Sam

18 | She/her | Request open!

[zziggerang]

⊹♡⋆౨ৎ˚. MASTERLISTS ⊹♡⋆౨ৎ˚.

Request is open!

Clark kent:

Even the sun hides sometimes

The version of you I’ll never know

Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful Beautiful boy

Mornings like this

Just a little petty (¬`‸´¬)

Drive you insane.

I wanna hold your hand.

All this time

Ruined softly

I love you too

Lads Caleb

Day off 🍎🍏

Katseye Lara:

Instagram story

I want him her

[seagodbride]

⤷ ゛they’re crazy…!  ˎˊ˗

cw : (18+) noncon (zayne), babytrapping? (zayne), non-consensual breeding (zayne), mutilation (brief mention, no graphic details) (sylus), calebmc is also as crazy as caleb, blood (brief mention) (sylus), consensual stalking? (sylus), murder (sylus, grey mention in caleb), tracker (caleb), caleb’s og trope (mentioned of ‘big brother’), chained up (rafayel), face slapping (rafayel), manipulation (xavier), xavier beats up someone, they’re all pretty crazy, kinda ooc for everyone except for caleb and rafayel.

it’s hard to write sylus and zayne especially zayne since his yandere traits is very minimal in canon. sorry if there is any mischaracterisation! would love some appreciation!

xavier!

one would never expect xavier to be crazy. his calm demeanour and the way he cares for you make you think he’s safe. he would never restrict you from going out on your own, dressing up the way you like or pursuing the career that you want. you love how free you feel when you’re with him. so freeing that you don’t even realise how he’s shaping your surroundings.

xavier could never restrict you from making your own decisions. but one thing he couldn’t bear is letting you choose your circle. look, xavier doesn’t mind you having friends. he doesn’t want to be controlling and possessive to the point you can’t choose who you befriend. but sometimes it feels too much for him. why would you smile and be a sweetheart to the new neighbour? why would you want to hang out and have a girls’ night with your colleagues when he’s right there? why would you help and be all friendly with the new intern who obviously just wants your attention instead of actually learning?

even though he obviously doesn’t like it, he didn’t tell you directly to stop. no, he wouldn’t. wouldn’t it be better if he made those people stop talking to you instead?  

you would notice how your new neighbour stopped offering you fresh bread every morning. when you saw him while taking out trash and were about to greet him, he would look you in disdain. “you could’ve just said it to me instead of trash talking about my pastries on your account.” looking at you with hatred, leaving you all confused.

similar thing happened with your colleagues. they stopped inviting you to their sleepovers and refused to have lunch with you. when you confronted them, they would look at you with disappointed faces. “don’t act like you don’t know anything.” once again, leaving you confused.

even the new intern didn’t ask you for help anymore. every time you found him needing help, he would dismiss you and leave. you did notice how scared he looks, and was that a bruise on his cheek?

one day, you couldn’t take it anymore and find xavier for comfort. “i didn’t know what i did wrong. they all just avoided me. im so confused, xavier.” you cried into his shoulder, gripping his arm in desperation. “i’m so sorry that happened to you, my star. they’re all awful and they don’t deserve you. it’s okay, you have me.” he pulled you into his embrace, caressing your back carefully. he pulled your face close, as his lips landed on yours for a gentle kiss. “Now they won’t bother you again,” he whispered, voice as soft as velvet.

you froze, before pulling away from him as a confused expression was plastered on your face. “…what? what do you mean, xavier?” even as he noticed your sudden confusion, he just smiled at you. “they’re gone from your life and now you have me, isn’t that good, my star?” you didn’t even have the chance to reply before he shut you down by kissing you. you tried to protest but he pinned you down to the couch, crushing you with his heavy weight. he felt a tear running down your cheek and he pulled away. “seems like your brain already put the pieces together,” he whispered. “xavier…” he gently wiped down your tears and smiled. “it’s okay, starlight. i would never hurt you.”

zayne!

zayne is normal. did you really think he would show or have any crazy traits? you’re crazy for even thinking about that.

the doctor did live a life that was not like any average human. he went to college at the age of fourteen and graduated with his phd at early twenties. well, that’s one of the things that isn’t normal about him.

