Untitled

[rafayelspet]

Can I request how the boys would react to accidentally overhearing you saying how you love him but there's no way he would love you back please? MC is frustrated because she knows it's mutual but both of them made her promise not to let the other person know!

we can't be friends

tags : zayne , caleb , sylus , xavier , rafayel x NON MC (separate) , the lads are NOT in love with MC (they in love with you, aka NON MC) , mutual feelings but no confessions , not HC , modern AU , not proofread

zayne

i'm really sorry to say this, but zayne would NOT reach out to you. doesn't matter iif he knows later on that you actually had feelings for him, he's not crossing that line

why ? very simple. you didn't cross the line for a reason (whether it be a boundary, a promise), and he's going to respect that (consent king)

the only way to make him fold and initiate first is if MC (who isn't you) or his entourage encourage zayne to cross the line and go for it

even then, he won't full on confess his love for you -- he'll drop hints and clues. just to gauge your reactions (he needs to make sure that you'll be 110% comfortable with the idea that he might actually be in love with you)

once he knows for certainty that you want him just as much, he's crossing the line no hesitation. his way to confess is clear, simple, raw, vulnerable. no games, no guessing -- very honest and straight to the point

caleb

this man is crossing the fucking line between friends to lovers asap once he hears that you love him just as much

he already waited and controlled himself long enough, he's not wasting any more time

sylus

also sorry to say this, but i think sylus would use this chance to see who's going to break first and confess

it's not even out of ego / pride that he's doing this game, it's like a roleplay for him

he's not even being subtle too, because he doesn't care if people see him as down bad for you, he wants to see how long it takes before you catch the hint and jump on him

xavier

fucking frustrated out of all the lads. not fun at all for him

i also believe that out of the lads, xavier is the most emotionally sensitive and accurate one. he can feel your emotions and intentions quicker than everyone

probably knows that you have feelings for him, but like zayne, won't cross that line until he is sure that you are ready (ready for that dick, sorry)

he believes in love that both should choose each other, without any burden / pressure ; like zayne, only then does it become true love

while zayne might be more controlled in his ... hints, xavier might not. he'll use passive aggressive language to convey that you're already his without explicitly stating

rafayel

why did it take you so long to fall for him ?

why is it taking you so long to confess your mutual feelings for him ?

i don't think rafayel would wait to confess his love for you ; screw this promise to keep it secret

[calebified]

The way mc is so devoted to Caleb just as much as Caleb is devoted to mc cause that birthday present/organisation that mc did for Caleb is so so so heartwarming. They really live and breathe for each other

[remnantsofgildedcages]

🍎🐦‍⬛ AppleCrowArchives

Author’s Note : I don’t put much warning tags for such a short story. Only warnings like mdni, smut, and important ones.

#001 - smut, voyeurism

#002 - competition, smut?

#003 - smut

#004 - toy, punishment, smut

#005 - dress, makeup, teasing, smut

#006 - dp, reader’s choice: poll result

#006 - Birthday Boy Special smut

#008 - Sylus showing off, smut

#009 - Caleb showing off, smut

#010 - Primal Play pt 1, smut

Published archives may get shuffled and the list will be corrected soon after.

*Under Construction*

[hermit-online]

But y'all think that Zayne and Sy sometimes play the "go ask your boyfriend" thing with you?

𐙚⋆°🦢｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°🦢｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°🦢｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°🦢｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°

Like imagine Zayne telling you to go to Sylus when you want more plushies, being too drained to indulge in a marathonic claw machine session himself.

Or maybe you saw a pretty expensive, pretty beta, pretty unsafe motorcycle and Sy can't just say no to you and your puppy eyes, so he tells you to go to Zayne who will give you an hour long speech about the risks of an engine that is more of a prototype than a motorcycle.

It's not that you couldn't go and do all those things alone, you could if you wanted to but where's the fun in that?

And when you get especially needy, neither of them are up to disappoint. Whether it's Sylus having to send you to Zayne cause he really has to leave for some important stupid business meeting or the poor Dr.Zayne who just spent the last 12 hours standing in a room, holding someone's heart, bringing Sylus a clingy kitty desperate for attention (you).

Is this what teamwork is called? You don't know, but you also don't care when you have them to take care of you, and they have you to take care of them.

𐙚⋆°🦢｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°🦢｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°🦢｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°🦢｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°

a/n: Love the butterfly effect that brought me to this time line.

[pronouncingitwang]

at some point in your life you will be boiling fruit, water, sugar, and lemon juice in a pot to make a syrup or jam. the instructions will tell you to simmer for a certain amt of time. your timer will go off and you will look at the pot and go, "hm, this doesn't look thick enough. maybe i'll let it go for another 10 minutes." this is the devil speaking. it's only so liquid right now because it is at boiling point. it will thicken when it cools down. learn from the follies of my youth and do not let this happen to you

[yokowan]

at some point in your life you will be making a sauce or a stew in which you need to add cornstarch to thicken it. and you will prepare a slurry of starch in cold water and think "this looks like way too little starch to thicken this amount of liquid." this is the devil speaking. cornstarch instantly polymerizes at 95°C and if you add too much it will turn into an impossibly thick goop.

[le-jardin-inculte]

at some point in your life you will be making some sort of cream based dessert that requires gelatin to thicken it. and you will soak some gelatin sheets in water and think "this is too few gelatin sheets for this amount of cream." this is the devil speaking. it will thicken in the fridge and if you add too much you will end up with milk jelly

[shithowdy]

at some point in your life you will be baking cookies. you will take the sheet out after twelve minutes as the recipe instructs and the cookies will still be glistening and soft. "these don't seem cooked enough," you will think to yourself, "i should place them back into the oven until their edges are nice and golden." this is the devil talking. this is how you get dry, overdone cookies. the cookies will continue to bake on the warm sheet for several more minutes and then harden up after sitting on a rack for a while. trust the process. trust the process.

[astralace-v]

At some point in your life you will be cooking (not baking!) a recipe you have never cooked before. You might think "1 tablespoon of garlic doesn't seem like enough" or "maybe I should throw in the rest of that veggie in the fridge that's going bad soon." This is God talking. Your dish WILL taste better with more garlic or more veggies. Also God will tell you to add a little lemon juice to your chicken soup. Do it.

The devil might tell you to add way too much salt, so maybe don't listen to him. Oh and he might tell you to add acid to your raw beans but don't do that. They'll never get soft. That's kinda it tho. Just throw shit in!! Don't be afraid to deviate from the recipe a little bit, cooking really is a lot more forgiving than people think it is! Baking tho... that shit's magic and alchemy.

[cheriefrosting]

Aiding and Abetting

When your daughter's psychiatrist suggests you get in touch with your abusive ex-husband in prison for her sake, you're not thrilled. Fortunately for you, he's dead. Unfortunately for you, someone else is alive and very keen on playing the part of a doting father. wc: 3.1k

Anyone who saw the way you were glaring at the red envelope sitting on your kitchen counter would assume you were trying to vaporize it through thought alone.

When your daughter's recuring nightmares had made you consult a children's psychiatrist, she'd come to the conclusion that your daughter missed her deadbeat of a father.

"He's in jail" You'd deadpanned.

"Perhaps, she could visit?"

"Thank you"

You weren't interested in any suggestions the psychiatrist had to make that revolved around getting your daughter involved with your criminal of a husband. Not that you could even if you wanted to.

Hell didn't really have a visitors' policy.

As you absentmindedly braided her hair that night, you wondered if it was your bad luck or good grace that he'd been killed in a riot in jail. When the penitentiary had phoned for you to come and identify his body, you'd been scared.

Scared that it wouldn't be him and the bastard would've cheated death itself.

You decided there was no need for your daughter to ever know what kind of person her father was. But as she grew older and the neighbors' kids started talking, it was clearly affecting her more than you'd realized.

"Hey, Bun" You softly turned her to face you "Do you miss Daddy?"

Her eyes widened like she had been caught with her hand in the cookie jar before she hid her hands behind her back, shoulders drooping "No.."

