when i see you cry, it makes me smile :)
pairing. caleb x afab!reader
synopsis. he's always been a bit sadistic and too obsessively ill with you, and you failed to notice every time.
tags. nsfw, heavy smut, slowburn, plot-based, so much tension, coming-of-age, childhood love, friends to lovers, pseudocest, mutual pining, obsession, sadistic caleb, resisting and yearning caleb, depraved caleb, emotional reader, crybaby reader, m!masturbating, him doing it to ur pics, fingering, backshots, rough sex, slight manhandling, talking thru it, pacing is slow but worth it!
a/n. i would like to credit paiya443 for giving me this brilliant idea. check her out on tiktok, guys!
you and caleb grew up in a neighborhood where the afternoons smelled like sun-warmed pavement and fresh laundry, where the trees on your street dipped low enough that caleb could pluck leaves to tuck behind your ear. your families lived door-to-door; yards practically bled into each other. it was the kind of closeness adults called fate and kids never questioned.
and from the very beginning, caleb belonged to you in a way no one ever explained to him.
you were ten when you first cried in front of him. he was twelve, watching your tiny body tremble over a scraped knee you got because you followed him too closely. and something about the sight lodged itself deep inside his ribs — not joy at your pain, but the soft, breathtaking sweetness of you trusting him enough to fall apart in his hands.
he didn’t understand it then. he just knew he liked being the one you ran to. he liked the way your small voice cracked when you said his name. he liked that he could fix things for you — band-aids, broken toys, scared little hearts.
back then, it was innocent.
or at least, that’s what he told himself.
because even as kids, caleb noticed things no normal boy paid attention to. the way your lips wobbled before you cried. the way you’d cling to the sleeve of his shirt like he was a lifeline. the way your eyes always searched for him first — even in a crowd.
and whenever you sobbed and wailed, something warm would bloom in his chest.
something possessive. something dangerous. something that felt like home.
you never noticed his… attachment. you were too busy laughing at his jokes, too busy following him around like a little shadow, too busy trusting him with every corner of your vulnerable heart.
caleb — growing too fast for his age — then learned early how to hide the darker edges of himself. he smiled easily, joked carelessly, and protected you fiercely. he pretended to be normal, he pretended the warmth he felt at your tears was just ... affection.
but as you grew older, the warmth sharpened into a thrill.
he never wanted you hurt — never. but whenever you cried, a strange relief washed over him. a soft, selfish comfort. because your tears meant you still needed him. you still came to him. you still trusted him enough to unravel in front of him.
and if you were crying, then caleb was the one close enough to wipe your tears.
people around you said you were like siblings. inseparable, adorable, meant to grow up together.
siblings didn’t feel this way. friends didn’t look at each other like this.
he learned to control it — the obsession, the dark possessiveness, the urge to keep you close enough to breathe. he hid it in jokes, in teasing smiles, in the soft “you’re okay, i’ve got you”s he gave you each time you trembled.
you never saw the way he watched you. not really. not fully.
because while you saw a best friend, caleb saw the girl he’d spend his life orbiting — quietly, obsessively, lovingly.
he didn’t just want to protect you.
he wanted to be the only one you’d ever need.
the airplane didn’t fall — it plummeted, nosediving off caleb’s desk in a tragic, slow-motion arc that you could only watch with widening eyes. the wing hit the floor first, then the tiny propeller, then the rest of it followed with a dull little clack that felt, to you, like the sound of the universe collapsing.
you stood completely still as a ten year old.
your fingers remained frozen in the air, as if you could somehow catch the moment before it broke. but reality blinked back at you in two sad plastic pieces lying on the wooden floor of caleb’s room, sunlight gleaming off the fracture line.
you hadn’t meant to touch it. you only wanted to look, maybe admire it up close, maybe imagine the two of you flying it later outside like you always did. but your sleeve brushed the tail, and then your elbow bumped the base, and then—
your throat tightened painfully. tears pricked instantly, too fast, too hot.
“c-caleb’s gonna…” you whispered to yourself, voice cracking before you even finished the thought.
you crouched down, trembling, as if you could piece the toy back together by staring hard enough at it.
then tears spilled, quick and messy, streaking warm down your cheeks.
the door clicked open behind you.
“pipsqueak? you in here— whoa.”
caleb’s voice always had that familiar, steady warmth, but right now it broke off mid-sentence. you felt him pause in the doorway.
then his footsteps crossed the room — quick, sure, almost protective.
you squeezed your eyes shut. “i’m sorry…” you whispered before he even reached you. “i’m really, really sorry— i didn’t mean to— i broke it, i broke your airplane…”
caleb stopped beside you. you didn’t have to look up to know he was staring. you could feel it — that quiet, unreadable focus he had even at twelve, like he always noticed things before anyone else did.
he knelt down, picking up the wing.
“huh,” he murmured softly, examining the crack. “you really did a number on it.”
you burst into louder tears at that, tiny shoulders shaking. “i’m sorry! i didn’t mean to! please don’t be mad— i didn’t— i shouldn’t have touched it—”
“hey, hey— apples.” his voice dropped, gentle but edged with that boyish firmness he was growing into. he reached out and tapped your wrist lightly. “look at me.”
you sniffed, rubbing tears from your cheeks, and lifted your gaze slowly...
in fact… he looked almost amused, soft around the edges, like he wanted to chuckle but was trying very hard not to make you cry harder.
“it’s just a toy,” he said quietly. “why’re you crying like i’m gonna banish you from the house or something?”
you hiccupped. “…you liked that toy.”
“yeah,” he nodded, lips tugging upward, “but i like you more.”
your breath hitched — tiny, startled, something warm flashing through your chest.
caleb noticed. caleb always noticed.
he shifted closer, brushing your cheek with the sleeve of his shirt. “you really thought i’d yell at you?” he asked, lowering his voice like he was coaxing a secret out of you.
you nodded, embarrassed. “you always take care of your things… and i broke one…”
caleb snorted softly. "pip, you’ve seen me crash this thing into the wall at least fifteen times.”
“yeah,” he said with a small shrug, “’cause you breaking it is kinda cute.”
“mm hmmm.” he tilted his head, studying your face with that strange, intent softness he carried only for you. “your nose gets red and your voice gets tiny. you look like a crying dumpling.”
