I imagine him managing to get in your house, setting up the table with your favourite dishes and decorating the dining room with lit candles and roses. You wonder how he got in when you caught him adjusting his shirt to look his absolute for this special occasion... for you...
at first, you thought he was just being mean, hogging the highest-tech thing you’d ever seen all to himself. then, once you got old enough, you wondered if all the secrecy was for…nefarious reasons. but every time he smiled and ruffled your hair, you just couldn’t bring yourself to think he’d ever watch that kind of stuff.
plus, the thought made your stomach hurt.
eventually, you grew old enough to value your privacy just as much. gone were the days of you sneaking glances over his shoulder and trying to guess his password while he wasn’t looking.
*his password wasn’t your birthday. why wasn’t it your birthday? was it someone else’s birthday?
**it always was your birthday. just typed backwards.
in all that time, you never would’ve guessed the thing he’d tried so hard to keep from you was his own sims fantasy land.
he’d spent hours designing both of your appearances and outfits, chasing accuracy down to the pixel. once he was satisfied, he moved your household into an empty world, so that you were free to live as you were instead of who you should’ve been.
he’s an astronaut, you’re a secret agent. you have a garden, but he always hires someone to tend to it so the plants don't command too much of your attention. his cooking skills are maxed out, as is your relationship level. and there’s a shiny silver band around your left ring finger.
you have a mansion with a motherlode of things to entertain you: hot tub, cupcake machine, karaoke station, rocket ship. and rest assured, there’s a trusty cowplant in the back to deal with anyone who disrupts your peace. over the years, it has lured and devoured multiple incarnations of a certain black-haired, green-eyed, sweet-toothed genius who you could never seem to stop gushing over.
and when the grey hairs come in for both of you, and your time starts winding down…well. he already has twin burial plots mapped out in the backyard, right in the middle of the apple orchard.
not that he’s dreamed about a life with you, or anything.
Content: soulmate au, caleb is your stalker, he is an unreliable narrator and very much unhinged, he breaks into your home and sets up cameras, possessive and obsessive behavior, he kills someone but it's non-graphic, smut, L-bombs, oops reader is a little unhinged too, talk of marriage, marathon sex, somnophilia (with prior consent given)
➢ Read on AO3
From a young age, Caleb has always had a knack for seeing patterns. He makes mathematics look easy, he breezes through things like puzzles or building model airplanes, and he observes everything in life with a quiet calculation that unnerves most people.
His family calls him special. People who meet him for the first time call him a bit strange yet charismatic. Since childhood, he knew there was something different about him. Caleb has a gift no one else has: he can see fate.
Fate is beautiful. Connections and relationships are woven throughout the universe in the form of deep red threads. Some are thick cords, strengthened by a bond that's been realized early on in life. Others are thin, fraying, and tangled when someone touches a body they aren't meant to be with but want anyway.
These threads aren't exclusively for romantic bonds. Some destined relationships are lifelong friends, platonic life partners, or anything in between. A few people even have more than one if they're lucky. No matter the type of soulmate, everyone has a thread tied to them. Everyone except Caleb.
It's a cruel thing, seeing everyone else's destiny but being blind to your own. He doesn't even know if he has a soulmate at all. As a teen, he convinced himself it was a test—maybe he just needed to work harder to find his soulmate. He spent far too much time researching old mythology about destiny and fated lovers.
Growing into young adulthood, he spent even more time watching people, searching for someone else who might be missing their own thread. With Caleb's good looks and charming personality, he's always been spoiled for choice when it comes to a potential partner. Many people throw themselves at him, not realizing their threads tug them back toward someone else entirely.
It's not like he needs to reject his admirers. He knows he could just be another passing tangle or knot in someone's connection with a true soulmate. But that doesn't appeal to him. He wants to feel that undeniable pull, that intimate connection that comes with finding the person who was made for him. So he continues waiting—and watching for patterns he can study.
He soon learns how to guess people's whole life stories just from the way their threads are woven. It becomes second nature to figure out someone is having an affair or if they've lost a loved one or are desperately trying to escape fate altogether.
When he bumps into you at a café, he initially thinks nothing of it. He plasters on his usual suave smile while reaching down to grab your fallen bag. And when he hands it back to you, he freezes in place.
Caleb has never believed in sparks flying or love at first sight. Especially not when he's witnessed firsthand how every connection is planned by some higher power. But when he sees your face—your apologetic smile and the way you look at him with genuine kindness—he thinks fate becomes inconsequential.
His eyes land on the red thread tied around your left wrist like a shackle, and his heart drops. For a fleeting moment, he hoped you'd have no thread like him. He almost turns away, until he notices the wrongness of it.
Your thread is…ugly. A weak, dull color as it yanks at your wrist like an incessant child, trying to tug you toward something you don't seem to have any interest in.
The moment you turn your back on Caleb to resume your order, his eyes never leave you. You become an obsession—half because of that immediate flicker of something he felt when he saw you, and the other half because he has to find out why fate feels different around you.
His feet carry him mindlessly behind you when you leave the café. Careful not to arouse suspicion, he follows you all the way to your apartment. And imagine his surprise when he realizes you live right down the hall from his own apartment.
Caleb doesn't believe in coincidence. So he takes it upon himself to learn even more about you.
Clearly, the universe is sending him a sign. Maybe it messed up when writing your destiny. Maybe some cosmic being needs his help in fixing the mistake. Either way, he's the only one who can correct that dreadful thing holding you back from having a true soulmate. He's the only one who could be your soulmate.
He watches you for weeks, taking his time to collect as much information about you as he can before he makes his next move. People, normal people, are hilariously predictable. Not only are they beholden to fate, but they also desperately cling to routine. Just another pattern that Caleb picks up on with far too much ease.
It barely takes him a month to have your entire schedule mapped out and memorized. Even on the rare occasion when you do something spontaneous, he's able to intuit where you might go, who you might be with, and what time you'll decide to head back home.
He takes advantage of one of the moments you're not home, picking the lock on your front door with ease. Knowing exactly how much time he has before you return, he's planned the perfect opportunity to plant hidden cameras in each of the rooms of your apartment.
He's so well-prepared that he even has a few extra minutes afterward to go through your most precious belongings. It's hard not to steal a caress of your soft bed, rifle through the diary hidden underneath it, or gingerly smell one of your hoodies hanging on the couch.