he is normal about you too. when he had days off from the busy hospital, he would spend his days with you. taking you to dates, going to cafe he had always wanted to go, trying their sweet pastries and drinks together with him. oh, he likes the cafe’s chocolate cake the most. the sweetness is just at the right amount.

after going to cafe, he would take a walk in the park together with you. especially at dawn, where the sun was about to set, the sky giving a gradient colour of orange and blue calmed him down. it’s a bonus if the park is full of small animals like squirrels, bunnies or kittens. he is fond of them.

his eyes shine brighter when he sees couples with babies or toddlers with them. he is imagining a life where he he woke up to you by his side, smiling and getting ready to entertain your child. his and your child. your belly would be swollen when you’re entertaining your child just because he know he would knock you up again. he wants to see his house full of mini him and you running around the house.

the only problem is, you don’t like having sex with him unprotected. “we can’t risk it, zayne. and i’m not ready yet.” he would listen to you all the time, even though his dream is literally the opposite. he wants to knock you up, full of his child. he wants you to bear his kids, belly all swollen, a proof that his seed was planted inside you.

zayne is normal. but is he really normal for this? he suggested no condom for today’s session. you refused at first, saying it was risky but he promised you, sweetly, that he would pull out. he just wanna feel you skin to skin, is it too much to ask? you sighed, giving in into his desire. after all, you trust him.

you feel it, both of you are close to reaching the climax. his groans are getting louder and his thrust is getting faster. “z-zayne…! pull out…!” but he keeps his pace, not bothering to pull out. you whined, your hands weakly pushed his chest but the effort was useless. “zayne…! w-what are you doing…? p-pull- ahh-! pull out…!”

he took your hands and pinned it to the bed. you saw how your usual sweet boyfriend shifted to cold and distant. “take it… bear my kids. i want to see you all glowing from bearing my child… f-fuck..! i-i’m close…!”

your eyes are full with tears, sobbing as you laid there taking him. he groaned as his voice cracked as he finally came, his warm seed flooding your fertile womb. you whined as he slowly pulled out, his cum leaking out from your used hole. “you’re wasting my seed. we can’t let that happen. seems like i have to pump more in you then….”

rafayel!

it’s easy to forget how rafayel isn’t a human. the lemurian doesn’t have and share the same moral values as humans. his mind is twisted and fucked by the human’s logic. but to him, it was just his way of being devoted to you and keeping you safe from the sick world. the only thing that is saving him is his innocent and pretty face. and well maybe his bratty personality.

but don’t let that fool you. most of the time, that was an act rafayel put on to deceive you. if you truly believe rafayel is all just whiny, cute and pretty face, then he has succeeded in manipulating you.

of course you would never suspect a thing about your lemurian boyfriend. sure, the way he shows his love is quite different from the average human but you didn’t mind it. but it’s normal to him. of course wanting your partner to be with you all the time and joking to cage her up is fine, who wouldn’t do that? if you truly love someone, wouldn’t you want to keep them forever with you? that’s how rafayel genuinely feels.

but, as days passed, you feel something eerie when you’re with him. at first it was small, those jokes he made ‘i’m gonna lock you up, cutie.’ seemed unserious. you would laugh it off but he just stared at you, his eyes weirdly glow. it feels predatory. every time you wanna go out even to the grocery stores, he would insist on going with you. when you rejected him, he would pout at you. but you noticed the unsettling look he gave for a few seconds before putting on that pout. are you going insane? how could you feel this way towards your lover when all he did was being sweet and nice to you. you really tried hard to brush off the feelings.

well, maybe you shouldn’t. you didn’t know what you did to finally push him to this point. you were greeted with rafayel’s soft smile when you woke up that morning. you were about to move when you feel your legs are chained to the bed. “…what? rafayel…? what is this…?” you looked at him, confused. “hm? it’s nothing. you were going out too much these days without me. i figured i would keep you here.” he hummed, before his hand reaching out to caress your cheek.

