed woman’s hearing aids emit a faint squeal of feedback.
“OUT!” Gideon bellows, physically herding both volunteers toward the door. “GOOSE PROTOCOL! I’LL HANDLE THIS! SAVE YOURSELVES!”
He shoves them into the hallway, slams the door, and lunges for the comm panel. His fingers fumble with the switches, killing the feed with a click that plunges the control room into blessed, merciful silence.
Gideon stands there for a long moment, breathing hard, coffee dripping from his fingertips onto the linoleum. From the hallway, he can hear the confused murmurs of the volunteers.
“—radioactive geese?”
“—I don’t remember chapter twelve—”
Somehow the speakers come to life again.
Gideon presses the heels of his hands into his eyes so hard he sees stars.
“I am going to murder them,” he says to the empty room. “I am going to murder them both and hide the bodies in the ball of twine.”
Forty minutes later, the T-93 touches down on the tarmac with a grace that belies the fact that its pilot has just had at least five orgasms at eight thousand feet. The landing gear engages with a hydraulic whine, the engines spool down, and the canopy slides open to reveal two people who look, frankly, like they’ve been through something.
Caleb climbs out first, his hair standing in eighteen different directions, his shirt misbuttoned, a suspicious red mark visible on his neck. He turns to help you down, his hand steady on your elbow, and the way you move, slightly stiff, wincing, your thighs pressed together, tells Gideon everything he needs to know and several things he very much does not want to know.
You both look radiant. Disgustingly, obnoxiously radiant, like you’ve been dipped in glitter and sex and the glow of people who have just had multiple earth-shattering orgasms in a historic aircraft.
Gideon meets you at the bottom of the ladder. He is holding your overnight bag in one hand and an expression of profound, bone-deep exhaustion in the other.
“Here,” he says, and shoves the bag at Caleb with enough force to make him stagger. “Your bag. Which contains, among other things, the condoms you clearly did not use.”
Caleb catches the bag. “Gideon—”
“Do not,” Gideon says, very calmly, “speak to me. Do not look at me. Do not breathe in my direction.” He turns to you, his expression doing something complicated that lands somewhere between fond and homicidal. “You. You unbelievable disaster of a human being. There is cum on the console of a sixty-year-old jet. There is cum on the seat. There is cum on approximately seventeen buttons that I am fairly certain control the landing gear.”
You open your mouth.
“Don’t,” Gideon says. “Just—don’t. The control room heard everything. Everything. The moaning. The—the pussy talk. The part where Colonel Overachiever here came in approximately four seconds and then kept going like the fucking Energizer Bunny.” He runs a hand through his hair, which is already standing on end from his earlier panic. “I had to tell them there were radioactive geese.”
Caleb snorts. You bite your lip, hard, but the laugh escapes anyway. A choked, guilty sound that you try to smother behind your hand.
Gideon points a finger at you. “This is not funny. This is an offense. Possibly several federal offenses. The DAA has rules about—about ejaculating in cockpits, I’m sure of it, I just haven’t found the specific statute yet—”
“Gideon,” Caleb says, and his voice is warm, amused, utterly unrepentant. “Thank you.”
Gideon stops. Blinks. “For what?”
“For being here.” Caleb slings an arm around your shoulders, pulling you against his side. You fit there like you were made for it, your head resting on his chest, his hand warm on your waist. “For putting up with us. For the radioactive geese.”
Something in Gideon’s expression softens, just a fraction. He sighs, long and suffering, and shakes his head. “You two are the worst people I have ever met. And I once dated someone who collected toenail clippings.”
“We love you too,” you say, and mean it.
Gideon rolls his eyes, but he’s fighting a smile. “Go shower. Both of you. You smell like jet fuel and pussy juice.” He turns to walk away, then pauses, looking back over his shoulder. “And for the record? Happy birthday, Colonel. I hope it was worth almost getting me arrested.”
Caleb’s arm tightens around you. His lips press against the top of your head, and you can feel his smile against your hair.
throughout the years, you have always tried (and failed) to surprise him on his birthdays, and it takes you another ten years before you finally pull off a surprise he never sees coming
genre/warnings:
suggestive, crack, fluff, hurt/comfort-ish, slightly jealous caleb, poor gideon, past and present format, somnophilia, kisses and fluff again, you and caleb have a daughter (her name is lynn!)
notes:
a bit late bc the tags were kinda botched before so yes, this is a repost with revisions here and there :’) in honor of caleb’s birthday, here’s some fluff with him <3
June 13
Ten years ago
“Gideon! Help me!”
Caleb’s birthday had to be perfect—no, better than perfect. It had to be spectacular.
Or at least that was what you thought every year.
The problem was surprising Caleb was practically impossible. Every single time you planned something, he somehow caught on before the big reveal. Whether it was a gift, a surprise party, or even a simple dinner, Caleb always seemed to know.
So that year, ten years ago, you decided to enlist a secret helper— Gideon. If anyone could help you keep a surprise from Caleb, it was his best friend.
That was how you found yourself standing in the dusty attic the two of you used to visit together, struggling to hang decorations while Gideon held the ladder steady below.
“You sure he doesn’t know?” you asked for what felt like the tenth time.
Gideon gave you a weary chuckle and a thumbs-up. “For the last time, no. Caleb thinks I’m out for extracurriculars. He won’t suspect a thing.”
You were convinced at that time that there was no way Caleb would see it coming. You had already pictured the moment when he finally climbed the attic and expecting absolutely nothing—the look on his face was going to be worth every second of you standing on this precariously wobbly ladder.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to help you put that up?” Gideon asked, looking up at you worriedly as you wrestled with the banner, struggling to attached them to the ceiling.
“I’ve got it,” you insisted. “Just a little more— oh!”
However, unbeknownst to you, fate had another plans that day.
The banner slipped from your fingers as you stretched a little too far, the ladder wobbled beneath you and for one horrifying second, the room tilted sideways and and lurched violently to one side—
“Ahhh!”
“Whoa!”
You pitched forward with a startled scream, and Gideon screamed too.
Thankfully, instead of crashing into dusty attic floor, a pair strong arms caught you and you found yourself sprawled awkwardly against Gideon’s chest, engulfed in his embrace.
“Ow, ow—!”
And then, as though the gods had decided your humiliation was not enough, in that very cursed moment, the doorknob suddenly turned with a click and attic door swung open. A boot stepped across the threshold and promptly stopped.
“What are you...?”
You and Gideon froze. Slowly, painfully, both of you turned towards the door.
Standing at the doorstep was Caleb, a blank look on his face, staring at Gideon’s arms around you and you pining him down— a very compromising, very questionable position.
“Caleb! This isn’t what—!”
Mortified, you immediately sprang away from Gideon, or at least tried to. Your foot caught on a fallen streamer, and you stumbled, “Uwaa!”
“Careful!” Gideon grabbed your arm, and—
You were back in his arms, which... just made everything look worse.
A dreadful silence settled over the attic. The blank expression on Caleb’s face hadn’t changed, if anything, it seemed even more ominous now as his eyes twitched to blink.
“Interesting...” Even his voice was a bit scratchier than usual, “the two of you.”
“No!” you squeaked, getting away from Gideon smoothly this time, both of you getting up in a hurry. “It’s not interesting!”
“Hm.”
“It was an accident!”
You turned desperately towards Gideon, but to your horror, he immediately raised both hands. “I... I just remembered I have somewhere else to be!”
Before you could protest, Gideon patted your shoulder like a soldier heading into battle, and began backing towards the door.
“Good luck, and happy birthday Caleb!”
With that, he bolted and the attic door slammed shut behind him, leaving you alone with Caleb. A painful silence filled the void, and you looked all around the disaster around you: the half-finished decorations, scattered balloons, fallen ladder and streamers.
How had everything gone so wrong? You were supposed to give him the best birthday surprise and gift, but now it was in total shambles.
In his DAA uniform, Caleb crossed the small room in a few strides. He looked steely, observing the wreckage with an almost displeased look. Your heart sank and suddenly you wanted to cry.
Oh no, he is angry, isn’t he?
“Are you hurt?” he asked then, turning to you, a faint frown on his face. “You just fell, right?”
He figured it out. You quickly shook your head, half-spooked. “No— I mean, yes! Gideon took the brunt of it.”
Usually, whenever you were even the slightest bit hurt, Caleb would fuss over you and make sure you were really fine. But now, it felt as though he was deliberately keeping his emotions in check—whether it was irritation, frustration, or something else entirely, you couldn’t tell.
An awkward, uncomfortable silence settled between you again, and the longer the quiet stretched, the more you were on the verge of crying.
Eventually, Caleb exhaled.
“Let’s clean everything up, then.”
Oh. That’s it. Normally, he would have been laughing by now. He always managed to find something to make fun of in your botched attempts, but even he found no humor in it now.
Your eyes welled with tears.
“N-No, wait!”
Caleb paused, and before you could lose your nerve, you hurried towards the wrapped gifts under the table and pulled out one distinct package.
“I know everything went wrong—” you rushed out as you approached him. “The surprise was ruined, and Gideon was supposed to help, but then I fell, and then you walked in, and—and—”
The words tumbled over one another, and it was getting harder to hold back your tears. “I just... really wanted your birthday to be special—”
Damn it. This is horrendous, but at the very least, you could still give him this. You thrust the gift towards him with both hands.
“I saved up for months to get you this!” Your voice cracked despite your best efforts, and the next words came out much quieter. “I hoped you’d like it...”
For a moment, Caleb simply stared at you. He blinked several times, and unable to bear looking at him any longer, you dropped your gaze and bit down on your lip, willing the tears to fall.
. . .
In all honestly, Caleb wasn’t happy.
Gideon was his best friend, yes, but also the one person Caleb had suspected might have a crush on you. Walking into you tangled together had sent an ugly spike of jealousy through him before he’d had a chance to think.
And not only that, you had taken a fall and could have been seriously hurt. Even now, he wasn’t convinced you weren’t bruised somewhere.
Every year, you pushed yourself trying to make his birthday special—planning surprises, saving money, and worrying over details he would have been happy without. He had never understood why you felt the need to go to such lengths for him, because above all else, Caleb hated seeing you hurt in any shape or form.
So when he looked at you now—trembling voice, watery eyes, clutching the gift as if it were the last thing holding you together—his anger evaporated instantly, because he can’t. How could he stay angry at you when you looked like that?
“Hey.”
His face immediately softened, all traces of irritation left him at once. You couldn’t bring yourself to meet his eyes though.
“Hey...” His voice gentled further as he took a step closer, and you felt a warm hand settled on your shoulder. “I am not angry.”
You swallowed hard, looking up at him finally, almost shrinking at the way he stared at you. “You looked angry.”
Without another word, he reached out and pulled you into his arms.
“You absolute menace,” he murmured exasperatedly, pressing a kiss to your hair. “You nearly gave yourself a concussion trying to surprise me.”
Realizing that he was back to his soft self, you exhaled and nuzzled yourself against him, wrapping your arms around his waist and savoring the warmth of his hug. Caleb has the comfiest hugs, you thought.
“What did you get me though?”
You stepped back and presented the package once more, and Caleb finally peeled the wrapping paper.
Inside the box sat a high-quality aviation watch from a famous brand—one designed specifically for pilots. Its face was easy to read at a glance, featuring multiple time zones, a slide-rule bezel for flight calculations, and made of durable steel.
You had wanted something practical and something he could actually use. Something that would stay with him even when he was thousands feet above the ground.
Caleb was fixated on it, almost starstruck, his eyes sparkling.
“You saved for months for this?” he asked you, a teasing smirk curling on his lips despite the visible happiness. You suddenly found the floor very interesting.
“...Maybe,” you chirped shyly.
“Silly girl. You are so wasteful.” Despite the heat that crept to his face, he set the box aside and reached for your hand. “Help me put it on then.”
You carefully fastened the watch around his wrist. The moment the clasp clicked into place, Caleb turned his arm over, examining it. It looked right there, as though it had always belonged with him.
His gaze found yours again. You in your high school uniform, a giddy, sweet smile on your face— trying way too hard for him.
Then Caleb stepped forward, cupped your face in one hand, and pressed a kiss to your forehead.
Don’t you know? His birthday has never been about grand celebrations. His only wish, every single year, is to spend that day with you.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
“Do you like it?” you asked hopefully.
“Heh... Can’t you see?”
Your grin widened so much your cheeks hurt.
“You weren’t even supposed to get this right away. The whole plan was for you to open a bunch of dummy gifts first before I finally gave you the real one— you’re actually the one who ruined the surprise!”
“Me? It’s not my fault if Gideon made it so obvious he was lying. The moment he did, your plan was already doomed.”
“Don’t roast him, he tried his best!”
“Hmph. I’ll make sure to make him run extra ten lap for failing to ensure you didn’t launch yourself off a ladder.”
“Launch myself—?!”
Even if you had spent hours decorating an attic only for the plan to fall apart spectacularly, fallen off a ladder and nearly cried in front of him...
At least you managed to make Caleb smile that time.
June 13
Ten years later — present time
Eventually, over the years, you had half-given up trying to surprise Caleb on his birthdays.
He just knew you far too well. After years together as your husband and the father of your adorable daughter, you could spend weeks meticulously planning something only for him to casually ask, “So, what’s the surprise this year?”
Despite your terrible track record, you still found yourself scheming every now and then, but you finally lost it when your daughter, Lynn, became his accomplice.
At five, she possessed all of your enthusiasm and (apparently) none of your ability to keep secrets. Last year, three days before Caleb’s birthday, she marched straight into his study, climbed onto his lap, and announced proudly:
“Daddy! Mommy bought your birthday present today!”
You finally receded your attempts at useless endeavor ever since. If Caleb wanted to know everything before it happened, then so be it. This year, you decided to save yourself the frustration and simply let him have whatever he wanted.
And so, taking a full advantage of it, on the morning of his birthday, Caleb kissed you with total abandon— and more.
The lust, the heat, and the intense friction that built up too fast. You woke up to his cock entering you from behind, already hard and pulsing. To your surprise, your body betrayed you, already wet and responding long before you had fully opened your eyes. He must have done some cunning ministrations while you were still sound asleep.
Within minutes, his bruising thrusts had your body tighten into a coil of pure agony before shattering completely. Pure pleasure swept through you in an overwhelming wave, leaving you trembling beneath him. Your cries were muffled against his hand, your chest rising and falling unevenly as tears gathered at the corners of your eyes.
“There’s nothing wrong with claiming my birthday gift first thing in the morning, is there?” he left a breathy kiss on your neck, anything to justify his insatiable appetite, really.
“Scheming bastard,” you retorted, clinging to him as you recovered from your high, thoroughly depleted. He pulled you closer with a chuckle, pressing another kiss on your head.
“You aren’t going to Hunter Association today, you hear?” he squeezed you, a tinge of worry in his words. “You almost passed out yesterday. You have to rest.”
A meaningful smile came up to your face, nuzzling him. Somehow, after all these years, he still has the comfiest hugs.
“Says the one who woke me from my good sleep.”
“Shush. That’s just harmless fooling around. If anything, it’ll just make you sleepy again so you can sleep in longer.”
His protectiveness over you hadn’t wavered even a bit after all these years, and it made your heart so warm, really.
You thought you would save yourself the effort this year, but as things turned out, something had happened... and suddenly, you found yourself holding onto a secret that would make the perfect birthday gift, after all.
“I’m going to get ready for work,” Caleb said, giving your head an affectionate pat before finally rising. “And you are going to rest. Understood?”
“Hm?”
His eyes narrowed immediately. “If I come back and discover you’ve been ignoring the colonel’s orders, I’m going to be very upset, pipsqueak.”
“Aye, aye, captain,” you responded with a roll of your eyes.
“Wrong rank,” he retorted.
The fond smile he flashed you betrayed his mock sternness, and he leaned down to steal one last kiss from your forehead.
As always, by the eve of his birthday, Caleb already knew there was a gift waiting for him when he came back later. What he didn’t know, however, was exactly what it was, and that tiny sliver of mystery was all the encouragement you needed.
Because if there was even the smallest chance of catching Caleb off guard, you were absolutely going to take it.
. . .
When Caleb returned from Skyhaven that evening, he still expected some sort of birthday ambush the moment he walked through the front door, despite having telling you not to do anything this morning.
After all, he knew you. What he hadn’t expected was that the house would be completely and utterly dark the moment he stepped inside. What could be your plan this time?
He sighed. You had looked exhausted lately too. He had insisted that you rest for the remainder of the day. If you were hiding somewhere in the dark after spending all day preparing some elaborate surprise—
In that exact second, the lights suddenly flicked on, party poppers exploded, and confetti flew in front of his face—
“Happy birthday!”
A tiny missile then launched herself across the living room. Fortunately, Caleb had spent six years being on the receiving end of Lynn’s flying hugs and had become remarkably skilled at catching her.
Without missing a beat, he bent down and caught his little girl midair.
“Got you.” He pressed a quick kiss to her cheek as he lifted her effortlessly into his arms.
A delighted squeal erupted from her at once. Lynn immediately throwing her arms around his neck and planting an enthusiastic kiss on his cheek in return. “Happy birthday again, Daddy!”
The excitement in her voice was infectious, and she reminded him a lot of the younger you who would also tackle him in a big hug.
“Thank you, sweetheart.” He smiled, smoothing a hand over her hair. “Where’s your mommy, hm?”
“Over there!” Lynn pointed towards the dining table.
Caleb followed her finger, and there you were. Standing with a warm smile on your face in your prettiest dress, surrounded by soft candlelight and decorations, a beautiful two-tier birthday cake positioned proudly in front of you.
The sight was beautiful, but Caleb was slightly irritated.
“...You weren’t resting,” he deadpanned and you shrugged innocently.
“I rested spiritually.”
Despite himself, Caleb felt his lips twitch. Before he could continue his scolding, however, you reached beneath the table and produced a small gift box.
“Here, your gift.”
Something in the way you smiled made him pause. He gently set Lynn down, his attention shifting entirely to you. Curiosity danced in his eyes, accepting the neatly wrapped box from your hands. It was surprisingly light, and and with careful movements, he pulled the ribbon loose and lifted the lid.
He expected another watch, perhaps a handwritten letter, or some rare trinket. Instead, resting at the bottom of the box, was a single, glossy piece of paper. A black-and-white photograph.
No, wait... an ultrasound?
The breath caught sharply in his throat, the world around him seemed to stand completely still. Slowly, he turned his head to look at you. Those striking amethyst eyes, usually so calm and calculated, were wide with utter disbelief and an overwhelming, raw vulnerability. His gaze flicked from the photo, to your stomach, and then finally locked onto your eyes, searching for confirmation.
“Is this...?” he whispered, his voice cracking slightly, a rare tremor shaking his words. “Are we...?”
Your radiant nod was all the answer he needed.
In an instant, the box was forgotten on the table. Caleb gathered and pulled you against his chest. His arms trembled slightly as they wrapped around your waist, burying his face into the crook of your neck as he took a deep, shaky breath.
Another child. Another little piece of the two of you will soon be born in this world to experience all the love both of you can give.
Before you could reply, he leaned down and caught your lips in a kiss. It was deep, tender, and poured through with every ounce of love, devotion, and reverence he possessed.
When he pulled back just enough to look at you, his face was flushed, a boyish, breathtaking smile breaking across his features—a look of pure, unadulterated joy that he reserved only for you.
“Thank you.” He was choked up, and somehow, it made your heart lurch too. “This is definitely the best birthday gift from you I’ve ever gotten.”
Lynn observed her loving parents with innocent, curious eyes. She shuffled closer and tugged gently at the edge of her father’s crisp colonel uniform to get his attention.
“Daddy, you’re crying?”
“I am not—” Caleb turned to her abruptly when he realized his eyes were suspiciously shiny. “I’m… just overwhelmed a bit, sweetheart, okay?”
“You’re crying a little,” Lynn insisted, puckering her lips into a cute pout.
A soft laugh escaped your lips, and Caleb couldn’t help but laugh too, breathless, and still dazed with happiness as he pulled you and hoisted Lynn into his arms.
Have you not realized by now that his only birthday wish has always been simply to celebrate it by your side? And that just by being you, you continuously turn every single one of his wishes into reality?
Holding the two of you close, he pressed a tender kiss to the crown of Lynn’s head before leaning over to brush another against your lips. As he pulled away slightly, you caught the familiar gleam on his wrist—
Still the same watch you had given him ten years ago... only the bezel already dulled and bore scratches from a decade of daily wear. He was still holding on to it, just as he was still holding on to you.
after seeing your attention fixed on a plushie that looks just like him, caleb comes to a conclusion; his birthday privileges should last a week, and your attention should be solely on him.
5.0k words. tags: fem!reader, smut, jealous caleb, i would classify this as typical caleb behaviour, cunnilingus, fingering, hickeys/marking, caleb’s a bit of a masochist and unapologetic, missionary -> mating press, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, some breeding kink, use of “pips”, “babe”, “honey”.
"You are still holding onto that?"
Caleb had just scanned his fingerprint at the panel outside to open his vast penthouse's front door, stepping inside after you, his eyes fixated not on his surroundings but onto the plush figure that was tenderly held by your hands, not having let go off it for the past hour or so. Both of you slid out of your jackets, your movements much clumsier with your attention elsewhere, the door closing behind him.
"Come on, Caleb, it's so adorable! It looks just like you." You gleefully turned around to face him, hugging the mini Caleb against your chest. It was small, having the same hair as him, shade and all, having spent countless hours watching tutorials. You had even attempted to capture the gradient of his eyes, a little loose threads visible here and there, but none of it really mattered to him. The plush toy was supposed to be a birthday gift for Caleb, alongside the surprise from the evening a few days back where you had surprised him with a ride on the air jet he had always been so fascinated with. The T-93. The exhaustion was somewhat present in your movements, sluggish.
Alas, your heart had other plans. Your hands were refusing to stop clinging onto the plush, enamoured by it's softness and resemblance to Caleb. "Look at how round it is." You wiggled the mini Caleb's feet, a snort leaving him as he shook his head fondly and took a step towards you.
"I suppose it does look like me." Caleb's words trailed off as his finger traced the face of his miniature, wondering how many nights you must have secretly spent on crafting this. A familiar ache bloomed in his heart, the one he also felt once he had laid his eyes on you in his pilot's helmet yesterday. You had done so much for him, so much, when all Caleb ever wanted was simply your presence behind him. That, solely, would have been enough.
