#caleb x f!reader

[starkissedxav]

anything 4 u

synopsis: the three times caleb almost confesses to you, and the time he finally breaks. 6.7k words

warning/tags: nonmc!reader, childhood friends to lovers, fluff, slight angst, somewhat suggestive, implied f!reader (reader is referred to as girl/girlfriend), mentions of shitty ex bfs, they're both kinda stupid, yearning, mentions of alcohol/drinking (tequila is so dangerous i love it)

a/n: hi hi! this song is so caleb coded I had to write something for him,, I hope this isn't too ooc for him I’m still getting the hang of characterization, sorry in advance :P let me know what you guys think !!!

Caleb realizes his feelings for you in middle school, giggling as the two of you were walking home from school, kicking a rock down the street. Your hands brush against one another like they usually do, and he naturally loops his pinky with yours.

“Do you know Sebastian? I have him in third period,” you ask, Caleb nods urging you to continue. “Do you think he likes me? He’s so cute and-”

Caleb's mind short circuits, you think another boy is cute? He doesn't process anything you say, ears ringing and eyes focusing on the concrete beneath his feet. A pit grows in his stomach and bitter feelings grow in his chest. Why is he suddenly angry? Upset?

“So? Do you think that means he likes me?” You ask again, Caleb just shrugs his shoulders.

“Dunno, seems like he flirts with a lot of girls,” he mumbles, “don’t you think you should like someone you know? Someone you actually trust and stuff like that?” You furrow your brows at him.

“We talk everyday, I know him pretty well,” your annoyance is obvious, unlinking your pinky with his you shove your hands in your hoodie pocket. “Katy thinks he’s gonna ask me out, I'm gonna say yes if he does. I overheard one of his friends say something about a bouquet of flowers.”

Caleb wants to throw up, how could you like someone like Sebastian who acts like a moron and not him? He fights the urge to tell you that, instead he opts for “cool I guess, maybe I should get a girlfriend soon.” His hands are balled into fists, knuckles white. 

You feel a pang in your chest, ignoring it as you fight the urge to link your pinky with his again. 

Sebastian doesn’t ask you out the next day, Caleb feels guilty for feeling relieved. You don’t say anything as the two of you walk home together, the sunset seems to make the pout on your lips more prominent. 

Caleb gets home and asks gran to sell some of his model planes, taking the petty cash and walking to the nearest florist. “I’ll take the prettiest flowers that I can buy please,” he says, handing over the cash. The florist can’t help but smile at the sight of him, his chubby cheeks flushed from the heat outside and ears red from embarrassment. 

“Someone special?” The florist asks, Caleb nods. 

He gives you the flowers the next day, his heart skipping a beat when you pull him into a bone crushing hug. “Caleb, you’re the best! Who needs stupid Sebastian when I have you.” The words settled nicely in his chest, worming their way into his heart as he tried to keep his composure. 

“You can always count on me.” You can date me, he almost says, biting his tongue when fear whispers in his ear. Would you even want him?

The second time Caleb almost confesses his feelings to you is senior year of high school late at night. 

“Hello Ms. Josephine, sorry for barging in so late, is Caleb home?” he hears your voice as you open the front door. This was practically your second home, never even bothering to knock or using the key gran had given you. 

“He’s upstairs in his room, everything okay?” she asks, you give her a tight smile, nodding meekly before excusing yourself to Caleb's room. He hears your familiar knock, telling you to come in. 

“I hate his guts,” you stormed in,  causing Caleb to scramble out of bed to calm you down, eyes raking over your figure before letting himself relax a bit.

“what happened? what’s going on?” your eyes watered as you laughed dryly, waving your hands manically as you spoke.

“First he tells me he’s fine with waiting and the next he’s trying to feel me up at a drive-in movie theatre,” you throw yourself face down onto Caleb's bed, the same mattress you used to have pillow fights on when you were younger. “How could I be so stupid to think he would want anything but sex?” you groan, fighting back a sob that threatens to come out. 

“He did what?” Caleb sees red, his hands shaking and evol causing the model planes and comic books on his shelves to lift slowly. Just you having a boyfriend was driving him up a wall, and he has the gall to do this to you? He was going to kill him. His train of thought is interrupted when you speak up, voice softer than before, more vulnerable.

“It’s fine, I broke up with him,” you add on, sitting up and placing your hand over his, “can we just forget about him, please?” your watery eyes look up at him, his heart clenches. The floating items land with a soft ‘thud’ as Caleb wraps you in his arms. 

“He never deserved you, y’know?” he whispers, placing a feathery kiss atop your head. 

“Thought he was a good guy” you shrugged, “what if I never find anyone for me? What if no one waits for me?” your bottom lip quivers. 

“You will always have me, you know that right?” Caleb feels his heart pounding in his chest, amethyst eyes searching yours, please read between the lines, please realize what I mean. “I’ll always be by your side, no matter what.”

“I know, you'll always be my best friend” you smile, the word ‘best friend’ feels bitter on your tongue, but he wouldn't see you in that light, he never has. Would you wait for me? You can't help but wonder, eyes lingering on his lips for a second too long. The air feels thicker between you. 

I’d treat you how you deserve, he bites his tongue. “Wanna get some ice cream and watch some movies?” your eyes light up at the suggestion, throwing your arms around him and hugging tightly. You ignore the butterflies in your stomach when Caleb chuckles next to your ear. Caleb tries to calm his pounding heart, disregarding the jolt of electricity he feels when your skin touches his. 

“You're the best Caleb!”

Your ex’s shitty car had its windows broken and tires slashed a week later, no one knew who did it. You had a sneaking suspicion on the culprit when you brought it up to Caleb. He innocently turned his head to the side and tried his best to act clueless. Your heart stuttered, fighting a smile off your face.

The third time Caleb almost admits his feelings is during Christmas break your junior year of college. It had been quite some time since he had seen you, with him being gone at the DAA every time you'd come to visit, he'd spent last Christmas with MC and gran while you and your family spent it with other relatives out of town. 

“Caleb! MC!” your familiar voice makes Caleb's head whip around, a bright smile on his face the second you come into view. 

“Y/N!” MC squeals, pushing the bouquet of flowers into Caleb's arms and running to body slam you into a hug. You stumble back at the force of her hug, setting your suitcase case down and wrapping your arms around the shorter girl. “I missed you so much I have so much to catch you up on!” the younger girl begins, beaming up at you as you ruffle her hair slightly. 

“Hey y/n,” Caleb smiles, face flushed as he hands you the rather large bouquet of flowers, “for you, uh, we both chose them.” You can't help but blush at the sight of Caleb handing you a bouquet of your favorite flowers. 

“Caleb chose them out, he just doesn't want all the credit,” mc whispers, your blush deepens at her words. 

“Thank you,” Caleb stares at you for a second, taking in the way you've changed since he'd last seen you in person. Your hair was a bit longer than before, noting the new ear piercing you got. You looked more mature now, the bags under your eyes seemed more prominent than ever before.  

“Should we head home? I made your favorite,” he breaks the silence, taking your suitcase from your hands, urging you to give him your backpack as well. “I'm a pilot y’know, I can handle it on my own,” he teases when you try to protest, smiling when you roll your eyes at him and hand him your things. 

“You’re a lot taller now,” you say, walking next to him as MC walked ahead of you two, trying to figure out where they'd parked the car. You could remember being taller than the brave, chubby kid in elementary, now you only reached his shoulders. He had grown up nicely, his features complimenting each other beautifully, and his voice was deeper than you ever remembered it being. 

“Can’t make fun of me anymore can ya?” he nudges you with his elbow. You smile up at him, smacking his arm softly, “just cause you're taller than me doesn't mean anything.” You can't help but take in how broad his shoulders were, how big his arms had gotten and how firm the muscles you lightly hit were. 

Christmas Eve was spent together, with MC and Caleb sauntering into your childhood home to have dinner with your family. 

“So you still haven't gotten a boyfriend?” your mom asks you, your face burns, glancing at Caleb and finding him already staring at you intently. 

“Mom!” you groan, chuckling awkwardly, “but no, none.” you look back at caleb after you reply, did his lips twitch upward? Were you imagining things? Maybe spiked eggnog wasn't the way to go tonight. 

“What about classes? Straight A’s as always right? Y’know we can't wait to see the great things you're gonna do.” Your dads words make your face pale, a small chuckle leaving your lips, unsure how to respond. 

Caleb immediately picks up on your body language, “Those classes seem intense, I'm sure I might've flunked out if I was taking them,” he speaks up, tapping his foot against yours, his eyes soften when they meet yours. 

“How is the academy Caleb? You're all but graduated aren't you?” your dad asks, Caleb sits up a bit straighter as he nods. 

“Yup, I'll be graduating in the spring,” he grins, a charming smile that has your stomach flipping as you focus on your fork. When did he get so attractive? He was your best friend, he would never see you in that light.  

“I’m shocked a young man like you doesn't have girls flocking to him, especially as a handsome pilot,” your mom teases, your dad nodding along before adding, “Oh I’m sure he does, he just doesn't wanna share.” 

MC stifles her laughter, Caleb elbowing her with a scowl. “I dont focus on that much, just wanna get my education and be a good pilot,” his face is completely red. Your parents teased him like this before, so why is it so weird now? 

The uneasiness in your chest grows, your stomach churning as you imagined Caleb flirting with girls, kissing other girls. Oh god, had he already-

“y/n did you see that show you love is getting renewed for a new season?” MC’s voice pulls you from your thoughts before you can spiral further. A small smile on your face as you try and focus on getting through dinner. 

Caleb finds you in the kitchen after dinner, quietly putting freshly washed plates on the drying rack. Wordlessly he grabs a towel, drying them and putting them in their respective spots. “You okay?” 

The words make you bite your bottom lip, trying to keep your breathing even as you nod. “Fine,” you breathe out, trying to blink away the tears before he can notice. It was a lost cause, Caleb seemed to be more in tune with you than anyone ever was. “Can we get out of here? I know it's about to be Christmas and its snowing but-” 

“Where should we go?” he cuts you off, already taking the plate from your hands and setting it down. “Grab your coat, I'll wait for you by the back door.”

The cold air was refreshing against your flushed cheeks, whether it be from the rush of emotions or from how warm the house was. “You wanna talk about it?” Caleb's voice is soft, eyes lingering on you. He watches the way you fiddle with your fingers, picking at a hangnail.

You're too caught up in your thoughts, stepping on a patch of ice and slipping, the familiar feeling of feeling both weightless and weighed down catches you before you can react. The air around you distorts slightly as you're lifted and placed on plush snow. “Still clumsy as ever,” Caleb chuckles softly, an arm wrapping around your waist as he leads you towards a set of swings. 

You mumble a ‘thanks,’ face burning. “Remember when we would sneak out to come swing here?” you say, a smile on your face as you turn to the taller boy, he's already staring at you. 

“All the time,” he breathes out, snowflakes landing gently on his bangs.

There's a beat of silence, you bite your bottom lip. “I have to drop a class. I'm gonna have to retake it in the summer.” Your voice is shaky, he can see how rapidly your chest rises and falls. “I don't know what to do, I feel like a failure,” your voice breaks. 

“Hey it's okay,” Caleb is kneeling in front of you in seconds, wiping your tears with his calloused thumb before they can fall. “It's one class, everyone drops one class, hell I know people who've dropped all their classes.” He offers you a small smile, “they give you drops because they know things like this happen, you aren't any less smarter because of this. Matter of fact you're going to come out better because of this.”

Your glossy eyes finally look at him, lilac ones shining under the moonlight and snowfall. “What if this keeps me back? What if I'm not meant to achieve my goals? What if I'll never be good enough?” You frown. 

Caleb stands, wrapping you in his arms as you sob into his chest. He's rubbing your back to comfort you, holding you tightly, afraid you'd run away from him. The silence blankets the two of you, wind whistling around you as the snow continues to gently blanket the world. When you finally calm down you don't bother pulling away, listening to Caleb's heartbeat to ground yourself. The steady thump brings you back, comforting you. 

“If anyone is destined to achieve their goals, it's you, sweet girl,” the pet name makes your stomach flip, "you're so hard working, so resilient and everything good in the world. You'll get through this, I'll help you with anything you need.” Caleb's words ease your mind, maybe it isn't the end of the world. “If you wanna run away, say the words, I'll pack our things and we can leave, I'll sell my models and everything I own and we can get away from here.” He mumbles, you smile into his chest. 

“You’d sell your model planes for me?” you tease, pulling back slightly to stare up at him. Caleb fights the urge to bend down and kiss you. 

“I’d sleep in grans car if it meant seeing you happy,” he whispers, you can see his breath in the cold air, the words hanging heavy between the two of you. I love you, don't you notice it? Has it become too familiar? Will you ever see?

I love you, you bite the words back, "You're the best Caleb,” you say instead, hugging him tightly. You feel him deflate slightly, you squeeze him a little tighter. You want to say the three words, you want to pour your heart to him. I don't date because I can only think of you, no one compares to you, I only want you. I love you. 

Too afraid to lose what you have, you stay quiet. You loop your pinky with his as the two of you walk back home, soft giggles filling the cold air. How could you sacrifice something so familiar for the unknown? Would you ever be brave enough?

“Merry christmas by the way,” you smile, pressing a soft kiss to his flushed cheek. Caleb freezes, a bright smile on his face as he turns to you, “Merry christmas y/n.” He presses his lips gently against your cheek, trying to ignore the flutter in his stomach and the electricity on his lips. 

One day he’ll come clean, for now, he’ll cherish what the two of you have. 

The day Caleb finally breaks is at your brand new  apartment, you’re practically glowing as you show him around your tiny one bed-one bath, sparsely decorated and boxes strewn around. It had been a couple months since you were aware of his return to the land of the living and you had finally adjusted to having him back.

“I blow up once and suddenly you’re a full fledged adult,” he teases, sitting on your surprisingly comfortable sofa. “You don’t need me around anymore do ya?”

You pout at his words, “shut up, plus after my last roommate I just can’t live with anyone else anymore.” Caleb cringes at the mention of your last roommate.

“I wish I told you I was back sooner, could've paid for you to break your lease and leave that purgatory,” he mumbles. You take a seat next to him, turning your body to face him after flicking the tv on. 

“I do wish you guys would've told me sooner, but I wouldn't have taken your money anyway,” Caleb stares at you with a furrow in his brows, you laugh softly. “What? I’d feel so bad taking your money and I wouldn't wanna bother you with that.” 

He was gone for a year and you think you're a bother to him now? 

“You're never a bother, you haven’t been my whole life and you never will be.” The serious tone in his voice makes you sit up a bit straighter, eyes focusing on your carpet before clearing your throat. “Plus I’m a colonel now, so if anything I could've just used that to make them do whatever I wanted.” 

You can't help but laugh at his words, “Colonel, are you admitting to misuse of power?” you gasp. Caleb laughs, “what are you gonna do about it, sweet girl?” Your heart stutters at his words, face burning as your eyes travel to his lips. 

No, you just got him back, you can't lose him again. 

“Should we celebrate my new home?” you pull yourself away, getting up and pulling a bottle of tequila from a brown bag, “one of my friends gave it to me yesterday when we hung out.”

Before Caleb could even reply you were holding a shot glass in front of him, "C'mon! You still owe me a drink for my college graduation.” Caleb wants to say no, too afraid that he’d blurt out how he felt about you and ruin your friendship. But the look in your eyes has him weak at the knees as he takes the shot glass from your hand.

