caleb checks if he'd fit inside
size difference, size kink, excessive use of gege
He was kind, and gentle, and patient. That was how you knew him. Even when tension radiated off his body after a long absence with the fleet. Even when you pestered him, pushed him, secretly hoping he might snap and finally, finally let you make it better.
It's no different now, as he sits there across from you, helping you finish a model plane you'd been working on for weeks.
You crawl across the carpet to him, frustrated with the fiddly parts. "I can't make them fit," you pout, holding out two pieces for inspection.
"Hm?" he hums, placing his own little piece of the project down beside him. "Let me see."
You watch him work on slotting the two parts together, his large, vascular hands manipulating the delicate plastic with a gentleness that reminded you of yourself––of the restraint he showed when holding you.
He was bigger, after all. So much bigger. All of him.
"There," he says, holding out the expertly joined pieces for you to take. "They fit."
"You forced them."
He looks at the pieces, then to you. "Nah, they fit perfectly. See?" He gestures for you to take them––to see for yourself.
You refuse, unmoving.
He tilts his head. "What's wrong?"
"You're stronger than me."
His lips twitch a little in one corner. "Only a little."
You shake your head, frowning.
"Alright," he says, "Much stronger. Happy?" He asks, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear.
"And bigger."
His eyes drop, analysing, like he hasn't noticed before. Then, a little smile. "Only a little."
You crawl a little closer. Settling on your knees in front of him. "Much bigger."
"Is that right?" he questions, amused.
"Look," you say, holding your palm up for him to meet with his own. His eyes make a slight flick away from your face to your joined hands—to the way his fingers curl over yours comfortably.
"Maybe I just have very… very, large hands," he says as his fingers make a path down your palm to wrap around your wrist. His eyes flick across your face. Then, "Should we check the rest of me, too? Check how much bigger I am?"
He was teasing. Playing. Testing. You could turn around and return to your model, and he'd continue on just as he had before: a calm, warm presence.
Instead, you untuck your legs from beneath you, and keeping your eyes on his, you lower yourself onto your back––hair splayed out across the carpet. He’s pulled a little towards you as he refuses to release your wrist, angling down over you.
A pause.
"Alright," he says finally, much like he had when you'd passed him your two difficult plane parts. "Let gege see."
He lifts himself to his knees and shuffles even closer. Then he lifts your legs and arranges them around his waist and hips, slotting himself up against you.
"Hm," he hums, looming over you, blocking out the sun through the window behind him. "You do look very small like this." His hand snakes up your thigh. A smile pulls at his lips. "You'll stay still for me while I check, won't you? You can be good for gege and stay nice and still.”
Despite your nod––a silent promise to obey, to be good––he keeps his grip on your ankle as he works to undo the button at his waistband. Control. You didn’t mind it at all. Control was safe.
And when he shoves his pants down just below his ass, he closes the gap between you again, pressing himself between your thighs.
His movements are slow, precise, like they’d been as he manipulated the tiny little plastic pieces. A hand snaking its way up your calf. His warm palm wrapping around your thigh as his heavy cock, confined in dark briefs, rests against your white cotton underwear.
“See?” you squeak as he rocks his hips once against you. “All of you is bigger. We wouldn’t fit.”
“Wouldn’t fit?” he questions, mocking.
Then, without warning, he hooks his thumb into the waistband of his briefs and tugs them down to free himself. Hard, and a little pink at the tip, it adds to his looming presence over you.
Using one hand to hold your hips slightly off the ground, up against him nice and close, he uses the other to press his cock down against your belly.
His head tilts a little.
“I could make it fit,” he announces, sounding a little distracted, eyes fixed where he measures himself against you. “Would stretch your pretty little hole open,” he says. “Might hurt a little… But you could bite my hand, yeah? You can take it out on gege.”
You shift a little, starting to squirm.
“Might just take the tip…” he continues as his hand works a little over himself. “But if you were really good for me… so, so good… you could hold on to me tight and let me sink all the way inside… would fill your belly up nice and deep… but we’d fit. Gege promises.”
~ I feel like I be saying the same things in different fonts but this has been lingering in my head for at least a month now so why not.
Sylus cannot stop spitting on your pussy during sex. You could be sopping wet, a mix of his cum and yours literally everywhere. All over your cunt, your thighs, dripping down your ass. It's still not wet enough, every so often he just spits down on where his cock disappears inside of you to make it even wetter.
Xavier eats you front to back, you don't think there is a time where he's gone down on you and not licked your ass too. You're mortified about it, make a point to really deep clean yourself up prior to seeing him. He's eating you to the bone, licking and sucking and biting every inch of you from the top of your thighs all the way down and around to the small of your back.
Caleb loves the smell of your pussy, an obsession that goes far beyond stealing your panties for personal use. He'll purposely eat you out with the blankets over his head to be enveloped by the heady scent that is you and your arousal. You swear you feel his nose burying between your slick folds more than his tongue.
Rafayel is into snowballing after he cums in your mouth. Don't swallow, don't spill either. He's tugging you up to his level and crashing his lips against yours, a sloppy mix of tongue and teeth as you pass whatever of his cum remains in your mouth over to his before he's pushing it back into your own again.
Zayne purposely makes you squirt / ruin his sheets. It gives him a sense of satisfaction seeing the wet spot (puddle). He purposely bought a water proof mattress cover for this reason. When everything is done and you go to shower? He's grinding his cock into the wetness, hard all over again at the aftermath of your strenuous activities before stripping the bedding to wash.
sylus was a heavy sleeper when he knew you were safe, but he was an even heavier anchor when he didn’t want you to leave the bed.
the afternoon sun was entirely blocked out by the blackout curtains, plunging he bedroomn into a quiet twilight. you had climbed into bed just to keep him company while he took a much needed nap, but after an hour of lying still, your limbs were getting restless. you shifted slightly, trying to slide out from under the heavy arm around your waist.
you were barely halfway to freedom when the srm tightened like a metal trap. with one effortlessly yank, sylus dragged you right back across the sheets, pulling you flush against his chest.
tsk. so close.
“going somewhere, sweetie?”
his voice is a deep, gravelly murmur that vibrates against your back. he didn’t even open his eyes, his silver hair messy and untamed against the dark pillows.
“i want water,” you whisper, a breathless laugh escaping you as you pat his forearm. “and you’re holding me hostage."
“then stay captured,” he mumbles, his face burying directly into the crook of your neck. his warm breath tickled your skin for a second before his lips press a lazy kiss to your pulse point.
you let out a quiet gasp, wriggling in his grip. “sylus, stop! it tickles!”
“no,” he murmurs against your skin, a low chuckle vibrating in his chest. his hands slide down to your hips, his fingers pinching your waist to make you squirm even more.
“you are absolutely impossible when you’re sleepy,” you giggle, twisting in his arms until you are facing him. you reach up and deliberately ruffle his already messy hair, shaking the strands until they fall over his closed eyes. “look at you. completely lost your edge now.”
sylus finally cracks an eye open. his crimson eyes are hooded snd thick with affectionate warmth. a slow amused smile pulls at his lips.
“lost my edge, have i?” he echoes softly.
in one fluid motion, he flips his body over, pulling you along with him until you were sitting squarely on his lap, legs automatically straddling his hips. your hands fly to his broad, bare shoulders for balance as you let out a gasp of laughter.
“if you think so, sweetie, you’re welcome to try and break out of this,” he says, hands gently resting on your waist, but his grip tight. he looks up at you, his gaze warm and amused.
“you cheat,” you tease, heart doing a sudden happy flip as you lean down, face just inches from his. “using your size against me."