If you were here now, you would freak out. Caleb's not insane enough not to know that. But he also believes if you gave him a chance to explain—you're meant to be with him, duh—maybe you wouldn't be too mad. That's why he does something completely unplanned and leaves with your hoodie after double-checking that all the cameras work.
Luckily, you don't notice the missing item or the added tiny red dots peeking out from strategically placed spots. One of the things Caleb loves about you is how sweet and trusting you are. It's something anyone else could easily take advantage of, though. And he doesn't like the thought of that.
Being a guardian angel isn't enough for him. Watching from afar won't mean much if someone gets too close to you when he's unprepared or turns his back for a moment. He needs to make sure no one else slides into your life. Especially if that someone could be whoever is on the other end of that counterfeit bond wrapped too tightly around your wrist.
So Caleb manufactures more accidental meetings with you. You're neighbors, after all. When you take out your trash, Caleb times his exit perfectly, turning a corner just fast enough to bump into you. His charming apology makes you a bit flustered, and he thinks you're even cuter when you're within arm's reach.
The second meeting happens at a bookstore three blocks down. The one you frequent every Saturday around lunchtime to read a new book while snacking on something salty. He’s already browsing the shelves when you walk in, glancing at you with feigned surprise when you notice your neighbor likes one of the books you read last week.
After that, it becomes easier. He embeds himself into your routine until he's impossible to ignore.
First, he's a simple stranger who you notice every once in a while. Then, an acquaintance who happens—coincidentally—to love the same cafés, the same obscure novels, the same quiet walking paths you prefer at dusk. He laughs at the right moments. Listens when you speak. Remembers little details you share that you think anyone else wouldn't bother paying attention to.
Finally, he becomes a friend. A staple in your daily routine. A shoulder you cry on when days are hard and you need someone to rely on.
In those moments, Caleb wants nothing more than to confess his feelings for you. Everything is going so well, and he can sense that you'd reciprocate his confession.
With every cozy hangout, conversation that stretches past midnight, and shared meal where your knees brush his under the table, Caleb watches the subtle shift in your body language. The way you lean closer and your voice softens. You're falling for him.
But that grotesque thing around your wrist begins to thrash in protest whenever he gets too close. His teeth grit every time he sees its blatant disapproval.
Why is the universe resisting him now? You are his other half. He's never been so sure of anything else in his life. Is this the real test he mistakenly thought he'd been put through as a child?
At night, he lies awake and dissects every possible next step. No matter the scenario, he arrives at the same conclusion. There is only ever one outcome with fate.
He's seen it before in past observations: no matter how much fate veers off course, it always finds a way to correct itself. But perhaps that's only because no one with Caleb's gift has ever tried to intervene.
People believe fate does not bend for desire, or that it doesn't reward patience and effort. They believe it simply is. But when you grow up seeing its physical manifestation and the way people fight against it, it's hard not to come to the conclusion that even something preordained can be manipulated by someone strong enough.
If Caleb's been given such a gift…then it would be a shame not to use it.
He'll make sure there is no possible way the universe could pull you into someone else's orbit. Which means he needs to find the parasite at the other end of your tether. He needs to measure their worth. Even though deep down, he already knows what answer lies at the end of his calculations.
And he's proven right when he finally does find your dead weight. Your so-called soulmate doesn't seem to treasure true love or fate at all. Even worse, the man doesn't even add up to a quarter of the exceptional person you are.
Your destined counterpart spends his days slouched at a bar that smells like stale beer and desperation. Caleb watches from across the street first. Then from inside. Then a day later, from a camera discreetly installed in the man's messy home.
He scowls as he watches your fated half drown in cheap booze and women that barely stay the night before being kicked out onto the street like trash. One could barely call this a routine when it's more like a never-ending rut for a loser who thinks he's the shit when he actually just smells like it.
This is what pulls at your wrist every night? This is what dares to fight when Caleb leans into you with a look full of yearning?
The knowledge taunts him for three days. That's all it takes before he ponders something brand new about the universe while watching a belligerent idiot snore facedown on a stained mattress.
Can fate defend itself?
Caleb makes sure what he's about to do will look like a freak accident. It's just something that happens to a drunkard who no one will miss anyway.
It turns out it's easy to sever the very thread of fate that he always admired as a kid. In fact, he's a little disappointed by the lack of ceremony. There's no bolt of lightning striking him down, no divine intervention or a voice booming from above in anger of what Caleb has taken into his own hands.
Fate is weak and pathetic as it tries to resist its new order from a power more determined than a fickle thing like the universe. It bleeds and whimpers before the last rush of air leaves its lungs.
Caleb stares down at the broken thread, now unattached from the man you were never meant to meet.
It feels like a stupid thought now, but he knows he has to attach it to himself. He doesn't believe in its power anymore, but you might. You might feel its loss if it decays, the same way he's seen remnants of other people's bonds that ended when their lovers passed away too soon. Besides, he wants there to be no question that there is an unshakeable bond between you two—even if you can't see it for yourself.
Caleb works quickly, tying a knot around his left wrist a bit too tightly, like he's scared it might come undone if he isn't meticulous enough. Some strange bit of life still left in the thread resists him at first, stubbornly recoiling from the wrongness of what just transpired. But familiarity is a powerful thing. He has already watched you, memorized you, and diligently shaped his life around the edges of yours. He makes fate recognize effort now.
It stings for a few minutes, feeling like forcing a shape into the wrong space. Fortunately, his lack of a thread becomes an advantage. There is nothing to conflict, nothing to reject the intrusion other than your own thread trying to hold onto something irrelevant.
And after a few heart-pounding moments, the knot finally holds—and your thread stills. Caleb exhales for the first time in minutes. He leaves the unmoving body on the dirty mattress, smiling when he thinks of the next time he'll see you with a strengthened bond.
Your neighbor—and new best friend—is the sweetest man you've ever had the pleasure of meeting. You never thought you'd find someone like him in this day and age. A true gentleman, he makes you feel seen in a way that feels inevitable. Like he was always waiting for you to run into him on a busy day at your favorite café.
Lately, you've been unable to stop yourself from flirting with danger. And it really is a dangerous thing to fall in love with a neighbor. If things don't work out, then you'll have to bump into an ex every day just to go in and out of your apartment.
