Pairing: Caleb x MC (can be read as reader insert)
WC: 3.9k
Warnings: MDNI, Counter Sex, Kitchen Sex, Baking Competition, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Cunnilingus, Finger Sucking, MC is a little bratty, Domestic Fluff, Dirty Talk, Come as Lube, Inappropriate Use of Evol, Smut, Fluff, Comfort, Panty Kink, Creampie
Summary:
“A bet?”
“That’s right. I bet…” Caleb tucks a lock of hair behind the shell of her ear. “That I can make you come before you can get the cake into the oven.” The Colonel watches with unabashed delight as that same ear reddens deeply, rivaling the fruit on her apron.
A/N:
It's been a loooong time. I'm only cross posting my fics from AO3 to this account, never anywhere else. Happy to hear out feedback/suggestions ♡(˃͈ દ ˂͈ )
🍰🍎.ೃ࿔*:･✦ . ︶⊹︶୨°୧︶⊹︶.✦･:*࿔.ೃ🍎🍰
“Caleb, where did we put the- oh, crap!”
A sharp clatter resounds from the kitchen; he knows it's the cupboard with the metal baking pans from the sound alone.
“You okay, pipsqueak?” He rushes in out of habit, all too used to finding a much smaller iteration of her surrounded by different versions of the same style of chaos: crayons strewn at her feet, blocks scattered around her like some sort of occult playtime ritual, piles of clothes from a tipped laundry basket accidentally strewn across her room.
“M’fine. Just played a bad game of Jenga while trying to grab the loaf shaped one.”
She stands up after collecting an 8-inch round pan off the floor; he’d used three to make her a layered cake for her sixteenth birthday, and bought the same ones in a misguided moment of longing. Not that she'd ever notice.
What he noticed, however, was the get up she was wearing. Hair pulled back in a neat ponytail, a ribbon hanging teasingly against the baby hairs on the back of her neck. An apron he most certainly didn't remember gifting her, forest green with a pair of apples embroidered onto the chest, the shoulder straps and ties around her waist trimmed in lofty white frills. Lounge shorts and a tee.
Domesticity wagging its finger at him teasingly.
“C’mere.” Caleb takes her free hand and kisses her wrist. She smells like her favorite body wash, edible and sweet. “What exactly are you trying to do?”
“I saw that apple pound cake recipe you stuck to the fridge. I wanted to try making it to surprise you… aren't you supposed to be out today?” The hunter pouts.
“I’m on duty tomorrow. Had you been sneaky then, I wouldn't have seen a thing,” he chuckles as he helps collect the rest of the fallen bakewear. “Do you want help, pipsqueak?”
“No way. You're a great cook, but I'm a better baker.”
He swears that she saunters to the kitchen counter to set the pan she sought down. No level of baking requires that amount of hip-swinging.
“Oh yeah? I've baked you things before.”
“And mine were better. That's why I was in charge of the birthday cakes most of the time. Grab me the eggs, please?”
She says jump, he leaps, certain that he's the only one that can do so without falling… to the ground, that is. For her? Different story.
“Yes, chef,” Caleb laughs, shakes his head in a manner that ruffles his hair to borderline unruliness. He should probably get a haircut soon, but his precious free time is better spent here. Orbiting this precious little sun so her light can't shine on anyone undeserving.
He watches her study the recipe he wrote down. She's careful not to wrinkle the page as her eyes scan each ingredient. “Apples, butter, brown sugar…” he hears her murmur as he fetches the eggs. The stainless steel of the door is cool on his flesh-and-blood hand as he holds it open while watching her. The annoying little beep it makes when it decides the door has been open too long makes his brows furrow and draws a laugh from her.
“Did you just have a moment? You know, where you open the fridge and forget what the heck you opened it for in the first place?”
“You could say that,” he chuckles. The fridge door shuts with a muted thud as the blue foam of the egg carton is held out in her direction.
“Thank you. What a helpful assistant you are.”
Her praise is tossed at his feet like crumbs, and he eats like a starving man every time.
“I just enjoy having a whole kitchen. Y’know, one that hasn't been leveled by clumsiness.”
