caleb is the biggest advocate of happy wife = happy life.
in the morning, he waits for you to wake up so he can attack your face with kisses. he starts by smoothing out your hair, poking at your cheeks, and running his fingers across your lips.
your giggles are worth missing that extra hour of sleep anyway.
he plants kisses on your cheeks, forehead, nose, and finalizes with a brief kiss on your lips, leaving you to rush in for one more. and who is he to deny his wife?
okay—technically—his girlfriend. but still.
after your slow morning, caleb decides to take you out for lunch. he holds you close when you walk; his arm is wrapped around your shoulder the entire time. when he feels you lean into him for more (of his body warmth, but he doesn’t have to know that), caleb explodes. he probably runs hotter after that too.
he leads you through grocery stores (“do you think we need this for the fridge?”), flower shops (“caleb, i think this would look great on our dresser”), and the tire shop (“pipsqueak, you really need to get these tires fixed. good thing you can always rely on me, though!”).
you browse for things to make his apartment more homey. he looks for items to stock your (our—as caleb likes to say) fridge with. you joke and bicker and hide your heads when you get stares from older ladies for being too loud. you’ll laugh about this when you get home.
later, for dinner, caleb decides he’ll cook for you at home with the groceries he bought today. he made a new special tonight: some kind of pasta with chicken.
and no matter how many times you insisted on helping, caleb used his evol to push you back onto the couch. but, when you snuck over to him and grabbed his waist, he surrendered. any reasonable man would. how could he not surrender when you nuzzled into him, begging him to let you do something.
at dinner, he cut up your chicken and fed you until you started making pregnancy jokes. what a dream that would be, caleb thought.
then, at night (probably 10pm), you two start heading to bed. caleb hops in the shower with you (“could this be my reward for cooking for you today?”) and runs his hand through your hair; shampoos and conditions it; rubs body wash all over you; and rinses you off.
you repeat the same actions to him, except you like to mess with him ten times more. you rub soap everywhere, but you paid special attention to his abs. and biceps.
though, caleb didn’t say a single thing. he had to fight back the urge to smirk when your hands rubbed up and down his arms. this might’ve been heaven for him.
when you got out, you asked (begged) if you could shave for him. caleb had been growing a bit of stubble, and you’ve always expressed your interest in shaving him since he started growing hair.
so he props you up on the bathroom sink, standing in between your legs while you carefully run the razor up and down his jaw. you’re so gentle with him—much gentler than he usually is when shaving himself.
your fingers prod all over his jawline and cheeks. your featherlight touch sends sparks all over his face, and he can’t help but break out into a smile (even when you scold him). scratch what he said before—this is heaven to him.
when you’re done, you analyze his face as if he’s a sculpture. you trace your fingertips down the slope of his jaw; the high rise of his cheekbones, and over his lips for fun. he playfully tries to bite your finger before you swat at him.
the two of you brush your teeth, and you already know caleb will be bumping hips with you throughout the whole process. what should take two minutes turns into ten—with both you and caleb messing with each other by tickling, pinching, or hugging.
once you two are in bed, your face is pressed into caleb’s chest. he rests his chin on top of your head, and you feel his breaths coming down on you. when you look up at him with glowing, love-sick eyes, caleb presses kisses all over the top of your head.
you angle yourself up slightly, and caleb perks up eyebrow in suspicion. even in the dark, caleb can tell you’re smiling when you push yourself up and kiss him on the lips. it’s a deep kiss: one where you’re thanking him, trying to please him, and loving him all at once.
caleb is on you instantly, with one hand holding your face and the other cradling the small of your back. he puts all of the energy he has left into the kiss, before pulling away and slumping his head on the pillow like a love-starved dog.
“thank you. for today,” you murmur, inching yourself closer to him. “i appreciate everything you do for me,” you press one more kiss onto his lips before you fall into the hands of sleep, “i love you, caleb.”
oh yeah, caleb thinks, happy wife, happy life.
i wrote this in 30 mins can u tell
also idk what’s up w my borders im writing this on my phone so they’re a bit janky loll sorry
synopsis: you used to tell caleb everything. so why doesn’t he know about your new tattoos?
tags: fluff to angst to fluff, you get tattoos without telling caleb and he freaks out and you argue, he guilts you into showing him, surprise reveal (guess what the tattoos are), references to the fleet stuff and his bionic arm, caleb has nightmares, pathetic puppy caleb is back, he’s in the doghouse (ha get it) for less than a day, groveling, happy ending
word count: 2.3k
a/n: i am proud of this i think. i made up some dates bc idk the timeline in this game. i also have no tattoos if you were wondering. there are allusions to a beloved recent drabble of mine in here can you guess which one
“Get off of me!” you squeal, gasping through chortles as Caleb’s fiendish fingers dance over your belly.
“No can do, pips. Tickle monster doesn’t let his victims off that easy.”
He’s had you pinned down on the couch for almost 10 minutes now, poking and prodding at your sides until you’d grown nauseous from laughter.
But still, Caleb won’t relent. Each time you swat his chest, try to bring your knee up between his legs—cute—he only moves his hands faster. For all the months he’d spent starved for your smile, he’s making up for lost time, he thinks.
“I’m not…laughing because I’m having fun,” you wheeze, wriggling under him unsuccessfully. “This is basically torture. When I get free…I’m making sure you get a dishonorable discharge.”
“What?” he smirks down at you. “If this is so torturous, why don’t you just push me off? Waitttt,” he gasps, leaning in conspiratorially. “It can’t be because I’m stronger than you, can it?”
As his infuriatingly smug, annoyingly handsome face looms over you, Caleb doesn’t realize he’s flown too close to the sun. Before he can react, you capitalize on the opening. Squirming out from beneath him, you take advantage of his surprise and use the momentum to flip him over, your hips now on his waist in a straddle.
“What were you saying?” you ask sweetly, the triumph in your voice slightly dampened by the way you’re still gulping down oxygen.
“Huh,” he shrugs, voice entirely too cheery for someone who’d just been bested. “I guess I stand corrected. Looks like someone’s been getting their reps in.”
“Won’t you admit defeat, then, Mr. Monster?” you smirk. And as you lean over him to assert your victory, Caleb can’t help but gawk at the way your lips part, your shirt rides up, your tattoo shines in the warm light of the—Wait. Your tattoo?!?
No matter how many times he blinked, there was no mistaking it. There, right on the side of your once-bare ribcage, lies the prominent, pitch-black ink.
You’re still hovering over him, your light, playful chuckles fanning his face, but they slowly fade out when his muscles go rigid. Perplexed, you follow his gaze down your body until you finally spot your exposed skin, and with the way you go rigid, Caleb can tell an argument is brewing between you.
The tense silence permeates the air, as if erasing the precious laughter he’d so giddily won from you just moments before.
Like usual, you break first. You couldn’t stand his silence, you’d said the last time. The way it makes you feel small, like you’ve done something wrong, like you’re in trouble. “So help me God, Caleb, I’m an adult and I can make my own decisions. Whatever you’re about to say, drop it. You can tickle me until my sides bleed, just—don’t.”
But Caleb, as much as he loved hearing your voice, wasn’t listening. While you were begging him to drop it, to leave it alone, he was too busy simmering over you doing something so drastic, so permanent to your body without his knowledge—like you didn’t trust him with the information. Didn’t trust him to hold your hand through the pain, to drive you home from the parlor, to wash and treat your tender flesh.
That awful feeling he thought you’d both moved past—had worked so hard to move you past—made him suffocate in his skin.
“Were you ever going to tell me?” he asks lowly, gravel filling his voice. “Were you…hiding it from me?”
As he rises to lift your shirt and get a clearer view, you intercept his hand in uncompromising resistance. He’d reached for you with his right arm. But somehow, your touch still manages to sting.
It’s Caleb’s turn to laugh, now, but the sound is hollow. “You won’t even show me,” he chuckles humorlessly. “Not even when I already know.” Firmly, but gently as ever, he lifts you off of him and onto the opposite side of the sofa.
You scoff at him, and the look of incredulity on your face would cause a less devoted man to back down. “Don’t lecture me about keeping secrets. I have a tattoo, Caleb. You have a double life.”