But if the only dangerous thing about wanting a man like Caleb is the possibility of a constant heartache, then you'll take your chances. Besides, your chest already tightens painfully every time he smiles at you. Your heart really does skip a beat when he laughs at your jokes, or hugs you when you're sad, or when his hands wander just a bit while he cuddles up beside you on your couch.
Caleb is different than any men you've ever met. He's better. Maybe he's the best you might ever get. And you're not going to let someone else snatch him up.
That's precisely why you've already put so much faith in him. Someone as gentle as Caleb could never hurt a fly, so you happily gave him a key to your apartment for emergencies. You let him come over even when you're looking like a mess after tiring days at work. You even fall asleep on him sometimes, so trusting that he would always protect you even in your most vulnerable states.
His easygoing charm and innocent puppy-like eyes make your heart beat only for him. But you're also a bit annoyed; no matter how much his touch might wander at times, he always holds himself back.
You've tried baiting him with shorts that "accidentally" ride up a bit between your thighs when you bend down in front of him. You've even let your hands trail his chest and abs while watching movies beside him.
It takes all your willpower not to jump him right then and there the moment your fingertips trace the quivering lines of his lower stomach. His breathing always turns heavier with cute little gasps of air when you touch him. But still, he doesn't take things further.
It's for this reason that you decide to take a leap of faith and ask him on a date. You're not usually this bold with your crushes, but something about Caleb makes you want to be brave. When the two of you meet up at your usual café for lunch, you take advantage of a quiet moment.
"Caleb?" you say, trying to keep your voice steady as he looks up at you over the rim of his coffee mug.
He sets the cup down, giving you his full attention like he always does. You stammer for a second, and he smirks, as if he can guess what you're about to say. That cockiness is what makes you turn a nervous question into a headstrong declaration.
"I want to go out on a date with you."
Immediately, you feel a bit stupid for the phrasing and the way you looked at him like he had no say in the matter. But Caleb—always the type to play along with your every whim—smiles, his dimples making you swoon a bit. You notice a flicker of something strange in his expression, but it's too fast to put to words.
"You do?" he asks with a chuckle, far too calm when you're over here sweating buckets and waiting for a proper response. "Well, I could never say no to you."
The warmth that spreads through you is immediate and dizzying. You laugh in relief, feeling ridiculous for ever doubting yourself or his feelings for you. Caleb wipes away any residual doubt the second he gets up from his chair and presses a chaste kiss to your cheek.
He promises to plan everything for your date, even though you were the one who asked him out. The next weekend, he meets you at your apartment promptly on time, with a bouquet of your favorite flowers and a small box of treats from that dessert place you love visiting.
Everything is perfect and effortless. Even more so than how it usually feels being by his side. He picks a restaurant you mentioned wanting to try weeks ago—one you hadn't expected him to remember. He holds doors open for you, rests his hand lightly at your back while leading you to the table, and looks at you like you're the only person in the room.
As always, conversation with Caleb flows easily. Since you've known him, he's always been able to guess what's on your mind, what might be bothering you or making you nervous. It's uncanny just how much he can stay in sync with you, as easily as breathing.
But this time, there's something just a bit different about your dynamic. Something charged with a heightened tension.
When your fingers reach across the table to brush against his hand, he doesn't pull away or avoid eye contact. He looks at you like what you've just done has sealed something he's been waiting to finalize for a long time.
It should scare you, that dark look in his eyes. Because for a second, he looks a bit unrecognizable. But all you feel is a sensation like something clicking into place.
You intertwine your fingers with his and ask, "Do you believe in soulmates?"
For the first time since you've met him, Caleb looks surprised. Nothing ever catches him off guard. Yet somehow, this simple question does the trick.
Wondering if maybe your question was a bit embarrassing, you backtrack. "I know it sounds silly. But—"
"Yes," he interrupts with a whisper. "I mean…I'm not sure if I did before meetin' you." His thumb rubs your knuckles back and forth as he holds your hand just a bit tighter. "But now I know."
If it was anyone else, you might have been amused by how cheesy his words are. But when Caleb is the one saying them—so earnestly, too—all you feel is a rush of heat through your body.
The rest of the date happens in a bit of a blur. Both of you can't seem to keep your hands off each other, even opting to skip dessert if it means getting back home quicker.
You really aren't the type to invite a first date inside your home, no matter how well the night goes. This time it's different because it's Caleb, the man you've already shared so much with. He's been inside your home before. He's seen you in every way but one. And you're desperate to show him that missing piece now.
As soon as you unlock your door, you push him inside, all pretense forgotten the moment your shoes and coats come off. You crash into him, feverish kisses stealing his breath away as he chuckles between them. You don't care how eager you seem, you just want his lips on yours.
Using his tie as a leash, you tug him backwards with you, blindly stumbling to your bedroom. But even when you think you might bump into a wall, Caleb redirects you with his eyes closed, like he's memorized the route you need to take without so much as parting from your lips. If you weren't getting drunk off his kisses, maybe alarm bells would ring in your mind—you've never taken him to your bedroom before now.
Nothing matters anyway. Nothing except getting him out of these stupid clothes and showing him just how much you've wanted him all night. When Caleb gently pulls you down onto your bed, you move with more roughness, your frenzied kisses pausing so you can shove him to sit back against the headboard and straddle his lap.
His eyes sparkle with mirth, but he lets you manhandle him. The realization makes your stomach flutter. Testing the waters further, you use his shoulders as leverage before grinding down on him. Caleb's hands fly to your hips with a gasp, but he doesn't control your movements. He just lets you rock at your own pace, basking in the weight of your core rubbing against his clothed erection.
His compliance encourages you, making you needy for leaving more kisses along his Adam's apple and neck. He moans for you while his hips buck instinctively beneath yours, and it makes another flood of arousal pool between your thighs.
"Mm, is this okay?" you mumble against his skin while grinding with more pressure, desperately chasing friction.
His fingers tighten on your waist, but he still doesn't stop you. "Y-you can use me however you want, baby," he replies through another breathy moan. "I'm yours. All yours."
How did you get so lucky, you wonder before biting down on his neck. You make sure to suck a mark worthy of being on someone who gives himself to you so eagerly. It's the least you can do for how sweetly he whimpers and claws at your hips while you hump him until you're nearly coming on his lap.
