Other sites also have the "Does anyone have this image?" posts, but only on tumblr you'll find "Does anyone have that mesopotamien clay tablet?" posts.
Fantasy is philosophyâs more gorgeously painted cousin. You canât just tell a child a blunt fact about the human heart and expect them to believe you. Thatâs not how it works. You canât scribble on a Post-it note for a 12-year-old: your strangeness is worth keeping, or your love will matter. You need to show it. And fantasy, with its limitless scope, gives us a way of offering longhand proof for otherwise inarticulable ideas: endurance and hatred and regret, and power and passion and death.
#consumerism as an activism my beloved (oh no)#i just will add that this way of thinking is viewed as âenglish-speaking fandom behaviorâ in russian-speaking fandom LOL#like this is not the way how other cultures perceive media#if you get called âyou act like Đ°ĐœĐłĐ»ĐŸŃĐŽâ that is not a compliment#and it means that youre too obsessed with being pure and unproblematic to the point of becoming toxic
@pinkmiraclesparkle, thank you for this addition. Add this to what Japanese fans call it, âfeelings yakuza.â
my dream as a fanfic writer is for one day, one of my fics to be someones comfort fic. like the fic that they reread when they don't feel good and want to be happy. i want my words to comfort someone one day
Same! But in a broader sense I just want to reach people with my words. Make them feel something, good or bad. Laughing their ass off, swooning over a love, tickle their brains just right, inspire thought, or making them scream to the heavens and throw their phones. Tell me my words reached you. Thatâs my dream.
Neither enemies to lovers nor slow burn but a secret third thing called Schrödinger's intimacy. We are in love and we are not in love do NOT open that lid I swear to God.
â€ïžÂ tags and content: fallen angel, m!recieving self pleasure, yearning, slow burn
â€ïžÂ author note: check out all my fics by searching #moongirlcleo or on AO3
đNSFW content - Minors DNI đ
Dividers: @/cafekitsune
Fic: @moongirlcleo Â
He was your guardian angel. Nothing more. For years, he watched you grow and learn until he realized there was something there. HE no longer just wanted to save you.
He wanted you
Caleb had always known his purpose. From the moment his name had been bound to yours, tethered by divine command, he had accepted it without question. To be a guardian was to serve, to watch from the edges of existence, never seen, never known, ensuring that your life flowed as it should. His presence was meant to be a whisper in the wind, a guiding force that you would never feel, never acknowledge, a silent protector in the vastness of an unknowing world.
At first, it had been nothing more than duty. You were another soul to safeguard, another fragile being in need of unseen intervention. He followed you through your days and nights, ever-present, though you never realized it. When you stepped into the street without looking, he nudged the passing car just slightly off course. When a strangerâs hand lingered too long on your wrist, he shifted the air between you, sending a sudden chill down their spine. When you lost your footing on ice, your balance always found you just in time, the fall never quite reaching you. Every movement was precise, calculated, a seamless adjustment of reality so minor that you would never think twice about it.
That was what he was meant to do. Nothing else.
Yet the longer he remained by your side, the more something within him began to shift.
At first, it was no more than a lingering presence, a quiet reluctance to leave when night fell and your breathing grew slow with sleep. He would remain at your bedside longer than necessary, watching the way the soft glow of your bedside lamp kissed your skin, how your lashes fluttered against your cheek, how your fingers twitched ever so slightly in dreams you would never remember. He told himself it was simply caution, an extra moment to ensure your safety before returning to his place beyond the veil of sight, but each night, that moment stretched longer.
The discomfort settled in his chest first, an unfamiliar weight pressing against something he did not have the language to name. It curled beneath his ribs whenever he saw you smile at another, a fleeting tension that was gone before he could acknowledge it. It burned in his throat when he listened to the way you laughed, the sound curling through the air with an ease that did not belong to him. It tightened around his spine when your hand brushed against someone elseâs, casual, thoughtless, as though it was nothing.
But worst of all was the ache that had begun to take root in the deepest parts of him, something neither duty nor grace had prepared him for.
It settled low, buried beneath the surface, growing heavier each time he watched you stretch in the early light of morning, arms lifting above your head, a soft sigh leaving your lips as sleep faded from your body. It unfurled in the spaces between, in the way your fingers traced over your collarbone absentmindedly, in the way your breath hitched when you stepped beneath the warmth of a shower, in the way you murmured to yourself as you pulled soft fabrics over your skin, never knowing the weight of the eyes that lingered, watching, wanting.
He was supposed to guard you.
He was not supposed to crave you.
Yet every day, every night, every moment that passed between you, the lines blurred further, the distance between what was and what could be growing impossibly thin.
Divinity had never taught him what to do with longing.
***
Caleb had always told himself that watching was enough.
It was what he had been created to do, what he had been assigned to you forâto protect, to intervene where necessary, to remain unseen. It was a law as ancient as the heavens themselves, a rule woven into his very being, a boundary that had never been crossed.
Until the dreams.
At first, they had been nothing more than a fleeting indulgence, a moment of stillness in the vast weight of his duty. A guardian could not be seen, could not be known, but in the quiet of the unconscious mind, in the space between waking and sleep, he could linger without consequence. He told himself it was for your protection. That there was no harm in observing when your defenses were lowered, when your dreams played across the canvas of your mind, untouched by the dangers of the waking world.
But it was never just protection.
Not really.
The first time had been a mistake. He had stepped too close, let his presence sink too deeply into the atoms of your dream, let himself be there instead of just watching from a distance. You had not seen him, had not noticed the way he stood at the edges of your world, silent, motionless, barely a speck in the depths of your thoughts. It had been safe then, easy, just another way to fulfill his purpose.
But then it became a habit.
Caleb found himself returning night after night, standing in the background of your mind as dreams unfolded around him. Sometimes they were simple, mundane thingsâthe memory of a conversation, the distant hum of voices from your waking life, the quiet warmth of sunlight filtering through a window that did not exist. Other times, they were more vivid, more intimateâthe way your lips parted when you sighed, the way your fingers ghosted over your own skin, the way your body shifted beneath silken sheets, restless, unaware of the presence that watched you from the shadows.
He should have stopped then. He should have left. But he didnât.
It wasnât just your dreams that changed. It was the way he changed within them. The way he began to move closer, inching forward with each passing night, lingering at the edges of your consciousness with a hunger he refused to name. He never touched you, never spoke, never gave you reason to suspect that something more existed in the liminal space between dreaming and waking.
But he wanted to. And that was when he knew he was losing control.
The first time you stirred at the weight of his presence, he had frozen, waiting, watching, breathless in a way he had never been before. You shifted beneath the covers, brows knitting together, lips parting slightly as though searching for words that never came. His chest ached at the sight, something deep and wrong coiling in his ribs, something not meant for angels, something human.
But you had not woken. Not yet. He told himself it was nothing, that you had felt nothing, that it was coincidence, that he could still turn away.
