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No Return - Caleb x reader

Description: When you and Caleb reunited, you were so happy you didn't want to think about anything else. But as time moves forward, cracks in your relationship start to appear. The most difficult thing to admit is that perhaps they were there all along, waiting for your acknowledgment.

Content/Warnings: Colonel Caleb, first kiss, smut - dry humping but it’s wet, slight main story and Colonel myth spoilers, Caleb anecdote spoilers, arguing (really just you yelling at him), lack of communication, yearning, some manhandling, hurt/comfort?, some angst, softness, fluff towards the end, Caleb and mc’s sibling-like relationship mentioned a couple of times- if you hate it look away, takes place after Homecoming Wings and Colonel myth, not based off Caleb’s birthday memory

Listening to: Blurry Nightfall on repeat

WC: 11.2k

Caleb has always been skilled at avoidance.

It’s nothing new to you. When the two of you were younger and he would come home with bruised knuckles and split lips, he always managed to distract you by filling you up with snacks and treats.

When you were in university and Caleb visited, knowing your class schedule and the way around campus a little too well, he deferred your suspicious curiosity with gifts from Skyhaven and a visit to your favourite barbecue joint.

Looking back, you think maybe it’s you that’s swept away too easily. You that wanted to remain in a bubble of familiarity. A world where everything is safe and predictable.

So you never pushed. Never dared to step over the invisible line that separated your sibling-like bond and something more dangerous. You never even came close. It was scary, as if a beast was lurking in the shadows on the other side of the divide, waiting to pounce as soon as any self-control slipped and the border was crossed.

It doesn’t surprise you anymore. That he’s attempting to avoid giving you answers. You’ve had your whole life to get used to this.

But you’re not a child anymore. You live in the real world. A more painful, less sheltered world. You can no longer be distracted from certain truths even if you wanted to.

Where he went, why he didn’t return… why he didn’t even contact you once.

Why he’s different. Why he feels unbearably vicious even when gazing upon you with eyes belonging to your beloved Caleb.

If Caleb has always been skilled at avoidance, you’ve always been skilled at pettiness.

But can you be blamed? Your pettiness stems from bottomless hurt. Gashes sliced open, never to be sutured together. Never to heal. Only left to fester in the dark.

Which is why, on a visit to Caleb’s place in Skyhaven, an argument erupts between the two of you as easily as a match would light a field of dried grass aflame.

It’s a terrible pairing. His avoidant tendencies and your stubbornness, bound to roll in waves of pain and irreparable wounds. The result of words carelessly spilled, never able to be taken back.

The two of you are making dinner together. The silence between you is comfortable, a rarity since his sudden reappearance in your life. You had almost forgotten what that was like. To be able to be near someone and just let time pass quietly.

The steady chopping sounds of Caleb cutting carrots echoes in the kitchen. He’s wearing comfortable light grey lounging pants and a loose-fitting dark blue shirt while you’re in pyjama shorts and an old, faded oversized shirt that’s his from a long time ago. Warm lights cast an orange glow in the living space, where floor-to-ceiling glass windows display the view of Skyhaven’s glittering night lights peeking from between cloud cover.

You rifle through the bag of groceries sitting on the counter, in search of the rice but finding something much more delightful. You paste on an innocent smile and spin to face Caleb, a bunch of green held up.

“I forgot I bought this, too. It’ll add more flavour.”

He immediately looks up when you begin speaking, only to blanche at the item in your hand as if you’re holding a bomb instead of a guiltless bundle of cilantro.

“You’re evil, pips. Nuh-uh, no way. Not happening,” he shakes his head vehemently, the knife clattering to the chopping board as he steps back, retreating from the menacing pile of cilantro you’re pushing in front of his nose.

“Aw, but it’ll feel lonely if it’s the only ingredient we don’t use.”

“Too bad, take it with you when you head back to Linkon, I don’t want to know that thing is somewhere in my fridge.”

“Just one leaf,” you insist.

“No.”

“I’ll chop it up really fine so you don’t even notice the taste.”

“No, pips.”

You sigh, slightly awed that this big strong colonel can be brough to his knees by a little herb. Trying to convert Caleb to a cilantro-lover has been one of the great failures of your life.

You give up, snapping off a leaf to munch on as he goes back to slicing and dicing.

“It’s such a gamechanger in recipes,” you grumble under your breath, fully intending for him to hear every word. “You better believe I was drowning my meals in cilantro when you were gone.”

He hums too happily. “Hope you enjoyed it while it lasted!”

Sigh. Whatever. You push off the counter and grab a chopping board of your own to help prepare the ingredients for the sweet ‘n sour pork stir-fry.

It’s only when you’ve made quick work of washing and peeling a bulb of ginger, slicing perfectly thin, even pieces, that you notice the engulfing silence in the kitchen. You look up, curious as to why Caleb’s knife has stopped moving, only to find his eyes on the small pile of yellow ginger.

You also look at it, wondering what’s wrong. You know it’s not as perfectly cut as Caleb the professional chef would have done it, but it does the trick well enough in your experience. Though maybe this is the secret behind why your food has never tasted as good as his used to when you lived together growing up.

“What?” you ask, leaning a bit closer to examine the ginger from all sides. “It’s not good?”

His gaze moves to you and a light chuckle leaves his chest. He goes back to the peppers in front of him with a small, unreadable smile.

“No, it’s great, pips. I was just thinkin’ ‘bout how much you used to hate peeling ginger. You were never any good at it, either. Always taking chunks out of the poor thing.”

You straighten. You suppose that’s true. He would always take over for you, always ready to sweep in when you so much as opened your mouth to utter a complaint or dislike for something.

But that was a long time ago… In the time apart from Caleb, you’ve done something that your younger self would have laughed at if you told her. Would have never believed it was something that needed to be done in the first place.

You’ve grown accustomed to the smell of ginger on your fingertips. Have gotten used to taking care of yourself. To him not being there to rescue you. To daily life without him.

You feel his bicep rubbing against your side as he chops. Measured, consistent.

Chop, chop, chop…

It’s annoying for some reason.

It’s a beat too late for a retort, but you say it anyway, and then it’s out there, unable to be retracted.

“Yeah, well, I’ve had to get good at it, haven’t I?”

Maybe it was meant as a joke. Light-hearted. You and Caleb haven’t forgotten how to do light-hearted, have you?

But it comes out harsh, angry, resentful.

And just like that, the silence is no longer comfortable but weighted.

You wish you could take it back because, aside from him, who else are you comfortable enough to live in utter quietness with? You’ve missed that feeling.

But you’re also unwilling to apologise. It’s not like your words weren’t true, after all.

But he’s tensed up awfully at your side. Like a taut rubber band, you wonder if he’ll snap.