“i use what works,” he whispers, his thumb capturing your lower lip and pressing down until your mouth parts.
sylus dosen’t give you another second to argue. he tilts his head up and catches your mouth in a lingering, sweet, soft kiss.
the playful bickering melts away into total warmth. it isn’t a demanding, but a lazy, lingering embrace of your lips that leaves you grinning against his mouth.
he nuzzles the tip of his nose against yours, stealing little, breathless kisses between light chuckles, his large hands rubbing comforting, rhythmic circles over your hips. you lean into him completely, your fingers combing gently through his hsair fully untangling the strands you just ruined.
when he finally pulls back a fraction of an inch, his breathing is soft, his lips brushing an affectionate kiss against your cheek.
“water can wait,” he murmurs, his voice a low, cozy rumble. “stay right here, sweetie.”
you wrap your arms tightly around his neck, burying your face in his shoulder with a content sigh. “fine. but only because you’re warm.”
sylus chuckles softly, pulling the duvet up over both of you and holding you close against his chest. “whatever helps you sleep, kitten.”
Grand Duke!Zayne and you are so loud during sex that there is an unofficial consensus among the staff to avoid your wing at night completely, and most of the times during day after finishing essential housekeeping💀;
The heavy oak door to your chambers had barely clicked shut before Zayne's lips found your neck, his large hands already working at the laces of your nightgown.
"You're impatient tonight, Your Grace," you breathed, though you made no move to stop him.
"Hush." His voice was a low rumble against your skin. "I've been in council meetings for six hours listening to the old baron droning about grain taxes. Let me have this."
It doesn't take long till both your moans shadow the ominous creaking of the bed and the rattling of various ornaments in the room.
...
Your two handmaidens, Elara and Mina, look up as they hear the noise, before facing each other and shaking their heads, scurrying out before they traumatise their poor ears.
"I swear by the gods," Mina whispered, her cheeks flushed crimson even as she pressed a hand to her chest, "last week I went up to fetch my embroidery scissors. I forgot he'd returned from the border. The things I heard..."
Elara winced. "How long did it take you to recover?"
"Three days. I walked past the door at the wrong moment." Mina's voice dropped to a horrified hush.
They rounded the corner into the servants' stairwell, where the stone walls offered blessed, deadened silence.
"The new stable boy asked me yesterday why no one goes to the east wing after supper," Elara said, adjusting her wimple. "I told him it was being renovated."
"Renovated." Mina let out a choked laugh. "That's one word for it."
...
Down in the kitchen, the cook had taken to serving late-night tea with a knowing look and a sympathetic pat on the shoulder for any servant who emerged from the upper floors looking particularly haunted. The head housekeeper had a rotation schedule that mysteriously exempted the entire eastern corridor from evening duties. Even the guards had been known to draw straws for who had to walk the night patrol past the Grand Duke's chambers.
"The chandelier," one guard had whispered to another just last week, his face pale. "I watched it swaying. And no windows were open."
...
Upstairs, oblivious to the quiet terror they had inspired among the staff, Zayne's hand braced against the headboard as the bed (solid oak, reinforced twice by a skeptical carpenter) protested loudly beneath you two.
"Ah...Zayne...the bed..." He drove deeper, hooked his hips just so, and your warning dissolved into a sound that would have made a nun blush to the tip of her toes.
"Don't worry about the bed, my duchess," Zayne growls against your throat. "It's not more valuable than your pleasure."
He hikes your leg up higher over his shoulder and thrusts deeper, dissolving whatever you were about to say into a loud moan.
...
There is a thud and a sprinkle of plaster and ash, and a porcelain vase wobbling dangerously close to the edge of its console table, and your handmaidens, chef and two of the night guards stare at each other awkwardly.
"Do you think," whispered Elara, "they realize we can hear them from the kitchen?"
Mina finishes her tea, and produces a pack of earplugs "Not if I can help it. Take some, and goodnight." she stuffs two into her own and walks back to her quarters.
childhood bestfriends caleb and nonMC!reader, who he's secretly in love with while she thinks he likes someone else
warnings. angst, fluff, rejection, she fell first he fell harder, caleb is down bad, groveling, miscommunication, caleb sucks at feelings, slow burn, childhood friends to lovers, he gives her a nickname adjacent to pipsqueak
preview. "I love you," he says, pressing his forehead against yours. You want to tell him that it's not fair to treat you the way he does and expect you not to fall for him. That holding your hair when you vomit, falling asleep at your bedside when you're sick, and his eyes closing in on you in any room is not fair. "Then prove it to me."
wc. 8.4k (she's hefty...)
You proposed to Caleb for the first time when you were nine years old, with a flower ring.
The winter air had nipped at your flushed cheeks as you stepped into ice, holding it out to him. Your breath had puffed into the air like a dragon, and you nuzzled your chin further into the wool of your scarf to keep warm. It had been the only flower left after fall had faded away, yet its white petals stood brilliantly in between your fingertips, weathering against the cold.
The child in front of you was closed off. Eyes narrowed, fists balled inside his pockets, and usually adorning a solemn look on his face. Though, it had certainly gotten better since you first met him as one of Grandma Josephine’s adoptive children. Back then, he hadn’t even spoken much—only keeping MC tight at his side, as if she might disappear if he didn’t. He wasn’t rude by any means…just, cautious. Too aware for a child of his age.
But without a doubt in your mind, he was the most handsome boy you’d ever seen.
He’d raised his brows. “You just met me last week.”
“It’s love at first sight.”
He rejected you, naturally, but it did little to make a dent in your childish heart. Not when his purple hues gazed into your own, with a softness that didn’t seem intent on hurting you.
The next two decades becomes a perpetual cycle of this encounter—in which you learn that Caleb is a very caring person.
In that time, you learn a lot about him, aside from his gorgeous face. You find that he’s fond of nicknames. Pipsqueak for MC. Splints for you, when you launched yourself off a swing and broke your wrist trying to impress him. Safe to say, it didn’t impress anyone but your doctor, who was baffled you managed to fly so high into the air with your 11-year-old legs. Caleb held your other hand tight in the emergency room as you wailed helplessly, waiting for the doctor to ease the pain. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t cry just a tad longer to keep your hand in his.
“This thing is so ugly,” you whine, picking at your cast as he walks you back home. “Do you think I’m gross now, Caleb?”
“It’s not ugly. You need it to get better.”
“I thought you’d fall in love with me if I went high enough,” you sniffle fake tears, which he reads in an instant. “I did go pretty high up, though. So maybe you like me at least.”
He laughs, and you scowl, insisting that you aren’t joking. So instead, he smiles and holds your free hand in his again. Your heart skips a beat. A childish, but innocent love fluttering in your chest. “Come on, splints. Let’s go watch TV, and I can sign your cast.”
The broken wrist is so worth it.
With MC being two grades lower than the two of you and thus having a different schedule, it doesn’t take long before you’re doing practically everything with Caleb. He’s your seatmate in class, the two of you walk to and from school, and there doesn’t seem to be a moment where you aren’t glued at the hip. Throughout all of this, you make sure you shoot your shot whenever the chance arises—even when it doesn’t arise at all.
“You get any chocolates for Valentine’s?” you ask as you plop down in your seat with your lunch, not-so-conspicuously eyeing his desk as his friends begin to crowd around the two of you. It didn’t take long for Caleb to adjust to ordinary school life. After his initial bumpy introduction where he seemed hesitant to get close to anyone his grandma would introduce him to, he was quick to adjust to a level of charisma even you haven’t gotten to.
By now, he’s charisma personified. You, yourself, have no idea how quickly he adapts to things. Though, you do recall that after an exam measuring his intelligence, he was told he couldn’t lower his grade by two years to be with MC. So you suppose he’s rather bright—almost as much as his face.