For this, Caleb was immensely grateful. The subtle exhaustion ran within him from the journey back to his place, but his attention had been diverted elsewhere at this point.
His eyes followed you, your face nuzzling into the mini Caleb's head while you cooed something to it, it's large eyes fixated on his face, almost mockingly. Caleb must have been imagining this, or had you held this plush toy longer than him today? He stared back at it, deep in though, his fingers absentmindedly toying with his necklace.
"It wasn't his birthday, was it?" His voice dipped a tone lower, hand finding your lower back as you both moved towards the large expanse of his living room, finding yourself on the couch.
Caleb's penthouse had been livelier lately, it's earlier monotonous environment and cold energy replaced by something much more warmer, like home, little trinkets and other belongings of yours found at every nook and corner of this place now. A proof of life. A place could only ever be his home if you were there, after all.
"What do you mean?" You asked, eyes watching him settle beside you, before your eyes brightened up in mirth. "Oh, don't tell me… The big, scary Colonel is jealous of a little him." You teased him, your knee bumping against his purposefully, before you added:
"Does this look like a threat to you, Caleb?"
He was quiet for a moment, jaw clenching as his smile tightened just a little. It felt odd to coin this feeling he was experiencing as jealousy but inevitably, that is what it was. Caleb couldn't stand the thought of someone else, or something, taking up the attention of his pipsqueak. It irritated him, frustrated and much more desperate. A turmoil of sorts brewed within him, the absurdity of being jealous of himself rendering even him conflicted.
"Is that so bad?" He chuckled a little, his left hand reaching over to touch that knee that had just bumped into him, thumb rubbing soft circles against the surface. "I'd like to have your eyes only on me tonight."
"Oh really? But as I recall, your birthday is over." You countered cheekily, only for him to chuckle.
"You must be forgetting, you silly girl," His hand reached up to ruffle your hair, earning a sound of protest from you. "Last year, you had proudly declared that the entire week following your birthday would still be dedicated solely to you. Don't I deserve to have the same birthday privileges?"
You stared at him, incredulous, no retort forming in your mind. After all, his words held a lot of truth, you indeed had declared all that and he had even obliged to follow your orders that week.
Not that he already didn't do that.
Caleb hadn't realised that you would notice it, but your eyes were quick to catch on the pout that was ever so present on his mouth, alongside the furrow of his brows. "Why cling onto something so small when you have the real thing here?" And suddenly, it all made sense. Your memory drifted to a morning two weeks ago, when you had caught him sneakily hiding one of the stuff toys you went to sleep with under your bed, just so he could hold you without anything between you both.
"Don't be silly," You laughed softly after setting the plush figure down onto your lap, fingers absentmindedly caressing its' head. "It is a gift for you. I just can't help it, it looks so sweet! It's like our baby. Do you not want to take care of him too?" The words came out of you with such ease, clearly a passing statement, but Caleb's irises darkened, unbeknownst to you.
"Baby, huh…" He hummed under his breath, chewing onto his inner cheek, releasing it with a pop. The idea of a baby, their baby, sent a jolt of heat towards his abdomen, rather irrational and impulsive. He briefly imagined it, pressing you down until you were a whiny mess, filling you up over and over until he was sure that you'd take it.
Did you, perhaps, want it? Or was this something plotted to gain a reaction from him?
"Our baby has had enough attention for the day then, right?" His smile slowly eased up, but not out of relief, something clearly brewing within his head as he finally grabbed the mini Caleb and pried it away from your grasp, not listening to your rather devastated gasp.
"How mean! Such a bad dad." You smacked onto his arm with playful gentleness, a disappointed huff leaving you as you watched mini Caleb topple over and landing onto the neighbouring couch, all alone and still smiling, once Caleb tossed it. You were nearly tempted to rush over and grab it again, just to see his composure crack, to bask in how much more you could push onto his nerves.
But Caleb didn't give you a chance to do it.
"I'm just saying, us parents need some privacy too, don't we?" He whispered, playing too well into the role you'd spontaneously threw over him. He got up for a second to put mini Caleb upside down so it's eyes were covered and not facing them before he got back.
"Do we?" You countered, allowing your hands to come up on his shoulders, feeling him pull you closer and onto his lap by your waist, legs straddling him.
"Mhm. My week is still in progress." He gestured at the physical calender you kept on the stand nearby. "I need only one thing. Your attention."
Caleb's lips pressed a soft, feather-like kiss against your jaw, brushing against your skin before he went up to press a kiss on your earlobe. You felt a familiar heat crawling over to your face, causing you to break into a smile, heart swelling with affection.
"I suppose I can give you that." Your attempt at keeping your tone neutral failed when his teeth lightly bit onto the skin behind your ear, your fingers tightening on his shoulder for a second, much harder than you had intended to, a pain he welcomed so eagerly. You tilted your head back so he could move more freely, breath hitching as his hands moved down to rub your thighs soothingly, moving up and down until they were back onto your hips.
"Come here." His voice was rougher now, strained, as his face moved slightly, mouth capturing yours. Kisses with Caleb when he was like this were always fervent, a scheme to make you think of nothing but him, greedy yet achingly passionate with the love that governed him. It always worked.
Your mouth was instantly captured by his, a soft noise escaping you, fingers tangling into his dark hair as he kissed you. Caleb was greedy, his teeth dragging against your bottom lip for a split second, just to feel you waver in his grasp, before his tongue slid into your mouth, caressing yours.
"Chocolate, huh?" He breathed out when he pulled back, his ears flushed red under the dim light of the living room, a pleased grin dancing on his lips when you huffed at his observation, avoiding his gaze. "That was the last piece, wasn't it? And you stole it from poor little me." He said in an exaggerated voice, his face moving down towards your neck, pressing an open mouthed kiss on the column of your throat.
"I must take my revenge now, shouldn't I?"
Caleb nibbled onto your skin, sucking firmly, but not hard enough to cause you any actual pain. His fingers dug into your sides, anchoring you closer, hot open-mouthed kisses traveling from your neck down to your collarbone, each bite and nibble leaving a notable purplish hickey, your skin being painted by him.
"All mine. My pipsqueak." He groaned against your neck, purple eyes peering up at your face, enamoured by the way your lips were parted, wet from his kiss.
Pressing another, quick kiss on your lips, Caleb gently settled you back down onto the couch, only get up, moving down to his knees in front of you. "There is still time for me to exploit my birthday privileges." He hummed, pushing your legs apart so he could settle in between them, his clothed knees pressed against the floor, his fingers moving over to the buttons of the shorts you were wearing; a cozy pair that had provided you comfort throughout the ride back to Skyhaven.
"Hey!" You weakly kicked his side with your feet, your lips quivering as he settled your legs on his shoulders. "You're acting rather greedy, especially after being mean to your gift." A teasing smile threatened to emerge onto your face, only to waver when he nipped onto the plush skin of your right thigh.
"Really? I distinctly remember just having put it to sleep." Caleb pondered dramatically, tapping his finger against his chin, gesturing at the lone plushie laying on the nearby couch. "Surely my memory is not serving me wrong."
"Ugh…" You found yourself at a loss of words, embarrassed at a lack of comeback, too focused on the way he looked between your legs; a hungry wreck.
"Well," Caleb chuckled, finally undoing the buttons of your shorts, pulling them down until they were pooled around your ankles, leaving you in your panties. "I know something that's far better than some chocolate."
Before you could call him out for his remark, Caleb moved forward to lick your crotch through your panties, his ears catching the sound of your breath hitching. He hummed, licking another stripe across your panties. He was shameless, uncaring if your panties got soiled. It was almost as if he wanted them to get soaked, already planning to sneak them into his pocket for later usage.
"Has my pips been wanting this?" He asked, not to you, his eyes eagerly fixated between your legs as his thumb presses down onto your panties, feeling the bump of your clit through the fabric. "She has been, hasn't she?" He cooed, though his voice wavered a little.
There were many things Caleb had perfected. He'd like to believe that self restraint was one of them but clearly, that wasn't the case.
Caleb hooked his fingers around the waistband of your panties and pulled them down, helping them off your feet, a stupidly huge grin breaking across his face as he stared at your pussy, swollen with arousal and slick. You couldn't even close your legs with how they were locked around his shoulders, giving him full access to you.
"Stop staring at me like that." You complained, biting down your bottom lip as your hips twitched a little, feeling the cool air brush against your sensitivity. "Just… get along with it."
Caleb's hands gave your thighs a firm, yet gentle squeeze, thumbs digging into the flesh as he leaned in to press a kiss on your folds, groaning in delight. "Fuck." He cursed, one hand reaching down to pull your folds apart, exposing your clit, twitching. "Look at you." He leaned in, pressing a kiss directly on your clit, earning a shaky whimper from you, your hands tightening by your sides.
Caleb licked a stripe over your pussy, feeling every bump and fold, almost as if he was savouring the taste, his mouth moving in sync with your hips, who were attempting to chase after the feeling, your mouth falling open. "Easy there." He teased you, though he wasn't feeling cruel enough to let you wait any longer, especially when he was aching to dive in himself.
"It was torture, you know. Seeing that," He gestured over at the mini Caleb plush, "steal your attention. You were doing it on purpose, weren't you?"
You shook your head, not trusting yourself to form words, not when he was looking so unbelievably delectable between your legs. Instead, you reached over to caress his hair with your fingers, messing them up a little, feeling the dark locks under your fingers. Caleb sighed at the sensation, pressing a tiny kiss in your inner thigh. That wasn't enough to sate the increasing hunger within him, his kisses turning into bites, nibbling onto the skin with the same precision as with your neck, pupils dilating at the sight of your thighs becoming marked by him. He licked one of the hickeys to soothe the sting, a soft sniffle escaping you as his attention eventually went over to your clit, aching with need.
It started with tiny licks on your clit, teasing enough to make your skin heat up, the ache only serving to heighten up much more. You exhaled out a breath you hadn't realised you were holding in, watching him as his licks become much more firmer, his tongue pressing flat against the sensitive bud before swirling around it, not bothering to hide the rather loud noises his mouth made as he worked on your pussy.
He was doing it on purpose, being loud, knowing how much it riled you up. His teeth scraped ever so lightly against your nub, making you gasp, hips bucking forward towards his mouth. "F-Fuck, Caleb…" You shuddered, vision blurring as you struggled to fully focused on him.
"I know, pips, I know." Caleb begin sucking on your clit, lips enclosed around it, tongue swirling around as a sharp jolt of pleasure coursed through you. It was overwhelming in the best way possible, his suction firm and unrelenting, making you squeeze around nothing, head falling back.
His fingers slowly made there way between your legs, reaching your entrance, not leaving you empty for far longer. Your thighs unconsciously tightened around his head when you felt his index and middle finger slide in together at once, earning a pleased groan from him, your legs keeping his face as close as possible to you. His other hand held your hips down, keeping you from wriggling too much.
He begun thrusting his fingers inside your pussy, his mouth not losing its pace as he sucked and licked around your clit, feeling it pulsate under his tongue, peeking out from arousal. Caleb knew precisely what would bring you closer to your peak, his fingers curling inside at just the perfect angle to rub against your sweet spot, making your toes curl. He knew you, both inside and out.
"Mmh, I can't hold it in anymore. Don't stop, please…" You pleaded.
Heat pooled in your abdomen. Your fingers tightening as they tugged at his hair, the sting making his eyes roll back. He loved when you were like this, tugging at him too hard, scratching and all. He wanted to take any and all of the pain you could give him. It wasn't long until you came over his fingers, a pleased moan breaking out of you as waves of pleasure washed over you, his fingers not ceasing their thrusts, helping you ride your orgasm out
Caleb pulled his fingers out, a muffled laugh leaving him as he hungrily lapped your pussy up, wanting to taste you as much as he possibly could
"Fuck- My baby. My pips, so fucking good." He babbled nonsensically, hands holding your legs open as he devoured you up.
Caleb got up after a while, his hair messy and face wrecked, chin soaked in your essence. His cheeks were pleasantly flushed pink, a dopey smile adorning his face, drunk from your taste, quick to lung forward. He kissed you hungrily, tongue shoving into your mouth so you could taste yourself, catching you off guard, making you gasp before you melted.
You pulled back, a thin string of saliva still connecting your lips with his, panting softly, your skin tingling from the orgasm as your fingers tugged and pulled at his shirt, wanting him to take it off. He pressed himself into you, his erection, straining painfully against his pants, rubbing against your thigh, eager.
Caleb's fingers worked quick, taking your shirt off and unclasping your bra, causing you to giggle a little as you raised your arms to help him with his movements. A chocked noise as he stared at your breasts, pathetically lovesick, tenderly cupping them in his palms. His thumbs begin to gently circle around the nipples that had gone erect from the cool air caressing them, giving them a little squeeze by rolling them around between his thumb and index fingers, making you shiver.
"Come on…" You grumbled, as he finally raised his arms after your countless attempts at pulling on his shirt. You were eventually able to take his shirt off, sighing in delight at the sight that greeted you, his necklace looking much more enticing pressed against his bare skin like that. Your hands begin caressing his defined torso, coming to rest at his chest, a smile twitching on your own lips. He was unfairly handsome, one would wonder exactly who was more smitten in this relationship, if a comparison could even be made.
"Let's get you to the bedroom." He breathed out, his body vibrating with the need to just ravish you.
Caleb pulled you up in his arms ease once you nodded, one arm supporting you from below while the other wrapped itself tenderly around you as he got onto his feet, his arms flexing as he walked you both into the bedroom, your legs loosely wrapped around his waist. You took this time to press lazy kisses around his head, breathing in the scent of his hair, the scent endearing familiar.
Was that your shampoo? You didn't even attempt to say anything about his habits at this point.
He settles you down onto his bed, large and neatly made, the cold dark sheets meeting your skin as you both made yourself comfortable, the mattress sinking.
"Come here, honey." Caleb beckoned you forth sweetly, gathering you up in his arms as you both settled onto the bed, him on top of you. His eyes moved down to your breasts, his face leaning down as he pressed a kiss each on your breasts, marveling at their beauty. "So perfect." He captured your right nipple between his teeth gently, sucking onto them, his fingers playing with your left, rubbing it firmly.
As he sucked on your nipple, attempting to give equal attention to both of them, you took your time gently caressing his head, noticing the deep flush that painted his cheeks, turning redder at the tips of his ears. They were always the first to become flushed whenever he was flustered.
He moved over to your left nipple, sucking onto it with greed, an act to sate his own urges, a little spark of selfishness flaring within him. It was momentary, because even on his birthday, his sole focus was making you feel good, and steering clear of anything that would take your attention from him, even it happened to look like himself.
He pulled back, licking his lips, the sight almost too perverse, making your insides tighten with a sense of satisfaction. You took this opportunity to reach over, fingers traveling down to his pants with a sense of urgency, wanting to take it off yourself, undoing the buttons, causing your actions to be clumsier than you had intended to.
"So eager." Caleb's words came out strained as you pulled his pants down, revealing his boxers, visibly soaked and stained with his precum, clear sign of the arousal he had been suffering with for who knows how long. There was no telling with him.
"Did you-?" You weren't able to finish your sentence as he pulled you in for a quick kiss, feeling you laugh a little when he pulled back, a sound that was more than enough to make his heart squeeze. He allowed you to take his boxers off, his cock springing out, evidently flushed with arousal, a bead of precum already forming on the tip.
"Look at what you do to me."
"You're always hard." You retorted, your face all heated up, to which he just nodded.
"Exactly." See.
You snorted at the goof, leaning back while your arms wrapped around his neck lazily, watching him position himself on top of you. Caleb pressed a soft kiss on your forehead, your legs opening up, as the head of his cock nudged at your entrance, your eyes watching in wonder as his abdomen tightened. You gave his necklace a light tug, urging him forward.
"You have done so much for me. Let me make you feel good too." He spoke, voice dripping with the affection he could barely contain within himself.
Caleb pushed his cock in, a moan leaving you both in unison, your walls stretching around his obscene size. It still took you some time to adjust to his girth, much to your belief of being used to him, your fingernails digging into his shoulders as your legs trembled a little.
"Is that okay?" He asked quietly, watching you nod. "Need your words, pips."
"Yes," You breathed out. "Please, I want you so bad." Desperation clawed at your voice, your hips bucking as he started to thrust inside you, feeling you cling tightly around his length, your wetness coating him.
As Caleb continued thrusting inside you, his hands found themselves gently traveling and mapping out the way your body jostled, fingers caressing your sides, feeling as your skin becoming moist with the humidity that had started to fill the bedroom up, a shared heat between you two.
"Mmf-" You weren't sure what you were voicing out, consumed by how overwhelmingly good the stretch felt, his cock meeting your sweet spot at the perfect angle. His hand reached between your legs, rubbing firm circles on your clit, on serving to intensify the pleasure as he felt it pulsate eagerly between his fingers, earning a pleased twitch from his own cock, clung on by your insides. His necklace dangled with each movement, your right hand gently tracing the cool chain out.
"Remember when you were talking about that plush being our baby?" Caleb spoke, the tip rubbing inside you deliciously so, making your brows furrow as you attempted to focus on his words.
"Yeah,” You nodded, followed by a little noise, looking up at him, watching his smile widen up. "I do."
"Why don't we go for the real thing?" He chuckled, his thrusts slowing down slightly as he shifted, making you whimper at the sudden change when his hands reached under your knees, pulling your legs impossibly up, until your feet were right at his shoulders, his body becoming as close to you as possible.
"You're so filthy." You spoke despite a smile beginning to bloom on your face, trying to catch your breath, your chest feeling a little tight due to the sheer lack of distance between you two. "All this because you were jealous of the gift I made you? Ouch." Your attempt at dramatics were cut short when he thrusted inside you once again, earning a sharp gasp from you.
So deep. So fucking deep.
Something in Caleb had shifted, undeniably so. With his hair clinging to his forehead and eyes appearing much darker than they were, he looked like someone determined, someone who wanted your eyes solely on him.
"I guess I get jealous of myself too, sometimes." He huffed, hands pressed at both sides beside your head, his thrusts becoming much more firmer, your entire body feeling as if it was being devoured. It technically was.
Your arms uselessly scrambled for a second before clinging to his shoulders once more, only this time with much more desperation, your hips bucking with the intense pleasure that was plunging within you with each snap of his hips. Caleb was a menace whenever he got like this.
"Want to fill you up so bad, pips. It's driving me insane, fuck-" He broke off with a whimper, holding onto the thin thread of control that was threatening to break with the way you squeezed around his cock, making his insides burn up, his thoughts becoming incomprehensible. All Caleb could currently think about was his seed filling you up, marking you as his, his pipsqueak forever. All his.
Consequences were a thing for tomorrow, and in the present, you nodded, feeling him press a soft kiss on the top of your head. "Yes, yes, yes, Caleb…" You rambled, fingers unconsciously scratching down his shoulders. His pelvis rubbed against your clit ever so often, his pubic hair tickling your sensitive bundle of nerves. You moved your head slightly, biting down onto his shoulder hard, not holding back, earning a sweet sound from him you didn't hear often. It made your heart swell.
"Do it again, please." He gasped out, feeling your teeth sink into his shoulder as he continued to ram his cock inside you, feeling your body twitch. "Are you close, pips?" His thrust stuttered for a split second when you bit onto him a little too hard, his cock pulsating, savouring the pain, wanting to imprint it into his memory forever.
"Mhm." You nodded clumsily, fingers tugging at his necklace, reveling at the cool sensation amidst the heat and sweat. The knot that had been building inside you was on the brink of exploding, the heat intensifying.
It was only a few seconds later when you came, a final plunge of his cock driving you over your peak, your body convulsing and twitching as the orgasm washed over you, much more intense than before, your mind nearly going numb. You choked out a whimper, your hold tightening over him, the sensation of your walls tightening around him throughout your orgasm making him lose his edge too.
Caleb followed after you, thick white ropes spurting out from his cock and painting your insides as he bottomed out, his body twitching. He came so much, a breathy chuckle leaving him as he looked down at where your bodies met, sticky white already seeping out.
As you both panted heavily, Caleb gently pulled himself out, carefully pulling your legs away and easing your position, hearing you groan from the sudden ache in your legs. "Aw, my pips." He breathed out as he took in the sight of you, disheveled and utterly, blissfully fucked, neck covered and thighs adorned in marks made by him. Though what caught his attention most was how his come was drooling out from you, a sight that made him afraid that he would get hard again, blood already rushing south.
He was insatiable, but you were sore.
"The most beautiful. My sweet apple." He was quick to grab your face into his hands, peppering your face with a barrage of kisses that you couldn't possibly count, not letting an inch of your face have some mercy.
"Caleb!" You laughed, voice a little hoarse as you surrendered yourself to his sudden burst of affection. A tender, almost sweet ache was present in your muscles, one you didn't quite mind, your eyes finding the indents of your teeth still present on his skin. "Oops."
Once he pulls apart after, you had lost the track of time truth be told, he got off the bed, his hand reaching out for you. "Come on. Let's take a bath now, clean ourselves up."
And you desperately wanted to, but your body refused to move, quickly noticed by him. "Sounds like too much work right now." You plopped back onto the pillow, arms all spread, only to be scooped up by his arms.
"Then let me do it for you." He smiled, because in the end that's what mattered. Taking care of you.
You nuzzled your face into the crook of his neck as he carried you into the bathroom, listening to the sounds of the tap turning on, the water beginning to fill the tub up. Caleb watched your eyes struggling to stay open, not minding it at all as he settled you down into the warm water, gently washing you up.
It was quick, doing a simple cleanse of himself, and soon he found himself drying both of you, dressing you up in one of his shirts, carrying your half asleep form back towards his bed.
"Sweet dreams, pips." Caleb whispered quietly, fully content, your body nestled cozily into his. The best birthday week he could ever ask for.
a/n: hi :] honestly it’s been so long since i’ve written smut. this was purely out of pure horniness (have i made this word up?) over caleb. the caleb effect!
rating: explicit/nsfw
category: f/m, caleb/reader, reader-insert
tags: childhood friends to lovers, pseudocest, mutual pining, domesticity, playfight, sexual tension, homecoming, suppressed!caleb, yearning!caleb, submissive top!caleb, insecure!caleb, forced proximity, forbidden/risky, “be quiet, granny will hear us”, making out, dryhumping, p in v, mirror sex, backshots, leg hooking, aftercare, i think that's it?
wordcount: 15.9k
PREVIEW : “wait, what the hell?!” you gasped, your hands flying up in a knee-jerk reaction to push him back, but caleb's hands immediately shot forward to pin you back down against the couch. “see?” caleb murmured, leaning down closer, his hot breath fanning across your cheeks, smelling faintly of the mint gum he'd been chewing. “you couldn't even move before i did this. you can't even defend yourself, you silly girl. that means you still need me to protect you.”