“Caleb!”
“Alright, I'm kidding. Buuut I still think…” He takes the eggs back in hand with the intention of cracking the amount specified by the recipe into a bowl, but pauses to kiss the top of her head. “That we could have fun doin’ this together.”
“I don't need you to crack eggs for me, dummy,” she laughs softly and gently yanks them into her possession, setting them onto the counter.
Sometimes the love of his life coats her words with sugar, other times with salt. Coarse, biting, stinging, right in the little wounds no one can see. He loathes that combination of words-
I don't need you.
“I wasn’t sayin’ you did,” he walks up behind her, gait slowing from an excitable puppy’s trot to the measured steps of a man in command. “I just thought it would be fun to do with you. Then again…” Strong hands encircle her waist, “if you're so sure you don't need help, we could do something different. A little bet.”
“A bet?”
Those familiar eyes gleam at the prospect of a challenge, and he loves that about her. It reminds him of the first time he slid a second pistol into her hand. She’d looked at it, sighed, and grumbled about the difficulty of attaining ambidexterity.
“That’s right. I bet…” Caleb tucks a lock of hair behind the shell of her ear. “That I can make you come before you can get the cake into the oven.” The Colonel watches with unabashed delight as that same ear reddens deeply, rivaling the fruit on her apron.
“Fine… but you have to peel the apples for me before we start. Otherwise that would be ridiculous.”
Yeah, that would be the detail she harps on, Caleb thinks with a chuckle. “Yes, chef. We’ll play by your rules. Hand me the peeler or a knife. Your pick.”
A small knife is placed onto his palm while she claims the peeler. “It looks cooler when you do it,” she explains, coating him in another dusting of sugar.
“You could just say I'm cool outright,” he grins. The first apple he peels is taken away and promptly cut into slices.
“Caleb is the coolest,” she relents with mirth tugging at her lips. “Nobody in Skyhaven can peel an apple as well as he does. A god of the orchard.” Those pretty eyes roll, but not the way he wants. Not yet. She beckons him with a slice like she's holding out a treat, and as always, he takes the bait.
Caleb opens his mouth to accept the offering and suckles her fingers along with the proffered piece of fruit, enjoying the way her expression wavers from satisfaction to shyness and back again.
“The apples that grow up here are sweeter because of all that extra sunlight, y’know,” the Colonel explains easily, licking his lips and kissing her fingertips before starting to peel another apple.
“I did actually know that,” the hunter murmurs, “but we won't get any of that flavor into the cake if you keep eating them.”
“But you offered.”
“Mm… one slice. Don't be greedy.”
Ah, his perfect girl. The things she asks for could be impossible sometimes. His greed borders on gluttony. If he could, he’d eat the fruit that touched those hands to the core and then snap it right between his teeth. Lap the juice off those palms until every tributary on her skin ran dry.
Instead he manages another handful of apples at her behest and helps cut them into smaller pieces. Once she assembles the rest of the ingredients, all bets are off.
“What exactly are you going to do?”
“Nothin’ crazy,” he drawls as he stands beside her. Callused fingers tap her chin gently. “Mostly make you feel good.”
The way she nearly drops a plate of cubed butter over the edge of a mixing bowl makes Caleb smirk. “M-mostly?”
Sunlight pours through the floor-to-ceiling windows in the kitchen, his shadow swallowing hers as he stands behind her again. “Mostly. But only because that pretty mouth needs taming sometimes.”
“Caleb…”
“Ah-ah. We’ve discussed this. What do you say when you don't want something?”
The hunter’s blush climbs up her neck, muddling her hairline adorably. “... Apple.”
“Good job, baby girl,” he kisses one ear while taking her hands in his, placing them gently on the counter. “I think you’d better get started if you wanna win, though.”
“What do I win, anyway?”
“That depends on what you want.”
“You do all the chores for a week.”
“That's it? I usually do them anyway.”
“And,” she adds with a tilt of her head that invites his lips to the juncture of her neck. “You wear a pair of my panties while you do them. You have to give me proof, too.”