“i don’t—!” you finally squeaked, mortified, but the tears paused in surprise.
caleb grinned, triumphant.
“see? you stopped crying already.” he lifted the broken airplane piece. “come on, i can fix it. but you’re helping.”
you wiped your face again. “helping…?”
“yup,” he said, already reaching for the toolbox he kept under his bed. “if you break my stuff, you have to fix it with me. that’s the rule.”
“w-we never had that rule,” you protested softly.
caleb gave you that smile — the one that always felt like sunlight and trouble. “we do now.”
he tapped the floor beside him twice.
and while you patched the toy together—caleb holding the wings steady, you sniffling as you pushed pieces back into place—he kept doing it. those tiny, stolen glances. the ones he thought you wouldn’t notice, the ones he didn’t even know he was making. every time your lashes trembled, every time you bit your lip to stop your tears, something warm and frighteningly sweet curled in his chest.
later, he would remember this moment as the first time it truly took root—whatever strange, heavy thing was beginning to bloom inside him. an attachment too big for a twelve-year-old boy to understand, too shadowed and sticky to name.
since then, caleb tried to be careful.
he forced himself to walk a step behind you instead of beside you, forced himself to pretend he didn’t always feel your gravity tugging him closer like it always had. he told himself he shouldn’t hover, shouldn’t cling, shouldn’t watch you so openly—because what if you got scared? what if you looked at him differently? what if you... pulled away?
but wanting to protect you and wanting to keep you near were braided into the same quiet ache. so he did what he could: he hid it.
as you grew into teenagers, his restraint only sharpened the edges of his obsession.
in sleepovers, on carpets littered with pillows and spilled popcorn, caleb would lie awake long after you drifted off—watching your chest rise and fall, memorizing every soft, unguarded blink of your dreaming face. he told himself it was harmless, he told himself he just wanted to make sure you were safe in your sleep. but sometimes his breath would hitch, and the room would feel too small and all too intimate.
at school, he became popular without trying—good-looking, tall, the kind of boy people gravitated toward. girls slipped love letters into his locker; some waited by the gates to confess, small boxes of chocolates cupped between shaking palms. he always accepted politely, then went home and left the gifts untouched.
because at night, under the dim blue glow of his phone screen, caleb would scroll through your photos instead—old candid shots you didn't even remember he took, blurry pictures of you frowning at a worksheet, laughing with your head tossed back, or asleep on the couch with your cheek squished against his arm. he’d stare until the ache in his chest grew unbearable, until the need to reach out and touch you almost made him forget his restraint.
and then there was the habit he could never break.
stealing small pieces of you.
a hair tie left on his desk; a pen you forgot to take back; the charm from your backpack that mysteriously “fell off.” he never took anything you would miss too much—just little things, tiny artifacts that made his room feel less empty. he kept them in a box beneath his bed, opening it on nights when the distance he forced between you felt like punishment.
he knew it was wrong, or at least strange. he knew he shouldn’t. but it was the only way he could feel close to you without frightening you with the truth—that you had always been his sun, and he had always been orbiting, hopelessly and helplessly, even when he pretended not to.
and oh, how caleb hated it.
not in the dramatic, stomp-your-foot sort of way—he wasn’t that kind of boy. no, his dislike came in tiny fractures. little cracks behind his smile. soft sighs he pretended were nothing. eyes that lingered too long on scenes he wished he could erase.
because seeing you… sitting beside some boy?
doing that little crinkly-eyed smile you always did when you found something genuinely funny?
it made something in caleb’s chest twist—sharp, childish, and a little bit ugly.
he didn’t understand the feeling... it wasn’t anger. it wasn’t sadness. it was something weirdly in-between like trying to hold too much water in cupped hands and watching it spill out anyway.
there was that one p.e. class, one of those sunny afternoons where the gym smelled like rubber soles and chalk, and everyone’s voices bounced off the high ceiling.
you were doing partner pushups with a boy, palms meeting each time you went up. it was innocent. your teacher had assigned partners and other students were giggling everywhere.
caleb tried to focus on basketball. he really did. he dribbled, shot, caught, repeated. but his eyes kept sneaking over—like magnets he couldn’t pry away.
he watched the boy grin at you.
he watched you grin back.
and he felt… weird. hot? itchy? restless? like an entire storm was growing inside his stomach.
without thinking—literally without a single thought passing through his brain—he tossed the ball.
except “toss” wasn’t the right word.
straight toward the boy’s face.
a loud, cartoonish THWUMP! echoed through the gym. the boy stumbled back, letting out a surprised yelp. you gasped, scrambling to his side.
“ah! are you okay?!" your voice was high and worried—so unlike how you talked to caleb. you never sounded like that with him. you always sounded relaxed, soft, comfortable, familiar.
and caleb hated that you used that voice on someone else.
“sorry!” caleb called out, forcing a sheepish grin. “my hand slipped!”
it absolutely did not slip.
the teacher scolded him, told him to be more careful. caleb nodded obediently the whole time, face flushed just enough to look apologetic—but deep down, there was that tiny, secret spark of satisfaction.
because the boy stopped smiling at you after that.
and things only got trickier.
you started finding your own little world—friends to eat snacks with, classmates to chat with before homeroom, girls to walk home with. you laughed more, wandered more, lived more.
all things that slowly took your attention away from him.
and caleb, who had always been the sun in your orbit, suddenly felt like he was becoming… a star in the background.
so he tried to tug your gaze back gently—nothing scary, nothing dramatic. just… nudges. soft things. harmless little games.
like posting new photos online. photos where he looked a little taller than last month, or a little sharper, or a little cooler in that effortless preteen heartthrob way he didn’t admit he knew he had.
a candid shot with basketball practice sweat on his forehead.
a group selfie where he somehow ended up in the center.
he posted, refreshed, waited.
and when that tiny notification popped up—pipsqueak liked your photo—he felt lighter and heavier all at once.
by the time caleb turned eighteen, the dreams about you had already become routine—frequent things that threaded themselves into his nights like an extra heartbeat. at first, they startled him. he’d wake up with that strange sense of longing, a kind he didn’t know how to name yet, the kind that made him want to keep you close even when the world said he should be letting go.
but over time, he stopped fighting them.
dreaming of you became… normal.