“rafayel, don’t joke with me like this. open this shit up. i don’t have time for this-“ you were cut off with a slap on your face. you turned your head back to look at him, breath quivering. “don’t look at me like that, cutie. you brought this to yourself. you underestimate me too much. even now that i’ve got you all chained up. i really don’t like that.” he let out a sigh, his hand once again caressing your reddened cheek. “i don’t want to hurt you like this, but you make it so hard. you always trying to act like you’re sooo independent. but you didn’t realise how that messed me up.” his hand went down to caress your neckline, digging his nails into your skin suddenly which makes you whimpers in pain. “cute. so, i figured out to actually chained you down. i would feel better seeing you every second of the day on my bed. i wouldn’t have to worry about you leaving me either. and you get to spend every second with me. isn’t that fun, cutie?”

you still decided to protest, pulling your legs in hopes somehow the chain would come off. tears left your eyes as fear filled your mind. is this really your rafayel? seeing your helpless state, rafayel just chuckled softly, as if it was something amusing. “you’re so cute. it’s okay, cutie. you will get used to it. you have to, anyway.”

sylus!

it’s easy to judge the onychinus leader from the outside. sylus is all intimidating and possess a big threat in him. but deep down, he is just the biggest sweetheart when it comes to you. it’s like a switch has flipped, and were met with soft sylus. he’s always soft with you, to the point you feel, when is he ever not soft when it comes to you.

you noticed how his fierce crimson eyes would soften the moment he laid his eyes on you. he’s a just a big gentleman under that menacing leader of an illegal organisation. you don’t really think sylus is sick in the head. he never showed a moment where you would change your opinion about that.

well, maybe once when he got mephisto to follow you around. sylus couldn’t help but to install camera and microphone on mephisto so he could get to see and hear you every time. he’s obsessed with his wife, don’t blame him.

you called him out when you found out about it. but it didn’t bother you much since you know sylus is just being obsessed and you like to know about that.

you have a believe that sylus depends on you as his moral compass. he wouldn’t do something you don’t like if you asked him to. but sometimes, sylus truly has to take matters into his own hands.

he noticed how you looked unhappy than usual. when asked, you would brushed him off and give me a forced smile. so you wouldn’t tell him, huh. it’s okay, he has mephisto. he rewinded the recording from the start of your day today. an interaction between you and your colleagues caught his eye. ah, so that was it. your colleague had the audacity to comment on your appearance. his heart shattered when he saw how you were clearly holding your sadness, body shrinking as if to hide away from the world.

he is aware how you aren’t exactly secure with yourself. he hated how this happened to you. he is mad at you sometimes at how blind you are. how can you not see your own beauty. but that is something he will deal later. he will deal with that colleague first.

you were awakened from your sleep by the door shutting down. sylus entered the room, about to head to the bathroom. you noticed how his hands are covered in blood. “…sylus? where did you go? are you hurt?”

he stopped in his tracks and turned his head around. “it’s nothing to worry about, sweetie. it is not my blood, for your information.” he didn’t explain any further as he head toward the bathroom to wash off. he returned to you, fresh and clean. he slipped onto the bed, hugging your figure close to his.

“you killed people who were in your way again?” you turned to look at him, taking his face into your hands. “hm, sort of. they were indirectly making me unhappy.” sylus took the opportunity to kiss your palm. “nothing your pretty head has to worry about.” you just hummed and hugged him, truly believing he was dealing with people who was messing with him.

the next morning, your group chat with your colleagues was flooded with news. one of your colleagues was murdered last night. it was the same colleague who made fun of you yesterday. blood drained from your face as you see the photos that was sent, the victim lost body parts, the same body parts they mocked you for.

caleb!

caleb is your safe place. there is no other person you would rely on other than him. growing up with him has taught you to always have your trust in him. you both only have each other, it is only natural for you to choose him every time.

it is obvious caleb feels the same way. the same way you feel he is safe place, caleb feels that you’re his only safe place. he doesn’t have anyone else. you only have him too. it’s only natural that caleb grew to be a little protective.

there was one time in high school where you were bullied. you came home that day crying to caleb about it. caleb, being the big brother he is, reassured you. “it’s okay, pips. don’t cry. i will handle it for you.” you didn’t understand what he meant by that. but you know the bullying stopped after. it was weird how the bullies all went missing one by one. you always thought it was a coincidence. no way your big brother would do something bad to them? but somehow your little heart is glad it stopped. maybe a little grateful that they all finally disappeared.

caleb’s weird protectiveness somehow was imprinted into you too. seeing him again in skyhaven after his fake death was truly a moment of joy for you. you missed him, your older brother. how could he just fake his death and leave you mourning him? he was cruel for that, and you want to make sure he never leave again. so you did what you’ve always wanted, embedded a tracker in his necklace.