"It's okay if you do" You reassured her. You couldn't blame her for feeling left out when she watched all the little kids get picked up by both their parents. It was obvious she'd wonder why she didn't have that.

You weighed your options. If you played it right, you could satisfy her and also keep her in the dark at the same time.

"Would you like to write him a letter?"

Tears sprang to your eyes when you saw how instantly she bloomed in joy, nodding vigorously and trying to escape your hold so she could do it immediately. You stopped her, promised you'd help her write it the next day if she went to bed at once.

Three days after she posted her letter, you brought one home with a flourish, telling her that her father had written back after all!

If the little lie you told was the reason your daughter had the dopiest smile on her face, you'd never feel guilty for it ever again. Especially not as you tucked her into bed that night, her little fist still clutching the letter like it was her lifeline.

It was only a few days later that you felt your heartbeat nearly triple when she rushed into the house, clutching a blood red envelope "Mommy! Mommy look!" You'd been folding laundry when she barreled into your legs "Daddy wrote letter again!"

You didn't mean to, but you snatched the letter from between her hands so fast, it startled her. Lower lip wobbling, you saw the tears well up in her eyes and immediately decided to do damage control.

"Daddy said I should only give you this letter if you freshen up for dinner quickly!"

When your daughter turned and sprinted for the bathroom, you couldn't believe it had worked. Abandoning the laundry, you tore the envelope open and started reading.

You stared in disbelief. Sure, you had really posted the letter to the penitentiary when your daughter had insisted to take it all the way to the post office herself. You'd come up with a random serial number on the spot and figured they'd just toss the letter when they realized there was no one with that number on the roster.

My dearest Princess,

Daddy very much misses you as well. I'm always thinking of my precious daughter.

P.S You are very good at drawing! I'm proud of you.

Love,

Daddy

Not only had someone received her letter...they'd also written back? In character?

The obvious conclusion is that it's an accident. An obvious mix-up. But your daughter is so ecstatic, you can't possibly break her heart like this.

So, you let her write a letter back. Again going to the post office and posting it.

When the third letter comes back from the prison, you decide to take matters in your own hands. Writing a little letter of your own and enclosing it with your daughter's drawings.

I really appreciate you humoring my daughter, but this was just a way to cope since her father is dead. There is no need to keep up with the farce.

I don't mind it. I quite enjoy her little sketches of the three of us. Tell her that Daddy's hair is lighter in color (:

I will not be telling her anything of the sort.

So cutthroat. You wound me, darling.

Despite yourself, you found your lips lifting at his words, but you caught yourself in record time, shoving the little note in your jeans as you quickly skimmed over his letter to your daughter before you deemed it okay to hand it to her.

She squealed with delight, clutching her new bunny by the ear as she thundered down to her room to read her letter in "secret". You watched her go till she was out of sight, still staring after her and wondering if it really was a bad idea to exchange harmless letters. If some bored criminal wanted to play house with your daughter over some letters, was there really any real danger to it?

You'd always check the letter she'd write, illegible as it was, to see if she didn't accidentally reveal any information about herself. And after she'd go to sleep, you'd only change one little thing.

Erasing her name at the bottom, you used your non-dominant hand to sign a pet name. Not once had you let your daughter's letters carry her real name over to a criminal. For the sake of her mental health, you'd allowed the letters, but this was non-negotiable to you.

Like clockwork, every Tuesday his letter arrives, you skim the contents before re-sealing it and handing it over to your daughter when she comes home from pre-school. Subsequently, you post her letter every Wednesday evening, using an address that was four blocks away from yours, belonging to the sweetest old lady who lived by herself and had dementia. You felt horrible taking advantage of the fact that she never checked her mail so you could always just conveniently swipe out the letters from her mailbox, but you brought her enough baked goods to make up for it. The letters you sent were just addressed to the penitentiary; with the serial number of an inmate you'd never know the owner of.

He signed his letters Skye but after having lived a life in hiding with a criminal, you'd learned not to trust the lot. If your daughter's deteriorating mental state hadn't been in question, the first letter would've never gone out.

One Tuesday evening, your daughter pulls at your pants to grab your attention and gives you a tiny note that she says is from Daddy. Your senses immediately go on high alert, wondering how you could've missed it, worrying he's said something inexcusable and you would have to stop this little pen pal relationship.

Am I not allowed to know what my daughter looks like?

You feel a vein throbbing in your forehead, smiling at your daughter as she stares at you with her big doe-like eyes before you distract her with a snack.

If he wants to know what your daughter looked like, he would do something crazy like wanting to meet her if he ever got out. And if that wasn't bad, he'd probably kidnap her or do something inane, maybe he was already plotting it. Feeling your heart drop to your chest, you decide it really was the end.

That week, you don't send your daughter's letter. It remains in an unmarked envelope, hidden on the top shelf of your closet in a big box at the very back. The Wednesday of the week after, you wake up in cold sweat wondering if he sent a letter anyway. The morning of, you drop by the old lady's mailbox and quickly look through her mail just in case and sigh in relief when there's nothing in it.

The next week, you can't help the dread as you're swiping through the mailbox again, realizing how stupid you'd been. Not only had you probably endangered your daughter, but also the sweet old lady who always babysat for you whenever you had to pull extra shifts at work.

You can't keep the guilt off your face when you run into her at the grocery store that weekend, paying for her share as well when you realize she didn't remember to bring her wallet with her, heart pinching in agony at having taken advantage of her situation. Your daughter is skipping in front as you carry all the grocery bags, dropping the old lady off at her place with her stuff. She insists you stay for tea and you're about to decline but she's already bribed your daughter with cake and it's too late to retreat.

The sun is setting in streaks of orange and blue when you finally wave goodbye to her, adjusting the beanie on your daughter's head before she runs off again. You cross the mailbox, your stomach dropping as you backtrack and decide to doubly check.

Your hands are sweaty, forehead perspiring as you pluck out the blood red envelope, gulping as the dread overwhelms you, like hands wrapping around your throat and squeezing squeezing squeezing to see how long you'd last.

You quickly shove the letter inside your purse before your daughter can catch sight of it. There was no way she was going to read it- if at all- without you proofreading it first.

The entire walk home, you cannot keep your eyes off her. Heart palpitating like any minute you expect someone to pick her off the street and run away where you could never find her again.

Your mind is on the contents of the letter throughout preparing dinner, watching your daughter's favorite show, her bath time, reading her a story to bed and finally, like all the other nights for the past week reassuring her that her Daddy does love her even if he's not written back in a while.

By the time you're finally alone, you're about ready to rip off your hair from its roots as you hastily open the envelope and pluck the letter out.

You skim the letter, it is inconspicuous, nothing suggesting that he never received another letter, keeping the conversation going like always. Asked her about school, her best friend Kara (who was a plushie, but he'd never know) and what kind of cake she liked. Totally innocent. Picking up where they'd previously left off.

You checked for another note, and sure enough there was one. Hands trembling, you opened the twofold and started reading.

Dearest Mommy of the Prettiest Princess in the World,

You'd have appreciated the sarcasm if your knees weren't fighting the urge to buckle and give in from the dread.

I suppose I have scared you with my little request. Thus, the lack of letters from your end for the past couple weeks. I apologize for the same, I only realized the implications of my request afterwards. I meant no harm and would understand if you would like to stop completely.

You trusted the man as far as you could throw him. Considering you knew nothing about him; you decided even that was unreliable.

But once in a while, with your permission of course, if the little bunny draws any more pictures, I'd be very much interested in seeing them.

You huffed out a laugh at his audacity, feeling your chest deflate. Years spent trusting your instinct to protect your daughter had wound you so tight that feeling even a single knot loosen was enough to knock the breath out of your lungs.

In sickness and in health,

Daddy

As you posted your daughter's letter that Wednesday, you couldn't help but laugh at your inside joke, wondering how he'd take it. If his previous demeanor was anything to go by, you were guessing it'd be in stride.

"Mail!"

Complete silence filled the yard, all the inmates stopping where they were, at odds with how they'd usually be clawing over each other to get their mail first.

