𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 18+, smut, Use of metal arm, lot of mention of cum..., overstimulation.
𝐀/𝐍: I have a lot of thoughts about Caleb… but something that definitely cannot leave my mind is his metal arm from the first trailer…
You were just splayed out on the bed, writhing, trying to push his hand away from your cunt because of the overstimulation, but he would just continue to abuse your pussy with his metal fingers. Just pushing in and out with a force and never ending because his hands couldn’t hurt.
He was unrelenting, wouldn’t stop making you cum on his finger until they were creamy and his arm was covered in your juices. The sheet of your bed covered of sweat and tears. And the best thing is the look on your face, completely dumbed down. Eyes glassy, mouth open, spit running down your chin and sweat making your hair wet.
He couldn't stop looking at you. He couldn't believe the very thing he had hoped for all his life was finally happening.
You were like a dream come true for him. His reward for all he had endured. Everything he did in life, everything, was to lead him to this moment with you. The moment where he would possess you wholly.
So, he never stopped. Even when you begged, even when you cried, he continued to scissor his metal fingers in your sloppy pussy, for he never wanted this moment to end.
Thank you for reading! Just a small hing I thought about… let me know what you think about it!
Im genuinely so fucking sad rn… I was looking forward to him and poof he’s just gone completely… fuck that company and I don’t think I’m gonna be playing anymore tbh. It was getting boring and Valko was the one thing that mdr me excited again.
Summary: It was your anniversary with Caleb. One year of togetherness. But what if he does not show up when you expect him to? What if he was spending it with MC?
Pairing: Non MC! Reader x Caleb
Note: MC in this fic goes by the name Lina (my name... so if you are angry, you can be angry at me :3). This oneshot was based on this request. I will write this for the other LADS men too. Also I don't think any of these men would ever be the type to actually willlingly forget it. So I had to adapt the request a bit.
If you like my work, you can buy me a Ko-fi. (Tips are not expected, so don't feel pressured to do so.)
The scent of bergamot and cedarwood floated through Caleb’s apartment in Skyhaven, softly curling into the corners of the room like invisible ribbons. You lit the last candle on the side table and stepped back to admire the glow. Warm, golden, flickering light danced across the walls, illuminating the soft decorations you’d put up over the last hour. Not too much, just enough.
You didn’t want extravagance. Just meaning.
On the coffee table, resting atop a matte-black runner, lay a gift box wrapped in old flight maps you’d collected—each marked with places Caleb had once spoken fondly of in fleeting, quiet moments. You’d even managed to find a tattered map of Skyhaven from years ago, folded neatly beneath the ribbon. Inside was a handmade leather band, engraved on the inside with:
“Wherever you are, I’ll follow the stars to find you.”
Your handwriting.
You’d cooked his favorite—well, your closest approximation of it. No one could match his level of cooking after all. He always smiled, teasing you about your stubborn refusal to believe he didn’t care for dessert anymore. Still, you made the chocolate torte. Just in case. Just... in case. Everything was cilantro free, of course. You didn’t even like cilantro much before, but now you hated it. Anything he hated, you hated with him. Silly, maybe. But love does that.
The clock on the wall chimed softly.
19:00.
He said he’d be back by 18:30.
No message. No call.
You told yourself not to panic. Caleb’s schedule was unpredictable. He was the colonel of the Farspace Fleet, and that meant long days, critical decisions, last-minute emergencies. You knew that.
But not tonight. Not this night.
This night wasn’t an afterthought. It wasn’t just a date on a calendar. It was the first anniversary of a secret love built in the spaces between chaos.
A tiny beetle figurine carved from stone sat on the corner of the table, an inside joke between the two of you. He always lit up when he talked about his childhood obsession with Jurassic-era beetles. You used to tease him for it, but tonight you had carefully painted a set of hand-made ceramic beetles—one for each month you'd spent together and arranged them in a neat line down the mantle.
You glanced at the door. Nothing.