SYNOPSIS : what was supposed to be a casual homecoming quickly devolves into a suffocating game of unspoken jealousy and long-awaited confessions where every shared glance and tight space threatens to collapse the boundaries of your childhood friendship. trapped between the ticking clock of his limited sixty-day leave and the terrifyingly possessive reality of how much he’s missed you, will the tension eventually snap?
caleb is coming back this summer.
the heat of early june in the province always carried a specific kind of weight, heavy with the scent of sun-baked asphalt, dry grass, and the faint rot of fallen mangoes in the backyard. it was summer, finally! the kind of summer that felt less like a break and more like a threshold. you had just wrapped up your sophomore year at the state university down the road, a year spent navigating crowded lecture halls, cheap iced coffees, and a revolving door of new faces that you tried very hard to care about.
for the first time in your life ever since, you and caleb hadn't shared a daily routine.
after eighteen years of being so aggressively attached at the hip that your shadows practically bled together, the last four years had seen you both drifted into your own separate worlds. it was a strange, quiet realization: you both had lives of your own now.
caleb had packed his bags for that prestigious aerospace academy up north, his childhood fascination with the sky hardening into a fierce passion for flying. you, on the other hand, had stayed behind anchored to the familiar soil of your hometown just to float between random orgs, shifting friend groups, and the vague pursuit of figuring out who you were when you weren't “caleb and his girl.”
and today, he was coming home....
the question had been humming under your skin all morning, rhythmic and annoying like a cicada’s buzz. did caleb change? would he look different? act different?
the last time you saw him in the flesh, right before his departure, he had already begun to outgrow the lanky, boyish frame you could map with your eyes closed. his shoulders had broadened, his jawline cutting a sharper silhouette against the terminal lights. he had looked less like the boy who used to help you steal guavas from the neighbor's tree and more like a stranger you'd cross the street to look twice at.
”make sure you tell him to eat properly while he's here,” granny had mumbled earlier this morning, her voice thick with sleep as she shuffled around the kitchen, adjusting the mesh food cover over a plate of fried rice. “that boy always forgets to look after himself when he's excited.”
you had laughed, buzzing with a restless, frantic energy, nodding quickly as you practically flew out the screen door. you didn't even bother putting on real shoes—just slipped your feet into a pair of worn-out rubber slippers, the soles thin enough that you could feel the morning grit of the driveway beneath your arches.
gideon’s car was already idling by the gate, the exhaust coughing a pale plume of smoke into the crisp morning air. gideon, caleb's friend and the closest thing you both had to another brother, had come back from the city a few days earlier because of some vague corporate endeavor he refused to elaborate on. his early return was a stroke of luck; it meant you didn't have to brave the crowded public transportation to get to the drop-off terminal.
“look who finally crawled out of bed,” gideon teased as you yanked the backdoor open and threw yourself into the backseat. the leather was cool against the backs of your thighs, a sharp contrast to the mounting humidity outside.
“i've been up since five, actually,” you shot back, leaning forward so your chin was practically resting on the gap between the two front seats. “go, go, go. we're going to be late, gideon!”
“we have forty minutes, calm down,” gideon chuckled, throwing the car into reverse with practiced ease. his hand spun the steering wheel effortlessly as he backed out onto the main road.
the moment the car straightened out, you immediately started. you couldn't help it. the questions poured out of you in a breathless stream, all of them centered around the one person who hadn't been here. because gideon and caleb were in the same university for college, gideon was your only real window into caleb’s new life.
“is he still doing those crazy flight simulator hours? did he actually pass his survival training or did he cry? does he still sleep with three pillows? is he... does he look different, gideon? like, really different?”
gideon navigated the familiar potholes of the provincial highway, answering each query with a patient nod of his head. he was used to this. he had been the buffer between you and caleb ever since.
“he's fine. still a nerd about planes,” gideon said, glancing at you through the rearview mirror with a knowing smirk. “he passed the survival drills with top marks, obviously. you know how he is. he doesn't cry over dirt. and yeah, he's bigger. the academy makes them do a lot of physical training. he looks like a proper pilot now.”
you listened to every word, your head tilting slightly, your eyes fixed on the back of gideon's head. you were listening so attentively it almost hurt, your ears straining for something specific. a name, maybe. a habit. a detail that sounded wrong, or a hint of a girl, or a sign that he had completely outgrown the small-town girl who used to share his umbrella. you were waiting for a phrase that would confirm your deepest, unvoiced fear: that he had left you behind in the dust of the province.
but that piece of information didn't arrive. gideon just kept talking about credit hours, physical exams, and flight logistics.
“anyway,” gideon clears his throat, switching gears as he turned onto the long stretch of road leading to the junction. “enough about the golden boy. how's state uni treating you? your granny said you joined some theater production crew last month. you making friends?”
the spark in your chest caught a sudden, damp chill. your posture slumped just a fraction, the manic energy leaving your shoulders as quickly as it had arrived. the topic was no longer caleb.
“oh. yeah. it's fine,” you murmured, your voice dropping an octave. “the theater stuff was just for a midterm project. it's over now. and friends... yeah, they're okay. we go to the diner near the campus sometimes.” it sounded dull. it sounded incredibly small compared to aerospace academies and survival training and flying through clouds.
sensing your sudden shift in mood but choosing not to press it, gideon just hummed, turning up the radio slightly.
you leaned back against the seat, suddenly feeling the distance between your body and the front of the car. with a slow movement, you pressed the button on the door panel, letting the window roll down all the way.
you were going to see him in less than fifteen minutes. and for the first time in your life, you were terrified of what his smile might look like now.
with a restless groan, you shifted your weight, sliding down the leather until you were lying flat across the length of the backseat. you lifted your legs, balancing your heels against the rim of the lowered window frame, letting the rushing wind blow right over your bare toes. the bright summer sunlight hit your face in a sudden wash, forcing you to squeeze your eyes shut as the shadows of roadside acacia trees flickered across your eyelids like a film strip.
gideon glanced back through the rearview mirror, his eyes crinkling at the corners as a quiet chuckle rumbled in his chest. “what exactly is the strategy here? are we airing out your feet, or are you trying to slide out of the car entirely?”
“shh,” you muttered, not opening your eyes, just waving a hand dismissively in his general direction. “don't ruin the vibe, gideon. i'm getting into character. when we get there, i'm going to pretend to be asleep.”
“and why, pray tell, are we faking a coma?”
“because,” you mumbled, your voice dropping into a stubborn drone. “he's been gone for four years acting all professional and pilot-like. i'm not giving him the satisfaction of seeing me standing at the curb like an eager puppy. if i'm asleep, he has to wait for me to wake up.”
gideon let out an amused snort but didn't argue further, slowing the vehicle down as he navigated the chaotic entrance of the terminal. the air became a noisy symphony of sputtering engines, the loud barking of barkers calling out destinations, and the heavy hiss of bus brakes.
then, the car came to a full stop. the engine remained idling, its low vibration humming right through your spine as you lay flat on the seat.
you heard the tinny ring of gideon’s phone bridging the gap over the dashboard, followed by the click of the answer button. gideon didn't even put it to his ear; he just left it on speaker, the sound cutting through the air-conditioned cabin.
“yeah? where are you? i'm near the main exit, by the yellow bakery,”
”oop, i see the car,” a voice replied.
that was caleb!
your breath hitched, catching sharply in your throat. it was him. it was caleb. even through the cheap, compressed audio of a phone speaker, there was no mistaking that specific cadence—that easy, slightly raspy, slow-rolling tone that always sounded like he was hiding a joke behind his teeth. it was exactly the same.
“alright, hurry up. the traffic enforcer is already looking at me sideways,” gideon said, hanging up.
panic, sudden and entirely irrational, flared up under your ribs. you scrambled to pull your legs down from the window, tucking your knees slightly toward your chest, and threw your right arm over your eyes, effectively blocking out the blinding glare of the sun and the view of the front seats. you squeezed your eyelids shut until you saw spots, forcing your breathing to slow down.
just act natural. you're asleep. you've been sleeping the whole ride.
the crunch of boots on gravel outside the car door was your only warning. and then, the front passenger door clicked and swung open. “hey!”
your heart nearly leaped right out of your chest. the sheer force of it hammered against your ribs so violently you were terrified he would actually hear it over the sound of everything else. you closed your eyes even tighter, your arm pressing down hard against your brow line.
“man, you look like you survived a war,” gideon’s voice boomed, followed by the rustle of clothing as the two of them exchanged a brief half-hug across the console.
“more like two years of institutionalized sleep deprivation,” caleb replied, his voice much louder now, much closer, vibrating from the seat right in front of your head. the car door slammed shut with a heavy thud, sealing the three of you inside the quiet space.
there was a brief rustle of a duffel bag being shoved into the footwell, and then a sudden pause. you could feel the exact moment his attention shifted.
”is... she dead?” caleb asked, his tone dropping into that familiar, amused lilt.
“passed out about ten minutes ago,” gideon lied without a single hitch in his voice. god, you owed him a premium coffee for this. “she was buzzing around the house since five in the morning, then collapsed the second we hit the highway.”
a loaded silence descended upon the car as gideon shifted into drive and pulled away from the curb. you lay frozen, every muscle in your body stiff with the effort of remaining limp. you could feel caleb’s weight shifting in the front seat, the leather creaking slightly as he turned his upper body around to look back at you.
even with your arm covering your face, you could feel the weight of his stare burning through the fabric of your sleeve.
then, a low huff of a laugh escaped him.
“silly girl,” caleb murmured, the word dripping with an irritatingly affectionate playfulness. “still a sleepyhead. some things really don't change, do they?”
gideon steered the car back onto the main road, the smooth roll of the tires replacing the chaotic noise of the terminal. “i don't know about that. she’s grown up quite a bit while you were gone, caleb. she’s not the little girl who used to cry when you stole her slippers anymore. she's at state uni now. got her own thing going on.”
there was another pause, a tiny stretch of time where the only sound was the hum of the engine.
“yeah,” caleb said, his voice shifting into a tone that was harder to read, more contemplative. “i can see that. she looks different.”
“don't let the height fool you, though,” gideon chuckled, glancing at the rearview mirror. “she’s still a menace. but yeah, you probably can't carry her around with one arm like you used to.”
“please, i can absolutely still carry her with one arm.” a fleshy slap echoed through the front seat—the sound of caleb smacking his own bicep or forearm or whatever to prove a point. “these muscles aren't just for show, gid. i could lift her and her bags without breaking a sweat.”
god, the urge to open your eyes was so overwhelming it was almost a physical ache in your chest. you wanted to throw your arm off your face, look at him, and tell him to shut his stupid mouth just like old times. you wanted to see exactly how broad his shoulders had gotten, wanted to see if his hair was still cut short and neat, wanted to see if that annoying, arrogant little smirk was plastered across his face. but the weight of your own realization—the sudden consciousness of him not just as caleb, but as a man who could effortlessly lift you—kept you completely pinned to the leather.
“whatever you say, pilot boy.” gideon laughed, shaking his head as he accelerated down the open road.
the comfortable rhythm of their conversation was broken by the sharp click of gideon’s turn signal. the car slowed down, veering off the main highway and pulling up.
“alright, cay, this is me,” gideon unbuckles his seatbelt with a crisp click. “i need to drop by this studio for that project archive i told you about. you take the wheel from here. just park the car back at granny's house when you guys get back.”
“yeah, sure. no problem,”
wait, what?
gideon was leaving?
panic flared up again as you stayed perfectly still, listening intently to the rustle of clothes, the sound of gideon opening the passenger door, and the heavy thud of his boots hitting the gravel outside. there was a brief exchange of instructions—gideon reminding caleb about a loose wire near the stereo dashboard—and then the driver’s side door opened. the car dipped slightly under a new weight as caleb slid effortlessly into the driver's seat.
the door slammed shut. the heavy, reassuring presence of gideon was gone, replaced entirely by caleb’s proximity.
he adjusted the seat, sliding it back a few inches to accommodate his longer legs. then, the car smoothly pulled back onto the road. and god, the silence that followed was deafening. without gideon’s easygoing banter filling the cabin, the only sound was the low hum of the engine and the rush of the wind through your open window.
should you open your eyes now? if you wake up now, it'll look natural. just a casual yawn, and—
a subtle tug pulled at the crown of your head.
it wasn't painful. it was incredibly light. you felt a hand reaching over the center console, two fingers winding carefully around a single stray strand of your hair, giving it a teasing little pull.
your eyes flew open.
through the gap between the front seats, you finally saw him—caleb driving effortlessly with his right hand on the steering wheel, his left hand extended backward over the armrest with his thumb and index finger still lightly holding the end of your hair. he didn't even look back at you; his eyes remained fixed on the road ahead.
but his eyes flicked upward, locking onto yours through the rearview mirror.
the corners of his eyes crinkled instantly, breaking into that utterly familiar expression. that lazy, arrogant, beautiful smile spread across his lips.
“got a good sleep, pips? your gege's back now.”
the nickname—the one he used to demand you call him when you were kids just to annoy you—should have earned him an immediate eye-roll or a sharp kick to the back of his seat. but you couldn't even bring yourself to reply. your tongue felt thick, glued to the roof of your mouth.
you just stared, agape, taking him in for the first time in four whole years.
he looked like a man.
caleb's eyes flicked up to the mirror again, catching the exact moment your gaze drifted from his face down to his shoulders, and then back up. your wide-eyed, breathless silence was loud. too loud.
for a split second, the easy smirk on caleb’s face faltered. his prominent adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, a sudden patch of color rising along his neck. he cleared his throat, a slightly tense sound, and quickly looked back at the road, his fingers letting go of your hair as he pulled his hand back to the steering wheel.
“what's with the face?” he asked, trying hard to force that casual lilt back into his tone. “you look like you've seen a ghost.”
you quickly sat up, pulling your legs inward and smoothing down your shirt, desperately trying to find your footing. “you look different, that's all. the academy must be starving you if you've gone all that just to survive.”
“starving? please. they feed us like racehorses,” caleb scoffed, though the response felt a little rehearsed, a little too quick as he kept his eyes glued strictly on the asphalt ahead. “but thanks for noticing. glad to know my hard work isn't lost on a provincial girl like you.”
you leaned your cheek against your hand, looking out the side window to hide the heat rushing into your own face.
somehow, the conversation didn't go the way you had scripted it in your head over the last four years. you hadn't greeted each other like two people who had spent their entire lives attached at the hip, starved for each other's presence. there were no desperate questions, no breathy laughter, no clumsy, overwhelming hugs that left you smelling like his cologne.
instead, you were simply staring out the side window, watching the green expanse of the provincial rice fields blur into a smear of dusty emerald, and then he was simply driving.
“so, state u,” caleb started, “gran says you're keeping busy. how's the actual college life treating you?”
“it's fine,” you replied, your voice matching his even tone. you kept your eyes fixed on a passing billboard outside. “it's a lot of reading, but my blockmates are nice. i usually hang out with maya and javi after our afternoon lectures. we found this cheap diner near the campus that serves really good sizzling meat.”
“maya and javi,” caleb repeated, testing the names on his tongue as if trying to fit them into the map of your life. he nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving the road. “that's good. it's good that you found your crowd.”
“mm. javi's in the theater crew too, so we usually walk home together when rehearsals run late.” you added, offering the detail up like a shield.
why did it end up like this? why did the air between you feel so thick, so cautious, as if a single wrong word would shatter a boundary neither of you had openly acknowledged yet?
“what about you?” you asked, trying to sound completely nonchalant, keeping your gaze trained on the side mirror. “must be nice up at the academy. you probably have a whole new circle of pilot friends.”
“yeah. the guys in my barracks are solid. we complain about the flight instructors together. it keeps us sane.”
and then, that's where it happened.
“any... girls?” the word slipped out of your mouth a little too smoothly, a little too practiced. “i mean, the uniform probably does half the work for you up there.”
the car went starkly silent.
caleb didn't answer right away. he shifted his grip on the steering wheel, his knuckles whitening just a fraction before he relaxed them. it took a long drawn-out pause for him to reply.
finally, a gentle smile spread across his face—but it wasn't his usual mischievous smirk.
“yeah,” caleb said quietly, his eyes softening as he looked out at the highway ahead. “actually, there is. i've got a pretty massive crush on someone from the nursing college nearby. i'm planning on courting her this coming semester.”
oh. okay.
you didn't say anything for a moment, letting the sound of his confession hang in the air between you like heavy smoke.
”that's nice. good luck with that.”
wanting nothing more than to disappear into the upholstery, you leaned further back against the leather of the seat. and you lifted your legs again, resting your ankles on the open window frame just like you had earlier. you stared straight into the blinding, white-hot summer sunlight, letting the glare sting your eyes until they watered, using the heat as an excuse for the burning sensation behind your eyelids.
college really is horrible. it really does change everything and everyone, doesn't it? it takes the boy who used to swear he'd never care about anyone more than you, sends him away for four years, and brings back a stranger who belongs to someone else.
you watched the provincial scenery go into a blurring motion as caleb pressed down on the accelerator, speed being his only response to the quiet.
suddenly, caleb cleared his throat, a nervous cough breaking the quiet. “what about you, pips? you mentioned that javi guy. do you... have a boyfriend now?”
you blinked, your eyes still stinging from the sunlight. you didn't even have to think about it. “no.”
within minutes, caleb steered the car smoothly up the gravel driveway of granny's home, pulling up right under the shade of the large mango tree. the engine died with a final, shuddering purr, leaving only the loud clicking of the cicadas in the backyard to fill the space.
you kept your ankles resting on the window frame, your eyes closed against the light.
then, you heard the rustle of caleb's heavy duffel bag being pulled from the footwell, and the solid thud of his boots hitting the gravel. but instead of walking straight to the house, the sound of his footsteps looped around to your side of the car.
a shadow suddenly fell over your face, blocking out the harsh heat of the sun.
you opened your eyes a fraction, only to see that caleb was leaning his arms against the window frame, his broad shoulders completely framing the opening. he looked down at you, a golden-boy smile playing on his lips.
“we're here, sleepyhead,” his voice still carried that warmth that used to make you feel so safe, but now it just felt like salt on an open wound. “aren't you coming out? granny’s probably already waiting at the door.”
you quickly averted your gaze, looking past his shoulder at the porch of the house, avoiding his eyes entirely.
“you go ahead.”
—
the heavy heat of mid-afternoon had dissolved by the time your eyes fluttered open, replaced by the long-shadowed stillness of late gold.
you groaned, a sharp ache radiating through your lower back and neck from the impossibly cramped angle you’d been knotted into across the backseat. four hours. you had actually managed to pass out for four hours in the belly of a dead car.
you pushed the heavy car door open, your thin slippers slapping against the gravel as you stepped out into the humid yard. stretching your arms over your head until your joints popped, you shook out your numb legs, half-hopping, half-limping your way up the porch steps and pulling the screen door open with a lazy rattle.
the house was strangely quiet.
“granny?” you called out, your voice still thick and raspy from sleep. no answer. you tilted your head, wandering past the dark living room where the old wooden rocking chair sat still, and followed a faint metallic clinking toward the kitchen.
when you stepped over the threshold, the words caught squarely in your throat.
caleb, completely shirtless, bent over the kitchen sink with his back turned to you. a chaotic battlefield of rusty wrenches, tattered rags, and rolls of teflon tape were scattered all over the tiled countertop beside him. he was clearly deep-cleaning the drain and trying to muscle a stubborn leaking pipe back into place, his skin slick with a thin sheen of sweat that caught the amber sunset filtering through the small window.
from this angle, the reality of how much he had changed hit you like a physical blow. but it was when he leaned further down into the cabinet under the sink that your eyes inevitably landed on the silver chain hanging from his neck, the metal dogtag swinging loosely against his collarbone.
you swallowed hard, forcing your gaze upward, and cleared your throat loudly to break the spell. “where's granny?”
the sudden interruption made caleb flinch violently, his entire torso jerking upward in surprise as the back of his head collided with the edge of the upper cabinet.
“ouch!”
”clumsy idiot.” you muttered.
caleb slowly turned around, still wincing, and looked up at you from his crouched position. you caught the distinct, deliberate way his gaze traveled down your frame—taking in your post-nap hair, your dumb shirt, and your bare legs—before flicking back up to settle on your face. the intensity of it lasted only a fraction of a second before his easy golden-boy mask slid right back into place.
“granny went down the road,” he casually leaned his hip against the counter, completely unbothered by his lack of a shirt. “visited mrs. alvarez or someone. said she’d be back before dinner.”
trying to appear completely casual, you walked past him, keeping a careful radius of distance between your shoulder and his bare chest, and opened the refrigerator door. the cool air hit your face as you grabbed the heavy glass pitcher of water.
“look who finally decided to join the land of the living,” caleb watched you pull a glass from the cupboard. “four hours, pipsqueak? i was about to check if you still had a pulse. you sleep like a log.”
you poured the water, keeping your back to him as you scoffed. “i had to make up for the four years of peace and quiet i'm about to lose now that you're back to annoy me.”
behind you, caleb let out a bright, boyish laugh—the kind of chesty sound that filled the entire room and made him look exactly like the sixteen-year-old boy you grew up with.
“yeah, yeah, keep talking...” chuckling, he wipes his sweaty brow with the back of his forearm. he leaned closer to the table, his eyes shining with a sudden eager spark. “hey, are you free tomorrow? they opened that new amusement park by the bypass road while i was gone. i was thinking we could go. just the two of us, like old times.”
you raised the glass to your lips, using the movement to buy yourself time as his words settled heavily in your stomach. like old times. but it wouldn't be like old times. not with him looking like this, and certainly not with a nursing student waiting for him up north.
you set the glass down on the counter with a soft click, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand before looking at him. “can't tomorrow. i already have somewhere to go with a friend.”
“a friend?” his brow furrowed, a deep line cutting between his eyes as he stared at you. “since when did you choose a friend over me?”
the confusion on his face was almost comical, because it was a look you knew intimately—the look caleb gave whenever the universe didn't bend to his precise specifications. it was intensely ironic, a hypocritical double standard that made you want to scream. he could go off to the city, rebuild his entire life, and find a nursing student to court, but the second you had a life outside of this gravel driveway, the rules suddenly changed?