Because no one touched their letters till he had taken his.

The crowd parted like the red sea, hordes of men in orange clearing a path till the mailman who, for all the brave face he put on, was trembling in his pants as well. He could feel the bead of sweat on his back, lining his forehead as he watched him approach, praying to all the Gods up in Heaven that someone- anyone had written this man a letter.

When he'd realized there was no letter for him, yet again, no one had been allowed to take theirs. Not because he forbade them, but because they were scared of what he'd do.

He'd not raised his voice, barely bothered looking intimidating and yet no one stood in his vicinity as he carded through the envelopes, not finding one for himself before asking in a saccharine tone "Are you sure you didn't misplace any?"

The first week, the mailman had been cocky, confident. He'd tched as he snatched the mail back, wondering why no one else was stepping forward "Don't blame me just 'cuz there ain't a letter for you in here ya bloke"

But when no one else stepped forward to take their mail, all that confidence had wavered as he looked around at downcast eyes, no one willing to risk upsetting him any more than he already was.

For the past two weeks, inmates had been avoiding him like the plague. He wasn't amiable on any day but if he didn't receive his letters on Friday, it was a long weekend for all of them.

Especially the ones who challenged him in the ring on Saturday nights.

The second week, it was a similar outcome. The mailman didn't understand what exactly was going on but the nervous, fidgety energy of the inmates was making him nervous as he watched him go through the envelopes and come up empty.

This time he'd just raised an eyebrow, making the mailman sweat "I didn't misplace any!" The desperation and fear ringing clear in his voice.

He'd smiled, crimson eyes glimmering in the sunlight "No one's blaming you" He'd turned around but the wind still carried over the last word "Yet"

The mailman had found himself rechecking for any lost envelopes thrice. He didn't know what would become of him if he returned another week without a letter.

Everyone waited with bated breath as he flipped through the stack of mail the mailman had just handed over and a collective sigh of relief escaped when he plucked out a measly white envelope, lips lifting in a sinister smirk as he handed the rest of the stack back, uncaring of the crowd descending on the poor mailman now that they had the green signal.

He returned to his cell, littered with drawings lining the walls surrounding a single bed, desk and chair. His fingers were twitching with excitement as he tore open the envelope and three things fell out.

He picked up the one on the top first. His daughter had written back to him finally, describing in great detail that she had won a finger-painting competition in school, that Kara came second, her favorite cake was "stroubery". A wry smile lifted his lips at the little sketch of the cake next to the text with cherries lining the top.

Like always, she'd signed it

He admired your resolute, truly. Your daughter's writing was so dark that it would leave indents behind the paper and yet, you'd erase her name so cleanly every time that despite multiple attempts at shading over the lines of the pencil indents, he was yet to figure out her name.

Luv u forehver

Princess Bunny

Picking up the second letter, he couldn't help the smirk spreading over his lips when he saw what you'd addressed it.

Dearest Daddy of the Prettiest Princess in the World,

God, he wanted to see you mouth off to him in person so bad.

I've attached a picture of her.

He was so surprised that he immediately dropped your letter to look at the polaroid you'd sent him. One he stared at for all of two seconds before throwing his head back and barking with laughter, unable to help himself as his shoulders shook with mirth.

Resting his forehead on the letter, he could faintly smell the perfume lingering on it and wondered what you looked like. He'd spent almost every day since your first letter wondering who you could possibly be. Sure, he had no reason to lie here and actually complete his sentence, he could get out whenever he wanted but he looked forward to his daughter's letters. There was no fun in finding out who you were through Luke and Keiran when he was sure he could get you to come to him. And you would. Slowly but surely.

Beautiful, isn't she?

She looks forward to your letters so I suppose you can keep sending them.

In happiness and in sorrow,

Mommy

As he pinned up the latest letter next to the others, he also pinned the polaroid next to it, unable to escape the huff of laughter escaping him when he gazed at the ultrasound.

Sylus would make you his. There was simply no other option.

Dearest Mommy of the Prettiest Princess in the World,

She is, indeed the most beautiful little princess I've ever seen. She takes after her mother, I'm sure. For research purposes, would you be willing to provide evidence I can submit?

To have and to hold,

Daddy

Dearest Daddy of the Prettiest Princess in the World,

Do you want my ultrasound too?

For better or for worse,

Mommy

Dearest Mommy of the Prettiest Princess in the World,

I don't mind. Although, I'll admit I usually save the ultrasounds for a third date.

For richer or for poorer,

Daddy

Dearest Daddy of the Prettiest Princess in the World,

Unfortunately for you, I don't have those ultrasounds or a third date for you.

To love and to cherish,

Mommy

Dearest Mommy of the Prettiest Princess in the World,

Why don't we start at a first one then? I would like to know the color of your eyes.

Till' death do us part,

Daddy

A/N: This has been marinating in my drafts for two months now. Time to unlock multiple chapter fics<3

sylus m.list | masterlist

[calebsfavoriteusedthong]

CALCULATED RISKS

An elevator encounter, a growing connection at the gym, and a spark of jealousy set the stage for emotions that refuse to stay buried.

*Remember each LI has their own girl (see chapter one for reference) and there will be medical inaccuracies because I'm not a doctor, I just work with them, so if you are a doctor, a nurse or a med student don't judge me too much 🫣.

Chapter 1 here Chapter 2 here Chapter 3 here

By the time you finally stepped into the elevator, your feet were killing you.

The last procedure had lasted nearly six hours, and you were fairly certain you hadn't sat down once since the beginning of your shift. All you wanted was five uninterrupted minutes of peace before someone inevitably paged you back into an operating room.

The universe had other plans.

The doors were already beginning to close when a familiar hand slipped between them, forcing them back open.

You didn't need to look up to know who it was.

Dr. Zayne Li stepped inside without a word.

Of course. The universe hated you.

The doors slid shut behind him, trapping the two of you inside a metal box that suddenly felt much smaller than it had five seconds ago.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Zayne stood beside you with the same impossible composure he carried through every surgery. Freshly scrubbed out of a five hour cardiothoracic procedure and somehow looked exactly as he had at six that morning. His white coat was spotless and despite the fact that he'd spent the better part of the day operating on a human heart, there wasn't a single sign of fatigue on his face.

You found that deeply irritating.

Normal people looked exhausted after a case like that.

Normal people had dark circles.

Normal people slouched.

Zayne looked like he'd merely finished answering emails and annoyed to be sharing an elevator.

You should have remain silent. Unfortunately, you possessed survival instincts roughly equivalent to a raccoon digging through electrical wiring.

"You know," you said casually, staring at the floor numbers above the door, "most surgeons say thank you at the end of their surgery."

Without looking at you, Zayne replied, "Most nurses don't mistake doing their job for heroism."

Your eye twitched.

"There he is."

That finally earned you a sideways look.

"There who is?"

"The reason every surgical resident on this hospital has stress induced nightmares."

His expression remained completely unchanged.

"If a resident enters my operating room unable to distinguish between confidence and competence, fear is an useful educational tool."

The elevator climbed another floor.

You folded your arms.

"Other surgeons at least pretend to like the people they work with."

"Why would I do that?"

"It's called morale."

"Morale doesn't repair arteries."

"No, but it stops others from fantasizing about pushing surgeons down stairwells."

Zayne hummed, a thoughtful sound.

"As long as it's a fantasy..."

You stared at him.

"Did you just make a joke?"

"No."

"You did."

"If that's your standard for humor, I understand why you find Rafayel entertaining."

You let out an offended gasp. "Leave Dr. Qi out of this."

"He spends thirty minutes adjusting the lighting in his OR before every surgery."

"He says fluorescent lights wash him out."

"They're lights."

"And yet somehow you're still the more dramatic one."

His gaze narrowed slightly.

"You seem unusually committed to having the last word."

You smiled sweetly "That's because I'm usually right."

The look he gave you could have frozen lava.

"That's a..." the elevator suddenly jerked. Hard.

The floor dropped beneath your feet for half a second before the entire car shuddered to a stop.

The lights flickered once, then settled.

Silence.