caleb knew about the it, of course. he is a colonel who did dirty work from time to time, it isn’t hard for him to know eventually that he was being tracked. caleb finds it cute that you can be a little protective over him. it’s only fair if he did the same, no?

unfortunately, you didn’t like it much after finding out. you hated that it took you a while to find out there was a tracker in your beaded bracelet he gave you. “what is this, caleb? mind explaining this to me?” you look irritated as you let out a sigh. “didn’t you do the same to me? what is this hypocrisy, pips?” he calmly took your hand and smiled. “wha- since when did you find out- nevertheless, i don’t like it when you do it to me. i only did it to you because i don’t want you leaving ever again.”

you huffed in annoyance as you try to pull your hand from him, but he gripped it even harder. his gaze darkened as he turned his head slightly. “so you can do that but i can’t? i’m not allowed to be scared of you leaving me? i’m not allowed to feel scared of dangers coming at you everyday?”

“you know that’s not what i meant-!” you hissed as his grip on you got even tighter. “then what did you mean? tell me, pips.” he pulled you close, the distance between you is small, you could feel his hot breath against your skin. you went silent, as you just stared back at his eyes. he let out a dry chuckle at your silence, caressing your cheek softly. “we’re really two sides of the same coin, aren’t we, pips?”

𑣲⋆｡˚ please do not copy my work, repost or feed it into ai! 

[cocoaxia]

★ — deep dive !

summary: in which you tell the lads boys that you haven’t shaved.

ft. xavier, zayne, rafayel, sylus & caleb

notes: MDNI / NSFW (obvi), they’re all eaters!!!!!! xavier is silly, zayne has an attitude, rafayel is dramatic, sylus #takesnobullshit, and caleb is strange…mentions of sex/sexual acts, fem terms used (!!!), that’s it (i think)

p.s. this is a silly spur of the moment post so if it’s awful ummmm kill me maybe!!!

a/n: i am not the type to care like At All about body hair in any capacity so i hope this was somewhat entertaining LOL. body hair no body hair anything WTV it’s all natural and all real do whatever you want ok love you bye…ty for reading (- -)(_ _)

© cocoaxia

[decay1ngstatic]

nerd!satoru scrunching his nose REAL hard when you don’t laugh at his physics puns. . you think he’s finally getting to it, but you’ve unlocked a desire more disastrous than ever to make you smile over diabolical jokes that could make any dad swoon. better luck next time.

(secretly though, one of your ribs might have already cracked from trying not to laugh when he’s not looking.)

[theheadmasterituals]

e.p. JEALOUSY IS BEST WORN WITH RED

emily prentiss x fem!bau!reader ; reader goes on a fake date w/ morgan, jealousy, pining, kissing

˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀ w. a little angsty , a small make out sesh at the end (i can't write kissing but i love em ugh) wc. 2919

note ; if me and emily were a chocolate, we'd be em&em... hah, get it... (also first time writing for emily so apologies if she's a bit ooc!!)

“Hey Em, can I borrow your lipstick?”

“Huh?” Emily blinks, your question pulling her from her thoughts. She’s leaning against the sliver of wooden wall between two stalls, arms crossed and watching as you blink at her through the mirror. Your question had startled her so suddenly that she'd forgotten what she was thinking so intensely about.

“Oh–! yeah, here.” She pulls it from her pocket and her heart flutters from the combination of your hand brushing hers as she passes it to you and the small smile you give her before muttering a ‘thanks’. She nods bashfully, her lips parted slightly in the same manner as she steps back to lean against the wood. “Y– yeah.”

Her eyes loom across your back, the sliver of cleavage as you lean over the sink; they catch on the red spreading across your lips—the same as the one on hers. Your eyes flick up to her face, and she meets them through the mirror, watching as your brows knit together.

“You okay, Em?”

Gosh, that nickname.

She nods, “yeah. Why wouldn't I be?” Her arms cross again defensively, and you simply shrug. “Just making sure,” before focusing back on your lips, which she gladly joins you in. Her lips part again as she watches you get ready for your date.

Oh, that's right. Date.