You told yourself to be patient. You were good at being patient. When he left on missions for weeks without contact. When he disappeared into classified operations. When he looked haunted and wouldn't tell you why.
By 20:12, your thoughts started to wander. Maybe something had come up? Maybe a fleet emergency. Maybe wanderers, Maybe…
Lina.
You hated yourself for thinking it. For imagining her. Her laughter, soft and bright. The way his shoulders always seemed to ease a little when she was around. The way he looked at her. Like he was still trying to memorize her face. Like she was something sacred.
You weren't stupid. You knew their history. The childhood they shared. The death he faked. The life he left behind.
You told yourself that the things he shared with you were real. The nights he’d let you trace the scars on his chest, every metal seam and human ache. The mornings he woke up mumbling your name. The trembling in his voice when he first told you, "You make me feel like I still have a heart."
But now the silence was starting to scream.
At 21:46, you stopped sitting. You stood in front of the food like it would suddenly summon him back, then paced. You tried messaging him—just once, just a small "Are you alright?"—but it stayed unread.
Maybe he forgot. No. Not Caleb.
Maybe he had a reason. He always has reasons.
Maybe you’re just a placeholder. ...
You sat down slowly on the couch, picking at a corner of the throw pillow you bought last month just because he said it looked "weird but kind of cute." That was you too, wasn’t it? Weird. Kind of cute. Not Lina.
Your eyes drifted to the tiny box you had placed on the table—your gift to him. It wasn’t much, not something you could buy from any real store. And then there was the box—small, simple, hand-carved. Inside it was a gift: a fragment of a meteorite you’d collected from the lab. Embedded in a thin ring of reinforced alloy, it was something solid, something real. You’d even written him a note, which you reread now, fingers trembling slightly.
To my gravity in the chaos, One year ago, I thought you were a ghost. One year ago, I didn’t know I could still believe in something so... alive. Thank you for choosing me—every day, even if no one else knows it. Yours, completely.
But maybe... maybe he didn’t want that.
At 22:19, you blew out the candles.
The air felt heavier now. Thicker.
You didn’t cry. Not yet. Not while there was still the chance of a knock on the door, an explanation, an apology. A breathless "I’m sorry, I couldn’t get away," and an arm around your shoulder.
But 23:02 came.
And went.
And with it, the last flicker of your excitement turned to quiet ache. You picked up the beetle figurine from the table and turned it over in your hand. You chewed on your bottom lip and pulled your arms around yourself, sinking into the edge of the sofa, your heart thudding too loudly in your ears.
You didn’t think you’d ever be a part of his world. Not with Lina still lingering in the shadows of his past — of his soul. But you had hoped… foolishly, maybe… that you'd made a place for yourself too.
Another hour passed.
You tried to distract yourself. Rearranged the silverware. Lit the candles. Unlit them. Checked your messages — nothing. Not even a standard “I’m running late” or one of his half-sarcastic "Try not to miss me too much" texts that always made you roll your eyes.
Your chest was starting to ache now.
You walked over to the large window, the lights of Skyhaven glowing like stars beneath your feet, and pressed your forehead against the cool glass.
Your fingers curled around the edge of your sleeve. Don’t spiral, you told yourself.
But then the whisper in the back of your mind rose louder — What if he’s with her?
He was always like this when it came to her.
It made sense. Lina had returned back to his life not long ago. She was a Deepspace Hunter now pulling danger around her like it belonged. Maybe she needed him again. Maybe he couldn’t stay away.
The worst part?
You couldn’t even hate her. You couldn’t blame her either.
You only hated how much of your soul curled inwards at the idea that when she called… Caleb still went.
You weren’t supposed to know. Not really. Not officially. But rumors had a way of finding even those meant to remain invisible. And you… you were invisible.
A secret, he said. To keep you safe.
The fleet didn’t know about you. Lina didn’t know about you. You were the girl tucked in the shadows, behind blackout protocols and security layers. He’d told you it was the only way. He’d told you the world he lived in—the things he did, the enemies he made—meant he could only protect one thing by keeping it hidden.