One shot turns to three, and not soon after you’d lost track of how many shots the two of you had. You're clinging onto Caleb as you both sing off key to whatever song is playing on your tv, bursting into a fit of giggles when your voice cracks.

“D’you ever think about how long we’ve known each other?” The question catches Caleb’s inebriated brain off guard. You're reaching for the remote, lowering the volume of your music and staring into Caleb’s eyes.

“long time,” he breathes out, trying to keep his thoughts straight. his mind working overtime to say only what he has to, not what he wants to.

“mmhm” you mumble, you study his features, he looks more mature now. handsome. but he was your friend, your best friend, he didn’t think of you that way. “You remember when I dated that guy sophomore year in high school? I was so torn up over him all that summer,” you laughed.

“You practically lived on our couch, I’m pretty sure you left an imprint on my bedroom floor from how long you laid on it.” Caleb had a soft smile on his face. He remembers that summer vividly, your boyfriend broke up with you under the premise of ‘needing to work on himself’ only to pop up with the girl he said meant nothing to him two weeks later. You spent almost every night at their house, the three of you watching movies together and after MC would go to sleep you'd stay up talking to Caleb about anything and everything. 

“Honestly? I’m kinda scared no one will ever love me for me,” you whispered one night, the fairy lights you'd put up were dim, their batteries almost dead. Caleb turned to you from his spot on his bean bag, mouth agape. He could barely make out your features, you were staring at the ceiling, biting your bottom lip and nervously playing with the edge of the blanket you were using. 

“I would,” he breathes out,  when you don't react he assumes you hadn't heard him. “There’s no way someone doesn't fall in love with you,” he said louder that time, you turned to him and smiled. 

“Remember when we snuck out in middle school to try and run away?” Caleb asks, the memory making him smile when your eyes go wide as you laugh.

“Oh my god! I packed like four shirts and thought I was good to go” you recall, caleb can’t help but join you in laughing. “What were we even mad about?” you ask, only remembering asking Caleb if he would run away with you, he had immediately agreed.

“We set a meet up point and everything didn’t we? Only made it a couple miles away before we got hungry and gave up,” Caleb chuckled at the memory. The sound made your stomach twist, vision focusing on the slope of his nose and curve of his lips. His face was flushed from the alcohol and you couldn’t help but think of how pretty he looked.

Silence settles between the two of you for a moment. Caleb is the first to break it.

“Any boyfriends?” you shake your head.

“Any girlfriends?” he shakes his head.

“You’re lying,” you gasp, “there’s no way you haven’t had a girlfriend!”

Caleb’s face burns at your words, “is it so hard to believe?” he laughs softly and you can’t help but smack his chest, noting how firm the muscles there felt.

“Yes! I know for a fact that the girls were drooling and throwing themselves at you!” you accuse, eyes narrowing playfully at him.

“Who told you that? MC?”

“Does it matter? You can't tell me you haven't had anyone in your life since high school.” You press, words slightly slurred. I hope you haven’t. 

“None,” he shrugs, watching as you pour another shot for the two of you. “I could say the same for you, I don't believe you didn't have a boyfriend in uni.”

“Boyfriend no, situationships yeah,” you laughed. “I could never really see myself with any of them,” you shrug, carefully placing the shot in front of Caleb. “Should we play a drinking game? One of the girls at work gave me this card game. She said it's great for friends and like getting closer,” you ramble, stumbling as you walk over to a box. 

The first couple cards are easy, surface level questions that make the two of you smile. The more you played the more intense the cards seemed to get. The two of you have no problem speaking freely, never having kept much from the other your entire life anyway. Save for the feelings you had both been harboring, unbeknownst to the other. 

“Okay my turn,” you grab a red card and flip it over. 

Admit something. 

“L-Let me pull another one, that one's dumb,” you stutter,  heart pounding against your ribs. Caleb uses his evol immediately, drunken giggles leaving his lips as you fight to stop him. “Caleb no!” you squeal, diving across the couch and tackling his torso. 

“Admit something? What’re ya hiding from me?” The teasing lilt in his voice makes your stomach warm, blood rushing to your face. You immediately let go of him, trying to put distance between the two of you. 

“None of your business,” you shoot back, crossing your arms and reaching for another card. Caleb’s larger hand grabs your wrist before you pull another card, your breath catches in your throat. 

Caleb’s eyes catch yours. He feels his heart grow, his gaze softens as he takes in your appearance, domestic and soft around the edges. It feels like before, it feels nice. It feels like home. 

Neither of you dares to break eye contact, even less do you dare to speak up. The tension grows thicker by the second, your eyes flicker to his lips. His eyes catch your gaze, copying your movements, his tongue darting out to lick his lips. 

The fun thing about tequila shots is how they catch up on you, biting you in the ass after thinking it wouldn't be so bad, one more wouldn’t hurt right?

Both of you are hit with the final wave of alcohol at the same time, years of restraint are thrown out the window. You clench your fists against the blanket over your legs, leaning towards Caleb tentatively. 

“C’mon don't be lame, sweet girl,” he practically purrs, eyes hooded as he stares at your lips, breathing growing faster as you move even closer. You open your mouth, closing it quickly before turning away. 

“I heard you,” you say, voice barely above a whisper, “that night in high school, when you said you'd love me for me.” You turn to face him, the tequila working overtime in your veins to give you the courage to continue. “Did you mean that?” 

Caleb’s fingernails dig into the palm of his hands, knuckles white as he physically stops himself from closing the gap between you two. “Of course I did.”

“Like romantical?” you don't have it in you to cringe at your words, too focused on trying to sober up and face the weight of the moment. Caleb grins widely, a small giggle leaving his lips. 

“It has always been romantical for me,” he hums, moving closer to you, testing to see how close you’d let him get to you. 

“Right,” you mutter, a second passes before you speak again, mouth dry, “same.” Your faces are only inches apart. He likes you, he just admitted he likes you. You just admitted you liked him. The boundary you’d set for yourself was broken, there was no going back. So why not go all the way?

“Can I kiss you?” You ask, leaning forward, Caleb can smell the alcohol on you, he knows he isn't any better. 

“You can do anything you want to me,” he replies instantly.

You don't let yourself hesitate,  eyes fluttering shut as your lips crash into his. Your head spins as your mouths move in sync, not bothering to hide the whimper that leaves your lips when he bites down gently on your bottom lip. You pull away breathless, eyes wide as you stare at him. His amethyst eyes are darker than normal, pupils blown wide as he looks back at you. 

“Wh-” you cut him off with your lips on his again, more intense this time, the gate of emotions you’d previously kept at bay flooded out. You waste no time in moving your body to be on top of him, straddling his hips and snaking your arms around his neck, your lips never once leaving his. Caleb’s mind is reeling, brain trying to catch up to his body as he moves instinctively against you, naturally matching your rhythm as your tongue swipes at his bottom lip. 

He doesn't stop his hands from grabbing your waist, he doesn't think he could even if he wanted to, fingers curling around the fabric of your t-shirt. He can't suppress the groan that rumbles in his throat when your hips move against his, pushing your hips down gently. 

“Wait,” he breathes out against your lips, you pull away reluctantly, stomach flipping at the sight in front of you. Caleb's hair was messy thanks to your wandering hands, his face flush and lips slightly swollen. “We’re drunk, are you sure?” 

“I’ve wanted you for as long as I can remember,” You confess, eyes averting his own as you suddenly become too aware of your positioning. When you try to move off of him, his large hands keep you in place, squeezing your hips slightly. Caleb slips one hand under your chin, forcing you to look at him. 

“Do you know how many times I’ve had to hold myself back? How many times I’ve wanted to kiss you until you forgot about your stupid ex-boyfriends? How hard I had to stop myself from coming down to your campus and claiming you as mine so those losers could stay away from you?” His voice shakes as he speaks, eyes frantically searching your face. 

“You think it was easy for me? Seeing every girl in our grade drool over you? Watching you flirt with other girls? The thought of you sleeping around at the DAA-”

“I have only ever wanted you, I waited for you,” Caleb cuts you off, “I told you I would, didn't I?” 

Your vision blurs, bottom lip quivering as you nod your head, “You were always the one I really wanted to be with, Caleb."

Your words send him in a frenzy, calloused thumb swiping a stray tear away as he places a gentle kiss on your lips, a stark contrast to the ones you'd shared earlier. 

“You have me, you've always had me,” his voice breaks in desperation, “I love you.”

The weight of the words pull you into him, the tension in your body seems to vanish as you relax against him. Your head nuzzles into the crook of his neck, smiling as you press a feathery kiss to the skin, it makes his head spin. 

“I love you, Caleb.”

His hands move from your waist to wrap you in his arms, engulfing your entire frame. His grip crushes you slightly, his fingers surely would leave bruises on your torso where they dug into you through the fabric of your t-shirt. 

Neither of you say anything, too busy trying to settle your racing hearts as you hold each other impossibly close, heads spinning from a mix of adrenaline and alcohol. You're the first to pull back, staring at Caleb as he looks up at you, a small smile on his face. You try and bite back the yawn threatening to escape, Caleb chuckles, “tired?”

You laugh, resting your forehead against his. “It feels wrong to just go to sleep after that.” 

“After we both just confessed we’ve been in love with each other for years?” He teases, you let out a breathy laugh, nodding. His lips still look swollen, you can't help but press another kiss to them, eyes closing. Caleb reciprocates your actions, smiling when you tug his hair softly. 

“We’re both oblivious idiots aren't we?” you mumble against his lips. Caleb nods, humming softly. “Should we talk about it?” You move back slightly, causing his grip around you to loosen, arms settling around your waist. 

“You look like you're about to pass out,” he grins, you roll your eyes at him. 

“As if you're any better,” you softly smack him, rolling off of him and sitting next to him on the couch. Caleb pouts softly, about to protest when a yawn cuts him off, you smile, glancing at the time on your phone. 

“Its about to be three in the fucking morning,” you gasp, hand covering your mouth as you and Caleb look at each other. His eyes crinkle as he stares at you, an exhausted laugh leaves his lips. 

“Let's sleep, we can talk in the morning if we aren't too hung over,” he mumbles, you don't fight back, rubbing your eyes as you stand up. Caleb's eyes don't leave your form, watching you intently as you take a couple steps away from the couch before stopping and turning around. “What's wrong?” Caleb asks, brows furrowing.

“You aren't coming?” your head cocks to the side, the room spinning as the alcohol catches up to you again, stumbling a bit and using the wall to steady yourself. Caleb rushes to your side, snaking his arm under your knees and carrying you bridal style to bed. You giggle as he lifts you effortlessly. “You’re so hot,” you mumble, lips finding his cheek and smiling. 

“Thank you pretty,” he grins, face burning as he sets you on your bed, “lets get you into pajamas.” You groan, laying on your back and closing your eyes as he rummages through your cabinets, his eyes land on a familiar shirt. “Is this my shirt?” your eyes open, at his words.

“No?” you sheepishly deny, “it's really comfy and reminds me of you,” you trail off, grabbing the blanket and covering your face with it. Caleb chuckles softly, “oh pretty girl,” he grins, taking the t-shirt for you to change into. 

“You can have my whole closet if you want,” he murmurs, loving the way you peek from under the blanket. “Don’t say things you don't mean,” you reply, muffled from beneath the blanket. A small ‘oof’ leaves you as Caleb lays on top of you, gently lowering your blanket so he could see your whole face. 

“I mean it, everything that I have is yours,” he whispers, “I’ll do anything you want, give you everything you ask for,” he pauses, sunset eyes searching yours, “I promise.” 

Caleb helps you through your night routine and you hand him a new toothbrush. You can't help but giggle when you see the sight of two toothbrushes in your toothbrush holder. Your mind drifts to all the other things in your new home you'd have two of, matching mugs, slippers, plushies. The two of you make it to bed, patting the spot next to you when you see Caleb hesitate.

“I love you so much,” you blurt out, smiling as the bed dips next to you under Caleb's weight. “I’m gonna be too embarrassed tomorrow morning to admit this-” you huff out, laughing softly, “in middle school when I brought up Sebastian? I doubt you remember but- it was a ploy Katy and I came up with because she was tired of me talking about you.” Your cheeks burn as you confess, shifting from sitting up to laying, facing Caleb. 

“Seriously?” he breathes out, disbelief on his face, have you liked him since then?  Both of you have been idiots in love since middle school. 

“Yeah,” you sheepishly admit. Caleb lays down next to you, calloused hand cupping your face and placing a soft kiss to your lips. “Wanna know something?” he whispers, minty breath fanning over your lips. You let out a low hum for him to continue. “Thats the day I realized I liked you.” 

“Shut up!” you gasp, tired eyes suddenly wide open, laughing loudly and burying your face in Caleb's chest. “God we were so oblivious, huh?” You can feel the rumble of laughter in his chest, it makes you smile harder. 

You don't say anything for a while, your head finally not spinning as you begin to sober up. Caleb’s breathing is steady, “Did you fall asleep?” you whisper, craning your neck to look at Caleb's face. His eyes are shut, a faint smile on his face, you stare for a second, taking him in; Memorizing his features, savoring the moment. You can count the freckles on his cheeks, see how chapped his lips are, the bags under his eyes make your eyes soften. A rare day off for him and he spent it drunk and staying up with you. Soft snores leave his mouth, you bite back a giggle, nuzzling further into him as you allow your eyes to close. 

Caleb wakes up before you, he can feel you pressed against him, fingers tightly gripping his t-shirt, warm steady breaths hitting his chest. He wills his eyes open, ignoring the subtle throbbing of his head as he takes in the sight before him. Your hair is messy, lips parted slightly, brows furrowed. The morning afternoon sun that sneaks in between your curtains makes you look even more beautiful. Caleb moves slightly, hoping to make you breakfast before you wake up, he freezes when you stir slightly, an annoyed groan leaving you. 

Caleb moves a piece of hair out of your face, knuckle ghosting over the apple of your cheek, he clenches his hand as he forces it away from you. As desperate as he was to feel your skin on his, he would never forgive himself if he woke you up, especially when you looked this pretty. You roll over five minutes later, giving Caleb the perfect chance to slip out of bed and make his way to the kitchen. His face drops when he opens the fridge. 

Empty.

What the hell have you been living off of? Caleb is all but offended, shaking his head as he heads back to your room, freshening up quietly before leaving a cup of water and two aspirins on your nightstand. 

The second you wake up your head aches, frowning deeply as you shield yourself from the sunlight. You don't open your eyes, letting your fuzzy memories become clearer as you slowly come to. God you were never drinking tequila again. A small groan leaves you as you force yourself to get up, body heavy as you take in your surroundings, most notably the empty space beside you. You reach for your phone, the clock reading 1:43 pm. He must've had other things to do, or got a call from the fleet, you reason, eyes catching the cup and pills on your nightstand. Your lips twitch upwards when you see a rogue sticky note besides the items. 

Your fridge is depressing :P I couldn't bring myself to wake up my beautiful girl, be back soon <3

As if on cue you hear the front door open, the sound of grocery bags rustling makes you kick the blanket off you, downing the pills and hoping they soothe your hangover. You pad over to your living room, gasping when you see the numerous grocery bags hanging off Caleb’s arms. 

“Please tell me you didn't just buy me groceries,” you say in disbelief, slowly walking up behind him. Caleb turns on his heels, a sheepish smile on his face. 