But the longer he lingered, the more your body reactedâa twitch of your fingers, a slow inhale, the way your lips parted slightly as though you could sense something in the air, something unseen. He knew he should pull away, retreat before it was too late, before you began to realize.
But divinity had never prepared him for what it meant to want. And so, he stayed.
Caleb had spent lifetimes watching from the shadows of the world, his presence woven so seamlessly into the very essence of your existence that you never thought to question it. He had been a quiet observer, a guardian bound by celestial law, a whisper of divinity meant only to ensure that you were safe, that your path remained steady, that fate unfolded as it was always intended to.
He had never meant to be seen.
At first, stepping into your dreams had been an act of duty rather than indulgence, a means of keeping watch in the only place he could exist without restraint. You couldnât feel that he was there, never felt the weight of his presence lingering at the edges of your unconscious mind, just beyond the reach of recognition. He had told himself that it was harmless, that as long as he remained a distant figure in the background of your thoughts, there was no risk, no reason to fear what it might mean.
But then, one night, something changed.
The dream was different, a nightmare growing as darkness began twisting at the seams with a force that did not belong to your mind alone. He felt it before he saw it, a shift in the air, something unnatural pressing in at the edges, something malicious. He had seen you dream before, had stood at the fringes of your memories as they replayed like distant echoes, but this was not a memory.
This was something else.
You were caught in it, your body tense, your breath coming short and sharp as shadows coiled around you, shifting like sentient things, murmuring in voices that did not belong to the waking world. Your hands trembled where they curled against your chest, fingers pressing over your ears as if trying to block out something only you could hear. Your lips parted, but no words escaped, only the soft, uneven gasps of someone trapped in their own fear.
Caleb had always known the rules.
He was not to interfere.
He was to watch, to protect, but never to touch, never to step too far beyond the limits of his purpose.
But as he stood there, watching the way you shuddered beneath the weight of something you could not fight, he felt something inside him break.
Before he had time to second-guess the choice, before he could remind himself of what he was not meant to do, his body moved on instinct, stepping forward, crossing a line that had never been meant to be crossed. His presence rippled through the dream, the darkness recoiling at the force of something greater, something divine. The whispers fell silent, the pressure in the air easing as if the very world had recognized what he was and had yielded beneath it.
And then you saw him.
Your breath caught, eyes widening as they locked onto his, recognition flickering beneath the remnants of fear. You should not have known him. You should not have been able to see him. Yet there he stood, solid, real, undeniable, no longer a faceless figure in the background but a being standing before you, something that had been there for so long but had never been given shape, never been acknowledged.
Your body shifted, the tension in your limbs uncoiling just enough for confusion to settle in its place. A flicker of awareness passed through your expression, your brow furrowing as if your mind was already working through the pieces of a puzzle you hadnât known existed.
âWhoâŠ?â The question came unsteady, still raw from whatever fear had gripped you, but your voice was clear, and it made something deep inside him go still.
Caleb said nothing.
He could feel the weight of your gaze, the careful unraveling of realization in your features, the sharp intake of breath as your fingers twitched at your sides, as if debating whether to reach for him, to test the reality of his presence.
And then your voice came again, steadier this time, edged with something dangerous.
âYouâve been in my dreams before.â
It wasnât a question. He could hear the certainty behind it, the way it settled into place like a memory finally uncovered, an answer that had been waiting just beneath the surface. He had been careful, had told himself that he was nothing more than a passing figure in your unconscious thoughts, that you would never notice, never remember.
But you had. And now, you were questioning it.
His first instinct was to reach for you, to steady you, to explain, but there was no explanation that could erase what had already been done. The air between you felt too heavy, charged with something fragile and breaking, something dangerously real.
A flicker of something unreadable crossed your face, your lips parting just slightly, and Caleb knew if you spoke again, if you asked him the question that was forming on your tongue, it would be over.
He turned before you could. The dreamscape shuddered as he pulled away, the world unraveling at the edges, dissolving into the empty space between waking and sleep. He could still feel the weight of your gaze, the lingering heat of recognition pressing against his skin like a brand, but he did not stop. He did not look back.
He ran.
And when you woke, breath unsteady, fingers curling into the sheets as you tried to piece together what had just happened, you remembered him. Not a passing shadow. Not a figment of imagination lost to sleep.
But something more. And now, you would begin to look for him.
***
For days, Caleb forced himself into silence.
He did his duty, watching from the edges of your life as he always had, but he kept his distance, never letting his presence linger too long, never letting himself step too close. The shame coiled tight in his chest, an unbearable weight pressing against ribs that had never known the sting of guilt before, but now carried it like a mark burned into the very core of him.
He had exposed himself.
For the first time in centuries, he had acted on impulse, had reached for something that was never meant to be his. You had seen him, had recognized him, had spoken his presence into existenceâand now, the fragile boundary between his world and yours had begun to crumble.
Divinity had never prepared Caleb for the feeling of shame.
He had tried to convince himself that it would fade, that you would push it aside as nothing more than a strange dream, that your mind would bury it the way it did fleeting memories lost in sleep. But deep down, he knew better.
Because now, you were looking for him.
It started small, almost imperceptible at first. The way you would pause in the middle of the street, your gaze flickering across a crowd, your lips pressed together as if waiting for somethingâsomeoneâthat wasnât there. The way your eyes lingered a little too long on a passing stranger, as if trying to place something just out of reach, some familiarity you couldnât quite grasp.
Then, it became more.
Your routine had changed. You stayed out longer, lingering in places where you had never stopped before, your fingers tracing the edges of books you never intended to read, your gaze wandering through coffee shop windows as if expecting to find someone staring back. You would turn your head sharply at the feeling of being watched, eyes searching, breath catchingâonly to find nothing, only to find no one.
But he was there.
Always there.
And it was torture.
Caleb had spent lifetimes standing just beyond mortal reach, existing as nothing more than a presence, a force of protection that had never once faltered. But now, every breath you took, every time your fingers twitched at your sides, every slow, thoughtful glance you cast into the unknownâit unraveled him.
Because he knew who you were searching for.
And he knew you would never find him.
Not the way you wanted.
Not the way he ached to be found.
He could not risk another mistake.
Not when his hands still burned with the memory of your dream, not when he could still feel the echo of your gaze locked onto his as the world between you shattered. He told himself he had been reckless, that he had let himself slip too close, that the shame in his chest was enough to pull him back to duty.
But duty had never felt this heavy before.
And the longer he watched you search for something you could not name, the more he felt himself losing the battle against the inevitable.
Because despite everythingâdespite the silence, the distance, the weight of his own denialâhe could not stop watching you.
And worse still?
You had started to feel it.
You could not see him, could not hear him, could not know the way his presence curled around your every step, but something had changed in you, something subtle, something dangerous. Your fingers would brush the nape of your neck as though warding off a phantom sensation, a lingering warmth that should not have been there. Your breath would catch in empty rooms, your skin prickling with awareness, your pulse unsteady in a way that had nothing to do with fearâonly anticipation.