But belief was harder when your hands were cold from untouched plates, when your heart was heavy from unopened doors.
You imagined him smiling at her. The girl from his past. The one who knew him before the scars, before the mechanical arm, before the shadows. The one he never had to hide.
A bitter thought curled at the edge of your heart. If she’s sunlight, then what does that make me? A phantom in orbit?
You knew how his voice softened when he talked about Lina. How there was a different kind of ache in him, reserved just for her. He never denied their history. Never told you not to be jealous. He just looked at you with that same distant pain.
Maybe he had a good reason. Maybe something went wrong. Maybe he was out there saving the world again.
But maybe he just... didn’t choose you today.
The worst part?
You weren’t angry.
You were devastated.
The lock clicked.
You didn't move. You couldn't.
Your back remained pressed to the couch, the softest light of the starlamp casting shadows over your face as the door creaked open.
He entered like he always did—quiet, calculated, calm. But this time, you didn’t run into his arms. You didn’t say his name like a sigh of relief.
You didn’t say anything at all.
“...You’re still awake,” Caleb’s voice was low, uncertain. And tired.
You finally looked at him.
He wasn’t in uniform. His flying jacket was tossed over one shoulder, dark hair tousled as if he’d run his hand through it a hundred times. But his purple eyes—they were scanning the room. Seeing the set table. The cold food. And then they found you. His purple eyes met yours—sharpened by fatigue, but not empty of emotion. Not even close.
“I had to handle something,” he said, like it explained everything. Like four hours of silence on your anniversary could be fixed with a sentence.
“Was it Lina?” you asked softly.
His jaw tightened. “She was in Skyhaven.” He said it like that should explain everything. “Pip-squeak.. I mean Lina... She showed up without clearance. Asking questions. Getting close to restricted areas. I had to—”
You laughed. Bitter and broken. “Of course. Of course it was her.”
“She was risking her safety. She doesn’t understand what she’s walking into—what the Fleet is hiding—what’s at stake. I had to get her out without raising suspicion.”
A beat passed. You stood up, slowly, your movements deliberate.
“And you had to be the one to protect her?” your voice was calm. Dead calm. “Even if it meant giving up tonight?”
Caleb's brows knit together. “It’s not about her. It’s not like that—”
“Then what is it like?” You threw your arms out, a hollow laugh escaping you. “Because to me, it looks like she’s the one you protect in the open while I sit in the dark hoping you remember that I exist.”
“I didn’t want to lie to you,” he said tightly. “But I couldn’t tell you the truth either. Not with what’s happening in—.”
“You mean the truth that you’ll always run to her?” you whispered. “That no matter how much time passes, or what we build, she’ll still come first? Because she knows the version of you before the metal and blood and ghosts?”
He frowned, stepping closer. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?” you snapped, the dam breaking. “Tell the truth?”
“She was risking her life. I couldn’t ignore that.”
“But you could ignore me.” Your voice rose. “You could ignore the messages, the calls. You could ignore the fact that I planned every little thing today so you’d have even just one moment where you weren’t a colonel or a protector or a soldier. Just Caleb. Just my Caleb.”
“I am yours,” he said tightly.
“Then why do I feel like I’m always in second place?” Your voice cracked.
“Don’t,” he said sharply, his jaw tightening.
“Don’t what?” you stepped forward. “Tell you how it feels to always be second? To be your secret? I’ve lived in the shadow of your guilt, your duty, her—and I’ve accepted it. I never asked for more. I never asked for all of you. But this?” Your voice cracked. “Tonight? This was supposed to be ours.”
Silence pulsed in the room like static. Caleb’s face was unreadable, his right hand clenched so tightly the bionic servos whirred. He flinched like you'd hit him. His voice dropped, lower now, rough around the edges. “You do exist. You're the only thing I think about when I'm out there. I keep you hidden because it’s the only way to keep you safe.”
You took a step back. “You keep me hidden because you’re scared. Of what people will say. Of what she’ll feel. Of what it means to admit that you’ve moved on.”