“I didn't buy you groceries,” he teases, setting the bags down and meeting you in one stride, “you feeling okay?” the concerned expression on his face makes you swoon, shrugging your shoulders at him. 

“Not the worst hangover I’ve ever had,” you mumble, smiling when he places a soft kiss on your cheek. He smiles down at you, “I’m glad,” he says, “if you wanna shower or something I can make us something to eat? And we can uh,” his face is flushed, ears red as he scratches the back of his neck as he averts his gaze from you, “we can talk about everything. Sober this time.”

You bite back a grin, face heating up as you nod, “yeah, I’d like that.” Caleb grins, relief flooding his body. 

Caleb waits for you to join him after your shower, giving you a bouquet of flowers as he asks you formally to be his girlfriend. You throw your arms around him, placing a flurry of kisses to his face. 

“Thank you,” you say softly, “for waiting for me all these years, I’m sorry I didn't realize your love was romantic as much as it was platonic,” your eyes meet his sunset ones, sparkling back at you. 

“I will always wait for you, I’d do anything for you. You know that right?” His voice is soft around the edges, the words settle nicely in your chest, warmth blooming in their place. You nod, grinning as you place a gentle kiss to his lips. Caleb melts into you naturally, the two of you smiling into the kiss before pulling away. 

“My boyfriend,” you breathe out, the term ‘boyfriend’ rolls off your tongue. No bitter taste left in your mouth this time, instead you can taste his lip balm, the same kind you'd bought him in middle school when you told him he had chapped lips. Caleb grins at you, eyes lidded as he stares at you. 

“My sweet girlfriend,” he mutters, your pinkies looping together naturally.

[ellie-pooki3]

࣪ ִֶָ☾. snooze ٠࣪⭑

synopsis: caleb loves watching you sleep. more than he should, probably.

tags: rough sex, p in v, caleb eats you out very enthusiastically, afab! reader, uses of 'gege' and 'meimei,' a lil bit of dumbification, praise kink

warnings: somno, dub-con, undernegotiated kink. read at your own risk, please!

notes: caleb unleashes a demon inside of me i think . anw first post for this blog lol, please heed the tags and note that i'm a lil rusty at writing ! otherwise, enjoy this piece of depravity <3

divider by: @cursed-carmine .ᐟ

caleb is familiar with all the different versions of you.

he likes the version of you in the morning, eyes half-lidded and soft from sleep, the gentle curvature of your waist peeking through your shirt as you lift your arms up when you yawn. he likes the version of you when your head is tilted back as you laugh, the sound twinkling, easy - your neck bare and showing supple, unmarked skin. he likes the version of you when you're pouting at him, grumbling about him getting home late, even as your touch remains tender and feather-light on his arm as you tug him into the kitchen.

he likes - loves - all the different versions of you. still, there's something about the tranquility of you in sleep that tugs something different within him, a kind of yearning and want that goes deeper than his admiration for you as his gege.

god, he thinks you're doing it on purpose sometimes. the way your leg raises in your sleep, revealing just a little bit more of your inner thigh beneath your cotton shorts. the way your lips are parted slightly, letting out soft snores and incoherent mumbling as you dream. the way your eyelashes fan against your cheeks delicately. the way your chest rises and falls slowly with the rhythm of your breathing.

you're vulnerable like this, unguarded in a way you're not when you're awake. the worries fade between your brows, the tension in your shoulders relaxes. he craves it - this version of you at your basest. he likes that no one else sees you like this, that only he's privy to this kind of defenselessness.

it's perverted, he knows. the way his cock throbs beneath his jeans even at the slightest glimpse of you sleeping, getting his boxers wet with pre-cum embarrassingly quickly. but a deeper part of him doesn't care - it's only natural for him to be attracted to you all the time, isn't it?

his pretty, pretty meimei. his pretty girlfriend, all his.

. . . ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ

caleb tries not to go home too late often. he really does. in fact, he's usually buzzing to get home to you, the thought of pulling you into his arms after a long day of work getting him through grueling schedules. still, sometimes, his duty as colonel gets in the way of his precious time with you, hence - coming home when the sun is already peeking through the horizon, making the far distance flush with pink.

he doesn't announce his arrival when he comes home, willing the door and his footsteps to be silent to not wake you. he kicks off his shoes and undoes the buttons on his uniform as he walks up the stairs to your shared bedroom, eager to get in bed with you. he's already picturing it - you, curled up in the blankets, your foot peeking out on one side. your hair, tussled with sleep, your arms clutching the pillow that smells like him. cute.

imagine his surprise when he opens the door to your bedroom and sees . . . you, asleep, laid out in the bed on your stomach. your leg raised, spreading your thighs apart. your soft, supple skin, barely covered with pretty pink, lace lingerie.

it's a sight that's enough to knock the breath out of his lungs. his footsteps halt, his eyes trained on the delicate lace, on the miles and miles of bare skin laid out before him. it's skimpy, it's angelic, and god - you look good enough to eat.

he stalks toward you, hands twitching, itching to touch. he doesn't last a second, already running his hands all over your waist, tracing the lines of your curves carefully. the black leather of his gloves is stark against your skin. he pulls them off with his teeth, throwing them somewhere across the room. it lands on the floor with a soft thump. he keeps touching you, reverent, his thumb dipping below the hem of the lace of your panties. he bites back a groan as he sees that there's a slit, your wet cunt glistening and wetting the fabric.

"god," he groans, a believer praying at his place of worship. "fuck, meimei. all this for me?"

your eyes fluttered open at his persistent touches, at the sound of his voice. the soft, sleepy sound you make makes his heart jump.

"keep sleeping," he breathes out, his pupils blown, eyes dark with want. "just sleep, relax for me."

he watches your eyelids close again, and waits for the sound of your breathing to even out. waits until your limp in his arms again, until your quiet snoring fills his ears. it tugs at his heartstrings, the way you trust and obey him so completely.

he releases a breath he didn't know he was holding. then, finally, he leans down and presses his lips on the soft skin of your inner thigh, his teeth grazing it lightly to leave a mark. he takes his time with you, pausing every time he sees you stirring, waiting for you to fall asleep again. he marks you to his content, your thighs a mural of red marks, slick with his spit.

he pulls back to admire his handiwork, chest rising and falling quickly.

shit. he wants to taste you. he's so hard it hurts. he unbuckles his pants, heaving out a sigh of relief as he pulls out his cock, flushed a deep red at the tip. it curls against his stomach, hot and heavy and twitching. he kicks off his pants, getting into bed with you, feeling the bed dip at his weight. he wraps his hand around his length, his thumb smearing the pre-cum on the head of it. he leans down, finally, his breath ghosting over your cunt. he lets go of his cock and places both his hands on top of your cheeks, spreading them to get a better look at you. you're obscene, filthy, dripping wet just for him.

he licks a stripe over heat before diving in like a man starved, his tongue delving inside you as his thumb spreads your labia majora for easier access. he licks up your juices, getting his chin wet and slick with your combined fluids. dipping lower, he sucks on your clit, a filthy slurping sound that would have surely made you flush and hide if you were awake. your hips thrust up unconsciously, and he lays a hand on the small of your back to pin you down as he keeps eating. he doesn't stop until your hips are twitching, until you're letting out these quiet whimpers that make his cock weep.

miraculously, you keep sleeping.

when he pulls away, licking his lips, your eyes are still closed even as your breathing is uneven, your mouth parted a little wider to let out soft, breathy whines.

he can't wait anymore. he straddles your legs, slapping the head of his cock to your cunt with a wet thwack. he groans quietly, letting his length drag over your folds, messing up the pretty lingerie more than it already is.

"fuck." he curses under his breath, feeling his self-control slip by the second. he lines up the head of his cock to your entrance, moaning lowly when your cunt welcomes him with a soft pop. he feeds you everything inch by inch, until the tip of his cock is snug against your cervix, until his hips meet the back of your thighs.

he takes a moment to admire the view, one he'll never tire of. he leans down and presses a soft kiss to his cheek before pulling out slowly, letting you feel the drag of his cock until only the head is inside.

he chuckles quietly as he watches you whimper, the sound tender and fond.

then your eyes snap open as he grabs your hips and pulls you back onto his cock in one smooth thrust, a silent gasp escaping you as he knocks the breath out of your lungs.

"gege," you slur out, still sleepy, hands clutching against the sheets as he starts fucking you in earnest. "guh - gege, what's . . ."

"so pretty," he praises, his gaze drifting to your half-lidded eyes, widening ever so slightly every time he sheathes his dick inside of your gummy walls. "so pretty when you're sleeping, meimei, fuck, can never get enough of you -"

fuck. are those tears in your eyes? already? he scoffs, the heat in his stomach coiling like a string threatening to snap. he raises your hips, practically smooshing your cheeks into the pillows with every snap of his hips. he lets out a breathless laugh - god, he can't help it. when you're so easy for him, he can't help but be a little mean.

"cute," he murmurs, bending down to kiss the corner of your eye. the new angle makes you yelp, makes his cock hit deeper, your eyes rolling to the back of your head. "take me so well, baby. so tight around me, fuck. can fuck you forever."

"forever," you hiccup, echoing his words. "wan' it, wan't it so bad, gege, please -"

his hips stutter momentarily, groaning at your pleading. you beg so sweetly for him, how can he resist?

he pulls out, ignoring your cute little whine. he turns you around so you're laying on your back, and his hands grip the back of your thighs, pressing them against your chest so he's got you in a mating press. his cock slides in easily enough, but now he can watch the dumb, cockdrunk expression on your face as he bottoms out.

"you like this," he accuses, the snapping of his hips turning mean. the wet, squealching sounds make the blush on your face travel down to your neck, and he watches, fascinated. "you like being used in your sleep. my cute, pretty meimei - how did i never know you were so filthy?"

you don't respond, too busy being fucked to high heaven to care. your back arches as he keeps going - sharp, fast, and brutal - making your head spin.

he can't take it. your expression is so cute, the tears streaking your cheeks enough to make his cock twitch dangerously.

"c'mon," he murmurs, slowing his thrusts to deep, languid strokes that make your toes curl. sweat is beading at his forehead, falling to his neck. "c'mon, my pretty girl. my meimei. cum for me."

you never were very good at denying him anything.

he hisses when you tighten around him, legs shaking as you come undone. babbles of his name and other pleas escape your lips, your neck bared to him as your head is thrown back against the pillows. fuck - it's angelic. it's the most beautiful sight he's ever seen.

it isn't long before he's spilling inside you, the heat flooding your cunt making you whimper. god, you're so full of him you think you can't breathe. his hips keep moving in slow, shallow thrusts, fucking his spend deeper into you, making sure it takes.

his lips quirk up into a small, fond smile as he watches your breathing even out again, your eyes fluttering close as you slump down on the bed, exhausted. he brushes away the strands of hair from your face, revealing your soft, flushed skin.

how pretty. how precious. his meimei, his pipsqueak, all his.

[vesearlee]

──── 𝑺𝒖𝒓𝒑𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒆 𝑭𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕

Normally, when Caleb had to make it up to you, he had methods he had perfected; made tried and true over the span of time that stretched from childhood to adulthood. Only, this time, an accomplice was thrown into the mix to sweeten the deal, and it swayed you in his favour faster than you could comprehend the sudden, unique side kick.

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 ── Caleb x F!Reader 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 ── 1.1k 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 ── Fluff, kissing, apologetic Caleb 𝐀𝐎𝟑 ── HERE 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ── I saw a tiktok about a boyfriend bringing his girlfriend treats via a remote control car and went why not.

───  𝑳𝑨𝑫𝑺 𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕  ───

It was a slow, albeit ordinary day in Skyhaven — the sunlight streaming through the floor to ceiling windows of Caleb’s living room brightened the room and dark accents to feel homely as you cosied up on the couch. A few blankets were piled in your lap and tucked underneath your fuzzy sock covered feet. The rustling sound of paper from your book was the only sound in the comfortable silence.

Your hoped-for company was tucked away in his study, pouring over a few documents sent to him that the Fleet classed as ‘urgent’ — the grumbled and muttered threats to his subordinates were enough to make you chuckle lightly. 

Caleb only went once your hands squeezed his broad shoulders and forcibly turned him towards his office space. “Sooner you get done with paperwork, sooner you can come cuddle, ‘kay?”

“But–” He started, a small pout playing at his bottom lip as he looked over at you — it turned into a smirk while he watched your valiant efforts to make him move.

“No buts!” you grunted, shoving between his shoulder blades so he would move faster. “I’ll be on the couch waiting for you. So, hurry up, Colonel.”

His heavy footsteps echoed off of the walls of his study, and you heard him groan quietly as he sat at the desk chair, before the wheels scuffed over the floor. And from your place on the couch, you could hear the slight huffs of annoyance that left his lips, no matter how stifled they were. 

While time passed, you contentedly watched the clouds go by, only occasionally distracted by the words on the pages of your book that lay flat and open in your lap.

So, when the sound of whirring gears and the robotic revs of a small engine reached your ears, you froze. 

It was a familiar sound — a remote, Spitfire plane Caleb and you built when you were younger sounded almost identical, the tinny sound and imaginary battles he played out for your immersion echoed over the years to the present. 

You glanced towards the hallway that led to the study, where Caleb should have been focusing on paperwork, nothing appeared amiss; no dancing shadows or the sound of slight shuffling from his clothes to reveal he was planning a surprise. 

Furrowing your brow, you turned back to the window and grabbed your book to delve right back in. 

It happened again, only this time, it was much closer than before. 

You jumped, and the blanket bunched up on your thighs while you moved to sit up and investigate the source, when you finally found it. “What the–”

A model plane, the exact same one that you both built together years ago, was rolling around on the rug with such enthusiasm you could have sworn the pilot was attempting to recreate the feat of making donuts with a three-wheeled aircraft. 

Behind the plane and trailing from the tail was a rope, and attached to the ends of the rope was a packet of sour candy. A sticky note in the shape of a heart was stuck onto the crinkling plastic with an apple sticker — the simple gesture made you arch a brow, and the words ‘for my girl’ stood out in red pen.

“Caleb!” you called, and the plane stopped moving. It sat facing away from you. “Are you–?”

The question was cut short by the sound of movement from the craft — it turned slowly around, its cargo now beside it. The small engine revved and the blade attached to the front spun with the sound. “Caleb?” you said quietly, bending to look closer at your robotic company. “Can you see me–?”

One loud rev was your answer, and the flaps on the wings moved up and down.

You grinned — somehow, Caleb had rigged a camera to the cockpit, and he was controlling it from his office. “And what’s this candy for?” Two revs this time, and the plane scooted over the rug to be by your feet. The spinning blade touched the very tip of your toe.

“Sorry, I don’t speak plane,” you laughed, staring down at the robot. “Maybe a certain pilot needs to come out of hiding, he can share the candy with me if he brings me some apple slices.”

The small plane whirred and hurtled backwards, and you tracked the movements as it pivoted and positively flew away, its little wheels somehow never leaving the ground. It disappeared around the corner of the hallway, no doubt headed straight back to the operator for its next mission. 

You settled back into the cushions of the couch, and you placed the blankets back over your lap to await the plane’s next landing. 

A few moments later, heavy, deliberate footsteps echoed down the hallway, until Caleb appeared around the corner with the plane right behind. This time, it had taken flight — Caleb’s hand swayed back and forth to simulate the swerves and tricks a fighter pilot could only accomplish. 

“Oh, there he is,” you teased. “Are you trying to make it up to me?”

“And if I was…” He continued forward, amethyst eyes darkened with playful tones of indigo. “What would you say?”