“It’s for your own safety that I—”
“Is it for my own safety that you treat me like a child?”
He pauses, and before he can stop it, he feels his face shift into the mask molded for him against his will. The face—his own, but somehow not—that plagues his nightmares. Cold, unfeeling, uncaring, indomitable.
“You don’t have to trust me anymore. But I’d appreciate it if you said it to my face instead of making me believe you did.”
He hears the soft gasp that escapes you, but he refuses to look—too consumed by his emotions, too ashamed to face yours. It’s when he turns to leave that he hears your quick footsteps, and almost immediately, you’re whipping him around to look at you.
Your shirt is raised to the base of your sternum.
And in the warm light of the living room, the soft glow of the summer evening illuminating the streaks on your skin, Caleb sucks in a breath.
VIII IX MMXLVIII
August 9, 2048.
The date your lives had changed. The date he’d broken his promise to always be by your side. The date part of him—physical, or something more—had died.
With a bold, decisive line striking through it.
His eyes dart to the space below. You had another one, he realized. This was the one he’d glimpsed earlier, then—the one that’d made him question your faith in him.
IV XVIII MMXLIX
April 18, 2049.
The date his life had been revealed to you. The date you’d fought your way back into it. The date your shattered souls had met again and vowed to mend each other.
This one is different from the last. The numerals are pure. Pristine, clear, unmarred. Unapologetic.
An insidious, deserved pang spreads through his chest. You’d wanted to remember both dates, to etch them into your skin. You’d needed to move past the first. You’d needed to savor the second.
A space on your sacred body, dedicated to him—to you both. To your tragic end, to your new beginning. Forever.
“Are you happy now, you jerk?” You seethe, yanking your shirt down and snapping him out of his reverie.
And as your voice wobbles, Caleb is anything but.
“Pip-squeak,” he starts hoarsely, feeling anxious bile scald the back of his throat. “I didn’t think…If I’d known….”
“But you didn’t know, Caleb. You didn’t need to know,” you stress. The pained inflections in your voice seem to sync with your steps as you walk to him, your head level with his shuddering chest. “I will bare my soul to you. Happily. When I am good and ready. But forcing me to do it before then? Just so you can convince yourself that I trust you? That gives me all the more reason not to.”
The bite in your tone numbs him to the way you push past him, shoving his shoulder hard enough to bruise. When you retreat to your bedroom, he hears the sharp click of the door lock and allows a wry grin to cross his face at the irony. And he thought you’d been shutting him out before.
You wake up with swollen eyes. An uncomfortable reminder of last night’s humiliation.
With a sigh, you roll your way out of bed, your limbs sore from being hunched in the fetal position for so long. You usually slept with a human-shaped back pillow, but you supposed that arrangement was on pause for the time being.
You wonder how he’s doing. How he’d spend the night, if he’d left in the middle of it. As much as you hate to think it, you wouldn’t blame him.
As you exit—or try to exit—your bedroom, though, it seems your worries are unfounded.
There, slumped against the wooden door, is a sleeping, miserable-looking Caleb. Eyebrows drawn, nose scrunched, hands twitching—he must be having a nightmare.
With a resolute swallow, you push down the pain from the night before and, against your better judgment, prop the door open just enough to slip out.
Kneeling beside him, you stroke his hair gently and hold his left hand in yours. “Caleb,” you call softly. “Wake up, please.”
At the sound of your voice, his eyes flutter open—slowly, at first, until they focus on you. In an instant, surprise, regret, and a flicker of hope flash across his face.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, tightening his grip on your hand. “I shouldn’t have—even if you hadn’t gotten them for us,” he breathes shakily, “I shouldn’t have pried.”
He’s sitting up now, having pushed himself off the door to get as close to you as you’d allow. The next time he speaks, the rasp in his voice suggests he’d slept about as well as you had.
“You should…” he begins, swallowing thickly. “You should only tell me your secrets when you’re ready. I’ll wait. I’m lucky to know anything about you at all.”
Your chest constricts, and the ghosts of mortification and unwarranted guilt are the only things stopping you from forgiving him. With a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes, you remove your palm from his grasp, pretending not to notice when he chases your touch. “You should stretch your legs.”
The day is slow and awkward.
Your top-floor apartment is sweltering in the summer heat, so you don a loose crop top—it’s not like you have anything to lose anymore—and Caleb tries not to stare at your ribs.
It’s Sunday, the day you usually reserve for chores, and you try to ignore the way he follows you through every room: dusting your bedroom fan, mopping the kitchen floor, cleaning the bathtub while you wipe the counter. It’s a wordless process, but a seamless one—evidently, even a stalemate can’t jeopardize your synchrony.
He disappears when you’re finishing up, and as you wonder if he’d gotten sick of your anger, the scent of your favorite food wafts through the air. In curiosity, hunger, and abashed dependence—you couldn’t boil an egg without starting a fire—you warily make your way to the kitchen you’d both left spotless.
It still is, for the most part; the only hint of disturbance is the freshly cooked meal sitting on the island. One plate, one glass, one set of silverware. And Caleb sits in the living room, pretending to busy himself with a diagram, forlornly glancing over to you every few seconds. There if you need him, but not daring to intrude.
It’s nighttime when he tries again.
You’re reading on the couch, instinctively avoiding the cursed spot from the night before, when Caleb shuffles into the room. In utter dejection, he makes room for himself on the floor between your legs and hugs his knees to his chest. The action tugs at your dwindling resolve, weakened by the care he’d shown you today, and before you know it, you’re running your fingers through his hair.
He stiffens and relaxes at your touch before leaning back into you, enveloping himself in your embrace. As he presses innocent, lingering kisses to the inside of your knee, you feel the quiet tension in the room begin to build.
This time, he breaks the silence.
“I never would have imagined those days meant so much to you,” he begins softly. “Wasn’t sure if you thought the first was a blessing in disguise. If you thought the second was some kind of curse.” Your hand falters in his tousled locks, and he exhales shakily. “I was just…surprised, pips. And hurt, I guess. You doin’ something so serious without tellin’ me—it never would’ve happened before,” he murmurs. “I didn’t mean to guilt trip you into showing me, I just…”
“I didn’t tell you because I was embarrassed,” you whisper, saving him from the struggle of finding the right words. “Not because I don’t trust you. I do, if you can believe it. More than anyone.”
Caleb stills against you, and you place a hand on his shoulder before continuing with a sigh. “I basically saw those numbers in my sleep, at one point,” you chuckle in self-deprecation. “They flashed in my head over, and over, and over—the day I lost you, the day I found you. So I figured the only way to stop it was to carry them with me, always. And when the clarity hit…I thought I was silly. Immature. Like, I had something etched onto my body for you, Caleb. I felt like I was too attached. Too dependent on you.”
“Is it bad if I say I’d like that?” he quips with a tired smile. “Pip-squeak,” he sighs. “You could never be too attached to me. When I saw those dates—when I realized what they meant,” he swallows, “I wanted to hold you to me ‘til I couldn’t breathe. Wanted to tattoo your tattoos inside my eyelids so I could see them every time I blink,” he jokes, kissing your palm. “That’s too attached, by the way.”
As you giggle at him—your first in almost 24 hours—he brightens slightly. “I really am sorry for forcing your hand. Makin’ you feel like your only choice was to tell me. But, for the record, those are the least embarrassing tattoos I’ve ever seen. Gideon has one of a monkey, you know.”
And after you duck your head into his shoulder to stifle your laughter, you haul him up and into your bedroom—no door for a mattress, this time. You’re both due for some much-needed sleep.