His face twisted, frustration bleeding into his expression. “You think I haven’t moved on? You think I don’t want the entire galaxy to know that you’re mine?” He took a step toward you, but you didn’t let him close the gap.
“Then why Caleb? Why are we still a secret? Why is my name the only one you never say out loud?”
Silence stretched, thin and cutting.
“I waited,” your voice cracked, soft and splintering. “I waited all night. For you. For us. And you weren’t there.”
“I’m here now—”
“It’s not enough!” you snapped, tears brimming at the corners of your eyes. “It’s not enough to show up after everything. I needed you when it mattered. When the candles were burning down. When I felt like a ghost in your life!”
His voice turned soft, almost pleading. “I’m doing everything I can—”
“I don’t need everything,” you whispered, heart splitting, “I just need you.”
Caleb’s mouth parted like he wanted to say something—like he was about to offer you some perfect, rational answer. You didn’t let him.
“Happy anniversary, Colonel.”
And with that, you grabbed your coat, storming past him, leaving behind the warmth, the gifts, the cold dinner, and every unsaid thing between you.
CALEB'S POV
The door slammed. The sound echoed like a bullet through Caleb’s skull.
He stood there, unmoving, breath stuck in his chest like a collapsed star. The starlight lamp flickered on the corner table. The food—her food—cold and untouched.
A year.
One year and he hadn’t even made it to the table.
He wanted to believe he had done the right thing. That protecting Lina—his Lina—was the correct choice. She was family. She was his responsibility. She always had been. Ever since they were children, when she scraped her knees chasing beetles and he carried her on his back. She was part of the life he left behind, the one tethered to memories, to ghosts, to everything he lost.
But then there was you.
The one who made this place feel less like a battlefield. Who waited for him. Who knew the darkness in him and still traced it with fingers that didn’t flinch. Who looked at him like he wasn’t some broken, weaponized shadow of a man.
And he left you. On your anniversary.
The room was a shrine to you. Your changes, your warmth, your effort—it clung to everything like a ghost. He picked up the ring box with a hand that was part metal, part guilt. His thumb brushed the note still folded neatly beneath it.
One year ago, I thought you were a ghost.
He sank onto the couch, the note clenched in his fist, breathing shallow.
You’re not wrong, he thought. You should hate me. You should have left long ago.
But he couldn’t change what he was. A protector. A weapon. He had promised himself, long before the explosion, that he would always be Lina’s shield. She was his past
But you...
You were everything he wanted. Not duty. Not history. Choice.
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, head in his hands.
You looked at me like I was still human.
And he had let you down.
The moment he realized you were gone, really gone and panic rose like ice in his throat. He stood too quickly, heart slamming into his ribs.
He picked up one of the beetle figurines, fingers trembling—not from weakness, but something far more dangerous. Regret. The kind that strangled you from the inside out.
Lina had found her way into danger again. She always did. Stubborn, reckless, determined to pull truths from the walls even if they buried her. She reminded him so much of the past, of the boy he used to be—of home.
And still.
She wasn’t the one who had waited for him in the dark.
She wasn’t the one who stayed, quietly patching up the pieces of a man the world thought dead.
Lina’s not her.
His head dropped. A breath slipped from him—frustrated, anguished. And then he moved. Like a switch had been flipped. He was already out the door.
The silence was suffocating, thick and heavy, as Caleb stormed through the corridor, rage simmering beneath his skin. The weight of his own failure pressed down on him with every step—he had been so damn stupid. How could he have left you alone? How could he have done that on your anniversary?
His breath quickened, chest tight with guilt, his mind racing through the possibilities. You were still in the city, somewhere. He had to find you. He had to fix this.
But then—
A soft sound broke through the tension. A muffled footstep. It was faint at first, like a whisper against the metal floor. Caleb’s heart skipped in his chest, a sense of foreboding crashing over him. It was faint at first, like a whisper against the metal floor. Caleb’s heart skipped in his chest, a sense of foreboding crashing over him like a wave. His instincts, honed for years in the fleet, went on high alert. Something wasn’t right. He froze, his eyes scanning the darkness of the lower docks.