He stays silent, and that’s worse. Goes back to chopping.

Chop, chop, chop…

You force a bubble of laughter and it sounds high-pitched in your eardrums.

“Ahaha, I’m just messing with you, Caleb. I’m still aggrieved from your disrespectful refusal to add even a leaf of cilantro. Take pity on me, I’ve been wronged,” you pout the same pout he recognises from your younger years, but he doesn’t grant you so much as a flicker of a smile.

Your throat tightens a little. You’re making an effort to sweep it under the rug, so why can’t he?! If he’s feeling guilty then he should just give you some answers!

Your laugh cuts off as if a puppeteer is commanding you. As if they’re pulling the strings to make your frozen fingers move, to act normal. Grab an onion, peel, chop chop chop…

Ow, ow, ow…

“Aish,” you wince, dropping the knife to press the heels of your palms to both eyes.

You hear the clatter of his knife and he’s immediately on you, gently pulling your arms down.

“Hey hey hey,” voice soft but tinged with concern and underlying panic. “What happened? Did you cut yourself?” He’s already spreading your palms to check your fingers.

Finding nothing, he looks at your face for answers, only to find tears streaming down your cheeks in rapid succession.

The flitters of panic rage into a fire that seizes him straight down the middle of his chest. Heart in his stomach, he quickly cups your cheeks in rough palms.

“What’s wrong? Where does it hurt, pips? Tell me, hm? I’ll make it better.”

You sniffle and sob, dramatic but it’s so easy to fall into that role when he’s there to take care of you.

“The onion hates me! Why is it so spicy today…”

He looks to the offensive onion, holding you to his chest with one arm, and realisation sinks in.

Hiding a smile, “Should I scold it for you?”

Sniffling some more, you bury your head further in his chest. “Yes.”

But he doesn’t do anything, just holds you close, strokes your hair, your back, strengthens his arms when you grip his soft shirt in balled fists.

With his chin resting atop your head, he soothingly murmurs, “I’m sorry, I should’ve cut them myself.”

You push him away at that, one hand firmly on his chest. So ridiculous. All of this is so ridiculous it’s both laughable and angering.

How can you slip so easily into the roles you had back then, yet still feel as if an entire ocean separates you?

You pinch your eyes shut one last time before moving back to the counter, up in your head.

Absentmindedly, “It’s fine.”

When he sees you grab the onion again he moves into you, gently grabbing the onion and knife from behind.

“Hey, don’t bother with that. Go sit down, I’ll finish dinner.”

He’s much taller than you, much broader, and you can feel that sculpted physique brush your back, warm and alive. Your skin prickles everywhere, awareness rushing through you.

You shove him away with your elbows, unnecessarily hard. Your tone is also hard, speaking through gritted teeth, “I said it’s fine.”

You feel like you’re dangling on the edge of something, so close to venting every single frustration and sadness, but not knowing if anything good would even come from that. You no longer know how to be vulnerable in front of him.

He sighs at your stubbornness, but he’s stubborn, too. “Pips, if it’s bad enough for you to cry, there’s no point stickin’ it out, yeah?”

You slam your hands down on the counter, done with this. Like a volcano on the precipice of eruption, you feel heat rising within you.

“I don’t need your help, Caleb!”

A heavy exhale leaves you after the outburst. Gripping the edge of the counter, you tilt forward, lashes shuttering.

Just take a deep breath. This isn’t how this evening is supposed to go. You’re supposed to be enjoying relaxing with him. You’re supposed to feel nothing but sheer gratefulness that he’s back in your life again when you thought you’d lost him forever.

But you can’t put the lid back on. There’s too much bubbling beneath the surface, spilling over and ready to burst.

You open your eyes but don’t meet his gaze. You have no idea what expression he’s wearing, standing utterly still not two feet from you. You’re scared to look. What if it’s the Colonel? Cold, unyielding, impenetrable.

Your stare locks on the bundle of cilantro left laying on the counter, as if looking at a still object will help you maintain an iota of calmness, will anchor you in place so you don’t do something crazy like cry in his arms for the second time this evening.

You start slowly, voice cool. “If you want to help me, Caleb, then you can start by telling me what you’re doing.”

A beat. “Wellll, I was tryin’ to cook us a nice dinner-”

Your gaze swings to him in disbelief. He’s going to tease you right now?!

His mouth immediately shuts at whatever he sees on your face, the joke hanging onto the vibrations in the air before plummeting to the ground.

“I’m sorry.”

You immediately shake your head. “No, I don’t need that. You know I don’t need or want that. That doesn’t do anything for me.”

Silence. Even his face is swept clean of all emotion. He does it so easily it makes you dizzy- bounces from your affectionate older brother figure to the Colonel of the Farspace Fleet.

He’s somewhere far away now. Somewhere unreachable.

But you can’t stop.

“Caleb!” your voice breaks. “Please.” Give me anything. I’ll take anything. Just let me know you’re there. Let me know we still want the same thing. That all our plans- me protecting the world from the ground while you protect it from the sky- are still going to come true.

You feel cut open and ravaged, voice hoarse as you speak. “You’ll never understand how painful losing you was,” you whisper.

You shake your head. Eyes dipping to the floor, you don’t catch the way his body jerks at your words as if shot straight through the heart. As if he can’t help but react viscerally to the sight, to the sound, of your pain.

But you’re living in it. living in those moments where you missed him unbearably. Where everything reminded you of him. Every passing season, every crisp, orange leaf falling in autumn, every rainstorm in summer.

At those times, you had wanted to die.

The anger you feel towards him isn’t new. Once you had become numb to the sadness of his death, even you were surprised by the new emotion that replaced it.

Rage.

Because how dare he?! How dare he leave you behind?!

You’ve been mad at him for a long time, and while you know he endeavours to never hurt you- that he doesn’t think that even needs to be said out loud because it’s so ingrained in his every breath- the truth is he already has. While you believed he was gone, he was still somewhere in the world living without you. Right now, you don’t care if he did it to protect you. All you know is that your tears could have filled an ocean and while you really are so happy to have him back, it still feels… raw.

Distraught, you continue, “Gran was one thing, but you… you were the centre of my world.” More than the sun and moon and stars, Caleb was just… Caleb.

He stares at you standing in the middle of his dark, gloomy apartment when all he wanted was to give you a bright home untouched by every filthy thing the world was made up of. His heart fractures.

He knows why you occasionally start these fights. Knows that you’re split between hating and loving him, between wanting him close and pushing him away.

But even when you do the latter, he’s not going anywhere now that you’re together once more. It’s a pain he doesn’t wish to put either of you through again, his heart longing for its other half every second.