You blinked. Zayne looked up.

The elevator didn't move and a terrible realization settled over you.

"No."

The elevator remained perfectly still.

"No, no, no."

You stabbed the close door button. Nothing. Then the floor button "Oh, you've got to be kidding me."

Zayne sighed. The sound carried the exhaustion of a man who regularly dealt with incompetent administrators and surgeons who thought protocols were suggestions.

"Pressing the button repeatedly will not magically repair the elevator."

"I know that."

"Then why are you doing it?"

"Because panicking feels better than standing still."

His expression remained blank. "That's not healthy."

"It is for me."

You reached for the emergency button and the operator answered almost immediately, assuring you that maintenance was already on it.

Five minutes, maybe ten. Fantastic.

When the line disconnected, you leaned your head against the wall "This is your fault."

Zayne looked offended. A rare achievement.

"My fault."

"Every time I'm trapped somewhere unpleasant, you're involved."

"That's statistically impossible."

"You make everything feel longer."

"So that's why."

"Uh?"

"You've spent weeks avoiding me."

Your stomach tightened, this was dangerous territory " I don't avoid you."

"You switched OR assignments three times this week."

"That was scheduling."

"You requested the changes."

"You checked?"

"I approved them."

You groaned. Of course he had, because apparently being chief of surgery meant monitoring everyone's movements like some terrifyingly attractive dictator.

"It's my job."

"There you go again."

"What?"

"My job. My department. My operating room. My hospital." you tried to mock the tone of his voice as best as you could.

"I'm responsible for what happens here."

"You don't own us."

"No." the answer came immediately, cold and precise "But considering how often you create additional work for me, I occasionally question whether you're aware of that distinction."

You stared at him in disbelief "I create additional work?"

"You challenge every instruction I give."

"Because half the time you're impossible."

"Half?"

"Fine. Most of the time."

"Why are you so eager to argue with someone you dislike."

The words landed harder than they should have, making the air between you change. Neither of you spoke for a moment, because the truth was— you didn't dislike him.

The elevator suddenly felt warmer. Too quiet.

"Why did you really switch assignments?"

The question caught you off guard, and judging by the way his gaze remained fixed on you, he knew it. Your pulse stumbled for a fraction of a second before you recovered.

"I already told you."

"You lied."

You let out a short laugh and shook your head. "You know, one of these days you're going to have to accept that not everyone is lying to you."

"No. I don't think everyone lies. I think you're avoiding the question."

You opened your mouth to argue, but nothing came out. Silence settled between you again, stretching longer than either of you seemed willing to break. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence but it was dangerous in a different way. It left too much room for memories to creep in.

A crowded bar after an exhausting day. Too many drinks, too many lingering looks and a different version of Dr. Zayne Li.

For weeks afterward, you'd both treated it like it had never happened. No conversations. No explanations. No acknowledgment whatsoever. Just two stubborn people pretending a night they both remembered perfectly had somehow slipped from existence.

The elevator chose that exact moment to jolt violently back to life.

The sudden movement threw you off balance, and before you could catch yourself, your hand shot out instinctively and so did his.

Your palm landed squarely against his chest, his hand closed around your wrist.

The world didn't actually stop, but it felt like it did.

The elevator continued moving, the machinery humming overhead as the floor numbers resumed climbing, yet your attention narrowed entirely to the man standing in front of you. His grip tightened slightly, steadying you before you could stumble, though for a brief second you couldn't tell whether he was trying to keep you upright or keep himself from moving.

Neither of you stepped away.

You became acutely aware of how little distance existed between you. Close enough to notice the tiny scar near his jaw that you'd somehow never seen in the harsh lighting of the operating room. Close enough to remember things you had spent weeks trying very hard not to think about.

His gaze dropped briefly to your lips before returning to yours.

The only thing you were aware of was Zayne standing impossibly close, his hand still wrapped around your wrist and his eyes fixed on yours with an intensity that made it difficult to remember how to breathe.

"You can let go now," you said finally, though the words came out far quieter than you'd intended.

His eyes didn't leave yours.

"If I let go," he replied, his voice low and infuriatingly calm, "you'll probably find a way to injure yourself before we reach the next floor."

You stared at him, disbelief fighting with a laugh that threatened to escape. "That's the best you've got?"

A faint flicker of amusement crossed his face, so brief you might have imagined it.

"I'm a surgeon, not a poet."

His answer made your stomach twist unexpectedly. Maybe it was the fact that it sounded more honest than anything he'd said all day. Maybe it was the way he was still looking at you, like he'd forgotten every excuse he normally used to keep people at a distance.

His grip loosened slightly, but neither of you stepped back.

The space between you wasn't much to begin with, yet somehow it felt as though it continued shrinking anyway. Every second that passed stretched longer than it should have, charged with the kind of tension neither of you were willing to acknowledge. You could feel the warmth radiating from him and for the first time since you'd met him, Dr. Li looked almost uncertain.

The elevator doors slid open with a cheerful ding.

"ZAYNE!"

Both of you jumped apart so quickly it would have been embarrassing if your heart hadn't still been trying to beat its way out of your chest.

Standing outside was Rafayel Qi, an iced coffee balanced in one hand and a patient chart tucked beneath the other arm. He took one look at the two of you and immediately froze. His eyes moved from your face to Zayne's, then back again, and you watched realization dawn in real time.

A slow, delighted grin spread across his face.

"Oh."

"No," you said immediately.

"Oh, absolutely."

"No."

"Oh, this is incredible."

Beside you, Zayne's expression flattened into the look he reserved for particularly irritating residents and administrative meetings that could have been emails.

"Move."

Rafayel ignored him completely and stepped into the elevator, still staring between the two of you like he'd just discovered the hospital's best kept secret.

"You know," he said thoughtfully, "from where I was standing, it looked very much like I interrupted something."

"You didn't."

"I did."

"We were just talking."

Rafayel scoffed. "You were standing close enough to share a breath."

"It was crowded."

"There were two people in this elevator."

Zayne pressed the close door button with enough force to suggest violent intentions.

Rafayel gasped dramatically. "Oh my God."

"Rafayel."

"The Ice King has feelings."

"Get out."

The warning in Zayne's voice should have been enough to make anyone run. Rafayel had no instinct for self preservation.

As the elevator doors began sliding shut again and Rafayel started walking backwards he pointed between the two of you with the excitement of someone who had just acquired premium gossip.

"Oh, I'm..."

"No, you're not."

"I absolutely am."

"They are not going to believe you."

Rafayel's grin only widened. "They will when I describe the eye contact."

The elevator doors slid shut before either of you could respond, cutting off Rafayel's laughter and leaving silence in its place once more.

You were staring at the floor number above the doors as though it were the most fascinating thing you'd ever seen, while Zayne stood beside you, looking straight ahead as if the last several minutes had never happened.

"He's not going to tell anyone. Rafayel enjoys collecting information far more than he enjoys sharing it. If he tells people, he'll lose the ability to hold it over someone's head."

You immediately tried to suppress the laugh that slipped out., pressing your lips together and looking away, but it was already too late.

When you glanced back, you caught the smallest reaction from him, the corner of his mouth had twitched upward and the sight hit you with surprising force.

That tiny crack in the perfectly controlled mask he wore every day felt far more dangerous than the almost kiss, the lingering eye contact, or the memory of his hand wrapped around your wrist.

You'd seen surgeons panic, you'd seen attendings lose their tempers, you'd even seen Zayne angry. But seeing him amused?

For the first time since the elevator had gotten stuck, neither of you seemed particularly eager to reach your floor.

Rafayel Qi had been having an excellent day.

Not just a good day or even a great day. An exceptional day. Potentially one of the greatest days in the history of modern medicine, at least as far as he was concerned.

Because after years of working alongside Dr. Zayne Li—Chief of Surgery, Professional Joy Vacuum, and arguably the most emotionally unavailable man in the entire hospital—he had finally witnessed something he was convinced most people would consider impossible.

The man had looked interested in someone. Interested.

