PERMANENT MARK — CALEB/XIA YIZHOU
–contents; fluff, slight NSFW content (mdni)
What if, and hear me out on this, Caleb got a tattoo.
He was so proud of himself that day, returning home to share the excitement with his favorite person of them all. His smile did not falter one bit as he announced that not only did he get a tattoo, but he got two at once.
"So, where are they?" You asked, full of curiosity and eyes scanning his frame involuntarily in a fruitless attempt to find them on him. The air remained thick between you, the rising temperature weighing you down a tad more than the tension ever could.
Summer was right around the corner, after all.
Your question lingered, Caleb only responding with a subtle smirk before he smoothly changed the subject when he heard your stomach rumble, "What do you want for dinner, pipsqueak?" His hands made quick work of turning on the stove and preparing the needed utensils.
It's hard to keep track of time on sunny days, especially when you're around people you enjoy having by your side. However, the dark clouds forming in the sky reminded you that it was still spring, and of course, it would start pouring while you were out with Caleb.
He had suggested bringing an umbrella on your trip to the grocery store, and maybe the rain wouldn't be an issue if you hadn't stubbornly turned his offer down. Now you were rushing back home, Caleb's jacket over your head, trying to keep you from catching a cold.
At least it was fun - running back home like you were little kids once more, not phased by the world's ideals. Judging by the look on his face alongside the warmth of his laughter echoing in your ears, Caleb got to relive the same memory as you. The fleeting feeling of freedom.
Despite the circumstances, he looked relieved to be in there with you, even if he was facing the consequences of your decisions - like being soaking wet, dark hair sticking to his skin the same way his clothes were. "Told you s–" He opened his mouth to comment arrogantly before you threw your hand over his lips.
"When will you learn how to shut up?" Your words had barely registered in his mind when his smirk settled on his face. You could feel his lips curl under the palm of your hand. It was painfully obvious in the way his eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly, dark and long eyelashes fluttering sarcastically. The subtle furrow in his brows made him appear even more amused and pleased with your attention. Had his attitude always been this loud, even when he remained completely silent?
And he never properly replied to your ironic comment. Only a scoff escaped him as soon as you slipped your hand off of his face. "You wouldn't love me if I did, pipsqueak." Caleb didn't waste a second, almost immediately shaking the droplets of water off his hair and pulling his shirt off over his head right after.
You had memorized every part of his body, studied it thoroughly from afar, as if he were a piece of art you could never quite touch. Ever since he had gone off to college, he hadn't stopped growing –broadening, getting taller– and you weren't there to witness it. One day, he was at eye level with you, familiar and boyish, and the next, he stood proudly, double your size and towering over your frame without meaning to.
There, you spotted the first tattoo not too long after, positioned right between his broad shoulders, your initials in bold, cursive italics. Oh. He made his way upstairs, not letting you stare at it any longer.
"You should also change, pipsqueak." His voice echoed in the staircase, and you blinked. What was that?
Great. Now you were having thoughts. Thoughts you were supposed to have for any man but Caleb.
"Hey – wait!" You called out, and the moment you started going up the stairs and trying to catch up to him, Caleb quickened his pace. "You never told me where your tattoos are." A heavy huff escaped your lips, leaning against the doorframe.
His room felt warm compared to the rest of the house, a hint of his characteristic smell filling the room – one of fresh-cut apples, musk, and a fine touch of engine oil.
"Wouldn’t you like to know, weather boy?" He referenced proudly, while droplets of rain hit the glass of the window behind him and raced each other down. Caleb was obviously oblivious to the thunder lighting up the dark sky, slipping into the sweatshirt you had once bought him.
He still remembers the amount of importance it held, especially when he tried to survive the challenge of the academy. Or the nights he felt alone and surrounded by melancholy.
A complex personality with many 'sandpapered' sharp edges and delicate fine points all hidden well under a pretty face.
"You still haven't changed," Caleb commented, moving efficiently as he gently dried your hair with his towel. "And you're soaking wet, too." Does he really have to phrase it like that?
Your eyes caught a glimpse of a fresh set of pajamas for you, the look on your face fainting from surprise to confusion. "What–" you began, only to be cut off.
"I told you it was about to rain." He stated with a shrug of his shoulders, his fingers working to put your hair in a loose braid. He had always loved experimenting with different hairstyles on you, plus he was always a natural at it.
A large hand patted your back before he started exiting the room. "I'll cook up a new recipe for you."