That’s nothing new to him. Even growing up, he felt the unmistakable feeling that all was wrong in the world when you were apart for even a day.

But you weren’t used to it, and he had completely cut you off. Left you in the deep end of grief without so much as an instruction manual on how to swim.

Somewhere in your foggy, overwhelmed state you register that it’s started raining outside. Cold droplets hit the windows and rapidly run down as if the sky is crying.

“You let me believe tha-t…” your voice cracks and you take a shuddering breath, pressing a hand to your anxious heartbeat. Distressed, he moves to you, broken all over again when you put a hand up to stop him, to retain this distance when all he should be doing is holding you so tightly you burrow into each other, never to be torn apart again.

“You let me believe that you were dead, Caleb. Dead. You let me feel that pain when I always thought you were the one person in the world who would never hurt me. The thought never even crossed my mind, but now I have to take it into consideration every time we speak- every time we interact. Is Caleb lying to me? Is Caleb going to hurt me again? Ha! As if you’re a stranger…” you trail off, whispering so quietly no one would have heard it had the rest of the apartment not been so utterly silent.

“Maybe you are.”

His gaze darkens, chin dipping as he assesses you with piercing, frosty purple irises. “Is that how you feel? That I’m a stranger?”

“Sometimes,” you admit, then laugh again. “Looking back, it isn’t anything new. You’ve always put me at a distance whenever it’s convenient for you, like a toy you can just put back on the shelf.”

“Pipsqueak.” You’ve never heard him so cold, as if daring you to say another word.

“Watch it.”

You’re too far gone to stop now. You’re feeling too much hurt, as if the tap has been turned all way.

“Why?” you laugh. An awful, maniacal sound he winces at. “It’s true! Even when you were in the DAA and got into that accident in the deepspace tunnel; you were gone for a week. A week! And you just… never told me about it! I was forced to find out about that from Gideon! Do you know how humiliating that was? I even started to think that while I considered you my closest person, to you, I was just…”

Nothing.

Which you knew wasn’t true. Caleb cared about nothing but you. But that didn’t erase the hurt you felt and still feel every time he slams another door in your face.

Your head throbs from yelling so you whisper your next words, “If it had been the opposite way, if I had gotten into a life-threatening accident and didn’t tell you, what would you have done? How would you have felt?”

I would have died he doesn’t say. I would have killed, destroyed, broken apart completely.

You face is filled with such raw pain he feels it echoing down the depths of his soul just as acutely as he did when you would get hurt growing up. The urge to take you somewhere safe, where nothing could touch you while he obliterated the source of your stress.

But it was him now. The cause of your wounds.

“You knew how much I’d be hurting from losing you and you let me sit in it for months. I visited your grave. Spoke at your funeral. I watched an empty casket lower into the ground because they told me your body had been destroyed! I died a little bit each day and if I hadn’t come to Skyhaven, I’d still be none the wiser! And yet you stand there and expect me to be fine with everything while you give me nothing! You haven’t given me anything except more unspoken words!”

He can’t imagine how painful that was for you. To stand in front of a crowd of unfamiliar faces and speak to them, fondly recall memories with him they would never be able to understand.

He imagines you desperately trying not to cry in front of everyone as you read aloud his eulogy, imagines you biting into your bottom lip until it was raw and red in the same way you used to do when you tried to hide your tears from him.

Except this time, when you finally let them fall, he wasn’t there to wipe them away and take you in his arms. This knowledge makes it hard to breathe, like a weight has been dropped on his chest.

The silence that follows feels like the silence after a disaster that has washed away buildings and beaches, leaving nothing but degraded land.

And any hope is washed away when he speaks. Just two words, devoid of anything.

“I’m sorry.”

That’s all he offers. No explanation. He knows it hurts you but still, there is no satiation for you.

Your eyes shut. Is it anger and sadness? No, because you knew this would be the outcome of this conversation before you even started it. Any anger and sadness long since abandoned you, too exhausted to keep up. There is only exhaustion and defeat.

You look to the ceiling, a brief reprieve to hold your tears back. Your throat feels wet when you exhale deeply, so you laugh, gripping into your hair hard. You don’t want to hear it. You don’t even want to see him. After everything you would have thought you’d never want to let him out of your sight, but you don’t think you can stand to be in the same room as him any longer.

You grab your bag from the counter as you brush past him. “I’m going back to Linkon.”

And out of all the things you just screamed, all the pain you just bared only for him to let it hang there in nothingness, this statement is what makes him crack.

Your upper arm is held, not tight enough to hurt but firmly enough to keep you in place.

“You’re not leaving at this time of night, it’s dangerous.”

A desperate, frustrated sound leaves you. “I’m an adult, for fuck’s sake, Caleb! I’m not a child anymore!”

You could laugh at yourself for claiming to be a mature adult when you just cried over an onion and then demanded cuddles… but you’re too close to crying now. Trembling, your fists ball by your sides. You’re so sick of this. Sick of this distance. Sick of being left in the dark. Sick of every unspoken word that has accumulated over all these years, piled so high you wonder if you can even see him on the other side anymore.

Caleb’s eyes blacken, lips downturned unhappily. The tensing of his jaw is caught in the shadowy figures moving along the wall.

His fingers tighten around your bicep almost imperceptibly.

“Do you think I don’t know that?” he grinds. “I’m painfully aware that you’re an adult now.”

“So let go of me!” you attempt to yank yourself out of his grip, pushing hard on his chest. He doesn’t budge.

“Not if you’re gonna try and leave.”

“Fine, I won’t fuckin’ try to leave,” you grind. Because I won’t be ‘trying’, I’ll be ‘doing’.

“And watch your mouth,” he states calmly. He lets go of your arm and steps back, but not before lightly running his palm down your bicep to make sure he didn’t hold too tight.

Not two seconds out of his grip, you make a dash for it like a rabbit set free from a trap.

You don’t know why you even try. He’s clearly also baffled and amused by your futile attempt as he chuckles behind you, something dark and sinister beneath that laugh.

You don’t even have time to count. This little game was always going to end with him as the victor, and now it comes in the form of him pressing you up and into the grey wall of the living room. Your feet leave the floor, not by his evol but by the sheer strength in his arms, in his body as he pins you to the wall with your chests pressed tightly together. There’s no room for air or pride or dignity.

He holds your wrists by your head, long fingers easily circling the delicate bone there.

The softness in his voice when speaks is anything but welcome. Instead, it feels like a cold snake slithering around your every limb.

“Enough. You can’t leave at this time of night, pipsqueak. If you really want to go, I’ll give you a ride to the station tomorrow morning. I’m sorry I made you upset tonight.”

Ugh, not more sorrys.

“I’m leaving now, just try and stop me,” you hiss.