He practically floated down the hallway after leaving the elevator, iced coffee in hand and enough gossip stored inside his brain to sustain him for the next week. The image replayed continuously in his head, growing more dramatic every time he remembered it. The eye contact alone deserved its own award. The tension had been thick enough to perform surgery on. And the way both of them had jumped apart the second the doors opened?

Absolutely magnificent.

He was already mentally composing an unnecessarily dramatic retelling for Caleb when he turned the corner toward the Burn Unit.

That was when his excellent day developed a problem.

Because you were standing near the nurses' station talking to Daniel Lee.

Rafayel stopped walking.

Daniel Lee. Anesthesiologist. Serial flirt. A man who treated the hospital like a dating app.

Lee was leaning against the counter with the confidence of someone who had never once been told to shut the hell up in his life.

And worse, you were smiling. It wasnt a big smile or a meaningful smile but it was a smile nonetheless.

Rafayel narrowed his eyes and took a slow sip of his coffee, then another, then a third.

He was a mature adult capable of observing a completely normal interaction without immediately inventing problems. But he was also Rafayel.

Which meant within twenty seconds he had already decided Lee's face annoyed him. A lot.

Rafayel wasn't exactly known for being selective when it came to romance. The nurses liked him. He liked the nurses. Everyone had a good time and everyone involved was a consenting adult who understood the arrangement. No heartbreak. No expectations. No emotional damage. Just mutual appreciation between attractive people and the occasional bad life decision.

It was a system that had worked beautifully for years.

So why, exactly, was Daniel Lee making him want to throw his coffee across the hallway?

His attention drifted back to you, and after a moment he realized what made the entire situation even stranger.

You weren't looking at Lee the way most people looked at Lee. You weren't flirting, you weren't hanging on every word, if anything, you looked mildly distracted.

One hand was holding a patient chart while the other pointed toward a photograph attached to the file. You were explaining something. Correcting something. Lee wasn't charming you. He was listening.

Rafayel knew that expression, he'd seen it hundreds of times before. You wore it every single time one of his patients was involved.

The first time he'd met you, he'd assumed you were impossible. The second time, he'd become completely convinced of it. Because nobody should have been that observant, nobody should have been capable of noticing every tiny detail that slipped past everyone else.

But you always did.

You remembered medication schedules without looking at charts. You noticed infections before symptoms became obvious. You caught complications before they became emergencies. You memorized treatment plans, family concerns, patient anxieties, and every detail that most people forgot the moment they left a room.

As a plastic surgeon, he viewed his work as art. Every skin graft, every scar revision, every procedure was a carefully crafted piece of restoration. He obsessed over aesthetics, symmetry, and outcomes months into the future.

But while he focused on what a patient would eventually become, you focused on what they needed right now, in your mind, both things carried exactly the same importance.

He'd watched you spend an hour comforting a terrified patient after a painful dressing change. He'd watched you argue with attendings twice your size because you thought someone deserved better pain management. He'd watched you advocate, challenge, correct, and occasionally threaten people in ways that made patients trust you immediately.

Most people backed down when Rafayel challenged them. You rolled your eyes at him. Corrected him. Ignored him. Sometimes all three in the same conversation.

The memory made him smile, which was deeply concerning.

He frowned into his coffee.

When had that happened? When had he started looking for you during rounds? When had he started inventing increasingly ridiculous reasons to visit the Burn Unit? When had your opinion become something he actively cared about?

Fuck no. Absolutely not.

This felt suspiciously like feelings. Real feelings, that came with emotional consequences and vulnerability and all the other terrible things he'd successfully avoided for years.

Across the hallway, Lee laughed at something you said.

The uncomfortable feeling blooming in his chest wasn't irritation. It wasn't annoyance. It wasn't even competitiveness. It was something much worse.

Unfamiliar and deeply inconvenient.

Jealousy.

Rafayel stared at the ceiling for a long moment.

"Unbelievable."

A passing resident slowed slightly.

"Doctor?"

Rafayel pointed dramatically toward the nurses' station.

"I've contracted a disease."

The resident immediately looked alarmed.

"What?"

Rafayel continued pointing.

"There."

The resident followed his finger.

"...The Burn Unit?"

"No."

"The nurse?"

Rafayel closed his eyes.

"Yeah."

Several seconds passed before the resident wisely turned around and walked away, not wanting to be involved in whatever crisis was unfolding.

Rafayel watched him leave before looking back toward you. Toward the concentration on your face. Toward the nurse who somehow managed to make one of the most dramatic surgeons in the hospital experience emotions he'd spent years avoiding.

He let out a long, theatrical sigh, the kind he usually reserved for tragic opera endings.

"Oh, this is awful."

He realized he wasn't interested in being liked. He wanted to be chosen. And that was significantly more terrifying than anything he'd seen in an operating room all year.

Caleb had always considered the gym his safe space.

Between the music, the clanging weights, and the occasional guy grunting like he was trying to lift a car, it was probably one of the loudest places he regularly visited. It felt familiar.

Unlike the hospital, where half his day involved paperwork and trying to convince patients that recovery required more than stubborn optimism, the gym made sense. Weight went up. Weight came down. Progress could be measured. Problems had solutions.

Which was why he was deeply offended to discover you standing in front of his squat rack.

"You're doing that wrong."

Caleb nearly dropped the bar.

There you were, dressed in workout clothes instead of hospital scrubs and somehow looking just as judgmental as you did during physical therapy consultations.

"You followed me here?"

You stared at him.

"I've been a member of this gym for three years."

"That's exactly what someone following me would say."

You rolled your eyes and took a sip from your water bottle "Your left knee is caving inward."

Caleb immediately looked down, then back at you, then down again.

"You saw that from over there?"

"I'm a physical therapist."

"That's creepy."

"It's literally my job."

"It's still creepy."

He knew you were right, his knee had shifted slightly during the last rep.

"You're overcompensating on your right side," you continued. "Probably because your hip flexors are tight again."

Caleb frowned. "My hip flexors are not tight."

"Caleb."

"They're not."

"Touch your toes."

"I can touch my toes."

"Then do it."

He hesitated and you smiled. A slow, victorious smile.

"Oh my God."

"I haven't even said anything."

"You don't have to." Caleb sighed before bending forward. His fingertips stopped embarrassingly short of where they were supposed to reach.

You immediately burst out laughing.

Caleb stared at the floor for a moment before standing back up.

"I don't appreciate being attacked in public."

"You walked directly into that."

"You set a trap."

"You set the trap yourself."

The smile on your face only grew and annoyingly enough, Caleb found himself smiling too.

It was a problem. A huge fucking problem.

Somewhere between arguing over rehabilitation plans and watching you bully orthopedic patients into actually following recovery instructions, he'd developed a habit of looking for you.

That was generally the point where a reasonable person acknowledged they had a crush.

Caleb had chosen denial but denial was harder when you were standing ten feet away, making fun of him.

"Are you smiling?" you asked.

"No."

"You are."

Caleb grabbed his water bottle. "You spend all day destroying my confidence."

"Your confidence is doing just fineee."

"It really isn't."

"You introduce yourself to patients by calling yourself the hospital's best surgeon."

"In orthopedics."

"You once corrected a magazine article because they called you one of the best."

"Because I'm not one of the best."

"Pfttt."

"I'm the best."

Your horrified expression was so funny he couldn't stop smiling.

"You're unbelievable."

"Yet you're here talking to me."

He leaned against the equipment beside him. "Every time I try to have a normal conversation with you, you immediately hide behind work."

"I do not."

"This is the longest conversation we've ever had that didn't involve a torn ACL."

A laugh escaped you before you could stop it.

There it was. That feeling, the one that had been getting steadily worse for months. Caleb liked being liked but what he wanted from you felt different.

It was ridiculous, because you humbled him on a near daily basis and that only made him want to spend more time around you.

You glanced at the clock on the wall. "I should probably finish my workout."

"Or."

"No."

"You don't even know what I was going to say."

"I do."

Caleb grinned. "You do?"

"You're going to ask me to spot you."

"Correct."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because you will turn a ten minute workout into a forty minute conversation."