“just a friend from state u.” you said airily, turning on your heel and walking out of the kitchen. “you're not the only one who got a change of scenery, caleb. i’m all grown up now. i actually have a life and people outside of this house.”
you hear the heavy, silent thud of his bare feet following you, the sheer mass of him trailing you into the small living room like a shadow you couldn't shake. you threw yourself onto the worn-out fabric of the sofa, grabbing the dusty remote control to click the television on.
instead of sitting down on the opposite armchair, caleb came to a halt right at the edge of the sofa, looming over you. he crossed his arms over his bare chest, his shadow completely blocking out the remaining amber light of the sunlight.
“i'm serious,” he muttered, carrying that infuriatingly paternal tone he used whenever he wanted to control a situation. “don't go hanging out with people alone just that easily. you're too trusting. the city might be a mess, but the town isn't exactly a sanctuary either. shit is unpredictable, and people have motives.”
you let out an incredulous laugh, snapping your head up to look at him.
“you should know that if you’re a grown up as you claim to be.“ caleb added.
you raised a single eyebrow, your lips curling into a mocking smile. “what are you implying, then? that you still need to protect me? that i can't handle a simple afternoon coffee without my big, strong gege holding my hand?”
caleb’s eyes narrowed, a dark glint flickering in his irises. “should i not? just because we were apart for a couple of years doesn't mean you get to be careless. you've always been too stubborn for your own good.”
“yeah, well, you should not.” you scoffed, rolling your eyes as you turned your attention back to the television screen, where a loud game show was playing to an empty audience. “i'm [age] years old, caleb. i am quite literally not a kid anymore. so stop acting like a hypocrite when you're the one who—”
“let’s test that theory.”
before the breath could even leave your lungs, the cushion beside you sank violently. caleb lunged forward with a terrifying fluidity that you had never seen from him before. your brain didn't even have time to process the movement before the heavy, solid weight of his knees dug brutally into the foam of the sofa, effectively pinning the fabric down on either side of your hips.
in a fraction of a second, you were completely trapped. he had closed the distance so aggressively that you were locked between his thighs, his massive shirtless chest looming inches from your face.
“wait—what the hell!” you gasped, your hands flying up in a knee-jerk reaction to push him back, but caleb's hands shot forward, his fingers wrapping around your wrists with an unyielding grip. he didn't squeeze enough to hurt, but the absolute finality of his hold made it clear you weren't going anywhere. a slow incredibly wicked smirk spread across his lips then.
“see?” caleb murmured, leaning down just an inch closer, his hot breath fanning across your cheeks, smelling faintly of the mint gum he'd been chewing. “you couldn't even move before i did this. you can't even defend yourself, you silly girl. that means you still need me to protect you.”
up close, the heat radiating off his bare skin was intoxicating, a musky warmth that seemed to fill your entire throat. you could see the tiny pulse point fluttering at the base of his neck, right above where his silver dogtags hung, dangling loosely and brushing against your collarbone.
“you're a cheater,” you hissed. “this is a cheap shot!”
“it's a reality check,” his grip on your wrists tightened just a fraction, a wordless challenge. “tell you what. if you manage to dislodge me—if you can actually get out from under me right now—then i'll let myself believe that you aren't a kid anymore. i'll let you go on your little date tomorrow without a single word.”
“it's not a date!” you yelled, the denial tearing out of you with a sudden heat. alright, if a game of strength was what he wanted to play to prove his stupid, masculine dominance, you were going to give it to him. you knew caleb. you knew how he moved, or at least, you thought you did.
”and fine. if that's what you want, you're going to get it.”
with a swift movement, you bucked your hips upward, twisting your wrists sharply against the grain of his thumbs—a self-defense trick he had ironically taught you himself when you were fifteen. the sudden, biting leverage worked; caleb's grip slipped, his hands sliding off your skin with a faint gasp of surprise.
“ha!” you celebrated, a triumphant grin breaking across your face as you immediately reached up, your palms slamming against his broad bare shoulders to shove him off the couch.
but you had vastly underestimated your gege.
before your arms could fully extend to deliver the push, caleb utilized your own momentum against you. leaning his entire weight forward, his chest slammed into yours, knocking the wind right out of your lungs as he drove your back deep into the cushions. in the same breath, his hands caught your forearms mid-air, pinning them flat against the back of the sofa.
a loud, frustrated groan escaped your throat as your knuckles hit the fabric.
“you're cheating!” you wheezed, your legs twisting beneath his thighs, trying to find some purchase, some leverage to kick him off, but his lower body was like an anchor. “caleb, let go! in a game like this, you obviously have the advantage, you giant idiot!”
“i told you,” caleb chuckled, his chest vibrating directly against yours. the sensation of his hard pectoral muscles pressing into your softness was a sudden jolt that made your entire body go completely rigid. “those flight drills aren't just for show. you're slow, pips. you're losing your touch.”
“i am not slow!” you argued as you thrashed beneath him. you tried to wrench your left arm free, but caleb simply slid his fingers down to lace tightly through yours, pinning your hand flat against the sofa pillow.
every time you writhed to escape him, your bodies rubbed together in a way that made your skin feel like it was on fire. the friction of his denim jeans against your bare legs, the heavy slide of his chest against yours, the tight, hot grip of his fingers tangled in yours—it was completely overwhelming. caleb had stopped laughing. his breath was coming in shorter, heavier gasps now, his chest rising and falling in a ragged rhythm that mirrored your own frantic respiration.
“let... me... go,” you panted, but he stayed hovering over you, his broad shoulders completely blocking out the rest of the living room, effectively reducing your entire universe to just him. his gaze dragged slowly down from your eyes, lingering on your parted lips, before rising back up to look into your pupils with a hunger that had absolutely nothing to do with a childhood bond.
“make me.”
his hips shifted just a fraction, a subtle pressure against yours that made your heart completely halt in your chest. “tell me you don't need me anymore. say it like you mean it, and maybe i'll think about letting you up.”
if you couldn't get him off of you with pure physical force, then you might as well use your words. you needed a distraction, something so inherently mundane and unsexy.
you swallowed hard.
“caleb,” you muttered, your voice hesitant. “i... i need to pee.”
caleb blinked.
for a second, he just stared at you, his chest still rising and falling raggedly against yours. then, slowly, he began to relax the iron grip on your wrists, gently pushing his torso back to give you some breathing room.
is it working? a tiny sigh of relief bubbled in your chest. that worked, didn't it?
“hold it in.”
your eyes widened instantly. the sigh of relief died in your throat. what the fuck?!
you gasped inaudibly, your body going completely rigid all over again. instead of getting off the couch like a normal person, caleb simply shifted his weight above you. he let go of your hands entirely, but he just slid his knees slightly to the side, repositioning himself so he was hovering over you at a slight angle.
”do you remember when we were younger? whenever you felt like peeing, what did i make you do?”
your face burned a furious, hot crimson. you knew exactly what he was talking about. back when you were a pre-teen, you had a lot of difficulty with that—a stubborn, painful urinary retention issue that made you miserable during long car rides or summer afternoons. caleb, being the overprotective problem-solving idiot he was, had researched it in some random medical forum and forced a habit on you: he made you press firmly on your lower abdomen, right above the bladder, hold it tightly for ten seconds to stimulate the muscles, and then rush to the bathroom to let it out. it always worked.
but that was when you were kids.
doing that right now, with a shirtless muscular caleb hovering right between your thighs, felt entirely indecent. the innocent childhood routine had suddenly been warped into something thick with a strange intimacy...
“what the fuck?” you cussed under your breath, your voice shaking as you glared at him. “let me up, caleb. i'm serious.”
caleb didn't react to the swearing. his expression remained entirely unbothered, his jaw ticking slightly as he stared down at your flushed face. he was completely serious.
“hold it in,” he repeated. “then press on it with your hand for ten seconds.” he paused, his eyes narrowing as he scanned your face. “unless... you don't have difficulty with it anymore? you can just do it without the routine now?”
to be honest, you still had that exact same problem. the childhood difficulty hadn't magically disappeared, and the trick caleb had drilled into you was a literal physical habit you had been doing ever since. it was a secret piece of your daily life that still belonged to him, even after four years apart.
but you couldn't bring yourself to speak. you remained completely speechless, your lips parted.
caleb studied your silence for a beat longer, the corner of his mouth twitching with a shadow of that knowing smirk.
“nevermind.”
he suddenly slid his legs off the sofa and stood back up to his full height. the sudden rush of cool air where his body had just been made you feel instantly cold, exposed. caleb reached down, casually ruffling your messy hair with a quick hand, before turning on his heel.
“i should go back to fixing the sink back there before granny gets home,” he walked beyond the living room threshold, his bare feet padding softly against the wood. “go pee, pips,” he called out over his shoulder before his voice faded into the kitchen.
now you were left lying there on the cushions, entirely silent.
—
the next morning brought no relief from the heat; if anything, the humidity had thickened overnight, settling over the house like a damp woolen blanket by eight o’clock. you woke up with your skin already tacky, your hair plastered to the nape of your neck, and your mind instantly pivoting to the afternoon ahead. today was the day you were supposed to meet your friend from state u at the town plaza, and the mere thought of sitting in a crowded bus while looking unwashed was enough to make you drag your feet out of bed with a sense of urgency.
grabbing your clean clothes and a towel, you padded barefoot into the indoor bathroom, ready to submerge yourself in the shock of cold water. you twisted the plastic knob of the shower faucet.
nothing.
not even a rusty trickle.
you frowned, turning it all the way until the plastic creaked, but the pipes only answered with a mocking hiss.
ugh, caleb.
he had been elbow-deep in the plumbing just yesterday evening, claiming he was deep-cleaning and repairing the lines, and now the entire bathroom was bone-dry. he had probably shut off the main valve or misaligned the pressure tubes with his supposed logistical training.
with a frustrated huff, you realized your choices were entirely limited. you couldn't wait for granny to get back from the market to fix it, and you certainly weren't going to knock on caleb’s bedroom door to ask him for a favor after the suffocating display on the living room sofa.
there was only one alternative.
you shed your clothes and reached for a thin cotton sarong with a batik pattern that had grown incredibly soft from years of granny running it through the wash. you wrapped the fabric tight around your chest, tucking the edge securely over your breasts, and gathered your shampoo, soap, and a plastic basin.
if the modern plumbing was compromised, you’d have to do it the old-fashioned way.
the backyard was a secluded narrow strip of land shielded from the neighbors by a dense, unruly wall of trees and overgrown leaves. tucked into the furthest corner, sitting on a moss-slick concrete slab, was the old manual pump-well. the heavy iron looked ancient, its dark blue paint peeling away to reveal patches of orange rust, a relic from your childhood that hadn't been fully utilized since granny got the indoor electric pump installed years ago.
you set your basin down on the concrete and approached the pump, wrapping your fingers around the long iron handle.
you pushed down, and the lever didn't even budge.
“hnggggh!” you tried again, putting your entire weight into it, your slippers sliding slightly on the mossy concrete as you forced the iron arm upward to prime the cylinder. a screeching groan echoed from the metal throat of the pump, a sound so loud it felt like it was tearing through the quiet morning. your breath caught, your chest heaving against the tight tuck of the sarong as you pumped frantically, trying to coax the groundwater up through the dry valves. a bead of sweat rolled down from your temple, tracing a hot line down your neck as you struggled, your face flushing with a mix of physical exertion and mounting frustration.
“you're going to break your back doing it like that.”
your hands froze on the lever as you whipped your head around, your heart doing a sudden flip against your ribs that had absolutely nothing to do with the heavy lifting.
woah.
caleb looked like he had just walked straight out of a sports commercial—wearing a gray athletic tank top that clung to the damp contours of his chest and black gym shorts that showed off the lean, powerful definition of his thighs. his skin was flushed a warm pink, covered in a fine glistening sheen of sweat with a white towel slung carelessly around his neck.
he took a slow step into your space, his eyes tracking the frantic rise and fall of your chest beneath the thin cotton fabric of the sarong. his gaze flicked from your flushed cheeks, down to your strained shoulders, and finally settled on the rusted handle of the pump-well.
“just got back from a five-kilometer loop around the bypass road,” he tilted his head, a small smirk beginning to tug at the corner of his lips as he took in your disheveled state. “and i come back to find my pipsqueak fighting a piece of old iron. let me guess—the bathroom pipes aren't cooperating?”
“yeah, because of you.”
you pointed an accusing finger at his chest. “you were the one messing with the plumbing yesterday, caleb. i don't know what kind of aerospace engineering logic you applied to granny’s bathroom, but it's completely dry. so yes, the pipes aren't cooperating because you broke them.”
caleb didn't even have the decency to look guilty.
he just stood there, the corner of his mouth twitching upward into an intensely sarcastic smile that made you want to kick his shins. he listened to your scolding with an amused quiet indulgence, like he was watching a small kitten hiss at him through a window.
how annoying.
he didn't even offer an excuse. instead, he took a sudden step forward into your space. “calm down, let me help you.”
instinctively, your heels slid back against the mossy concrete, your arms crossing tightly over the knot of your sarong to keep it secure against your chest. but caleb wasn't looking at you—not yet. his eyes were on the rusted blue lever. he brushed past you, his sun-warmed shoulder cutting through your personal bubble, and wrapped his large hand around the iron handle right where yours had been just seconds ago.
and within two pumps, a thick gushing stream of crystal-clear groundwater burst from the spout, splashing loudly into the plastic basin below.
it was going alright now, thankfully.
you stood a step back, your tongue tucked behind your teeth as you tried to look anywhere but at him. but you couldn't help it. your eyes inevitably traced the flexion of his bicep every time he pulled the lever.
and then—splat!
caleb pushed the lever down too fast, and a full burst of water caught the edge of the basin, ricocheting straight up and hitting you square in the face.
“hey!” the freezing groundwater immediately drenched your forehead, eyelashes, and cheeks, running down the front of your neck and soaking the top line of your cotton sarong.
caleb froze instantly. the sarcastic smirk vanished from his face, replaced by a sudden wide-eyed look of genuine panic. “oh—oops, i'm sorry,” he frantically dropped the iron handle and reached out with both hands, his white gym towel already bunching in his fingers. “i didn't mean to torque it that hard. are you okay? did it get in your nose?”
as a payback, you didn't even give him the chance to wipe your face. before he could step closer with the towel, you lunged downward, scooping a palmful of the freezing water straight out of the filled basin and throwing it upward with a vindictive flick of your wrist.
splat!
the water slapped caleb right across the jaw and eyes, head snapping back in surprise before he shook it aggressively from side to side—exactly like a wet golden retriever trying to shake off a bath—sending a spray of droplets flying from the wet strands of his hair.
he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, a boyish grin breaking through his wet features.
“serves you right.”
“alright, fair enough,” he chuckled, his voice dropping back into that rumbling cadence as he looked down at you.
then, his eyes flicked past your shoulder, landing on the small plastic tray sitting on the concrete slab—the bottle of shampoo, the bar of soap, and the clean towel you had neatly laid out.
“so,” caleb leaned one hand against the cool iron body of the pump, his gaze tracking a slow line from the soap back up to your wet face. “are you getting all washed up and pretty for that day out with your friend?”
you lifted your chin, “yup, i am.”
caleb’s grin hardened, freezing into a rigid imitation of a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
the silence of the backyard rushed back in, thick and suffocating, punctuated only by the rhythmic drip... drip... drip of the water from the spout into the overflowing basin.
“right,” his eyes tracked a slow path down to the wet fabric of your sarong. the thin cotton had absorbed the splash, turning translucent where it clung tightly to the curve of your chest and the dip of your waist. “the friend from state u. the one you walk home with?”
“javi,” you reached up, squeezing the excess water out of your hair strands, letting the drops splash onto the concrete between your feet. “we're going to the plaza. he wants to check out this old second-hand bookstore, and then we're getting dinner.”
“dinner?” caleb repeated, the word sounding flat, heavy, like a stone dropped into mud. “sounds like a lot of effort for a casual classmate.”
“he's not just a classmate, caleb. he's my best friend at university,” you stepped forward, intending to pick up your shampoo bottle, but caleb didn't move an inch. his broad shoulder remained firmly in your line of sight. “now, if you're done breaking things and splashing me, can you continue pumping the water so i can actually wash my hair? i'm going to be late.”
caleb looked at you for a long unreadable beat. then, a familiar smirk began to pull at the corner of his lips—but it was different this time. it was the calculating version of his smile, the one he wore right before he flipped a chessboard.
“sure, anything for my pipsqueak.”
he reached down, wrapping his fingers around the iron handle again, and began to pump. but he didn't do it quickly. he did it with a slow, agonizingly steady rhythm.
“you know, it's just a bit funny. four years away, and the first thing you do when i get back is run off to the city with some guy i’ve never met. makes a guy feel a little replaced.”
“you weren't replaced,” you muttered, leaning over the basin to scoop up some water to wet your hair, the movement causing your sarong to stretch tight across your back. “you left. there's a difference. you went to the academy, you got your own life, your own barracks... your own nursing student.”
the words slipped out before you could stop them, bitter and sharp.
“what did you say?”
“i said you have your own life,” you repeated stubbornly, forcing yourself to straighten up and look him in the eye. “so don't act like i'm the one breaking rules here. go save your overprotective routine for the girl from the nursing college. she's... the one you're planning to court, right?”
the iron handle came to a sudden dead stop.
the water ceased its gushing, reducing to a trickling stream that dripped lazily into the basin.
instead of shooting back with a witty remark, caleb simply averted his gaze. his long eyelashes fluttered as he blinked rapidly, his eyes tracking a random crack on the wet concrete slab. for the first time since he stepped out of that terminal, he looked... guilty.
almost... shameful?
“what, lost your tongue?” you straightened up from the basin, squeezing the wet fabric of your sarong tighter over your chest.
“you stand here lecturing me about hanging out with a friend, acting like you’re still my overprotective—ugh, i don't even know, when you’re literally planning to bring a new girl home next semester.” you purse your lips together, but it's too late to stop now. “you're such a hypocrite, caleb. go save your little 'hold it in' routines and your grand muscle displays for your precious nursing student. see if she actually tolerates your stupid, suffocating mind games, because frankly, i am so sick of hearing about how much you're moving on while i'm just supposed to sit here and—”
you cut yourself off, the words freezing in your throat. your heart did a violent terrifying drop into your stomach.
fuck.
you had just said entirely too much. the stinging venom in your voice hadn't sounded like a childhood best friend being annoyed; it had sounded like a deeply bitter jealous girl who was bleeding all over the concrete.
caleb's head snapped back up. the guilt in his eyes vanished, replaced by a sudden wide-eyed look of absolute shock. he swallowed hard, his adam's apple bobbing sharply as he stared at your face.
“there... is no nursing student,”
you paused. “huh?”
“i-i made her up,” caleb admitted.
”i invented her the exact second i got into the car yesterday. because you were looking at me like i was just a distant cousin.” he takes a deep breath, eyes wandering away while he furrowed his eyebrows. “you were so casual, so polite, talking about your university and your blockmates like my four years away didn't even matter to you. i got... i got terrified. i thought you completely outgrew me.”
and then, his eyes went back to yours. ”i've never even had the thought to get a girlfriend. i haven't looked at another girl that way since the day i left this hometown.”
you stood frozen in utter surprise, your mind completely blanking out. what the hell? your hands numbed against the cotton of your sarong, your mouth opening slightly but no sound coming out. how were you even supposed to react to that? the chess piece you thought he was playing to move on from you was nothing but a sick desperate lie to get a reaction out of you...
caleb let out a ragged sigh, a bitter self-deprecating chuckle rumbled deep in his bare chest. he looked down at his own wet gym shoes, shaking his head. “i'm such an idiot. i spent four actual years up at that academy staring at flight panels, thinking about nothing else other than coming back home to this house, to you... and just holding you in my arms all over again. but gideon's right. college really did a number on us. you have your own world now.”
he looked you straight in the eye then, his irises dark, intense, and swimming with a vulnerability that completely stripped him bare. “and i just... i missed—”
he stopped himself mid-sentence.
his jaw tensed, eyelids blinking rapidly as a sudden crimson blush bloomed furiously across his cheeks and spread down to his neck. he bit his lower lip, tearing his gaze away from your face and looking out toward the dense wall of trees.
your heart was now hammering so violently against your ribs you were certain he could see it lifting the thin fabric of your sarong.
“i was scared too,” you whispered, breaking the quiet before you could lose your nerve.
caleb’s head snapped back toward you, his eyes wide.
and you clenched your own fists against your thighs, keeping your eyes trained firmly on the concrete between your feet, too shy to meet his gaze. “the only reason i was acting like that in the car... was because i thought you came back as a stranger. you got so big, and you looked so different, and then you started talking about that girl... and i just thought you didn't need me anymore.” you swallowed the lump in your throat.
”all this time, caleb... i missed you. so much.”
there it was, laid out in the open.
caleb’s eyes widened in absolute awe, his breath catching so loudly in his throat it sounded like a gasp. he could do nothing else but to stare down at you, his chest heaving silently beneath his gray tank top.
but then—shreek!
the metal screech of the front gates swinging open suddenly cut through the heavy quiet, the sharp sound making the both of you flinch and snap your heads toward the driveway at the exact same time.
that must be granny.
just like that, your confession was left hanging in the damp morning air, completely cut off as you both went inside the house with granny's slow footsteps shuffling into view. she was carrying two heavy plastic bags filled with mangoes and avocadoes from the early market, her small frame leaning slightly to the side from the weight.
“oh, you're both awake,” granny mumbled, her voice carrying its usual sleepy cadence.
without a word, caleb fell back into his dutiful grandson role, though his face was still flushed a light pink.
he stepped away from you, his large frame moving quickly to take the heavy bags from her hands. you swallowed the lump in your throat and followed him into the kitchen, desperately trying to smooth down the edges of your cotton sarong so you didn't look as completely disheveled as you felt.
the two of you stood by the kitchen counter, casually helping her arrange the fruits into the wicker basket. every time your fingers accidentally brushed against his while reaching for a mango, an awkward jolt went straight up your arm.
granny paused, placing a hand on her hip as she looked at you funnily. “why do you have a sarong on this early? and your hair is wet.”
“the bathroom pipes aren't working, granny,” you explained quickly, your voice a little too high. “i was trying to use the pump-well outside.”
“ah, that old thing,” granny sighed, shaking her head and failing to notice the suffocating tension between you and caleb. “caleb, i told you to fix that last night. look what you did to your sister.”
caleb didn't say anything, just let out a small hum, his throat bobbing as he placed the last avocado in the basket.