“Too many,” one of his friends groan, dragging his hand down the side of his face. “Life’s so not fair, dude.”
“Just a few,” Caleb laughs, turning to feel me stare at him expectantly. “Most of them are obligatory. I just helped a couple people out during gym.”
You glance at his friends. “How many is a few?”
“At least five,” another one grins. He wiggles his eyebrows at you, and his friend snickers at his shoulder. “You jealous?”
It’s not like your crush on Caleb is new news. In fact, it’s practically common knowledge at your school, given how open you are with your affection with him. Asking him out with a giant poster on orientation day, sending him notes with hearts littered everywhere during class, and refusing to be subtle when you’re discussing it with your friends…it tends to add up. Most people believe your relationship to be strange, but those who matter thought of it as the norm, so it doesn’t really matter.
“Jealous? I don’t think so, why?”
“Most girls would be if their boyfriend got a bunch of chocolates,” he responds, to which Caleb immediately reminds him that you’re not dating. Then his friend sighs. “It’s cute when girls get jealous, isn’t it?”
At this, your ears perk.
“Should I be jealous?” you ask Caleb, making his friends erupt into snickers. “Do you think it’s cute too?”
He rolls his eyes and flicks your forehead softly. “Do you ever ask normal questions, splints?”
Throughout your childhood together, everything involves him. Family dinners, graduation, holidays, all of it. Of course, this means that MC is there for all of it too. You’re helplessly in love, but you’re not stupid. You know what love looks like from the movies their grandma would play on their TV. He cares for her with a different look in his eyes. He protects her with a lovingness in his voice that he doesn’t spare for you.
The same fingers that flick your forehead touch her arm gingerly, like she could crack in half if he holds too hard. He doesn’t touch her very easily either, whereas he often falls asleep with his head fully leaning against your shoulder on the bus ride home. He wakes up at the crack of dawn to make her lunch, while the two of you munch on sandwiches from the school cafeteria during lunch breaks. He scolds you when your clothes are tossed on the ground while he folds hers without her having to ask. He never enters her room to protect her privacy while he lounges in yours like he owns the place.
Your Caleb, you have found, is different from MC’s Caleb.
MC’s Caleb is easy to depend on. Trustworthy, perfect, and never makes a mistake for the life of him. He never loses his cool in front of her, never has a hair out of place, lets her win at all the board games, and always has this clear but dazed look in his pretty purple eyes. Your Caleb has none of that. Your Caleb teases you mercilessly when you lose the card game for the fifth time in a row. Your Caleb passes out on his desk while studying for an exam, essentially drooling on his notebook to lie to MC that he’s naturally talented at math. Your Caleb sends you stupid videos about plane models and forces you to sit through a thirty-minute explanation about it.
You know he likes her. He knows you know he likes her. She doesn’t know anything at all. All jumbled up, like a wordless pact ready to crumble at any moment.
Of course, this means that he prioritizes her over you at times. All the time. It’s to be expected. She’s family, you’re not. You’ve grown used to it, and so has he.
MC doesn’t notice though, because she doesn’t have to. Because to her, Caleb is just a slightly nagging but cool adoptive brother. Nothing more, nothing less. And you’re one of her childhood friends, and Caleb’s best friend. Nothing more, nothing less.
The first year after you graduate high school is a dramatic shift from your cozy hometown. You somehow manage to get into the same college as Caleb–and you attribute his tutoring to be the main culprit—though in different majors. It’s a lot to convince him to go so far from home given that MC is still at home, but after a lot of reluctant discussion, he agrees.
“Take off your shoes at the door,” he reminds you as you barge into his dorm room after a particularly difficult exam for one of your classes. You do as he asks, grumbling about how he has no mercy for the fallen, tossing them haphazardly beside the door and prancing past him. He takes the time to tidy them up, as if he’s expecting it. “How was your exam?”
“Awful. I went through war.”
Caleb grins as he sits down at the coffee table beside you, watching as you bury your face into your arms. “And whose fault is it that they didn’t want to study?”
“Yours.”
“Funny,” he snorts, and you feel his large hand ruffling the top of your head. “It’s alright, splints. I can tutor you a bit earlier on the next one.”
“Even you can’t save me for this class.”
“Is that a challenge?”
He ends up cooking up something quick in his makeshift kitchen (essentially just a rice cooker), while you laze around on his bed, scrolling aimlessly on your phone. Once he’s finished, you scarf down his food like a man starved, lips stretching widely. At times like these, you’re oddly grateful for his hopeless love toward MC. How else would he have learned to cook such good food? “You should honestly be a chef, Caleb. Actually, no, that would mean other people would eat your food. I guess you can just be my personal chef when we’re married.”
Caleb remains completely unaffected, wordlessly cleaning the plate in front of you. “I didn’t realize I was engaged.”
“Well, now you know. Not sure if you remember, but I had fireworks for you and everything when I proposed. Plus an orchestra.”
He hums, looking up as if he’s in thought, and then nods. “Now that you mention it, that does sound familiar, splints. How could I forget?”
You shrug. “You tell me.”
His face falls as you pace to the door and begin to put your shoes back on. “Where are you going? Aren’t you done with class?”
“Going out. I deserve it after that exam.”
“With your friends?”
“No, with four guys,” you joke, but he doesn’t seem to find it very funny. “I’m just going to a club. I won’t be back too late.”
He’s already grabbing his jacket. “I can come.”
You push him back with your finger by the nose, and he blinks in surprise, making you laugh. “No need. You have exams too, y’know.”
“I’m done studying.”
“Liar.”
Though it takes some convincing, you eventually have him sit at his desk once more. He manages to nag a whole lot as you leave, reminding you to call him once you’re done so he can pick you up, but you just wave him off as you leave out the door. You take your time getting ready–dolling yourself up to hide the dark circles beneath your eyes. As you get ready, you video call MC, where she asks how you and Caleb have been doing in her absence. She rants about her days with her grandma, complaining about how quiet the house is when Caleb isn’t home, though she indulged in the beginning. She asks you to show her your outfit once you’re done, and she beams brightly in your screen, squealing about how you’d likely get a boyfriend soon that you can tell her all about.
You just smile, because you don’t know how to tell her that the only boy you want is wrapped around her unknowing hand.
The club is loud. Where the music rumbles through your feet to the tips of your fingertips, and the lights are flashing in a dimly lit room. Your friends flock to a table and order drinks while you let yourself feel the music and crack a joke or two once in a while.
A group of guys approaches you with easy smiles and louder voices than necessary—confidence sharpened by cheap cologne. One of them leans against your table like he’s done it a hundred times before, asking your name, where you’re from, if you come here often. The usual.
You answer, choking out a laugh to humor his unfunny jokes alongside your friends, while the swigs you take from your drink become deeper and deeper.
He’s not bad at flirting, you think. Subtle, and not too glaring about it. But you don’t particularly enjoy humoring it, and it becomes gradually more apparent as your eyes keep drifting elsewhere and you keep having to ask him to repeat himself. You’re growing bored. Irritated.
Because he’s not Caleb.
It hits you in strange, inconvenient flashes. The way this guy stands just a little too far away. The way his voice doesn’t quite reach you over the music, even when he’s close. The way you don’t feel that familiar, grounding presence like an anchor holding you to the ground.
You find yourself glancing past his shoulder. Half-wishing to see Caleb there. Watching. Hovering.
But there’s only strangers. Blurred faces and flashing lights.
“You okay?” the guy asks, tilting his head.
“Yeah,” you say too quickly. “Long week.”
He grins, like that’s an invitation. Says something else—something about getting you another drink, maybe dancing, maybe getting out of here.