You hummed, and you shifted in place to face him, placing your elbow on the back of the couch and your chin on the palm of your hand. “If you were trying to make it up to me, I would say you’re only missing my apple slices.”

Caleb smirked. “Nothin’ else, huh?”

“Nope.” You grinned up at him as he came to a stop in front of you. “Well, if the Colonel has time for me now, I suppose I wouldn’t obje– Mmph!” Any further taunt you conjured was silenced by the feel of his lips on yours, and before you could reciprocate, he pulled back, his teeth only just letting go over your lower lip. 

Puffs of warm air fanned over your mouth, and you whispered against his lips: “That’s not fair.”

“Whatever you say, baby.” Caleb rose and glanced over his shoulder. “Oh, look.” The plane hovered behind his head for a second before it moved to the side to reveal a parcel fastened to its underside. A plate in the confines of what looked like an upside-down parachute, held the spoils of a few apples, sliced and plated to perfection. “It’s a mercy mission, see? My friend here softened the blow of my hasty return.”

Your hand reached for his wrist, and you yanked him forwards. “Wh–oa!” His tall frame collided with the couch cushions, and he landed with a grunt of surprise, sprawled against your side while the plane remained airborne. “Wha–?”

“Now you’ve made it up to me,” you stated proudly, smiling at his ruffled clothes and hair. “My big dummy.”

Caleb sighed and shook his head. “Where were we–? That’s right.” The remote to the wall-mounted television floated towards you. “Can’t spoil our show for you, can I?”

[iraot]

Warnings: Murder, threats of murder , Yandere Personality, Historical references, masturbation, death, improper use of a throne, sex, forced marriage?, mentions of hair type Pairing: Crowned Prince Caleb x Maid F!reader | Love && Deepspace Word Count: 14,919 A/N: this took me two days to finish but honestly I couldn't stop writing. I am gonna say that I will not be writing at this speed forever, do not get too comfortable. I may experience a mild burn out eventually. I'm actively trying to prevent that from happening. Let me know what you think! Reblog and comment! AO3

The scent of incense thickened the air, heavy and cloying, its sweet smoke curling through the chamber like ghostly fingers. It was meant to ward off lingering spirits, to mask the scent of approaching death.

But no incense, no prayers, no whispered offerings could stop what was coming.

The Queen was dying.

She had known this long before the court had begun their hushed murmurs, before the Emperor had stopped visiting, before the Crown Prince had been summoned from his war campaigns only to arrive too late. She had known because she had seen it.

Felt it.

The way the Queen’s fingers had begun to tremble when she lifted a jade hairpin, the once-strong hands that had once gripped the reins of an empire now frail beneath layers of embroidered silk. The way her breath came in shallow gasps when she thought no one was listening. The way her weight had lightened in her arms, as if she was slowly being unmade, unraveling thread by thread.

She had known because she had been the one to hold her, to wrap soft shawls around shoulders that had never before sought warmth, to tuck fresh lotus flowers beneath her pillow because she once mentioned that their scent reminded her of something soft, something distant.

She had known because she had loved her. And the Queen had loved her, too.

Perhaps not in the way she had once loved her son, not with the unshakable devotion of a mother, nor in the way she had once, perhaps, loved the Emperor. But there had been something, something quiet, something constant.

For years, since the day a small girl of seven had first knelt at the foot of her chambers, wide-eyed and trembling, she had belonged to the Queen. And the Queen, in her own way, had made it known that she belonged to her, too.

Even now, in the dimming candlelight, as the last embers of life flickered in the Queen’s eyes, she knew.

She could feel it in the way the Queen’s fingers, weak as they were, reached for her wrist rather than the hands of the court physicians who hovered uselessly at the edges of the room. In the way her lips curved, not in a smile, not in joy, but in something softer. Something meant only for her.

“You’ve been crying,” the Queen murmured, her voice barely more than a breath.

She swallowed, blinking rapidly, knowing that if she spoke, her voice would break.

The Queen’s fingers curled ever so slightly, pressing the ghost of a touch against her skin. “Foolish girl,” she murmured. “No one weeps for a woman like me.”

She did.

She had spent every night for the past week kneeling at her bedside, her forehead pressed to the marble floors, whispering prayers to gods who had long since turned their backs on the world of men.

The Queen exhaled, the sound so delicate, so fragile, it nearly shattered her.

“He will look after you.”

The words were unexpected. A weak, fading murmur.

She stiffened, confusion flickering in her gaze. “My lady?”

“Caleb.”

Her heart clenched.

The Crown Prince. The Queen’s son.

The boy who had once chased her through the palace corridors when they were young, who had pulled her braids and stolen her steamed buns in the kitchens before being dragged away by tutors. The boy who had become a man of steel, of sharp edges and silent, simmering rage.

The Queen’s lips curved faintly. “He was always… difficult.”

A breathless chuckle left her lips unbidden, as she dipped her head. “Yes.”

“He will not say it,” the Queen continued, her voice barely above a whisper. “But he does not… let go of what is his.”

The weight of the words settled over her, heavy and unshakable.

She knew Caleb.

She had seen the way he clenched his jaw when things did not go his way, the way his violet eyes darkened when he was denied something he believed should be his. She had seen the possessiveness in him, the way he hovered near his mother’s bedside, the way his gaze lingered on the people who surrounded her, calculating, ever-watchful.

But look after her?

The thought was absurd.

She was a maid.

A servant.

She had been born into a life of servitude, her fate woven long before she had taken her first breath. The moment the Queen took her in, her path had been set, her loyalty belonged to one woman and one woman alone.

And now, that woman was dying.

She dipped her head lower, her fingers curling around the Queen’s frail hand, squeezing as if she could hold her here, tether her to the world for just a little longer.

“My lady…”

“Shhh.” The Queen’s fingers twitched. “I am tired.”

She swallowed, forcing her breath to steady, even as her vision blurred.

The Queen exhaled once more, her lips parting, just slightly.

“Caleb.”

A whisper. A plea.

Then nothing.

The hand in hers went still.

Her breath hitched, her fingers tightening, as if she could squeeze the life back into the Queen’s cooling skin, as if she could will her heart to beat once more.

The room was silent.

The court physicians murmured, their voices hushed, reverent. Somewhere beyond the thick drapes, a gong rang in the distance a single, solemn note, a death knell.

She did not move.

Did not breathe.

Her hands, trembling now, lifted the Queen’s lifeless fingers to her lips, pressing a kiss to them, soft, reverent.

For the first time since she was seven years old, she was alone.

The halls of the palace stretched long and empty before him, the hush of the servants almost reverent as Caleb stormed through. His boots struck the marble with a force that sent echoes ricocheting through the corridors, but he could not slow down, could not afford hesitation not when he had been away for too long, not when a sickness had drained the light from his mother’s once-commanding gaze.

He reached her chambers, shoved open the doors, and was hit by the thick, choking scent of incense, too heavy, too sweet, meant to mask what could not be ignored. His mother was gone.

The room was still, save for a single figure, folded into the lowest bow at the foot of the bed, her forehead pressed to the floor, the trembling of her shoulders the only sign that she was even breathing. One delicate hand, reddened at the knuckles from gripping too hard, was still wrapped around the lifeless fingers of the only woman who had ever truly ruled this empire.

His mother’s face, once a perfect balance of grace and command, was still, frozen in the peace of death that she had been denied in life. She had died with only one person by her side.

Not her husband. Not her son.

Her maid.

Something inside Caleb cracked wide open.

The doors slammed shut behind him with a violent gust of wind, rattling the wooden lattices in the windows. The girl did not flinch. Her sobs had quieted to breathless hiccups, and yet she did not lift her head. She remained there, kneeling in devotion, as if she could bring the dead back to life with sheer force of grief.

Caleb stepped forward, slow, deliberate. His eyes piercing, violet, full of a storm he barely contained locked onto her. “Look at me.”

She did not move.

His breath came in short, harsh bursts, chest rising and falling as if he had sprinted the entire way here. He hated that he had not been there. Hated that his father had not even bothered. Hated that she, this mere maid, this girl who had served in quiet diligence all her life, had been the only one to see his mother take her final breath.

“Look at me,” he growled, voice deep, strained, almost unrecognizable.

At last, she lifted her head, eyes red-rimmed, cheeks slick with grief. Her lips trembled as she tried to form words, but nothing came. Just a fresh wave of tears, silent and endless, like the rain that battered the palace roofs outside.

Something dangerous twisted in Caleb’s gut.

He had always known her, known her presence more than her name, known her hands as the ones that laid cool cloths upon his mother’s burning forehead, known her voice in whispered prayers that filled the dim-lit chambers at night. But now, she was more than that. Now, she was the only one who had stayed.

The only one who had loved his mother as she should have been loved.

Caleb reached out, fingers brushing against the wet trail of tears on her cheek. She did not pull away, only blinked up at him with something fragile in her gaze, something that should have made him step back.

But he didn’t.

Instead, his fingers curled under her chin, tilting her face up, forcing her to see him fully. He could feel the heat of her skin, the way she shivered, whether from sorrow or something else entirely, he did not know.

“You were here,” he murmured, thumb tracing just below her bottom lip.

She swallowed, nodding.

His jaw clenched. “And my father?”

Her eyes flickered away, shame or perhaps fury clouding them. She did not answer. She did not need to.

Caleb let out a slow, measured breath. He would kill the man. He would kill his own father for this, for abandoning the woman who had given everything to him, who had carried the empire on her back in ways no one acknowledged.

But that vengeance would have to wait.

His grip on her chin loosened, though he did not pull away. “You were the last person she saw.”

Her face crumpled, a fresh sob tearing from her throat as she nodded.

He should have let her go. Should have pulled back and given her space to mourn. But Caleb did not know how to do that. He had never been good at letting go.

The scent of sandalwood and myrrh clung to the air, heavy and unshakable, as Caleb watched his mother’s body being prepared. Gold silk shimmered in the dim lantern light, pooling like liquid sunlight over her still form. Intricate embroidery of imperial dragons coiled along the sleeves, their threads catching every flicker of the flame, as if they might still move, still breathe. The deep, royal purple of her robes drank in the darkness, regal even in death.

And the maid, his mother’s last faithful servant, worked with silent devotion.

She did not weep now. There was no time for grief when duty called. Instead, she moved with reverence, fingers smoothing the silk with precise care. She arranged his mother’s jewelry, jade bangles, golden hairpins, a phoenix crown too heavy for a body that no longer bore the weight of rule. When another maid faltered, hands shaking as she tried to fasten a clasp, she took over, steady, unshaken.

Caleb said nothing as he watched.

He had not moved from the doorway since she began. Could not. His limbs felt leaden, his mind caught between the rage burning in his chest and the slow, aching numbness spreading through his veins. It was over. His mother was truly gone.

And this girl, this maid, was the only thing tethering him to that reality.

When the rites were finished and the body dressed, she bowed deeply, forehead touching the floor in final homage. And then, like a shadow retreating from the dying embers of a fire, she stepped back, vanished into the ranks of the other maids.

Caleb wanted to speak to her then to say something, anything but the words did not come.

The next morning, his mother was carried to her burial site in a procession of gold and white, the cries of mourners drowned by the endless toll of bronze bells. Caleb stood at the forefront, dressed in ceremonial white, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. His father, the emperor, walked ahead of him, his golden robes untouched by grief, his expression as unreadable as it had always been.

The burial was final. The ground swallowed the last remnants of the woman who had been the heart of the palace, the heart of Caleb’s world.

And when it was done, when the dust had settled and the crowds had begun to disperse, he turned, seeking her out.

The maid.

The only other soul in this place who had mourned as deeply as he had.

He found a cluster of servants in the courtyard, speaking in hushed tones, their eyes flicking toward him and then quickly away.

“Where is she?” Caleb asked, voice low, urgent.

One of the older maids, a woman who had served in the palace since his childhood, lowered her gaze. “She left, Your Highness.”

His brows furrowed. “Left?”

“She was reassigned this morning. The emperor sent her to serve another household.”

The words barely registered. His mind stalled, refusing to comprehend.

His father had sent her away.

Before the funeral had even ended.

Caleb’s jaw tightened, his breath coming sharp and unsteady. “Where?”

The maid hesitated, as if afraid to answer. “To the household of the Duke of Wei, Your Highness.”

A loyalist to the emperor. A man who bent the knee without question, who took orders without hesitation. A man who would never allow the girl to leave, no matter what price Caleb offered.

His fingers twitched at his sides. “And she went willingly?”

“She… had no choice, Your Highness.”

The air turned razor-sharp around him. He could feel the edges of his patience fraying, snapping one by one.

She was gone.

Ripped from the palace, from his sight, from the only place she had ever known. And his father had done it without a second thought, as if she were nothing more than a piece of furniture to be moved at will.

Caleb turned on his heel, rage coiling tight in his stomach.

The walk to the emperor’s chambers was a blur. He did not feel the floor beneath his feet, did not hear the murmurs of the courtiers and officials who stepped aside as he passed. The only thing in his mind was his father.

The doors to the imperial study were unguarded, his father’s arrogance knew no limits and Caleb did not hesitate. He shoved them open with enough force that they struck the walls with a resounding crack.

The emperor did not even look up.

Seated at a low table, dressed in golden robes that gleamed like sunlight, the man barely flicked his eyes toward Caleb before returning to the scroll in his hands. “You forget yourself, my son.”

Caleb’s voice was like steel, cold and cutting. “You reassigned her.”

A single beat of silence.

Then, without looking up, the emperor replied, “I reassigned many servants today.”

Caleb’s hands curled into fists, nails biting into his palms. “You know who I speak of.”

At that, the emperor finally met his gaze. His face, ageless and unreadable, betrayed nothing. “She is a maid,” he said simply. “Her duties were no longer required here.”

The sheer indifference in his tone made something snap in Caleb’s chest.

“She was loyal,” Caleb ground out. “She was the only one at my mother’s side when she died.”

The emperor sighed, as if this conversation bored him. “And now she will serve another house just as well as she served ours. That is the nature of palace life. Or have you forgotten?”

Caleb stepped forward, the storm in his eyes barely restrained. “You turned out to be the only person who cared.”

“Did I?” The emperor set the scroll aside, tilting his head slightly. “I see no use for sentimentality, Caleb. Your mother is dead. And the girl…” He waved a hand dismissively. “She was a servant. She grieved, as was proper. And now she is gone. You will forget her.”

Forget?

The sheer audacity of the word made Caleb laugh. Low, bitter, dangerous.

His father had no idea.

No idea that Caleb had already memorized her every movement, that the sight of her bowing at his mother’s bedside was seared into his mind like a brand. No idea that he could still feel the heat of her skin beneath his fingers, still hear the way her breath had hitched when he touched her.

Forget her?

Never.

His voice was quiet when he spoke, but no less dangerous. “You think I will let this go.”

The emperor leaned back slightly, his lips curling into something almost amused. “I think you will do as you are told.”

Caleb did not answer.

He only turned on his heel and left, the doors slamming shut behind him.

His father had underestimated him.

He would regret it.

The household of the Wei’s estate sat nestled within the northern quarter of the city, a sprawling compound of sloped rooftops and walled gardens, its white stone walls veined with creeping vines of deep green. The entrance was flanked by guards dressed in the Wei family colors—dark green and bronze, a stark contrast to the white and blue of Caleb’s own robes.

He did not slow as he approached.