“well, i'm quite tired from the walk,” granny rubs her lower back as she turned toward the stairs. “i'm going to take a short nap. caleb, come upstairs for a bit and help me find my maintenance meds in the cabinet. my eyes are too blurry today.”
“yes, gran. i'll be right up,” caleb replied without a single second of hesitation.
he finally turned his head to look at you as granny started her slow climb up the wooden steps. his eyes were still heavy with everything you both had just admitted out by the well, but he couldn't stay. he gave you one unreadable look before turning on his heel, his broad back disappearing up the staircase behind her.
and then, you were just standing there alone in the quiet kitchen.
in a wet sarong. without a proper bath.
fuck's sake.
you let out a long breath, your shoulders slumping as the reality of the situation hit you. your skin felt sticky from the groundwater, your hair was damp and tangled, and you were supposed to meet javi at the plaza later. with the bathroom completely dry and caleb occupied upstairs, a real shower was out of the question now.
muttering a curse under your breath, you walked back to your room, peeling the damp translucent cotton off your skin. you were forced to just wipe yourself down with a dry towel and change back into your casual home clothes.
knock. knock.
“you in there?“
caleb’s voice bled through the thin wood of the door, the sudden wrap of knuckles against your bedroom making you jump half a foot in the air. you quickly smoothed down the front of your fresh t-shirt, took a shaky breath to steady the frantic drumming in your chest, and pulled the door open.
caleb had finally put on a new shirt—a slightly faded black tee that somehow made his broad shoulders look even more intimidating in the cramped hallway—but he was standing there completely awkwardly. his hands were shoved deep into his gym shorts pockets, his elbows jutting out slightly, and he was deliberately looking at a framed vintage cross-stitch on the wall instead of looking at you. a faint, lingering trace of that dark crimson blush was still dusting the tips of his ears.
“uh, yeah?“
caleb cleared his throat, his adam's apple bobbing before he finally shifted his gaze down to meet your eyes.
“granny... uh, gran told me to get the bathroom pipes sorted before she wakes up from her nap,” caleb muttered as he rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. “she said since i was the one who messed them up, i have to fix them right now. but i... i need an extra pair of hands to hold the wrench from the other side of the basin valve.”
he paused, his eyes searching yours with a quiet hesitant look.
“come help me, please?”
—
the bathroom felt smaller than it ever had before.
you stood right over him, bare feet pressed against the cool porcelain of the floorboards, holding a heavy roll of teflon tape and a pair of rusted pliers in your hands. caleb was sitting flat on the floor, his long legs bent awkwardly in the tight space between the toilet bowl and the lower basin cabinetry.
neither of you spoke.
every rustle of his clothing, every heavy breath he exhaled, and every metallic click of his wrench against the pipe joint sounded like a damn gunshot in the cramped room.
your thumb kept sliding over the screen of your phone, lighting up the lock screen to check the digital clock. it was getting closer to the afternoon.
caleb noticed. even though his head was tucked beneath the porcelain basin, his shoulders went completely rigid the third time your phone screen illuminated the dim corner of the room.
then, the scraping sound of the wrench died out. caleb remained perfectly still for a long beat, his forehead resting lightly against the cold underside of the sink as if he were gathering a desperate amount of courage. slowly, he pulled himself back, his broad shoulders clearing the cabinet door as he looked up at you.
“are you...” caleb's voice cracked slightly before he cleared his throat, forcing the gravelly pitch down. “are you still going to the city with your friend?” he reached for the valve handle, his long fingers wrapping around the plastic knob with a hesitation that was entirely uncharacteristic of him.
the question was asked way too softly, way too hesitantly. he sounded small.
you froze, the roll of teflon tape slipping a fraction of an inch between your fingers. the truth was, the second those words had left your mouth by the backyard well—the second you had admitted that you spent four years missing him in the quiet of your bedroom—you had already resolved to cancel the day out. you didn't want to go to the plaza. you didn't want to browse second-hand books or eat dinner across from javi while your skin was still burning from caleb's touch.
but as you looked down at caleb’s upturned face, at the raw vulnerable waiting in his eyes...
“yes, i'm still going.”
why did you say it? you didn't even know. maybe it was a reflex, a desperate attempt to rebuild the walls he had so easily torn down out by the well. maybe you were terrified of what would happen if you stayed here alone with him while granny slept outside.
caleb didn't flare up. he didn't snap or offer a sarcastic remark. he just let out a low quiet hum, nodding his head twice as his eyes dropped back down to the plastic valve.
his reaction wasn't what you expected, and it made the hollow ache in your chest widen into something unbearable. what was supposed to happen now? were you both really going to sit here in the bathroom and pretend like you hadn't just shattered the childhood boundary? were you going to act like you hadn't confessed to missing him until it hurt?
“pips,” caleb said, his tone entirely too polite while he reached his hand upward without looking. “hand me the pliers. and... crawl down here for a second. i need you to hold the main pipe line steady while i tighten this last bolt, or the pressure's going to crack the plastic again.”
“okay,” you murmured instantly, doing exactly as you were told. you dropped the teflon tape onto the lid of the toilet and crouched down beside him.
the space was incredibly cramped.
caleb's position lied flat on his back on the bathroom floor. his head and shoulders are pushed completely inside the dark open cabinet space beneath the sink basin so he can reach the pipes. and because his legs are so long, the lower half of his body is sticking out.
“alright, look,” caleb muttered, his voice echoing hollowly against the underside of the sink. he pointed a long finger at the heavy gray intake pipe. “when i start turning the wrench on this coupling bolt, the whole pipe is gonna want to twist with it. if it twists too much, it’ll snap the plastic threads inside the wall. i need you to take the pliers, clamp them onto the upper collar, and hold it perfectly still. think you can do that?”
and because you have to help him by holding a pipe that is also inside that dark cabinet, you'd have to lean your entire upper body over his chest while you crouched beside his hips and thighs.
“i'm not completely useless, caleb.” you whispered back.
“never said you were,” he murmured, his eyes flickering up to meet yours beneath the sink. for a second, his gaze lingered on your lips, before he blinked and forced his attention back to the metal wrench in his hand. “alright. on three. one... two... three.”
you clamped the pliers onto the collar and squeezed with all your might. you could hear caleb grunting below you, biceps bunching as he threw his strength into turning the stubborn rusted bolt. but the second the wrench caught, your hand slipped on the grease-slicked metal. the pliers clattered loudly against the tiles, and the gray pipe twisted with a nasty screech.
“wait, wait! stop!” you gasped, your fingers scrambling to grab the tool again.
“you're letting it turn!” caleb yelled, though it was more of a breathless panicked laugh than an actual scold. he had to throw his arm over your shoulder, his large hand coming down over yours to help you steady the pliers. “there, hold it tight like that and squeeze!”
“i am squeezing! your hands are too big, you're blocking my grip!”
“okay, okay, teamwork, remember?” caleb chuckled, his breath fanning across your neck. “let me reposition. you hold the handle with both hands, and i’ll just use raw force on the wrench. ready? go."
this time, you locked your fingers around the pliers, planting your heels firmly against the tiled floor and leaning your entire body weight into the tool to keep the line steady. caleb grunted again, a low sound deep in his throat, and with one shove of his arm, the rusted coupling bolt finally gave way, sliding smoothly into place with a satisfying click!
“is that it?” you panted, your knuckles white from gripping the pliers.
“uh, turn the valve. let's see.”
still hovering over him, you reached out and twisted the small plastic knob all the way to the left. for a second, there was a breathless silence—and then, the hollow hiss in the walls was replaced by the rushing water. you both waited, eyes wide, staring at the joint.
not a single drop leaked out. it was perfectly, completely dry.
a breathless laugh then tore out of your chest before you could stop it. “we actually did it!”
“good job, pips.” caleb smiled, his hands coming up to clap against his thighs as he slid himself out from under the sink. ”this is exactly like that summer when we tried to build that stupid treehouse behind the old chapel. remember? you dropped the entire box of nails into the mud and blamed it on a stray dog.“ a nostalgic smile broke across his face as he sat back on his heels.
you wiped the stray pools of water from the floor with an old rag, while caleb casually tossed the teflon tape and pliers back into his plastic toolbox. “because it was a stray dog! it barked at me and i got scared, and need i remind you who tried to use a literal rock because he forgot to bring a hammer?”
“hey, the rock worked for at least three planks,” caleb defended himself, catching the rag you threw at him with a grin, his eyes crinkling at the corners in that specific, beautiful way they always did when he was genuinely happy. “besides, i was twelve. cut me some slack. at least i didn't cry when the roof fell through.”
“i did not cry because the roof fell, caleb, i cried because a caterpillar fell on my shoulder!”
“same thing, baby. you were a total baby.”
“says the guy who still can't sleep without a fan on because he thinks the darkness makes the room smaller,” you shot back, leaning your shoulder against the bathroom wall.
caleb paused, his grin softening into something incredibly tender, leaving behind the golden-boy warmth you had starved for over the last four years.
“i missed this.” he casually reached out, his long fingers gently tugging at a loose strand of your hair that had dried in a messy curl against your cheek. “i missed you making fun of me. the guys at the academy are too polite. it’s boring.“
“yeah?” your heart did that erratic skip against your ribs again as his thumb lightly brushed against the edge of your jawline. “well... someone has to keep your ego in check.”
“exactly, can't have me flying planes with an oversized head, right?”
you finally stood up, your knees cracking slightly as you broke the spell of the small space.
“i'm gonna... i should probably check the kitchen. granny bought some fish earlier, so i'll start cooking lunch before she wakes up.” you murmured, keeping your voice light as you took a step toward the exit, your hand already reaching for the brass doorknob.
you didn't even get to wrap your fingers around the metal when—
thud.
a large palm slammed flat against the wood of the door right in front of your face, the sudden vibration rattling through the frame. you jumped in surprise, your breath catching sharply in your throat as you instinctively whirled around.
“don't.”
caleb was looming directly over you, but it was the look on his face that made your heart stop. the boyish smile from seconds ago was entirely gone. instead, his features were twisted into a deeply troubled, desperate grimace.
“don't go.”
you frowned. “what do you mean? i'm just going to the kitchen—”
“don't go to the city today,” he interrupted, his tone shifting into something bolder as he stepped even closer, effectively trapping your smaller frame beneath his. “i only have two months here. that's it. sixty days before they drag me back to the barracks and put me back in a cockpit. so...”
caleb hesitates, but he takes a deep breath.
“can you just stay here? can you... spend every single day with me before i have to leave again?"
you stared up at him, your mouth parting slightly. fuck, you were blushing now. it must be so visible.
caleb’s hand—the one planted firmly beside your head—slowly curled into a tight fist against the wood of the door. “it feels like i missed you a hell of a lot more than you missed me.” his voice dropped an octave, turning into a vulnerable murmur. “you have no idea how many nights i spent staring at the ceiling of that concrete bunk, just waiting to see your face this close again.”
speechless, you could only look up at him, your mind completely short-circuiting under his honesty.
desperate to find some sort of anchor, desperate to make sense of the dizzying reality that caleb—your childhood friend that you should see as a brother—was practically begging for your attention, you swallowed hard and blurted out the first defensive defense your brain could manufacture.
“why didn't you get a girlfriend there?” you try, blinking rapidly as you struggled to maintain his gaze. “i mean it, caleb. you're... you're handsome, and you're well-built. it’s completely impossible that you didn't at least have girls trying to talk to you or court you up there.“
“why didn't i get one?” a slow smile broke through his troubled expression, his eyes glittering with a sudden amusement. he tilted his head down, his gaze dropping briefly to your small hands, before snapping back up to lock directly into your eyes.
“because... i prayed every single day. i closed my eyes at night and prayed that you wouldn't have a boyfriend by the time i got back.” you press your head further against the wood of the door, just when caleb nears his face close enough. “the thought of another man touching what belongs to this house... what belongs to me... would really, deeply upset me."
he leaned down a fraction of an inch further, but then he suddenly breaks the proximity by pulling back.
“and... did you just say i'm handsome?” caleb smiled wider, his thumb trailing down the doorframe to lightly graze the very edge of your wet shoulder. “so... is that an admission? am i attractive to you?”
am i attractive to you?
your lips parted, but no sound came out.
the sheer audacity of him—shifting from a desperate aching boy to this dangerously confident creature in the span of a single breath—was enough to make your throat go dry. you wanted to push him away, wanted to snap at him for using that rumbling tone on you, but you couldn't.
“you're an idiot, caleb.”
“that's not an answer, pips.”
he moved his hand from the doorframe, his fingers sliding slowly down the side of your neck. his palm was warm, a stark contrast to the chilled skin of your collarbone where the groundwater had soaked you earlier. his thumb found the frantic pulse point fluttering at the base of your throat, pressing just firmly enough to let you know he could feel exactly how much power he held over you in this room.
just outside, through the wooden slats of these walls, granny was sleeping. the knowledge that she was just at the other side of the room—that a single loud noise, a dropped tool, or a sharp gasp would shatter the quiet of the house...
“caleb, stop,“ you breathed, the protest losing all its teeth as your fingers instinctively curled into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him slightly closer instead of pushing him back. “granny will...”
“i'm being quiet,” he whispered back, tilting his head until his lips were brushing the sensitive shell of your ear. “but you're driving me crazy.”
a soft whimper caught in your throat, and caleb immediately swallowed it.
“hmgh—!”
you felt his hand sliding from your neck up to your jaw, tilting your face up as his lips came down to meet yours.
it wasn't the sweet, tentative kiss of childhood friends.
it was rather heavy, desperate, and laced with an aching hunger that had been rotting inside his chest for several months.
his lips pressed firm and unyielding against yours, demanding a response you had been starving to give. you let out a muffled gasp against his mouth, and caleb took total advantage of it—his tongue slid past your teeth with a stroke that made your knees buckle.
you would have almost slid straight down the door if caleb’s other arm hadn't instantly locked around your waist.
he hoisted you up, fingers digging into the flesh of your hips through your thin shorts, dragging your lower body flush against his. the solid weight of him was overwhelming; you could feel the hard contours of his thighs and the frantic rising and falling of his chest.
you wrapped your arms tightly around his neck, your fingers tangling into the short, damp strands of his hair, pulling him down further. you kissed him back with the same bitterness you’d been hoarding since he left—punishing him for the distance, for the nursing student lie, for the suffocating way he made you feel like you belonged to him even when he was hundreds of miles away.
your hands, tangled in the soft fabric of his black t-shirt, moved themselves to his shoulders, pushing against the stubborn muscle until he was forced to take a blind step backward. his heel caught against the base of the toilet, and with a muffled grunt, caleb sank down.
the plastic lid was securely closed, providing a seat that placed him directly beneath you, his knees spread wide to accommodate the sudden change in height.
you froze for a second, your breath hitching as you stood between his thighs. the sudden drop in his posture left you looking down at him, your hands still resting on his broad shoulders while he looked up at you through his eyelashes. you hesitated, your lower lip stinging from the friction of his mouth, and despite of it all, your mind kept on screaming that you were crossing a line you could never uncross.
but caleb didn't give you the chance to overthink it.
his hands reached up, palms slick with a light sheen of sweat as they wrapped firmly around the sides of your waist. with one heavy pull, he guided your hips forward. and then, your knees slid effortlessly over his thick, denim-clad thighs until you were completely straddling his lap.
“ah—”
shit, this is such an intimate position!
the impact of your lower body hitting his thighs made a gasp slip from your throat, but caleb caught it instantly again. he surged upward, his mouth slamming back over yours to smother the sound before it could echo past the wooden door.
the kiss turned frantic, fueled by the weight of your body resting completely on his. it wasn't gentle anymore. caleb’s tongue pushed deep, demanding and possessive, while his teeth lightly caught the flesh of your bottom lip, biting down just enough to make you whine into his mouth. you bit him back in retaliation, an instinctive nip that made a guttural vibration rumble deep in his chest. his hands moved from your waist, one sliding up to cup the back of your head, his fingers tangling roughly into your damp hair to hold your face exactly where he wanted it, while the other pressed flat against your lower back.
and then, without warning, your mind went entirely, terrifyingly blank.
a sudden rolling pressure moved beneath the thin fabric of your shorts. caleb arched his back just to grind his hips upward in a slow tilt that pressed the hard length of his arousal directly against your center.
then, a sharp jolt of pure heat shot straight up your spine, making your eyes flutter shut as your fingers clawed into the fabric of his shirt.
“caleb—” you gasped against his lips, trying to pull back just an inch to breathe.
“shh,” he breathed, his mouth instantly chasing yours, his lips brushing against your cheek, your jawline, before burying his face in the crook of your neck. his breathing was completely ragged, a suffocating thing against your collarbone. he didn't stop. his hand on your lower back moved down, a heavy palm pressing firmly against the base of your spine, and he ground his hips upward again, harder this time, forcing you to feel every single inch of how aroused he's just getting.
“please,” caleb whispered into your skin, his voice cracking. ”don't move away. please... just let me feel you like this. i’m so tired of imagining it.”
“granny will...” you whimpered, your head tilting back as his teeth lightly grazed the sensitive skin right beneath your ear. your hands were shaking against his shoulders, your lower body instinctively tilting into his next roll, a shameless surrender that made him let out a broken sigh. “caleb, if she... if she hears us...”
“she won't,” he muttered against your skin, his thumb digging firmly into your hip bone, locking you flush against him so there wasn't a single millimeter of space left between your bodies. he took a deep breath, his chest expanding hard against yours as he forced his movements to become agonizingly slow. “i’ll be quiet. just stay. please... you’re right here, you’re finally right here...”
“i'm here,” you whispered breathlessly into his ear. “i'm right here.”
your skin was beginning to sting where it pressed against his. the agonizingly slow tilts of his hips couldn't stay slow for long.
without either of you consciously deciding it, the grinding turned into a drag of weight against weight—a quiet breathless dryhumping that sent waves of heat pooling directly between your thighs.
the fabric of your loose shorts and his heavy denim rubbed together with a soft, repetitive whisper—it was the only continuous sound in the small space besides the ragged, broken cadence of your breaths. caleb’s hands were no longer just holding you; they were practically anchoring you to him. his long fingers buried into the flesh of your bum, pulling your pelvis down hard against his with every upward surge of his thighs.
“caleb—”
the name was clipped neatly from your tongue as he hitched his hips higher, a muffled whimper escaping your throat. you slapped a hand over your own mouth, your eyes widening in sheer panic as you stared at the bathroom door. the reminder of granny sleeping just down the hall felt like a wire wrapped tight around your throat.
caleb caught your wrist, gently pulling your hand away from your lips only to replace it with his own shoulder. “bite me,” he choked out a whisper. “bite the shirt. don't... don't make a sound.”
you didn't hesitate. you buried your face into the soft black cotton of his shoulder, your teeth sinking into the fabric as caleb let out a shuddering gasp.
he was a complete mess.
nothing more than a boy who looked thoroughly undone by your weight in his lap. a dark crimson blush had crawled all the way up his neck, blooming across his sharp cheekbones and turning the tips of his ears a burning pink. his long eyelashes were damp, fluttering rapidly as he kept his eyes squeezed shut.
every time your weight humped against his hard bulge, a whine would catch in his throat, a sound he desperately swallowed by burying his face into your hair.
you began to move with him, your hips rolling in a frantic rhythm that matched his pace, chasing the tight, coil of pleasure that was tightening in your stomach. this makes his fingers dig brutally into your hip bones.
“wait—hey, wait,” he wheezed, his hips stuttering against yours as he tried to find his bearings. he was trembling beneath you, the muscles in his thighs and arms locked so tight they were vibrating. he opened his eyes, irises completely blown out, to look up at you. “you're... if you move like that... i won't be able to stay quiet.”
“then don't move,” you breathed against his neck, unable to stop humping him like a starving bunny.
“i can't,” he whispered back, a tear of sheer overstimulation tracing down his flushed temple. a soft, helpless whimper broke from his chest as his hips instinctively arched upward again, completely disregarding his own warning. he ground his lower body against yours in three quick, desperate, and torturously deep strokes, his head falling back against the porcelain tank as he fought a losing battle to keep his ragged groans silent inside.
“how about...” you panted, “how about we do this standing up? would that... would that make less noise?“
caleb's movements immediately stopped, his breath hitching sharply in his throat at the suggestion. he didn't answer with words; his large hands just tightened around your waist, and with a low grunt of exertion, he stood up, lifting you effortlessly off his lap before setting your feet firmly back onto the cool tile floor.
before your knees could buckle from the sudden rush of cold air, caleb's heavy palms guided you forward. you found yourself bending over the bathroom sink, your upper body lowering until your forearms were pressed flat against the cool, smooth porcelain basin...
right in front of the wide mirror.
seconds later, the towering weight of caleb’s chest loomed against your back. he adjusted his stance, his long legs spreading slightly to frame yours, and then he crowded back into you. the thick ridge of his arousal aligned perfectly with your ass from behind, pressing hard against your thin cotton shorts.
he started moving again, but this angle... this angle was entirely different.
it was so much more exposing, so much more intense, because when you look up, your blurred vision collided directly with your reflection in the mirror.
you could see everything. you could see your own flushed breathless face, your lips swollen and wet from his kisses. and right behind you, caleb was a mess. his dark hair was thoroughly mussed, cheeks and neck burning with a furious blush.
with every thrust from him, the force of his hips sent a jolt of heat straight to your throbbing thing, making your hands slick against the porcelain as you gripped the edges of the sink for dear life.
“hngh...! caleb—”
“shh—you have to keep quiet,” caleb scrambled to scold you, but he sounded completely panicked, his breathing so loud and ragged it was a miracle granny couldn't hear it from outside. “gran's room is... it's literally right beside this. if you make a sound, i'm gonna—we're gonna get caught.”
even while trying to play the protective guide, his eyes shifted downward in the reflection. staring at your bent-down position, watching the way your body curved beneath his and how perfectly you took every push of his thighs, was enough to send caleb entirely over the edge. he went visibly harder against you, his long fingers trembling violently where they were clamped over your hip bones.
“god, shit—” caleb choked out, his forehead dropping heavily against your shoulder blade, his chest heaving like he’d just run a marathon. his rhythm turned a little clumsy, a little too eager, his hips grinding up against you with an uncoordinated, desperate hunger that made your mind spin. “i... i don't even know what i'm doing. i almost... i can't believe this is real. you're actually here. you're really letting me do this.”