Well, it's not an actual date. Just a ruse to lure the unsub the team’s been chasing for the past few days. Emily was actually the one to propose using a ruse to lure him, and you’d built on the idea, suggesting a fake date. And how Emily wished she could've volunteered to go with you without it being suspicious. Not that two girls can’t go on a date—she just didn't want to, couldn't, ruin all the effort she’d spent on hiding the massive crush she has on you. So instead Morgan gets to touch you and flirt with you and stare at you in that dress and red lipstick. Her red lipstick.

By the time she’d pulled herself from her silent wallowing you’d already packed everything up and are now standing in front of the door, hand resting on the handle and smiling at her. “You coming?”

She nods, pushing herself off the wooden partition. “I’m right behind you.”

A low whistle greets you as you step out of the bathroom. “Daamn, girl. I might have to take you out on a real date after this.” Morgan looks you up and down, chuckling. He himself was dressed up: crisp button up, dark blazer, he’d even put on a nicer watch, (presumably borrowed from Rossi). You let out a laugh, the soft, shy one that'd usually have Emily’s heart doing flips good enough for the Olympics, but instead made her chest ache just the slightest bit. It was childish, really. But just the thought of you dressed up and going out with someone as charming as Morgan, no matter how real it is, makes her coffee taste bitter no matter how much sugar she pours.

“Thank you, Morgan,” you smile at him. “You don't look half bad yourself.”

Before she starts confessing her feelings out of jealousy, or volunteering to go out with Morgan so you don't, or both, Emily slips past the two of you, whatever compliments he’s throwing at you now with that pearly white smile fading into background noise. She practically throws herself at the coffee machine, pouring every last drop into some generic paper coffee cup and adding enough sugar packets to make even Reid’s sweet tooth seem reasonable, which she downs like wine on a Friday night before she even reaches the car. Oh yeah—the best part about all of this is that she gets to go with you and watch from the security cameras.

The ride to the restaurant felt longer than it actually was. Luckily, Morgan sat in the front seat, but unluckily Emily was left to sit next to you—which she'd be excited about in any other scenario, except now she has to spend a 20 minute car ride trying not to stare at you while you laughed with Morgan about the couple-y things you’ll have to do.

Your perfume, which she usually loves, felt suffocating as it slowly filled the back seat and ate away at any breath she took.

She glanced at you, the street lamps flashing through the window illuminating you like a scene from a movie, and she realized how the red on your lips really suits you.

She felt childish, petulant, for getting so jealous over a silly little workplace crush. Maybe it's because she knows it's more likely you’d fall for Morgan than you would her, which means a lot considering he’s like a brother to you and you’d rather quit than date him. Or maybe she's just being overdramatic because she's been watching too many angsty lesbian movies lately, (which, to be honest, is most lesbian movies).

Now she's doing her best to neutralize the frown that's weighing down the corner of her lips as she watches Morgan scooch closer to you and wrap an arm around your waist through a computer screen. He doesn't even need to do all that to show that you're a couple! But she reminds herself again: it's not real, it's just a ruse.

Thankfully he backs away a little once the waiter comes.

However, a little later you lean in and whisper into his ear, “the bar. Blue button up.”

Emily hears through the mics hidden on the two of you, and she bites the inside of her cheek. Though, knowing that you’d leaned in to tell him about the case calmed her down a little. What doesn't calm her down is Morgan’s arm around your shoulders as you wait for your food. She wishes it was her doing that, wondering how warm your skin is under his touch, if you’d melt into it. Her heart selfishly aches a little. It's not real, she reminds herself again. And it's just some silly crush! Fortunately, as if the waiter was on her side, your food arrives, pulling him away from you and holding the cutlery rather than you.

After another torturous half hour of watching you two cozy up with each other, the team finally catches the unsub and ultimately puts an end to your date.

Emily heads back into the restaurant to talk to the staff, and when passing by your table on her way out, she spots a half empty glass stained with red on the rim. She pauses, her lips parting slightly as she thinks about yours. Just seeing a lip imprint on something meters away makes her cheeks warm. However she's pulled from these thoughts when a waiter picks up the glass, taking it from her sight. She smiles fondly to herself as she thinks about her crush on you rather than Morgan’s hand in yours as she walks out the restaurant. But when she steps out, she realizes it's becoming a pattern, since her second of relief is interrupted by the sight of Morgan’s jacket on you.