And then he heard it—you.
Your voice. Weak, nervous, then a snap of contempt.
“Huh?”
“Didn’t think the Colonel had such bad taste.” The voice was low, unfamiliar—and dangerous. “Thought you’d be prettier,” he said, smirking.
Caleb's blood ran cold. His hands clenched, and his breath hitched. The voice was unfamiliar. The tone was too casual, too predatory. He recognized that kind of arrogance. His pulse hammered as his body shifted into autopilot—every fiber of his being screaming at him to move.
Without thinking, he bolted toward the sound, adrenaline flooding him like fire. He couldn’t breathe. His body moved faster than his mind could process, and as he rounded the corner, the scene unfolded in front of him.
A man—tall, smug, his uniform carelessly worn—was standing far too close to you. His eyes gleamed with malice, his grin stretched too wide. Caleb’s heart slammed into his throat as the man reached toward you, and in the span of a breath, Caleb was there.
He collided with the man’s side, the force knocking him off balance. The sound of their bodies hitting the ground was brutal—like a crash of stars falling from the sky. Caleb’s right arm swung and was a blur of motion—twists, jerks, a sickening crack as Caleb slammed his fist into the man’s ribs.
“You touch her,” Caleb snarled, his voice low, vicious, practically inhuman, “and you forfeit your life.” His evol pinned the disfigured man to the ground.
The man wheezed, scrambling to get to his feet. Caleb didn’t let him. He launched forward again, metal fist crashing into his chest with a sound like breaking glass.
You stood frozen nearby, the terror in your eyes driving Caleb further into that manic edge of rage. All he could think about was how close he’d come to losing you.
The man dropped to the ground, broken and bloodied, barely breathing. But Caleb didn’t stop. He grabbed the front of his collar, lifted him halfway off the floor.
“You thought I wouldn’t know?” His voice trembled with fury. “You thought you could lay a hand on her and walk away?”
The man whimpered something unintelligible, but Caleb didn’t care.
“I warned everyone—you don’t touch what’s mine.”
The man fell to the ground again in a heap, gasping, blood oozing from his mouth. But Caleb wasn’t finished. His eyes burned with the image of you—vulnerable, hurt, his failure etched into the lines of your face.
“You breathed near her,” Caleb snarled, each word dripping with contempt, his voice a growl of a man on the edge of losing everything.
The assassin laid motionless, his chest rising and falling in shallow gasps, too broken to do anything more. Caleb stood over him, fists clenched at his sides. An in another instance, the man was gone, sucked into a deep black void as Caleb watched.
And then he saw you.
You were there—frozen, eyes wide, lips parted. His world went quiet as his heart slammed against his ribs, the realization of what had just happened sinking in. You saw it all.
The tremble in your hands. The shock in your eyes. The confusion.
Shit.
Caleb felt a sickening twist in his gut. He didn’t know why he was so... angry. His whole world was colliding into pieces. He had failed you.
His chest tightened, and without thinking, he stepped toward you, but his body was unsteady. The violence, the rage, it all turned into something colder, sharper. The panic wasn’t in his body anymore—it was in his mind, clawing at him.
“You—” He swallowed hard. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—I didn’t think.” His voice cracked, raw, as he reached for you, his hands trembling. “You—are you okay?” His voice barely formed the words. His breath came too fast, his head spinning with the need to hold you, to never let go, to protect you from every horrible thing in this world.
You didn’t speak at first. Your eyes kept flickering between him and the bloodstains on the pavement.
“Who was that?” you asked, your voice shaky.
“An assassin,” Caleb answered, his tone turning bitter as he looked down at the spot where he had just pulverized a man. “Someone sent to kill me. They wanted you too... to hurt you. Use you as leverage.”
His voice cracked again. The weight of what he was saying, of what had almost happened, hit him like a freight train. He couldn’t stop the violent rush of emotions anymore.