almost comforting, in the same way your childhood scent had been—the faint trace of baby powder, crayons, and the warm, sunlit air of long summer afternoons. his dreams followed that same softness, that same familiarity. in the dreams, sometimes he saw you laughing beside him at the park swing. sometimes you were leaning against him during some lazy after-school afternoon. sometimes you were just… there, smiling at him in that way you used to when you were ten.
took them in like breath.
one friday kinda changed everything?
he’d come home late from basketball practice, shirt clinging to him, muscles sore, hair still damp from a rushed shower. he barely finished dinner before collapsing onto his bed as exhaustion clung to him heavily.
and he fell asleep fast. too fast.
and the dream that came… felt different from the start. warm...? near... breath-close... it felt like someone had stepped into his chest, into the hidden, locked-up places he never let anyone touch.
you were in front of him, looking at him in that soft way—the way you used to when you were little and he was the only person in the world who could fix the things you broke.
he didn’t know who moved firs, maybe you did, maybe he did.
maybe both of you met in the same impossible middle.
but suddenly, your mouth was pressed on his.
a shy press of lips—sweet, tentative, as if asking him a question.
and he answered before he even realized he had.
his hand slid to your waist, fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt as if terrified you’d slip away. his mouth pressed harder against yours—hungry, desperate, relieved, every suppressed feeling he’d buried since childhood bleeding through that single kiss. he tasted your breath, your warmth, your everything.
he was almost gasping for air when your lips parted, resting his forehead against yours with eyes shut tight. his fingers wouldn't stop clutching on your hair locks, and then, he dives in again.
"mmh..." he was already pulling you flush against his chest, like he was afraid that you'd let go, and he'd see how scared you were of how desperate he is. caleb pushes you against a wall, lips ghosting over your chin, your jawline... your neck...
he woke up with a violent gasp.
like someone had dumped him into cold water.
he sat upright so fast his head spun, breathing hard, chest heaving. sweat clung to his hair, his shirt, the sheets twisted around his legs like he had fought sleep with his whole body.
for a long moment, he couldn’t even breathe right.
your name sat on his tongue like a brand.
and the taste of that dream-kiss—imagined but too real—still burned on his lips.
caleb dragged a shaky hand down his face, exhaling shakily as if trying to push the dream out with each breath.
“...seriously?” he muttered to himself, half-frustrated, half-something else he couldn’t admit out loud.
but even with his pulse racing, with embarrassment crawling up his throat, with the weight of want settling unbearably under his skin… every time he closed his eyes, he felt it again: your breath brushing his mouth, your lips pressed to his, your waist under his palm like something he had every right to hold.
his body felt too warm, and for some reason his sweatpants felt too tight.
he kicked off his blankets, but the heat stayed.
he rolled onto his back, then his side, then back again — restless, pulse drumming in his ears. he tried to tell himself it was just a dream... just exhaustion.... just teenage hormones?
he covered his face with one arm, exhaling shakily. “…damn it.”
only then he'd realize that his other calloused hand was already rubbing the hardening bulge underneath the fabrics.
he sank deeper into the pillows, breath catching as the memory of your mouth moved through him again. the warmth pooled low in his stomach, spreading, tightening into the area between his thighs.
his mind kept drifting where it shouldn’t.
caleb pulled his boxers down, and the grown size of his manhood springs out, twitching for some kind of release.
he stares at it with half-lidded eyes. wonder how you'd react in seeing how big he is.
no, caleb, don't bring her into this.
even still, he let himself fall into it — into the feeling of you, the fantasy of you, the dream he wanted far too much.
he lay very still afterwards, facing up at the ceiling with his chest rising and falling, with his fingers wrapping around the girth of his length, his mouth ajar, his eyes hiding under his arm.
“...this is bad,” he whispered, voice barely there. “i’m in trouble."
he rolled his head back, chest rising in a long, shaky inhale, but it didn’t help. the tension was coiled too deep, wrapped around his ribs, in the way his adam's apple bobbed unevenly. he tried to steady his breathing; instead it came out rough, uneven, almost like a quiet growl.
he stroked himself, slowly, carefully, making sure he had to picture your face in his head.
he shifted against the pillows, jaw tight, muscles drawn taut like a bowstring. his body felt big, restless, almost too heavy for the mattress. he pressed the back of his hand to his forehead, but it did nothing for the feverish warmth rolling through him.
and it was you doing this.
he hated how easily you could undo him.
but he loved it too much to stop.
his hips shifted unconsciously — a slow, frustrated twitch he couldn’t control — and a low, strangled sound escaped him before he could bite it back.
he squeezed his eyes shut, teeth sinking into his lower lip, breath coming faster now.
he fastened his pace, gripping his own cock tighter with a veiny fist, pumping the length with wanton pleasure.
he felt helpless in a way that made him angry and desperate all at once, like a man fighting against something stronger than him. like wanting you was a force he physically couldn’t resist.
he turned his face into the pillow, voice muffled, deeper, rougher than it had ever been in his life.
saying a pet name he's always wanted to use on you out loud made the heat slam into him even harder. he jerked slightly — a sharp, involuntary reaction he couldn’t hide from himself — thighs tightening, shoulders flexing as he sucked in another trembling breath through his teeth.
this was everything he shouldn’t be feeling.
and yet — god — he couldn’t stop.
his chest rose and fell in uneven waves, sweat beading along his collarbone, his entire body tensed like it was trying to hold itself together. and still, he continued masturbating.
he then reached toward the nightstand, fingers trembling just a little, brushing blindly until they found the cool surface of his phone. he curled his hand around it, grip tight like he needed it to anchor him.
the screen instantly lit up, bathing his face in pale light.
and the moment he swiped it open, he didn’t even think.
his thumb moved on its own.
straight to the photo album he shouldn’t have labeled with your initial.
straight to the folder he never let anyone see.
your photo filled the screen.
and then, caleb moaned, stroking himself faster, harder. his hips twitched upward, matching the pace of his fist.
that one picture — the one he’d taken months ago during golden hour, when you were laughing about something he couldn’t even remember anymore.
it made him helplessly horny.
his eyes softened painfully, almost hungrily.
he sank back into the pillows, phone held inches above his face, his thumb resting on the edge of the screen like he was afraid touching the photo itself would burn him.
but somehow… looking at your face did more to him than anything else. it lit every nerve on fire. it made his dick harden even more, it made him gasp for air, it made him bite his lip to suck in a groan.