In the midst of your greed, you've undone his tie and ripped a few of the buttons on his shirt, making room for more licks and bites. When you lean back to look at your handiwork, both of you are panting, not nearly satisfied yet but needing a moment to catch your breath. And your sweet friend, no, boyfriend now, looks at you like he's ready to worship you.
He slides one hand up your body, taking his time to feel every curve until his fingers gently wrap around your left wrist. He holds his breath and glances at you with hesitation, like touching your arm is a sin.
It's cute how even after your frenzied touches and kisses, he acts like he still needs permission to reciprocate them. You nod, and then he carefully lifts your hand to his trembling lips before kissing the inside of your wrist.
The gesture seems deeper than you can understand, especially with the way he keeps glancing at you as if you know its hidden meaning. But you're lost for words, only feeling that aching throb between your legs and needing him to soothe it. He notices your confused expression but presses another kiss to your hammering pulse before smiling up at you.
"Let me take care of you now," he says, tugging you by the wrist to reposition you beneath him.
It's your turn to be maneuvered, and you let him. He kisses down your body, fingers still tickling that wrist he seems fixated on before he pins it to the mattress.
The two of you pull at each other's disheveled clothes until you're both bare. Until the tip of his cock nudges against your lower belly as Caleb continues showering you in love. But before you can feel it inside you, he seems to have other plans.
His kisses travel across your chest, against stiffened nipples, along the softness of your tummy, then finally between your thighs. When he pushes your legs apart, you shudder, feeling the cool air kiss your soaked folds a second before his warm breath does. Then he drags the flat of his tongue in one long, deliberate stripe from your entrance to your clit.
The sound you make is obscene. Your hips jerk up before you can stop them, accidentally shoving your cunt harder against his mouth. But Caleb's only response is a needy moan, like he’s the one being pleasured, the vibration humming straight through your core.
“Yeah, that’s it,” he mumbles, lips brushing your swollen clit as he speaks. “Let me hear you, baby. You're mine now—those sounds are mine.”
You barely have time to let the certainty of his words sink into your fluttering stomach before he dives in like a man starved. No teasing anymore. Just hungry, wet, open-mouthed kisses to your pussy.
It's like he knows exactly what pace to set and how much pressure his tongue should apply to make you wail for him. Could it be possible this man was sent from Heaven to satisfy all your cravings? You swear you might become religious after this.
His tongue nudges against your clit before his lips suction around it, and your back arches off the bed while you moan for him. One hand flies to his hair while your other fists the sheets, and still he doesn’t let up. If anything, the way you yank his hair only makes him moan louder against you.
There's a faint rustle of movement, and you glance down to see Caleb gently rocking against your mattress, so lost in the taste of you that he needs to hump your bed.
"Oh my god, I think I'm gonna come," you cry, feeling overwhelmed by how quickly he's able to pull this much pleasure from you. You fuck his face with more fervor now, shamelessly bucking your hips and pulling on his hair with a tightness you'll only regret after you come down from this high. "Caleb, please…need your fingers. Wanna come around them," you whine with each buck.
You peek down at him, and he's watching you with dark eyes, a scary determination in them while his hand snakes in between your legs. His fingers slide inside you with ease, curling in a rhythm that matches how he laps up your slick.
The soft smacks of his lips against your skin and the squelch of your wet pussy fill the room, mingled with your growing screams. And then you gush around his thick digits—coating his lips, chin, and palm with your orgasm. Caleb takes it all with a look of reverence on his flushed face, licking every drop you give him and gasping for air when he finally parts from your twitching body.
When he slides up your body to look at you with a satisfied grin, your pussy clenches again at the sight of his glistening mouth and pupils blown wide. He looks dazed, proud. His cock slides against your still-twitching pussy, smearing precum against the mess you already have between your legs—but he doesn’t rush you. Instead he kisses you deep, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.
“Please,” you whisper against his lips when he pulls back just enough to breathe. “More, I need more. Need you inside me.”
He exhales a shaky laugh that turns into a groan when you wrap your legs around his waist. “Yeah…yeah, baby. I’ve got you, don't worry.”
Reaching down, he nestles the head of his cock between your folds and then finally pushes in. It's slow, so fucking slow, but you revel in the jolt of pleasure that shoots down your body as he stretches you out cautiously. He's bigger than any man you've had before, but every thick inch slides inside easily, filling you all the way until his hips are flush with yours.
Caleb curses beneath his breath, head falling to rest against yours while he pants and gasps at the feeling of you wrapped so tight around him. His eyes meet yours, locked and unable to tear away when he starts to move.
You both groan from the feeling, gripping each other tighter and starting to build up a faster rhythm. It's easy to get lost in this feeling, and you lose track of what you mumble and chant while Caleb picks up the pace. But while you struggle to keep your eyes on him, he can't stop staring.
He also can't keep his hands off you while fucking you nice and deep. His fingers toy with your nipples, rolling and pinching them to get more sounds out of you. And then they caress your stomach, pushing down slightly right above your mound to elevate the feeling of how he fills you up. You stutter and shake, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him into a breathless kiss.
His lips find yours again and again between thrusts, sharing his breath with you before he whispers, "Fuck, I love you."
That sentence sends your thoughts to a screeching halt, but your pussy clenches even harder around him. You should be appalled that he's saying such a thing so soon. You should reconsider this whole relationship and how quickly you've allowed it to escalate.
You should, but you don't want to. In fact, you think you love him too.
Feeling your second orgasm barreling toward you too fast, you crash your lips against his again, nails digging into his shoulders and leaving little red crescents.
“Hm, I…love you too,” you babble, after breaking the kiss. Your brain practically short-circuits with how close you are to coming. You can't stop the words spilling out of your mouth. “Love you so much. Don’t stop, oh, don’t stop—”
The second those words leave your lips, a switch seems to flip in Caleb's brain. His whole body locks up for one heartbeat, buried deep inside you, cock throbbing hard enough that you feel it pulse against your walls. Then he exhales a ragged sound against your mouth, and the slower, careful rhythm he’d been holding onto shatters. His hips snap harder, punching the air from your lungs and making your eyes roll back.
“You can't take that back now,” he growls, his voice alarmingly different from the sweet, hesitant Caleb who kissed your wrist like it was sacred.
He’s moving faster, rougher, but still so deep it feels like he’s trying to carve himself into you permanently. Your foreheads stay pressed together, making it impossible to look away from the wild, glassy look in his eyes.