Somewhere, somehow, you knew he was there.
And no matter how hard Caleb tried to run, he knew, with absolute certainty, that eventuallyâ
You would find him.
Caleb had spent weeks forcing himself to remain distant, retreating into the safety of silence, burying himself beneath the weight of duty, convincing himself that what had happened was nothing more than a fleeting moment of weakness, a single error that could still be undone. He told himself that as long as he avoided you, as long as he did not linger in places where temptation could take hold, he could still fulfill his role without the unbearable ache pressing against his ribs. He could still be the guardian he was meant to be, a silent, unseen force, nothing more than a whisper of presence in the vastness of your world.
But no matter how far he withdrew, no matter how carefully he tried to erase the fragile thread of connection between you, he could not stop the way you searched for him.
You didnât know what you were looking for, didnât understand the pull that had begun to take root inside you, but he could feel it in the way your gaze lingered too long in empty spaces, in the way your breath would hitch as though expecting to see somethingâsomeoneâjust beyond your reach. You turned your head quickly at the feeling of being watched, only to find nothing but empty air. You were drawn to something you could not name, haunted by a presence you could not see, and every time your body tensed with the suspicion that someone was there, Caleb was forced to hold himself back, fighting the impossible pull that urged him to step forward, to let himself be found.
It was torment.
But nothing compared to the night when it all fell apart.
He had not meant to step into your dream, not this time.
Lately, he had forced himself to remain at the edges, to simply observe rather than exist within them, to stay hidden among the shifting shadows of your subconscious rather than risk the temptation of feeling too present. He had told himself that watching was still within his right, that as long as he did not intervene, as long as he did not allow you to see him, he was not breaking the fragile balance that had already begun to fray.
But the moment he felt the shift, the change in the air that signaled something different, something more dangerous, he knew that distance was no longer a luxury he could afford.
The dream was steeped in warmth, the air thick with something heavier than illusion, something that wrapped around your skin in the way silk clings to bare flesh. The golden light stretched long across the floor, painting soft shadows against the sheets tangled around your body, the slow rise and fall of your breath visible in the dim glow. There was no movement, no spoken words, only the steady pull of heat settling into every inch of the dream, soaking into the space where desire hummed just beneath the surface.
Caleb knew he should have left the moment he realized what this was.
But he didnât.
Instead, he stood at the edge of the dream, unmoving, his gaze tracing over the delicate arch of your spine, the way your lips parted just slightly as if in anticipation, the way your fingers ghosted over your own skin in a slow, idle motion, not intentional, not awareâonly feeling. The air in the room was thick, heavy with the weight of something you didnât yet understand, but Caleb did. He saw it in the subtle shift of your thighs pressing together beneath the sheets, in the way your body tensed for a moment before relaxing again, caught in the slow unraveling of your own longing, unaware that you were not alone.
He had never known what it meant to crave, never felt the slow, burning ache of hunger the way mortals did, but standing there, watching you like this, his body locked in place as if tethered by something stronger than duty, he understood.
And the moment you let out a quiet sigh, breathless and wanting, he lost control.
The dream shifted around him in an instant, the warmth flickering as the air thickened, as the space between reality and illusion bent to accommodate his presence. No longer an unseen force lingering in the shadows, no longer a distant presence watching from afar, he was there, fully formed, fully real, standing at the edge of the bed, unable to hide the weight of his own desperation.
Your body stilled.
Caleb did not move, his breath uneven despite the fact that he did not need breath at all, his amethyst eyes locked onto you with something raw, something unforgivable.
And then you saw him.
The flicker of awareness crossed your face almost instantly, your breath catching as your eyes fluttered open, widening the moment they found him standing there. The world around you did not dissolve, the dream did not end, but something shifted in the way your body tensed beneath the sheets, the way your fingers curled into the fabric, the way your lips parted as if you could sense the weight of his presence even before understanding what it meant.
For a long moment, neither of you moved.
You only watched him.
And God help him, Caleb watched you back.
His body felt too tight, the space between you too small, the dream itself pressing inward like it was forcing him to act, demanding that he either step forward or leave before the moment turned into something that could never be undone.
But the way you looked at himânot with fear, not with confusion, but with something new, something that sent heat curling low in his stomach, something that made his wings twitch behind him, restless, uncertainâwas too much.
His lips parted, but no sound came.
For the first time in his existence, he did not know what to do.
The dream was already slipping, the golden light flickering at the edges, the space between you humming with an unspoken energy that neither of you had the strength to name. Your fingers twitched against the sheets, as if considering reaching for him, as if wondering if he was something real or if this was only a dream meant to leave you wanting.
He should have stepped back.
He should have left before the moment could cement itself into something more than an illusion, before you could remember him, before you could want him in the way he already wanted you.
But he hesitated. And in that hesitation, he sealed his fate.
The dream collapsed in an instant, torn apart by his own fear, by the shame curling hot in his chest, by the realization that he had let himself go too far. He ripped himself from the moment, retreating before you could reach him, before he could see exactly what would have happened if he had stayed.
But it was too late. Because when you woke, your breath uneven, your skin warm with the ghost of something unseen, you did not shake the dream away as you had done before. You remembered him. You wanted to find him again.
And now, for the first time in his existence, Caleb wasnât just avoiding you out of duty. He was runningânot because he had to, but because he didnât trust himself to stay away.
***
Calebâs chambers stood vast and unmoving, wrapped in the unearthly hush of eternal stillness, where not even time dared to intrude. The air shimmered faintly with the pale, cold gleam of heavenâs undying lightâa radiance too pure to warm, too divine to invite. It was a sanctum forged for solitude, for reverence, a place meant to be untouched by mortal hands, unswayed by desire, and deaf to the restless ache of human longing that clawed so desperately at the borders of divinity.
But tonight, it felt like a prison.
Caleb sat at the edge of his bed, head bowed, hands gripping the fabric of his robes so tightly that the material creased beneath his fingers. His breath was uneven, his chest rising and falling in slow, controlled movements that did nothing to ease the fire burning beneath his skin, the insatiable ache that refused to be silenced. His wings flexed behind him, feathers shifting, restless, betraying the battle raging inside of him.
He should not be thinking about you.
But he was.
He had tried to push the dream from his mind, had tried to bury it beneath duty, beneath the discipline that had once been as natural as prayer. He had paced the marble halls of the celestial plane, let the quiet hum of heavenâs harmony wash over him, whispered prayers in languages older than time itselfâbut nothing helped.
Because the moment his mind faltered, the moment his guard slipped, he was there again.
In the golden light of your dream.
Standing at the edge of your bed.
Watching the way your body shifted beneath the sheets, the way your lips parted ever so slightly, the way your fingers ghosted over your own skin, unaware, so blissfully unaware that he was there, aching for you, wanting something he had no name for, something he had no right to claim.