“caleb, you're moving too fast,” you whimpered, your fingers slipping on the wet porcelain as he gave another firm, deep roll of his pelvis that made your thighs shake.
“i'm sorry, i'm sorry,” pressing a line of apologetic kisses along your shoulder blade, he consciously tried to slow himself down, his large hands squeezing your hips to steady the rhythm, though the intense blush on his face only deepened until his ears were practically purple. “is this better? like this?”
“yeah... yeah..”
suddenly, caleb’s hands moved from your hips, his long fingers sliding beneath the hem of your shorts.
“hey,” he choked out. “i can't... i'm not staying behind these clothes anymore. i need to feel you.”
with a frantic uncoordinated rush of movement that was entirely fueled by a lack of control, he pulled your shorts and underwear down to your knees, managing to free himself from his gym shorts at the exact same time.
the sudden sensation of his bare, burning skin pressing against your uncovered backside made you gasp. “w-wait, caleb, what are y—”
he didn't wait. caleb guided the tip of his manhood to your entrance and pushed forward. with a slow, agonizingly thick surge, he slid completely inside of you.
the size of him filled you so entirely it took your breath away. your fingers clawed at the slick porcelain of the sink, your head dropping as a high broken whimper left your lips. caleb let out a long trembling groan against your shoulder, his chest heaving violently as he buried himself to the hilt.
“fuck, fuck!”
”be quiet, caleb...”
“s-sorry, fuck.” a lazy smirk tugged at his lips in the reflection, his hands tightening on your waist. “see? i told you nobody else could fit you like this. you're shaking.”
he buries his head into your hole much, much deeper. “did you miss me this much?”
the teasing sting of his words, even now, made a surge of stubborn retaliation flare up in your chest. you didn't want him to see how completely undone you were. pulling your hands off the sink, you tried to straighten your spine and pull yourself forward, attempting to slide off his dick to break his rhythm.
it was the wrong move.
the sudden threat of losing you made caleb snap completely. his large hands locked around your hips like iron cuffs, yanked you violently backward, and thrusted into you with a force that was so deep and heavy it made your vision go entirely white.
“don't run from me,” caleb gave another hard, bruising thrust that almost hit your womb, pinning you ruthlessly against the porcelain. his upper body slammed against your back, his face completely flushed a dark, furious crimson as he forced your head up. “look at yourself in the mirror. look at what you're doing to me. look at how much of me is inside you right now.”
you couldn't even form words to respond. you were completely paralyzed by how big, how thick, and how utterly unrelenting he felt stretching you open from the inside. all you could do was grip the edges of the sink for dear life, your knuckles turning white as your body struggled to take his bare thighs slapping against yours.
yet, for all his dominant holding, caleb was a complete, crying mess.
every single time he shoved his hips forward, a pathetic little moan escaped his throat—sounds he tried so desperately to bite back, burying his face in your wet hair or chewing on his own bottom lip until it bled, utterly terrified of waking granny up outside.
“fuck, please,” caleb whimpered against your neck, penetrating you over and over again with each stroke making you cry out into your hand. he was trembling so hard the vibration traveled straight into your body. “can we... can we do this every day? just until i leave again? please. tell me you'll let me do this to you every single day?”
you couldn't even answer him. you were too occupied, and quite literally occupied, by the way he's pounding against your ass.
he was driving into you, his pelvis slamming against your backside with a wet and heavy sound. it was too much. the fullness of him stretching you open was overwhelming, and as he bottomed out completely inside you for the third time in a row, the careful restraint in your throat shattered.
“aaangh~!”
before the sound could even fade, caleb's palm snapped upward to clamp firmly over your mouth. his long fingers wrapped tightly around your jaw, crushing your lips against your teeth and effectively smothering your next desperate gasp into a muffled whimper against his skin.
“i told you to stay quiet,” but even as he scolded you, his lower body didn't slow down for a single second. if anything, your loud reaction only drove him deeper into the edge, his hips pumping into you even faster. “you're gonna wake her up. do you want gran to walk in here and see you like this? see what a bad girl you're being f'me?”
you were completely pathetic beneath him now. you couldn't breathe properly, you couldn't scream, and you couldn't pull away. all you could do was let out small broken whines against his palms, your tears wetting his fingers as your hips shook uncontrollably under the force of his penetration. you were nothing but a trembling, weeping toy for him to use.
“shit... oh god, shit, look at you,”
followed by a groan, his entire body went rigid as he reached his breaking point. needing to get even deeper, to consume every remaining inch of you before he spilled, he reached down with his other hand and hooked it beneath your thigh. with one effortless pull, he lifted your leg up to force you to balance precariously on one foot while your knee was pinned up against his waist. “fuck, i'm so close,”
the new, devastatingly wide angle opened you up completely. it only allowed him to bury his entire length into you with a series of shoving that made your head snap back.
“don't make a sound,” caleb choked out, his voice cracking into a crying whisper while he began to hammer into you with his hand pressing harder against your mouth. “keep it in. take all of me right now. just take it.”
the final push of his hips sent your mind spiraling into absolute oblivion, your body tightening around his thickness in a series of violent, helpless spasms that milked him completely. caleb let out a sharp gasp against the crown of your head, his entire muscular frame going stiff as iron against your back. he knew he was at the absolute point of no return. even through the blinding fog of his climax, that ingrained discipline and the terrifying reality of the consequences cut through his thoughts.
with a sudden, desperate grunt of exertion, caleb grabbed your hip bone with bruising force and violently pulled himself out of you.
the abrupt sensation of emptiness made a choked sob rise in your throat, but before you could even register the loss, caleb’s release hit you. he came in heavy thick spurts across your backside and the small of your lower back.
“oh, god—oh fuck, i'm coming, i'm coming,” caleb cried out, his voice completely fracturing into a loud mess. he couldn't even keep himself quiet anymore. “fuck, i love you, i love you so much. look at what you did to your caleb.”
a crying whimper escaped his lips as the final waves of his orgasm racked his large body. his hand finally slid off your face, fingers trembling as he let go of your jaw, leaving your lips swollen and burning. instead, he dropped both of his heavy palms onto the curves of your hips. “look at this fucking mess...”
meanwhile, your upper body remained slumped over the cool porcelain of the sink. your fingers were weakly splayed against the slick basin, completely devoid of any remaining strength. your knees were wobbling so much beneath your weight that the only thing keeping you from collapsing onto the tiled floor was the unyielding grip of caleb's hands on your waist.
slowly, caleb’s heavy breathing began to level out, turning into shallow, ragged pants against the nape of your neck. he opened his eyes, staring down at the reflection in the wide glass mirror.
he could only stare at the mess in absolute awe. the sight of you bent over the sink, your shorts pushed down to your knees, your pale skin flushed a deep beautiful crimson and glistening with his thick, white fluids, looked like something straight out of the sinful dreams he had hoarded in his concrete barracks. it didn't feel real. the fact that he had actually touched you, filled you, and marked you like this inside his grandmother’s house made his heart thump.
with a sigh, caleb leaned his entire weight forward, completely hugging you from behind. his broad chest pressed firmly against your back while his large arms wrapped securely around your waist to support your sagging frame. he buried his face into the side of your neck, inhaling your scent deeply as if he were trying to memorize it all over again.
“pipsqueak,” he whispered, his voice incredibly rough, gravelly. ”hey... look at me. are you okay? did i hurt you?”
you let out a small whimper, your head shifting weakly against his shoulder as you managed to nod. “yes... i'm okay.”
caleb let out a breathy chuckle, and he tilted his head to press a soft kiss against your burning cheek. “do you think we woke gran up?”
you swallowed the dryness in your throat as you stared blankly at the porcelain basin. “i... i don't know, caleb. you were really loud at the end.”
caleb hummed, a lazy, satisfied sound as his thumbs lightly stroked the sensitive skin of your hip bones, soothing the small red marks his fingers had left behind.
“well... if she's awake, she's probably just gonna think i'm clumsy and dropped the wrench again,” he murmured into your hair, his grip tightening just a fraction, pulling you closer into his warmth. “come on. let's get you cleaned up. i'll wash you down, and then... i'll cook you that braised pork you love right now. the one with the sweet soy sauce and the star anise. how would that sound, pips?”
“that sounds great, gege.”
caleb gulped at the nickname. “it's been a while since you used that on me,” his face breaks into a smile, and then he leans down to look at you in the eye instead of through the mirror. “what if you use that while we do it again tonight?”
WT: NSFW, MDNI, smut, pseudocest, roleplaying, consensual, uniform, costume, use of toy gun, degradation, rough, possessive. He’s twisting the High Marshall’s persona!
Premise: AU - Throne of Eros as tv series.
Word count: 4.1K
A/N: This is the revised version. Sorry for the plotholes 🙈
The neon flare of Linkon shopping district reflected through the glass, but your world narrows entirely to the window display. Caleb is a few steps ahead of you, but he noticed the absence of your footsteps right away.
“Hey, pipsqueak, why are you sto—”
Caleb’s voice cuts off as he turns back, tracking the sudden stillness of your posture, following your frozen stare straight to the mannequin behind the glass. It’s an intricate, detailed familiar costume. He wonders from where he sees it before the memory returns to him.
“Isn’t that...?” He steps closer, his shoulder brushing yours, the familiar warmth of his presence radiating through your clothes. He knows the story behind that attire by heart—a modern adult fairytale about an empress and her brother caught in a forbidden, dangerous romance, ultimately uniting warring factions for a happily ever after. A story made for adults who still crave magic. He had watched every single episode until the end of season with you.
But you don't answer. You can’t. His voice along with the ambient noise of the street fades into a dull hum. Your eyes are heavily fixed on the intricate patterns of the dark fabric, the layers of sharp tailoring flowing down to the mannequin's ankles. The heavy silver pauldrons on the shoulders are intricately carved with feathers that shines under the store lighting. Your gaze traces the silver patterns blooming across the high collar and the dark lapels, traveling down to the metallic silver chains that drape elegantly across the waist and the tassels that you imagine will sway with a quiet weight. How the black leather gloves shine under the spotlights.
“It’s...” Your fingers brush the cold glass, leaving a bloom of condensation as you take another step closer. You didn't realize you were holding your breath until the air leaves you in a shuddering rush, your voice dropping to a whisper. “It’s perfect.”
Caleb’s eyes perk. It feels like just yesterday when he saw you were screaming at the television about how tall and handsome the Grand Marshall was, muttering under your breath about the flawless details of his uniform every time he appeared on screen. He wasn’t thrilled about it, but if it makes you happy…
A sudden thought flashes across Caleb's face.
“Do you want me to try that on?” he asks, his tone dripping with teasing mischief.
The words snap your mind back to reality, your head whipping toward him so fast your neck aches. “No!” Your mouth waters at the sheer thought of it, forcing you to swallow hard as you fight to hide just how badly you want to say yes. “Y-you don’t have to!”
“But I can,” he hums.
Before you can protest, his fingers wrap around your wrist. He drags you inside the costume boutique, his grip firm but gentle, guiding you straight to the viewing couch. The moment he steps toward the changing room with the heavy uniform in hand, the female staff members instantly track him, their eyes wide and mesmerized. A sharp, ugly prickle of annoyance flares in your chest.
Caleb has always been the center of attention. Everywhere he goes, since both of you were children, eyes follow him. The agonizing years of hiding your heart, terrified a confession would destroy the peace, were finally over—he’s yours now. But you still couldn't suppress the bitter twist in your stomach whenever another woman looked at him, trying to catch his eye. At this point, you have to admit to yourself that you are hopelessly, fiercely territori—
“Pips.”
The deep rumble of his voice cuts through your thoughts, followed instantly by the collective, sharp intake of breath from the staff. Out of the corner of your eye, you see an employee stealthily raising her phone for a photo, only for her coworker to hurriedly swat her arm down. Something tightens in your chest.
Then, your gaze finally lands on him.
Your eyes goes wide. Your legs turn to jelly, and you’re thankful that the store provides a couch. Otherwise, your knees would have hit the floor right then and there. A sudden heat pools deep in your core, tightening with a desperate ache.
Caleb is always striking, but this is pure devastation(?). The High Marshall uniform looks as if it were tailored to his exact proportions. The broad line of his shoulders fills out the coat perfectly, the massive silver feathered pauldrons making his frame look powerful. With every step he takes toward you, the heavy silver chains at his waist clink rhythmically, a sharp, metallic sound that vibrates straight down your spine.
He stops directly in front of you, the mere sight of him standing while you’re on the couch forcing him to look down. He isn't smiling, but he isn't trying to look stern, either. It’s just a completely casual look as he waits for your reaction. But the sight of him towering over you like that stirs a heat in your stomach. He has no idea what he’s doing to you.
Everything about him is overwhelming.
Dear God, you think, your heart hammering against your ribs, thank you for making him mine.
A naughty boyish smirk blooms across his face, the corners of his amethyst eyes crinkling with fondness. He’s aware of his effect on you. “Am I that handsome?”
“... yes...”
The single, breathless word slips from your lips before you can filter the thought. The sheer honesty of your tone freezes him in his tracks. Caleb knows the change in how you whisper your answer too well. He knows the heavy, unblinking way you savor the sight of him means you’re completely captivated.
He has always known you have a weakness for uniforms from the day he came home in his colonel attire and you practically jumped him, a desperate hunger driving you to drag him into bed right then and there. You had clung to him so fiercely that his uniform got stained with sweat and juices, completely ruined and needing replacement several times over. He learns to keep extra spares since then.
But he hadn't fully realized how much the obsession affects you until now. The sight of you wanting him so desperately that your thighs are unconsciously rubbing together under your jeans makes him swallow hard, the prominent apple of his throat bobbing heavily against the high collar of his uniform. He realizes exactly what that uniform does to you, and he’s not going to waste a second.
He turns sharply to the counter, pulling out his wallet. “We’ll take this.”
“W-what...? Caleb, they must be expensive—hey!”
Without even bothering to ask for the price, Caleb slides his card across the desk. He doesn't wait and walks straight back into the changing room, the heavy thump of his boots echoing against the floor. He retrieves his own clothes and returns still fully dressed as the High Marshall. His gloved hand takes his card, and before you can process the movement, he hauls you out of the store.
“Ca-caleb, we’re in public...!” You burn hot, covering your face with your hand. You can already spot the lingering whispers and turning heads of pedestrians. He looks like a breathtaking) dark fantasy walking down a modern street.
“I know,” he says, his voice dropping an octaf, tight and unyielding. “We’ll get home soon.”
That tone. Strained, low, and heavy with his own sudden arousal mirroring yours. A wave of heat pools between your thighs, your heartbeat thumping so loud it echoes in your ears. You bite your lower lip in fierce anticipation, your vision blurring with lust and a series of dark what-ifs.
He opens the car door and push you onto the passenger seat. A small yelp escapes you, not because he is rough, but because your cunt is already so sensitive that the slight impact makes yours throb.
Caleb catches the arch of your eyebrows, reading the watery, desperate plea in your eyes, begging for something that will leave you aching after. He loves you, he wants you, and he will always give you exactly what you crave. He almost can’t restraint himself.
He drives faster than usual, the engine roaring through the night, the lights outside blur into lines. He doesn't utter a single word. Every slight bump in the road forces you to swallow a small, pathetic whimper. You force yourself to look straight ahead, your mind blurring the lines of fiction, seeking comfort in the devotion of the onscreen Marshall. But Caleb catches the glazed, distant look in your eyes. He realizes you aren't seeing him—you're looking right through him at a fantasy character. And it makes his blood boil. The playful boyfriend vanishes instantly.
The metallic taste of copper fills your mouth. He smells it instantly.
“Stop biting your lips.”
Caleb’s voice is clipped, cold, and authoritative. The stern command from him makes your folds clamp together so hard that a heavy slick of moisture escapes, soaking into your underwear, threatening to stain the leather of his car seat. But you don't care. Right now, your sanity is hanging by a thread. You’re fighting the urge to climb over to get to his lap and force him to fuck you while his foot is still on the gas. Oh, wouldn’t you love that. The thought makes you shudder again.
But his act deviates from the script flipping through your head. In the drama, the High Marshall is defined by a forbidden devotion—a man who gave up his own right to the throne out of love for his sister. He’s supposed to be a symbol of yearning. Yet the man sitting next to you is radiating something cold and dark.
“Look at me,” he commands, his voice dropping into a rough, gravelly register that belongs entirely to Caleb, cutting straight through your daydream like a blade. “I don't want you thinking about some tragic actor or a character on a screen while you're making yourself wet in my passenger seat. I'm going to etch this image so deep into your brain that whenever you think of this uniform, you’ll only ever see me. Understand, pipsqueak?”
A shaky, breathless nod is all you can manage, your eyes locked onto his profile as your head bobs in silent submission.
The possessive heat of his retort hits you like a physical wave. You feel depraved. You are. The absolute devotion when he caters to your every whim has spoiled you, turning you into a creature that only asks for more and more. And you know, with absolute certainty, that he will always give everything to you.
The car screeches to a halt in the apartment parking lot. He’s out of his seat in a flash, throwing your door open.
“Now... do you want me to carry you, or will you stand by yourself?”
Damn it, it’s not fair. He’s already slipping back into the character of the ruthless High Marshall. You wince, drawing a ragged breath as if his length is already sinking inside you. Your legs tremble violently, nearly giving out, but you steel yourself and stand.
“Go on. Walk.”
He’s going to be the death of you.
The elevator ride is agonizing. You’re secretly grateful it’s empty, but the lift feels smaller than usual. He steps inside first, forcing you to stand near the polishd metal doors. Your chest heaving, your thighs are clamped tightly together, your arms crossed tightly over your center as if trying to hide the depth of your arousal.
In the reflection of the elevator doors, you can see Caleb standing behind you. His arms folded across his chest, his eyes cold but searingly hot at the same time as they lock onto your back, already feeling his hands touching you all over. You wonder why the elevator moves so, so slow. Your foot begins to tap rhythmically against the floor, impatient and frantic.
“Didn’t I tell you not to tap your feet whenever you’re anxious?”
You wince under the weight of his voice. “S-sorry.”
With a loud ding that echoes in the small space, the doors finally slide open.
The hallway feels long and dark. You don't need to be told twice. You walk, then faster, almost breaking into a run toward your door, your heart beating louder than your footsteps. It doesn’t help that with every stride the rough denim of your jeans digs mercilessly against your soaked panties, rubbing and teasing your already swollen folds. You finally reach the door. Your mind fogged with lust you can't even remember which pocket holds your keys.
“Here.”
His gloved hand slips into the back pocket of your jeans. The leather movement is deliberately slow, his knuckles pressing heavily against your clothed sensitive skin along the way. You shudder at the contact, your skin burning where the metallic key grazes against your fabric.
You grab the key from him, you could swear the leather of his glove is radiating heat. You rush to slide the key into the lock, and the suggestive visual of the metal sliding into the keyhole sends a fresh wave of arousal through you. You blink—you need help.
The door opens with a soft creak. Inside, the apartment is in total darkness, save for the pale moonlight filtering through the large window, catching the dust dancing slowly in the quiet air. You step inside as your eyes finally adjust, your heart hammering against your ribcage. You’re finally home.
Behind you, Caleb steps over the threshold. The heavy front door clicks shut, the lock snapping into place with a quiet, pressurized hum as his Evol seals it completely. In the shadows, he doesn’t reach for the light switch. Instead, the heavy thuds of his boots echo slowly against the floorboards as he walks past you, stepping deeper into the dark apartment toward the living room display.
Your eyes track the dark silhouette of his towering frame under the moonlight. His gloved hand reaches out with practiced ease, lifting the replica prop gun—the one he always keeps mounted on the display—and tucks it firmly into the waistband of his new uniform.
He turns back around to face you, the intricate silver feathers on his pauldrons catching the pale moonbeams. The atmosphere shifts instantly, turning heavy.
“Empress.”
You draw a sharp breath, the icy authority in his tone freezing you right where you stand.
“Yes...” You take a step toward him, your limbs weak like a newborn fawn.
“Hand over the Empire.”
His hand moves to his waist, smoothly drawing the prop gun from his hip, and directs the barrel straight at you.
“You—hah—you can have it. Everything.” Your breath ragged. Your knees finally give out, meeting the floor with a heavy thud. It doesn't hurt, the only ache you feel is the unbearable overstimulation throbbing between your thighs, fueled by your imagination.
“Didn’t you want the empire before? Why the sudden change? Kneeling won't save you.” Caleb steps forward, using the cold metal of the barrel to tilt your chin up, forcing you to look at him. “You said everything.”
He pauses a bit before his lips curls at the edges, parted a bit to almost whisper.
“Take it off.”
“Wh-what...” The words barely form. Your head is heavy with lust, your center throbbing, begging to be rammed by his cock. “Caleb—”
“That’s High Marshall for you, Empress.” His eyes narrow. A dark, venomous satisfaction gleaming in his gaze as he deliberately cuts off his own name. He doesn't want her comforting herself with her familiar, gentle boyfriend right now. If she wants this uniform, she has to play by his corrupted rules. “The ties we had are long gone. You wanted the High Marshall? You're looking at him. And he owns you. Don't make me say it twice.”
You don't know where you find the strength to obey, but your weak hands move to your clothes. Layer by layer, you strip yourself bare under his unblinking watch. For the first time in your life, you understand how a gaze can physically burn. Now, you are completely naked on the floor, while he remains fully clothed in the pristine uniform.
“Look at you. Empress of the Great Empire, reduced to such a sight,” Caleb sneers. You shiver as he stands up, turning toward the couch. “Come here. I’m tired of standing.”
The heavy moisture from your center drips down the inside of your thighs as you walk across the floor. When you finally stop at his feet, the sight makes his own length throb painfully against his pants.
Your curves highlighted in sharp contrast under the cold moonlight, your knees on the floor, your skin glistening with your own arousal. Caleb grips the edge of the couch, fighting himself just to maintain the icy character.
“What’re you doing just sitting there?”
“Ngh...!” A broken moan slips from you.
“I haven't done anything to you yet,” Caleb murmurs, setting the gun down on the coffee table. “Remove my gloves.”
Your hands raise automatically, reaching toward the leather enveloping his hands, but a sudden weigh of his Evol makes your arms feel incredibly heavy, forcing your hands to drop back to the floor.
“Not with hands.” He grits his teeth.
Your eyes widen as the realization hits you. Your heart beats so loudly it fills the quiet room. You lean your head forward, moving close to his leg, your mouth opening near his resting hand, holding your breath. Your teeth sink into the thick leather at his wrist, and with a deliberate tug, you pull the first glove from his hand.