“I’m gonna marry you one day,” he groans, like it's a fact and not a hypothetical. “I'll put a ring on this finger"—he snatches the same hand he’s been obsessed with all night and brings it to his lips to kiss the bare spot where a ring would sit—“and make sure everyone knows you belong to me.”
This is so wrong, god this is so wrong. Everything is moving so fast. You shouldn't like this. You can't tell if this is just dirty talk or something more serious, but that look in Caleb's eyes is a little terrifying.
And yet? Your cunt flutters hard around him at the words, more of your arousal gushing down and soaking the sheets beneath you.
“Oh, fuuuck, that's it," he says with a manic laugh, folding your legs higher until your knees are pressed up against your sweaty chest. "I can feel how much you like this, baby. It's okay if you do," he coos. "Gonna ruin you for anyone else. No one else gets to touch you. No one else gets to hear you moan like this. You’re mine—only ever gonna be mine. Say it again for me, sweetheart." His voice cracks, and it's the only thing making you refocus on his words while your ears ring from the pleasure. "Say you love me while I fill you with my cum.”
You’re beyond proper speech now, just broken whimpers and gasps, but you manage to choke out, “Love you—I love you, Caleb.”
He slams in one last time, hips grinding flush against yours, cock pulsing as he comes with a choked sob that makes your toes curl. Your pussy spasms and clamps around him, milking him dry as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you.
Turns out you're just as crazy in love as he is. And you don't have it in you to be ashamed right now.
Caleb's counting his lucky stars that he spent all those nights watching you touch yourself through the flickering camera feeds he set up. It's what helped him learn all the ways you like to be caressed, the speed you prefer when you have a silicone cock deep inside you, and the fantasies you'd whisper to yourself when you imagined someone above you.
You won't need fantasy anymore, though. He knows everything about you. That's why he's able to make you cream on his cock over and over again, while his hips move at a speed even he didn't know he was capable of.
The gravity of this moment—of finally claiming the person he's going to keep for the rest of his life—is heady. It makes Caleb insatiable and greedy for more. More of your addicting sounds, more of your shaking orgasms, more of his cum spilling deep inside you.
More, more, more. Caleb can't stop chanting it each time you melt and rake your nails against his back and allow him to take everything from you.
You're so pretty, so perfect, all his. It goes straight to his head, and his cock, when you beg for all that he's giving you even when your body is so weak that it can't hold itself up.
You like being pushed to your limit, it seems. Right when you become too exhausted to keep your eyes open, you sleepily tell him he can keep going if he wants to. He can't help but come inside you again just from hearing your whispered permission to use you while you fall asleep.
The fact that you trust him so readily…god, he knew you were made for him. He doesn't keep you awake too long, even though his cock already throbs insistently for more of your warmth after he pulls out with a groan.
Caleb is no stranger to patience. He's glad he waited to find you. Because now he'll never let you go—and there will be many more days to spend reminding you of that if you ever forget.
No matter what happens now, you're bound to him forever. Fate made sure of it.
a/n: thank you all for the 2k celebration votes 💕 I hope I made good on our wish for more scaryleb teehee
and none of this would be possible without my ride or die @heartyluv, who constantly inspires me with her takes on scaryleb and toxic!caleb. everyone say a big thank you to her bc she let me yap about this fic to her and she beta read it for meeee, ilysm Jay 😘
I actually sat down and read Night Flight (Vol de nuit) by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry this morning. And... I kinda need to recommend it. Not even in a “deep literary analysis” way… just… if you’re into Caleb, this will hit (the way I sobbed lmao)
It’s a short read, but it carries this constant tension between love, duty, and distance. Between the one who leaves… and the one who stays.
I can’t stop thinking about this. Because it feels like the first time we’re allowed to peek into something that he would never say out loud about his role as a colonel. I can’t imagine what it feels like to live like that for long.
“𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞…”
Like it was never meant to last. Just something she was allowed to hold… temporarily. She just… borrows him until duty takes him back.
HEAR ME OUT: they're both bosses, they're smart, they're cunning, they look cool asf, like RLLY cool. Genuinely the biggest aurafarmers when it comes to status.
I imagine these two would go drive off and have meaningful conversations after a gala dinner or a big business meeting or a charity event, DO YOU SEE MY VISIONN??? Like maybe they'd get a few drinks in, Valko can visit Sylus' base in N109 and I imagine the Twins would welcome him too.
Maybe they'd try to outrank each other, friendly competition though because their masculinity ain't fragile, they'd 100% laugh at idiot podcast bros omg. THERE'S SO MUCH POTENTIAL. THE FRIENDSHIP AND BUSINESS PARTNER POTENTIAL.
Anyways, if I put my MC in the picture, she's 100% confused at what they're talking about bc the mind of business alpha males is too complicated for Ms Hunter. That's all folks.
Your mouth waters, watching the apples on the screen get brulee’d with a chef’s torch gun. The creator drones on about the recipe for apple crumble as they place a scoop of vanilla ice cream on top of the plated dessert. Without a second thought, you swipe up on the video and send it to Caleb. Maybe he can make it when he gets back. You realize a little too late that he’ll see you sending recipes to him at two in the morning. He’s definitely going to scold you for staying up late when he checks his phone. You groan and turn over in bed, reaching for the pillow from his side of the bed. You grab onto it with both arms and bury your face into it, breathing his scent in deeply. You know he needs to log night time flight hours once every few months, and you know he’s only gone for a few days, but you hate that you feel this way every time he’s away. You find it hard to sleep without his arms around you, without his breath tickling your ear as he cuddles you from behind, without feeling his heart beating against your back.
You’re in the midst of feeling sorry for yourself when you hear your phone chime. You groan again, dreading the message you’re already expecting from him. You swipe to unlock your phone and peer at the screen.
> Can’t sleep?
You sigh, and start typing a message back.
< the bed’s not the same without you :(
He sends you a sticker - the red apple patting the smaller green apple’s head. You watch the animation, your chest aching a little.
> Poor Pipsqueak. Wanna do a video call?
< you aren’t busy? I thought you were flying tonight.
> Yeah, but I can do a quick call for a few minutes. Put this thing on autopilot.
You chew the inside of your cheek, considering it. You don’t want to be a burden, but you also miss seeing his face. You decide to take him up on his offer.
< ok, let’s do it :)
Almost immediately after you send the message, your phone starts to ring. You quickly answer it and are met with a view of Caleb’s forehead.