“Oh, wow. Is that a new thing you're into?” Caleb chuckles darkly. “I don't know if I can squeeze into something that small, sweetheart. Working with a lot, as if you don't know. Now, now. Fluff the flour with a fork. Don't get distracted.”
“I was going to, but you're in the way,” she huffs, fingers reaching for a drawer to her left and yanking a silver fork out. He has to laugh at the way she nearly slams it shut; thankfully his drawers have a mechanism that slows their closure so they don't get damaged.
“Whoa there. Fluff, not stab into finely milled powder.”
A glossed lower lip is secured beneath her teeth as the woman pokes vigorously at the container of flour before measuring out each cup into a separate bowl. “Hmph. So do I get what I want if I win? I don't care if they don't fit.”
“Of course you don't. Fine. What do I get if I win?”
Next comes a heaping allowance of brown sugar. “Depends on what you want.”
“How about you let me buy you a new pair…” Caleb rubs the back of her neck with only his fingertips and goosebumps instantly bloom across her arms, “pull them to the side, and take you in them.”
“Can I pick the pair at least?”
“Nope. Sorry. Dealer’s choice.”
“Fine,” she acquiesces. Maybe her fingers tremble ever so slightly as she grabs the hand mixer. Then again, he could be imagining it. She's a good shot with a steady hand, after all. The sugar and butter are creamed amidst the appliance’s loud rumble, the perfect opportunity to slide hands over her sides, thumbs firm against her ribcage.
“They'll be cute, don't worry,” he murmurs against the spot beneath her earlobe. “They have to be if they're not comin’ off.” Veiled metal and warm flesh cup at her chest and squeeze gently. There's a fleeting moment in which he’s reminded that he’ll never feel both breasts at once. But then he pinches- lightly with his reconstructed hand and a bit more roughly with the other- and wallows in a conflicting gratefulness at being able to bestow her pleasure any way at all.
The hand mixer quiets, the sound replaced by soft panting breaths. Fluffed butter slips off the whisks as it's lain on its side.
“What’s next?”
“I need to sauté the apples.”
The arch of her back as he flicks at her nipples makes Caleb bite back a groan. That space between them is pure want, and he’d close the gap and fill it with screams if not for this little game they're playing.
“Go ahead, baby. I'll follow you to the stove, no worries.”
Apples, sugar, lemon juice, and spices are placed into a pan. The kitchen is permeated by with a cozy sweet-and-spicy haze as everything warms slowly, building up to an eventual simmer.
“That smells really good already,” Caleb murmurs as his left hand splays over her stomach. His pinky finger slips just beneath the waistband of her shorts, tickling just above her belly button.
“Yep,” his opponent answers quietly, poking at her work with a wooden spoon and doing a better job of ignoring him than expected. “Can I stir?” Caleb asks in a mockingly high voice, immitating some younger version of her. “You always wanted to help me cook when you were little. So cute. Give it here, hm?”
He doesn't want his precious girl to accidentally burn herself as this goes on. Little bubbles begin to edge the mixture in the pan as fingers trace down her stomach, cupping right over the heat between her thighs.
“C-Caleb…”
“You know your word, baby girl. Call it quits and we stop.”
“I know,” she huffs, “your name isn't a safe word. Doesn't mean I can't say it.”
“That's true… try saying it a liiittle differently, then.”
“Like h- mnh! Caleb.”
“Just like that,” he rasps, stirring at the cooking apples while slipping fingers over her folds. The way her hands reach for and hold onto the oven handle is so damn cute. “Someone’s not as immune to our little game as I thought, hm? I don't know if you can win if that's all it takes to make you this wet, sweetheart. Might have to buy you new panties regardless.”
Poor baby, drenched right through the cotton as he rubs gently. “Shut the stove off. These look good to cool.”
He waits for a hand to cover the stove switch to rub a little circle right over her clit, laughing softly as she twists the gas off and groans. “You're the worst.”
“Hm? What was that?” The Colonel rubs a little more firmly, gives her aching friction, his own cock twitching when he feels the way her walls spasm, clutching hard around nothing.