A breeze passes, brushing your hair across your face, although somehow it's not embarrassing like it is when it happens to Emily, rather captivating as it only worsens her feelings for you. She watches Morgan shiver at the breeze, his thin button up doing close to nothing to protect him from it, and oddly enough she wishes she was the one shivering, because that’d mean her jacket was wrapped around you.

You spot her standing in front of the restaurant doors, bulletproof vest still on, staring intently at something in your direction yet lost in thought. You excuse yourself and walk up to her with a mildly concerned smile.

“Hey. You okay?” You ask, again, and Emily turns to you. She blinks, then smiles, “yeah, of course I am.”

“You spaced out again.”

“I’m tired.”

“Sure,” you nod. “I’m surprised that half coffee, half sugar concoction earlier didn't wake you up.” Emily laughs bashfully, looking down and chipping the dark nail polish from her nails.

But then, you step forward and sigh, reaching for her shoulder. “You haven't even taken off your vest.” You nag as you undo the velcro, her breath catching in her throat when you reach for her waist. “I admire your caution, but the unsub’s not gonna get you from the police car.”

All she can muster when you step away from her is a muttered “right..”, and you hand her the vest back, fighting the urge to chase your touch when your fingers brush her hand again. “See you back at the hotel, Em. Make sure you get into a car before you zone out again and get left behind.” You laugh at your own joke and walk away, leaving a half-cognizant, speechless Emily still replaying how your hand felt against hers and the saccharine in your laugh.

However, much to her disappointment, you did not see her once you got back to the hotel, which led to her flopping onto her bed and helplessly thinking about you—how you looked especially good in that dress, how your smile seemed brighter tonight, how well that shade suited you and your lips.

Lipstick.

She sprung up, feeling her pocket only to find nothing inside then remembering, or rather, not remembering you giving it back. She can't help but smile a little, but quickly composes herself as she stands up and heads to her door; she feels like a teenage girl again, getting so giddy over an excuse to see her crush again.

When she knocked on your door she expected you to already have changed, so it was much to her surprise when you opened the door completely unchanged, minus Morgan’s jacket, fortunately. “Oh, hey Em!”

“Hey. Uhm,” however, just as she’s about to ask, your expression lights and you gasp. “Oh! I forgot to return your lipstick!” You turn around, then pause to turn and tell her to come in, before rushing to the dresser. Emily obeys, awkwardly standing in the middle of your hotel room while you rummage through your purse. When you pass her the golden tube of lipstick, you feel her icy hands brush your warm one.

“Your hands are freezing, Emily! And I’m the one in a dress that shows two-thirds of my skin.” You laugh as you turn back around to the mirror and start removing your jewelry.

“It looks good on you,” she says before she could stop herself, the words completely from her larynx rather than her brain. You turn to face her, a small blush creeping on your cheeks. “What?”

Blood rushes to her cheeks and the tips of ears as she finally registers what she just said.

“Oh! The– the lipstick, I mean!” She gulps before putting on a bashful smile, hoping to play it off. “Although, the dress does look good on you too.” She gestures at you, and you blink, before breaking out into a smile and returning a small “thanks.”

She nods, eyes looking everywhere but at you. She quickly shoves the lipstick in her pocket before picking at her nail polish again, a habit she doesn't even realize she's doing until she notices how often she finds herself repainting them. Your fingers mess with the hem of your dress, watching her cheeks grow rosier before glancing down at the floor, then up at her again.

An awkward silence fills the already thick air, and you just stand there, looking at each other. Then, out of nowhere, you ask for the nth time tonight,

“Are you alright, Emily?”

She blinks. “Yeah, why wouldn't I be?” The words almost feel true from the number of times she's said it tonight.

“Because..” you pause for a second, unsure if she’ll just brush it off again and walk away. “You’ve just been off tonight, Emily.”

Emily, not Em.

“You’re constantly spacing out, which isn't anything new, to be honest, you’re really ‘tired’ despite you chugging coffee like it's water, and you're just—” you sigh, your eyebrows knitting in genuine concern and frustration, though your voice remains soft. “You’ve just been acting weird tonight.”

“I—”

You wait for her to finish her sentence, but nothing follows. “I’m worried for you, Emily.” You cross your arms, then hesitate, “is it... something I did?” Her eyes widen, and she immediately steps forward, hands reaching out to hold yours but stopping right next to them and clenching into fists. “No, no! Why would you think that?” However, her panic isn't because she can't bear seeing you think about something unrealistic or self-deprecating, rather because what you said was completely, one-hundred percent true.