The next day, you stand in front of your bathroom mirror while Caleb hugs you from behind, admiring the inky black lines on your exposed waist. Leaning in to kiss your cheek, he whispers into your ear: “You know, they say rib tattoos hurt a lot. You shouldn’t have had to go through all that alone. Why don’t I get matching ones so we can share the pain?”
the first time you send caleb a cute selfie of yourself when he's at work, his knees buckle, and he falls and keels over and dies. he can't respond for 10 mins because he's busy thanking every deity that put you in his life and allowed him to love you.. he's like a major loser, but in a cute chick flick love interest way. do you see my vision
he eventually responds like "wow you look so pretty.. love you so much <3" but his inner monologue is like 'god caleb you fucking dumbass who the fuck says that you should've said she looks beautiful and sent her $6372738382' and he's considering ending it all but then you respond back like "hehe thank you handsome" and he has the biggest dorky smile on his face
caleb is a loser but a very adorably lovesick one that's stuck in a hot guy's body.
synopsis. ┆ caleb’s life was perfect—until it wasn’t. a radioactive spider bite turned him into linkon’s friendly neighborhood spider-man, the daily bugle started hunting for the man behind the mask, and to top it all off, he was forced to partner up with you—his smart, competitive, and infuriatingly perfect classmate who threatened his spot as number one in the class rankings.
tags/warnings. ┆ college/modern au, academic rivals to lovers, fluff, angst, eventual smut, gran isn’t evil in this LOL, the canon event, college parties, alcohol consumption, cliches, depictions of serious crime, references to the spider-man comics and movies, mdni
chapter summary. ┆ after you’re forced to check up on caleb, you realize that your methods of revenge can be sweeter and much more interesting than you had originally anticipated.
prev: pest control. ┆ series masterlist. ┆ next: soon!
“Remember that fundraiser I was telling you about?”
You lift your gaze from the sidewalk, giving Tara a sideways glance. “Yeah, I think so. What about it?”
“Well,” she sings, hugging her thick textbook tighter to her chest before nudging you with her elbow, “I was wondering if you’d like to help us out! We’re always looking for more girls, you know. The sisters of Delta Gamma can only do so much.”
You suck your teeth, tilting your head as your eyes drift to the towering oak tree at the center of the great lawn. The campus had spent the past few days drowning under gray skies and spring showers, but today, the sun had finally broken through. Its warmth pressed against your skin, so bright you had to squint just to avoid being completely blinded.
You look back at Tara. “What day is it again?”
“Next Saturday,” she says with a shrug. “2 PM, in the parking lot between the Delta Gamma house and Lambda Chi Alpha’s.” A pause, as if she was already sensing your impending rejection. “Please? Please!”
You hate when she does this. The puppy dog eyes. That hopeful little tilt of her head. The same look that had managed to drag you to one too many frat parties when you swore you wouldn’t go. Saying no made you feel like some heartless villain stomping on an ant just for the fun of it, and for a moment, you almost caved entirely.
“I’ll… think about it, but midterms are–” you start, but before you can finish, she’s already beaming.
“Yay!” Tara links her arm through yours, practically bouncing as you continue toward Grand Hall. “I’ll text you all the details, ‘kay? I so owe you one.”
You press your lips into a thin smile, debating whether to remind her that you hadn’t actually said yes. Instead, you settle for, “If I end up making it, we’ll call it even for you helping me study for chem.”
She grins. “Good luck on that, by the way. I know you’ll do great!”
The two of you stop outside the building, and Tara leans in, lowering her voice conspiratorially like she’s about to tell you a scandalous secret.
“And remember, the electron cloud model—”
“—is the area around an atom’s nucleus where electrons are most likely to be found,” you finish, unable to fight a smile. “I know, I know. You trained me well.”
You squeeze her arm before unhooking yourself and stepping into the lecture hall.
“I’ll find you after class!” she calls after you.
Inside, the air is sharp with cold, and a shiver runs down your spine. The mood of the room seems different today, as if the oxygen you were all breathing in was thick with anxiety. Your seatmate, Yvonne, is already at her desk, supplies neatly arranged in front of her. You give her a silent smile before sitting down and doing the same.
Once again, you can’t help but notice that the room is quiet—eerily so. Everyone is either too tired to talk or too nervous to form a coherent sentence. Probably both.
As the exam begins, the only sounds filling the space are the rustling of paper and the scratch of pencils against scantrons. You’re on question 21 when you realize you’ve just marked “C” four times in a row. A bead of cold sweat pricks at your temple, and you read over each question about a hundred times, praying that you’ll catch your mistake. After all, that can’t be right… can it? Your gut says yes. Your overthinking says absolutely not.
An hour later, relief ripples through the room as students zip up their backpacks and shuffle toward the front to turn in their scantrons. You’re right behind them, ready to bolt for the door—until Dr. Rappaccini calls your name.
Pausing mid-step, you turn back to face her, plastering on a polite smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Yeah?”
She digs through her bag before pulling out a worn notebook, its cover littered with colorful tabs and sticky notes. Holding it out to you, she looks as if she couldn’t care less about the transaction.
“I believe your lab partner left this in the laboratory last class.”
Your brows furrow as you take the heavy notebook into your hands, flipping it open with a frown. Lo and behold, there it was—‘Property of Caleb Xia’ scribbled in that god-awful handwriting. Raising an eyebrow, you shake your head. “It’s his, yeah… but why are you giving it to me?”
“He didn’t show up for today’s exam, and I’ve canceled class next Monday,” she explains, slinging her tote bag over her shoulder. “Since you work closely with him, I figured you’d see him before I do.”
Now that catches your attention. A sliver—no, a slap—of satisfaction rolls through you. So his sabotage in the lab had already come back to bite him? Karma was fast today. You couldn’t be happier. But unfortunately, the thought of voluntarily interacting with Caleb makes your stomach churn, so you extend the notebook back to your professor without hesitation.
“I assure you, I don’t care to see that man. It’s probably best if you return it to him.”
She glances at her watch, and you can practically see the sweat break out on her forehead. “Oh, I wish I had the time to. I’m running late!”
Gathering her belongings, she makes a beeline for the door. You’re quick to try and follow suit.
Her voice adds a swift, “Ask around! I’m sure someone can help you track him down.”
“But wait! I don’t even—”
The door slams behind Dr. Rappaccini, leaving you frozen in place with Caleb’s stupid notebook clutched to your chest.
“—know what building he lives in.”
You groan, dragging your feet toward the exit, already dreading the idea of having to track down that idiot. In fact, maybe you won’t.
♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎
“Hey, what are you doing?”
Tara’s voice cuts through the air, startling you. The flicked lighter in your hand dies out before you can hold it to the bottom of Caleb’s notebook long enough for the flames to catch.
“The damn thing won’t light,” you huff, shaking your head in defeat. “Do you happen to know anyone on campus who has lighter fluid?”
Tara crouches beside you, watching with mild horror as you attempt—and fail—to ignite the corner of the notebook again. “Uh… no, not off the top of my head.” She pauses, tilting her head. “And just to be clear, you’re aware that you’re about to light your notebook on fire, right?”
You shrug. “It’s not mine.”
Her head snaps toward you so fast you worry about whiplash. “Okay, let me rephrase that. You’re aware that you’re about to commit a felony, right?”
You flick the lighter again, giving her a puzzled look. “Please, Tara, I don’t care about felonies right now. This is war, and I need to take my revenge.”
“Revenge?” she echoes, her lips tugging downward like she hadn’t considered that to be your motive. “On the notebook or the owner?”
“On Caleb fucking Xia,” you reply, punctuating each word with another flick of the lighter. Then, finally, a tiny flame flickers to life at the corner of the notebook. A wide grin spreads across your lips. “Yay! I did it! Look, I—”
Tara leans forward, blows out the flame, and snatches the lighter from your grasp. “Are you nuts? You can’t just burn his chem notebook!”
You hum, twisting your lips to the side. “You’re right. I’d totally get caught. Maybe I should pawn it off to a frat guy? Make a quick buck. They’d probably pay good money for his notes.”
“What? No! You can’t burn his notebook because that would mean stooping to his level!”
You reach for the lighter, but she stretches her arm out just far enough that you can’t reach.
“Tara! When they go low, we must go lower.”
“When they go low, we should be the bigger person,” she corrects, patting your head like a disobedient child. “How did you even get it? You didn’t steal it, did you?”
You sigh, shaking your head. “No, I wish. Dr. Rappaccini gave it to me to return to him. Apparently, he left it in the lab.”
Tara tilts her head. “Oh. He didn’t show up for the exam? That’s… unlike him.”
Shrugging, you brush off the singed paper flakes from the bottom of the notebook. “I guess. Can’t say I care, though. It’s what he deserves.”
She scoffs. “Geez, this whole scandal has turned you heartless. The Caleb I know would rather eat glass than miss an exam, especially the first one of the semester. I hope he’s alright.”