“Faster.”
Your eyes lock onto his, begging for mercy, but his expression remains cold and detached.
“We don't have all night.”
“Y-yes...” Your teeth sink into the leather of the second glove, pulling it free. Your nose brushes the bare skin of his wrist, the warm, familiar scent of his skin wafting, mixing with the heavy aroma of the leather. You whimper against his thigh.
“What a pathetic empress,” he scoffs. “The whole Empire hangs on the hands of such a leader, huh?”
“Hng...!” You moan louder, the words hitting you so hard it feels like a thrust in your cunt. “H-High Marshall...”
“Less talking.” He waves a bare hand, directing your attention exactly where you need to bite next—the zipper of his pants.
Your chest heaves as your mouth moves over the rigid fabric. Your tongue slides out, tasting the metal lines under the seams of fabric until you find what you're looking for, your teeth locking around the metal pin of the zipper. Pulling it down slowly, you reveal the heavy, straining length hidden beneath his undershirt.
The moment your teeth pull down the fabric and his hot length is released, your ragged breath grazes his bare skin. You don't hesitate. Driven by the desperate ache between your own thighs, you lean forward and let the tip of your tongue slowly slide up the rigid, pulsing steel of his length, tasting him fully. A heavy, involuntary shudder ripples through his entire frame. Before he can even order you to stop, you part your lips and take him deep into the tight, soaking warmth of your mouth, your tongue swirling around him in a needy rhythm.
The sudden, white-hot contact completely shatters his icy facade.
“Fuck...!”
The ruthless High Marshall persona slips entirely, replaced by the raw, unbridled hunger of the man who is utterly obsessed with you. His bare hands instantly dive into your hair, his knuckles white as he tightly grips the strands—not to push you away, but to hold you captive against him for two deep, desperate thrusts into your mouth.
But he’s already at his absolute limit, and he knows it.
With a ragged growl, his hands switch to your waist, dragging your mouth off him before he ruins the uniform right there on the living room floor. He stands up abruptly, hooking one powerful arm under you and lifting your entire weight with effortless ease. His free hand doesn't even bother touching the silver buttons of his long coat. He keeps the fabric intact.
He strides frantically toward the bedroom, carrying you with ease. Lost entirely to the fog of lust, your legs instinctively wrap around his waist. Your completely bare, sensitive inner thighs drag against the material of his uniform, slathering your arousal directly onto the cold metallic chains of his belt. The sharp links bite back into your flushed skin with a delicious friction, makes you only cling tighter.
He practically throws you onto the mattress, his control completely frayed. He isn't angry, he’s simply almost at his limit, driven by lust.
You look up at him, panting, expecting him to finally strip out of the heavy gear. Instead, Caleb hovers over you, completely buttoned up, the massive silver feathered pauldrons glints under the moonlight. The contrast is overwhelming—you’re exposed, trembling and bare against the sheets, while he remains locked away behind layers of pristine military armor costume.
His bare hands come down, his warm, rough palms locking brutally onto your hips.
“You love this uniform so much?” he rasps, his eyes dark, burning with feral heat that belongs entirely to Caleb, not the character. “Then remember exactly who’s ruining you in it.”
Before you can even draw breath to answer, he aligns his throbbing length with your soaked center and sinks all the way into you in one deep thrust.
“Ngh—! Ah!”
A breathless scream escapes your lips. The impact is staggering. Your hips arch off the mattress instinctively, your hands flying up to grip him. Your palms slide over the intricate silver embroidery blooming across his waist, your fingers desperately hooking into the fabric of his long coat just to stay anchored.
He doesn't let you adjust. He begins to move, his pace frantic and heavy, his jaw clenched as he drives himself into you over and over. The rhythm is punishing. With every single thrust, the heavy silver chains at his waist clink rhythmically in the quiet dark, the metallic tassels swaying and slapping against your wet skin.
The sensory overload is intoxicatng. Your soft breasts are pressed flat against the rough texture of his structured uniform. The ornaments dangling on his shoulder brushes lightly against your collarbones, a constant reminder that he’s taking you while fully dressed.
You’re drowning in the scent of him—the heavy, rich aroma of the boutique’s fabric mixing with his clean sweat and the warm intoxicating musk of your arousal. Your arousal drenching, ruining the costume, slathering the thick and heavy liquid over his uniform trousers, soaking into the material with every thrust. You’re destroying another uniform, painting it entirely in the evidence of your submission.
“C-Caleb—ah! High Marshall...!” you sob, your vision blurring into a blinding pleasure.
“Look at me,” he growls, his thumbs digging into the soft flesh of your hips, tilting your pelvis up to take him even deeper. “Whose face do you see? Tell me who’s fucking you right now.”
“You... ah! Only you, Caleb!”
“Good,” he grits out, his voice tight and strained against your ear as his pace turns feral. “Keep your eyes open.”
The friction becomes unbearable. Your inner folds overstimulated, rubbing uselessly against his unyielding leather belt line with every stroke. You can feel the precise moment his composure fractures. The rhythmic clinking of the chains turns chaotic, a metallic symphony that mirrors the wild hammering of your heart.
The heat between your thighs explodes. You shatter first, your walls clamping down around him in a violent climax that makes you wail against his neck and makes you see stars behind your eyes.
Hearing your broken cry sends him over the edge. Caleb lets out a defeated groan, his upper body pinning you heavily into the mattress as he delivers three final thrusts. He erupts deep inside you, his length throbbing hard as he fills you completely, his forehead resting against yours as he pants for air.
For a long time, the only sound in the room is the ragged, almost synchronized breathing of your chests heaving together.
Caleb slowly lifts his head. A breathless, victorious smirk playing on his lips. He looks down at the absolute chaos between your bodies. The pristine, multi thousand dollar High Marshall uniform, creased and stained heavily with sweat and your thick, glistening moisture, and you, entirely undone.
He brushes a thumb over your wet lower lip, his voice dropping into that familiar, teasing tone.
“Well, pipsqueak,” he murmurs, his eyes shining with pure satisfaction in the moonlight, “I’d say this definitely needs a replacement.”
The amount of research on uniforms and the details like pauldrons and lapels and finding the right word to color the story gives me migraine. I was thinking of doing it my usual way but then I wouldn’t improve. That anon comment still haunts me but I will try my best to not let it affect me. Maybe it even became my drive writing this better. It’s kind of hard editing in the middle of the night and have to juggle between RL and fanfic world but if I let it stay too long in the WIP I think my passion for writing it would die 🥲 Also I managed to write without using “Y/N” for the first time! 🥹
It was already 1am, but you couldn't help yourself. Caleb was half asleep, but you were wide-eyed in the dark. Your imagination was getting the better of you and it was starting to consume you. Caleb told you before that it was alright to touch him when he slept, so your hands don't hesitate when they reach down to Caleb's softened member under his briefs, squeezing until he hardens under your ministrations.
"Pipsqueak," he mutters, eyes half shut. Even sleepy, you knew he wouldn't say no to you. "What are you doing? Do you want it?"
It. Of course you did. You nod back vehemently, and though he can't see you in the nighttime, you know he can hear the rustling of the sheets. He understands. He leans closer to you, leaving the domain of his side of the bed to invade into the space of your pillow. His lips find yours and the kiss is warm and wholehearted. His warm hand reaches out to you under the blankets. They slide under your shirt where his skin warms up your belly before he's reaching higher, up to your breasts, and squeezes the mounds of flesh. You relax as he massages you but suddenly tense when he grazes your nipple. He lightly pulls and rubs at one before moving onto the other. You help him by lifting your shirt up. When he spreads his fingers and grazes both of your nipples at the same time, you can't help the long, low moan you release into his mouth.
"You like that?" he says softly, eyes still shut. His breath is heavy against your lips. He feels soft and cozy next to you, but the movement of his fingers across your chest feels like sin. They spark pleasure up your spine and make it difficult to concentrate on kissing. He asked if you liked that, but you know answering is useless; it's rhetorical because he already knows the answer from the way you're shuddering, by how you're struggling to keep your lips on his since you can barely catch your breath. Your chest has always been your weak spot and Caleb loves to exploit it.
Not one to be selfish, you want Caleb to feel good too. So you stroke him again until you feel a bead of precum well up. You spread his precum across the entire head before stroking the shaft again. He swells under your hand, so erect that the foreskin stays peeled back. When he sharply pulls on one of your nipples, the cry he elicits from you seems to trigger something in him. His cock wells up with fluid again, and his breathing against your lips grows heavier. When you slip your tongue into his mouth, searching for his, his breathing roughens before he takes over to dominate the kiss.
Yes, you think. You've managed to rile him up and you moan to let him know of your receptivity.
Every time his fingers brush against both your nipples simultaneously, you feel yourself growing wetter in your underwear. Unable to take it any longer, you let go of his member only to slip your hand under your own waistband to furiously pleasure yourself. Caleb's disappointed by the loss of contact but hums in approval when he realizes what you're doing.
He detaches his lips from yours. Instead, he cups and squeezes one of your breasts before tilting his head down to suck on them. You whine when his teeth graze against the sensitive nub. They harden under his touch, even more so as his tongue laves against the skin, as he engulfs on them as if trying to draw milk out. He moves from one to the other before returning again. Your fingers are relentless where you're pleasuring yourself. The soft sounds Caleb makes as he has his way with you, the way electricity runs up your spine, it's all too much. Your toes curl into the sheets as your muscles tighten and you fall over the edge, your breath knocked out of your lungs.
Suddenly, you're much too sensitive. Each touch becomes almost painful and you push Caleb's mouth away.
"Please," you whisper. "I can't take it." He obliges, his head falling back against his own pillow again. Your body is still buzzing from your release, but you reach out for Caleb's cock again. This time, his entire member is soaked. Just from sucking on your breasts.
You coat his shaft with the fluids and listen to the gasps he makes. Without warning, you urge him to take off his briefs then rearrange yourself so you face where he's tumescent. You swallow him into your mouth and undulate your head. You can't see his expression, but you imagine it: eyebrows furrowed, mouth agape, face slack.
He runs fingers through your hair, trying to push back the strands so they're not in your face. He's salty and his body scent is slightly sweet. You bob your head as his sticky fluids coat your mouth. You even run your tongue over the wrinkled skin of his balls and feel them tighten up. Your hand caresses the shaft while you do this, even wrapping the palm of your hand over the slick head. Caleb practically curls in on himself when you do this, the tip too overstimulated. You only release him when he tugs harshly at your hair. Stars are swimming in his vision.
"C'mere," he says, breathless. He draws you back up and onto him so you're straddling his middle. He reaches under you, pulling aside your underwear and lining himself up. Slowly, you sink down. It's been awhile since you two have done this. His cock is stretching you open and you relish in the sensation of the intrusion. Once fully seated, you lean down for a quick kiss as you get used to his size. You rise up and start bouncing, feet planted firmly on the mattress, hands against his chest for leverage. When he tries to touch your breasts again, you whine in disapproval; your chest is too overstimulated now, nipples so stiff that it's bordering on pain. You redirect his hand down to your clit instead, and arch your back as he rubs your bud.
You never can manage to be in this position for long, so when he senses your tiredness, Caleb rolls you off him. Despite his drowsiness, he pulls you to the edge of the bed until your legs dangle off. He positions himself between your legs, aligns his member, and pushes in.
You don't make a sound as he starts thrusting, but your eyes are closed, savoring the movements and touch. You bite your lip so hard it leaves a bite-shaped indent.
Perhaps Caleb thinks your silentness is an inimical sign, so he lifts your legs until your ankles are on his shoulders. He pushes your thighs together and starts grinding deep into you, repeatedly pushing hips against hips until it feels like he's splitting you open. You can't help moaning at the pleasurable pain.
Relief washes over Caleb when sound finally leaves your lips. He wants to hear you coming apart for him, after all. For good measure, he grinds desperately into you unceasingly, angling his hips differently each time he presses in. You swear his tip is abusing the opening of your womb, pushing against your cervix like as if he's seeking entrance. He keeps it up until you're practically crying.
Finally, he draws your legs apart again and holds onto the back of your knees, bending your legs into your chest. He pistons his hips, dragging loud, sharp wails out of you. It's not enough for Caleb though. You got him all riled up and if he can't see your melting expressions in the dark, he at least wants to hear you and he wants to hear you loud. So he does what he knows you love.
His hands move away from your bent legs and reaches up to your throat. One hand on either side, fingers curling around you. He doesn't press down hard, just enough to put pressure on your windpipe, to show you who's boss. And you trust Caleb so wholly—trust that he'd never actually harm you—that the pressure cascades utter pleasure through you instead of fear. He holds you for leverage as he wildly jackhammers.
Your gasps are sharper and breathier from the lack of air and the occasional moans you emit are cut out each time he presses his fingers down a little harder. Every single sound you make is music to his ears.
At some point, it gets too much for you and you can't control how your cunt clamps down on him. Your muscles tighten around his cock so intensely that if you both weren't so wet and leaking for the other that Caleb wouldn't even be able to thrust any further. You squeeze around his cock until it feels like he's the one who's being choked.
Finally, his breath begins to stutter before his hips do. He lets go of your neck to grip your hips instead in a bruising hold, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your pelvis.
"Fuck," he swears, "I'm gonna cum."
You nod and whine in approval. Your hand moves down to rub against your own clit.
"Shit," he wheezes. "Are you touching yourself?"
You don't answer him because soon after, he lets out a choked sound and stills. His cock pulses against your walls as he releases ropes inside you. Even in his daze, he takes over for you. His thumb rubs against your clit over and over, and when you reach your second climax, you wrap your legs around him to pull him hither as your walls constrict his member. This movement collapses him over you, his body completely spent. When his cock softens and slips out, you feel his fingers push his release back into you, so a part of him remains inside you always. It's perverse, but you wouldn't have it any other way.
dryhumping with caleb when gran is sleeping in the next room.
tw: pesudocest
The summer nights are sticky and unbearable, the old ceiling fan doing nothing but pushing hot air around your room. Grasshoppers chirp endlessly outside, but you’re not in your bed.
You’re in Caleb’s.
Your hips are fused to his, grinding slow and lazy in the dark. Both of you are barely dressed — you in nothing but his oversized shirt and a pair of thin panties, he in just his black boxers that do nothing to hide how hard he already is.
Your lips are locked in messy, sloppy kisses, tongues sliding wetly against each other, breathing each other’s air like you’re starving. Every roll of your hips drags your soaked pussy right along the thick, clothed length of his cock.
“Mmmhh… gege…” you moan softly into his mouth.
Caleb hums low in his throat, hands gripping your hips tighter, pulling you down harder against his bulge. The friction is delicious, filthy, and the thrill of Gran sleeping just one thin wall away makes everything ten times hotter.
You should be terrified.
Instead, you’re dripping.
You rub your clothed cunt desperately over his hardened bulge, feeling every ridge and vein through the thin fabric. Caleb lets out a broken little whimper and snaps his hips up sharply, earning a high-pitched squeak from you.
“Careful, pipsqueak…” he rasps against your lips, biting your bottom one gently. “Won’t wanna let Gran know how filthy we’re being…”
You nod frantically, already leaning back in for another messy kiss, tongues tangling again.
This isn’t your first time doing this.
Every single night since he came back, you’ve slipped into his room the moment the house goes quiet. Every time you’ve begged him to just fuck you properly — told him you could take it, that you wanted it so bad — Caleb has refused with that stubborn, guilty look in his eyes.
“That’s not what a brother should do to you,” he always says, voice tight.
So instead, you both settle for this — dry humping each other like desperate, overheated dogs until you cum in your panties and he spills in his boxers.
Tonight is no different.
You crawl into his bed wearing only his shirt and panties. He’s already waiting, lying on his back in just his boxers, his heavy cock straining hard against the fabric, a dark wet spot already forming at the tip.
“Gege…” you whisper, crawling on top of him.
“I know what you need, meimei…” he murmurs, pulling you into what starts as an innocent hug.
It lasts exactly three seconds.
His arms tighten around you and the innocent hug instantly turns into heated, frantic dry humping. You drag your soaked pussy along the full length of his cock, grinding down hard while he bucks up to meet every roll of your hips.
His hands slip under your shirt, big palms cupping your tits, thumbs teasing and rolling your nipples until they’re tight and aching.
You whimper into his mouth, grinding faster, the fabric between you growing slicker and messier with every desperate movement.
Caleb’s breath hitches against your lips as you grind particularly hard over the head of his cock.
“Fuck… baby sister, just like that, ahhh shit…” he whispers, voice strained. “You love gege's dick so much, huh? Well then, make yourself cum on it… even if it’s still in my shorts.”
You moan softly, nodding, hips moving faster, chasing that perfect friction while Gran sleeps peacefully just one room away.
Only the nights belong to you two.
Because neither of you wants that old woman next door to ever find out that her two failed experiments are busy experimenting on bed.
A/N : throws this at the faces of ppl who are pressed about the "baby sister" thing and runs away.
@ CHERRYSCRIPT 2026— don't copy translate feed my work to ai.
well the problem is the best english translation of CN’s meimei is a phrase that is out of fashion in modern english speaking countries it was more commonly used in centuries past during the era of kings and ballgowns
“My Dear Lady” “My Dear Girl”
the phrase is usually reserved for using towards girls/ladies by gentlemen who are endeared to them and are not related by blood
⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅. puppy! caleb just looooves to breed you ♡
〷〨 cw. nsfw, mutt! caleb, oral(f receiving), pussy EATER! caleb, big dick! caleb, breeding facility au, name-calling, kissing, p in v, mdni
a shaky moan escapes from your mouth when pup! caleb licks a long stripe of your clothed pussy. you're quick to cover your mouth but the puppy beats you to it.
“i just want to have a taste,” he growls yet his tone is soft, so soft that you believe it’s okay letting your hybrid dog! caleb slide his long fingers inside your panties and put them aside, giving full access to your bare cunt. your pussy lips look plump and delicious; making the puppy’s fierce red mushroom tip leak. he gently spreads your legs open, your glistening wet pussy on show.
the dog doesn’t waste any time and starts licking long stripes through yor slit, making you jump and cry at the stimulation.
it feels good, the doggy seems to know where to lick when he applies the perfect amount of pressure on your fat clit, your pussy sloppy wet by the time the he teases the tongue inside your hole.
you can only whine and just let the arousing assault happen to your fertile womb.
“feels good, pips?” he rasps out; still between your folds, you can feel his thick cock standing against your thigh and can’t help but wonder how it'll feel against your cervix.
you nod your head, grip tightening as you throw your ass back and move your hips against the dog’s snout, the heat in your stomach growing unbearable when you feel him take a long lick from your pointy clit to your puckered hole. licking a long stripe over your hole, making your thighs tremble just the slightest and your knees nearly buckle at the way the dog flicks his tongue. a shaky moan rips it way up your throat when the he pushes his tongue past the rim of the tight muscle, licking erratically at your pussy juices.
canine! caleb has a long, pink, moist, and, unlike a cat’s, relatively smooth, covered in tiny projections; tongue. it is a vital, muscular organ used for eating(your pussy), drinking(your orgasmic juices), tasting(your filthy wet spots), and, most importantly, regulating body temperature via panting(sniffing your delicious sultry vulva).
so the intensity of your cunt being lapped at by your pup makes you unable to form words, already dizzy for the stimulation. “how about i take you to my breeding facility? i’ll need a litter soon y'know, and you're obviously a dog’s slut.” the question is directed at you not to expect an answer, but you can’t help but nod your head.
caleb's cock twitches madly at your response, looking at your already ruined face with dark gaze. “fuuuuuck, b-baby, baby, you wanna be your doggie’s bitch, hmm?” you whine and nod your head, eyes pleading to take you to the breeding facility; getting rammed by your pup's big furious tip. making you sob.
just as you're about to reach your high, puppy! caleb takes out his tongue; making your feel empty and annoyed. you whine and reach behind his ears to force his face again inside your cunt but he's quick to dodge your grasp and carefully lick long stripes all over your salty face, making your pussy tingle with need when he reaches your mouth. you love the feeling of the slimy, long tongue inside your small mouth; as compared to his, licking your tongue and down your throat. making you unable to breath properly.
mutt! caleb suddenly forces his huge fat cock, veiny and girthy, inside your salivating cunt. “ca’-cal’, my pussy!” you moan, the heat in your gut becomes unbearable and you're crying out and squirting around his length, jets of fluid spilled out from around caleb's cock but he continues to pound inside you, chasing his own orgasm. you're so wet by your own fluids, making each slide easier for doggy! caleb closer to his own orgasm with every little movement of his meaty hips.
but he pulls out slowly, leaving your abused hole clenching around nothing as he starts stroking his cock furiously like a mad man. “you’re gonna take your bitch’s load, bitch. that stupid pussy of yours will look so pretty all covered in my cum, fuuuuuck.” that’s all it takes for him to spurt thick ropes of white liquid, cum striking your pussy lips, some of them landing on the inside of your thigh, making your spine arch, whimpers escaping your mouth.
the dog growls possessively at the sight of his own fluids marking you as he starts licking you clean, long tongue reaching from the back of your thighs to your bruised clit, leaving you shaking and crying for him to please stop!, but he doesn’t stop until you're squirting for the second time, shivering as you moved your trembling hips against the dog’s nose.
⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅. mornings w caleb always end up in you gasping for breath as he salivates bw your thighs ♡
〷〨 cw. oral(f receiving), morning smex, caleb in love ARGHHHH, caleb is a certified pussy-muncher, long ass eating out post SORRI, that wolf cut and those mullet kinda did sum to me so him in a lil ponytail yummm
you awaken slowly, pulled from your slumber by a force that you have no name for, your back arching off the mattress and your legs quivering with pleasure. your lips part in a silent groan as you reach down, eyes fluttering as you grasp blindly at the dark head of hair working determinedly between your spread thighs.