“Hang on,” he says, his voice slightly distorted. “I’ll prop you up on the panel.”
Your view shifts a few times as he tries to find space for his phone on the panel. Once you both have a good view of each other, he settles into his seat again, and grins at you from where he’s sitting. You return his smile, the ache in your chest softening.
“Hey,” you whisper, taking in the view. He looks good in the cockpit, with his hands on the controls, and you realize you like looking at him being in control. It suits him.
“What’s keeping you up?” he asks, flicking a few switches on the board in front of him.
You shake your head. “Just can’t sleep. Too much space in the bed.”
Caleb chuckles, his attention turning back to you. “I’ll be home soon. In the meantime, do you want to see the sky tonight?”
You nod eagerly, and he reaches for you again, adjusting your place on the panel. Soon, your view is of the outside of the windshield, and you can see the night sky. You gasp, taking in the sight of countless stars against the inky sky. Caleb is flying above the clouds, and the moon is nowhere in view, so all you can see are the countless tiny lights scattered across the windshield.
“Is this your view every time you fly at night?” you ask him, slightly breathless.
“Most times. Not bad, huh?” he chuckles again. “I wanna show you something.”
You see his hands come into view, waving to get your attention. “You see these stars?” he asks, pointing at ones that are shaped into a cluster that looks like an asymmetrical arrow. “This is cluster X-02AA.”
“So cool,” you breathe, waiting for him to continue with his astronomy lesson.
“But I like to call them the Pipsqueak constellation,” he muses.
Your heart flutters slightly, and you fight to keep your voice steady. “Oh? Why’s that?”
“Because they point in the direction of where we live. Because when I see them, I know that I can follow them and they’ll eventually lead me to you. Seeing them in the sky means that I get to see you soon.” Caleb’s voice softens at the end of his statement, and you feel a tear roll across your cheek. No doubt your pillow is going to be damp. You hope he doesn’t hear you sniffling as you wipe at your eyes.
“I can’t wait,” you tell him, trying to swallow your tears back.
He continues with the astronomy lesson, pointing out different stars and planets, naming constellations and telling you random facts about them as if they were his old friends. Your eyelids start to feel heavy, but you’re intent on trying to absorb as much information about the stars from Caleb as you can. However, your sleepiness wins the battle, and soon, you’re snoring softly, your phone face down on the pillow.
“Pipsqueak? You still there?”
Caleb listens to you breathe, smiling to himself. He keeps you on the line as he continues his flight, occasionally glancing back up the Pipsqueak constellation.
“Sweet dreams,” he murmurs, hoping his voice will filter through to your dreams. “I'm sorry for making you wait. I’ll be home soon.”
— in which a big fat roach appears in front of you, and horrors of horrors: it can fly?? time to make it someone else's (ahem, your boyfriend's) problem and call for a rescue
ft: rafayel, sylus and caleb x reader (separate)
content: fluff
wc: ≈ 1k each
notes: first drabble, inspired by traumatizing events irl. only time i need a man is to kill insects fr. oh, and to do manual labor. otherwise i'm good thx <3
SYLUS ⏐ 秦彻
The Onychinus base is one of the few places, other than your own home, where you can actually let your guard down.
Sure, there's the whole 'organized crime' thing— and you probably shouldn't be as comfortable with it as you are. But just as the owner slowly slithered his way into your heart, so did his not-so-humble abode. The dark, luxurious interior, the heavy drapes, the jewels that sparkle from things that really don't need to sparkle (come on, a diamond-encrusted lamppost?).
It helps that you have so many fond memories associated with this place. The first time Sylus brought you here, when you'd patted him down for the brooch for entirely professional reasons; when he'd patted you down, much much later, for reasons that are entirely unprofessional and very unsafe for work.
But. Ahem. Nevermind that.
It should come as a surprise to no one that when something imposes on this newfound safehaven of yours? You go absolutely ballistic.
"BUG!" You screech, shooting up from the settee.
The creature in question freezes up, playing dead from its spot on the floor. Right next to where your foot had been mere seconds ago.
My god. You shudder. It almost touched you.
You snap your book shut and place it on a nearby table. The mystery thriller can wait. There are far more… wriggly matters to deal with.
In the moment you'd looked away, the roach had made for its escape. You reach your foot outward to stomp on it, your face scrunching up in disgust, and—
It flies away. Or rather— heads right toward you.
"Oh, hell no!" You jump, shaking with terror.
Sylus barges in. His gaze locks in on you— your meek figure crouched and cowering behind the settee— and then your hands, held defensively over your head.
"A Wanderer? Is it invisible?" he ventures, cocking his gun.
"Worse," you whisper. "A cockroach."
He stares at you.
The roach takes the opportunity to do a turn over your head.
"EEEEK!" You practically throw yourself into Sylus.
"Is this pest bothering you, sweetie?"
You nod desperately, burying your face into his broad chest. You feel his chest rumble as he chuckles.
"Allow me to defend your honor, then."
His hand raises. You lift your head just enough to see what he's doing.
A lazy, red-black tendril curls around the cockroach, arresting it mid-air. You watch with disgust as it writhes in Sylus's grip and is flicked unceremoniously out of an open window.
"Quick! Close it!"
Sylus snorts. You don't have the time (or the sanity) to school him on his attitude right now. Fortunately, you don't have to— his Evol shuts the window with a satisfying click.
You're never leaving the window open again. If Mephisto wants to come perch by your side, he'll have to take a longer route. Fat bird could use the exercise anyway.
"Why wouldn't you just disintegrate it?" you demand. "What if it comes back?"
"I think it knows better than to encroach on my territory again, sweetie."
He looks down at you, smirking. You realize your hand is still enclosed around his bicep. Oh. Blushing furiously, you take a large step back.
He doesn't let you.
"I rushed down here, thinking… 'what fearsome creature could possibly have her squealing like a newborn?'." He grabs your wrist— and pulls you into him till your chest is flush against his. Your blush intensifies. "Imagine my surprise when I saw it was just… an insect."
"A flying insect," you correct indignantly.
"Don't tell me the indomitable Miss Hunter— fearless slayer of Wanderers, vanquisher of foes— is so easily scared off by something so tiny."
"Pfft. I'm not scared."
He chuckles. "No, of course not. You bolted away from the creature simply because you were… playing a game of tag."