You nod again. Smile again.
Across the room, your friends are already disappearing into the crowd, dragged toward the dance floor by laughter and hands you don’t recognize. One of them glances back at you, gives you a look that asks ‘you’re good, right?’ before she’s gone.
You sit back down at the table when the guy steps away. Maybe to grab drinks, maybe because he senses your attention drifting. You don’t really care which.
The music swells in your chest. The lights flicker. You wish you could enjoy yourself, but it’s particularly hard today.
You take another sip. Then another. Your phone rests face-down on the table, but you flip it over anyway.
No messages.
Of course not. He cares, but not like that. Not in the way that he would spam MC’s phone whenever he didn’t know where she was or how she was doing. No, not like that at all.
Another sip. The glass is nearly empty now.
And suddenly, you’re pressing send before you can even register what’s happening.
[you]: hi
The answer comes immediately, the grey bubbles popping up on his end of the screen.
[futre hubs <333]: do you need me to come pick you up?
[futre hubs <333]: i can
You’re not sure why you feel like shit, but you hate it. In moments like these—moments where the alcohol lets you lower your walls and truly think—it hits you like a truck, like a deeply sinking feeling in your chest. The years of rejection after rejection that the two of you frame like a bit—as if your feelings have become so miniscule that it no longer even phases him.
It hurts, a bit. More than you let yourself feel.
You’re not sure how much time passes. Maybe minutes or maybe an hour. There’s buzzing throughout your body. The grip on your waist belonging to the man you’ve been half-heartedly entertaining suddenly becomes harsher, snapping you out of your trance. It feels unlike Caleb, but you let it sit anyway. However, the hand moves to your wrist, and you’re being pulled out of the crowd towards the wall.
Too touchy. He’s saying something into your ear, and you feel his breath against your skin. You don’t like it. Too close. The buzzing feeling feels more like an alarm now.
The words either go unheard due to the music or don’t deter him. You want to go back. Back to Caleb. In the moment, you begin to think—almost as if the world is in slow motion. Perhaps the drinks, you think. You wonder if Caleb will leave you. You wonder if he’ll leave to go be with MC. You wonder if the years you’ve spent expressing your love to him meant as much to him as it did to you, or if he just found it plain annoying. You wonder if now that you’re in college, he’d want to explore other people, and he’ll finally find an outlet to get rid of you for good.
But you know he wouldn’t. Because he cares for you. Just not as much as he cares for her.
You wonder if he’s ever looked at you with the same softness he does with MC.
Someone pulls you away from the man and into their chest, and the worries dissipate in an instant. His scent. His warmth. You knew he’d come. He always does. It only takes a warning glare from Caleb before the man disappears into the crowd again, and you feel the grip on your wrist loosen. Caleb stares down at you, your back still to his chest as you blink wearily, almost in slow motion, and he sighs. He doesn’t give you the same smile he gives to MC when she’s in trouble.
A part of you wishes he wasn’t always there for you—not when it’s so different from how he’s there for her.
You sit idly in front of a convenience store parking lot while Caleb fetches you some water and ice cream. You have your knees to your chest, arms pulling them close as you shiver against the cold autumn breeze. You should’ve brought a jacket. The buzzing, hot feeling of the alcohol is subsiding too quickly.
“Drink.” You feel a water bottle press against your cheek from behind, and Caleb plops down beside you with a plastic bag. He notices how you’re holding yourself together and frowns. “Are you cold?”
“No.”
“I told you to grab a jacket.”
“You nag too much.”
He snickers and twists open the cap of the water bottle for you to drink, which you sip carefully. He strips his jacket off and drapes it over your shoulders, and you immediately bury yourself in it. It smells like him.
“What kind of woman do you like, Caleb?”
“You and your questions.”
“I want to know.”
He shifts to face you, motioning for you to lift your arms. He grabs either side of his jacket and pulls it shut, fumbling with the zipper until he manages to zip it to your chin. You can barely claw your hands out of his sleeves—the fabric almost engulfs you—but he just laughs. “My type? A woman who brings jackets when it’s cold.”
You scowl, making his laugh echo louder. “Other than that.”
“A woman who goes to class in the morning.”
“...Other than that.”
“A woman who doesn’t leave her clothes all over my floor when she feels like sleeping over.”
“Something else.”
“A woman who eats healthy, balanced meals. A woman who doesn’t steal all my pens and then still ends up asking me for more. Maybe someone who doesn’t pass out drooling on my pillow. Or someone who doesn’t let half the world know that they like someone—hell, maybe even the entire world.”
Caleb glances at you, chuckling to himself, but stops the moment he sees that you’re not laughing with him. Your head hangs low, your feet shuffling anxiously. His face twists, and suddenly the air thickens. “Splints?”
You pick at your sleeves. “So just not me?”
“I was just kidding around.”
“Jokes have some truth to them.”
“Not all of them. I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s okay, Caleb,” you finally meet his eyes again, and shrug. “I know you like someone else. I’m not an idiot.”
Silence commences, like a bell dropping on your head.
Caleb shifts his weight, one hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. It’s a nervous habit you’ve seen a hundred times—usually followed by some half-joke, something to smooth things over.
But nothing comes.
The space between you suddenly feels too small and too big all at once. You try to act normal. You really do.
You fiddle with your sleeve again, smoothing it down, then pulling at it, then smoothing it again. Anything to give your hands something to do, so they don’t reach for him out of instinct.
Caleb glances at you. Then away.
Then back again, like he’s trying to solve something written across your face but can’t quite make out the words.
“Hey,” he starts, softer this time.
You hum in response, not trusting your voice yet.
Another pause. God, it’s awkward.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” he mutters again, quieter now. Not defensive. Unsure. “You know I think you’re amazing.”
Just not enough.
“I am pretty great,” but it comes out too soft.
Neither of you knows what to do with another stretch of silence. So you opt to drink some more water instead.
“Why do you like me so much?” He eventually mutters out as he bites his bottom lip, eyes falling to the ground like he can’t bear to watch your expression. “You could do a lot better.”
You smile, but it’s half-hearted. “How could I not?”
He pauses, as if choosing his words carefully before his voice comes out in a soft whisper. “You mean so much to me. You’re smart, beautiful, and everything good in between—whoever gets to call you theirs is the luckiest person I know. And you know I’d do anything for you.”
Despite their sweetness, his words feel like judgement wrapping around your heart in vines, squeezing just before it’s about to pop. You wish you could block your ears out for what comes next.
“But it can’t be me.” Caleb’s lips purse, brows furrowing as he looks away. “I can’t give you what you want.”
The rejection hurts more than you realized it would. You want to tell him that it’s not fair to treat you the way he does and expect you not to fall for him. That holding your hair when you vomit, falling asleep at your bedside when you’re sick, and his eyes closing in on you in any room that you’re in is not fair.
Instead, you nod. And you swear to yourself that you’ll swallow this sickening lump in your throat that makes you want to hurl and sob at the same time. That you’ll bury it deep in a graveyard within you that even the closest person to you would never know of. Especially him.
“I don’t want it, either,” you snort back, immediately perking up to slap his back in what results in a jolt. His shoulders tense as he blinks wide at you, unsure of the sudden shift in atmosphere. “I don’t want feelings that belong to someone else, dumbass.”
Once it sinks in that you mean it, a smile finds its way onto his face, though something flickers beneath it, like a flash of something you don’t want to look too far into.
Not because you still had hope, but because whatever existed between you had never been something as simple as a crush. It had roots—tangled deep into your souls and impossible to pull free without tearing something open. You wanted to keep what was left. Even if it lingered just a little longer, and even if you pretended not to see the splintering strands in the string tying you together.