“Just get me… mnh, to the counter so I can finish,” she grits out, tone juxtaposed by the way she leans back against him like a cat in heat. He’s still gotta coax those claws back in, though. Get her sweet, pliant, purring.
“Yes, chef.”
“You expect me to walk like this?”
The telltale energy of his evol answers, picking her up a few inches off the ground as he guides her to the counter. Her expression is almost wondrous, a glimpse of the joy she used to derive from tugging on his sleeve and asking to fly ‘just a little bit’. When her red house slippers touch the floor again his hands resume their playful torment.
“Dry ingredients next,” she declares. Caleb witnesses as baking powder is added to the flour with the most violent flourish he’s ever seen.
“Mm. Ironic.” He mumbles back, nibbling an ear while slipping beneath the barrier of her panties. She’s so slick that he has to stifle a groan while his fingers grow damp.
“I swear to-,” the poor girl grits. Sugar- confectioner’s and granulated both- go in next. “God!” Comes the sweetest little gasp as he tickles her clit and dips the tip of a finger against her entrance; the way she whimpers and immediately spreads her legs apart might just kill him.
“You're doing well, you know. Such a good girl. But I think this is the part where you start to lose.”
Shorts and panties meet the floor in a rush as Caleb kneels. The way her toes point inward and curl in anticipation is adorable; he’s so hard he can hardly think straight. He tastes sugar and spice and pretty pink lips with a moan he’s certain he’d only make for her.
“Who needs cake…” he kisses one cheek, then the other. Bites gently and laughs as she tenses. “When you're this sweet.” His tongue nestles right back between her thighs. Caleb has to palm himself- just a little bit- when she backs up enough to rub against the bridge of his nose. The sound of the hand mixer swallows her moans and he briefly contemplates using his evol to send it flying to some corner of the kitchen where it can no longer interfere. He can always get another.
But his patience is finely honed.
Caleb waited his entire life to love her like this, to have her desire glaze him from the tip of his nose to his chin- sloppy, succulent nectar.
“Baby girl,” he rasps after one broad lick against her, “still not tapping out?”
“No. I'm not that easy to break. But if this is what you want,” her hips sway back and she presses firmly against his mouth with a moan. “Then get the pan of apples for me.”
“Is that how we ask nicely?”
“Caleb!”
Sure, suckling that pretty little bud and wagging his head could be seen as playing dirty, but he knows how she loves it. If anything, he's doing her a favor.
“P-please get the apples for me?”
“Mm. Good. That wasn't so hard, was it?”
Admittedly, Caleb rarely uses his evol for such trivial reasons. He prefers to use his hands, to remember what’s been taken and what he yet stands to lose. But for her…
Anything.
And she knows it.
He rises from his knees almost gracefully and runs hands up her calves, thighs, hips as he goes. “Almost done making the batter… guess you're putting me in a tight spot, aren't you baby?”
“Meaning?” She asks with a tilt of her head, that ponytail swishing about as she combines everything in a single bowl. Zipper teeth part ways all too quickly amidst the sound of shuffling fabric; it's the way she gulps softly but looks at him expectantly that has the Colonel breathing heavily. He’s not doing much better than she is, precum dribbling down the length of his cock as he strokes himself once to relieve the ache. Hard heat slots between her legs and the hunter shivers like willing prey.
But he has to give it to her; his stubborn princess still preps the loaf pan with a thin coating of nonstick spray, her hands gripping the rim of the full mixing bowl for dear life.
“Meaning this is the part where you leave that alone, unless you want to make a mess.” Caleb’s girth teases at drenched folds, the plush head of his cock nudging at her teasingly, like it's only suggesting she ought to give in and be fucked within an inch of her life. As a treat.
He tugs her shirt up while rocking against her, pretending to let her choose while teasing tightened nipples beneath his hands. “I don't want your hard work to go to waste. So…” he runs a hand up her neck and she tilts her head up willingly. Clasps her own fingers over it and whines, “Keep it there.”
There really are no losers here.
Caleb keeps his hand steady against the pulse of her throat- not pressing, simply holding it like a frantic butterfly- as he rolls forward and sinks inside.
“How are you this wet?” He moans as he snaps his hips forward once; her hands slam palm-first onto the counter, eyes rolling back.