he exhaled shakily, chest lifting and falling in slow, heavy waves.
his brows knit together, expression tight, almost pained.
he looks at the streaks of cum across his screen, as if he just made a mess on your face. he drops the phone on his chest, arms also dropping to his sides. and all he could do was to get hard again.
at twenty-two, the world felt too big for the both of you.
different universities, different fields, different schedules that never lined up right. caleb was off chasing airplanes and flight hours, always with some photo of runways and clouds on his feed; you were buried in training for your own line of work, juggling deadlines and requirements like a circus act.
it wasn’t sad, exactly—just… growing up. the kind that happened quietly, without asking permission.
but every summer, you went home to grandma’s house—the one that smelled like sweet tea and old wood, where the windows were always open and you could hear the neighborhood kids yelling from three streets away. and caleb would always show up, sometimes pretending he just “happened to pass by,” even though grandma always made too much food on the days he returned.
last year had been your last real summer with him.
and now, today, he was coming home again.
just thinking about it made your chest do a weird, fizzy little flip.
your classroom was glowing with afternoon sunlight, warm and playful, the kind that turned dust particles into tiny floating sparkles. you were wiping down desks with a rag, humming under your breath, moving slowly because your mind was far away.
he’s probably already on the bus... or on his way to grandma’s?
maybe he already arrived—should i hurry home? or not?
you were smiling to yourself without realizing it.
you jolted a little, almost dropping the eraser in your hand.
your friend stood near the doorway, eyebrows raised, a grin tugging at her lips. “you good? you look like you’re… floating.”
“i’m not floating,” you said, though your voice came out very much floaty.
“you totally are,” she laughed, stepping into the room. “what’s got you all smiley and glowy? did something happen?”
you straightened a stack of books just to have something to do with your hands. “no,” you said. “not really.”
“mm-hmm,” she hummed, clearly not believing a word. “you’ve been cleaning the same desk for five minutes. and smiling at it. is it a magic desk?”
you pouted a little. “don’t tease me.”
“i’m not! i’m just saying—something’s up.”
the thing about caleb was… he wasn’t easy to explain. he wasn’t a crush, he wasn’t just a friend, he wasn’t a stranger either. he was something in-between—a familiar warmth from childhood summers, the boy who always stole half your snacks, the one who fixed everything you broke, the one who always came back.
you fiddled with the cloth in your hands and murmured, “it’s just… someone’s coming home today.”
your friend’s grin exploded. “ohhhh. someone.”
you puffed your cheeks. “stop it. it’s not like that.”
“suuuure,” she said, dragging out the word dramatically. “then why are your ears red?”
“they are,” she said, poking one.
you swatted her hand away, cheeks warm.
but inside—quietly, secretly—you were already imagining it: caleb standing in grandma’s kitchen, pretending not to wait for you.
grandma calling your name the moment you step inside.
his eyes flicking to you first.
today, he was coming home.
when you finally arrived home, you stood in front of grandma’s door with your suitcase beside you, still in your uniform, the late-afternoon light brushing gold against the old wood. somehow, even after all the summers you’d come home to this place, today your fingers lingered on the doorknob a little longer.
your heart thumped—not loud, but quick.
caleb should be here by now...
and that thought made you hesitate, the way you did when you were little and wanted to knock but didn’t know if he was on the other side waiting.
finally, you took a tiny breath and pushed the door open.
your voice echoed softly in the living room.
you tucked your shoes away and stepped inside, the familiar scent of citrus cleaner and grandma’s dried herbs filling your nose. everything was the same—the framed photos, the humming electric fan, the worn-out sofa with mismatched pillows.
“grandmaaa?” you called, wandering further. “where are you?”
you peeked into the kitchen.
you peeked into her room.
your footsteps pattered through the house like they always did—light, curious, a little bouncy. you called for her again, dragging out her name in that childish way you never quite grew out of.
you puffed your cheeks, confused, and made your way to the backyard, sliding open the squeaky screen door.
the first thing you noticed was the hose—completely undone, tangled like a lazy snake scribbled across the ground. the flowers along the garden edge were soaked, dripping little beads of water like they’d just gotten an unexpected shower.
a big, warm hand suddenly slipped over your eyes.
you gasped, freezing on the spot.
before you could say anything, a voice brushed against your ear—raspy from travel, deeper than last summer, but undeniably playful.
your lips twitched upward in a small, involuntary smile. “…caleb?” you murmured, trying not to laugh.
his hand tightened just a little—like even in this silly game, he didn’t want to let go yet. “mm,” he hummed, and you could hear the grin in his voice, “took you long enough.”
you peel his hand off your eyes with a tiny huff, ready to scold him for sneaking up on you—
but then you turn around, and your whole brain just… stutters. for some odd reason.
caleb blinks at you, all casual, all unbothered, all unfairly looking like that.
he’s only wearing a white tank top, thin enough that you can see the faint shape of his muscles shifting underneath. it hangs perfectly over the slope of his clavicle, draws a line to the wideness of his shoulders, and his biceps—oh. yeah. those definitely weren’t that big before. or maybe they were and you just weren’t paying attention. (you were. you absolutely were.)
his hair is slightly damp, pushed back in a way that looks both messy and… weirdly handsome? like he rolled out of some slice-of-life anime where everyone magically looks good doing chores.
“uh—why do you look like that?” you blurt out before your brain can stop you.
he quirks a brow, confused. “like what?”
you wave your hands vaguely at all of him. “like… that.”
he laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “i’ve been cleaning since morning. grandma’s busy with her reunion at the clubhouse. the house was a mess so… yyyeah.”
he shrugs, and the movement just makes everything worse. stronger. broader. more defined.
“wow,” you mumble under your breath, “someone got manlier.”
to distract yourself (and probably to ignore the fact that your heart is beating like a loose tambourine), you grab the watering can beside you. “come on, help me with the flowers.”
“yes, ma’am,” he says, bumping his shoulder lightly into yours—just enough to feel that new, annoyingly firm muscle.
you move along the garden bed, tipping the watering can just enough so the soil darkens slowly. caleb stays beside you, his own can bumping lightly against your leg every now and then—he swears it’s an accident, but you know better.