"I don't see the problem."

"I do."

"That's because you're mean."

You started walking backward toward the cardio area.

"You'll survive."

Caleb watched you go and immediately followed.

"Are you seriously following me?"

"I'm walking in the same direction."

"Caleb." God he loved the way you said his name.

"There are only so many directions available."

The look on your face suggested you were seriously considering throwing a dumbbell at him and he found that a little charming.

He fell into step beside you, enjoying the sound of your exasperated sigh and the way you shook your head like he was impossible.

Yeah, he had a problem, a specific problem, with your name on it.

And judging by the fact that he was currently abandoning his workout just to spend another twenty minutes annoying you, it wasn't getting better anytime soon.

An: I feel like they were a bit ooc this chapter. Please do let me know if it feels that way. 😣

Dividers from: @pixopix

Tag list: @remnantsofgildedcages @cacophonoussouls @nanaminsmuse @stillseiims @troubleonryloth @aiehtta @simpd3lpan @applescentedbunny @feral-espresso-boba @aiycnlyme @lowkaylove

[madamechrissy]

You knew Caleb had a breed kink - it was why you just had a baby after all.

He loves to grab your hips in his hands and rail his fat cock inside your walls, loves to fold you in half in a mating press and shove his cum in those walls that grip him so good. Loves seeing your tummy bulge with how deep he's buried - fuck Caleb even likes those cute stretch marks you get when you're pregnant.

"Pregnant with my baby," he'd moan, kissing your tummy, lavishing those sensitive nipples and moaning, his eyes damn near black. Caleb loved getting his pretty Pips pregnant, but what you didn't know was how much he'd love sucking your nipples.

You were so embarrassed when he'd had you riding his cock just a little over a month after your baby - just in time to be cleared for sex, and he'd leaned up and squished your tits in his huge hands - rough from years of training. Calloused thumb swirling your nipple as his cock made you re learn its shape, those violet eyes dilated.

"That's it, slutty cunt missed me, huh Pips?" He whispered, sitting up and dragging you down on his girthy length, sucking a nipple into his hot mouth. "mmm..."

That's when Caleb tasted your milk for the first time, moaning and sucking harder, making you dizzy from how sore they were from breastfeeding. You'd tugged at those soft brown locks of hair, trying to get him to stop, but Caleb was drunk off your damn taste.

"It's so sweet, fuck..." he'd dragged you down and you rolled your hips, head falling back for more of his rough suction, his mouth quickly moving to the other, milk just dripping down his lips. "Fuck I can't get enough."

"Y-you can't... Caleb..." You sucked in a breath through your teeth. "Fuck feels s'good... ngh!"

After that Caleb was just done for, every chance he got once you put the baby to bed he was sucking your milk, you'd brush his hair back and arch for more, especially when his fingers fucked into your sore little cunt. "Caleb you can't just drink it all!"

"I can't help it," he grins up at you now, fingers scissoring in and out of your messy cunt. "You love it, hmm?"

"N-no," you're lying and he knows, you blush when you do, but when he sucks again you fucking soak him, letting him drink all your sweetness right down his thirsty throat.

"Mmm... gonna make you a mommy again..."

"Again!?" He's chuckling, literally drunk from your tits that are so full, pulling back and kissing you, letting you taste it, hands gripping them rougher to make them drip more. "Ngh!"

"Need them to stay full, honey," he's swirling the beads of milk around your areolas, sighing. "So pretty, and your tummy all full, round with me again?"

"N-not this quick," he has your thighs spread with the fat head of his cock gliding through your syrupy mess, hair falling over a brow - he looks all cute and boyish when he's being a deviant. "Caleb, please..."

"Please what, honey? Use your words," he whispers, teasing your cunt even more with the tip - barely pressing in just to pull back with a filthy pop of that ridge slipping from your greedy hole. "No baby this soon, want me to pull out, too?"

"No, no," he smirks and shoves his cock fully inside, bottoming out with a sharp thrust, groaning at the sight of your tummy moving with him. His fingertips brush your little stretchies from the baby hungrily.

"All mine, my baby inside you again, huh? You want my cock, my cum, want me to wreck your insides pretty?"

"Please, please," you're lost when he's doing just that, fucking into you and squeezing your tits, your milk squirting down and dripping for his hungry mouth, making him moan as he slurps it all up. Your nails dig into his back, making him even thicker inside you.

"Gonna keep you pregnant - hah," he's grinning against your skin, swirling that milk all around and fucking your cunt harder, watching your cute fucked out little expressions. "Keep drinking you, make you a mommy over and over. Yeah, Pips?"

You're dazed and fucked out, just how Caleb likes you. "Mhm."

"Such a good girl f'me," you melt under the praise, cunt spasming when he flips you on top and tugs you down, putting your tits right back in his face. "Lemme drink more, please?"

How he can give you violet puppy dog eyes while sucking all your milk and pumping more cum in you unprotected - well it's just a problem.

****

well my ovulation had to go to Caleb in anticipation of his myth tmrw - blame @uhnosav for this too hehe

[luvyizhou]

18+ mdni | caleb always knows how to make u feel better after a bad day

TW. making out

caleb knew it had been one of those days the second you walked through the door, tired eyes and heavy limbs apparent as you toed off your shoes. usually you jumped into his arms within the first few seconds of seeing him, pouting and saying how much you missed his ‘pretty face’. today though, he only got a tight-lipped smile as you trudged towards the couch, falling against it with a groan.

he followed you into the living room, squatting before you and cocking his head to the side. “how was your day, angel?”

your throat bobbed a few times before you found your words, a shaky ‘good’ leaving your lips just as your eyes began to well with tears, caleb standing to his full height once he noticed you break. “my sweet girl…” he whispered, scooping you into his arms before sitting on the couch himself, cradling you. you shoved your face against his chest as you sobbed into his shirt, wet stains of your tears marking it when you raised your head.

“that bad?” he questioned, humming once you nodded. he felt terrible saying it, but you looked so cute. all your expressions were so animated, your face resembling the deep frown emoji. of course he felt awful knowing you were crying, but he couldn’t help himself—everything you did had him absolutely whipped for you.

“i’m sorry, princess. i should’ve been there for you.” he muttered, watching as you shook your head at the comment, adjusting the way you sat to comfortably perch on one thigh. “n-nothing you could do” you hiccupped, voice still catching on tears. caleb brought a hand to your face, thumb swiping away your tears before pressing a kiss to your forehead, each eyelid, then finally your lips.

“still”, he spoke, voice breathy while pecking your lips. “can you forgive gege?”

you felt his hot breath against your skin, nodding with your forehead leaning on his. he mumbled a ‘thank you’ against your cheek, pressing feather light kisses along your jawline. “sometimes it’s helpful to distract yourself…do you wanna try?”

your cheeks flushed at his question, shyly saying yes as caleb pulled you closer to him. he smiled sweetly before continuing to trail his lips along your skin, the soft sensation making you shiver. he hovered above your pulse point, licking the skin before nipping at it, heart swelling at the yelp that left your throat. your hands fisted his t-shirt, whimpering while he rested his lips at your jugular, counting your heartbeat with every thump.

finally, he moved his head to let his nose bump against yours, chuckling when you tried to initiate a real kiss. after teasing you for a few more seconds, he pressed his mouth against yours, taking advantage of your surprise and letting his tongue explore you.

you two had been together for so long now that caleb already knew all your spots, all the places that you were especially sensitive. he memorized which kisses left you breathless and which ones had you chasing after him, but even after all this time, caleb never got sick of your reactions. the way you’d gasp when he’d suck on your tongue or how you unintentionally bucked against him when he’d groan into a kiss.

you wrapped your arms around his neck, fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck, the two of you moving in perfect rhythm with each kiss. before he let himself get any more carried away, caleb slowly withdrew himself from you, watching how your chest heaved while your dilated pupils stared at his lips.

“how was that” he questioned, his voice now raspy. you bit your lip as he nervously shifted below your intense gaze, pretending to think deeply before moving forward and letting your lips lightly rest against his.