“In that case, maybe you should be the one to return it to him,” you suggest, holding it out. “You seem to know where he lives, and you actually care if he’s alive. That’s already two steps in the right direction.”
Tara glances at her phone, then sucks on her teeth before flashing you a wry smile. “Oh, shoot! I can’t. I have my physics exam in four minutes.” Before you can argue, she’s already bolting toward her class. “Uh, I think he’s close with Zayne! The one from our bio class!”
You toss your hands up. “Why the hell am I being sent on a manhunt?” Patting your pockets, you realize something’s missing. “Hey! You took my lighter.”
“It’s for the better!” she calls over her shoulder.
♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎
After a deep dive through Canvas, a trip to Outlook to send Zayne a rather frantic email, and a very long walk across campus, you find yourself stalking through the halls of an unfamiliar dorm building.
Your eyes flick up from your phone every few steps, scanning the numbers on the doors to make sure you haven’t somehow wandered into oblivion. It’s been ten minutes—too long, in your opinion—and you’re beginning to feel like a headless zombie, doomed to wander these halls forever.
That is, until your eyes land on a familiar set of numbers.
Room 323.
Exhaling sharply, you raise your fist and knock three times against the door. The response is almost immediate—an audible thud, followed by an impressive string of curses.
Then, the door swings open, revealing a very panicked and very shirtless Caleb.
And you? Your brain short-circuits.
For a second—just one—you can’t help it. Your gaze drops straight to his torso, where sharp lines of muscle carve into his biceps and abdomen like a damn Michelangelo sculpture. You’re almost positive those weren’t there yesterday. Scratch that. You’re absolutely positive they weren’t.
And you would have noticed. You’re nothing if not boundlessly observant. After all, you’re just a girl. You would have noticed if your infuriating classmate had nice biceps that would have certainly softened the blow of his sudden betrayal in the lab yesterday.
Pretty privilege is alive and well, you can’t help but think.
Caleb, looking equally flustered, yanks the door halfway shut, reducing the view to just his face. His chest still heaves from whatever chaos had preceded your arrival.
“I, uh… um.” He blinks, clearly rebooting his internal system. His brain fries, and of course the first thing he can do is lean his elbow against the door frame while not-so-obviously flexing his much larger bicep in the process. “So… what’s up?”
Dragging your gaze up to meet his with only minor difficulty, you hold up the slightly charred notebook in your hands. “You left this in class. Rappaccini told me to bring it to you.”
Caleb reaches for it, and the moment his fingers graze the cover, his brows furrow. He flips it over, rubbing his thumb against the edge. A smudge of soot stains his hand.
“What… happened to it?”
You lift your shoulders, hands flying up in a gesture of pure innocence. “No clue. Your guess is as good as mine.”
Before he can properly assess the obvious fire damage, you straighten your posture. If you beat him to it, there’s a good chance that you’ll be able to walk away from this entire ordeal scot free.
Just… be civil. You can do that much.
“Are you not going to say thank you? I literally had to email your roommate to find out where you live. It was a total inconvenience.”
Or not.
Caleb presses his lips into a thin line, tossing the notebook onto his desk before giving you a barely-there nod. “Right. Thanks.”
His clipped tone does nothing to soothe your irritation. You’re actually starting to regret not letting the damn thing go up in flames. If it weren’t for Tara and her obnoxious morality complex, you would have.
“You’re welcome,” you say sweetly, pivoting to leave. But just before he can close the door, something crosses your mind. “Oh! By the way, I wrote my number in the margin.”
Caleb’s eyes widen. His grip on the door frame tightens. “What? For me?”
A beat of silence. Then, you burst into laughter, and the fact that he isn’t laughing with you makes it ten times funnier. You have to physically wipe the tears from your eyes before you can speak again.
“Oh, you’re serious?” you wheeze, still catching your breath. “God, no. It’s for Zayne.”
“For… Zayne?”
You nod. “Yup. I have biology with him.”
Caleb leans back slightly, like you’ve just personally offended his ancestors. “And? You have chem with me.”
You flash him an expression that Caleb can only assume is the most passive-aggressive smile known to mankind. “Mm-hmm. Well, maybe I want to get in kahoots with people who don’t sabotage my lab reports.”
Ouch. Caleb rubs the back of his neck, swallowing hard. “About that…”
“Save it,” you hum, turning to leave. “Just be a doll and relay the message, yeah?”
But just before you step away, your eyes flicker to his chest again—this time, with an exaggerated furrow of concern. “Wait a sec… what the hell is that? You should really get that nasty mole checked out.”
Caleb’s brows knit together. He instinctively glances down—
And just as his chin tilts, your hand smacks against it, forcing it back up. Your laughter is louder this time. Almost cruel.
“Too easy, this game,” you taunt, shaking your head.
You’re gone before he can do anything other than stand there, jaw slack, ears burning a shade of red that rivals a fire hydrant. How could you prank him with the easiest trick in the book? He rubs his chin, shaking his head in utter defeat as he nudges his door shut.
Yeah. He doesn’t like you one bit.
Before he can dwell on that fact, his phone buzzes in his pocket.
xavier (pres of lambda chi alpha): i woke up late and missed physics. can U slide me the notes for the past week? i also slept through those days too… btw Ur still coming to the frat car wash next saturday right ?? we need U bro. U brought in so many new customers
caleb: sure man :)
xavier (pres of lambda chi alpha): the goat
♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎
Sirens blare loud enough to wake you, their wailing cries bouncing off the buildings outside your window. The flashing of red and blue does little to ease your nerves—if anything, it invites the perfect storm of overthinking.
Your room is a mess. You haven’t eaten a balanced meal in days. A biology project is due next week. But above all? Midterms are rapidly approaching.
Lately, most of your days are spent holed up on the second floor of the library, tucked away in your usual corner seat. From there, you can people-watch from above and soak in just enough sunlight to keep from feeling like life is draining from you with each word you scribble down or type up. But after a while, even the comfort of routine turns into a cage.
It’s monotonous. Tiring. Far too predictable for your liking. If you don’t see at least one interesting thing each day—whether it’s someone walking their adorable dog or a person wearing a sweater so blindingly neon it makes your eyes hurt—you consider the day a waste. You still study, of course, but you need something of substance to fuel your brain. Something besides your bitter iced coffee, which barely manages to keep you conscious.
Maybe it’s the exhaustion of your second midterm season settling into your bones. Maybe it’s the weight of all your responsibilities pressing down on your shoulders. Whatever it is, it drives you to seek out a new place to study.
Is it 4 AM? Yes. Are the sirens especially loud tonight? Also yes. You can’t sleep. Sue you.
It makes perfect sense why you find yourself trudging into your university’s 24-hour café, headphones snug over your ears and meal card already in hand. Fuzzy pajama pants and an oversized hoodie hang off your frame, but if the cashier doesn’t care, neither do you. You’d be damned if you didn’t at least get your usual morning drink and a slice of banana bread to kickstart your day.
No more than an hour passes before the faint jingle of the entrance bell rings to life, prompting you to spare a glance over your shoulder, curiosity piqued.
Luck isn’t on your side. Of course it’s Caleb.
And he looks… different. Not in the way he did a few days ago—no, he looks worn. Tired. A bruise blooms across his cheek, stark even in the café’s dim lighting. You force yourself to look away before you can start ogling like a freak. Again.
But as he makes his way in your direction, you barely suppress a groan, turning back toward your laptop in a last-ditch effort to seem busy. It doesn’t work. Not when you feel the weight of his beady little amethyst stare boring into the back of your head.
You sigh, forcing a cheery tone. “Can you maybe not stand next to me looking like a decaying corpse? You’re going to attract flies.”
Caleb shrugs, managing to pick an almond off your banana bread before you slap his hand away. “You’re doing that on your own. Didn’t you hear? This café was infested with fruit flies last semester. Your perfume is basically a mating call for ‘em.”
You huff, tilting your head. “Aw. Is that your way of saying I smell nice?”
Rolling his eyes, Caleb crosses his arms over his chest. You notice a small cut on his bicep, but you do your best not to stare. You've done enough of that lately.
“No,” he flatly says. “I’m just… stating my observation.”