Caleb exhaled sharply, hands clenched into fists, his jaw tightening as heat coiled low in his stomach, a slow, unforgiving burn that refused to be ignored.
His thighs tensed, his body betraying him in ways it never had before. He should stop this now, should pray, should force himself into the cold solace of divine purpose, but his fingers twitched at his sides, and when he closed his eyes, all he could see was you.
The way your breath had hitched when your eyes met his.
The way you had looked at himânot in fear, not in confusion, but in something else, something that made his body tighten, something that made his wings tremble.
A low, shuddering breath escaped his lips, and before he could stop himself, his hand moved lower, hesitating at first, hovering over the place where his arousal had already betrayed him, pulsing, throbbing with the weight of his own self-destruction.
He had never done this before.
Never felt the need to.
But he was starvingâfor something he could not have, for something that should not exist, and yet it did, it was, and no matter how many times he told himself to turn away, he couldnât.
His palm pressed over the heat straining against his robes, his breath catching as sensation flooded through him, sharp and unbearable, his mind unraveling at the first, tentative touch. His wings twitched again, his body responding too quickly, too eagerly, as though it had been waiting for this, as though some part of him had always been waiting for you.
The shame came instantly, curling in his ribs, making his throat tighten, but it did nothing to lessen the pleasure pulsing through him, the slow, torturous friction making his hips shift, seeking more before he could stop himself.
His teeth clenched, his breath turning unsteady, his free hand gripping at the sheets beside him as he tried to find something real, something to hold onto, something to anchor himselfâbut nothing existed beyond the heat consuming him, beyond the memory of your skin bathed in candlelight, the way you had looked at him through heavy-lidded eyes, lips parted like a silent invitation.
The way you had sighed.
The way he had wanted to touch you.
A quiet, broken sound left him, his resolve crumbling as his fingers wrapped around himself fully, stroking once, just to feel, just to understand what this was, why his body reacted this way, why he couldnât stop thinking about you.
Pleasure ripped through him, electric and unforgiving, his hips jerking into his own grasp, breath stuttering as he tried to control it, tried to pace himself, tried to make sense of itâbut there was nothing but hunger, nothing but the unbearable need to chase the fire building in his core, nothing but the shameful relief of finally, finally touching himself while thinking of you.
His lips parted, a strangled groan barely muffled as he tried to keep himself quiet, but it was impossible now, his body trembling, his movements growing desperate, chasing something he did not yet understand, something that tasted like ruin, something that had already damned him.
Your name slipped past his lips before he could stop it.
The moment it did, the pleasure doubled, a shiver rolling through him, his grip tightening, his pace increasing, his thighs tensing beneath the weight of release as his wings flared wide, the force of his own downfall hitting him all at once.
Heat spilled over his fingers, his chest heaving, his body wrecked, trembling, barely able to process the mess he had just made of himself.
And the shameâthe shameâhit harder than anything before.
Calebâs hand fell away from his spent length, fingers twitching uselessly as he stared at the evidence of his own weakness, breath still ragged, his heart still pounding despite knowing that this had changed everything.
His head dropped forward, his wings folding inward, trying to shield himself from the unbearable truth of what he had done.
This was not just hunger. This was not just desire. This was something else entirely.
Something dangerous. Something that could no longer be ignored.
I got the long version đ sheâs a fucking wizard yaâll. She cut the song. 1:30 minutes cut and you cannot tell wtf thatâs some wizard type shit fr
â€ïžÂ tags and content: fallen angel, rough sex, slight?virginity(bc he's an angel ya know)
â€ïžÂ author note: check out all my fics by searching #moongirlcleo or on AO3
đNSFW content - Minors DNI đ
Dividers: @cafekitsune
Fic: @moongirlcleo Â
You werenât supposed to see him. He wasnât supposed to want you.
Yet, night after night, Caleb watched from the shadowsâan angel bound by duty, tethered to a divinity that no longer felt like salvation. You were a temptation he swore he would resist, a fleeting mortal he was never meant to touch. But some choices are made long before they ever reach the tongue, and the moment you met his gaze, he knew. His fall was inevitable.
Now, stripped of his grace, wings sullied by the weight of his own desire, he is no longer bound to the heavensâonly to you. And when he touches you for the first time, he is not gentle. He is starving.
The dream unfolds in silence, vast and unbroken, cradling you in a space that feels neither real nor false, but something suspended between the two. The world around you is vast yet formless, a place without sky, without ground, without anything but the sensation of being. There is no cold, no warmth, only a quiet, weightless stillness that presses against your skin like the memory of an embrace.
Golden light spills across the horizonâor what you assume to be a horizonârolling over the distance like a tide, shifting and restless, unbound by direction or form. The glow isnât harsh, nor is it the blinding brilliance of midday sun, but something softer, richer, as though the entire world has been wrapped in the last aching moments of twilight. It paints everything it touches in gold and fire, in something otherworldly, something beyond human understanding.
Thatâs when you see him.
Not as an approaching figure, not as a sudden presence disrupting the quiet, but as though he has always been there, waiting beyond the edges of your perception, unnoticed until your eyes settle on him. He stands amidst the golden glow, his body half-draped in it, his presence so seamless that for a moment, he seems carved from the light itself.
The first thing you notice is his faceâsharp, striking, cut from a kind of beauty that feels almost painful to look at, as though the world itself had shaped him with too much precision, too much care. His skin is pale, a shade caught between marble and moonlight, untouched by imperfection, yet far from delicate. His expression, unreadable yet impossibly calm, carries a weight that you cannot name, something ancient and solemn resting beneath the surface.
His eyes, framed by long, dark lashes, are a deep shade of amethystârich and endless, shifting between dusk and violet flame. They are steady, unblinking, watching you with a focus so absolute that it feels like a tangible thing, wrapping around you, holding you in place even when nothing else does. They glow faintly in the golden haze, an unnatural, breathtaking contrast against the warm light surrounding him.
His hair, dark as tempered mahogany, falls around him in soft waves, longer than you expect, tousled as though touched by hands that never should have touched him. Strands catch the glow, kissed at the edges by something almost auburn, though the depth of its darkness remains untouched by the radiance around him.
And his wingsâ
They are massive, stretching far beyond what should be possible, a brilliant cascade of white and gold feathers that shimmer where the light touches them. Each one is flawless, arranged with a precision that makes them seem sculpted rather than real, yet there is no doubt that they are his, that they belong to him as much as breath belongs to lungs. They move in slow, deliberate shifts, subtle twitches that send ripples through the sea of feathers, as though even in stillness, they carry the weight of something immense.
Despite the sheer enormity of him, the way his presence seems to fill the entire space, you do not feel fear. There is no instinct screaming at you to run, no shadow of doubt curling at the edges of your thoughts, only the overwhelming certainty that you are safe here.
And yet, even as safety settles over your skin, something else lingers beneath itâsomething deeper, something just beyond your reach, curling at the edges of your awareness like the first stirrings of a storm. It is not danger, not exactly, but an intensity you cannot define, a pull that tugs at the center of your chest, quiet yet insistent, as if your very soul is responding to something unseen.