“cal-caleb?” the syllables escape you in scarcely more than a whimper. your fingers find purchase around the soft little ponytail that sits messily atop his head, tangling in the silky strands. “caleb-nnngh.”
your tormentor pulls away for the briefest of seconds, and you keen at the momentary loss of his wet mouth. “shh,” he breathes, chuckling lowly when you jolt. “It’ll feel really good soon.”
warm hands smooth up your thighs, sending shivers up your spine as his arms wind around you in an ironclad embrace. you’re rendered immobile, helpless in his grasp, and your mouth falls open when he envelops your clit between his lips and gives it a harsh suck. your hips buck at the burst of pleasure, but he’s quick to splay his hands against your stomach and pin you back down against the rumpled sheets. almost apologetically, he licks a stripe up the length of your clenching pussy, dipping inside for a split second before the wet, hot suction of his mouth returns to your clit in full force. a sharp moan tears from your throat, escaping into the open air of your bedroom.
blinking blearily against the sunlight flooding through the gap in the curtains, you finally take in your gege’s prone figure, his head and bare shoulders illuminated in hazy gold. his hair is gathered up at his crown, a few stray tendrils escaping from the elastic and standing at odd angles, and affection blooms in your heart at the sight. your fingers trail gently through his ponytail, and though you can’t see his face, you can feel the way his lips curl into a smile against the soft skin of your inner thigh.
“pretty girl,” he coos fondly. “wanna make you feel good. Wanna make you cum.”
you arch breathlessly when he punctuates his sentiment by slipping two fingers inside your pussy with no warning at all. his mouth wraps around your clit again, his tongue flicking against the sensitive bud in time with the steady cadence of his fingers, and you shudder deliriously when he easily finds the spot that has you seeing stars.
your grasp on his hair tightens, further mussing the soft strands, but he doesn’t even seem to notice as he digs a little deeper, releasing your clit to groan in approval. deliberately, he replaces his mouth with the heel of his palm, grinding insistently against the nub until your hips are spasming in his grip.
“caleb-” you gasp. “oh, god-”
“tell me, pips,” he rasps. the hand that’s still wound around your legs releases its steely grip, coming up to close over your fingers on his head. slowly, he encourages you to grasp his ponytail more tightly, a low groan escaping him when your nails scrape against his scalp. “show me where you want me.”
you’re wide awake now. exhaling shakily, you spread your legs a little wider, guiding his face back between your thighs until his nose is brushing against your clit. he retracts his fingers from where they’re sheathed inside your core, and you’re about to reprimand him when he seemingly reads your mind and licks a long, slow stripe up the length of your entrance. your eyes flutter shut at the warm wetness of his tongue, your lips parting in a moan, and when he dips inside you gasp his name.
your gege is no longer teasing. he eats you out now with an enthusiasm that puts all his previous efforts to shame, alternating between long licks and soft sucks on your clit. pleasure coils in the pit of your belly, tightening with each swipe of his tongue. you’re teetering at the edge, dangerously close to the brink, and caleb seems to sense it because he doubly renews his efforts. two fingers slip inside you, curling up just so to reach that soft spot, and the resulting wave of pleasure nearly has your vision going white. your hips spasm as you ride out your orgasm, your walls clenching wildly around his fingers, and he chuckles as his thumb pets you in slow, sure circles.
“that’s my girl,” he murmurs. still feeling rather boneless, you glance down to see him smiling happily at you, the ponytail atop his head askew and his chin slick with your juices. giggling, you smooth a hand over his messy hair, tugging gently at the loose strands near his nape until he takes the hint and crawls up your body to give you a kiss.
“i like your hair,” you tell him once he’s pulled back for air. “thought you should know.”
he grins, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. “and I like you. thought I should show you.”
what happens when he convinces himself you’re pregnant?
Xavier, Zayne, Rafayel, Sylus, Caleb x AFAB!Reader
Xavier
The apartment smells like burnt toast and coffee because Xavier tried to “make breakfast in bed” and forgot to time the toaster correctly. He’s sitting on the edge of the mattress now, knees bouncing like he’s about to launch into orbit, staring at the pregnancy test on the nightstand like it’s going to start talking to him.
Two lines?
No. wait- one line.
Wait- two?
He squints. Tilts his head. Picks it up. Holds it to the window light. Turns it sideways like maybe the angle will change the answer.
You’re in the bathroom brushing your teeth, completely unaware that your boyfriend is currently experiencing a full mental breakdown over a stick you peed on five minutes ago because you felt bloated after too much food last night.
Xavier’s already three steps ahead.
He’s mentally redecorating the spare room. Pastel yellow walls? No- soft lavender. Better for naps. Crib in the corner by the window so the baby gets morning light. He’s calculating how many stuffed animals is too many (answer: there is no such thing). He’s wondering if he can convince Jeremiah to be the godfather or if that’s too much pressure.
He’s vibrating.
When you finally walk out wiping toothpaste from your lip, he’s standing in the middle of the bedroom holding the test like it’s a holy relic.
“Babe,” he says, voice cracking on the single syllable. “We’re having a baby.”
You blink.
“Xavier… it’s negative.”
He freezes.
Looks at the test again.
Squints harder.
Turns it upside down.
“…It’s negative?”
“Yeah,” you say gently. “I’m not pregnant. Just ate too much spicy food and my period’s late. False alarm.”
His face does this thing where it goes from euphoric to devastated to embarrassed in 0.8 seconds flat. The test drops from his fingers. He stares at it on the carpet like it personally betrayed him.
“Oh,” he says very small.
Then he just… deflates.
Shoulders slump. Eyes get big and shiny. He looks like a golden retriever who was told walkies are canceled forever.
You step closer. “Hey-“
“I already picked names,” he mumbles. “And paint colors. And I was gonna ask Jeremiah to build a crib. I had a whole plan. I was gonna be good at this.”
You bite your lip to keep from laughing.
He looks up at you with those big, wounded puppy eyes.
“I was excited,” he says quietly. “Like… really excited.”
You pull him into a hug. He wraps both arms around you immediately, face buried in your shoulder like he’s trying to hide.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper, rubbing his back.
He shakes his head against you. “Don’t be. I just… got ahead of myself.
A beat.
Then- muffled into your shirt:
“…maybe this is a sign to start trying,”
Your eyes widen and you start laughing.
He pulls back just enough to look at you, still a little shiny-eyed, but smiling now.
“I mean with the house now,” he adds hopefully. “There’s nothing holding us back, right?”
You kiss his cheek.
“We can talk about pets,” you say. “But maybe let’s wait until the food digests before we commit to anything.”
He nods solemnly.
Then he picks up the test again, stares at it for a second longer, and sighs like a man who’s accepted his tragic fate.
“Fine,” he mutters. “But I’m getting the paint swatches. Just in case.
You snort.
He grins, it’s small, sheepish and hopeful.
Zayne
The living room is dead quiet except for the hum of the fridge omitting from the kitchen and the occasional beep from Zayne’s phone. He’s sitting at the small table, white coat hanging over the arm rest, his sleeves rolled up, staring at his notes app like it holds the secrets of the universe.
He’s been compiling evidence for three days.
Exhibit A: You’ve been napping every afternoon. Not just dozing, full-on, drooling-on-the-couch, “wake me in an hour” naps.
Exhibit B: You cried at a dog adoption ad on his phone last night. Actual tears. You don’t even like dogs that much.
Exhibit C: You ate an entire jar of pickles in one sitting. With peanut butter. He walked in on you double-dipping and nearly dropped his coffee.
Exhibit D: Your breasts hurt. You winced when you hugged him yesterday. He noticed immediately (he’s a doctor, he notices everything).
Conclusion: You’re pregnant.
He’s already mentally rearranged his schedule. Reduced OR hours starting next month. Found three different prenatal vitamin brands and cross-referenced their reviews. Bookmarked a crib he likes in matte white oak. Even googled “best changing tables” at 2 a.m. last night. He has a color-coded spreadsheet open on his laptop right now titled “First Trimester Checklist - Preliminary.”
When you finally walk in, yawning, hair messy, still in his hoodie, you freeze at the sight of him hunched over his phone, looking like he’s planning a military campaign.
“…Zayne?”
He looks up. Eyes bright. Almost manic.
“You’re pregnant,” he says. Not a question. A statement of fact delivered with the calm certainty of a man who’s already bought the baby shoes.
You blink.
“What?”
“The symptoms line up perfectly.” He turns the phone toward you. “Fatigue, emotional lability, unusual cravings, breast tenderness. I’ve tracked it. Statistically significant.”
You stare at the screen. Then at him.
Then you start giggling. Softly at first, you try to cover your mouth with your hand.
Zayne’s face falls. The excitement drains out of him like someone pulled a plug.
“…You’re not?”
You shake your head, still giggling. “No, baby. I’m not pregnant. My period’s just late because I’ve been stressed about that upcoming mission. And I always eat weird food combos, you know this.”
He looks down at his meticulously organized spreadsheet. Then back at you.
“Oh.”
You step closer. Take the phone from his hand. Close the app gently.
“You were really excited,” you say softly.
He exhales. Rubs the back of his neck, ears pink.
“I… may have gotten ahead of myself.”
You wrap your arms around his waist. Rest your cheek on his chest.
“I thought it was sweet. A little terrifying, but sweet.”
He lets out a small, embarrassed laugh. Wraps his arms around you. Presses his lips to the top of your head.
“I already ordered prenatal vitamins,” he admits quietly. “Express shipping.”
You laugh again, muffled against his shirt.
“Cancel them?”
“…Maybe I’ll keep one bottle. Just in case.
You pull back just enough to look up at him.
“Zayne.”
He sighs, grin still on his face.
“Fine. I’ll cancel them.”
A beat.
Then, smaller, almost shy:
“…But if it ever does happen… I already know which crib we should get.”
You smile. Kiss the underside of his jaw.
“One day,” you promise.
He nods. Holds you tighter.
Rafayel
Rafayel had been rifling through your bag for that tube of lip balm you always "lost" (he knew you hid it just to make him look), when his fingers brushed something unfamiliar. He pulled it out: prenatal vitamins. The label stared back at him like a prophecy from the previous sea gods themselves.
His heart stopped. Then exploded.
"Oh my god," he whispered, clutching the bottle like it was a sacred relic. "She's… we're… I'm gonna be a dad."
He didn't waste a second, he bolted to the studio, grabbing his sketchpad and flipping to a blank page. "Okay, first: nursery. Underwater theme? No, too on-the-nose. Pastel corals and stars. And a mobile with glowing fish!"
He started doodling furiously, tiny crib, little onesies with flame motifs, a high chair shaped like a seashell. "Names! If it's a girl, Artemisia. Boy? Something strong, like… Rafayel Jr. Wait, no, that's narcissistic. Fine, Chaim. Perfect."
By the time you got home, the place was a whirlwind. Mood boards pinned to the walls, fabric samples scattered on the couch, and Rafayel on the phone ordering "organic seaweed supplements for expecting mothers" in bulk.
You walked in, blinking. "What… is all this?"
He spun around, eyes wide and manic, bottle of vitamins thrust at you like evidence. "You're pregnant! I found these! We're having a baby! I already planned the nursery. And names! Artemisia for a girl, Chaim for a boy. And I ordered a stroller that floats. Okay, it doesn't float, but it could if I mod it-“
You stared. Then burst out laughing.
Rafayel's excitement deflated like a popped balloon. "What? What's so funny? This is serious! We're parents now!"
You wiped tears from your eyes, still giggling. "Rafayel… those vitamins are for my iron deficiency. Dr. Zayne prescribed them last week. I'm not pregnant."
He froze. Blinked once. Twice.
Then he collapsed onto the couch, face in his hands. "Oh gods. I just spent three hours designing a floating high chair."
You sat beside him, still chuckling. "A floating high chair?"
He peeked through his fingers, cheeks pink. "It seemed practical at the time."
You ruffled his hair. "Well, save the sketches. Maybe one day."
He groaned, but pulled you into his lap, burying his face in your neck. "One day. But next time, warn a guy before you stock up on vitamins that look like baby prep."
You kissed his temple. "Deal. But the names are cute."
He huffed. "Of course they are. I came up with them."
Sylus
Sylus had been keeping mental notes for weeks.
You were late. Not just a day or two- five, going on six.
You’d been napping more, falling asleep on the couch mid-conversation, waking up groggy and confused.
You’d snapped at him over nothing yesterday (he’d asked if you wanted tea and you’d said “why are you always hovering?” before immediately looking guilty and hugging him).
You’d eaten an entire jar of spicy pickled radishes straight from the fridge at 2 a.m. while glaring at him like he’d personally offended the jar.
And this morning you’d gagged at the smell of his coffee, his coffee, the one you usually steal sips from.
He hadn’t said anything. Just watched. Tracked and hoped.
By the time you came home that evening he’d already mentally renovated the east wing of the penthouse into a nursery.
Soft gray walls (calming but not boring).
A crib with black wood and silver accents (elegant, not tacky).
A rocking chair upholstered in velvet (making sure it would offer utmost comfort for you).
He’d even looked up“non-toxic baby-safe paint” and ordered three different brands “just in case.”
When you walked in he was on the couch, legs crossed, looking far too casual for a man who’d spent the day mentally planning his child’s future.
You dropped your bag.
Kicked off your shoes.
Looked at him suspiciously.
“Why are you staring at me like that?”
He tilted his head. Voice smooth. Too smooth.
“You’re late.”
You blink. “Late for what?”
“Your cycle.” He says it like he’s reading a weather report. “Six days. You’ve been fatigued. Moody. Craving strange things. Gagging at coffee you usually like.”
Your mouth opens. Closes.
He leans forward, elbows on knees, eyes gleaming.
“I’ve already ordered the crib. And paint. And a changing table that doubles as a dresser. Black walnut. Modern. You’ll like it.”
You stare at him for a solid five seconds.
Then you avoid his gaze, eyes looking everywhere but at him.
Sylus’s face falls like someone cut the strings.
“…You’re not?”
You shake your head, exhaling a laugh. “No, you absolute lunatic. I’m not pregnant. My period’s late because I’ve been stressed about work and I skipped a few pills last month. The gagging? I’m pretty sure I ate expired yogurt yesterday. And the moodiness? That’s just me dealing with you.”
He blinks once. Slowly.
Then he drops his head into his hands.
“…my mistake,” he mutters into his palms. “I got ahead of myself.”
You shake your head, laughing, the overexcitement he showcased was endearing.
He peeks through his fingers.
Looks wounded.
Pathetic.
Adorable.
“I was even thinking of names.” he says mournfully.
You crawl onto the couch. Straddle his lap. Cup his face.
“You’re so stupid,” you say fondly. “And I love you for it.”
He groans. Drops his head back against your shoulder. Arms wrap around your waist automatically.
“I’m canceling the cribs,” he grumbles. “But I’m making the twins pick up paint buckets.
You kiss his cheek.
His nose.
His pouty mouth.
“I wouldn’t mind having kids,” you whisper against his lips.
He opens his eyes. Looks at you, soft, hopeful, right eye glowing.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
He exhales. Pulls you closer.
Buries his face in your neck.
“Whenever you’re ready,” he mutters. “we can start planning.”
You laugh into his hair.
“We could start trying right now...”
And somewhere in a warehouse, three very expensive cribs are already en route, needed maybe sooner rather than later.
Caleb
Caleb was in the kitchen making protein shakes when your phone lit up on the counter.
He wasn’t snooping.
He just glanced.
Reflex.
The preview text from Tara popped up like a neon sign:
Tara: “Cribs aren’t even that expensive! I guess now is a pretty good time to get knocked up. Luckyyy”
Caleb froze mid-scoop.
The protein powder container slipped from his hand and exploded across the floor in a cloud of chocolate dust.
Knocked up?
You.
Him.
A baby.
His brain immediately blue-screened, then rebooted into overdrive.
He pictured it instantly:
You waddling around the apartment in his hoodies with his baby.
Him building a crib at 3 a.m. because he couldn’t sleep thinking about tiny socks.
A little girl with your eyes and his stupid cowlick.
Or a boy who’d inherit his outgoing nature.
Names already formingx something strong but soft-
He didn’t even finish the thought before he was sprinting to the living room, phone clutched like evidence in a murder trial.
You were on the couch, eyes glued to the TV when he burst in, wild-eyed, covered in protein powder like he’d been in a cocoa explosion.
“Baby.”
You looked up. “Yeah?”
“Are you-“ His voice cracked. He cleared his throat. Tried again. “Are you… pregnant?”
You blinked.
Brows furrowing, visibly looking taken aback.
Caleb’s face went from hopeful to devastated in record time.
“…No?”
Your mouth curled up into a grin “No, Caleb. I’m not pregnant. My period’s literally due tomorrow.”
He stared at you.
Then at the floor.
Then back at you.
“Oh.”
You could see the exact moment all his mental Pinterest boards of baby onesies and nursery inspo imploded.
He sat down hard on the coffee table. Looked like a kicked puppy.
“I… was mentally preparing,” he said quietly. “And I was thinking about how we’d need to baby-proof the balcony. And I was gonna look into knitting classes to attend.”
You crawled over and climbed into his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck.
He buried his face in your shoulder like he was hiding.
“I got excited,” he mumbled into your shirt. “Really excited.”
You kissed the top of his head. “I know.”
A pause.
Then- small, hopeful:
“…it’s not off the table though, right?”
You laughed against his hair.
“I’d love to start a family with you. Eventually.”
He exhaled, long and dramatic.
“Okay. How do 5 sound?”
He looked up at you, sheepish.
You kissed him hard, laughing into his mouth.
He kissed back, arms locking around you like he was never letting go.
Requested by anon ↳ ❝ [...making a dildo cast out of caleb so that she has a lil sm when he's not there 😗 and him acting up during the process] ¡! ❞
A/N; I know I‘ve banished to the shadow realms.. sighhh just vote anyway saw this as a request and had to crawl out of my hole of missery
Buy me a coffee? <3
"Stay still, mkay?"
Your teasing warning brings poor Caleb back from his daydream, shirt tucked between his teeth with his saliva bleeding through it as he oggles at you dipping the mold tube into the warm liquid silicone, careful not to spill.
And Caleb has to physically stop himself once you manage to slide the mold over his cock, the silicone cool against his hot length, but he thrusts forward anyway, a low groan escaping around the fabric in his mouth. His hips buck instinctively, the sudden coolness gripping him like a tight, silky pussy— your pussy, and you press a firm hand against his thigh to hold him in place.
"This is wayyyy worse than cockwarming, pips."
"Caleb," you murmur, your voice laced with faint dissapointment, eyes locking onto his as you adjust the tube, ensuring that every single ridge and vein of his throbbing cock is captured perfectly, "I said stay still. Or do you want this to come out all wonky?"
He whimpers, the sound muffled, his chest heaving as he bites down harder on his shirt. His cock twitches inside the hardening silicone, already thickening further from the restraint, pre-cum leaking into the mix. You can see the frustration in his eyes, the way his fingers clench at his sides, but he nods anyway, obeying despite the sweat beads on his forehead and his abs tightening as he fights the urge to fuck into the mold.
To fuck you.
"Good boy," you purr, trailing your fingers up his inner thigh, teasing just below his balls, watching his beefy thigh twitch and his cock pulsing visibly through the semi-transparent silicone as it begins to set. Minutes drag on, the room filled with his ragged breaths and the occasional whine slipping past his teeth.
When it's finally time to pull it free, you grip the base of the tube and ease it off slowly, revealing his slick, flushed cock still standing proud and jumpy. And he gasps as the cool air hits him, hips jerking forward again, snearly poking your face and fuck— he'd give anything to actually feel your touch on his painfully hard cock.
You set the mold aside to cure, turning back to him with a smirk.
"Why do you even need that?" he whines, spitting out his shirt, voice breathy and pleading as he reaches for you. "I'm right here. You can have the real thing anytime and you know that. So— fuckkk, please touch me, baby."
Cupping his jaw and tilting his face to meet your gaze, your thumb brushes his lower lip, a quick giggle escaping you at the puppy eyes he sends you.
"Because sometimes you're not here, 'leb. I need something to help me when you're gone on a work trip. And what's better than to have your cock with me even when you're away?"
"You could just call me, ya' know. I'd talk you through it reallll nice."
"C'mon, Caleb. Do it," you plead, faking a cute pout for him, "For me?"
And he obliges, leaning in to kiss you deeply, his hands already roaming your body as he groans into your mouth.
"Mhmmm. Gonna do it for my sweet baby."
.
.
.
When it finally arrives days later, perfectly timed with your boyfriend already a week into his work trip, you can't help but laugh at just how accurate the replica is.
And you don't shy away from testing it out right after it came back in the mail, the toy hitting your sweet spot with ease just like he—
God, you miss him.
After a long, lonely week, Caleb finally stumbles home from his trip, exhaustion written all over him as he peels off his hat and shrugs out of his uniform coat.
The place feels wrong immediately, because there is no hello kiss from you at the door.
His frown deepens as he heads toward your shared bedroom before he stops dead in his tracks.
No, it's much rather a moan.
You're not seriously…?
"M–miss you, Cay'," your voice drifts out, hazy and so, so needy, accompanied by wet and lewd schlick schlick schlicks, "Wan' you to fill me up again."
Once the bedroom door creaks open, he freezes in the doorway.
"Hi 'Leb."
There you are, hazily grinning from ear to ear, sprawled across the soaked sheets, legs parted shamelessly and your back arches as you ram the replica of him in and out in and out— twisting and turning on the bed as his name leaves you lips with each wet gush your cunt sprays the toy in.
He's never been more jealous of anything in his life than he is right now.
"What the fuck is this?"
Veins bulging in his neck, eyes wild with a dark purple fury, he storms toward the bed, ripping off his clothes in a mad rush before climbing on and yanking your leg even wider. Your strangled gasp echoes unheard as he ignores it completely.
"Couldn't wait even one goddamn week to use it, huhhh?"
His long, beefy fingers bat yours aside with an annoyed flick of his tongue, ripping the dildo free from your grip only to slam it straight back into your gaping cunt, already peppering your slack jaw with sloppy kisses.
The replica parts your gooey walls, thrusting deep and hard, his gaze locked on the creamy ring forming at the base of the silicone shaft, thick globs of it trailing down his hand in sticky rivulets.
When your hand jerks out shakily, trying to slow him down, he smacks it aside, loud thwack thwack thwacking of your stuffed pussy drowning out everything around you.
"M' sorry, Cay! R-really wanted to feel full again—oh fuck, just like that!"
"Oh?," His cock, thick and veined, grinds harder against your thigh, the swollen head spitting ropes of hot precum across your flesh as it humps with feral urgency to get inside you, "You wanna feel full, huh?"
"Mhmm! P-please!"
He flashes a feral grin at your cute whine, his meaty cock jerking upward, fat head leaking sticky precum, paining to shove itself into your packed cunt right next to the dildo.
Your heels gouge into his hips, pulling him in tighter, while the swollen tip of his dick draaaags across the stretched lips of your stuffed pussy.