You turn back to your laptop, sliding your headphones over your ears. “Well, stop observing me.”
”Psh. Gladly.”
His actions are the first thing to betray his words, because he makes the executive decision to sit in the chair directly behind yours. He was sitting so damn close that you could feel the warmth of his skin through his hoodie—which you now notice is thrashed in a few places, as if he had taken scissors to the fabric and snipped away. It was odd, but you managed to look away as he shifted around to fish his own laptop out of his backpack.
Then, before you can finish typing the sentence you’d been working on before he walked in, he beats you to it. Obnoxiously so. His fingers slam against his keyboard with such force you briefly wonder if an elephant from the Linkon City Zoo has escaped and taken up tap dancing behind you.
Your teeth clench. “Can you stop typing so damn loud?”
“Oh, I’m not the loud one here.”
You glance over your shoulder, finding that he was already looking at you, “And that means what exactly?”
“It means that I could probably hear your music if I was three miles away.” With his new heightened senses, that was hardly an exaggeration. He gave you an all-too-charming smile. “Turn it down a few levels, yeah? Thanks.”
The lilt to his voice made you want to set him straight in more ways than one. “You little—”
“New Magic Wand by Tyler, The Creator at 4 AM is crazy work, by the way.”
“Boy, I’ll show you crazy—”
Suddenly, a chipper voice rings through the air. Much to your surprise, it called out your name.
Tara strides in as if you all aren’t up at the crack of dawn, looking incredibly enthusiastic about life, much like she always did. You wish you could inherit whatever will she has to live.
“Hey!” she greets with a wave. She plops down beside you, turning around in her seat so that she could face both you and Caleb at the same time. “Funny seeing you guys here. Are you talking about the fundraiser?”
You blink. “Huh?”
“Why would we be talking about the fundraiser?” he can’t help but question.
“Well,” Tara sings, “my girl here is going to be helping out Delta Gamma with the sorority wash! And you’re going to be helping out Lambda Chi Alpha again this year, right?”
Caleb is almost positive that his heart has just dropped to his ass.
He looks between you and Tara. “What? She can’t come.”
You let out a short, annoyed breath. “And why can’t I?”
And he knows he sounds like a petulant child when he mutters, “It’s my thing.”
“Aw,” you coo, tilting your head with a forced pout. “Is it your thing? Womp womp.”
Caleb rolls his eyes, but you don’t care to see it as you lean toward Tara, lowering your voice as if you were telling her top secret information. “Why didn’t you tell me he would be there?”
“Because if I had, you would have totally refused,” she says matter-of-factly. “And we need you! We can’t let the guys bring in more revenue than us this semester, they held it over our heads for, like… months last time! Plus, I need you to combat him. I swear, he brought in more customers than anyone ever has, it’s no wonder Xavier begged him to do it again.”
You blink. “Are you serious?”
Tara nods.
You can’t help but rub your chin. “I’m surprised anyone paid him for that.”
Caleb glances between the two of you. “I’m sitting right here.”
You glance his way. “We know.”
He lets out a harsh breath. “Look. If you don’t want to see me there, don’t come. Real easy fix.”
You tilt your head, raising a brow. “Why do I have to be the one to cancel? Why can’t you just skip it? You already had your fun last year playing chick magnet or… whatever.”
“I can’t. I already made a commitment.”
“Well, so did I.”
“Perfect!” Tara beams, clasping her hands together. “I’ll see you both there then. This is gonna be sooo much fun, guys! You can probably even get over the little feud you have going on, I swear, it’ll be…”
Caleb can’t even hear the rest of whatever Tara was saying. His mind is too busy short-circuiting over this very dreadful realization.
You’ll be there.
In a bikini top.
Covered in soap suds.
Trying to pass him up yet again.
This was going to be a damn nightmare.
series masterlist. ┆ next: soon!
a/n consider liking, commenting, or rb if you enjoyed :) i’m sorry this update took so long </3 i got so swamped with my uni work and wasn’t entirely satisfied with the chapter sooo i pushed it off.
i know that this is lowkey a slow start with really short chapters and there isn’t much spider-man stuff going on rn but… trust me guys. just trust me.
also ofc there’s a xavier cameo bc that’s my man soooo i had to include him somehow, even if he’s just a sleepy frat boy
edit: if you don’t know what a frat/sorority wash is just look them up on tiktok LMAO, it’s usually shirtless frat guys and sorority girls in bikini tops who wash cars to raise money for their foundations. it’s just a silly college tradition idk 😭
fem!reader. a bit suggestive. caleb can't get enough of you tbh.
caleb once told you that there's a side of him that he didn't want you to see. he wanted to be strong for you. truly, he was trying his hardest to hold on.
when he first said that, you thought it would have to do with his urges to possess you and watch over you.
turns out, the truth is that caleb is clingy as hell.
you're twirling around in a new dress that the two of you thrifted earlier. it's flowy, light-colored, and it makes you look like a deity in caleb's eyes. the dress falls right below your knees—perfect for summer.
you walk towards him on the bed, spinning in circles to give him a closer look. all of a sudden, you stop; you feel big, calloused, warm hands on your waist and look down to see caleb gawking up at you.
he pulls you in closer to his body and decides to rest his head in the middle of your boobs. he closes his eyes and his grip on your waist loosens. caleb lets out a long, content sigh.
caleb rubs circles on your waist, then says, "i can't decide if i want you to keep this dress on or off."
"caleb!" you gently swat at his hand, but he just presses his head deeper into your chest.
that was one of his more tame days.
a few nights ago, you were enjoying a night shower alone. when you hear the door creak open, you don't have to look to know it's caleb.
you can hear him dropping his heavy colonel jacket, belt, slacks—everything. because you've missed him, you poke your head out from the shower curtain, and the sight of you visibly relaxes caleb.
"hi, handsome."
for someone so exhausted, caleb has a stupid grin on his face when he replies, "hi, beautiful."
he stumbles in a little bit, and you two end up pressed against the shower wall. caleb's hand is on your waist to make sure you don't slip. he shakes his head like a dog trying to get wet hair out of his eyes. you can't help but smile at him, brushing his hair around to help him out.
caleb's tense exterior dissipates at your hand. in a second, he pulls your bare body against his. you can feel his chest against yours; he's taking deepest breaths while holding you against him. his hand travels throughout your body: from your shoulders to the small of your back to the curve of your ass, he's rubbing his hands all over you.
he sags his body on top of yours for a second before pressing a kiss on the top of your head.
you two rock back and forth in the shower while he mumbles, "'m sorry. missed you," he presses a kiss onto your shoulder, "missed you sooo much. all i could think about was you today. 'm sorry. i'm clingy."
and then there was today, where caleb decided to follow you for a majority of the time.
you would sit on the couch, watching some tv, and caleb would follow. he'd pull your legs up to rest on his lap, massaging at your ankles and feet.
you're doing laundry, and suddenly caleb props up next to you. you raise an eyebrow to see if he's doing anything distracting or suspicious, and he just responds with a playful shrug.
you shake him off, and then you're abruptly disrupted by caleb tickling you. before you can strike back, caleb laughs—that stupid, loud laugh he makes when he's about to do something awful—and picks you up to lay you over his shoulder. he runs around with you thumping on his broad back, demanding him to put you down just like when you were kids.
and then at dinner, caleb decides that eating across from you is too far away, and he has to eat right next to you to be satisfied. he lays his head on your shoulder, reading through some articles on his phone while you read over him. he also feeds you every now and then, offering you some favorite pieces from his plate as he lays on you.
tonight, after spending the whole day with you, he spoons you while going to sleep. his arms are linked protectively around your waist, and every now and then, caleb nuzzles his nose into the crook of your neck.
you make sure to get your pictures before reaching back and running your hands through his hair. he tilts his head closer to you and sighs in satisfaction.
you laugh at his evident delight; the sound makes caleb scrunch up his nose. you turn your head back slightly to talk to him, "don't you know you'll be sick of me soon if you keep this up?"
caleb's head jerks up from the crook of your neck. his eyebrows draw closely together and his eyes nearly bulge out of his head.