"I could've killed it," you reason, glaring up at him, "If I wanted to, that is. Maybe I just didn't want that on my conscience, ever think of that?"
A faint smirk. "And you figured I would be fine with doing your dirty work. Seeing as my conscience is already too far gone."
"… I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to. I can read between the lines."
"Hmph. If it's such a bother for you, maybe you should hire someone else to kill insects for me."
"What a novel idea," he deadpans. "A bug assassin."
You shrug. "It could really open up employment opportunities in the N109 zone."
"As tempted as I am to make that happen for my own amusement… worry not, kitten. I'll make sure you never see another roach in my domain for as long as you're here."
"Yeah? And what if I do, hm?"
"Then, you need only call for me— and I'll seize the opportunity to play your selfless hero." His lips curl. "Come to think of it, I should ask Luke and Kieran to let bugs loose in my house."
You stare at him, aghast. "Why the fuck would you do that?"
"I am but a humble opportunist, sweetie. Fierce independent hunter that you are, it's not often that you come to me begging— or even asking for help. You'll forgive me if I want to increase the chances of you lunging into my arms the way you did just now."
"Oh, Sy," you coo. Sidling closer, you peck his cheek. "The next time you long to have me in your arms… just take me, alright? There's no other place I'd rather be."
His crimson eyes glint with promise.
"I'll hold you to that, kitten."
"… And no cockroaches," you say weakly. "Please. Definitely don't do that."
RAFAYEL ⏐ 祁煜
It's a peaceful afternoon at Mo Art Studio. Rafayel is working away at a painting while you laze about on his couch, an arm over your eyes to block the sunlight streaming through his windows. The sounds of your surroundings lull you to sleep— the waves lapping at the beach, your boyfriend's soft humming, the squawks of seagulls. And, wow. These seagulls sure are attention-seeking. What on earth would possess them to screech so loudly?
You snort to yourself. They almost sound like…
Wait.
You lift your arm from your face. "Rafayel?"
"AHHH!"
You rise within a second, pulling your weapon out from its holster. Where is it? Where's the—
"There!" says Rafayel, scrambling away. You point your gun to where he's looking…
And see a fat brown roach zip by.
Oh my god.
"IT FLIES?" you both cry out.
Rafayel lets out several curses, abandoning his painting in favor of climbing up the table. Once he's on steady footing, he pulls you up with a desperate tug.
"Oof!" Your back crashes into his chest. "Rafayel!"
"Shh! It attacks by the sound of our voices, cutie."
"It does not," you mumble.
He frowns down at you. "What are you doing?"
"Huh?"
"I pulled you up here for a reason! It's the perfect vantage spot for you to kill it and shield me at the same time."
"Shield you? I thought you were shielding me!"
"Miss Bodyguard, I think you have our roles confused."
"You hired me to deal with Wanderers and crazy superfans. This is way above my pay grade."
The roach narrowly sweeps past. You both yelp, ducking away. The table shakes precariously underneath you.
"Raf! Can't you shoot fire at it?"
"Oh, sure, cutie. And have my studio smelling like burnt-roach-BBQ?" He shakes his head. "Not a chaaance. You know how sensitive to smell I am."
"Well, do something! Don't you have any bug spray lying around?"
"No! I mean… I don't think so? Probably not."
"Just swat it away, then!"
He gags. "You want me to touch that? With my artist's fingers?"
"Artist or not, it's sure as hell not gonna be me!"
As if sensing your fear, the roach flies toward you. What a beastly predator. You scream, clutching onto Rafayel's bicep for dear life.
"Begone!" he hisses, brandishing his paintbrush and swinging it like a sword. "You're not welcome here, you little terrorist!"
"What's going on here?"
Thomas steps in, brows furrowed in puzzlement. He does a double take when he sees the two of you— looking petrified out of your minds, clinging onto each other on top of a table. You can only imagine what he's thinking.
"Thomas!" Rafayel's voice actually cracks with relief. "Help us! Get rid of this creature!"
"What…?" You point toward the roach, now laying demurely on the ground. Thomas's eyes dawn with realization. "Oh."
Calmly— almost casually— he goes over to the side of the room and rifles through a cabinet. He comes out wielding a bottle of—
"Bug spray!"
You smack Rafayel on the shoulder.
"Ow! What are you attacking me for?"
"I asked if you had bug spray and you said no!"
"Cutie… I've gone a full 24 hours thinking I lost my reading glasses, only to find them on top of my head before I went to sleep. You really shouldn't expect spatial awareness from me," he says dryly.
Thomas sprays the cockroach with the toxic cocktail of its death. He gives Rafayel an amused order to keep working (and to get off the table, please), and leaves promptly— probably to share a laugh with Solana about what he just witnessed.
The cockroach shudders. It limps on its many-limbs, trying to make its last stand, crawling for mercy… but alas. It eventually stops moving.
You gag. Disgusting.
Rafayel clears his throat pointedly. "M'lady."
He has his hand out for you to take.
"Why, thank you, kind sir," you coo, letting him help you off the table. You land on your feet with a little flourish, smiling up at him.
He smiles back— then pulls on a stray lock of your hair.
"Ow!"
"Looks like my Miss Bodyguard is actually a huge scaredy cat," he teases. "I'm starting to question my choices. How am I supposed to entrust you with my safety if you're rendered helpless by a little insect, huh?"
"That's not fair. You were as freaked out as I was!"
"Nonsense. I was practically level-headed compared to you."
Oh, please. "Says the man who squawked like a seagull."
Rafayel huffs. Crosses his arms.
"Really, you should be thanking me. I put myself in the crossfire for you. I sacrificed one of my brushes to shield you. Do you know how mentally taxing that was?"
You roll your eyes.
"Thank you, Rafayel, for saving me from that cockroach. I'm eternally indebted to you," you say dryly.
A faint smile plays on his mouth. He makes a grabby motion for your hand— and you comply, reaching out.
"You're eternally mine," he corrects, lips grazing your knuckles. "Mine to love, mine to cherish…"
"Yours to irritate?" you offer.
"Duh. That goes without saying, cutie."
"Figures."
He pinches your cheeks admonishingly, continuing, "Mine to cheer up and protect and sustain through life's trials— whether those are flying cockroaches, or something… less ugly."
You snort softly.
"Hopefully less cockroaches, though."