“Because you're only weird around me. You're quieter, you joke less. I’m a profiler, Em, I know when something’s off.”

She just stares at you with her lips parted, hands still hovering next to yours. What does she say? What can she say without embarrassing herself and ruining the friendship you’ve spent years building? She can't live with herself if she says the wrong thing.

You don't say anything more, don't urge her. You just look at her with wide, pleading eyes, concern knitting your eyebrows together in a way she just wants to reach out and undo. Her heart’s pounding in her ears, and she can practically feel the adrenaline rush through her body.

She contemplates, for just a second, that maybe she should just get it out there. End her suffering by creating more suffering for the future by just pouring her heart out.

Then, “Please,” you whisper. And it's like your small plea unraveled something in her. Suddenly, she doesn't care if you don't feel the same way, and sucks in a breath of encouragement.

“I like you. Like a lot. And I don't think I ever will, no matter how much you hate me after this. I just— every time I look at you my mind works a little bit slower, my cheeks feel so warm I might get heatstroke, and I just can't help but think about you in a way I fear you don't think about me in. And I—”

The next thing she knows is your hands are on her face and your lips are on hers. You pull away before she can even comprehend what just happened, your lips resting just an inch away from hers, and your body even closer. You look up at her eyes, and she lets out a shaky breath.

“Oh.”

You bite your lip to hold back the stupidly endearing grin growing and look at her with these doe eyes that make her legs feel like jelly.

Her cheeks are warm underneath your palms. You watch her eyes flick down to your lips, her tongue unconsciously darting out to wet her own. Her hands ghost over your waist, and you watch her look at you like she can't believe this is real. Honestly, you never thought she'd be this shy. Can't say you don't like it though. Finally, she leans in, pausing to let you step back if you want, but when she notices you lean forward instead she immediately closes the gap, nearly knocking the air out of you.

It’s rushed, but sweet. Your hands gently pressed against her face feel like an angel’s touch, and you can feel her cold hands sting your skin through the fabric, her fingers flexing against your waist like she still can't believe this is actually happening.

You can taste leftover coffee—extra sweet from her attempts to keep the (her) bitterness at bay—and faintly cigarettes, a habit of hers she swears she's giving up. Emily hums, tasting the expensive wine lingering on your lips.

You pull away for a second, muttering against her lips, “next time I borrow your lipstick, I should just put it on like this.” You press a quick kiss to the corner of her mouth. “Get it straight from you.” Another to her cheek. “Save some lipstick, you know.”

Emily nods, impatiently chasing another kiss to your lips. You stand there for what feels like hours, completely entranced by the way her lips feel against yours. Not that either of you are complaining.

This time she pulls away, although reluctantly, for a much needed breath. Her half-lidded eyes immediately lock onto your lips, the flush on her cheeks deepening as she sees your (her) lipstick smudged at the edges.

“Like what you see?” You wiggle your eyebrows jokingly, but she just nods, replying with a serious “mhm.” You laugh, not depriving the woman of what she clearly wants anymore as you lean in again, but she stops you with a breathless confession. “I really, really like you.” Her eyes move to meet yours to show you how serious she is about this. “I don't want us to go to sleep tonight without knowing what we are.”

The way she stares at you makes your limbs feel like jelly, and you muster up a small nod as your heart pounded in your ears. Gosh, she's so attractive right now. Well, she's hot all the time, but right now, in your arms, she looks unreal. This all feels unreal. Your arms move to loosely wrap around her neck, and you feel yourself smiling as her grip on your waist tightened ever so slightly. “Is this your way of asking me out, Prentiss?” You say with a teasing tilt of your head.

“Is it working?” Her lips curl into a smug but absolutely smitten smile.

“Absolutely.”

masterlist (lowk why is this fic kinda 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂)

[remnantsofgildedcages]

Yandere-ish posessive Dom!Caleb who get a replica dildo of himself made and decides MC should wear it whenever they go out in public together. That's it. That's the post.

Hii this is my first request. I woke up nicely, so why not? Hehehe I’m tweaking the request a bit I hope you don’t mind. Thanks for requesting anon ☺️🫶🏻

No tags, since it’s a blurb. Definitely smut NSFW MDNI.