"don't ever say that again."
until he falls asleep, he litters your body with kisses until you realize that he's never, ever, getting sick of you. ever.
unestablished relationship. 1.9k words. candid photos and confessions (but not the kind you thiiiiiink).
caleb who always looks back at you first.
caleb, who doesn't hesitate to glance back at you not once, but twice.
caleb, who made sure to always look back for you when you were kids. he swore to himself that he'd never let you out of his sight: a promise he wanted to keep forever. if you strayed too far away, he'd grab your hand and lead you back to him, where you belonged.
even as teenagers, caleb would not stop looking out for you. no matter how many times you've complained (you entered that stage where you've found new friends), caleb lingers, watching over you like he always has.
he grabs onto your backpack when you almost walk into a pole, steering you clear from a nasty bruise. he intimidates those assholes that try to hit on you with his presence. he looks back to see if you've strayed away farther than before.
and as adults, he's still scrutinizing you. you tell him that you're a deepspace hunter now and you don't need monitoring. caleb responds with something teasing like, "oh really? pipsqueak can take care of her own now? does that mean she can reach the tall cabinets too?"
he looks back first before entering gran's house. after your small argument, his eyes flicker to your face; you have this annoyed look, one where your eyebrows are furrowed and your lips are slightly pouted. and how could he stay mad at that?
you're not making eye contact with him, and it makes caleb want to say something to make you look up. he wants you to look.
he feels like a kid again.
he faces the door, but turns back to glance at you one last time. his lips curl up in a tiny smirk—you look back up at him. he opens the door first and the world goes dark.
old habits seem to die hard for caleb. because now—even though you're just lounging in your apartment—he still can't seem to take his eyes off of you.
it's been like this the whole day. you've been back in his life for a while now (it's been a few months, but for caleb, it's like you've been here forever), and he still can't seem to stop looking at you.
at the grocery store today, he kept looking back at you while you were throwing items into the shopping cart. as kids, you'd stand on the bottom part of the cart, nearly tipping over sometimes when you pushed yourself off the ground like the cart was a skateboard.
while walking through linkon's crowded shopping district, caleb made sure to never let go of your hand. part of it was because he didn't want to lose you in the crowd, and another part was because he wanted to keep holding your hand. but you didn't need to know that last part.
and presently, he's looking back at you while cooking dinner. every once in a while (every few seconds), he looks up from his post in the kitchen to find you shifting positions on the couch. you're on your stomach, then your back, and then your side. you had a book in your hand, then your phone, then the tv remote.
he shakes his head and lets out a small chuckle. he hopes you hear him, just so you can come up to him and bother him like before. you two still tease each other, but it's not the same.
he focuses on stirring the pot for a little while and then looks back over to you. but instead of finding you in another position on the couch, you're upright with alert, wide eyes. directed right at him. staring at him.
the moment he catches you, your eyes immediately flee to another surface. he notices as your head shifts from the coffee table to the tv to caleb's jacket on the coat hanger.
caleb's face pulls back; he's left puzzled. it was so obvious that you were boring holes into the back of his head, so why were you trying to hide it?
caleb takes this as the perfect opportunity to get you riled up, "what're you doing...?"
your eyes reach his for only a second before they shift away. caleb feels something strike his chest. "nothing. just laying around," you respond as nonchalantly as you can, as if you weren't just ogling him a few seconds before, "bored as hell, might i add."
"really?" caleb challenges you, "did you like what you see at least?"
you jolt up from the couch, "huh?!"
"i could see you staring at me, y'know," caleb teases.
"i was not staring at you."
"i'm pretty sure that if i search up the definition of staring, what you just did would pop up."
"oh really," you pad over to the kitchen. caleb turns around and tries to hide his smirk. even after all these years, he still riles you up so easily. "search it up."
caleb sucks a breath in through his teeth, "sorry pipsqueak, i'm kind of busy over here," he says, gesturing to the food on the stove. "but if you'd like to help, feel free."
you roll your eyes, "yeah, i'll help. let me just search up the definition of staring for you." you plop yourself onto the kitchen island across from him, carelessly tapping on your phone while caleb cooks.
chaos has been thrashing itself onto caleb like waves in this past year. but seeing you on the kitchen island—swinging your legs back and forth while bothering him—brings him the most peace in the world.
he turns around and turns the stove off before making his way over to you. he walks over and cages your thighs between his hands, making you jerk your head up from your phone to meet his eyes.
in a flash, you try to turn your phone off, but caleb catches a glance of what's on there.
it's a picture of him, just now, cooking in your kitchen.
for a moment, caleb has nothing to say. he just stares at himself—his backside—in your camera roll.
while caleb's practically dumbstruck, you turn off your phone and place it on the counter. caleb's gaze follows your hand, then trails around your face.
he glances at your lips once, and you bite at your bottom lip in response. he gulps, looks away, and shakes his head as if he was snapping out of a spell.
clearer, more logical caleb speaks, "why'd you take a picture of me? i'm right here, y'know."
you swallow, "it's a candid. super popular now."
"mhm," caleb hums. "this the first of many?"
"no," you shake your head, lowering your eyes to your lap, "i've got plenty. i've got blackmail photos to actual good photos."
"cute," caleb smiles. you can hear how his voice lifts when he speaks and it makes you blush. "but if you ever need me, i'm right here."
this makes you look up. "always?"
"of course," he grabs your hands that lay in your lap, "you know that. i'm never that far away."
but you pull away from him, curling your knees up and resting your head on them. caleb immediately follows your body, just like all those years ago.
your arms rest on top of your knees, covering your face when you sigh. caleb takes his big hands and rests them on the side of your torso, rubbing up and down.
"hey," he coaxes, "look at me. please?"
when you don't budge, his hands travel under your arms to your face. "what's wrong? talk to me, baby."
the childhood nickname makes you laugh, and caleb can feel the reverberations through your face as he cups it. he strokes up and down your cheekbone, prodding at you to look up at him.
look back, he silently pleads, please look back at me.
after letting out another long sigh, you finally cave, "i'm scared that you won't be around for me. that something's going to pull you away. and no matter how hard i cling onto you, that other thing will get the best of me."
"nothing like that will ever happen," caleb quickly reassures you, "why are you thinking about that?"
you place your smaller hands over his bigger ones, and caleb feels his heart swell. he bites down on his tongue to resist the urge to climb on you right now.
"i dunno," you laugh, though you sound more pathetic than cheerful, "i miss you. that's why."
"i want you around me constantly," you continue, "but i just feel like—with everything going on—you'll eventually forget about me," you swallow, take a deep breath, "i don't want you to forget me."
when you finally look back up at caleb, your eyes are wide and glassy. he strokes your face once more and you instantly lean into his touch. you press your face against his calloused hand without thinking about it. his hand could be hard as rocks for all you care. he uses his thumb to brush over your eyebrow, stray hairs, and eyelid; he melts at the sight of you like this.
"how could i ever forget you?" caleb voices. his tone is so soft, so gentle. the way he said it reminds you of someone who was asked to solve an impossible math equation. it was impossible for caleb to leave you.
you shake your head, rubbing your cheek against caleb's palm, "you have other things to prioritize. you have all these enemies. all these people to keep up with," you close your eyes and take a long inhale, "i can be needy sometimes, i know that. you won't have time for this."
"hey," he slightly tilts your head up, "look at me," he punctuates every word like a command, and you follow it diligently. you'd follow him to the ends of the earth if he asked.
"first, you're not 'too needy', or anything like that, to me. second," caleb pauses, taking time to trace the shape of your cheekbone with his thumb, admiring you, "i will. i'll always have time for you. call me, and i'll be there. yell for me, and i'll hear you. run to me, and i'll always catch you. and look at me, because i'll always be looking back at you first."
and it's true. how could it not be? you're the first thought on his mind, always. how are you doing? are you safe? are you cold? do you miss him? do you miss him like he misses you—so sullenly and almost lamentful? do you wake up and wish he was in bed next to you?
you shakily exhale, taking slow breaths in and out. you rest your forehead against caleb's while trying your best to synchronize your breathing. caleb follows you easily, still holding on to your face.
you remove his hand from your face and instead interlock his fingers with yours. you grab his hand, putting it in front of your lips. your lips press onto his knuckles and you feel him squeeze your hand just a bit harder.