Anyone watching would laugh. He already has you trapped and yet you’re still spitting aggressive words like you have the upper hand?

He shakes his head, “Sorry, pips, you’re not.”

You struggle a little more, completely pointlessly, and after a few long moments you finally seem to have exhausted yourself, realising you’re engaged in a futile endeavour.

You’re breathing hard. “Fuck. You. Caleb.”

Expression carefully blank, voice flat, he answers, “Not like this.”

Every inch of you goes rigid, every cell within you entering a frozen state because,

What the hell did he just say?

Any remaining anger leaves you and all that’s left is a weak, spluttering girl in Caleb’s arms. You can’t even muster a response to that because you can’t possibly have heard that right.

Not like this… meaning what? In another way? A better way?

Does he think about that? Want that?

He cracks a smile, the smile of your adoptive brother like the sun peeking through an overcast day.

“I’m just messin’ with ya, pipsqueak. Geez, thought you were gonna turn into a popsicle on me,” he laughs, letting you slide down his body til your feet touch the floor. However, they seem to have forgotten how to take your weight and your knees buckle immediately, almost falling to the floor if it weren’t for strong arms catching you and pulling you against an equally strong chest.

Your mind races as he holds you to him, stroking your hair.

Was he really joking? There has always been something unspoken, some tremulous line, between you, but he’s never dared to say anything like that. Even when you pretended to be his girlfriend in college to ward off his swarms of fangirls, he never went past calling you a few cutesy nicknames.

That joke… it’s too much for you to handle. The implication behind it makes you exhausted all over again.

You shudder and close your eyes, letting yourself be held. Caleb always knows how to diffuse you, and if calm, soothing words don’t make a difference, his body would do the rest of the work. Resting your head to his chest, the sound of his steady heartbeat engulfed your mind and swept through your body. You tried to match your breathing to his, feel his warm skin beneath his clothes. Feel the security of his arms.

You hated how easily he could subdue you, hated that you were self-aware enough to know that sometimes you acted like a brat just so he would.

Not like this.

You jolt in his arms, spine stiff, expression wary. He watches you carefully, not fighting it when you untangle his limbs from you.

Yeah, you weren’t going to get over that little comment any time soon. Just when you thought anger would be the special emotion of the evening, he served up another dish to fixate on.

…

You had quickly fled to your room in the apartment after that, as if pulling the blankets over your head could hide you from the words Caleb had spoken, could hide you from your own rapid heartbeat, pulses echoing in deep parts of your body you didn’t want to admit.

Hunger for food was gone. When you left the living area, the dinner ingredients had sat abandoned on the kitchen counter, but you had heard Caleb rummaging about the kitchen for a while after. It didn’t surprise you when a soft knock sounded at your door.

“Pips, dinner’s ready. You comin’ out?”

You didn’t respond, pretending to be asleep. He didn’t knock again, probably knowing you weren’t really asleep but also knowing the entire evening had been too much for you and if your skin so much as touched his one more time tonight you’d probably dissolve on the spot.

He left you be.

Whether it’s the storm raging outside or your restless mind, sleep evades you even when the clock on the nightstand ticks past midnight.

Your mind replays every second of the evening, every word you yelled, every micro expression of his. How all you had wanted to do was hurt and hurt some more because you felt so broken. So lost.

But more than wanting to wound him or find answers, what you had really wanted was him. Just him. Open, yours.

Even now, you ache at the loss of his presence, even when only separated by a wall. You wonder if he’s also awake, tossing and turning. If he regrets how the evening went.

What does he look like right now as he lies in bed… Is he sleeping on his back with one arm behind his head as he always used to, or has that changed, too?

More than anything else, it’s this question that bothers you the most. That has you sliding from underneath the blankets and padding across the room, quietly opening the door just as another clap of thunder outside makes you jump.

Clink!

You look down, feeling yourself step on something cold.

Your heartbeat stops and restarts. You want to cry again.

There, on the floor outside your room is a covered plate of the dinner he finished making by himself, even after you had made plans together all week, texting each other about how excited you were to spend the evening together.

Next to the plate is a slip of paper you bend to pick up, opening curiously. Your breath hitches at the familiar writing, both neat and messy at once.

I messed up tonight, pips. I know I keep hurting you, and I never seem to have the right words to say anymore, but I hope you know I’m still your Caleb. You can still come to me with anything.

Tears well in your eyes, immediately overflowing and spilling hot down your cheeks. You rub at them furiously, note crumpled in hand.

God, why is he so… so…

Growing up, he always used to tell you that even if you were angry with him, you had to have dinner together. Non-negotiable.

But you had left him out there alone, even though you knew how painful that could be.

You’re at his door before you know it, and unlike Caleb, you don’t have the politeness to knock. However, it’s unlocked when you turn the handle, opening it quietly.

The room is dark, but the curtains are drawn open, allowing flashes of purple lightning to illuminate the space.

Caleb has always been a light sleeper. You’ll have to find out if he still sleeps in the same position next time, because as soon as you open the door he’s sitting up in bed.

“Pips?” his voice is throatier than usual. A sudden flash of lightning illuminates his face, showing you a brief image of soft purple eyes and a vast expanse of smooth skin and defined muscle.

Well, he still sleeps shirtless. That’s something, at least.

You don’t speak, padding across the room to the other side of the bed. You wordlessly lift the covers and slide under, settling on sleeping on your side, face away from him.

No, that doesn’t feel right.

After a beat, you turn and move into him, snuggling into his side.

He seems unsure for a moment, but quickly settles into your actions, resting on his side and sliding an arm around your waist to pat your back.

You sigh, resting your forehead to his chest. How is it that you wish for comfort from the person that hurt you? But you suppose that’s how it’s always been with Caleb. For you, everything is him.

His nose tucks into your hair, breathing you in. “I used to do this when we were kids and you’d get scared of the lightning,” he murmurs. He’s trying to crack a smile out of you, trying to ease the tension of the evening. But the mention of years gone by, time slipping through your fingers, just makes you sadder.

There is an infinite distance between now and those moments in the past when stable hands would stick bandages to scraped knees. When the ultimate comfort was a room decorated in model airplanes and polaroid photos of familiar faces smiling warmly. A room that was so reassuring to sneak into when it thundered, the safety of the bed of the boy you loved.

When Caleb was in the DAA and you visited Gran alone, you used to sleep in his room. The smell of his bed had changed over the years as he grew from a boy to a man, but you didn’t mind. It was always Caleb.

Those small moments you took for granted but made up your blissful everyday life. Him, cooking your favourite dinner in your small home. Him, teasing you and calling you dumb when you didn’t get your homework. But also him, sitting with you, endlessly patient as he explained it until you understood- sometimes even doing the work for you.