So you let it settle. Let it rot somewhere you couldn’t feel it.
The two of you fall into the kind of closeness that you’ve always had, and time passes as if it was always meant to be this way. It’s easier this way. For a while, it does work, but nothing ever really stays under wraps. Despite your incessant protests in telling yourself it’s fading, the scars he’s inflicted on you are just that. Scars. Unmoving yet subtle.
The thinning thread finally snaps a few years later, when MC develops feelings for a coworker in the Hunter’s Association. The day the cracks in the glass bridge holding you together shatter beneath your feet into a million different pieces.
“When’s the last time you’ve slept?”
He’s sprawled shirtless on the couch of his apartment in Skyhaven, freshly out of the shower after you arrived to visit him for the first time in months—only to see that he’s nearly overworking himself to death. Despite him going off to the DAA after college, you’d kept close contact, the connection between the two of you never wavering regardless of your restricted time. It only changed after news of MC broke out. Worried, you’d rushed to Skyhaven to make sure he was doing okay, which you’re clearly glad you did now. You’d practically had to drag him to the shower to keep him from passing out next to the front door in his gear.
Caleb, clearly, is off. You suppose you don’t blame him. The woman he loves is yearning for another. Almost poetic, really, but you don’t like seeing him this way. Especially when you know what it feels like yourself, even if you’ve gotten used to it. Gotten over it. He looks like a kicked puppy. Hurt, like a dog who’s just been scratched by its owner.
“I dunno.”
You peer into the empty abyss that is his fridge and frown. There’s a few measly apples sitting inside, and a half-eaten protein bar that’s been there for god knows how long. “What the hell have you been eating?”
He responds with a grunt, letting his head fall back against the sofa. You decide to make do with the instant noodles he has stashed in one of the cupboards and bring it over to him once it seems mostly done. With a fork, you stick out a few noodles to his face, urging him. “Eat.”
“Not hungry,” he mutters.
“Don’t care. Sit up.”
He opens one of his eyes to peek at you, which somehow urges him forward. There’s darkness beneath his eyes—even stubble littering his chin from a few days worth of not shaving. You want to reach out and poke fun at him, but the state he’s in deters you. Instead, you silently feed him, watching him chew his food while staring at your hands. It makes you wish you put on a fresh set of polish before you came.
You twirl another small forkful and hold it out. He leans forward this time without being told, taking it quietly. His shoulder brushes yours as he settles back against the couch, and you can feel his skin through your shirt.
“Thanks,” he mutters, voice rough from disuse more than anything. “For coming.”
“Yeah,” you say, quieter now. “Someone had to make sure you didn’t rot in here.”
He huffs a faint laugh, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Probably would’ve. Dramatic way to go out, huh?”
You nudge his knee with yours. “Starving to death in your own apartment? Real heroic.”
A ghost of a smile flickers across his face. It makes your heart flutter. Stupid feelings.
“…thanks for coming, splints,” he says.
Your chest tightens—sharp and sudden. It feels like it’s threatening to feel something that’s not yours to feel. So instead, you look down at the bowl, pretending to focus on separating another bite. You twirl your fork, more carefully this time. “I had to. You weren’t responding, so I thought you died, or something. Open.”
He rolls his eyes, but obeys anyway. “Bossy.”
“Learned from the best.”
His lids flutter shut, voice dropping to a lower hum. “I missed this.”
Your hand stills. “What?”
He shrugs, eyes still closed. “You being here.”
His hair is sticking to his forehead, still damp from the shower. Before you realize what you’re doing, you brush a stray strand of hair off his forehead. You speak quietly. “You look like shit.”
“Wow,” he mutters. “You have a way with words.”
You frown, and without thinking, your hand lingers at his temple for just a second longer than it should. His skin is warm, still hot from the shower.
“Idiot,” you whisper.
He catches your wrist. Not tight, not stopping you. Simply holding it there for a moment that feels too long and not long enough at once. Your eyes meet for a fleeting moment, and then you’re looking away, setting the mostly finished bowl of noodles onto the coffee table to pull away.
“Don’t make this a habit. I’m not flying out here every time you forget to eat.”
“Could,” he murmurs. “You would.”
You don’t respond to that, because he’s not wrong.
“…Is she okay?”
It slips out of him like instinct. Like breathing. And just like that, everything shifts. You don’t answer right away—instead, your fingers tighten slightly around the fork.
“She’s fine,” you say eventually. Leave it, you plead in your head.
“Did she say anything?” he asks, sitting up a little more now. There’s something in his eyes, like he’s searching. “When you talked to her.”
You shrug, trying to keep your tone even. “Just normal stuff.” Stop, you think. Please stop talking.
“Like what?”
“Like her job. Her grandma. Nothing serious.” Shit.
He frowns slightly. “She didn’t mention him?”
There it is. It’s always about her.
You know he’s in a vulnerable spot right now, but it does nothing to ease the sudden flame roaring in your chest. Whether it’s from years of repressed hurt or shame, all it amounts to is a relentless ball of rage inside of you that leaves your nails digging crescents into the palms of your hands. You stare at him, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you inch away from him.
“Does it matter?”
Caleb’s face relaxes. “What?”
“Why does it matter what she thinks about him? She likes him, end of story, no?”
“I just want to know if he’s a decent guy.”
Your ass. “That’s not really your business, Caleb, but sure. He’s a great guy. Amazing, honestly. He’s really gentlemanly and checks every single box. He lives above her apartment, so they’re right next to each other. He treats her gently, too. I’d bet every girl would jump at a chance to date a guy like that.”
You’re not sure where the words are tumbling out of, but it’s too late to go back. Neither do you want to.
“I wonder if he has a brother. Maybe MC could set me up or something.”
“Oh. Is he…” Caleb’s back straightens, and you notice his fingers digging into his thighs. “...handsome?”
“Didn’t you hear me? I’m telling you, he’s perfect. His face could pay for the Linkon rent by itself.”
He suddenly stands, and you glare up at him through your eyebrows. “Why are you talking like that?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you scoff.
He narrows his eyes. It’s something you haven’t seen in a while, since Caleb rarely gets upset at you. “You know exactly what I’m talking about, splints.”
“Can you just spit it out? What am I saying differently?”
“You’re angry.”
You stand, following suit. He looms over you to have his shadow essentially engulf you, and you wish you could kick his ankle so he falls to the ground. “Maybe if you weren’t so irritating, I wouldn’t feel so annoyed right now.”
“What?”
“It’s hard to watch, Caleb,” you hiss out in exasperation, throwing your hands into the air. “It’s always pipsqueak this, pipsqueak that, pipsqueak what. Seriously, we’re not kids anymore, you need to get over it!”
You’re not sure if you’re talking to him or yourself anymore.
“Can we calm down and talk? If I’ve been talking too much about it, I can stop, so—”
“We haven’t seen each other in months, Caleb! And all you want to ask me about is how she’s been? Why don’t you ask her yourself, if you’re so curious? Oh, but you can’t, because you always have to be perfect in front of her. So instead, you dump all of this on me. Your goods and bads, all of it, just for me to get kicked to the curb like I’m some dispensable object.”
“What?” his balks. “Dispensible? Are you serious? As if I haven’t gotten you out of every little thing you’ve gotten yourself into the past decade of our lives? As if I haven’t picked you up every weekend from your friends’ places at three in the morning? Like I haven’t called you every single week—”
“Well, I want you to stop that!” your words spit at him like weak knives, growing louder by the second.
“You didn’t seem very against it the last forty times.”
“I am now.”
“What has gotten into you, splints?”