"promise me," you whisper, "tell me it's true."
caleb presses his forehead harder against yours. the air coming from his nose tickles your face.
"i promise. i'll always promise."
when you look up to meet caleb's eyes, he's already looking at you first.
not my best work but like i had to get this out. lol sorry.
caleb is 10 when he realizes that he's a physical touch fiend. the rush he gets when his hand lingers on top of your skin after playing with you is like no other. when he presses into your side while you're reading, his thoughts always circle around one topic: you, you, you. when you would run into his room after a nightmare, caleb was ready to swoop you in his arms and hold you until you fell asleep. every response towards you was involuntary.
caleb is 15 when he realizes that teasing 13-year-old you becomes irresistible. when he holds up your book, pencil, or some other item in the air, he watches as you jump up and down to try and grab it back. he's grown a lot in three years; if he had to estimate, he's a whole head taller than you now—20cm at least.
when you throw yourself onto him in an attempt to get your stuff back, he falters. you're laying against him on the couch, shuffling and moving up and down over his body, and caleb's breath hitches. you're so close and right there.
he's going insane. you can't even stand up for five seconds before caleb pulls you down against him once more, saying something about retaliation or revenge while tickling you to death.
caleb is 20 when he's about to leave for the DAA. there's an air of silence around the house. you've trapped yourself in your room more often, stressing over your senior finals. at least, that's what you've been telling him.
"i'm sorry caleb, i really need to study for this test."
"oh! i totally forgot about that project i had due tonight. shit, i'm sorry caleb. we'll have another movie night soon, okay?"
he doesn't know if you're actually this busy or if you're actually ignoring him. all he does know is that he misses you. he wonders about how he could miss someone who was in the room across from him. you were so close, but so far.
when you found out he was leaving—though you had a grin on your face while congratulating him—caleb knew you were devastated. he wondered if you were secretly mad at him for leaving.
two weeks before his departure, he practically forces you to be around him. he laid down next to you like before. he stroked your hair while you napped on the couch. he teased you and picked you up so you could hit him and grab him like you used to. he always chose to put his arm around you during a movie. he dragged you by the hand all around the neighborhood. he needed to all of that again, a thousand times more.
but at 24, it seems like there may have been a wedge between the two of you. calls are more and more infrequent.
"sorry, space signal sucks," he'd type.
"sorry, i was busy with training!" you'd reply, 2 days later.
he thinks that he would do anything to go back to before. he hasn't felt you in months. he sees you only twice a year.
it's hard. it was excruciating during the first few weeks. not only was he dealing with bootcamp, but he always found himself looking to his side, thinking you'd be there with him. at night, you were there, right next to him in bed.
he imagined that you would whisper words of reassurance in his ear. you'd hold onto him like you used to, when you had nightmares, and wrap your legs between his. there were days where we stroked his necklace, wishing that it was your hand instead. what he would give to have you next to him.
all he wants is to be able to feel you again. he chastises his 10-year-old self for taking you for granted back then. he wants to feel the apples of your cheeks when he caresses your face. once,—when he was 13 (you, 11)—he did that, and he thought you had a fever the way you warmed up. if he could, caleb would build a time machine to go back to that.
caleb is 25 when he is out of your life.
he thinks about you every day. it reminds him of when he was in bootcamp five years ago. it takes him back to when he was fifteen; you were on top of him, and his brain was fried to a crisp. caleb wonders if he's always been this way, because he can recall that at ten, you were still the only thing consuming his mind.
even during his arm repairs, you're there throughout all the pain.
when you discover his metal arm, all of caleb's instincts point to the door. he's spent so long trying to hide it from you: it's the constant long-sleeves (even though they made him incredibly uncomfortable), or making sure to only touch you with his left-hand (even though he wanted to pull you in with both hands).
but he stays. because it's you.
you freeze momentarily, listening to his writhes and moans of pain. caleb only notices you're there when he feels your hands brush his shoulder. he jolts back in surprise, and he sees you looming over him.
he stammers something, not even sure of what he said because you're here. you see him. you see it.
caleb's wanted this for so long. he wanted to see you again, in a state where you were both vulnerable, like old times. however, that moment probably wouldn't have come if he doesn't confess about this, so he relays the details.
you listen attentively, eyes wide with shock as caleb goes on. your hands wrap around his metal one, and he feels nothing. it's agonizing. he sees you examine him so gently. your fingers trace over bolts and plates of metal, lightly stroking up and down his arm. and caleb feels nothing.
how often has he dreamed of this? for you to be touching him again, so intimately and softly? he's stayed up countless nights wishing for you to be here, just so he can put his arms around you in a crushing embrace, only to be incapable of feeling you on one side of his body.
you pull away from his arm, asking if the fleet was accountable. when he doesn't say anything, he feels your weight lift off the bed and go towards the door.
whatever happens next is involuntary. he uses his flesh arm to pull you back, caging you between his forearm and his chest. there's no thought to it, no rationalization. it's just you and him. and he's been deprived of this for so long.
he breathes into the crevice of your neck, and he has half a mind to place his entire face there. he wants to breathe you in after being away from you for so long. no conversations, no contact, no touching. the last time he was this close to you was years ago. he needs this, caleb thinks.
the feel of you against his bare chest is something he cannot seem to describe. it's like he's his teenage (or even kid) self again, where he seems to short-circuit whenever he comes in contact with you. you're still small compared to him, but you fit perfectly like you did a decade ago.
he lets you go after he feels you trembling. you don't hesitate to place your hands on his waist and tackle him onto the bed. you catch him off-guard as you pin him beneath you, looking straight into his eyes.
"hold me," you plead, "with your right hand."
caleb lets out a shaky breath. there are voltages of electricity flowing through him—literally and figuratively. his skin sparks alive when he feels you. will it be the same with the metal arm?
slowly, caleb raises his mechanical arm. he wraps it around you, and feels the movement of your back shift downwards. you released a breath you didn't know you were holding. caleb held his.
you wait patiently before caleb starts running his metal hand up and down your back. you watch him exhale as he continues. you press your forehead on his, and you breathe in tandem with him.
caleb is 25 when he discovers that he loves physical touch.
wow like i didn't expect this to get so long... but like here we are???
i think we need to start embracing touch-starved caleb in all of our fics. this man hasn't seen the love of his life in YEARS (infrequently, anyway) so i think once she touches him (like INTIMATELY) for the first time in years he goes a little cray.
also sorry the ending was rushed i wanted to get this over with bc i intented this to be like 500 words but obviously it got way longer than that. what can i say... this freak has dug into my brain.
something short just bc. slight (like... very slight) suggestive language but like nothing too crazy.
caleb helping you with your physics homework because you're struggling so much, but you're barely paying attention because you're staring at his hands the whole time.
they're huge: they take up almost half of the paper. they're long and delicate: you knew they wouldn't break if you pulled on them, but they look so pristine.
as he slides a finger down the paper, gesturing to a problem you haven't attempted, your breath hitches. you imagine that finger sliding down your jaw, stopping just below your bottom lip, then tugging at it shortly later.
you bite down on your lip at the thought and blink a few times to snap out of this daze. it takes a sharp flick to the forehead from caleb to snap out of it.