The guards stiffened but did not move to stop him. They knew who he was. Knew that denying entry to the Crown Prince was a mistake few survived.

Inside, the air was thick with the scent of blooming osmanthus, the late afternoon sun spilling golden over the courtyard stones. He moved through the estate with purpose, his presence a wave that rippled through the servants and officials alike. People bowed as he passed, but he barely acknowledged them. His mind was set on one thing, and one thing only.

He found the Duke of Wei in a shaded pavilion, seated at a low table with a calligraphy brush in hand. The man looked up as Caleb approached, eyes sharp, expression unreadable.

"Your Highness," the Duke greeted, setting his brush aside. His tone was careful, measured. "To what do I owe this honor?"

Caleb did not sit. He did not waste time.

"There was a girl reassigned to your household this morning," he said, voice steady, deliberate. "She belonged to my mother’s service. I want her back."

The Duke studied him, dark brows lifting slightly. "A maid?"

Caleb’s jaw tightened. "Yes."

The older man exhaled, reaching for his teacup, fingers wrapping around the porcelain with slow deliberation. "Your father ordered her transfer personally. You must know that."

"I do." Caleb’s tone was clipped, his patience already thin. "Which is why I have come to you directly." He stepped forward, lowering his voice. "I will compensate you for releasing her from service. Handsomely."

A slow sip of tea. Then, "She is just a servant, Your Highness."

Caleb’s lips curled in something close to a snarl. "Then it should be of no consequence to you to let her go."

The Duke met his gaze for a long moment, searching. Then he set his cup down with a quiet clink. "You would pay for her?"

"More than she is worth to you," Caleb said, blunt and unrelenting.

The Duke gave a small, knowing smile. "You misunderstand. It is not her worth to me that matters—it is what the emperor wishes."

Caleb’s fingers twitched at his sides. He forced himself to remain calm. "And I am telling you, it would benefit you to let her go. You know what I will become. You know that my favor is not something to dismiss lightly."

A pause. Then, after a moment’s thought, the Duke inclined his head slightly. "Very well, Your Highness. I will consider it. You may see her if you wish."

He did not need to be told twice.

The garden was full of laughter.

Soft, bell-like giggles rang through the late afternoon air, the sound carried by the gentle rustling of cherry blossom branches. Caleb followed the sound, his steps slowing, his breath shallow as he reached the courtyard.

And then he saw her.

She was crouched in the grass, hands outstretched as a little girl—no more than five or six—squealed and ran toward her. The child threw herself into her arms, and the maid caught her with ease, lifting her up and spinning in a slow, playful circle. Her laughter, warm and unrestrained, was something Caleb had never heard before.

His heart slammed against his ribs.

The world around him faded into stillness, the hum of insects, the murmuring of the breeze, the shifting shadows of the leaves—all of it fell away.

She was a vision.

Her hair, usually so neatly pinned in the palace, was looser here, a few strands slipping free, framing her face. Her sleeves were rolled to her elbows, exposing the delicate curve of her forearms, and a smudge of dirt marked her cheek where a child had undoubtedly tugged at her. She was smiling, eyes alight, unburdened in a way he had never seen before.

He had never seen her like this. Not in all the years she had served under his mother’s roof.

She had been quiet there, dutiful, always moving with the careful grace of someone who knew her place too well. But here, surrounded by children, unguarded by the weight of palace protocol, she looked… free.

Something burned in Caleb’s throat.

And then—

She turned.

As if she had felt his stare, her head lifted, and her eyes met his.

The moment stretched, breathless, heavy.

He watched as the joy in her face faltered, as recognition sank in, as her lips parted slightly in shock. Her arms tightened instinctively around the child she still held, a flicker of uncertainty passing through her gaze.

Caleb’s fingers curled at his sides.

She had left without a word. Not by choice, he knew, but it did not matter. She had been taken from him, ripped from the palace like she was nothing, and now she stood before him, looking at him as if she had not expected him to come.

But he had.

Of course he had.

Did she not understand?

She was his.

She had been his from the moment he saw her kneeling at his mother’s bedside, her hand still clutching lifeless fingers as she sobbed into the silence.

And soon, she would understand that, too.

She lowered the child carefully to the ground, smoothing the little girl’s hair back with gentle fingers before murmuring something soft—something meant only for small ears. The child giggled and nodded, scampering off to join her sibling near a shaded pond where koi fish wove through the water in lazy, golden ribbons.

And then, without hesitation, she turned to him and bowed.

Deep.

The kind of bow that was only meant for royalty, the kind that pressed humility into the bones of the one offering it. Her hands folded neatly before her, her gaze cast downward, her dark lashes sweeping low over her cheeks.

She was nervous. He could see it in the way her fingers tightened in the fabric of her sleeves, in the way her breath hitched just slightly as she exhaled.

“Your Highness,” she murmured, voice steady despite the weight of the moment. “It is an honor.”

Caleb did not move.

For a moment, he only looked at her, at the curve of her spine as she bent before him, at the exposed nape of her neck where the tendrils of her hair had slipped free. He had seen countless men and women bow to him before—had spent a lifetime surrounded by reverence, by duty, by the silent expectations of those beneath him.

But this was different.

Because she was different.

She thought he had come to take her back to the palace. To return her to servitude, to reclaim her as an attendant, another piece of the grand machine that kept the empire moving.

She didn’t realize.

She didn’t realize that he had not come to return her to anything.

He had come for her.

Only her.

The weight of the coin sat heavy in his palm, the leather satchel soft against his fingers. It was an offering, though not a meager one. He had wealth beyond measure, the kind of fortune that could buy armies, build cities, topple dynasties. And yet, he rarely spent.

His father did enough of that for the both of them—reckless, indulgent, short-sighted in all things but power. Caleb had always been the opposite. Reserved, calculating, patient. He had hoarded wealth because he knew, one day, it would be needed.

But not even his father’s carelessness had been enough to loosen his grip on his gold.

She was.

The satchel hit the stone path between them with a quiet thud.

Her breath caught.

Slowly, hesitantly, she straightened, her wide eyes flickering to the pouch before returning to him, uncertainty flickering through the dark depths.

Caleb’s voice was quiet when he spoke, but it did not waver.

“For my mother,” he said. “For everything you did for her.”

Her lips parted slightly, as if she wanted to protest, but she did not speak.

He took a step forward.

Then another.

Until he was close enough to see the way her pulse fluttered in her throat, close enough to catch the faintest trace of jasmine lingering on her skin, close enough that he could reach out and touch her if he wanted.

And he did want to.

More than he had ever wanted anything.

Her fingers twitched at her sides, like she was fighting the urge to reach for the money, to reject it, to refuse something that had never been offered to her before.

His gaze was sharp, unwavering. “Take it.”

She swallowed. “Your Highness, I—”

“Take it,” he repeated, firmer this time.

A pause.

And then, slowly, she reached out, her fingers brushing against the worn leather of the pouch as she lifted it into her hands. It was heavier than she expected, her arms dipping slightly under the weight.

“This is… too much,” she whispered.

“No.” His voice was like stone, like something immovable. “It isn’t enough.”

She looked up at him then, truly looked at him, and for the first time, he saw the confusion in her eyes give way to something else. Something softer. Something she did not yet understand.

He exhaled slowly, his chest rising and falling in measured restraint.

This was just the beginning.

She did not yet know what she meant to him.

Caleb left her standing in the garden, still clutching the satchel of coin as if she didn’t know whether to accept it or cast it aside.

She would come to understand, soon enough.

The walk back to the palace was silent save for the measured fall of his boots against the stone path, his thoughts a storm he barely restrained. He should have felt satisfied—his wealth had bought him time, and the Duke of Wei was not fool enough to refuse him outright. But patience had never been one of Caleb’s virtues. The only thing that kept him from turning back and simply taking her was the knowledge that he would have her soon.

If they do not release her, I will kill him.

The thought did not disturb him. It did not even register as extreme. His entire life, he had been a force no one dared to challenge. Strength was the only truth men like his father and the Wei patriarch understood. If negotiation failed, he would set an example. And if his father tried to intervene, well—Caleb had no qualms about removing him, either.

He had not lied to himself when he thought: even death cannot have her. She is mine.

The days after his visit to the Wei household were spent preparing.

His side of the palace had always been austere—functional, disciplined, lacking in the excesses his father indulged in. He had no need for gold-plated halls or endless silken draperies. But now, as he stood in the vast rooms that belonged to him, he found himself dissatisfied. It was not fit for her .

And so he made it so.

He ordered the chambers redone—not in the gaudy extravagance of the emperor’s halls, but in something finer, something elegant. He had servants bring in furnishings of dark sandalwood, silk screens painted with quiet mountain landscapes, vases of white peonies and night-blooming jasmine. The bed was remade, draped in shades of blue so deep they looked like twilight.

Everything was chosen with her in mind.

For when she arrived.

For when she belonged here, as she was meant to.

The court whispered about him more than usual, their murmurs following him like the trailing hems of their robes. They thought he did not hear, that he did not notice the way they cast glances at one another, their mouths pressing into thin lines as he passed.

He is preparing his palace for someone. Has he chosen a concubine? A wife? The emperor will not allow it.

Their voices were dust beneath his feet.

And then, of course, his father summoned him.

The imperial study was dimly lit, the scent of old parchment and drying ink thick in the air. The emperor sat behind his lacquered table, clad in robes of gold, the embroidered dragons twisting over the silk as if they still had life in them.

Caleb did not bow.

His father’s mouth pressed into a thin line at the slight, but he did not comment. He had long since learned that Caleb was beyond control.

Instead, the emperor exhaled slowly. “You have been making a fool of yourself.”

Caleb tilted his head slightly, a slow, lazy movement. “Have I?”

The emperor’s fingers drummed against the wood. “I know what you intend. You have been throwing coin at the Wei household, bribing them for some common girl—”

A sharp, barely-there tch of amusement left Caleb’s lips.

His father’s jaw tightened. “It ends now.”

Caleb leaned forward slightly, his violet gaze gleaming with something dangerous. “And if it does not?”

The emperor’s hands clenched. “You are my son, the heir to this dynasty. You do not— will not —marry a servant.”

Caleb laughed.

His father’s eyes darkened with fury. “You dare—”

“Yes,” Caleb said, his laughter cutting off in an instant. His voice was sharp, lethal. “I dare. I always have. And you hate it, don’t you?” He took a step closer, his presence suffocating in the dim light.

The throne room was heavy with silence. Not the kind that came from reverence, nor the kind that settled in the quiet moments between words. No, this was the kind of silence that coiled, that crackled like a storm held just beneath the skin of the world. The kind that preceded disaster.

Caleb stood at the base of the dais, his chin lifted, his violet eyes burning with something sharp, something defiant. He was young—too young, the ministers would later murmur, too reckless. But his body was already built for war, his shoulders broad, his stance unwavering as he stared down the man who had given him life.

His father, the Emperor, regarded him with the cold amusement of a man who had long since dismissed the concept of being challenged.

Caleb did not wait for permission to speak.

“I said no.”

A ripple went through the court. A soundless, shared breath.

The Emperor’s fingers, resting lazily on the armrest of his gilded throne, curled ever so slightly. “No?”

His mother was watching.

Seated beside his father, the Queen’s face remained unreadable, her fingers folded neatly in her lap. But Caleb knew her well enough to see the tension in her shoulders, the slight parting of her lips as if she wanted to speak—to stop this before it escalated into something irreversible.

But Caleb was already past the point of stopping.

“You expect me to marry the Minister of War’s daughter,” he continued, his voice steady, though fire licked at the edges of every word. “To tie my name to his through some cheap exchange, as if I am nothing but a pawn for you to place where you please.”

The Emperor let out a slow, exaggerated sigh, tilting his head. “And what else are you, boy?”

A sharp, bright laugh left Caleb’s lips. It echoed in the chamber, bouncing off the gilded pillars, settling deep into the bones of the men who stood as witnesses to this moment.

Not a soft chuckle.

Not a restrained scoff.

A full-bodied, rich sound, deep and unbothered.

His father’s eyes darkened with fury.

“You dare—”

“Yes,” Caleb said, his laughter cutting off in an instant. His voice was sharp, lethal. “I dare and I always will. If you have no one to defy you, well, you only need to look for me.” He took a step closer, his presence suffocating in the dim light. “You hate that I do not grovel like the others. That I do not bow my head and pretend you are anything more than a man who got lucky with his throne.”

The Emperor’s fingers flexed. “I am still your father.”

Caleb’s head tilted, slow, deliberate. “Are you?”

A heartbeat of silence.

Then the Emperor moved.

He was fast—faster than most would expect from a man who lived draped in golden robes, weighed down by jewels and power. His hand shot out, a blur of motion—

A crack.

The sound of flesh meeting flesh echoed through the chamber.

The sting of it burned across Caleb’s cheek, a sharp bloom of heat that spread like wildfire. His head tilted slightly with the force, his dark hair spilling over his shoulder where the impact had knocked it loose from its binding.

But he did not move, did not step back, did not flinch.

Instead, he turned his head back toward his father, violet eyes locking onto his father’s own, something unbreakable, something dangerous simmering beneath them.

He smiled. It was slow, almost lazy, and it curled with something that made the ministers shift uncomfortably in their places, their robes rustling in the heavy air.

The Emperor’s nostrils flared. Caleb leaned forward, his voice a low whisper, meant only for his father’s ears.

“If you strike me again,” he murmured, his tone calm, too calm, “I will strike back.”

The chamber held its breath. His mother’s knuckles had gone white where they rested in her lap, her spine a rigid line of barely contained tension. But she did not speak.

The Emperor’s jaw clenched. His fury radiated from him in thick, suffocating waves, but Caleb knew—knew—that he had won.

Not because he had defied his father, but because he had not cowered, he had not bent. This was the moment the first time in his life that the Emperor had seen the inevitability of it.

That one day, this throne would be Caleb’s. Not because it was given to him.  Not because it was his by blood, but because he would take it.

With or without his father’s permission.

 “You hate that I am stronger than you. That everyone knows I am stronger than you. That this empire already belongs to me in everything but name.”

The emperor’s nostrils flared, but he did not interrupt.

Caleb smiled then, slow and cruel.

“I will take her,” he said, voice like velvet wrapped around steel. “I will make her mine, and you will not stop me.”

His father inhaled sharply, preparing to retort, but Caleb didn’t give him the chance. He stepped even closer, until the space between them was nothing, until he could see the flicker of unease buried beneath the emperor’s rage.

And then, in a voice so quiet it was almost gentle, he said,

“If you wish to die of old age, you will shut up and do as I say.”

Silence.

Heavy. Stifling.

The emperor’s lips parted slightly, his breath unsteady.

Caleb did not move. Did not blink.

And then, slowly, his father swallowed. His throat bobbed with the effort, his fingers curling where they rested on the table.

Caleb smiled again, softer this time. “Good,” he murmured.

Then he turned and left, the doors closing behind him with a quiet click.

The court would murmur. The empire would whisper.

But none of it mattered.

She would be his.

And nothing—not heaven, not earth, not even the gods themselves—would stand in his way.

The weeks dragged, but Caleb had not wasted them.

He had never spent much time among merchants or artisans before, but now, the palace markets knew him well. His attendants had been tasked with gathering the finest silks, the softest linens, the rarest dyes. Not in gaudy excess—he had no desire to bury her in jewels and paints, to make her something she was not—but in necessity.