Walking home from school together on a blazing summer afternoon, cicadas chirping incessantly, their sounds vibrating in the air. The feel of your scratchy uniform sticking to your skin with sweat. Stopping by the local convenience store where Caleb bought you ice cream because you had spent all your pocket money on snacks and toys.

The way he looked as the two of you rested beneath the shade of a massive, sprawling tree. A light breeze rustled through his hair as he held an icy pole in his mouth, hands raising to wipe ice cream from the corners of your mouth. The beads of sweat that dripped down his neck. The clouds in the distance, perhaps foreshadowing a summer storm.

You only realised years later when everything had changed that in those moments you had subconsciously thought they would last forever. It didn’t need to be said out loud. You and Caleb were the only ones for each other. In what way didn’t matter. You would always be together, a certainty as strong as the solid tree you rested beneath. All those little moments that made up your childhood and adolescent years seem like lifetimes ago. You didn’t think anything of them then. It was a given as sure as the sky was blue and the earth was round. Caleb was by your side.

You crave those moments so much it makes you ache. Just for a split second, you wish you could turn back time and see the two of you like that again. Those memories feel slightly fractured now, and sometimes it even feels like you’re looking back on the story of someone else’s life.

Sadness rises around you like a mist, along with the irrefutable knowledge- those moments are gone. You really can’t go back.

The soothing motions of Caleb’s hand on your back allows you to release some tension from your shoulders, relaxing further into his embrace.

Those moments you took advantage of… that blistering summer heat… Caleb was struggling then, wasn’t he? Perhaps the tension he carries now has been a weight on his shoulders for many years. A weight you never saw or offered to share. Is it truly a surprise he doesn’t know how to share it now? Doesn’t understand what you demand of him?

There has always been something unspoken, that’s not new.

Those moments had always been tinged by something deeper, a new colour swirling and forming, growing and pulsing between you two. Pulling you together and leaving you two to figure out the rest.

Maybe you weren’t aware. Maybe you refused to see it.

But Caleb did, and he was forced to feel every excruciating inch of time as it ticked by with his soulmate so close and yet not able to do anything about it because she saw him as a brother of all things.

Caleb’s whole life is made up of moments where he’s struggled to hold back. Where he’s been sure he’s been pushed to the very edge and there’s no point even trying to fight it anymore, only for the tiniest scrap of self-control to hold him back.

He should receive a medal, really.

The air around you has always tasted like longing to him. Sometimes fierce, sometimes gentle. Beating like a heart. Pulsing like the waves of destruction and rebirth in the universe.

When you told him you liked a boy in your class and his violet eyes turned into an inferno.

When you used to snuggle beside him in bed, him in the woeful throes of puberty, and he would have to sleep facing the wall as he counted to a thousand in his head, your soft body curled up like a kitten clinging to his back.

When you pretended to be his girlfriend and, for a short time, he got to enter paradise. Got to feel you hold his hand and cuddle into his side and call him sweet names in a sweet voice without anyone questioning your relationship.

And now, how can you so innocently hug him, press your chest against his, and not know he’s burning alive?

His hand has paused on your back. You’re fiddling with his dog tags.

“I’m so angry with you,” you whisper.

His heart clenches. His hand starts stroking your back again. “I know.”

“But…” you sigh, your next words filled with quiet determination. Possession.

“The Caleb in my memories is mine. This Caleb, too…” you stroke his chest. His skin is hot to the touch and his heartbeat pumps wildly beneath your palm, giving away everything he usually hides behind shaded, indifferent gazes.

“This Caleb is also mine.”

He grips your hand against his chest, squeezes tightly.

“Yes,” he rasps.

Dropping his necklace, you peer up at him, meeting vibrant indigo eyes, not dimmed by detachment but alive with something hot. A fiery current that burns all else away and implores you to see him, what remains there, always waiting for you. Whenever you’re ready.

Thump, thump, thump.

The two of you are balancing on the line, waiting for someone to do something that would make you fall into predictable safety or unknown chaos.

Neither can breathe, the air of the room feels stifling. His movements on your back have stopped and now that hand just rests there on your spine, large and unbearably hot through your shirt.

You remind yourself to breathe. “Hah…” and then you can’t stop breathing, quick rises and falls of your chest that are filled with his scent.

It’s too much.

“Nngh,” you sit up, bending your legs and holding a palm to your heart. The sound is embarrassing but you’re too distracted to care. Maybe you’re dying. You don’t know. Something just feels desperate. A desperate struggle that will ultimately collapse if you look at him one more time.

“Pips?” he’s sitting up, too, that hand still on your lower back.

You shut your eyes against his rough voice, against him. You know what will be in his eyes if you look back at him. Are you even ready to acknowledge it?

You release a long exhale, pulling your knees to your chest to bury your face in. “You don’t have to give me all the answers I want. Just…” a shuddering sigh. Your lungs are quaking, ready to give in.

“Just tell me something else, Caleb. Something real.”

Silence.

You shut your eyes tightly. One, two…

“It wasn’t a joke.”

Rough, cracked open, lava pouring out to replace the blood within you.

A sharp inhale pierces the back of your throat. Your eyes swing to him before you can stop yourself.

And he’s sitting there, staring at you, locked into your every expression, every miniscule sound that gives away what you’re feeling, how you don’t know what to do with that feeling. How to catch the vulnerability he just threw out into the air.

But Caleb’s always been there for you when you don’t know what to do. He takes it all away.

He tilts his head, raises his palm in offering. Voice soft, “C’me here, pips.”

He pulls you into his lap to straddle him, a position that isn’t new to the two of you, but neither of you try to rationalise in your minds that it’s perfectly normal for people with a simple childhood bond anymore.

Your thighs lightly squeeze and relax on either side of him, your full weight sitting on his hips, head resting to his shoulder, staring away. His breath caresses your neck as his hands come to rest on your thighs.

He starts stroking there. Up and down reassuringly as if saying it’s okay for you to lie to yourself more. He’ll still be there. Whatever you want to do.

But you can’t. Something is simmering too close to the surface.

His palms run up your thighs again, a little higher than before, and his movements freeze.

Aren’t you… isn’t there supposed to be sleep shorts…

“Pipsqueak,” he whispers. It sounds like a warning. The gentlest possible way of saying,

Get off me, right fucking now!

You pull back, hips raised slightly as you stare at each other. Your hands rest on his collarbones, one lightly holding the base of his throat, thumb resting on his fragile adams apple. His hands are in fists by his sides now, refusing to touch you as his eyes lift to search yours. You’re frazzled and tender all at once, seeing so clearly how much he’s holding back. How no amount of restraint could possibly hide the redness on his cheekbones or how his muscles twitch beneath you every so often.