“I couldn’t let him touch you,” Caleb whispered, his eyes searching yours.
But you were still staring at him, still frozen. Your body was tense, stiff, as if you were afraid to move. Caleb’s heart clenched painfully in his chest. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.
“I should’ve been there sooner,” he said, voice raw, broken. “I shouldn’t have let you walk out. I should’ve... I should’ve—”
He couldn’t finish the sentence. He couldn’t find the right words. Instead, he rushed forward, grabbing your arm, pulling you against his chest, his grip fierce, desperate, the overwhelming need to hold you nearly suffocating.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice strained with emotion. “I swear to you... I won’t let anything happen to you. I won’t let anyone hurt you. Not even me.”
His breath was shaky as he buried his face in your hair, inhaling deeply. The scent of you—of safety, of the only place that ever made him feel whole—was like a drug, and his mind spun in circles. He could feel the tension in your body, could feel the way you were still holding yourself back, the way you were still questioning everything.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he repeated, a mantra now. He could feel his heart beating erratically, his pulse hammering in his ears.
But then, something shifted in you. Something in your expression softened. You didn't pull away. You didn’t scream.
“Caleb...” you whispered, your voice barely a breath.
His voice cracked. “Are you hurt? Please—tell me you’re okay.”
Your hands came up hesitantly, resting against his chest. His heart stuttered at the contact. You weren’t pulling away.
“Caleb...” your voice was soft, uncertain, but there was no rejection in it. "I am not hurt... not physically."
He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes—his own were raw, stormy with regret and something deeper: fear. Not of you. But of losing you.
“I know tonight is unforgivable,” he said quietly. “I know I messed everything up. You made this day something beautiful, and I...” His voice shook. “I ruined it.”
You stared up at him, eyes searching his face. For a moment, you didn’t speak. And then your hand lifted tentatively, cautiously—and brushed his cheek. The soft touch nearly brought him to his knees. He leaned into your palm instinctively, his entire body aching for that warmth he thought he had lost.
His jaw clenched. “I know. I know today… what I did… what I didn’t do—leaving you alone like that. I was supposed to protect you, and I—damn it—I nearly lost you.”
His voice cracked again, trembling like a fault line.
“You didn’t lose me,” you said softly. “Not yet.”
Caleb’s heart seized.
“I love you,” he whispered. “I love you more than the sky above us, more than every secrets I’ve had to keep. I know I failed you tonight. I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness right now, but if you’ll let me try—really try—I’ll make it up to you.”
You lowered your gaze, your hand still resting on his cheek.
Caleb felt a tremor run through him at the thought. He had lost so much—so many pieces of himself, and if you were to leave... he wasn’t sure how he’d survive it.
His eyes softened as he continued, his gaze unwavering. “I know I’ve crossed lines, pushed you too hard... but I’ll do better. I’ll draw boundaries. I’ll protect you, the way I should’ve before, the way you deserve. You’re not just my responsibility. You’re everything to me. I’ll keep you safe, I swear it. I’ll make sure you never have to feel like today again.”
He let his forehead rest against yours, eyes closing briefly, trying to steady his own racing heart. "Please," he breathed out, the word a plea that carried the weight of everything unsaid. “If you’ll have me—if you’ll let me—just give me the chance to make it right.” His voice shook with the vulnerability he rarely allowed himself to show, his usually controlled demeanor cracking under the strain of his need for you. He drew in a shaky breath and opened his eyes, meeting your gaze. “I know I’m not easy to love. I know I’ve been... wrong. But please,” his voice was low, almost pleading, “give me a chance to prove that I can be the man you deserve. That I can make it right.”
Caleb’s heart thudded painfully as he awaited your response, his body tense, waiting for any sign—any flicker of forgiveness, of hope. His mind screamed at him to fix everything, to reassure you that he would never let something like this happen again.
“I... I can’t promise I’ll forget this,” you murmured, your voice small but steady. “But I’m not going to leave you.”