He does not move, not at first, only watches, gaze steady, expression unreadable. The silence between you stretches, thick and unbroken, but it is not uncomfortable. If anything, it feels purposeful, as though something unspoken is being exchanged, something vast and quiet passing between you without the need for words.
Finally, as if the weight of the moment has shifted just enough, his lips part, and his voice reaches youânot loud, not sharp, but something low and steady, woven with a softness that contradicts the sheer power of the being before you.
âYou should not be here.â
The words are not spoken as a warning, nor do they carry the sharp edge of command, yet something in them settles deep in your chest, a statement of truth rather than a demand.
You should not be here.
And yet, you are.
Your lips part, a question forming on the tip of your tongue, but before you can speak, something shifts. The golden light flickers, just slightly, the glow trembling as though something unseen has disturbed it. It is the smallest change, barely perceptible, but you feel it.
His amethyst gaze flickersâjust a breath, just the briefest moment of something almost uncertainâbefore his wings shift, folding in ever so slightly, as if shielding something unseen.
The pull at your chest deepens, sharpens, turning from a whisper into something demanding.
You take a step forward.
His eyes widenâonly slightly, only just enough for you to catch itâbut before you can take another breath, the dream begins to dissolve. The golden light trembles, curling at the edges of your vision, and the weightlessness around you turns unsteady, slipping away like sand between your fingers.
You try to hold onto it, to hold onto him, but the dream is already pulling apart, unraveling into nothingnessâ
And then you wake.
The world of the waking rushes in too fast, too sudden, the cool air of your room a stark contrast to the warmth you had just been wrapped in. Your pulse is uneven, your breath unsteady, and even as your eyes adjust to the dim glow of reality, one thing remains crystal clearâ
You remember everything.
Not a hazy dream, not a fleeting image, but him. His face, his voice, the impossible weight of his presenceâ
And the way it felt like he had been waiting for you.
<hr>
Sleep had been deep, heavy, wrapping around you like a second skin, but something stirred at the edges of itâan awareness, quiet at first, like a whisper against the grain of your mind. A presence. It wasnât a noise that woke you, nor a sudden jolt, but the distinct and unshakable feeling that you were being watched.
Your breath came slow as your senses adjusted, the darkness of your room still thick with the remnants of sleep. The weight of your blankets was familiar, the air still touched with the lingering warmth of your own body, and yetâ
Something was wrong.
The air was heavier, thicker, as if space itself had been altered, the atmosphere laced with something unseen, something felt rather than noticed. A slow, creeping awareness prickled along your skin, a pull at the center of your chest like a silent demand to look.
So you did.
Your eyes opened, adjusting to the dim glow of the night, and for a moment, nothing seemed out of place. The room was the sameâyour bed, the faint sliver of moonlight cutting through the curtains, the outline of your dresser against the far wall. But there, at the edge of shadow and light, standing near the foot of your bedâ
He was there.
A figure, tall and unmoving, half-shrouded in darkness but unmistakably real. He was watching you, his presence filling the space in a way that made the walls feel smaller, the air thicker, a presence too vast to be contained within something as simple as a room.
Even before your eyes adjusted fully, you knew it was him.
Not a figment of a dream. Not a lingering memory slipping between the cracks of consciousness. He was here, standing in the waking world, no longer confined to the golden haze of sleep.
Your pulse jumped, breath catching in your throat, but not in fearânot entirely. The reaction wasnât one of panic, not the kind that sent limbs thrashing and instincts screaming. It was something else, something deeper, an understanding that hadnât fully formed but already took root inside you.
He had been waiting.
The moonlight caught on his features as your vision sharpened, illuminating the sharp lines of his face, the way his dark waves framed his striking features. His expression was unreadable, those deep amethyst eyes steady, locked onto yours with an intensity that didnât waver.
He hadnât moved. Hadnât spoken.
But he was watching.
A slow exhale left your lips, barely audible against the stillness, as you forced your voice to steady.
ââŠCaleb.â
His name came like a breath, slipping between parted lips before you could think to question how you knew it so certainly, how it felt like it had always belonged to you, like it was something your soul had known long before your mind could catch up.
His eyes flickeredâjust barely, just enough for something unreadable to shift behind them. But he did not speak, did not react beyond the slight tension in his shoulders, the barely-there flex of his fingers at his sides.
Your heart pounded harder. The weight of his presence pressed against you like a force just outside of understanding, but you werenât drowning in itâyou were drawn to it, inexplicably, dangerously.
Your voice was quieter this time, softer, threaded with something you werenât sure you wanted to name.
ââŠWhy are you here?â
A pause, thick and weighted, stretching long between you, as though the very air had to decide whether or not it would allow him to answer.
When he did, his voice was low, steady, impossibly soft but filled with something vast beneath the surface.
ââŠYou saw me.â
His words sent something curling in your stomach, an unspoken truth lingering between them.
You had seen him.
Not just now, not just standing at the foot of your bed like an impossibility made real, but before. In the dreams, in the golden light, in the places where reality blurred and something deeper called out from beyond the veil of knowing.
Your breath shuddered.
âWas that real?â
The question left you before you could stop it, before you could weigh the logic of it, but Caleb didnât look surprised. If anything, there was something else in his expression now, something carefully contained, unreadable but heavy.
His gaze held yours for a moment longer, long enough for the silence to stretch until it became something alive, something breathing between you.
Thenâ
A single step. Not rushed, not hesitant, just deliberate. The space between you lessened, and in the dim light, you caught the way his wings movedâjust slightly, just enough for the faintest shimmer of white and gold to shift behind him, confirming what you already knew. Not a dream. Not a phantom of your subconscious.
Caleb was here. Real.
And as he stood before you, as his presence filled the air in a way that made it impossible to breathe without feeling himâ
The silence between you pressed down, thick and aching, the kind that didnât just settle over the room but wound itself around your ribs, squeezing with the weight of something unspoken. Caleb stood before you, his body still, his expression unreadable, but his presenceâhis presenceâwas a storm barely held at bay.
You could feel it.
Something vast, something breaking apart beneath the surface, something he wasnât saying but couldnât quite contain. His amethyst eyes, impossibly deep, remained locked onto yours, but there was something different now, something frayed at the edges, as if he were only just realizing that this momentâthis collision between youâhad already shifted the world beneath his feet.
You swallowed, breath unsteady but refusing to look away.
âCaleb,â you murmured again, his name slipping from your lips like a tether, like if you said it enough, he would stay.
His expression flickeredâjust for a second, just enough for something almost pained to slip through the cracks before his gaze dropped, his shoulders shifting under an invisible weight. His wings moved behind him, feathers rustling ever so slightly, restless, unsure.
When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than before, low and strained, as if saying the words alone was an act of defiance against something greater than either of you.