Seeds of tension break through the soil, growing rapidly and stretching toward the sky.

“I’m so angry with you,” you repeat your earlier words.

He blinks slowly, breath coarse as he meets your eyes, “I know.”

Your hands slide to the back of his neck, pulling him closer. He naturally leans into you, sitting straighter as his arms slide around your hips. You hug one another just as you used to.

So close. So close the tip of your nose brushes his temple, and like animals engaged in a courtship dance, you can’t help but nuzzle each other as soon as your skin makes contact. Your shut eye rests against his head as his lips graze your sensitive neck.

“But I- nngh,” you’re cut off when his lips travel down your neck, not kissing, just brushing all the way down your collarbones like a whisper. Involuntarily, your hips push closer to him and his grip tightens on your waist in response.

Ah, that sound. That little fucking moan has his pants tightening unbearably, has him feeling choked. How many times has he imagined what you’d sound like in this position? What you’d sound like if he ever got to touch you?

You continue, “I just want you to comfort me, no one else. Only you, Caleb.”

He pulls back and you can’t help but think he looks innocent as he stares up at you, your hands curling around his red ears. You rest your forehead to his, breathing heavily. His lips are dry and pink, right there, closer than they’ve ever been. Your eyes flicker to his again. You can see the question in his gaze, hanging between you, asking, Are you sure? There’s is no going back after this.

And you don’t have a fraction of a second to doubt yourself, to tell yourself that once this happens, you’ll be saying goodbye to so much.

Because you’re already answering, faster than your mind can keep up.

Your hands tighten on either side of his head, fingers digging into his scalp. A single breath. A tiny push. You want to be even closer.

“Comfort me, Caleb.”

He doesn’t need anything else. Is helpless to wait for something else like a flicker of doubt or regret.

His lips swoop onto yours.

You gasp, even knowing it was coming. But it all happens too quickly. You can’t comprehend anything. Will you even be able to remember this tomorrow?

“Aah!” you gasp into his mouth. When your hands come to rest on his chest, reminiscent of every time you’ve pushed him away, he takes them in his own, holding your wrists away as if saying too late.

His dry lips press to yours so deeply it’s almost painful, carrying the weight of years of neglect and buried feelings.

You don’t know whether his lips are hot or cold, invasive or gentle. It’s only when he feels your wrists go limp in his grip that he releases them, and your hands immediately go to his chest again, slither up to his shoulders to pull him closer. To eat more.

His hands are also pulling you closer, your hips forced to sit on him fully once more.

You immediately cry out at the feeling of something stiff and hot prodding into your most private place, only separated by his grey pants and your thin underwear.

“Shhh,” he holds the back of your neck and kisses your throat with searing temperature. “It’s okay, pips. Don’t be scared,” he murmurs against your skin.

Is that what you’re feeling? Fear? Is that what this ache is? This immeasurable ache spreading from deep within you, an ache to be touched and rubbed and penetrated and devoured. Your skin feels so itchy you could burst into a million pieces of light, floating mindlessly.

Parched, you whisper against his forehead, open-mouthed, “I’m not scared, Caleb.”

He groans and captures your lips once more, and this time there is no reprieve.

His tongue immediately enters you, presses to your own as if violating your mouth, drenching every piece of you.

This isn’t how people kiss. This isn’t soft romance.

It’s inexperience and greed in one, nothing but hunger and longing and a level of love so deep you’re not sure the word is even fitting anymore.

He licks over your teeth, under your lips, takes your tongue with his again. Cups your jaw as his saliva pours into your mouth and yours into his.

What were you doing? Breathless, you try to piece together fragments of thoughts floating around your foggy mind.

Were you… really doing this with Caleb?

Outside, lightning flashed just before a gigantic clap of thunder echoed through the heavens, and you felt as though you were right there amongst the clouds, being pelted by rain and brought to life by lightning.

At the same time, you felt the weight of something breathtaking roaring so loud in your ears the storm felt far away even as it shook the walls protecting the two of you.

Caleb’s kissing you as if he’s been waiting forever to be granted this. Even when your lips are swollen and wet and your kisses go from clumsy inexperience to exhausted and sloppy and somehow even more needy, he doesn’t stop.

He nibbles your bottom lip, consumes your sounds as if they give him the energy he needs to kiss you even deeper.

Your hips rock against the hardness pressing into you, right at that place where you two would be joined if not for the clothes separating you.

This is what makes him break the kiss for the first time in you don’t know how long.

A guttural groan leaves him, followed by a hard exhale, hand coming to rest at the base of your throat as he looks down between the two of you.

“Fuck, pipsqueak.”

You feel swollen and wet down there, even more so hearing his deep sounds.

“You can’t do that,” he stutters. “Don’t move your hips, baby, I’ll die.”

Baby. He’s never called you that before, but it falls from his lips so effortlessly and causes your body to act opposingly to his words, rocking against him again.

A flood of stickiness leaves you, seeping through your underwear and staining his pants.

“Please,” you whine, unsure yourself of what you’re asking for but knowing you need something, anything, so long as it comes in the form of him touching you.

He meets your eyes, sees the sheer need in them, can’t deny you of anything especially when it would mean also fighting against himself.

He lifts the hem of your oversized shirt, bringing it up to your teeth to bite so he can clearly see how you’ve soaked through your underwear.

But it’s not just you. Precum leaks from him, mixing with your fluids and creating a large wet patch on the front of his pants.

Your underwear is completely drenched and useless, uncomfortable as it sticks to you. Through the sopping material, he can make out the outline and shape of your lips, swelling out with the sweet button of your clit.

“God, you’re dripping, pipsqueak. I can smell how wet you are.” You’ve never heard his voice so deep, so raw and uncontrolled, as if it’s not him speaking but an animal within that’s always been lying in wait for the moment it’s finally let out.

“You’re so pretty, baby, so pretty… the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen…” He can’t take his eyes off the shape of you, how you rut against him desperately, putting him right where you need him so his bulge is rubbing right against your covered clit.

“Ah, ah, ah, Caleb…”

He looks up at you when you moan his name, shirt falling from your teeth, nails scraping down his pecs, leaving bright red marks along the way.

He can’t believe this is happening, that you’re in his arms and moaning his name like it’s the answer to all your prayers. He can feel your heart against his, beating just as savagely, ready to melt along with the rest of you, ready to trust him with yourself like you always used to.

“I need… I need…” you cry out, words falling into the abyss. But he knows, because he needs it, too. Your movements are cute, but it’s not enough. You both want more.

“I’ve got you, pips,” he murmurs. You jolt when his hand slides beneath your shirt and up your spine, but you have no time to grow used to the new sensation because he’s holding you securely to flip the both of you over so you lay beneath him.