“think i need more before i can make a real judgement”

© all work belongs to @luvyizhou on tumblr, 2026. do NOT use, repost, or feed any of my work into AI or other websites.

[gummybearjello]

Zayne loves you quietly. Caleb loves you loudly. Either way, you remained very much loved. (Idol AU) 🎤🎶

Pairing - Zayne x Reader & Caleb x Reader

❄️ Zayne loves you quietly.

Dates were mostly spent in his luxury apartment. Even his achievements were celebrated quietly between the two of you. Away from snooping reporters and overzealous fans.

“Does it ever upset you?” The question came softly one night as he held you in his arms. He's always been so careful with your relationship. Keeping you hidden away from the media. Wanting to shield you from the cruel comments and endless speculation that often came with fame.

But the thought was always at the back of his mind. Perhaps his insistence on privacy had been too much.

You could never post holiday photos. No Valentine's Day posts. No birthday tributes. No Christmas pictures taken in matching pajamas. Things that a normal girlfriend would post on their socials. And he could never openly claim that he was taken or that he was yours.

Maybe one day you'd grow sick of being hidden.

“Do you love me?”

“Of course.”

The answer came immediately, without hesitation. His brows furrowed as though the question itself made no sense.

“That's all I need, baby.”

Pressing a small kiss against his throat, you giggled as he froze.

But of course, nothing ever stays hidden when you're dating a global superstar. All it took was a single photo from a stalker showing you exiting his apartment for the whole internet to blow up.

Even then, not much was known about you aside from a few basic details—your name, occupation and educational background. Zayne remained tight lipped about his private affairs.

For the next few months, Zayne worked hard. New magazine covers. New single albums. New movies. New endorsements. Whenever your name began to trend, another headline about him would appear and bury it.

In the end, Zayne never made a relationship announcement. He skipped that part entirely. Instead, one evening, he posted a simple black and white image of your hands. His adorned with a plain silver band. Yours with a flower nestled amongst diamonds. Along with a simple caption - Just Married.

The internet blows up yet again.

🍎 Caleb loves you loudly.

He was quite a nightmare for his PR team. Always posting unapproved content on his socials.

An image of you with dried up drool in his bed. A video of you blow drying his hair, with him dressed in nothing but a towel around his waist. He thought these moments were sweet. His PR team thought otherwise, as they sat him down for multiple stern talks.

He brought you everywhere he went. Music video shoots. Variety show shoots. Music awards. As busy as he was, he still kept you glued to his side. And you were never out of his sight.

His fans were divided. Some loved you, viewing the both of you as the ultimate relationship goals. Other more disillusioned fans disliked you, thinking that you were hindering him from achieving greater things.

But the nasty comments never stayed online for long. He made sure of it. He always had that unsettling look in his eyes whenever you questioned him, and over time, you decided that some questions were better left unanswered.

Even the positive comments were constantly being monitored by him. A like from this guy? A flirty comment from that guy? Deleted and blocked.

Love him. Hate him. He really didn't care about his public image at all. He loved you so much and he needed the entire world to know.

“Caleb gossip weekly here! How do you plan to celebrate your big music win tonight?”

“By thoroughly showing appreciation to the person who stood by me all these years. Very thoroughly.”

He heard you sigh under your breath even as you continued to smile politely for the cameras.

“Dinner. We're going out for a fancy dinner. Ain't we baby?”

Leaning into his side you gave his chest a few hard pats. Oh he was definitely in for it that night. Not that he minded the slightest bit.

Needless to say, his PR spent the entire night blowing up his phone.

[aussiequartz]

“Discounted Yogurt”

You came home early and walked in on Caleb replaying your voice notes like it was a habit.

!Not a request but i promised @lostinficanya a Caleb piece that is not angst so here we are XD

It was a Wednesday.

Your 4 hour Boolean algebra lecture had been cut short when your professor received an urgent call and abruptly dismissed the class.

It was the best thing that had happened to you all week.

You weren’t complaining. Not at all.

Even the birds singing overhead seemed oddly supportive of the situation.

You made your way back to your apartment, but not before stopping at the store nearby to grab two bags of peanut M&M’s.

One for you, and the other for the nerd who was probably working on his thermodynamics assignment.

Your keys rattled against the door as you opened it, discarding your bag on the floor and taking your shoes off.

Usually, Caleb was the first thing you saw when you walked through the door, but he wasn’t expecting you home this early.

This time, Caleb’s voice met you before he did.

You made your way to your tiny living room, and found Caleb seated on the floor, his books sprawled on your wooden coffee table.

You sat down on the couch behind him.

Caleb still hadn’t noticed your arrival.

You were just about to toss the small yellow bag at the back of his head when-

“And the yogurt was on 35 percent discount! Caleb i’m sure they’re probably expired because what the fuck-“ Caleb was giggling.

You froze.

That was your voice.

“-because who makes this high of a discount on FOOD, Caleb?”

Caleb dissolved into another fit of laughter.

That was definitely your voice.

Your voice from more than a month ago when you went grocery shopping before exams.

An entropy problem sat open in front of him, two pages of calculations already filled in.

The latest line of symbols slanted crookedly across the paper as Caleb’s shoulders shook with another laugh.

He was ruining his own homework because of a voice note about discounted yogurt.

You waited. Not because you wanted to, but because you didn’t know what to do.

What to say.

“Caleb you seriously should’ve come here with me because i am LOST”

He murmured the words as they played over the phone speaker, his pen spun between his fingers as he rocked left and right.

The voice note ended. His pen halted between his fingers, and you could hear a tiny “oh no” as he scrolled down the screen and pressed play.

It was another voice note.

Of yours.

“The teacher assigned 9 chapters for the exam. NINE!” He tapped his pen against the sheet, muttering a passionate “NINE” with your recording like it was his favorite lyric.

“Caleb this is such depressing news i really need you here right now”

He replayed the exact snippet once.

Twice.

Thrice.

He was about to rewind the voice note to the same sentence once more when you finally spoke up.

“Are you okay by any chance?” You stood up, stepping into his view.

He grabbed onto the paper like it could brace him against the embarrassment and quickly turned off his phone, head snapping upwards and his eyes wider than you’ve ever seen.

“Holy fucking shit y/n you could’ve knocked or something.” He huffed, acting like his entire life’s worth of privacy had been breached.

“Why would i knock walking into my own place?” You sat down beside him, and he stiffened as he looked away to face the couch instead of you.

“I literally could’ve been,” he flailed with his arms summoning any thought, “i dont know- jerking off or something.”

“Would’ve been less embarrassing than knowing a message about discounted yogurt word for word but okay.” You side eyed him.

“Also, nothing I haven’t seen you do before.” You softly jabbed him with your elbow.

His freckles disappeared into the blush that devoured pale skin, and he gripped the edge of the table with both hands. “Shut up already.” He refused to look at you.

Something in your chest pulled tight, but you swallowed it down anyway. For the longest time, you would find yourself mindlessly staring at his pictures when he wasn’t home.

Or walking into his room just to get a familiar whiff of his warm scent.

But you wouldn’t admit that.

Not to yourself.

Not to him.

You chuckled. “Gosh, you’re such a disaster.” You supported yourself up, and threw the yellow bag of sweets above long forgotten books.

“Here, i brought provisions for the thermodynamics trenches.”

[aussiequartz]

Zayne and Caleb spend an unreasonable amount of time criticizing each other’s parenting.

Caleb insists Zayne is too strict.

“They’re six years old, Zayne. Why do they have a schedule?”

“Because children benefit from structure.”

“They’re eating crayons.”

“Structured crayon eating is still structure.”

Meanwhile, Zayne firmly believes Caleb is raising tiny agents of chaos.

“You let him have ice cream before dinner?”

“He asked nicely.”

“That’s not how parenting works.”

“Seems to be working for him.”

Neither of them ever wins these arguments.

The funniest part is that their children are completely convinced the other dad is better.

Caleb’s kid looks at Zayne with stars in their eyes because he always knows the answer to everything, remembers every school event, and somehow fixes every problem immediately.