“so…” he starts, voice soft and a little curious, “how’ve you been? it’s been a while since i saw you this close.”
you brighten a little at the question, because finally—someone to talk to. “oh! i’ve been fine, actually. better than last month.”
and once you begin, you… don’t stop.
you tell him about the weird stray cat that tried to follow you home, the new project you’ve been working on, the random thing you learned online at 2 a.m., the neighbor who sings too loudly in the morning, the sweet snack you’ve been obsessed with lately—just a whole collection of things that have been floating in your mind.
and caleb just listens, really listens.
he keeps his eyes on you the whole time, the soft kind of staring that doesn’t feel heavy—just warm. every now and then he nods, or breathes out a quiet laugh, or tilts his head like he’s storing every word for later. and somehow, his attention makes your talking even worse. even faster. even louder.
“—and then the lady told me i looked too young to be buying that, which is insane because i’m literally—”
“you do look young,” he cuts in, lips twitching.
“sorry,” he shrugs, though he’s obviously not sorry at all. “baby-faced rather.”
“oh, shut up. you’re just jealous i don’t look like a stressed office worker.”
“hey,” he says, feigning offense, “i think i look very youthful.”
you make a face. “you look like someone’s dad.”
caleb smacks water at your shoe with his watering can. “take that back.”
“fine.” he leans a little closer, lowering his voice dramatically. “just remember—karma comes quickly.”
“what are you gonna do? water me?”
you dodge behind the hibiscus plant like a child, laughing. he follows, shaking his head but smiling that soft, helpless smile that only shows up when he’s with you.
the next, caleb flicks a bit of water at your arm, you shriek dramatically, and suddenly it’s war.
“come here then,” caleb grins, eyes narrowing like a cat spotting easy prey.
like actual children, you sprint straight into the house, socks sliding on the floor, heart thudding from equal parts adrenaline and laughter. behind you, caleb barrels in with none of the grace a future pilot should have.
“no!! why would i do that?!”
your giggles echo through the hallway as you turn every corner too fast, nearly tripping over a rug. caleb’s footsteps are louder, heavier, like he’s purposely stomping just to scare you. the two of you are basically reenacting tom and jerry—except much louder and much dumber.
you duck behind the dining table. caleb circles the other side. both of you stare each other down.
you yelp, turn, and run for the living room. he’s faster. way faster. you barely make it past the couch when—
caleb grabs your waist from behind and the momentum takes both of you down onto the couch cushions. you let out the most unflattering squeak as he catches your wrists mid-flail, pinning them above your head before you can escape again.
both of you are panting—half from running, half from laughing too hard. your chest rises and falls quickly, and caleb’s breath brushes your cheek, warm and uneven.
your laughter fades first.
and then the silence slips in, soft and heavy.
his hands are still around your wrists. his body leans over you, close enough that you can feel the heat of his skin. the white tank top isn’t helping—broad shoulders, defined arms, everything just there and very hard to ignore.
caleb swallows, jaw tightening just a little.
caleb stays still for a long moment, his eyes fixed on you, and for once, the world narrows down to nothing but your face, your hair falling slightly over your cheeks, the way the sunlight hits the curve of your jaw.
and then—it all crashes back. every quiet feeling he’d tucked away since you were kids, every stolen glance, every moment of watching you sleep, every tiny obsession he’d convinced himself was harmless… it comes rushing forward like a flood he can’t hold back.
he swallows hard, throat tight, and his chest feels like it’s too full, too fast. he’s leaning over you, feeling your warmth, the softness of your hands under his, your uniform riding up slightly as you shift, and it’s almost unbearable how… beautiful you look. how impossibly you’ve grown, how much you still belong in his orbit.
but then, just like that, the moment snaps. his lips twitch into a small, almost mischievous snort, like he’s breaking the tension with the smallest, most human excuse he can find.
“ugh,” he mutters, brushing back his damp hair, finally getting off of you. “i need to change my clothes. this tank top is sticking to me like glue.”
he stands, trying to keep his voice light, playful, like everything is normal again. like the sudden surge of everything buried in his chest doesn’t exist.
you blink up at him, unsure if the air between you is just heavy from running or from… him.
summer slips by the way it always does with him.
one monday, you’re wobbling carts through the grocery store with caleb, arguing over which apples are “pie material” and which ones are “just posing as apples.” he flicks your forehead when you pick the wrong brand of flour. you shove him into the cereal aisle, and the employees would stare, but he just grins.
then you’re both in the kitchen, elbows touching, sugar dusting the counter, caleb peeling apples with that stupid smug look because his slices are “more aesthetic.” you roll your eyes but let him win. he always wins.
another day, you’re sitting cross-legged on his carpet, controllers in hand, yelling at him for cheating.
“you literally walked off the map,” he accuses.
“you distracted me with your commentary!”
he laughs so loud you almost throw your controller at him.
and then the fair—cotton candy fingers, grandma holding both your hands while she drags you into photobooths. caleb presses his cheek against yours in one of the pictures, claiming it’s “for comedic effect,” but he keeps that strip of photos in his wallet later.
it’s all small things, tiny pockets of happiness. the kind that feel like childhood with just a hint of something else underneath.
then one saturday night, with summer already slipping through your fingers, you stand at the doorway of grandma’s bedroom and watch caleb help her with her medicine. he’s gentle, patient in a way he never is with anyone else. he brushes a stray hair from her forehead, telling her, “c’mon, grandma. you promised you’d take it without making that face.”
and she tries—she really tries—not to make that face.
you smile quietly, but it aches in your chest. because it’s almost over again.
so you slip away, leaving them to their soft laughter, and you walk down the hall toward caleb's bedroom.
his door is half-open with the lights warm. his room smells like pine-scented laundry, a little cologne, and something distinctly caleb.
you step inside, slow, hesitant. your fingers graze his desk, the edge of his bookshelf, the jacket tossed carelessly over a chair.
you’re just… taking him in.
the way he exists in this space.
the way this room feels like him.
the way being here feels like the summer you wish would stay just a little longer.
you sit on the edge of his bed, sinking into the sheets that still hold the shape of the boy you grew up with, the one who somehow became the person you look for in every room.
and for a moment, alone in the soft quiet of caleb’s bedroom, you let yourself feel it—
that tiny, childlike longing.
that wish that summer didn’t have to end.
that wish that he didn’t have to go for another year again.