“Don’t call me that right now,” you glower, and you try to ignore the hurt flashing across his expression. “I’m just sick of seeing you follow her around like some wet dog. She doesn’t see you like that, can’t you see that?”
Your breathing begins to stutter, and you suck in a deep breath through your nose. Your chest stings, and you pray that you don’t lose composure so the tears threatening to bubble at the corners of your eyes remain hidden.
“You told me that you couldn’t give me what I wanted. Well, she can’t either,” you bore holes into his chest, too afraid of what you might see if you look up. “If I can get over my stupid feelings, so can you.”
But you’re not over it. Not at all.
He opens his mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. For the first time in a while, you’ve rendered him speechless, and it feels even worse than what it felt to be rejected years ago. You’re not sure how your nails haven’t drawn blood at this point. You’d rather that they do, so you have some excuse to use the restroom.
“It’s not fair what you do, Caleb,” you try to will your tears to stay at bay, but you can’t help them. They sting, blurring your vision as you drop your head in some pathetic hope that he won’t face them head on. “How you treat me when you don’t like me like that is not fair. At least MC doesn’t know, but you—you know, and yet you—”
The rational part of you says that it’s not entirely his fault. Sure, you insisted on staying by his side. Sure, you insisted that you could push down your feelings. Sure, you’ve promised a lot of things, but it’s his fault too, for being the way he is—so kind, so thoughtful, just so him.
You wipe desperately at your tears. It was a lost cause from the start.
“Please don’t cry.” His face drains of color, apparent even against the dim lighting in his apartment. He steps towards you, and you take a step back. “Please don’t cry, splints, just not that.”
But when your tears refuse to cease dripping down your cheeks, your face flushing in humiliation, you feel both his hands cupping either side of it. He tilts your gaze up, and you realize that he’s only inches away from you, so much so that you can feel his breath against your skin. It’s moments like these that you lose yourself in his beauty. The deepness of his eyes that seem to peer into your very soul is one of the first features that you fell in love with as a child, and it hasn’t changed since. Damn him. You blink, eyes wide while his own flicker to your lips.
“Be as mad as you want. Hit me, hate me even,” he whispers, his nose almost touching yours now. His thumb pad smooths your tears away. “But don’t waste your tears on someone like me.”
You think you might be imagining things. Because with the tension that nearly suffocates you and his lashes almost fluttering against your skin, you think he might be about to kiss you.
A sharp pain jabs you in the chest. Is it pity? A consolation prize dressed up as something softer? Is it to smooth things over, to make this moment easier for him to leave behind? Or is it rebellion? Something reckless from the fact that he can’t have her? Your tears have dried up, but the rest of your body seems to weep, as no excitement, no butterflies course through your veins.
Why is it always something else? Why is it never you? It only hurts—because even now, you’re just the place he empties everything he feels for her.
Instinctively, you press your palm into his lips to push him away, and it feels like the air itself has stilled.
His breath lingers against your skin. Yours stutters like it’s forgotten how to exist in the same space as him. The air is so thick you could slice it with a knife.
Eventually, he pulls away. Caleb stares at you with an expression you haven’t seen before, though you don’t look long enough to analyze it. Wordlessly, you gather your things, stuffing your jacket into your bag and stumble over to the door—all while he stays locked in a petrified state, like he’s processing what he just did. Your gaze remains fixated on the wooden panels of the floor while you pack, refusing to look any higher in case you might see anything other than his feet.
“Don’t follow me,” you tell him as you leave.
You don’t wait to see if he hears you.
The journey home feels like there’s a gaping hole in your chest, and all you can do is stare out the window as you feel the vibrations of the train through your fingertips. Outside, the world blurs past in streaks of dim lights and shadowed shapes, and you wish that your feelings were as fleeting as the buildings blurring by.
You try to count the number of trees you see. Not on the warmth of his breath against your palm. Not on how close he’d been. Not on the fact that, for a second, you almost let him.
If you hadn’t pushed him away, would it have meant anything? Or would you have just been a mistake he’d regret in the morning?
Your phone buzzes frantically in your pocket, and you pull it out to see his name in big bold letters. He’s texting you simultaneously, apologizing in so many different ways that they all start to blend into one message you don’t plan on reading. You refuse to give into what your heart wants. It’s hurt you too much in the past. So instead, your thumb hovers above the ‘mute’ button.
You press it and shut your eyes.
Even if it’s difficult to adjust the first few weeks without him, you can’t bear to face him either. He shows up at your door. Nearly every day for some time, knocking softly and asking if you’d be willing to talk. When you simply plug in your earbuds and bury yourself into your bed, he apologizes through the door and leaves you something to eat. You tend to throw it out at first, but after a while, you figure it’s just a waste. Just like that, a month goes by. And then another. Then another. Until you can’t count them on one hand anymore. He comes by once every two weeks or so now, likely busy with his work.
Despite how much your body seems to miss his presence, you wonder if you should distance Caleb permanently. It’s a daunting idea. One that you never would’ve thought just a few years ago, but the embarrassment runs deeper than you want to admit. The feelings you’ve tried so hard to hide clearly aren’t hidden. Is this sustainable?
Regardless of what you think, he comes around like clockwork.
“Are you in there?” He knocks gently on your door, voice soft. He probably knows you are.
“No.”
He chuckles from the other end. “Right. Happy birthday, splints.”
You glance at your phone calendar. He’s right.
As usual, he begins to talk about random events in his life that he hasn’t had the opportunity to tell you, and while you usually muffle it out, you decide to quietly shuffle over to the door today. To tell him, maybe, that you don’t want to keep doing this. Or maybe just to hear his voice, you don’t know. Either way, you slide your back down the door where he’s on the other side, pulling your knees into your chest.
“I don’t know if you’ve read my text, but–”
“I don’t read them.”
Caleb stops, and you can almost hear his breath hitch. You usually don’t give him more than a few words, much less a full sentence, so it seems to have taken him aback. After the brief remission, you hear him clear your throat. “Splints, can you open the door? I want to talk—apologize to you.”
Silence.
“Or I can do it out here. That’s fine,” he sighs. “I want you to know that it’s okay if you want to hate me forever after this. I won’t keep clinging to you if you at listen to what I have to say, but I really just—I need to say that this is my fault.”
You half-heartedly hear his words drone on, his confidence wavering every so often while you pull up his chats on your phone. You have no idea how you hadn’t folded and read his chats until now, though it might’ve been more so for your own peace than anything. There’s too many to scroll up to, so you read the most recent messages, squinting in the dark against the light of your phone.
[1:41PM]
[caleb]: are you eating well?
[caleb]: i made this today
[caleb]: [image attached]
[caleb]: your favorite dishes :) i’ll drop them off at your place later
[caleb]: i hope you’re not just throwing them out…wouldn’t blame you tho
[caleb]: at least take care of yourself :)
[8:13AM]
[caleb]: hi splints :)
[caleb]: you probably watched it already but that movie you wanted to see came out a week ago. I went to go see it
[caleb]: i still think it’s kind of bad…but it was entertaining
[caleb]: unless you wanna argue about it ?? :3
[5:32PM]
[caleb]: ranked first today
[caleb]: i was excited to celebrate it with you and then remembered :/
[caleb]: it doesn’t feel as good when i can’t tell you lol
[caleb]: hope you’re okay
[11:23PM]
[caleb]: i wish i hadn’t been so stupid
[caleb]: i didn’t deserve you back then
[caleb]: i still don’t
[caleb]: i shouldn’t have lost my cool when you were over here. didn’t like hearing you talk about that guy like that
[caleb]: im sure he’s a good looking guy, and i know you’re particularly weak to good looking guys…
[caleb]: i was being childish and i wish i could’ve explained it to you then
[caleb]: i know you don’t owe me anything and you don’t have to listen to what i have to say
[caleb]: but i never wanted to make you feel used, and i never did. if that even sounds believable lol
[caleb]: it was never about her
[caleb]: there’s so much more i want to say but i’ll say it in person
[caleb]: miss you a lot
[caleb]: sleep tight
You wish the tightness in your chest would go away. You wish you didn’t feel his sorrow through him. And you wish you didn’t care about your own feelings for him.