“Because it's you,” she mewls honestly. Her expression is so lovely that if his balls weren't clapping against that supple little ass she might be mistaken for a sleeping angel from a centuries-old mural: parted lips, flushed skin, eyes shut so that lashes cast soft shadows across her cheeks. Although if such a depiction existed, he would tear it apart at the seams with gravity’s might; this bliss belongs to him alone.
“Caleb,” she pleads.
“Stop talking,” he groans helplessly, “or-”
“Or you won't be able to make me come?” She asks in that tone: the ‘pretty please can't I have one, Caleb?’ timbre that’s gotten him in trouble a hundred times over, that shouldn't make him feel like this.
“I didn't say all that, did I?” He rebukes her with several sharp thrusts that make desperate cries echo throughout the kitchen.
“N-no… mnh, Caleb, that spot!”
“I know,” laughter edges gentle mockery as he switches to deep rolls of his hips, stirring her exactly where it drives her craziest. “I know this pretty pussy inside out.”
He slips a pair of digits across her lips and she suckles them eagerly. “Is your mouth jealous? Would you rather I be there instead?”
“Mnnh,” she groans around them, tongue slipping between his fingers messily. Her answer is incoherent with pleasure, bubbling from between her lips as he withdraws his hand and puts her efforts to better use. Wet fingers find her clit and rub gently, Caleb’s free hand cupping her breast and flicking. He can feel her squeeze around his cock in response and nearly whimpers.
Caleb needs to see the look on her face when she falls apart.
He pulls out gently and turns her over, laying her across the unoccupied portion of the counter and grateful he chose a kitchen with an island.
“C’mere, sweetheart. We’re not done,” he looms over her, kissing every inch of skin his lips can reach as he slides back home. He feels her shuffle herself down, wrapping both legs around his waist. He thinks about tearing that damn apron, but it's clearly new and beloved. So he helps her yank that and the remaining shirt off instead, stroking at newly bared skin as she shivers.
“It's cold,” the hunter pouts.
“Won't be for long,” he promises. Caleb takes her harder, swallowing her little moans and reveling in the sight of her- pink and beautifully parted around his girth, clit softly swollen like forbidden fruit ripe to be plucked.
She braces herself on her elbows and sits up, curling around him and chanting his name. Her pussy flutters, testing his resolve as she reaches that white-hot edge of pleasure.
“Mm, you're so close,” he encourages her amidst languid thrusts. “Go ahead, baby. Make a mess on my cock like a good girl.”
Poor thing. She tries to resist that kind of talk, but that's exactly what makes nails drag red lines down Caleb’s back as she ripples around him, coming hard with his name on her lips. “Inside,” she pants softly, gazing up at him with that irresistibly starry look in her eyes.
Of course he’ll come inside of her with the kind of devoted- pathetic - groan only she’ll ever get to hear. Fill her until she whimpers. And then he’ll watch some of it drip down her thighs before pressing it back in with his fingers; all of it at her request, the brazen little princess.
“Gonna give me another one, pretty girl?” He asks with a tender smile that doesn't match the way he’s stirring her, fingers three knuckles deep as they rub at her sweet spot. Her legs quiver as she braces bare feet against the edge of the countertop.
“Y-yeah… I want to.”
“Shhh… Not going anywhere.”
“Promise?”
“Yeah,” he curls his fingers just so and knows it's a vow he’ll give everything to keep. “I promise.”
Caleb wants to think that his reassurance is what gets her there; that she comes at the very idea of having him by her side. Whatever the case may be, he coaxes that second scream out of her expertly before laying on the counter with her.
“Caleb…” she laughs softly. “We’re gonna break something.”
His evol makes them float just above the surface, like they're skimming over the dark gleam of a lake. “There. Better?” He tugs her close and cradles her spent body in his arms as the soles of his feet touch the floor.
“Much,” she answers with the kind of smile that makes a heartbeat worth having. As he carries her towards his bedroom, she frowns.
“What is it, baby?” Her sudden expression makes him laugh, the sound rumbling against her skin. She looks aghast, frustrated even.
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