Your legs naturally spread before you can think and he groans as he kisses you again, “good girl”, straight into your mouth.

His hips press deep into yours, body settling on top.

Your nipples are stiff, unbearably sensitive against the material of your shirt; even more so when they’re crushed beneath his hot weight.

But it feels delicious on you. That heavy weight. Familiar and yet you’ve never felt it in this way before.

Your calves slide down the back of his thick legs, tangling with his limbs as he starts rutting against you, entwining his tongue with yours completely.

Oh my god, it’s so good. He’s sliding his penis right between your lips, brushing your clit with every stroke, hips strong and fluid in their motions, like a wave rolling over you, pulling you beneath the surface.

Your heart beats in your ears, but you can still make out the words leaving his lips between rough pants and drawn-out moans.

“Do you know how often I’ve thought about doing this with you?” he pants into your mouth. He strokes up your arms, pinning your hands above your head where they tangle with his own.

Everyday was torture for him. A cruel test of sheer willpower bestowed on him by some fucked up God.

“I think about- ughh- the parts of you I’ve never seen. I think about licking you, eating you, joining with you.” Your body jolts. Sticky arousal drenches your inner thighs.

A dark chuckle leaves him. “Do you like the thought of that?” His breath shudders as he feels your warm pussy against his cock, hears the lewd wet sounds emanating from your lower halves, wishes there was nothing between you but knowing he wouldn’t be able to control himself from taking all of you if there weren’t some barrier.

“I guess you really have grown up,” he whispers.

Your mouths join again. The strong fingers holding yours squeeze you tight.

Your tongues tangle, hot and slippery, only breathlessly pulling away to suck on the tip of his tongue as he sticks it out for you.

He groans and swallows your lips whole once more, veins in his biceps and forearms protruding as his hand caresses down to cup your jaw, eat you deeper. His sinewy arms, abs, legs roll with every movement, every muscle honed on giving you so much pleasure you see stars behind your eyes.

He speaks against your wet lips. “Do you know what I did every time I came home from Skyhaven and entered my room?” a puff of air escapes him, somewhere between a sardonic laugh and disbelief that he’s actually revealing this to you.

“I rutted against my bedsheets just like this as I smelled you on them, knowing that you felt the most safe resting there when I was away,” he groans blissfully as if imagining you curled up in his bed. “...As if you need to be surrounded by me…”

A dreamy sigh, “I even wondered if you had ever touched yourself in my bed, surrounded by everything that belonged to me,” he bites your bottom lip, tugging it lightly only to release it and say, “Doesn’t that mean you belong to me, too?”

When he meets your gaze, he finds you bright red.

Yeah, he can’t let that go.

He thrusts up particularly hard and watches you fall apart, moaning as your eyes tear over.

“Did you… touch yourself?” he’s purring. “Tell me, pipsqueak. Did you lie in my bed and think about me as you played with yourself? Did you wish I was there to make the ache go away?” his tone is firm and urgent this time, as if your answer will reveal the cure to some life-threatening illness.

His eyes are alive and locked on you, a reflection of the entire universe imploding.

“Y-Yes,” you stutter. “Yes, okay?! Maybe I did it once… so what?”

His dog tags jingle between you, but soon the coldness is pressed into you as he lets more of his weight rest atop your body.

He’s so close, cradling your head in one arm, pressing a hot kiss to the back of your ear, speaking in low, hushed tones.

“How did you do it? How do you like it?”

His hand slithers between you, touching your clit ever so lightly through your soaked panties.

You cry out, high-pitched and keening.

“Did you play with this little thing?” he purrs. His fingertips travel lower, between your folds to your twitching entrance.

“Or did you use your fingers to fuck yourself?” he presses on the fabric of your underwear until it’s just entered your tiny hole, where he taps his finger lightly.

He almost cums in his pants right there. Feeling just a taste of that tightness, that softness, that heat that he’s only dared imagine in his most morally reprehensible moments… he loses it.

You’re not far behind, desperate moans pouring from your lips that he takes with his, cradling your head once more as he grinds into you faster.

“I’ll comfort you whenever you want,” he breathes. “I know I hurt you,” he swallows your choked sobs. “I know, I know. Just let me make it up to you the only way I know how. I’ll give you- agh- I’ll give you everything.”

“I never needed everything,” you cry out. “I just needed you.”

“You have me,” he replies, touching his forehead to yours. “All of me, always. I’ll only do whatever you want. I won’t do anything you dislike. It’s up to you- your terms, pipsqueak.”

You try to shove his shoulder but it’s so weak a butterfly may as well have landed on him.

“Why? Why is it only up to me?” you cry out, overwhelmed by every complex emotion of the night swirling with sheer pleasure. This has been building for too long- maybe it was always inevitable- and now that it’s finally happening you feel as though you’re dying and being brought back to life at once.

Maybe there’s confusion about how long he’s desperately wanted this. Confusion whether the innocent nature of your relationship was ever real.

But that’s only the surface level.

Because you know that everything you yourself have avoided was really there all along.

And finally embracing it is both a despair and liberation. Both anguish and comfort rolled into one.

All Caleb.

He grips your jaw. Makes you look at him.

“Because if I do what I want, I’ll never let you go! Do you understand that? I would never back off. I would trap you with me, somewhere where only my eyes can see you. Somewhere safe and completely ours.”

He shudders when you rock your hips to meet his, shoulders collapsing onto you. Your nails tighten into his nape, legs hitching higher around his waist.

“I’ll comfort you whenever you want me to,” he whispers soothingly, throat still rough and raw. “Fuck, I don’t think I could live without this now. But if you ask why I let you control the pace…” why he lets you continue to place your relationship in a comfortable zone… “It’s because otherwise I will take and take and take until we’re unrecognisable.” Until we’re ruined and need to rebuild everything.

“Don’t you understand?” he looks destroyed, savage, the storm outside reflecting thunderously in his glowing purple eyes as he silently pleas for even a scrap of understanding for how deeply he feels for you, gripping your chin as he desperately implores for something he’s never asked for before. Something he’s always taken on himself.

His cheekbones are red, lips wet as they brush yours, travelling lower to tenderly kiss your chin.

“I want to do this with you forever…”

“You-You’re everything, pips. You know that, don’t you? There is nothing else…”

You’re close, his words floating in a hazy cloud of bliss. Maybe you should pay more attention but you’re selfish for the pleasure he’s giving you.

His hips move faster, sliding against you, thrusting into you. They lose some of their fluidity as you two climb higher, humping against you desperately.

“Hahh…” indistinguishable sounds escape your parted lips. A knot tightens unbearably in your stomach, ready to snap.

