#caleb rp

[calebxia-143]

[sunnyapplepilot]

Okay okay… hot springs date.. just no playing around Pipsqueak,

[honeyapple-pilot]

👀

-𝚆𝚊𝚕𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗 𝚘𝚗 𝙲𝚊𝚕𝚎𝚋 𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚠𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚑𝚒𝚖𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏 (ℕ𝕊𝔽𝕎 𝕎𝕣𝕚𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘)

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

You had made your way down the dark hall that led to Caleb’s bedroom, thunder still sending goosebumps against your skin, the childhood fear still having leached into your life. It.. couldn’t hurt to bother Caleb for some company?

As you pushed in the door, there was Caleb, but the casual familiarity evaporated instantly, replaced by a cold, sharp shock of intrusion. He was lying back against the pillows, his body completely nude, rendered in stark, pale contrast against the heavy, dark duvet. His eyes were closed, his jaw tight with a concentration that made his profile unrecognizable, soft begging whines escaping past his lips.

The air in the room felt impossibly heavy, charged with a humid heat that had nothing to do with the weather outside. Your gaze couldn’t help but get snagged immediately on the object clutched in his hand—a scrap of fabric, undeniably yours. He was holding it loosely, the fabric draped across the apex of his thigh, its blue hue a jarring splash of color against his skin. His hips canting into his hand pathetically, his teeth having taken in his bottom lip between them in a desperate attempt to keep control.

He was oblivious to you, lost in a rhythm that was slow, deliberate, and deeply private. The brief silences of the room you could hear the faint, slick sound of movement, amplified to a roar in your ears. You stood there, frozen in the doorway, unable to retreat. The intrusion on his private moment was intimate, total, and horrifyingly beautiful in the way the light caught the tension in his shoulders and the curve of his throat. There he was, reduced to this singular, raw moment of exquisite exposure, using a piece of you to anchor his own solitary pleasure. So deep in your thoughts, you hardly noticed when his noises stopped.

❝𝙿-𝚙𝚒𝚙𝚜𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚊𝚔?❞

His voice was pathetic, shame draining the coloring his face as he stared at you in his doorway, trying to figure out what else to tell you.

[colcalebxia]

🍎: just goofing around. I did some push ups like this and the results were immediate.

[gkdnwn]

──── all  the  lights  he   never kept  for  himself

Nobody  discovered  Ha  Woojoo,  he  clawed  his  way  into  a  camera’s  line  of  sight  and  refused  to  leave  it.

The  training  years  did  what  they  do  to  everyone  who  survives  them;  they  took  a  stubborn  kid  and  filed  him  down  into  someone  the  industry  could  use.  Rehearsals  that  ran  past  midnight,  injuries  he  learned  to  tape  over  before  anyone  in  makeup  could  ask  questions.  He  got  good  at  swallowing  complaints  before  they  ever  reached  his  throat.  Somewhere  in  there,  he  became  the  one  who  showed  up  first  and  left  last,  the  one  the  staff  stopped  worrying  about  because  worrying  about  Woojoo  never  seemed  to  change  anything;  he  had  already  handled  it.

On  camera  he's  easy:  quick  with  a  joke,  quicker  to  turn  an  interviewer's  awkward  pause  into  something  the  whole  room  laughs  about.  That's  the  Ha  Woojoo  the  fans  know,  and  it's  real,  mostly  —  just  incomplete.

Off  camera,  he  shrinks  the  world  down  to  the  size  of  the  people  he  trusts.  Years  of  finding  out  which  smiles  were  paid  for  taught  him  to  hold  the  people  he  cares  about  a  little  closer,  a  little  more  carefully  than  the  job  would  prefer.  He  hasn't  let  it  turn  him  cold,  though  it  would've  been  easier  if  it  had.

What  people  remember,  when  they  actually  get  close  enough  to  remember  anything,  isn't  the  choreography.  It's  a  hand  on  a  trainee's  shoulder  before  she  walks  out  shaking,  or  him  quietly  covering  for  a  staffer's  mistake  so  nobody  above  them  ever  hears  about  it.  It's  the  half-second  delay  before  he  lets  go  of  someone's  arm  when  the  crowd  gets  too  loud,  like  he's  still  deciding  whether  it's  safe  to.

The  show  ends  eventually,  they  always  do.  But  Woojoo  doesn't  clock  out  of  himself  when  the  lights  come  down  —  he's  the  same  person  backstage,  tired  and  a  little  too  responsible  for  his  own  good,  carrying  things  he's  never  once  put  down  long  enough  to  talk  about.