“Dad, why can’t you be organized like Uncle Zayne?”

Meanwhile, Zayne’s kid is practically attached to Caleb because he’s fun, sneaks extra dessert, and somehow turns grocery shopping into an adventure.

“Dad, why can’t you be fun like Uncle Caleb?”

Both men take these comments as personal attacks.

[001x456]

btw you’re a pathetic bully with mean girl attitude if you screenshot other people’s fics to repost and mock them and the authors. you’re the reason fandoms become toxic when they’re supposed to be a comfort zone and a safe space for people. and you have the audacity to say it’s a shame more and more writers decided to no longer share their works. you’re harming fanfic community and you’re driving writers and fan artists—whose works you’re privileged enough to consume for free—away until the ones that are left are bullies like you. just because a fanfic is not for you doesn’t mean you have the rights to mock or shame it. not everything is made specifically to tailor to your personal liking. so disrespectfully, if you do this, grow tf up.

either respect fanfic writers and fan artists or be quiet.

[humanjarvis]

“i’m sorry,” caleb pants, swiftly coming to regret provoking you earlier. i shouldn’t poke the bear, he'd always tease in your younger years. there’s no telling what she’ll do to me.

now he knows.

“don’t care.” reveling in his ragged breaths, you slide your fist to his base and give him a firm squeeze. then, you pump your hand even faster than before.

his hiss is instantaneous. “i didn’t mean it,” he tries again, dark eyebrows furrowing in the lamplight.

“don’t care,” you sing. you press a lingering kiss to his cheek, savoring the way his hips buck into your eager hand. “you bet that you could affect me more than i could affect you. you were so confident earlier. what happened?”

while he struggles to answer, you climb onto his lap. trembling hands encircle your waist, grasping for purchase as you settle yourself just below his waistband. a long, thick length—the fruits of your admittedly light labor, since it’s been five minutes tops—strains hard against your center. 

dragging your hips forward and back, you lay one hand on shoulder, the other on his cheek. 

on instinct, he nuzzles into your palm. when his eyelids flutter closed, you lean in and kiss him breathless. but as soon as he links your tongues together, you pull back and bounce in his lap two times fast, giggling at the pained moan that floats through the air.

“please,” he begs. 

you press your lips to the corner of his eye, trailing a crescent down his cheek. when you reach his mouth again, you roll your hips so deep that you can feel what it does to him—the way he chokes on air, the way his heart stutters in his chest. still, he refuses to break from you, relishing any contact you'll allow him.

again, you pull away first, to his dejection.

“what do you want me to say? already said sorry,” he slurs, leaning close just for his lips to brush the bottom of your chin. caleb frowns at the lack of contact. you tap his nose, and his frown deepens further. 

“take it back,” you order. 

confusion and want clash on his face. “huh?” 

“i affect you more. say it.”

he swallows. sparks of rebellion light in his violet eyes, but ultimately fizzle out. 

he sobers up some as he holds your gaze, and you welcome the quickening pulse in your center. “everything you do makes me like this,” he admits. “your voice, your scent—even when i just think of you, i almost…”

his reluctance spoils your excitement. huffing, you thread your fingers in his hair and tug, pulling a low groan from his throat. 

“you almost what? keep going.”

“i—” his eyes rove over you, frantic, troubled. when you tug his hair again, harder this time, his face falls in a mix of shame and agitation. “please,” he grumbles in defeat. 

you take in his flushed face, sweat-slick skin, and the rapid rise and fall of his firm chest. the quivers of the muscles that could so easily dominate you.

cooing softly, you pinch his cheek. “caleb?” 

“yes?” he rasps. 

“don’t tease me like that again. it makes me feel needy, and then i have to prove you wrong.”

despite himself, he chuckles. “yeah. yeah, okay,” he answers shakily. “i’m the needy one.” 

nodding in acceptance, you lean in to kiss him, giving him all that he wants this time. when he pushes his tongue past your lips, you soothe his desperate one with your own, rewarded by a soft sequence of moans. 

humming, you break away and tap his grey boxers. “these stay on. i’m still mad.”

“you know i’ll take anything,” he breathes.

“won’t you?”

granting him the gift of friction, you swivel your hips with abandon, grinding your core against his ever-hardening length. in a matter of moments, he screws his eyes shut tight, abdomen flexing into stone beneath you. as warmth flows through your clothes, he throws his head back in relief, consumed by the release he's been aching for. 

while he steadies his breathing, you kiss his brow and roll off to the side. your eyes catch on the wet patch spreading in his lap. “good?” you ask.

“good.”

“good.” you snap the waistband of his stained boxers, and it bites into his skin. “you should wash those before it dries into the fabric. maybe mine, too, while you're at it.” 

[maimaily]

things I think they do (couple ver.)

midnight thoughts turned into headcanons.

headcanons masterlist

Holding pinkies while taking a walk

Sylus: it's not like he doesn't hold your whole hand (he insists on doing so, even), it's just... that holding such a tiny part of you, that's unwilling to let him go, it's almost electrifying. If you seek his pinky first, he won't admit it, but the tip of his ears gets a little red.

Caleb: holding your hand is also a natural thing for Caleb, and you've been doing it since you were kids. While crossing the street, taking a walk in the park, or simply watching TV together, somehow your or his hand reached for the other's. But as you two grew up, holding hands became more intimate in the eyes of others. So, when you two wanted to avoid awkward questions or looks, you'd seek each other's pinkies and discreetly keep each other close.

Playful headbutts

Zayne: while waiting in line or standing close to each other, he suddenly leans his body to the side and gives your head a little bump, looking straight all the time. It's a cutesy way to kill boredom and, if you do the same, he smiles a little. It doesn't matter if you can only reach his shoulder or his head, bumping into each other is somehow amusing for him.

Xavier: he does it the most when he wants your attention. Let's say you're both drinking with colleagues, and you've been distracted or too engrossed with your friend's chatter, that's the moment when you feel a little bump from your side. He'd be looking at you with doe eyes while his hand supports his head. He wants you to look at him sooo bad, and it works. He also does it when you're sitting together on the bed or couch, it's past your bedtime and he quietly reminds you to go rest.

Hip bumps

Rafayel: also a way to kill boredom, or to tease you. He does it the most when you're both in front of the bathroom mirror, brushing your teeth or hair. Starts with a gentle push, barely swaying your body, but of course you push him back, so it escalates. Never strong enough to make you fall, but enough to make you stumble a couple of steps as you lose balance. Loooves and bursts out laughing if you get mad and rely on actually pushing him with your arms.

Randomly play fight

Caleb: another habit from childhood. You want to tickle him, he defends himself, you grab each other's hands, push and pull, he tries to make you trip a little with his legs (he always catches you !!), you pull his arm, and suddenly he has you pinned down on the bed/sofa, both of you giggling. While growing up, he might've accidentally hurt you, something you laughed off because you knew it wasn't intentional, but he still learnt to measure his strength around you.

Poke you out of nowhere

Xavier: it's his version of play fights. Since he likes to pull pranks, he tends to poke the small of your back when you're distracted, sometimes making you yelp, then your sides or cheeks. It can turn into a tickle war easily.

Rafayel: pokes your shoulder and acts as if he doesn't know anything, and somehow it always works because he only does it at his exhibitions, so there are a lot of people who randomly pat your shoulder to get your attention, but when he is barely containing his giggles, that's when you smack his arm.

Tag list: @hirayalia @totallyuniquenut @foxfairylights @cherrysherryblossom @hilliserose @emowitchwithatwist @violasepals @animegamerfox @typicalme23 @i-idk-i-guess @vxnillabxn @lotusapple-xia @angeleclair

wanna be part of my taglist? comment here !!

[tumbl-rhatesmentallyillppl]

Caleb's main story angst is gonna be absolute whiplash for a lot of fans after this but that's what I love about him also. He's a reminder that healing is a journey and the destination remains unknown, if that makes sense.

[xanaxspritz]

guys what if the only reason why caleb is so happy in his bday card is because were getting some absolute angst in the ms....

[calebified]

Oh 100%