"so, can you explain the force i used to flick you just now?" he raised an eyebrow with a teasing smirk.
you flushed—no doubt he caught you staring, "shut up, caleb."
he laughs, watching as you return back to the problems at hand. one of his hands rests on the table, pointing to problems and explaining solutions. the other, rests on his knee that's nervously bouncing up and down. his neck is completely flushed and he hopes that the dark lighting conceals the tomato shade of his ears.
when he spotted you staring at him, a hunger flushed through him like never before. you weren't even staring at his face, for god's sake. you were captivated by his hands, and caleb started to fantasize about all the ways he could please you with them.
he imagines his hands enveloping your face: they're placed on your cheeks as his thumbs travel up and down your cheekbones. he'd caress the under-eye bags you've been sporting lately (he'd chide you on it later), and trace them with such warmth that you'd want to place your hand on top of his to keep him there.
while laying down, his hands could move through your whole body. he'd start from the shoulders down to your arms, running his fingertips downwards to keep you on edge. when you'd tense up under him, he'd press you deeper into him, signaling for you to relax. he'd trace circles, rhombuses, hearts and all sorts of shapes over your stomach. he would make sure his hands trickle all over your back.
he dreams about touching you. he wants to run his thumb over your forehead when you have a stubborn pout on your face (like right now), or pull you across the table so you could sit on his lap while he teaches you. he wants to place his head on your shoulder (he knows it would fit perfectly) and whisper into your ear. he wants to see how he could rile you up by doing that.
caleb wants to wrap you up in his arms and never let you go. he could never let you leave. he wants you—needs you, even—but he knows that if he got a single taste of you, he would keep you by his side forever. it's dangerous—vulturous—how he feels about you.
so for now, he settles for watching you gulp as he looks up at you. you fiddle with the strings of your shorts while he continues explaining a problem to you, and you don't look up at him.
when you were little, you remember trying to stay up late while waiting for caleb.
he would always be doing something with his friends while you were at home. he'd invite you occasionally, but you turned him down most of the time. all of his friends scared you—frankly, it was due to age, but also they would probably ignore you in favor of caleb. so, you opted to stay home.
caleb would promise to watch a movie with you, lose track of time, and then come home at 11pm. caleb would tell you that he'd come home early to play that new game with you, and you fell asleep ages before he came home. he said he'd help you with your homework, but when he got home, he found you sleeping on the dinner table.
he would always feel bad for it. you could tell by the way he stopped teasing you as much, practically sucking up to you when he came home later than promised. no matter how many times you assured him that it was fine, he never took it.
but sometimes, he'd tease you. once, he caught you staying up late for him (you had not fallen asleep yet), and asked if you missed him. he playfully stroked your cheek while you said, "of course not," while you rolled your eyes. caleb could never know that you did. terribly.
you think that it's good karma that he waits for you now.
recently, caleb took a temporary leave from the DAA. his coworkers were shocked, to say the least. he was dedicated to his job—he is a colonel in the farspace fleet, after all. caleb never revealed the reason of his departure, wanting to keep you a secret.
when asked about it, he said, "i'm not ashamed of you or anything, if that's what you're worried about. that's never it. ever," he pulls you in an embrace for reassurance. you melt into his big, broad body. you feel him let out an exhale above your head.
"i just... don't wanna share you," he mumbled into your ear.
you smile to yourself at the memory, opening the door to your apartment and taking your boots off. there's no light from the kitchen or living room, so you assume that caleb's gone off to bed early.
your footsteps pad through the quiet apartment to your dark bedroom. caleb is perched upright on your bed, resting his head on the headboard. he's tilted a little bit to the side, neck craned upwards.
you try not to run over to him. you bite the inside of your lip to stop the urge from overcoming you. when you get to caleb's side, you brush your hand over his hair, smoothing it out. your fingers trace his forehead, the slope of his nose, and his jawline. you're obsessed with him, you think, an unhealthy amount of obsessed.
"there's no way this can be comfortable," you quietly laugh, gently rubbing caleb's cheek. when you begin to shift his position, a hand reaches out and grabs your wrist.
caleb's hand swallows your wrist, and he keeps you in place. he turns his head over to you, only slightly peering his eyes open, "hey, pipsqueak. you're back."
"hi, sweet boy," you smile at him, "i'm here."
even in the dark, you notice the tips of his ears turning red. he smiles at the endearment and raises your hand to his lips, pressing a quick peck to it. then, he yanks you down onto the bed with him, pulling you into his arms.
you're in a jumbled position on top of him: your body is draped over his hips, your legs are near-dangling off of the bed, and your head is against his bare chest. the skin-to-skin contact is electrifying, and you have to look up to talk to him. the way caleb stares down at you causes you to heat up. you gulp.
"long day today? you came back later than usual," he says pulling you up higher so your legs aren't dangling.
"there were so many wanderers," you reply. you rest your head on his shoulder while you adjust yourself to a sitting position. you move to his side, and caleb lets out of a small groan. "i'm sorry i was late."
"it's fine," caleb shakes his head and rests his head on your shoulder. you continue brushing through his hair and he lets out a content sigh.
"how long have you been awake?" you rub up and down his arms, soothing him.
"not long," he finds satisfaction in the crook of your neck, placing small kisses in the crevice. he feels your hands tighten around his biceps, and you can feel him smirk against your neck. he pauses to ask, "are you tired?"
"exhausted," you shake your head. "i can't wait to go to bed."
caleb mhms into your neck, still pressing his lips around it. your heart begins to race, and if you stay in this position, you know you're never going to leave. you can hear him let out quiet moans of pleasure while he continues to kiss you.
"alright, caleb," you try to pull away, but he only tugs you closer to him, not wanting to detach his lips from you, "i haven't even showered yet, c'mon."
he stops, and cradles your face his both of his hands. he strokes your cheekbones back and forth, then he presses his forehead onto yours. you place your hands on top of his, rubbing his knuckles in silence. the only sound is your synchronized breathing.
"just for five minutes?"
you laugh again, and you watch as it tickles caleb's face. he scrunches it momentarily and you take this time to pull back. caleb intertwines his hand in yours when you stand up.
"i've been waiting all night, y'know?" he looks up at you with big, pouty eyes. you try your best not to cave. or giggle, for that matter. if that happens, then he'll know that he has you, and you won't be able to escape from that.
"liar! you said you haven't been awake for long!" you playfully swat at him. "and, do you remember when you'd keep me waiting as kids?" you reminisce, tapping your finger against your chin as if you were in deep thought. "think of this as karma," you smile.
caleb pouts as he swings your arms back and forth, keeping you still. "i said i was sorryyy," he drags out, "sooo many times."
he tugs you back one last time, but with less force than before. you stumble back into bed, and he hugs you tighty.
"i always thought of you," he whispers up at you, "so mentally, i was with you."
you snort, "i'm pretty sure that's not how it works."
"it is," he cheekily says. you hear a lilt in his voice.
"no, i remember being super tired and waiting for you to help me out with my science work. only for you to show up at like, what? was it 10 or 11?" you tease him, poking at his chest.
caleb shakes his head, burying himself deeper into you, "okay, valid. but, in my defense, i sped back home to you. i think i made a ten minute run into five that day."
you want to call him out again, but you can vividly recall his face when he came back to you. he was red—much redder than usual—and panting like a dog. your homework was quickly forgotten when you shot up and asked him if he was okay or not. his breathing was erratic, and there was so much sweat dripping down on him. but the only thing he asked about was if you still needed help on your homework.
"yeah," you say softly, "i remember that."
you kiss the top of his head and caleb releases a long exhale into your chest. "okay. i'll be quick, alright? just like you were. you won't be waiting for long," another kiss, "just let me shower, m'kay?"
at this, caleb opens an eye, a grin showing up on his face, "can i come with?"
you groan loudly, releasing yourself from caleb's grasp as you stand back up. he leans back and sits on his arms, laughing when you get up. his laughter is contagious—it's boisterous and bounces around the while room—and you find yourself giggling along with him.
you shake your head fondly as you lean down and kiss him on his lips. how could you have gone so many years without this? caleb was always right there—right in front of you—and you could've had him this whole time.
you kiss him with everything that's in you, even through your exhaustion. he slides his hand over to cup your cheek, and he presses his lips deeper into yours. you let out quiet whimpers as he continues, and caleb reciprocates.
it takes about five minutes for the two of you to come back up for air. you're breathless, and you're eyes are set on the rise and fall of caleb's chest. it reminds you of the homework night, and you chuckle before pecking him one more time.
"i'll be quick, remember?" you tuck some of his hair behind his ear. he leans into your hand, desperately. "don't miss me too much, okay? i love you," you smile.
you set off into the bathroom, replaying moments of your childhood throughout your head as you shower. has caleb always run back to you? was he always thinking about you? warmth rushes through your body, and it's not because of the hot water.
you're not surprised when caleb comes in as soon as he hears the water turn off. he stretches, flexing his abs and biceps. you're not sure if that was done on purpose.
and when he's there to help you change, blow-dry your hair, and do your skincare with him, and brush your teeth, you don't complain.
he's just making up for lost time anyway.
caleb craze is real (please let it be the 22nd NOW PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE)
i love love love love angst but because i have work tomorrow (it's going to be so busy at the clinic please pray for me) i needed this.
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