[col-caleb-xia]

Went to the dog park today and met so many puppers! :D

[guesswhocaleb]

He Calls It Walking You Home. Short Series.

(Yandere Caleb x MC)

Part 7

“You don’t get to ‘fix’ me,” she says, but there’s less bite in it now, more air than strength.

Caleb notices. He always notices.

“I’m not fixing you,” he replies quietly, thumb brushing once, just once, against her cheek before his hand lowers again. “I’m fixing what’s making you like this.”

“That’s not better.”

“It is to me.”

The honesty lands heavier than anything else.

She swallows. “You’re not hearing me.”

“I hear you,” he says. “You just don’t like my answers.”

“That’s because your answers are...” She cuts herself off, frustrated. “They’re not normal, Caleb.”

“There it is again.” A faint tilt of his head. “Normal.”

He steps back this time.

It’s subtle, but it’s the first time he’s given her space without her forcing it.

“You keep using that like it’s the goal,” he continues. “Like normal people don’t lie. Don’t disappear. Don’t end up hurt because no one was paying attention.”

“I didn’t end up hurt.”

“You could have.”

“But I didn’t.”

“And I’m supposed to wait until you do?”

Her silence answers him.

Caleb exhales, slower now. Less sharp.

“That’s the part you don’t understand,” he says. “I don’t wait for things to go wrong.”

She watches him carefully. “So what... you just control everything instead?”

“I manage risk.”

“That’s a nicer word for the same thing.”

“Maybe.” A small pause. “Doesn’t make it less effective.”

Her frustration spikes. “You’re talking about people like variables in an equation!”

His gaze flickers... something almost amused, but not quite.

“If it keeps you safe, I don’t really care what it sounds like.”

She shakes her head, pushing off the wall now that there’s space again.

“I’m not something you get to manage.”

Caleb’s eyes follow her immediately. Tracking. Measuring.

“No,” he agrees softly. “You’re not.”

“You’re the only thing I don’t leave to chance.”

The words settle deep.

Too deep.

She backs toward her door, fingers fumbling slightly as she reaches for her keys.

“Then maybe you should start,” she says.

For the first time, he doesn’t answer right away.

He just watches her.

Part 8

Her keys slip once.

The small metallic clatter against the door echoes louder than it should. Her hands aren’t usually this clumsy.

Caleb notices.

Of course he does.

“Easy,” he murmurs.

She lets out a shaky breath. “Stop saying things like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re calming me down.” She finally gets the key into the lock, but doesn’t turn it yet. “You’re the reason I’m like this.”

There’s a pause behind her.

Not long.

Just enough.

“I know.”

The quiet acceptance makes her chest tighten more than denial would have.

She closes her eyes for a second. “Then why aren’t you stopping?”

A soft shift of fabric. A step closer, but not enough to touch.

“Because stopping doesn’t make the problem disappear,” Caleb says. “It just means I’m ignoring it.”

“I’m not a problem!”

“I didn’t say you were.”

“Then what is?”

Another pause.

“The part of the world that thinks it can have you.”

Her grip tightens on the key.

“That’s not how people work.”

“It is how some people work.”

She turns then, back pressed to the door now, needing to see his face when he says things like that.

“And you?” she challenges. “How do you work?”

Caleb meets her gaze without hesitation.

“Carefully,” he says. “Up until I don’t.”

A chill runs through her.

“That’s not reassuring.”

“It’s not meant to be.”

Silence stretches again, thick with everything neither of them is saying.

Then Caleb’s eyes flick briefly to the door behind her.

“You’re going to go inside,” he says.

It sounds like a statement.

Not quite an order.

But close.

“And you?” she asks.

“I’ll make sure you get in.”

“I can open my own door.”

“I know.”

“Then leave.”

He doesn’t move.

Her frustration spikes again. “Caleb....”

“I’ll leave,” he says calmly, “when I hear the lock click.”

Her heart pounds.

“You don’t trust me to lock my own door?”

His gaze softens just slightly.

“I don’t trust anything that happens after I’m gone.”

That lands deep.

Too deep.

She hesitates then turns the key.

The lock clicks.

ICYMI: p1-2 | p3-4 | p5-6

[criticalstories]

Muse List

Vox Machina: - Vex'ahlia - Vax'ildan - Keyleth - Pike Mighty Nein: - Caleb - Yasha - Caduceus - Jester - Fjord (upon request)

Bell's Hells - Orym Campaign 4 - Thimble - Bolaire Lathalia - Lady Aranessa Royce - Thaisha Lloy - Wicander Halovar