“I love you, splints,” he murmurs, and your attention tears away from the chats, your phone nearly clattering onto the floor. Your eyes widen, suddenly regretting that you missed the first half of his speech.
“Not in the way you say it to your friends, or the way you say it to family. You’re my life, and you’ve been my life since the day you gave me that ring. I care for MC, but what I feel for you is different. It’s always been different. I realized that years ago, but I was afraid that it wouldn’t be fair for you. I thought you deserved someone better than someone who doesn’t know how to understand their own feelings.” Your throat dries. “I thought it wasn’t fair because I’d already put you through so much.”
“At the same time, I’m a selfish guy, you know? I couldn’t let you go either, because I couldn’t bear to see you with someone else. I wanted it to be us, and the only way I could think of existing without feeling like I was ruining you was to stay how we were. Stagnant, I guess,” he chuckles, but it feels sad. Weak. “I’m an idiot when it comes to you, you know.”
You don’t respond.
Not because you don’t have anything to say—if anything, there’s too much. It crowds your throat, every word scraping against the next until none of them can make it out. Your fingers hover uselessly over your phone, screen still lit with a conversation you can’t even remember reading.
‘I love you.’
The words echo, but they don’t land the way you once dreamed they would. They don’t bloom or soften or fix anything. They just sit. Too heavy. Too late.
Your chest tightens, aching outward like it’s trying to break free. Because you’ve wanted this—God, you’ve wanted this—for so long that you stopped letting yourself imagine it could ever actually happen. It should feel like relief. Instead, it feels real, but fragile.
Because you remember too much. The almosts. The waiting. The way you learned how to swallow your emotions when he built a wall between the two of you—and that doesn’t disappear just because he finally found the words.
Your hand curls slightly against the door, fingers brushing the cool surface.
Even with all that, you still miss the warmth of his skin. How his hair felt through a towel as you dried it. How he’d flick your forehead when you’d get a question wrong during one of his tutoring sessions. How he’d tease you about your grades or interests, and learn more about them anyway. How he’d message you throughout the day about random endeavors. How he’d always be there. How with just a call of his name, he would’ve crossed the continents for you. His eyes. His lips. His face. His painfully handsome face.
You remember him in all parts of your life—and not a single moment you’ve spared has gone without him. You remember how he held your hand when you’d broken your arm, and the way he’d lifted you into the air and embraced you when you were accepted into the same college as him. You remember how he’d pet your hair as you complained about him going too far for the DAA, promising he’d visit often. And he did. He always kept his promises.
Your body moves on its own, as if this was how it was always meant to be. The door slowly creaks open.
“…We’re a mess.”
A faint, tired smile is all you can give him. Still, when he sees you, the world seems to stop for just the two of you, and it takes him a moment to fully register that you’re really there. That you’re not just a figment of his imagination, and he hasn’t truly lost you forever as he’d feared. “This doesn’t mean you’re completely out of the woods. I’m still mad.”
“You should be,” he whispers out, nearly breathless.
Hesitantly, you step towards him. He reaches his arm out, brows furrowed cautiously like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to even blink right now. The tips of his fingers twitch towards you. You raise a brow, and he swallows the lump in his throat, retracting back until you nod.
Realizing you don’t have shoes, you step onto the fronts of his shoes one foot at a time, taking his hand until you’re flush against him and he’s already engulfing you into a crushing embrace. His arms wrap around you, strong and warm. He smells good. Though you can’t confidently say the same for yourself given the state you’re in, he drops his chin into the crook of your neck and inhales deeply, like a man starved.
“Note to self,” you mumble. “Don’t propose to any handsome guy you see.”
Caleb laughs, airy this time, and you feel it against your collarbone. “I thought you were going to leave your husband out here to die in the cold.”
“I should divorce you. We’re not even married yet.”
He grins, lopsided. “You should.”
“I won’t.”
“I know.
You bury your face into his chest, fingers digging into the fabric on his back. “I don’t want a version of my life without you, Caleb. As annoying as you are.”
He pulls away for a brief moment and places a kiss on your cheek, his own dusting red. Flowers feel like they’re blooming on the spot he pecked, but somehow, it feels natural. You’ve always been close to him physically throughout your upbringing, even if it never involved lips–that was new territory. You cross your arms, relying on his hands around your waist to keep you upright. “Tell me more.”
“You nag too much.”
He kisses your nose. “Hm?”
“You’re emotionally repressed.”
“Ouch.” He kisses your temple.
“You’re too good at things you don’t try at.”
Your jawline.
“You’re unstable. You’re too protective. You’re stupid.”
“I love you,” he says, pressing his forehead against yours. His lips hover above your own, just centimeters away.
Your lashes flutter against his. “Then prove it to me.”
“I will,” he whispers, just as his mouth slots against yours, and a warmth blooms throughout your chest. You melt into him, like you always have and you always will. “I’ll prove it to you for the rest of my life.”
You (jokingly) threaten Sylus with divorce, but he knows your souls are tied, so he's not worried.
"You'd ignore your husband for half a day," a smooth voice called above you, "just because he drank your last yogurt cup?"
Huffing and crossing your arms, you turned away from the figure that stood beside you. "Ex-husband," you said curtly.
"Oh?" Your eyes were closed, you felt his presence beside you anyway, radiating heat and pressure. Cracking your eyelids open a smidge, you saw one muscular arm pressed against the wall in front of you, caging you into the couch where you sat. The other grabbed the hand that were popping out of your crossed arms. He began rubbing your fingers with his thumb, but you had to stay strong.
"Do you think I deserve this punishment, kitten? You want to rip my life apart?" he asked. Silence. "Why don't you serve me with the papers then?" Yanking your hand, you stifled the yelp from your mouth when he pulled you close. "You will take everything in the divorce, and leave me in ruin."
Although he spoke of his demise, he held you as if his arms were iron.
"I'll have nothing except my name, not even half of my soul, is my kitten so cruel?" he'd ask.
"...Would my ex-husband be so stupid as to hand everything to me?" you muttered back. It was true you two didn't sign a prenuptial, but there was never a thought in your mind that you would take everything in a divorce. You made good money on your own and you knew you could live well without his.
"Hand it to you?" he repeated. You tried to yank your hand away, but he held on fast, linking his fingers with yours. "You already have everything. The second we went to the registration office and signed our names on that paper, everything that was mine became yours. I have nothing without you."
You held your breath. You didn't want to comment on how hot your face was becoming or how heated your heart was at his confession.
His empire, everything he had worked for, the riches he had accumulated. What was the point of that without him?
"...Then I should've written in that marriage contract for every snack you eat of mine, you should buy me at least three more."
A chuckle and that stupid smirk appeared on his face again.
"Is that all it takes for you to not throw me away?" Amusement filled his red eyes.
"Give me back my yogurt cup and I'll think about it," you said, cupping his face with both hands.
⋆˚꩜.ᐟ : including — cutesy hcs, avg fluff, implied marriage!