ââŠI should not be here.â
The statement was soft, but it landed with the force of something final, something meant to sever the moment before it could take root. But there was no conviction in his voice, no certaintyâonly a quiet, bitter resignation, as though the words themselves were nothing more than a lie he had told himself one too many times.
You sat up further, pulse thrumming against your skin, searching his face for somethingâanythingâthat might explain what this was, what he was.
But Caleb was already taking a step back.
The movement was slow, measured, like it took effort, like something unseen was trying to hold him in place even as he forced himself to retreat. His eyes lifted to yours once more, and this time, they were unmistakably sadâa sorrow so deep, so worn, that it didnât feel like it belonged to this moment alone, but to something far older, something that had been unraveling long before this night.
The distance between you stretched.
He turned. Your breath caught. He was leaving.
And yetâ
At the threshold of your room, just as the shadows curled at the edges of his presence, he stopped. His head tilted slightly, as if listening to something only he could hear, and his fingers flexed at his sides, tension running through him like a barely restrained tremor. Then, in a voice softer than the sigh of wind through dying leaves, he spoke.
ââŠIâll be back.â
The words came quiet but heavy, filled with something that didnât belong to choice, something that had already been decided long before he had ever stepped into your world. His gaze flickered to yours, and for the first time, he let the truth bleed into his expressionâlet you see it, let it settle between you like a weight that could never be lifted.
âI have no choice anymore.â
His wings shifted, golden light flickering at the edges where they met shadow, and his voice dropped lower, something final curling at the edges of it.
ââŠIâve fallen.â
The next breath he tookâslow, unsteadyâfelt like a confession, like an acceptance of something he had been fighting against for far too long. His gaze softened, and for a single, fragile moment, it looked as though he might say something else, something that could have changed everything. Caleb stepped back, and the space where he had been was empty.
No sound, no flicker of movement. Just the quiet aftermath of something vast and terrible that had just slipped away.
You were alone.
And yet, the last thing he had said clung to the air like a ghost, curling around you, pressing into your chest like something that refused to be forgotten.
He had fallen. What did that mean? Was that why he kept appearing in your dreams night after night?
<hr>
For seven days, the room had felt empty.
No shadows stretching where they shouldnât, no flickers of light bending against something unseen, no silent weight pressing against your skin like a presence just outside of reach. You told yourself it had only been a dream, that you had woken to nothing but the remnants of sleep clinging to your thoughts, that the warmth lingering in the air that night had been imaginedâ
But the truth curled at the edges of your consciousness like an echo that refused to fade. You had not imagined him. You had not imagined the way his amethyst eyes had locked onto yours, the way sorrow had laced through his voice, nor the quiet, devastating certainty in his parting words.
Iâll be back.
And so, you waited. You told yourself you werenât, that life moved forward as it always had, that you werenât lingering by your window late into the night, werenât straining your senses for something just beyond the veil of knowing, werenât reaching for a presence that should not exist.
You felt it before you saw him.
The shift in the air, the way the space around you seemed to tighten, how the night pressed in closer, thick and electric with something unseen. The hairs on the back of your neck rose, anticipation curling into something deep, something primal, something that sent heat trickling down your spine in a slow, curling ache.
Thenâhe was there.
Not a flicker, not a gradual materialization, but a sudden, jarring presenceâa figure standing at the threshold of your room, shadowed against the dim glow of the city lights bleeding through the window, tall and unmoving, shoulders stiff, wings half-spread as though caught in the throes of hesitation.
But his eyes.
Dark lashes framed them, but they burned in the low light, deep violet streaked with something feverish, something that sent a slow pulse of heat curling low in your stomach. The moment you met his gaze, the breath in your chest stilled, the world narrowing down to nothing but the space between you, and the way the air itself shuddered under the weight of his presence.
You swallowed, fingers curling into the sheets as you pushed yourself up, words forming on your tongue but catching before they could take shapeâbecause he looked different.
Pale skin stretched taut over sharp features, shadows lingering beneath his eyes, his lips parted slightly, chest rising and falling in slow, heavy breaths, as though every movement was something deliberate, something painful. His hair, dark waves curling messily around his face, looked unkempt, as though fingers had raked through it over and over, restless, desperate.
And then there was the way he stared at you. Like he was starving. Like he had been dying without you. Like he had spent every waking moment since he left aching for something he could not name, could not reach, could not haveâuntil now.
"Caleb," you murmured, barely a whisper, barely a breath, but the sound of his name seemed to wreck him.
A sharp inhale, his fingers twitching at his sides, his wings giving a single, shuddering tremor before, suddenlyâ
He moved.
Fast. Fluid. A blur of motion that sent the air curling around you, and then his hands were on youâgripping, tremblingâas he crashed into you, his mouth devouring yours in something frantic, something shattered.
Heat exploded through your body the moment his lips met yours, desperate and hungry, nothing careful about the way he kissed you, as though restraint had long since crumbled, as though seven days had left him nothing but hunger and he was breaking apart beneath it.
His hands cupped your face, fingers pressing into your skin like he needed to memorize the shape of you, like he was afraid you would slip through his grasp if he did not hold tight enough. His breath came ragged between kisses, deep, uneven, like he had spent an eternity without air and you were the only thing that could bring him back.
Your fingers twisted into the fabric of his toga, pulling him closer, because it wasnât enoughâit would never be enough. The press of his body, the sharp line of his jaw grazing against your skin, the way he groaned into your mouth when your hands moved over his chest, gripping at him, clawing at him, wanting him just as much as he wanted you.
He pulled back just enough to breathe, but his forehead remained pressed to yours, his breath hot and shaking against your lips.
"I choose this," he whispered, voice thick, raw, as though the words were tearing through him, desperate to be spoken. "I choose Earth. I chooseâ"
His lips brushed against yours again, barely a kiss, barely a breath, before he exhaled, voice breaking around the words that left him ruined.
"I choose you."
A sound left youâsomething quiet, something wreckedâbecause there was nothing left between you now, no veil, no barrier, no whispered uncertainty.
Calebâs breath was ragged, uneven, the weight of his body pressing into you like he could sink into you, like he could lose himself in the warmth of your skin and finally, finally forget the eternity of restraint that had left him hollow.
His lips ghosted over yours, a whisper of heat, not quite a kiss but something worse, something unbearable, something pleading.
âSay it,â he rasped, his voice nothing but velvet and ruin, his fingers tightening at your waist, sinking into the fabric of your clothes as though he was already memorizing how you felt beneath him. âSay that you want this.â
As if you hadnât already answered him in the way you clung to him, the way your fingers had tangled in the mess of his dark waves, the way your body arched into his as though it had been waiting for him longer than time itself.
âI want this,â you whispered, breathless, no hesitation, no doubt, no second thoughtsâonly the truth that had burned between you since the moment he first touched you.
Caleb exhaled sharply, a sound that was almost a groan, half pained, half something darker, something that sent fire curling low in your stomach before his mouth finally crashed against yours.