"Yeahh I'm getting my entire studio fumigated. And your house, for good measure," he adds. "Who knows? Maybe you brought that thing here with you."
"I most certainly did not!"
CALEB ⏐ 夏以昼
"Caleb?"
"Hm?"
"Do you think I'm high maintenance?"
He looks at you— then at the multiple shopping bags + your purse + your half-eaten sandwich hanging off his arms.
"Uhhh."
You gasp, snatching your sandwich away.
"You do!" you accuse. "You think I'm high maintenance."
"Is that really such a bad thing?" His muscles flex as he gingerly moves your purse to the other arm, trying to maintain some sort of equilibrium. "I mean, yeah, you can be demanding sometimes, but—"
"Demanding? Is that what you think of me?"
"No! You're just… you're really good at delegation. It's been that way since we were kids, pipsqueak. You know what you want, and you know exactly how to get it."
You take a sorrowful bite from your sandwich. "My boyfriend thinks I'm bossy. I should just kill myself."
"Again: not what I said. But— c'mon, baby. You gotta admit you have a tendency to order me around." When you glare at him, he hastens to add— "Don't get me wrong! It's cute! I'm like your own personal superhero."
You hiss with distaste. "Oh my god. I've set feminism back by like… a 100 years," you lament.
His brows scrunch up. "What? What does feminism have to do with me taking care of my girlfriend?"
"Everything! God, Caleb, you're so out of touch."
And thus originates the Great Feminist Bet™ of the CalebMC household.
"One day," says Caleb. "That's it. That's the longest you can go without calling 'Caleeeeb!' for help."
"I beg to differ," you huff. "I know for a fact that I can hold out for a whole week."
"No."
"No?"
"No," he says firmly. "I know you. You're independent, and you can hold your own, but at the end of the day… it's me you'll always call for back-up."
As if. "You're gonna eat your words," you promise.
"Oh yeah?"
He grins— and has you scrambling for purchase as he almost drops all the bags to the floor.
"Caleb! I didn't say we had to start now!"
Two days. It's been two days since the bet had been struck, and you haven't asked him for help once.
You preen with pride. Sure, you'd had a few close calls— when your bathroom sink decided to break and gush out water, or when you had trouble braiding your hair before work, or when you finished your pizza but had no one to pass the crusts onto.
He'd been there for all of this, of course. Your ever-present shadow, watching from afar with a faint smirk as you frantically searched through your contacts for the plumber's number, and gave up on the braid and decided to just go with a ponytail, and fumed internally whilst eating pizza crusts.
When you glared at him, he just raised his hands up in mock-defense, like what do you want me to do?
Jerk. You hadn't quite realized just how much of your life was made easier with Caleb by your side. But whatever. Convenient or not, you're a big girl. You can go seven days without calling your gege for help.
Except…
"CALEEEEEB!"
You're practically hyperventilating. And it's entirely justified— because you'd gone for a bathroom break after some long hours of paperwork, only to come back and find a cockroach on your coffee table. A fat, brown, hideous roach, just crawling around nonchalantly on your mission paperwork as if it owns the place.
Hard work be damned; those are going straight in the trash.
"Two days," is the first thing Caleb says when he walks into the room, grinning wide. "You couldn't even go a full 48 hours, pips. What happened to 'I don't need a man', and—"
It moves.
"Oh my god."
You point a shaky finger at it. His grin widens.
"Tsk. Is this what you called me here for? Surely you don't need little ol' me for this…"
"I don't give a fuck about the bet, Caleb," you snap. "I'm sorry, okay? I want you, I need you, oh baby."
"Sorry, what was that? I thought I heard you say you need me?" he teases, cupping his ear.
A wriggly brown shape whizzes past your shoulder. You yelp, rolling off the sofa to duck behind him.
"Oh no," he says placidly, watching as the roach flies circles around your apartment, "Looks like the threat has gone aerial."
"Kill it," you hiss, not daring to look up, "Kill it or I'll kill myself."
He snorts at that.
"Alright, chill with the suicide threats. I'm on it."
All it takes is a flick of his Evol and the sole of his shoe, and the insect is dead and disposed of in a matter of seconds. Farspace Colonel Xia Yizhou is nothing if not efficient.
"Target neutralized," he declares.
You sigh in relief.
RIP roach. You will not be missed.
His arm, placed protectively in front of your chest, now moves to twirl you until you're in front of him.
"Done using me as a human shield?" he quips. He's so chipper. All dimples, violet eyes sparkling with mirth.
You hate his guts.
"Oh, pipsqueak. What would you do without me, huh?"
You feel the familiar, coaxing tug of his Evol. Unstoppable force meets unmovable object. You cross your arms, deadset on being dead weight, dragging your feet in vehement protest as he manuevers you closer.
"I'm pretty sure I could find someone else to kill bugs for me."
"Maybe you could," he says agreeably, "but would they be nearly as handsome? Admit it, pips. I'm a catch."
You smush your face against his shoulder. He laughs lowly, breath ghosting over the top of your head.
"I'm not high maintenance," you grumble.
"You are," he replies. Immediately. Before you can chew him out again, he continues— "But that's A-okay, baby."
"It's not."
"It is. I like maintaining you, dummy. It's my all-time favorite thing to do." He pokes at your cheek affectionately. "Besides, I have to take credit where credit's due, don't I? Gege's the one who made you this way in the first place."
You huff. "You spoiled me."
"I doted on you," he corrects. "And how could I not, huh? You were the sweetest thing on earth. You always have been. Far be it from me to say no to you."
Stupid Caleb. He makes it so hard to stay mad at him.
You let yourself melt into his arms. He brushes your hair away from your face, placing a kiss at the top of your head.
"I hate it when we fight," you whisper. I need you.
"I miss braiding your hair," he whispers back. I need you more.
The two of you stay there, standing in the kitchen with your foreheads pressed together as he rocks you back and forth.
Eventually, you sigh.
"You planted that cockroach on purpose, didn't you?"
He only smiles. "I don't know what you're talking about."
so clearly it wasn't based on Up LMAO and they called us snobs. but I need help! we're having a movie night in a streamer's discord, and I have no fucking clue what to choose for Caleb, unfortunately they were clear for everyone... except him. I've narrowed it down to The Truman Show and Pleasantville, both 1998. help me! I haven't seen the latter.
gamechangershow
germansingergirl
amandla