you kneel on the wooden floor, palms warming against the boards as you lean forward, squinting at the little shadow jutting out from beneath caleb’s bed.
sticking out just enough to be suspicious.
you really, really shouldn’t.
but curiosity has always been your fatal flaw—caleb said that once, teasing you as you tried to solve a puzzle he purposely made too hard.
so you swallow, reach out, and tug the box toward you. it scrapes softly against the floor, heavier than you expect. you hesitate, fingers hovering over the lid.
this feels like trespassing.
like peeking into a part of him he would never show you on purpose.
your mind blanks for a moment, then comes rushing back too fast.
right at the top: a bundle of ballpens you thought you’d lost in elementary school. the blue one with the star sticker you swore someone stole.
your old handkerchief, folded neatly, the one you dropped at the playground when you were twelve.
your brows knit, confusion rising.
there, tied gently with a small ribbon, is a clipping of hair—your hair—cut cleanly from the time you’d trimmed your bangs at his house and swept everything carelessly into the trash.
your breath feels too loud in this quiet room.
printed photos of you follow—some candid, some clearly zoomed in from afar. little notes scribbled around the edges in his uneven handwriting;
don’t let anyone else see this.
soft fabric you immediately recognize.
one you lost at a sleepover years ago. you’d laughed it off, thinking maybe grandma misplaced the laundry.
you flinch, heart hammering so hard you can feel it in your fingertips.
your mind shatters into a dozen frantic thoughts all at once.
since when? why? how long has this been here?
you can’t breathe. you can’t think straight. you stare at the contents of the box — the pens, the handkerchiefs, the hair ribbon you thought you lost in middle school, the printed photos, the little notes scribbled along the edges.
pieces of you. pieces he kept. pieces he collected.
is this… really caleb? your caleb? the boy who teased you, protected you, grew up with you?
you replay every memory you can grab onto — his laughs, his scoldings, his shoulder bumping yours, the way he always appeared when you were sad, the warmth in his voice when he said your name.
none of it ever hinted at… this.
or maybe… maybe you simply never looked close enough.
your breathing starts to shake. your hands press against the floor, palms clammy.
if he walks in now—if he sees you kneeling here with this box wide open—what would he do?
your heartbeat feels like it’s crashing against your ribs. your thoughts spiral so fast they blur into noise. what do you say? what do you do? what is he going to think? what is he going to do?
you’ve always been like this — whenever the world becomes too big, too loud, too confusing, your eyes sting before anything else.
and now, tears start gathering at the corners of your vision. you blink them back, but they only spill faster.
caleb's voice drifted from the hallway in that familiar, warm way he always calls you when he comes home, like he’s expecting you to peek your head out with a smile.
silence folds into the doorway, sharp and sudden. you freeze before you even look back — some instinct curling tight in your chest.
caleb stands there, half-shadowed by the hall light, one hand loosely gripping the doorframe. at first glance he looks like himself — tall, composed, that calm gentleness he’s worn like a second skin since childhood.
but then his expression shifts.
quietly, subtly, and... devastatingly.
the softness drains out of his face when his gaze drops to the box beside you.
and the world seems to still.
you feel your throat tighten, breath hitching around the panic rising up like a tide you can’t hold back. your fingers shake when you try to close the lid, as if that could undo what you’ve seen.
“c-caleb,” you whisper, your voice splintering. “i… i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to— i shouldn’t have— it just… fell out and i… i’m really, really sorry—”
the apology collapses into itself. your words tangle, trip, dissolve. tears prick hard at your eyes, and once they start, they won’t stop — you’re crying before you can even think to control it.
you bow your head, covering your eyes with a trembling hand.
“i’m sorry,” you whisper again, smaller. “please don’t get mad…”
for a moment, caleb doesn’t move. not an inch.
and that’s somehow worse.
his eyes stay trained on your face, or more specifically, on the tears streaking down your cheeks. there’s a tension in him, a razor-thin stillness, like he’s remembering something old and buried.
and then it comes. the smile.
it isn’t the boyish, familiar grin he’s shown you your whole life. it’s something quieter, curved at the edges with an eerie sort of fondness. a shadowed tenderness. a chill disguised as warmth.
something double-edged, like a gemini splitting into two halves before your eyes.
one caleb softens at your sorrow.
the memory hits him, and you can see it flicker across his face. that day years ago when you cried over his broken toy airplane, hiccuping apologies through your tiny hands while he knelt in front of you, both amused and captivated.
he remembers how small you looked, how helpless, how easy it was to hold you together.
now you’re twenty-two, trembling on his bedroom floor, tears falling in the same pattern, the same rhythm. and caleb—
caleb drinks in the sight.
his smile deepens by a fraction, just enough to reveal the truth beneath it: possessive and unsettlingly pleased, something that has clearly been growing in the dark all these years, fed by every moment you broke down in front of him.
he steps forward once unhurriedly, “…baby,” he murmurs, almost tenderly. “you’re crying again.”
you flinch at him, caught completely off guard. his expression… it isn’t the caleb you’ve known your whole life. not quite. it makes the air in the room press in on you, and for a moment, you stop crying, unsure whether to feel relief or dread.
“you know,” he murmurs like he’s teasing a thought out of you slowly, “i’ve been waiting a long time for you to… see me properly. to know just how… depraved i am… about you.”
your hand flies to your face, wiping tears quickly, frowning. “…w-what? how… why… when…?”
caleb exhales softly through his nose, a faint chuckle curling at the edge of it, and leans just a fraction closer. “i’ve always been like this,” he says calmly, almost casual. “i just… learned how to hide it and study how to keep it safe… and just for you.”
then he reaches out, hand brushing your cheek with gentle precision. instinctively, you flinch under his touch, and he notices immediately.