Robes of deep blue, a shade that nearly matched his own, embroidered with silver-threaded lotuses. White silk undergarments, delicate and fine, ones that would feel soft against her skin. Hair ornaments, though not the elaborate, heavy ones worn by court women—just simple, elegant combs of carved jade, the kind he imagined slipping from her hair as he undressed her.

And, of course, robes for pregnancy.

His attendants had hesitated when he had ordered them. But they did not question him. No one questioned him.

He was not a man given to delays.

She would be his in every way. Soon.

And today was the day.

The Wei estate was alive with the sounds of midday when he arrived, the scent of cooking fires mingling with the late-spring air, the rustling of silk sleeves as attendants bustled through the courtyard. None of them expected him. They never did.

The guards at the entrance stiffened at his approach. They said nothing, did nothing, only parted the way as he stepped through. They knew better.

Inside, the Duke of Wei sat at a low table, drinking tea, the air thick with the scent of osmanthus blossoms.

Caleb did not wait to be announced.

The Duke’s eyes lifted, and a faint frown creased his brow. “Your Highness.”

Caleb did not waste words. He let the weight of his presence sink into the room, the inevitability of him.

“It is time,” he said.

The Duke set his cup down with a measured clink. “Time for what?”

Caleb’s gaze was steady. “You know why I am here.”

A pause. Then a slow exhale. “Your Highness, I have reconsidered your request.”

Caleb’s expression did not change. “ Request ?”

The Duke inclined his head slightly. “The emperor himself placed her here. If I release her without his blessing, it will be seen as an act of defiance. I cannot—”

The blade was out before the Duke could finish his sentence.

The room filled with the quiet, deadly whisper of steel sliding free, the polished length of the jian catching the light like frozen lightning.

The Duke stopped breathing.

Caleb did not move. He did not shift his grip, did not change his stance. He simply held the sword, steady as his own heartbeat, his violet gaze locked onto the man before him.

“I will say this once,” he murmured, voice like silk drawn over a blade. “Either take the coin.” A slow, deliberate step forward, the tip of his jian hovering near the Duke’s throat. “Or I take your life.”

The Duke’s throat bobbed. His hands clenched in his lap.

“I have been patient,” Caleb continued, voice quiet, but no less lethal. “You are alive because I allowed you to be. You breathe because I have permitted it. Do not mistake that for mercy.”

A bead of sweat slipped down the Duke’s temple.

Caleb tilted his head slightly, as if considering something. “If I kill you now, the emperor will be displeased, yes.” A pause, then a slow, cold smile. “But do you know what will happen?”

Silence.

Caleb’s blade inched closer. “Nothing.”

The word was soft. Deadly.

Because it was the truth.

His father could rage, could snarl and order punishment, but nothing would come of it. The court feared Caleb more than they revered the emperor. They knew who held power, who would one day rule.

The Duke knew it, too.

“You are a smart man,” Caleb mused. “So make a smart choice.”

The Duke swallowed hard. His eyes flickered to the glinting edge of the jian, then back to Caleb’s unreadable gaze.

A long, trembling pause.

“…She is yours.”

The words came out barely above a whisper.

Caleb did not move for a long moment. He let them settle, let the reality of them sink into the Duke’s own trembling frame.

Then, without another word, he lowered the blade.

The Duke sagged, barely noticeable, but Caleb saw it. Saw the way relief mixed with quiet terror.

It didn’t matter.

Caleb turned, sliding the jian back into its sheath with a quiet click.

“I expect her to be ready within the hour,” he said, voice even.

And then he left, his steps slow, deliberate.

The weight of victory settled in his chest like something inevitable.

She was his now.

Completely.

The first thing she noticed was the way the air in her room had shifted.

It was no longer quiet. No longer hers.

A flurry of movement, hushed voices, hands pulling open wooden chests, fingers smoothing over fabrics. The presence of too many people, too many maids , their sleeves rustling as they worked, their heads bent together in shared murmurs of something secret and urgent.

She sat on the edge of her sleeping mat, heart quickening as she watched them.

“What’s happening?” she asked, but the words went unheard beneath their voices.

“You really don’t know?” one of the older maids finally turned toward her, smiling like she knew something important , something dangerous .

She swallowed, hands curling in her lap. “Know what ?”

A younger maid leaned in, eyes gleaming. “The Crown Prince is here.”

The words sent a jolt through her chest.

Prince Caleb? Here?

The Wei estate was under the emperor’s rule, but the prince rarely left his own palace unless it was for matters of war or politics. What business did he have here ?

Another maid giggled, barely containing her excitement. “He came for you.”

The world tilted slightly.

Her lips parted, breath catching in her throat. “What?”

“He paid for you,” another added, lowering her voice as if the very words were scandalous.

The warmth of embarrassment crept up her neck. “That’s not—”

A laugh. “Oh, but it is .”

Another spoke, her tone hushed but no less amused. “He threatened to kill the Duke, too. Said he would take his life—or take you —” her voice turned knowing , “—and we all know what that means.”

The meaning hit her with the force of a thunderclap. Heat flooded her face, a protest rising in her throat before she swallowed it back.

“That’s ridiculous,” she said, voice tight, but the maids only exchanged glances, their grins widening.

“He wants you,” one of them murmured, smoothing a hand over the fabric of her packed belongings. “It’s obvious.”

Her breath came short and shallow. “That’s enough,” she snapped, her tone sharper than intended. “Don’t say such things. It isn’t true.”

But the laughter didn’t stop.

And despite herself, she could feel the words burrowing under her skin, curling deep into her thoughts.

He came for you. He paid for you. He threatened to kill for you.

She would not think about it.

She could not think about it.

Instead, she focused on the motion of hands tucking the last of her things into a satchel, the rush of final farewells as she knelt before the Wei children, their tiny arms clinging to her as she whispered parting words. Their voices, so sweet and innocent, made the weight in her chest all the heavier.

And then, before she could fully grasp what was happening, she was walking out of the only home she had known in weeks. The afternoon sun was bright, casting long shadows across the stone courtyard as she stepped outside.

Her breath hitched.

He was waiting for her.

Prince Caleb stood by the carriage, clad in blue and white, his long, ink-dark hair half-pulled back, his sword resting at his hip. He looked like something carved from divine hands, imposing, unshaken, and utterly untouchable.

The sunlight caught in his violet eyes, and she felt her stomach tighten at the intensity of his gaze. For a moment, she could not move. Then, remembering herself, she lowered into a deep bow.

“My prince,” she murmured, her voice careful, reverent.

Silence.

She dared to lift her eyes and saw something flicker across his expression, something unreadable, something possessive.

“Come,” he said. “I will explain everything on the way.”

She hesitated only for a breath. Then she nodded.

He did not wait for a servant or guard to assist her. Instead, he reached for her himself , hands wrapping around her waist as he lifted her effortlessly into the carriage.

Heat seared across her skin.

She barely had time to register the strength in his hands, the way his fingers pressed against her, before the door closed and the carriage jolted forward.

The silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating. She kept her hands folded in her lap, kept her gaze steady, though her pulse thrummed like a hummingbird’s wings. He was watching her. She could feel it, even without looking.

“You won’t be returning as a maid,” he finally said.

Her head snapped up. She stared at him, waiting for clarification, but he only studied her, his gaze unwavering.

She swallowed. “Then… why?”

“You are coming back as my intended. ” The words did not register at first.

She blinked. “…What?”

His voice was steady, certain, as if the world itself bent to his will. “I am going to marry you.”

The breath in her lungs *vanished. *He did not waver. Did not falter. Did not *blink. *She could only stare at him, wide-eyed, her heart slamming against her ribs.

It was madness.

She had not heard him correctly. She could not have heard him correctly.

She opened her mouth—perhaps to protest, perhaps to demand an explanation—but before she could form words, he moved.

Slow. Unhurried. His hand lifted, fingers reaching for her, and she froze as he brushed his knuckles against her cheek. His touch was warm, steady, tracing the curve of her jaw like something precious.

“You’re the only thing that matters now,” he murmured, his voice a rich, silken promise.

She shivered.

“I will marry you,” he continued, his thumb sweeping gently over her skin, slow and deliberate.

“And you will be my queen.”

The palace had changed.

She had not set foot inside these halls since the Queen’s passing, since the weight of grief had made each corridor feel hollow, stripped of warmth. Now, as she stepped through the carved wooden doors of the Crown Prince’s private residence, she felt something different , something deliberate.

It was still a palace, still vast and grand, but it no longer bore the cold detachment of royal spaces. The silks that draped the furniture were rich but not ostentatious, deep blues and soft whites blending like twilight and cloud. The faint scent of night-blooming jasmine lingered in the air, mixing with the sharp spice of sandalwood.

This was not a place meant to impress the court.

This was a place meant to keep someone.

She turned to Caleb, who stood just behind her, watching her reaction closely.

He did not ask her opinion. He did not need to.

Instead, he merely said, “This is yours now.”

Her fingers curled into the fabric of her sleeves. “I don’t…” she hesitated, unsure how to phrase it, “I don’t understand why you’ve done this.”

He stepped forward, closing the space between them.

“You will,” he murmured, voice low.

She did not have time to question him further.

With a flick of his fingers, he gestured to the maids standing nearby. “Bathe her. Dress her properly.”

The women moved at once, bowing before leading her toward an adjacent chamber, where a steaming bath had already been drawn.

She did not protest.

She could not .

The room was warm, thick with fragrant steam.

The wooden tub sat behind a carved screen, the delicate lattice work creating shifting silhouettes against the candlelight. She lowered herself into the bath, the scent of perfumed oils, amber, rose, a hint of honey wrapping around her like a second skin.

The water lapped gently against her shoulders. The warmth soothed her, unwinding the tension in her muscles.

“Leave us.”

Her breath caught.

The maids, who had been kneeling nearby, immediately bowed and hurried out, the door clicking shut behind them.

Silence.

A presence.

She could not see him, but she felt him.

Pacing.

Beyond the screen, just out of sight, Caleb moved with slow, deliberate steps, the soft rustling of his robes breaking the quiet.

She swallowed hard, her fingers gripping the edge of the tub.

“You are nervous.” His voice was low, unreadable.

She hesitated. “I… I do not understand any of this.”

A pause.

“I needed someone by my side,” he said, still pacing, his silhouette shifting behind the screen. “Someone loyal .”

She frowned slightly, the words settling heavily in her chest.

“Someone who understands this kingdom, not just its halls, not just the court, but the people .” He exhaled, his movements pausing briefly. “Not a highborn daughter who has never known hunger, never known grief. Someone real .”

She stared at the flickering candlelight on the water’s surface, trying to grasp the weight of his words.

“You,” he continued, voice softer now, “never shied away from my mother’s suffering. When the court pretended she was already gone, when my own father turned his back, you stayed .”

Her throat tightened.

“That is why I want you.”

She gripped the side of the tub harder.

“I will treat you well,” he murmured. “If you let me.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, steadying herself. “I… I am flattered,” she admitted, voice barely above a whisper, “but I don’t know if this is right.”

Then soft laughter, not mocking. Not cruel. Just… knowing.

“It is fate,” he said simply.

She looked up, startled.

He stepped closer, his figure clearer now through the thin gaps of the screen, the sharp lines of his shoulders, the glint of candlelight against his rings.

“The gods placed you before me,” he murmured. “Perhaps I was blind to it before. But not now.”

Her heart pounded against her ribs.

“Now, I see clearly .”

A long silence stretched between them.

She did not know what to say.

But he did not seem to require an answer.

Not yet.

With one last lingering glance toward the screen, he turned sharply and left.

She exhaled shakily, watching the candlelight dance.

And for the first time, she wondered had fate truly decided this for her?

The clang of steel against steel rang through the air.

Caleb moved with practiced precision, his jian slicing cleanly through the empty space before him before turning sharply to block an invisible opponent. Sweat dampened his skin, darkening the edges of his collar, the heat of exertion keeping his muscles taut and sharp.

He was trying to burn the thoughts of her from his mind.

It wasn’t working.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her steam curling over her bare shoulders, candlelight catching the delicate line of her throat. He had seen just enough through the cracks in the screen to want .

He wanted so badly .

He turned suddenly, blade cutting through the air and stopped.

His father stood at the entrance of the training hall, arms folded, his golden robes catching the torchlight.

“You are making a mistake,” the emperor said.

Caleb did not lower his sword. His breath came heavy, his body still thrumming with the remnants of his movements.

“The only one making imbecilic decisions regarding this kingdom is you , Father.”

His father’s expression darkened. “You think you are fit to rule? You make rash choices. Emotional choices.” He took a step forward. “This will ruin the kingdom.”

Caleb smiled sharp, slow, and dangerous . His sword was at his father’s throat before the man could blink.The emperor’s breath hitched.

Caleb’s voice was steady, cold. “You waste coin on lavish things while our people starve in the streets. If it weren’t for Mother and me, this kingdom would have fallen years ago.”

His father’s jaw clenched. “You overstep.”

“I rule ,” Caleb corrected. “And you will do as I say .”

The emperor exhaled sharply, his gaze searching Caleb’s for something. “This is the second time you’ve threatened to kill me.”

Caleb tilted his head slightly, his blade still firm.

“I won’t make a third .” A long, heavy silence.

Then, slowly, Caleb lowered his sword. The emperor said nothing as he turned and left. Caleb sheathed his blade, rolling his shoulders. His patience was wearing thin. It was time to end all delays.

The air was thick with the scent of osmanthus and the crisp, lingering chill of early evening. The sky, painted in the last shades of twilight, cast a dim lavender glow over the palace walls, the encroaching darkness pressing in like the hush before a secret is spoken. The flickering lanterns, swaying gently from curved eaves, sent warm, golden light stretching across the stone pathways in long, ghostly fingers.

She followed Caleb deeper into the gardens, the delicate silk of her robes shifting against her skin as a breeze curled through the open-air corridors. She had never ventured this far into his private residence, never been permitted to see the quiet, untouched corners of the palace that belonged to him alone.

Something about this space felt familiar.

She couldn’t name it, couldn’t quite place what made her chest feel tight as she stepped onto the gravel path, the soft crunch beneath her feet muffled by the wind’s gentle sigh. The branches arched overhead, their deep green leaves trembling like whispered secrets. The air here felt different, intentional , as though the very earth had been arranged with care.

Then she saw it. She stopped.

Rows of young apple trees stood before her, their trunks wrapped in protective cloth, their branches reaching skyward with quiet determination. Their roots, newly settled into the palace soil, had not yet seen their first bloom but they would. Soon.

A sharp breath caught in her throat.

“These…” Her voice barely carried past her lips, as if speaking too loudly might disturb the fragile stillness of the moment.

She reached out instinctively, fingertips brushing one of the slender limbs. The bark was smooth and cool beneath her touch, the promise of life pulsing just beneath the surface.

“They will blossom soon,” Caleb said.

His voice was low, steady, filled with quiet satisfaction. She had almost forgotten he was there, standing just behind her, close enough that his presence curled around her like an unseen thread pulling them together.

“Pink petals,” he continued. “Like the ones you love.”

Her breath faltered.

She turned her head slightly, her gaze flickering to him, searching his face for any sign of mockery. But there was none. Only certainty .

She had never spoken of her fondness for flowering trees. Never told him how she would linger beneath the Queen’s wisteria, how she had always found comfort in the delicate fragrance of blossoms carried on the wind.

He had noticed.

She swallowed. “You planted these?”

“I had them imported.”

The lantern light caught in his eyes, deep violet in the dim glow, steady and unreadable.