So close… His sounds spur you on, amplifying your pleasure, making your fingertips tremble. It’s Caleb. This is Caleb. You and Caleb are really doing this together…

When you come it’s with your head buried in his neck, high, open-mouthed moans pouring into his skin as your nails bite into him. Your entire body clings to him, wanting him infinitely closer through the high.

“Ahh… you comin’, pipsqueak? That’s a good girl, cum for me, drench me, baby- I’ve got you.. I’ve got you, let go...fuck-”

When Caleb comes, so soon after you it’s as if your orgasm triggers his own, it’s with his mouth recapturing yours. His hips stutter. Your teeth clash.

“Fuck. Fuck. Ahh, baby, it’s so good, you’re so good, so beautiful. I love doing this with you, can’t believe I get to do this with you…” uncontrollable moans spill from his lips. “Your pussy ‘s so slippery, baby. Feels so good, feels incredible…”

Your hole tightens, still spasming from your own orgasm as you feel his cum soak through his pants, wetness sticking to your skin.

When all is said and done, the storm still rages outside. Lightning flares in the sky, so close to the two of you who are floating in the grey clouds.

Pants of exertion reverberate through the room. The skin of his back is hot, beads of sweat rolling down his strong hips and the dimples at his tailbone.

You hold him close as his head buries in your neck. Both of you sigh.

Nuzzling the side of his face with yours, you kiss behind his ear, loving the smell of his sweat.

His head turns and you follow suit, meeting his gaze.

“Caleb?” you whisper, voice still shaky.

Thunder reverberates outside.

Your legs are still quivering from your release, but a tiny sliver of clarity pierces through the haze in your brain.

You really just… with Caleb.

The accumulation of years and years of want and craving and pining all crashing together. Every moment where unspoken love has been left hanging in the air, in the pauses between moments that couldn’t be explained away by the pretense of an innocent relationship, in the gaps of time where you were forced to be apart.

You don’t know what you want his answer to the call of his name to be, but you think you might die if he decides to pretend this didn’t happen.

“I think I’ll die if you act like this didn’t happen tomorrow,” he chuckles quietly.

You were stroking the back of his neck in relaxed motions, but upon his words, you completely freeze. Your eyes drop to his again, narrowing.

“I think I should be saying that to you.”

He scoffs, pushing up on his arms, palms on either side of your head so he’s holding a plank above you. The silver apple glints between you.

“Puh-lease, pipsqueak. Who’s the one that insisted on marrying me in the garden back home, only to turn around and dump me the next day?”

You gape. “I was six! How can you hold that against me?”

Because even though you were children, to him that had been real. The white pillowcase you put on the back of your head as a veil, your plushies lined up neatly on the grass- honoured guests to witness the matrimonial ceremony.

“I promise to love Caleb forever and ever ‘til we die!”

He leaned down to kiss your cheek, sliding a cheap plastic ring onto your finger.

“I promise to love you even after we die.”

You squealed in delight and insisted you do the ceremony all over again.

He must have seen it over a dozen times that day, you walking down a small, makeshift aisle, holding a bundle of wild daisies he had collected for you.

But he never complained. Never stomped his foot and said he was sick of these girly games.

It was a wedding on a budget. You couldn’t afford an orchestra, so you told him to hum as you walked.

He hummed a classic wedding song, only for his voice to fail him as you stood before him, smiling so happily, cheeks pink and round.

He sees that same face now, laughing beneath him.

You settle, wiping a tear at the corner of your eye as your laughter dies down. Your voice is full of tenderness as your eyes slide to his.

“You remember that, huh?”

“Of course,” he flicks his nose against yours. “Isn’t this year our seventeenth wedding anniversary?”

“Oooh, what are you gonna get me?”

He smiles. Leans down to kiss the base of your neck.

“Flowers?”

Licks along your jaw. You groan, head tilting to the side of the pillow as your eyes shut in bliss.

“Diamonds?”

Presses a kiss to the corner of your lips, whispering into them sultry and suggestive,

“Lots of orgasms?”

“Hahh…” you breathe out, somewhere between a laugh and a moan. Your hand runs up his shoulder, holding his neck to lock eyes with him. Your tone is a bit more solemn and serious when you speak.

“Then, this… what we did, I mean… Is it, um… What do we…”

He sees your uncertainty, your clumsiness, and his heart turns to a tender pile of mush in his chest.

This is a completely new side of your relationship. Uncharted territories yet to be ventured. You don’t know where to go from here.

But he’ll make sure you’re not alone in it.

He cages your head between his bent arms.

“Do you want this again, pipsqueak?” his voice betrays a hint of vulnerability, perhaps anxious after years of having his feelings go unseen.

But you catch him. Nodding quickly, you answer.

“Yes, yes, I…” you avert your gaze, blushing. “I want to do it again. I want… more of you. More than anything we’ve ever had.” You didn’t think that was possible when he was already everything to you, but you think you just want to crawl inside his rib cage and live there.

You look at up at him, biting your bottom lip nervously. “But… do you?”

He could laugh crazily at that.

Does he want you? Are you insane? The entire lifespan of deepspace couldn’t carry the weight of his love for you.

He cups your jaw, crushing his lips against yours.

“Let’s devour each other, pipsqueak.”

...

Extra:

You watch as Caleb gets up from the bed, feeling unkempt and vulnerable beneath his sheets. You must look a mess with tear stains, swollen lips and crazy hair.

You pull your knees to your chest, feeling a high-pitched squeal echo in your heart. You try not to giggle girlishly.

Hair’s only messy cause of what we just did…

You almost kick your feet, resisting the urge as you bite on the fleshy pad of your thumb.

Caleb stands and looks down at you, looming tall.

His voice is teasing. “Why’re you lookin’ all excited and cute?”

You shake your head, smiling. “It’s nothin’, where are you going?”

“Ah,” he looks down just as an unfortunately timed flash of lightning illuminates the very prominent stain on the front of his pants. You gaze immediately drops there.

“Oh.”

He groans, running a hand down his face. “I’m just gonna toss these in the wash, I’ll be back quickly.”

“Wait!” you yelp. “Take these, too, they’re uncomfortable.”

And then you proceed to slide your wet panties down your smooth legs, unaware of how your every movement sets ablaze the cooling embers within him, no matter how innocent the intention.

You hold out the flimsy scrap of material and he takes it in his fist unquestioningly, swallowing hard at the feeling of how soaked and slick it is against his palm. His face remains indifferent.

You are clearly blissfully unaware of how much of a pervert he really is, and he’s unwilling to reveal that part of himself to you.

But… yeah, these panties aren’t going in the wash anytime soon.

dividers by @/cafekitsune