“oh?” he teases softly, leaning a little closer, voice dipping low and intimate. “scared of me now, huh?”
in caleb’s mind, a storm raged quietly, controlled only by the years of practice he had spent masking it behind jokes, mischief. he had trained himself to appear harmless, easygoing, the caleb you knew and trusted since childhood. it was a careful performance, a shield he wrapped around the darker edges of himself so you would never see the full weight of his obsession.
and yet, right now, the performance threatened to crumble.
he felt the tug of restraint, the voice inside whispering that he should stop, that he should step back, apologize, tell you he didn’t mean to frighten you. because the last thing he ever wanted was for you to be scared of him. not you. not ever.
but then he looked at you.
looked at the soft curve of your tear-streaked cheeks, the way your lashes trembled, the small catch in your throat as you tried to steady yourself. the way your lips quivered, pleading silently for forgiveness.
and everything he had buried — the longing, the possessiveness, the aching need to protect you and own every fragment of your vulnerability — exploded.
he could feel it spilling over the careful lines he had drawn around himself. his smile twitched, tinged with something that felt like both awe and hunger. his hand twitched in the air, wanting to brush your cheek again, to touch, to tether, to reassure, to claim just a fraction of the fragility you were showing him.
a part of him screamed to stop, to let you step back, to let you run from this intensity.
but another part whispered too loud, too insistent: no. don’t stop. keep going.
and so he stayed, watching you carefully, savoring the vulnerability you hadn’t meant to show him. every shiver, every hiccup of breath, every glittering tear that caught the light… it was like electricity under his skin, something he couldn’t, wouldn’t, hide.
“you’re so… fragile,” he murmurs, “always trembling when i look at you. always… like this.”
he tilts his head, studying you. the duality is there; the big brother smile that makes your heart ache, and beneath it, something darker; a grin that delights in the power he has over you.
you lift your hands, wiping at your cheeks, trying to reclaim yourself once more.
“stop trying to hide from me,” he whispers, almost a growl beneath the surface, a sound that should be playful but feels weighted. “you think you can erase this, hm? this face? it’s mine to see.”
your breath catches, and before you can answer, he closes the tiny distance between you. not abruptly — slow, intentional, teasing — his lips brushing yours in a touch that’s soft, yet desperate. it’s a kiss that speaks of obsession, of years of secret longing, of power and possession, all tangled together.
he lingers just enough for you to feel the way he kisses you, lips moving against your own. and when he pulls back ever so slightly, just to look at your reaction, his grin curves sharper, almost sadistic.
“see?” he murmurs, voice low and taunting. “i’ve wanted this for so long… and now you’re finally here, just like this, just for me.”
he tilts his head, letting just the hint of a smirk play at the corners of his mouth, as if he’s daring you to do something.
“come on,” he murmurs softly, but carrying that edge of impatience only he can wear. “you’re not going to just sit there, are you?”
your heart skips. your hands fumble, and he notices, of course. he shifts, one hand sliding gently above your wrist, not gripping, but holding just enough to keep you there. the other balances him against the floor, fingers splayed and steady.
he presses again, brushing his lips against yours with a rhythm that’s like he’s testing boundaries you didn’t know existed. it’s the kind of kiss that makes your mind spin: tender in one moment, provocatively bold the next, all while his eyes glitter, studying your reaction like a puzzle he’s determined to solve.
“see?” he whispers between soft presses, tilting his head closer. “i know you want to, pipsqueak… just a little. i can tell.”
you whimper softly, and it’s enough to make caleb pause, just for a heartbeat, before his grin curls sharper.
“there it is,” he teased, as if he’s discovered a secret treasure. “that little sound… that’s all i need to know.”
before you can protest, before your mind even has the chance to catch up, he’s lifting you effortlessly, cradling you against him as if you weigh nothing at all. your body instinctively stiffens, heart hammering, but caleb’s hands are firm enough to hold your thighs.
he carries you to the bed, laying you gently on the comforters. the softness swallows you, a cocoon, yet caleb leans over, pressing close, lips meeting yours again, depraved and passionate.
your eyes shut, trying to catch up with his pace, but you could only grunt.
“shh,” he whispers, tilting his head just enough to catch your gaze, fingers brushing a loose strand of hair from your temple. “look at me. it’s okay… you’re okay.”
but the teasing lingers in his tone, “you sound so helpless when you do that” he chuckles, “i could listen to it all day..."
you can feel your heart thundering in your chest—embarrassed, and nervous, but…the way he’s been speaking and acting also has arousal pooling between your legs, even though you aren't quite sure of what exactly is this wet feeling yet.
“hmm? what was that?” his fingers lightly coast up the skin on your face, and the sensitivity of it has you gasping quite loudly.
you attempt to escape his touch (despite your instincts, which are currently screaming at you to let him continue, because god it feels somewhat... good), but caleb isn’t letting you go anywhere. with himself above you, you’re stuck. there’s no way you can beat him in a game of strength.
“w-what do you think i want?” you manage to respond, mustering up a bit of courage. it’s not in your nature to just let someone, especially caleb, talk to you like that without fighting back. caleb, however, is blunt with his rebuttal.
"i think you want more than just a kiss, apples. i think you'd love to see how far we can both go, right? am i wrong?"
your breathing has picked up now, fanning in hot puffs between your bodies. each of his words causes sinful scenarios to bloom within your mind—and you feel your down there clench around nothing—hot, and aching to be filled.
yeah, you grew up uninfluenced, but that doesn't mean you haven't went through nights of masturbating, watching or listening to something from your phone because caleb was too far away, in all ways.
“but… if i’m wrong about you, then say the word and i’ll stop,” he murmurs. “i will.”
yet you don’t say it. you can’t. you want him to keep going, painfully, shamefully so.
without missing a beat, you finally close the space between you, pressing your lips to his with desperate urgency, hands moving to cup his face. and then, just like that, he pushes back, shoving you onto the sheets beneath you with a controlled force.
“if you want more,” he says, eyes dark with mischief, “you’re going to have to say it.”
"please let's do it," you respond, breathless. caleb leans in, your lips nearly touching, and he looks you in the eye.
“say it right, because if it’s not good enough… don’t expect me to give you anything.”
“i…” your throat feels parched, words caught somewhere between your racing thoughts and the ache curling through you. you’ve never needed this—needed him—so badly before. and if caleb doesn’t give in… you’re not sure how much longer you can hold yourself together.
“i want—,” your words are cut off as a gasp involuntarily escapes your mouth. caleb's other hand has found its way between your legs, two long fingers rubbing between your soaking folds.
“d-didn’t you just say i wouldn’t get anything?” you stammer, thighs tightening instinctively, betraying how horny you've gotten. caleb raises an eyebrow, that infuriating, crooked grin tugging at his lips.