The kiss was deep, consuming, desperate, as though he had been starving for you, as though this was something he had been denying himself for far too long, and now there was no restraint leftâno divinity, no rules, no god above to command him to stop.
His hands roamed your body, reverent yet claiming, his touch burning into you as though he was trying to carve himself into your very bones. His fingers curled into your hips, dragging you against him, letting you feel exactly what you had done to him, how wrecked he was from just a week away from you.
His teeth caught at your bottom lip, a low, guttural sound slipping from his throat when you gasped against his mouth, and something in him snapped.
The world tilted.
You barely had time to gasp before you were beneath him, his wings unfurled in a sudden movement, blocking out the dim light, making the entire world feel smaller, like there was nothing beyond thisâbeyond him.
âMine,â he whispered against your lips, the word barely a breath, barely spoken, but thick with something dangerous, something that had no return. His mouth trailed lower, the sharp edge of his jaw grazing against your throat, the heat of his breath sending shivers racing down your spine beforeâ
A kiss.
There. Right at the pulse point, right where your heartbeat was the strongest, where he could feel the life pulsing beneath your skin.And then another. Softer. Lingering. His teeth, scraping, testing, marking, as though the last fragments of his restraint were slipping away with every inch of you he devoured.
âCaleb,â you gasped, nails digging into his back, catching on the smooth, impossibly soft feathers of his wings, and that single, accidental touch was his undoing.
He shuddered, his entire body tensing, his breath shaking against your skin before he groaned, low and wrecked, pressing himself harder against you like he could merge you together, like the separation between your bodies was something intolerable.
âI should have stayed away,â he muttered, a confession that meant nothing when his hands were already tugging at your clothes, already sliding against bare skin with a reverence that felt nothing like regret. âI should haveââ
You cut him off with a kiss, dragging him back to you, deepening it until he whimpered against your mouth. And that was it. That was the moment restraint became nothing. Caleb took. His lips, his hands, his body, all of it pressing, claiming, his mouth worshipping your skin like he had prayed to touch you and had finally been granted permission. His hands were rough, shaking slightly, fingertips pressing bruises into your hips, dragging you against him, chasing the friction, needing you the way he needed air. He kissed you like you were the first thing he had ever wantedâlike this was the reason he had fallen, like this was what he had chosen.
And when his lips met your throat again, when he moaned against your skin, when his teeth grazed in warning before he sucked.
Calebâs breath burned against your skin, each exhale ragged, uneven, pressing heat into your throat as if he could brand himself into you without even touching. His body was tense, muscles coiled with restraint that frayed at the edges, his hands gripping you with a desperation that barely masked the way he trembled, the way his control unraveled the longer he stayed pressed against you. His mouth traced along your jaw, slow but aching, as though he wanted to memorize every inch, as though this was the last prayer left to him.
Fingers twisted in his hair, dark waves curling between your knuckles, and when you tugged, he shuddered against you, a quiet groan slipping past his lips, something low and wrecked, something that made heat coil deep in your stomach. His wings trembled behind him, those impossibly soft feathers brushing against your arms, grazing your skin like a whisper of divinity still clinging to him despite his fall.
But there was nothing divine in the way his thigh pressed between yours, nothing celestial about the slow, deliberate way he rocked against you, his breath stuttering as he felt what he had done to you, what he had become for you. Every shift of his body was careful, every movement reverent but possessive, as if he had spent an eternity starving for this moment and was only just realizing he could have it.
The bed loomed behind you, close enough to reach, a silent promise wrapped in darkness, but Caleb made no move toward it. He was still here, still tracing his lips over your skin, still devouring you in slow, unhurried strokes of his hands, like he wanted to savor the suffering of restraint a little longer.
He wasnât rushing.
He was surrendering.
His lips hovered over yours, breath warm, unsteady, the smallest space separating you as he murmured your name, voice fractured at the edges, thick with something you werenât sure he had the strength to hold back any longer.
âThe bed,â you whispered, the words barely spoken, barely a breath, but they shattered something between you, breaking the last fragile thread of distance still holding him together.
Caleb went still, his chest pressing against yours, fingers curling tighter at your waist, nails digging into fabric, knuckles taut with the unbearable need to move, to take, to claim. A slow inhale dragged through his lungs, his forehead resting against yours, his body caging you in as if trying to resist, but you knewâ
He had no restraint left.
His arms tightened around you in a single, fluid motion, one curling beneath your legs, the other pressing against the small of your back, the movement effortless, strength barely contained as he lifted you from the ground. It should have felt sudden, should have caught you off guard, but the moment you felt yourself being carried, the moment your body was pressed against his, the moment his grip tightenedâ
It felt inevitable.
The world tilted, warmth surrounding you, the soft sheets of your bed pressing against your back as Caleb followed, never letting you go, never releasing his hold. His wings unfurled in a sweeping arc, stretching wide before folding inward, curling around the two of you as if to shield this moment, as if to keep it untouched, sacred, belonging to only you and him.
He hovered above you, breath labored, eyes dark with something unrelenting, something that made your stomach tighten as his gaze raked over you, as if he were seeing you for the first time, as if this was the moment he truly understood what he had given up, what he had chosen. His hands framed your face, reverent, shaking slightly as his thumb traced over your cheek, his weight pressing into you, every part of him demanding something he hadnât yet put to words.
âI choose this,â he whispered, voice quiet but sure, breaking around the words like they carried too much weight for his mortal tongue to bear. His fingers slid down the length of your arm, warm, grounding, lacing between your own as he pinned your hands to the bed, his grip firm, possessive, desperate. âI choose you.â
His lips met yours again, but this time, there was no hesitation.
There was no lingering restraint, no careful exploration, only hungerâonly a week of distance crashing into him all at once, the pent-up ache of denial finally breaking free. He kissed you like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to this world, like this was what he had fallen for, like he had no regrets, no doubts, only the certainty that he had given up everything for this moment, and he would do it again.
His body pressed against yours, the heat of him sinking into your skin, the weight of his presence consuming every sense, and when his mouth moved lower, trailing slow, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, lingering where your pulse pounded, his breath trembled with something wrecked.
This wasnât just desire. This was devotion.
This was the moment he stopped being something fallen and started being something yours.
The moment restraint snapped, Calebâs hands were on you, tearing at the fabric between you with an urgency that felt centuries old, as though he had spent lifetimes denying himself and could not bear another second of distance. The heat of his body pressed into yours, a brand, a claim, his fingers rough in their haste but reverent in the way they traced over bare skin, like each inch of you was something sacred.
His mouth was everywhere. Lips bruising against yours, breath ragged as he swallowed every sound you made, as though devouring your surrender. The drag of his teeth against your throat sent a shudder racing through you, a low sound escaping him when your fingers tangled into his hair, gripping, pulling, making him groan into your skin. His wings flexed, stretching wide, then folding around you, blocking out the world, caging you beneath him in a way that felt like both protection and possession.