It is so simple, yet not everyone can do it. But it was Caleb's way to show affection, and he never thought of it as embarrassing or ever hesitated to treat you like you deserved.
Your plate awaited you on the dining table, steaming hot and neat. A sticky note on the side 'Eat well, honey :)' – even while he is right across you, resting on the couch in comfortable clothes, a movie keeping him entertained, and filling the silence.
Silence wasn't something he wanted to grow accustomed to. He had endured it all his life, and learning how to like it wasn't part of his plans. He had grown up by your side, and that made his childhood anything but quiet.
"Hm?" He hummed, a small smile creeping upon his face when he felt the cushion of the couch next to him sink under your weight, "What, the chair's not comfortable enough for you, pips?"
"No," you replied, tone laced with sarcasm, "I just missed your amazing company," Caleb smirked, matching your energy effortlessly.
The way you matched his energy was something he never took for granted, "Just don't stain the couch, mkay?" Caleb murmured, gently adjusting your hair so you could eat comfortably.
He had chosen a documentary. About planets, of course. Eight planets in our solar system, around a trillion in the Milky Way, and approximately a septillion of them in the whole universe – and he had chosen Saturn.
And Caleb isn't the quiet type when it comes to his interests, always finding out new things to hyperfixate on. But what he loved more was when you talked about yours, with his attention focused solely on you.
"Well done. I'm so proud of you, honey." His hand found its way atop your head, ruffling your hair affectionately.
Your ever-so-slight frown was his cue to leave. He stood up, stretching his arms above his head – the sweater you had gifted him riding up his stomach, and even under the dim lighting of the TV, you noticed it; a tattoo on his hip bone. And as if the placement wasn't enough for you to get you worked up, it was a Shakespeare quote – "Hell is empty and all the devils are here." The Aaron Warner tattoo.
You almost choked on your own spit while he remained unfazed, picking up your plate.
"Caleb." You coughed, taking the plate from his hand and setting it back on the table before tugging him next to you. "What kind of tattoo did you even get?"
"What?" He tilted his head in response, looking like a lost puppy out in the rain – it made your heart clench. "This?" How innocent of him to offer you another look.
A scoff escaped you accidentally, "Are you sure this isn't one of your stupid pranks?" You questioned, hand reaching out and brushing his skin in an attempt to brush off any temporary ink.
He had always been a sucker for pranks, so who could guarantee you that these were anything more than one of his shenanigans?
Needless to say, the tattoo proved legit, and your sudden action only served to make him as flustered as you.
Caleb let out a faint sound, his breath caught up on his throat – a weak sound for a Colonel. His hand swiping up yours and intertwining them. "Personal space is overrated anyway." He teased, shoulders still a bit tense.
"It's not part of a prank?" Maybe repeating yourself might have helped getting used to the facts that lay before your eyes.
"No—" his mouth opening yet closing once more as soon as you cut him off with another question, "Then why did you get my initials tattooed on your back?"
It was an adorable sight, watching him blink a few times in a poor attempt of registering your words in a mind that remained empty from the moment you touched him.
"Tattoos are supposed to be meaningful, and I don't think I'll ever belong to anyone other than you." The cushion shifted under your shared weight "And it's a nice side piece to decorate your scratch marks." He added with a breathless whisper against the shell of your ear, his body hovering dangerously close to yours.
You had known him all your life, had learned to see him as the most patient person you've ever met. But he was done playing pretend. And Caleb surely didn't even think about acting as a 'gege', not when the leaking tip of his cock kissed your entrance so sweetly it felt familiar, asking for permission after he had your consent.
The sound of the TV long gone, the sound of skin slapping against skin filled your ears alongside the sounds he let out. His movements were gentle, teeth sinking into his bottom lip to silence himself before he grew bolder the moment you asked for more. Now, he was the loudest he has ever been in his entire life.
Your eyes remained glued to the tattoo on his hip, it gave him some more charm. It suited him all too well, and it looked even better against your thigh in the soft lighting of the room.
"I'm all yours, baby." He murmured as a weak reassurance, fingers teasing your clit and a flushed face buried in your chest – his dark hair sticking to the thin glistening layer of sweat and his saliva covering your skin. "Pipsqueak, please–" a whine full of desperation, lost in the feeling of your walls fluttering around him.
And he was right. Your nails dug into the soft muscles of his back, a way to keep yourself grounded. Of course you wouldn't admit that, but he'd know as soon as the red marks on his back started aching.
a/n; this was supposed to be short, I swear. Thank you for reading and apologies for any mistakes ♡ –Jan