"does this really count as anything?"
his fingers tease at your entrance, barely dipping into your pussy. even if you think of grinding down to force him deeper, his hold on you prevents you from doing so—and you whine as he pulls his fingers away—simply continuing to tease your womanhood while neither touching your clit nor pushing his digits inside of you.
“i would suggest saying what’s on your mind, squirt. you shouldn’t be acting like this when i haven’t even done things.”
"i want you inside," you say, starting off innocently enough. you’ve never verbally been lewd before—the idea of telling caleb what you want him to do to you while he's literally hovering right there above you is a bit terrifying—but you know if you don’t start somewhere, you’ll never get what you want.
“i... i want you to fill every inch of me, i've been wanting it for so long.” you get braver with every word, and when you feel caleb's cock strain against your stomach, trapped in the tight space between your bodies, a wave of satisfaction emboldens you.
you take a shaky breath, finally letting the words tumble out, eyes fixed on him, and whisper, “i… i’ve been thinking about you for so long, caleb, longer than i even realized. every little thing you do, every look, every word… i’ve felt it, this pull toward you. i’ve wanted you, more than i knew how to say, and i’ve been yearning… for you, for all this time, without even understanding it myself… until now.”
caleb's breathing is a bit gruffer now—his face burying against your shoulder as his hand drops away, coming to momentarily rest near your hip. you feel his hand sneaking beneath the hem of your top and dragging upward, with goosebumps rising on your skin. your confidence momentarily falters—a hot wave of arousal jumbling your thoughts—but you continue.
"s-sometimes, i wonder... how would it feel to do the things people do in adult stuff with you. if you would like it if i gave you a blowjob—"
without warning, he bites down on your skin—two of his fingers slipping inside of your pussy at the same time. a breathless whine escapes you, pain and pleasure mingling, and when you attempt to grind your hips down on his hand, he nips at you again.
“maybe it wouldn’t be so bad,” he murmurs against your skin, voice warm and taunting, “if i could put a tag on you. just so everyone knows you’re with me. you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
you open your mouth to respond, but he doesn’t give you the chance—his lips moving to capture your own as his digits thrust between your walls. his tongue forces its way into your mouth, swallowing the moans that rip from your throat—his pace ruthless as he fingers fuck you. but he knows it’s what you want, your pussy positively drenched for him, lewd sounds permeating the room with each flick of his wrist.
his other hand finds your breast, squeezing the soft flesh roughly and causing you to whine. caleb's touches are sure to leave you sore and bruised, but the idea of having marks to remind you of this moment for days to come is undeniably appealing.
“c–caleb,” you gasp, your knees beginning to buckle. you’re already racing towards your climax, his fingers pressing into your sweet spot with every jab.
“are you already going to cum?” he asks, placing an open-mouthed kiss against your jaw. your head is spinning, but you manage to nod.
“mmm... should i let you cum?”
“please.” your voice is raw with desperation, head pressing back against the sheets as the dam holding your orgasm at bay threatens to collapse. weakly, your hand raises to grab caleb's arm—your fingernails digging into his skin.
he smiles, lips pursing together, eyes following the motions of your head. "cum then."
and you do—mouth opening into a silent scream as you release around his fingers. he pumps you through it, pace slowing to drag out the waves of pleasure. and finally, once you’re able to breathe again, he pulls his hand from between your thighs.
you watch him bring his soaking digits on his lips, smearing your own juices against his tongue. it’s an embarrassing realization—that you had drenched his hand with your arousal—and his action only burns you up even more.
but caleb maintains eye-contact as he does, before bringing the very same fingers towards your mouth, urging you to lick his saliva off.
for a moment, you take your time getting caught off guard, staring up at caleb, your caleb, ontop of you. the boy you used to climb on trees with, eat crayons with, chased frogs on the streets with.
you lean forward to suck on his fingertips, tongue lapping up the length.
“don’t regret what you said earlier about letting me use you,” he whispers into your ear, and within seconds, you find yourself tossed around onto the soft sheets, flipped onto your stomach.
there’s movement on the mattress behind you, and then caleb’s hands are reaching forward to grab your hips. he forces you onto your knees—dragging your ass backwards—and without warning, something quite large shoves between your walls.
“mm--!” you bite your lip, fingers grasping at the sheets as caleb begins chasing his own release. his hips smack against your ass, rattling the bedframe with each movement, and despite yourself, pleasure begins building in your gut once more.
"oh, yeah... i was right." caleb speaks, voice all breathless and raspy. "you were as tight as i've been imagining—no, more tight—much, much tighter—!"
you whine at his words, thighs shaking as the intensity of his love-making begins to overwhelm you. if it weren’t for caleb's grip on your hips, you’d be slack against the sheets—twitching, and taking a much-needed breather.
but this isn’t about you. right now, it’s about him, and you both know it. it's his turn to do whatever he wants. it's the least you can give him, considering he’d already let you cum, right?
“cum again?” he asks, and you shake your head no. he chuckles, one of his hands reaching around to toy with your clit. the act immediately has you crying out—pussy tightening around him and forcing a grunt from his throat.
"let's see about that, huh?"
the next few minutes are a blur—your mind spiraling into incoherency as caleb's dick stretches and fills you in all the right ways. with his fingers rubbing circles at your clit, you’re brought back to the brink of orgasm quicker than you’d imagined—the pleasure beginning to tip into overstimulation.
“please please please please,” you chant, forcing yourself to clench around him. caleb groans, retaliating with a brutal thrust that has tears pricking at your eyes. you’re not sure if you want to cum, or simply want him to cum so you can finally catch your breath.
“fuck,” he curses, beginning to fall apart around the edges. his fingers work at your clit even faster than before, and you choke on a cry—attempting to pull your hips away—but he doesn’t let you.
with a guttural moan tearing from your throat, he forces another orgasm from your spent body. you go limp—any remaining strength fading from your limbs, and caleb drags you back onto his cock a few more times before his pace falters, and he finds his bliss as well.
instantly, caleb plops down beside you, trying to chase his own breath. and when he steals a glance from you, he takes a double look.
"hey, hey, did you just cry?"
you're too worn out to answer, but you're sure you probably did. from how hard and rough he was fucking you.
your vision is starting to blur, and the last thing you see before blacking out is caleb's smile.
"you know, when you're like this, all teary-eyed and fragile, it makes me smile."