The clothes between you were gone too fast, discarded with a desperation that spoke of need, of something too long denied, his hands skating over every newly exposed inch of skin as if memorizing, mapping, worshiping with each touch. When his palms slid down the curves of your waist, down your hips, fingers digging in as he pulled you flush against him, you felt himâfelt the tension coiled in every muscle, the barely restrained shaking of his body as he tried to pace himself, to savor, to breathe.
But patience was a fragile thing, and Caleb had none left.
His lips crashed against yours once more, tongue teasing, demanding, his body pressing you deeper into the sheets as his hips aligned with yours, a sharp gasp slipping free when he rolled against you, slow but intentional, letting you feel every inch of what he had been holding back. His forehead pressed to yours, breath hot, uneven, his voice nothing more than a whisper laced with devotion and something darker, something possessive.
âYou have no idea,â he rasped, words broken between heavy exhales, his fingers tightening on your hips, holding you steady as he ground against you again, eliciting a quiet, breathless sound from your lips that made his restraint fray even further. âHow long I have wanted this. Wanted you.â
The desperation in his voice sent fire curling in your stomach, every nerve alight, the heat between you unbearable as he finally, finally moved in the way you both needed.
The first thrust stole your breath, sent a shudder through every inch of your body, his head dipping to the crook of your neck as he groaned, low and wrecked, his grip bruising as he held himself there, deep, still, feeling you, as if even a second without movement was agony. His wings trembled, his body tense, but the moment you tightened around him, gasping his name, something in him snapped.
He pulled back, then drove into you again, rougher this time, deeper, a shuddering exhale leaving him at the way you responded, the way your body welcomed him. His pace became relentless, his hands gripping at you like he was afraid to let go, his mouth pressing open-mouthed kisses along your shoulder, up your throat, lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he groaned your name like a prayer.
âThis is why I fell,â he whispered between ragged breaths, his body moving against yours in a rhythm too perfect to be unholy, his voice shaking from the sheer need of it, from the realization that there was no going back. âFor this. For you.â
The world unraveled between thrusts, between the sounds escaping both of you, between the unbearable friction and the way your nails raked down his back, his own fingers leaving marks on your hips as he buried himself in you again and again, no hesitation, no restraint, only the raw, earth-shattering truth of what he had become for you.
He wasnât falling anymore.
He had already fallen, already lost himself to this, to you, to the way you whispered his name like you needed him just as much as he needed you. His movements grew erratic, breath hitching as he neared the edge, his grip unrelenting, his lips searching for yours, desperate, starved. And when you finally broke beneath him, when pleasure crashed through you with his name on your lips, his own release followed in a shuddering, wrecked exhale, a groan pressed against your mouth, his body trembling as he buried himself in you one last time.
Silence stretched between you in the aftermath, nothing but the sound of breathless gasps and the slow, steady flutter of his wings as they loosened, no longer caging, no longer trapping, but cradling.
He didnât pull away.
Didnât move.
Instead, he stayed there, his forehead resting against yours, fingers tracing slow, reverent patterns into your skin, his lips brushing against yours in something too soft to be hunger, too gentle to be anything but worship.
The room was silent but for the slowing cadence of breath, the steady rise and fall of Calebâs chest against yours, the faint rustle of sheets as his wings, once so vast and powerful, stilled. The warmth of him was all-encompassing, his body tangled with yours, limbs heavy with exhaustion, muscles no longer held taut with restraint. His weight pressed against you, grounding, human in a way that felt so different from the impossible being who had once stood at the foot of your bed, too perfect, too untouchable, too divine.
But he was not divine anymore.
Your fingers trembled slightly as they traced the length of his back, over the ridges of his spine, down the curve of muscle still damp with heat, memorizing the feel of himânot light, not celestial radiance, but flesh and warmth, breath and heartbeat. Human. His skin bore no impossible glow now, only the soft golden hue left by candlelight, his wings no longer stretching with an overwhelming presence, only half-spread in something fragile, something uncertain, as though even he had yet to understand what he had become.
You swallowed, the realization curling deep in your chest, heavy, bittersweet.
This was it.
There was no grace left to return to, no god waiting to call him home. He had severed himself from the heavens, fallen, and for what? For you. For something fragile, something fleeting, something that could end. He had given up eternity for a life that would age, decay, slip through timeâs grasp like grains of sandâand he had known. He had understood that before he ever touched you, before he ever kissed you, before he ever whispered your name like it was something sacred.
And yet, he had still chosen you.
A sharp inhale left you, unsteady, your fingers threading through his dark waves, still slightly damp with sweat, still tangled from where your hands had raked through them in desperation. The realization ached, curled in your ribs like something unbearably tender.
He had done this for you.
He had been waiting for you.
Long before you ever knew him.
Caleb shifted slightly at the sound of your breath catching, lifting his head just enough to look at you, his amethyst eyes softer now, the feverish hunger replaced with something deeper, something certain. His lips parted as though he meant to speak, to say something to pull you from the depth of your thoughts, but the words never came. Instead, his fingers brushed along your cheek, light, careful, reverent.
You turned into his touch, exhaling shakily, pressing a kiss to his palm, and he melted, his breath leaving him in something close to a sigh, relief and sorrow intertwined in the space between heartbeats.
âYouâre human now,â you whispered, barely audible, as if saying it too loudly would shatter something between you.
A pause.
Calebâs throat bobbed as he swallowed, his fingers still cradling your face as he nodded, slow, final. ââŠI know.â
It was quiet, simple, but the weight behind it was enormous.
You searched his face, studying the details that had once seemed untouchableâhis sharp features, once ethereal, now softened by exhaustion; the lips that had spoken words of divinity now parted with nothing but the weight of feeling. He had been more than this once. He had been infinite. Now, he was yours. Just a man, bound to the earth, bound to time, bound to the same fragility as you.
And yet, despite everything he had lost, despite the eternity he had left behind, he smiled. Just barely. Just enough for something warm to settle in the cracks of your sorrow.
âI knew what I was doing,â he murmured, his voice like silk, like something certain, as though there had never been a moment of doubt, as though even now, with mortality pressing against his ribs, he had no regrets. âI chose this. I chose you.â
A tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it, but Caleb caught it with his thumb, brushing it away with infinite care, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead, as if the mere thought of you grieving for him was unbearable. His lips stayed there for a long moment, warm against your skin, silent reassurance passing between you in the soft hum of candlelight and cooling sheets.
âI would fall again,â he whispered against your temple, a quiet, steady vow, his arms pulling you closer, holding you as though he could bind himself to you with touch alone. âA thousand times over. If it led me to you, I would fall every time.â
The words shattered something inside you.
Your fingers dug into his back, clutching him, holding on, because for all that he had lost, for all that he had given upâhe was still here. He was still yours.
And as Caleb buried his face into the crook of your neck, as his breath warmed your skin, as his heart beat in sync with yours, you knewâ
No god, no heaven, no eternity could ever take him from you again.
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