“For you.”

Her fingers curled into her sleeves.

Her heartbeat was too loud in her ears, each beat pressing against her ribs as if trying to remind her this is real, this is happening, this is him.

This was too much. Too intentional .

Too intimate .

“You—” She swallowed, lowering her gaze. “You didn’t have to do this.”.

Then his voice, low and firm: “I wanted to.”

Her breath trembled as it left her lips, the weight of his words pressing against her chest like the heavy hush before a storm.

He had wanted to.

Not because he was expected to. Not because it was a display of wealth. Not because it was part of some grand political game.

But because he had seen her.

Because he had thought of her.

She let the moment stretch between them, let the words settle in her chest like roots taking hold.

Finally, she exhaled.

“…Thank you.”

A flicker of something unreadable passed through his gaze.

His lips barely twitched a ghost of a smirk, subtle, controlled. But she saw the way his shoulders shifted, the way he stood a little taller at her words.

He liked hearing it. Good.

She wanted him to know she was grateful . Even if she still didn’t quite understand why.

Their footsteps fell in a slow, steady rhythm against the stone pathway, the rustling of leaves the only sound between them for a moment.

Caleb’s hands remained behind his back, his posture upright, deliberate. He was not a man given to slouching or mindless wandering every step he took had purpose. Every word he spoke had intent .

“This kingdom is rotting,” he said, voice low, steady. “The court drains it dry, hoarding wealth while the people suffer. My father’s excess is not strength, it is waste .”

She listened, as she always did, but this time—this time, she felt the conviction in his words, the sharp edge of his frustration, the deep-rooted anger laced beneath his measured tone.

“What would you do?” she asked softly.

His head turned slightly, his violet eyes catching the dim glow of lantern light. “I would rebuild.”

She kept her gaze forward, waiting.

He did not make her wait long.

“The poor will be given land to cultivate and farms where they can raise their own food, not just scraps handed down by men too fat with indulgence to care.” His voice deepened, rich with purpose . “The orphanages will be directly funded. Families will be supported so that fewer children are abandoned in the first place.”

Her breath stilled. He was not speaking in vague platitudes. He was not offering empty promises meant to sound poetic in the halls of court.

No, these were plans. 

He was a man who had thought of everything.

She turned to him, lips parting slightly. “You’ve thought of everything.”

“I had to,” he said simply.

She hesitated, then asked, “And the nobles? The ministers? You know they will fight you on this.”

He smiled then. Sharp. Knowing.

“They will do as I say.”

She exhaled, shaking her head slightly. “You make it sound so simple.”

“It is simple.”

She frowned. “Nothing about the court is simple , my prince.”

“Power is simple.” His voice was smooth, controlled. “They will obey because they will have no choice. There is no strength in them—only greed. Their fear of losing their luxuries will keep them compliant.”

She did not argue. She had seen it before, the way nobles bowed to whoever had the strongest grip on power, the way they pretended to care about the empire while stuffing their own coffers with stolen wealth.

Still, she pressed, “And if they resist?”

A pause.

Then, a slow, deliberate answer:

“Then they will no longer be nobles.”

The certainty in his voice sent a shiver down her spine.

He meant it.

He would strip titles, reclaim stolen land, dissolve power structures that had existed for generations if they stood in his way. He was not interested in merely ruling , he was interested in changing everything.

She had never met a man like him.

Her chest felt strange. Tight. For the first time, she believed in him.

Caleb's hands trembled as they cupped her face, his fingers were reverent, almost unsure, but the hunger in his eyes betrayed him. The way his thumb brushed over the softness of her cheek, the way he studied her with something fierce, something desperate, he was a man on the verge of losing himself.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, and the words weren’t empty, weren’t shallow flattery. They were raw, spoken like a confession, a plea, an offering of the deepest kind. His lips found hers, a slow press at first, but restraint was never his strength.

The kiss turned hungry, urgent, devouring. He kissed her like he would die without her, like the very air in his lungs had been stolen and only she could give it back. His hands moved, sliding to the curve of her neck, threading into her hair, tugging just enough to tilt her head, to deepen the connection. He wanted to consume her, to mark her, to pull her so close there would be no space left between them.

Her fingers clutched at his shoulders, gripping hard, nails pressing into the fabric of his tunic as if she were drowning and he was her only tether. His body was solid against hers, heat and strength and desperation all wrapped in the scent of sandalwood and something uniquely him. The world beyond them ceased to exist. There was no palace, no court, no throne, only this moment, only the fire between them.

He tore his lips from hers only to breathe her name, his forehead pressing against hers, his chest heaving. 

“If you stay by my side,” he whispered, the promise heavy, absolute, “I will worship the ground you walk on. I will tear down kingdoms if they stand between us. Just stay.”

As if she had a choice.

His mouth found hers again, and this time, it was slower, reverent, a vow sealed in the space between heartbeats. He kissed her like he was memorizing her, like she was something sacred.

And then, breathless, his control slipping, he lowered himself, pressing his lips to the hollow of her throat, then her collarbone, then lower still, until his forehead rested against her stomach. His hands clutched at her waist, his grip desperate.

“I swear,” he murmured against her, his voice thick with something unbreakable. “I will do right by you. At any cost.”

Her fingers slipped into his hair, threading through the dark strands that were no longer bound. She said nothing, but the way her hands moved gently, claiming, accepting was answer enough.

The room was silent but for the soft flicker of candlelight, the golden glow casting shifting shadows over the carved wood of the chamber walls. Beyond the heavy door, just a breath away, she slept peacefully, unaware of the torment raging inside him.

Caleb lay sprawled across the silk sheets, his body bare, heat thrumming beneath his skin. His muscles were taut, his breath uneven, his restraint hanging by the barest thread. He had always been a man of control, of discipline honed through years of battle and politics. But nothing had prepared him for this.

For her.

His cock stood thick and aching against his stomach, the evidence of his need undeniable. He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand over his face before letting it fall to his side, fingers curling against the sheets. The weight of desire pressed heavy against his chest, and he knew—he knew—he could not have her. Not yet. Not until she was his in name, in law, in every way that mattered.

But that did not stop him from wanting.

His gaze flickered to the small bundle beside his pillow. Pale cotton, soft and delicate, the undergarments she had worn before slipping into her bath. He had taken them when she wasn’t looking, when the steam had curled around her bare skin, when her body had disappeared beneath the perfumed water.

A shameful thing. A possessive thing.

But he did not care.

He reached for them now, his fingers brushing over the fabric, over the place that had pressed against her most intimate flesh. The thought sent a sharp pulse of need through him. He lifted them to his face, inhaling deeply.

The scent of her, subtle and intoxicating, filled his lungs. His cock twitched in response, an involuntary throb that sent heat pooling in his gut.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice hoarse, strained.

His grip tightened around the fabric, and he brought it lower, dragging the soft cotton over the head of his cock. A shudder wracked his body at the sensation, at the thought of how close this had been to her.

His free hand wrapped around himself, slow at first, teasing, as if testing the limits of his own patience. He was thick and hot in his own palm, veins prominent, the skin stretched taut with need.

“She’d touch me like this,” he murmured to the empty room, his voice barely above a breath. “Wouldn’t she?”

His strokes grew firmer, his hips lifting slightly into his own grip. The cotton bunched in his fingers, pressing against the sensitive underside of his shaft, gliding over the flushed tip where beads of wetness gathered.

“She’d look at me with those wide eyes,” he continued, breath hitching. “Curious. Wanting.”

The image formed in his mind so vividly he could almost see it, the way she would kneel before him, hesitant but eager, fingers wrapping around his length, lips parting.

His cock jerked at the thought, his rhythm faltering for a moment before he recovered, tightening his grip.

“She’d stroke me slow,” he rasped, his thumb circling the head, spreading the slickness, imagining her fingers in place of his own. “So soft. So careful.”

A groan tore from his throat as his pace quickened, the friction sending waves of pleasure licking up his spine. The scent of her surrounded him, the memory of her voice, the warmth of her skin when he had touched her, all of it mixing into something unbearable.

“Fuck...”

His muscles tensed, his thighs flexing as the coil of pleasure twisted tighter, tighter, burning white-hot just beneath the surface. His grip on the fabric was near bruising, his body coiled like a bowstring ready to snap.

“She’d take me in her mouth,” he choked out, the image searing into his mind, her lips parting, her tongue flicking against the tip, her expression filled with a mix of innocence and raw desire.

That was it. That was enough.

A ragged groan ripped from his chest as his release slammed into him, his hips jerking up off the bed as he spilled hot and thick over the cotton in his grasp. His vision blurred for a moment, pleasure crashing over him in waves so intense they left him trembling.

For long moments, he simply lay there, panting, muscles twitching in the aftermath.

Slowly, he lifted the ruined undergarments, his jaw tightening as he stared at the mess he had made of them. His release glistened against the fabric, soaking into the delicate fibers, marking them, marking her, in a way, even if she did not yet know it. He dragged it over his spent length once more, smearing it over the fabric, a shuddering dirty breath escaping him. She would know soon enough.

The palace was alive with celebration. Drums echoed through the streets, banners of crimson and gold stretched from rooftops, and the scent of incense curled in the air like whispered prayers. The people cheered, their voices rising in waves, some full of joy, others laced with scandalized disbelief. A maid for a queen. A commoner for an empress.

But none of it mattered.

Not to him.

Caleb stood at the head of it all, dressed in deep imperial blue, embroidered dragons coiling along the sleeves of his robes, a golden crown sitting heavy upon his dark hair. His fingers tightened around hers, a silent declaration, a reminder to the world that she was his, no matter what they thought.

She was breathtaking.

She wore the silks of a dynasty, her wedding robes flowing like water, the delicate embroidery a testament to her new status. But unlike the court women, she bore no mask of white powder, no painted lips, no false beauty. She was real. And that was how he wanted her.

When the final vows were spoken and she was bound to him—by name, by law, by destiny—she was led toward the throne room, where the nobles waited to offer their reverence.

But they would wait.

Because he had waited long enough.

He held up a hand, stopping the attendants in their tracks. “Leave us.”

The guards, the ministers, the courtiers, everyone hesitated. It was against tradition, against ceremony, but he was the Crown Prince, now Emperor, and his word was law.

The doors shut.

Silence.

Only the two of them remained.

She turned to him, wide-eyed, her lips parting slightly as if to question, but he was already reaching for her, drawing her to the center of the vast room. He spun her, once, watching as her silks flared around her, the sound of her laughter cutting through the hush like a melody.

Then he caught her.

His lips pressed to hers, slow, savoring, not just a kiss but a claim. His hands skimmed the curve of her back, pressing her against him, feeling the warmth of her body, the way she yielded so naturally.

When he finally pulled back, his breath fanned against her ear, and he turned her, her back flush to his chest. One arm curled possessively around her waist, the other gesturing toward the gilded throne that loomed before them.

“You’re going to sit there,” he murmured, voice thick with promise. “And I’m going to make you mine… right now.”

Her breath hitched.

He felt it.

Felt the way she shivered against him, the unspoken thrill running through her.

“I’ll be gentle,” he added, a smirk tugging at his lips.

He took her hand and led her forward, the hush of silk against the marble floors the only sound between them. The throne was cool beneath her fingertips as he guided her down, her heartbeat drumming against her ribs.

Then his hands were at her hips, gathering the heavy folds of her wedding robes, pushing them up, up, until they pooled at her waist, exposing the soft, delicate flesh beneath.

His breath caught at the sight of her.

“Perfect,” he murmured, almost to himself.

The doors were locked, the guards stationed outside, ensuring no one would dare interrupt what was about to happen.

She gasped as he sank to his knees before her, his hands parting her thighs, spreading her open to him.

“Caleb,” she whispered, half-scandalized, half-aching.

He only hummed in response, dragging his fingers over the sensitive skin of her inner thighs before dipping between them, finding her already warm, already slick.

“Already so ready for me,” he muttered, voice dark with satisfaction. “You’ve been thinking about this too, haven’t you?”

She opened her mouth to protest, but all that escaped was a soft, shuddering whimper as he stroked her, slow and teasing.

He chuckled, the vibration of it sending heat curling through her.

“Let me hear you,” he said, pressing a kiss against the delicate skin of her thigh before replacing his fingers with his tongue.

Her back arched.

The first flick was light, barely there, but then— oh .

His mouth sealed over her, warm and wet and relentless. His tongue traced every inch of her, tasting, teasing, devouring. Her fingers twisted into his hair, hips bucking slightly as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in her belly.

She tried to stifle her moans, to bite down on her lip, but he growled against her.

“Don’t hide from me.”

A sharp gasp left her as he slipped a finger inside, curling just right, his tongue still working her clit. The dual sensation sent stars bursting behind her eyelids, heat building unbearably fast.

He felt it, felt the way she trembled, the way her walls clenched, the way her breathing turned ragged.

“That’s it,” he murmured between licks. “Come for me.”

And she did.

The wave hit hard, her body arching against the throne, her legs trembling around his shoulders. He groaned as he felt her climax against his mouth, pressing his tongue deeper, tasting every bit of her release, prolonging the pleasure until she was shaking.

Only then did he pull back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes dark and hungry as they met hers.

She was still panting, dazed, her skin flushed in a way that made his restraint snap.

His fingers moved to his belt, unbuckling, the sound of leather sliding free echoing through the chamber.

Her breath caught as he freed himself, thick and heavy in his palm.

“Look at me,” he commanded, his voice rough, needy.

She obeyed.

He leaned down, capturing her mouth in a deep, bruising kiss as he guided himself between her thighs. He rubbed the tip against her entrance, teasing, coating himself in her slickness.

“Caleb!” she gasped.

“Shh,” he murmured. “Let me in.” he pressed forward.

She gasped, her fingers gripping his arms as he stretched her, filled her, and seated himself fully inside her heat. He groaned at the feeling, his forehead dropping to hers, his entire body trembling with the effort to hold still, to let her adjust.

“Fuck,” he rasped. “You feel…” 

He couldn’t finish the sentence.

He started slow, his strokes deep, deliberate, letting her feel every inch of him. But as her body grew more accustomed, as her hips tilted up to meet his, as her gasps turned into needy moans, his control cracked.

His pace quickened.

The sound of their bodies meeting filled the throne room, her moans swallowed by his mouth, his hands gripping her waist, keeping her in place as he took her harder.

Caleb’s grip on her hips was firm, possessive, his fingers digging into the soft flesh as he pulled her down onto him, guiding each deep, deliberate thrust. His breath was hot against her ear, his lips brushing over the shell before pressing down to the delicate curve of her throat.

“Mine,” he growled, the word vibrating against her skin, seeping into her bones.

Her fingers curled into the silk of his sleeves, her body trembling from the stretch, the fullness, the sheer intensity of him inside her. He was thick, hot, pulsing with every slow withdrawal and steady, claiming return. She had never felt anything like this, like she was unraveling with every movement, every touch, every rasped breath against her ear.

Her legs instinctively tightened around his waist, her thighs quivering as she tried to take him deeper, as if her body craved more of him, more of this.

And he gave it to her.

A soft, broken sound slipped from her lips as his hips snapped forward, the force of it making her head tilt back, exposing the pale line of her throat. He seized the opportunity, his mouth finding her pulse, kissing, nipping, his teeth grazing just enough to send a shudder down her spine.

“So beautiful,” he murmured against her skin, his voice rough, strained. “You’re perfect, do you know that?”