[౨ৎ] synopsis: random domestic things the lads!men do
[♡₊˚ ♕]: her highness's decree: Don't know what I'm gonna post after this lol, we might do a freaked out multi poll but summer themed or sum idk
౨ৎ ⟶ lads masterlist
SYLUS
𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐ puts his hand over sharp table corners when you walk past them; He does it so naturally you almost miss it. Whenever you walk past sharp table corners or low hanging edges, his hand is already there before you even register it. His warm palm pressed against the edge, cushioning it so you don’t bump into it. Most of the time, you don’t even realize it’s happened until you feel it—Sylus's hand brushing lightly against the side of your head instead of wood.
And when you finally do notice, it’s always the same.
You pause, turning your head slightly to look at him, caught between confusion and that soft, familiar flutter in your chest.
Sylus doesn’t look at you right away. Only after a moment does his gaze flick toward you, calm and gentle, but softer when it meets your eyes. "Careful there, sweetie," he says, a teasing lilt threading through his voice.
"Wouldn't want an injured kitten on our hands, would we?"
ZAYNE
𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐ knows exactly when your social battery is dying and gets you out of conversations; He notices when your smile starts to thin just a little too quickly in conversations, when your answers get shorter, when your eyes start drifting instead of really landing anywhere. He never interrupts you while it’s happening. He just waits until the exact second it becomes too much for you to keep pretending.
“Excuse me,” Zayne says smoothly when he finally steps in, appearing beside you as if he’s always been there. One hand settles lightly at your back, subtle enough that no one questions it, but firm enough that your shoulders immediately relax. Your coworker is still talking about some article she read, but Zayne’s presence quickly disrupts the rhythm of the conversation.
Zayne doesn't necessarily make it sudden or awkward, just gently redirects it, polite words and his calm authority wrapping around the conversation until it naturally dissolves.
And it's moments like that that make you so so grateful to be married to someone like zayne.
You barely even realized how much you’d been holding in until it’s suddenly gone, like someone finally loosened a tight knot in your chest. By the time you reach his car, the evening air feels colder than you expected. Zayne opens the passenger door for you without a word, like he already knows you’re running on empty.
You slide into the warm interior of his car, sinking back into the seat with a soft exhale, lashes fluttering shut for just a second longer than intended. “Thank you for that, zaynie,” you murmur tiredly as he settles into the driver’s seat beside you.
Zayne glances at you, the faintest curve forming at the corner of his mouth. His gaze softening as his green eyes flicker over your tired expression, brushing a few stray hairs from your face. “Of course, my love."
CALEB
𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐ automatically reaches for you when he's excited about something; Caleb has never been good at hiding his enthusiasm—though he's never had any desire to hide it from you. The second he's telling you a story, showing you something cool, or rambling about whatever has caught his attention that day, he's automatically reaching for you without even realizing it.
"Okay, okay, but listen, pips—"
One arm slips around your waist as he talks, pulling you against his side while he launches into whatever ridiculous thing he's currently invested in.
"The wing shape is designed like that for a reason. And if you look here—"
Caleb's excitement only makes him more affectionate. A hand on your shoulder. An arm around your waist. Pulling you closer every few minutes like he physically needs you involved in the conversation. Half the time, he isn't even aware he's doing it.
Too busy sharing something he loves with his favorite person.
And somehow, by the end of it, you've learned absolutely nothing about airplanes, but you've learned quite a bit about how cute your husband looks when he's excited.
XAVIER.
𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐ steals your blankets subconsciously but gives them back immediately when you whine; Xavier has this unconscious habit of stealing your blankets like it’s instinct. It starts innocently enough: movie nights, late evenings, him sitting just a little too close until somehow the entire blanket ends up draped over him instead of you.
You don’t even notice at first.
Until you’re suddenly freezing.
“Xavierrrr” you mumble, tugging at the edge of the blanket.
He stirs slowly, blinking up at you like he’s just been pulled out of a dream. There’s a long pause where he processes absolutely nothing, then—
“…hm?”
“you're hogging the blanket, xavi.”
Silence.
"...Sorry, star."
Then, without argument or complaint, he shifts immediately. Still half-asleep and grumbling under his breath, he lifts the blanket off himself and drapes it back over you, carefully tucking it around your shoulders until you're warm again.
The moment he's satisfied, he settles right back down. His arms slip around your waist, pulling you back against his chest with a sleepy sigh. His face buries itself in the crook of your neck, warm and familiar.
Within minutes, his breathing evens out again.
And by morning?
The blanket will somehow be wrapped around him once more.
RAFAYEL
𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐ always checks your reflection before his own; Every time you pass a mirror together or find yourselves standing in front of your shared bathroom mirror: Rafayel's eyes find you first.
It doesn't matter if you're dressed up for one of his gallery openings or standing in one of his oversized shirts with your hair half done. His gaze always drifts toward your face before anywhere else.
Most nights, he'll wander into the bathroom while you're doing your skincare, drawn in by your presence more than anything else. You catch his reflection in the mirror as he walks up behind you, arms slipping around your waist before resting his chin on your shoulder. The embrace is loose and familiar, his attention seemingly fixed on your reflection rather than his own.
"Don't stare at me," you mumble, patting moisturizer into your skin. "I look dehydrated right now."
Then his arms only tighten around your waist. "Then you'll be my dehydrated, beautiful muse." He says sweetly, despite the teasing lit in his voice, which makes you roll your eyes as he presses a kiss to your cheek.
"I wonder if I'll still be your muse once I start shedding like a lizard."
Rafayel hums thoughtfully, resting his chin more firmly on your shoulder as he studies your reflection.
"Of course."
"Really?"
"Mm. Then I'd simply paint the most beautiful lizard in existence."
"...you're ridiculous."
Rafayel only smiles, pressing another kiss to your cheek.
"Anything for my muse."
♡ princessxmin please do not alter, copy or translate my work !
sleepily/drunkenly asking them if they love you over and over... hmmm...
❄️ zayne would be calm and patient and unbothered, answering with "yes, my love" and "of course, dear" and "i love you very much, darling" no matter how many times you ask. he has a sure and even response for every single one of your little questions and doesn't mind repeating himself however many times you need. every word is said with full sincerity and he makes sure you know he adores you.
"yes, i promise. i'll always love you."
"if you think i could ever grow tired of you, you must not know me very well."
"your heart is the most valuable thing i have ever earned. i will never throw away that blessing so carelessly, my love. do you understand?"
🍎 caleb would be more playful about it i think. maybe he's also a little tipsy, or maybe he just knows how to make you laugh when you're doubting yourself. he makes sure you realize you're being silly, and easily turns the tone of your conversation into one that's more lighthearted. "if i didn't love you, would i dooooo.... this?" before kissing all over your face until you start giggling. "still not convinced? hmmm..... how aboooout.... this?" proceeding to tickle you until you're laughing and squirming to get away and admitting surrender.
"'course i love you, pips."
"tired of you? no way. i'd have nothin' to do if you weren't here."
"who's puttin' these ideas in your head, pips? i love you now, always, and forever. more than anything. i'll promise you as many times as you need, 'kay?"
🐦⬛ sylus teases you a little at first. "what's this all of a sudden? just earlier today, you were calling me, and i quote, a "stupid asshole smug dragon"." but if you show a hint of a heartbroken expression or you pout a little too much, it doesn't take long for him to fold and start reassuring you with full sincerity. i think he might take a little more offense to it than the other two, simply because he had to wait for you for so long. what do you mean you're worried he might get tired of you? it's blasphemy to him that you could doubt his devotion, even if it's just your brain being mean to you.
"when have i ever said anything that would lead you to believe you are anything less than precious to me, sweetie?"
"clearly you need a bit of re-education if you believe i would leave your side so easily."
"you are my most cherished treasure. i would sacrifice anything in a heartbeat if doing so would keep you by my side longer. you underestimate my greed for you, my love."