His chest tightened, but he nodded, his eyes full of remorse. “I know,” he said, his voice breaking with sincerity. “I’ll respect that. I’ll listen. I promise. I just... I just want you to be safe. And I want you to know that I will always be here. Always.”
You held his gaze, searching for any signs of insincerity, but there was none. He was real. He was here, vulnerable, and for the first time, you could see the depth of his love—his obsession—but also his regret.
“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered. “But I need time. I need to know you’ll ne here… You’ll be transparent with me and draw boundaries…”
Caleb's eyes softened, the tension in his body easing, though the yearning was still there—quiet, but ever-present. He nodded, slowly, the weight of your words settling in. “I’ll be all of that. For you. For us.” He leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours again, his voice barely a whisper, “Just... let me make it up to you. Please.”
You sighed, the weight lifting a little from your shoulders as you let yourself lean into him. The fear, the doubt, the anger—they were still there, lingering, but you felt a small flicker of hope.
You closed your eyes, sighing shakily against his chest. You still didn’t pull away.
Not forgiven. Not forgotten.
But still here.
For Caleb, that was everything.
The night was still broken. The world still dangerous.
But you—alive, warm, trembling in his arms—you were still his star in the blackness.
He just held you, tighter this time.
And you let him.
AN: reblogs, feedback and opinions are appreciated!
If you like my work, you can buy me a Ko-fi. (Tips are not expected, so don't feel pressured to do so.)
𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 18+, smut, Use of metal arm, lot of mention of cum..., overstimulation.
𝐀/𝐍: I have a lot of thoughts about Caleb… but something that definitely cannot leave my mind is his metal arm from the first trailer…
You were just splayed out on the bed, writhing, trying to push his hand away from your cunt because of the overstimulation, but he would just continue to abuse your pussy with his metal fingers. Just pushing in and out with a force and never ending because his hands couldn’t hurt.
He was unrelenting, wouldn’t stop making you cum on his finger until they were creamy and his arm was covered in your juices. The sheet of your bed covered of sweat and tears. And the best thing is the look on your face, completely dumbed down. Eyes glassy, mouth open, spit running down your chin and sweat making your hair wet.
He couldn't stop looking at you. He couldn't believe the very thing he had hoped for all his life was finally happening.
You were like a dream come true for him. His reward for all he had endured. Everything he did in life, everything, was to lead him to this moment with you. The moment where he would possess you wholly.
So, he never stopped. Even when you begged, even when you cried, he continued to scissor his metal fingers in your sloppy pussy, for he never wanted this moment to end.
Thank you for reading! Just a small hing I thought about… let me know what you think about it!
cw // suggestive. caleb likes to catch a glimpse of your panties.
after you and caleb started dating, he got comfortable real fast.
physical touch with him was always something you were used to, and that didn't change at all. always hugging, always holding hands, always laying your legs on his lap. it was the usual, really.
of course, kissing was new though — caleb was your first kiss back in high school, but the two of you never spoke of it again (although you're both grateful you were each other's firsts). you got used to that quickly, too, giving his lips a quick peck before he left for work or kissing him more deeply when he had to spend some time away from you in the deepspace tunnel.
what caleb got comfortable doing (and what you were still not used to), though, was lifting your damn skirt. his gravity evol was useful, don't get me wrong! he'd catch plates before they dropped to the floor, or he'd make the tv remote float towards you when you were too cozy beneath the covers to get up.
but that damn pilot made you reenact marilyn monroe's flying skirt scene every single time you walked past him. and every single time, he'd just offer you a smug smile and a comment along the lines of “cute apple pattern, pips", while dodging the hits you were determined to land with a boyish laugh.
unbeknownst to you, he was cataloging your panties in his mind, and he had his favorites — the purple lacy ones being at the top of the list (which he definitely planned on stealing later, but you didn't need to know that).
what can he say? turns out golden retriever caleb is nothing but a nasty dog.
(w)oof!
🍎 pomme's final notes — alexa put on sir mix-a-lot's nasty dog 🐕