She whimpered, her hands moving up to his shoulders, gripping tightly as pleasure coiled low in her belly. Every thrust sent a spark shooting through her, every brush of his lips against her skin making her burn hotter, ache deeper.

He shifted slightly, adjusting his angle, and he felt her clamp down around him.

“Oh!”

She cried out, her nails digging into his back as he struck something inside her that made her body jolt, her thighs trembling in response.

Caleb chuckled, low and dark, his lips curving against her shoulder. “There?” he mused, pressing into that spot again, drawing another helpless gasp from her lips.

She could only nod, unable to form words, her mind slipping further into the haze of pleasure.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his breath warm against her skin. “Take me, just like that.”

Her eyes fluttered shut, her head falling against the high back of the throne as he set a faster pace, each thrust deep and sure, filling her in ways that made her toes curl, and made her body pulse with building heat.

The world beyond this room, beyond this moment, ceased to exist. There was no court, just kingdom waiting just outside the heavy doors.

There was only him. Only the delicious friction of his body moving against hers, inside hers. Only the way he groaned when she clenched around him, the way he whispered her name like a prayer against her lips.

“I’ve dreamed of this,” he admitted hoarsely, his fingers sliding up her sides, over her waist, up to cup her breasts through the heavy silk. “Thought about it every night.”

She whimpered as his thumbs brushed over her hardened peaks, her back arching into his touch.

“You don’t know how hard it was,” he continued, his lips ghosting over her cheek, her jaw, “having you so close… knowing I had to wait.”

His hips rolled against hers, slow, controlled, every movement measured, deliberate.

“But not anymore.”

His fingers trailed down her stomach, over the dip of her navel, lower “Now you’re mine.”

Her breath caught as he found that sensitive bundle of nerves between her thighs, his thumb circling it in time with his thrusts, pushing her closer, closer to the edge.

Her body tightened around him, pleasure coiling unbearably, her vision blurring as she gasped his name.

“That’s it,” he murmured against her lips. “Come for me.”

And she did.

The pleasure hit like a tidal wave, crashing over her in wave after relentless wave. Her thighs clenched around him, her hands fisting into the back of his robes as her body trembled through the aftershocks.

Caleb groaned at the feeling of her pulsing around him, his rhythm faltering, becoming rougher, more desperate.

He was close.

With a final, deep thrust, he buried himself inside her, his grip tightening as his release tore through him. He groaned into the curve of her neck, his breath ragged, his body shuddering as he emptied himself inside her, claiming her in the most primal way.

They remained like that for a moment, tangled together, bodies still humming with pleasure, with heat, with something deeper than either of them could name.

The distant sound of voices outside the heavy doors. A reminder that the kingdom still waited. That they would have to face it.

But not yet.

Caleb smirked against her skin, pressing a slow, lazy kiss to her jaw before murmuring, “Let them wait.”

When the last of the nobles finally departed, their silks rustling as they bowed their way out of the throne room, their murmured blessings lingering in the air. The heavy doors shut behind them, sealing the two of them in the vast space once more. The weight of ceremony, of duty, of expectation settled into silence.

Caleb exhaled, his shoulders rolling back, tension slipping from his muscles as he turned to her. His violet eyes found hers, still bright from the evening’s events, but beneath their glow lay something else, it was unreadable.

She watched him carefully, sensing the shift in his demeanor. “What is it?” she asked.

Caleb’s fingers tightened around his new wife’s hands, the weight of his words settling between them like the hush before a storm. The echoes of the last noble’s departing footsteps still lingered in the great hall, the scent of incense and ceremonial spices clinging to the air. Outside, the kingdom celebrated, unaware of the truth that had paved the way for this moment.

“My father is dead.”

She did not flinch.

Her dark eyes held her steady, unshaken. He had expected alarm, perhaps a flicker of fear. But there was none. Only quiet understanding, as if some part of her had always known.

“How?” she asked, voice soft, careful.

And suddenly he was not in the throne room anymore.

The memory came like a flood, dragging him under, submerging him in the night where his father drew his last breath.

He had known the moment she fell ill.

It had started with something small, nothing obvious, nothing to draw suspicion. A single meal, shared between the two of them. She had smiled at him over the rim of her teacup, her lips pressing to the porcelain, unaware that death had nearly kissed her in the same instant.

But Caleb had known.

He had seen the faint paling of her skin, the almost imperceptible shift in her breathing. He had felt the slight tremble in her fingers when she had touched his arm later that night, brushing against him in passing.

She hadn’t even realized.

She had not known that her body had been fighting something invisible, something deadly, that would have hollowed her out from the inside if not for the protection he had woven around her in secret.

For months, he had prepared.

Every cup she drank from, every plate she touched, he had coated them all in the antidote, layered them with protection, so that no poison, no treachery, no blade sharper than his own instincts could take her from him.

And still, they had tried.

Still, his father had tried.

That night, Caleb had stood over her as she slept, watching the slow, steady rise and fall of her chest, the faint sheen of sweat on her brow as her body rid itself of the last traces of the attempt.

He had traced the back of his fingers over her cheek, exhaling slowly.

Then he turned.

And walked out.

The emperor’s chambers were silent, the heavy drapes drawn shut against the moonlight. The golden glow of oil lamps flickered over the lacquered furniture, the fine silk rugs muffling his approach. His father sat at his writing desk, a brush poised in his fingers, the ink still fresh on the parchment before him.

He did not look up.

“ I was wondering when you would come,” the emperor murmured, dipping the brush once more. The scratch of bristles against paper was the only sound between them. “You are late.”

Caleb did not answer.

His father let out a quiet breath, shaking his head. “You have always been sentimental. You let that weakness of yours cloud your judgment.” He set the brush down, finally meeting his son’s gaze. “She is a mistake, Caleb. You know this.”

Caleb’s fingers twitched at his sides.

The emperor tilted his head, studying him with the same detached curiosity one might give an unruly dog. “Do you think this changes anything?” His lips curved slightly. “You think I did not anticipate your…”

The blade was unsheathed before he finished the sentence.

The tip pressed against the emperor’s throat, the steel cold against the flushed warmth of his skin. Caleb had moved so swiftly, so silently, that his father’s expression flickered—only for a moment—with something close to surprise.

But only for a moment.

Then, he smirked.

“ Are you going to kill me, son?”

Caleb did not blink. His voice, when it came, was quiet. Steady.

“ No third threat.”

The emperor exhaled through his nose, almost amused. “Is that what this is? You think that girl is worth—”

Caleb slit his throat.

The sound was soft.

A whisper of steel, the wet gurgle of surprise, the sharp intake of breath as blood spilled over his father’s silk robes, staining the golden embroidery in deep, blooming crimson. The emperor’s hands clutched at his throat, as if he could undo what had already been done.

His chair scraped against the floor as he slumped forward, his body convulsing, the ink on the parchment smeared by the drag of his sleeve.

Caleb watched.

He watched as life drained from his father’s violet eyes, the same eyes he had inherited.

There was no final plea. No grand monologue.

Only silence.

And when the emperor finally stilled, his head resting against the unfinished letter on his desk, Caleb stepped back, inhaling deeply.

His own blood was calm, his breath steady.

It was done.

The memory dissolved, slipping back into the past, leaving only the present in its wake. Caleb tilted his head slightly, studying her, before he spoke again. His voice was even, steady, unrepentant.

“He tried to kill you.”

She swallowed, her fingers tightening around his instinctively.

“I promised I wouldn’t make a third threat.” His lips curled in something almost wry, almost cruel. “So I didn’t.”

She said nothing.

He lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to her knuckles before continuing.

“I made it quick,” he murmured. “And I let them believe it was grief that took him.” His voice turned amused, sharp at the edges. “Heartbreak, they say. Died in his sleep, mourning my mother, a closed funeral as was his request” A lie.

A quiet, humorless chuckle escaped him.

“Some believe it,” he mused. “The ones who never truly knew him.” His violet eyes darkened. “But the ones who did? They know. And yet, none of them will dare speak a word of it.”

Silence stretched between them, thick and heavy. She inhaled slowly, steadying herself, her gaze never leaving his. To his mild surprise, she reached up, cupping his cheek.

“You did what you had to do,” she said, voice soft, certain. “And now… it’s over.”

Caleb leaned into her touch, his eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment before he let out a slow, measured breath.

“Yes,” he murmured. “It’s over.”

For the first time since his mother’s death, there were no chains left to hold him back. No father to manipulate from the shadows. No court official daring to resist him. No kingdom slipping through his fingers.

They had won.

And for the first time, he felt truly free.

His arms slipped around her waist, drawing her close, his chin resting atop her head as he held her against him.

“With my father gone, we have control of the kingdom in every way,” he murmured against her hair, his voice thick with conviction. “Nothing can stop us now.”

He pulled back just enough to look at her, his violet eyes shimmering with something rare, something nearly childlike in its purity, excitement.

“We will save our people,” he said. “We will rebuild. We will make something better , a legacy that will last beyond both of us.” His fingers trailed up her arms, reverent, like she was something sacred.

“This kingdom will no longer be a place of greed, of suffering.” His voice was rich with passion, his grip tightening ever so slightly. “And you will be the queen who stands at my side through it all.”

The weight of his words settled into her bones, weaving through the spaces between her ribs, sinking deep into the quiet places of her heart. She had known him as a force of nature, ruthless, unwavering, a man who bent the world to his will. But now, standing before him, feeling the steady warmth of his hands against her skin, she saw beyond the fire and the hunger.

She saw the man beneath the crown.

A man who had been shaped by grief and tempered by fury. A man who had built walls so high no one dared to scale them…until her.

And now, he had given her a promise.

Not one of power, not one of politics.

Something simpler.

Something deeper.

His thumb moved in slow, deliberate circles against her cheek, his touch reverent, as though he feared she might slip away. The sharpness in his gaze had softened, his violet eyes holding something unguarded, something rare.

He was giving her time.

He, who had taken everything he had ever wanted with force, was asking nothing from her.

Her throat tightened.

There was so much she could have said in that moment. So much she could have asked him.

But words failed her.

Instead, she let herself lean into him, her forehead resting against his, her breath mingling with his own. His arms wrapped around her, strong, steady, unwavering. Holding her as if she was something irreplaceable.

His heartbeat was a steady rhythm against her own, an unspoken vow whispered in the quiet space between them.

And for now that was enough.

[vesearlee]

──── 𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝑺𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒕𝒖𝒂𝒓𝒚

While Caleb had fought and won countless battles, the one he wanted to fight the hardest against wasn’t his own — it was yours, and all he could do was stand by your side.

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 ── Caleb x F!Reader 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 ── 1k 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 ── Fluff, light angst, hurt/comfort, chronic illness/pain 𝐀𝐎𝟑 ── HERE 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ── I am just being self-indulgent and trying to get myself back into the swing of writing...

───  𝑳𝑨𝑫𝑺 𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕  ───

It started slow. 

A restless thrum of tension beneath your skin that settled deep in the marrow of your bones; bleeding into the sinew and fibres of each muscle that lay achingly still. 

The room was bathed in the golden light of a rising sun, though the shadows casted by the rays showed the curtains were still mostly drawn. 

You blinked lazily, and your eyes roved over what you could see from your vantage point beneath the comforter and countless blankets piled high over your back. 

The weather within Skyhaven had taken a turn for the worst. The constant sound of rain against the floor to ceiling windows of Caleb’s home was soothing beyond all measure, but the cold that came with the blessed rain was far from ideal. 

Especially when your body fought so valiantly against the barometric pressure and ache from the chill in the air. 

Though Caleb ran as hot as a furnace, and his no-longer-barren home had a tell-tale, homely warmth to it, it did not stop the leech of pain from sapping what your own traitorous body could manifest. 

A small sound in the hallway caught your attention, and you slowly moved your head to stare at the doorway. The half-closed door remained as it was, and there were no footsteps to allude to a secondary presence — arguably the one you wanted and needed most, especially now. 

The small movement of your neck made your whole torso sing with pain, and you winced, a sharp inhale of breath through your teeth barely audible over the rustle of cotton. It was a day already, and you were ready for it to be over. 

While you were used to days that were worse than others, they still took a countless toll on your mind and physical state. The longing for normalcy grew and grew—

Caleb. You needed Caleb; the desire to be held and consoled overwhelmed you enough to bring tears to your eyes. 

Subconsciously, your sore limbs untangled from the sheets with little struggle — a blessing in itself — and with your body now bare to the chill of the air, you shuffled forwards to steal one of his discarded hoodies. The fabric was soft and warm; well-worn in its age, and it only added character to the faded palette of blues and whites. 

The way the fabric enveloped you wholly was like being held by him himself. Your heart fluttered while you pulled the cuffs into your palms so they elastic would brush over your knuckles. 

You yawned and walked towards the doorway, and as you opened the door, the sudden smell of numerous breakfast foods reached your senses. It made you pause; the enticement of nourishment made your mouth water. His cooking was never something you wanted to miss, and just now it was just the balm you needed. 

As well as the feel of his arms around you, that is. 

Quietly, you made your way towards the expansive kitchen and dining area, the black floor and black marble gleaming from the dim overhead lights above — an accommodation that made your heart soar, a simple act of care by replacing bulbs with softer, warmer tones to save the pain in your eyes. 

Around the corner, you could hear the quiet sizzle of heated oil or butter, with the clink of plates and bowls being moved. 

The soft sound of someone humming a tune called to you, and you peered around the hallway corner. The sight you found made your breath catch in your throat. Caleb was at the stove-top with his back turned to you, a spatula twirling in one hand while the other held fast to the pan over the element. 

“You’re awake, baby,” he said, loud enough to be heard over the sizzling food. Amethyst irises met your wide-eyed gaze, and that charming smile made you almost swoon on the spot. “G’mornin’, Pips.”

“Good morning,” you replied quietly, walking forward. Caleb turned back to the stove and kept humming — up close, you could see the muscles of his upper back and shoulders move effortlessly. Your eyes wandered downwards to the low hung waistband of his grey sweatpants to the curve of his ass. 

All of the pain through your body suddenly seemed far less prominent — a distant dream, perhaps. 

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” he teased. The sudden taunt made you start, and you glanced upwards only to find him already staring at you over his shoulder. “C’mon. Grab a seat and let’s eat.”

You made a noise in agreement low in your throat, though you didn’t move towards the breakfast bar of his kitchen. No, you moved forwards until your arms circled around his waist and hips from behind, your chest flush with his back. 

“Hey, what?” Caleb froze for no longer than a second in your hold, and then he was suddenly facing you. The grip you held over his lower stomach now rested on his lower back, and his chest was now all you could see. 

“Baby? Not that I’m complainin’, but are you alright?” Warm hands cupped your face, gently directing your lowered gaze up to his face. A small pout played on your lips at the action, but Caleb did not relent. “You’re awfully quiet, Pips. What’s got you feelin’ down, huh?”

His eyes searched yours, the flicker of lilac and pink mixing in the morning light. 

You swallowed thickly around the sudden lump in your throat. “Just… tired.”

Caleb’s eyes widened slightly and his grip on your cheeks fell lax until his fingers traced the column of your throat. “Ah,” he whispered sadly. “Why don’t we stay in? Just like when we built forts as kids—we can watch those stupid, awful, horrible action movies and I can hold you. Whatever you want.”

The tears that had been forced down when you awoke suddenly sprung forward again, and there was no stopping them. 

Caleb leaned down and forward, and his lips grazed your cheeks, collecting your tears before they could fall. “Let me take care of you, Pips.”