“Caleb…” you whimper.

“Shh, shh… behave.” His hand slithers to your waist, the heavy insignia on his uniform sleeve brushing against your bare skin. “I’ll tend to you after this.”

He presses a finger deliberately against your abdomen, and you bite your lip to trap the moan threatening to escape.

Oh, the audacity of him smiling so easily to his fellow officers. He rarely smiles during active duty, partly because of his high rank. Women flock around both of you now, but you don’t care. You can’t.

You have to mind your legs. Did anyone notice? The way your thighs are squeezing together way too tight? You have to mind the exact replica of his length hidden deep inside you, or it’ll make you moan every single time you shift.

“This is the first time you’ve brought your wife out in public, Colonel! She’s absolutely breathtaking!”

You don’t even spare a glance at the man praising you, your eyes instantly darting to Caleb’s face instead.

His smile shifts, colder, faint but sharp. His eyes squint just a fraction. Others wouldn’t notice the subtle warning, but you? Oh, you know you’re going to get it later.

“…Is that so?” Caleb looks down at you from the corner of his eye.

Shit, please stop talking!

“She really is! You should bring her to these events more often, Colonel! She’s a sight for sore eyes!” The officer laughs a bit too loudly, drawing even more attention to his group and to you.

“Caleb, dear…” you squeeze his arm tightly, desperately. He replies with a low, questioning hum. “I don’t feel well.”

Caleb immediately turns his full attention to you. He takes in your wide, glassy eyes, the way your lower lip curls inward as you bite it, and the fine sheen of sweat breaking out along your hairline. It’s convincing enough to fool anyone.

“Honey, are you okay?” He raises his hand, gently wiping the sweat away with the back of his fingers. “You’ve always been fragile since we were kids.”

Fragile? Yeah, sure. You’ll take any excuse at this point.

The crowd around you instantly cooed at his sweet, doting gesture.

“Let’s get you home now, okay?”

“Good girl.”

His voice cuts through the silence, filling the small, enclosed space of the car for the first time. “You really did listen and behave this time.”

“I-I did. I’m your good girl,” you nod frantically. The massive toy feels impossibly deeper since you’re sitting down beside him. “I-I want you. Caleb, please…”

His eyes glint in the dim dashboard light, locking onto yours. Assessing.

“Really? Sounds like you were enjoying all that attention from the others.” Both of his hands are back on the steering wheel now. “I don’t think you want me at all. You just want to pluck this toy out, don’t you?”

“N-no! No! I mean it…!” You really do mean it. The toy does almost nothing compared to the memory of his real length, hot, thick, and throbbing. You can already vividly imagine him filling you completely, the fantasy turning painfully real every time the car passes over an uneven road, bumping its tip against your sensitive core. The leather seat is going to be ruined at this rate. “Please… Caleb, I want you to fill me.”

The shaky exhale that escapes his curling lips sends a violent shiver straight down your spine. You’re getting too good at weaving your raw desires into your desperate pleas.

Suddenly, his hand flies to your thigh, parting your legs just enough for his palm to press the toy even further inside. You let out an unrestrained whimper, your hips arching off the seat.

He let out a satisfied, shaky hum, then shifts back into drive. His voice drops into that dark, low pitch that commands obedience.

“Patience, pips. You’ll get your reward the second we get home.”

[blinkbunni]

“Please, don’t give up on me.” — TXT feat. Caleb (Xia Yizhou)

Synopsis: You never realized how much of a toll a long work trip could be for your boyfriend, especially as he slowly drowns into his own thoughts. OR comforting your poor baby.

Tags and notes: 4K words of pure hurt/comfort, crying, panic attacks, self care, fluff, cuddling, my baby (he better come home for his bday), words of reassurance, hints of unhealthy and toxic self stereotyping if you squint, give this man a hug, Caleb is described to take anxiety and other pills, has depression, bipolar disorder. Soothing, bed-rotting, NOT PROOFREAD, JUST MADE AT 2AM.

This had been in my drafts for far too long from a request I lost. Sorry for the weird request/uploading schedule, but I was thinking about how we don’t talk about Caleb and his hints of being toxic towards himself, distancing and clinging on, and I plan to make this agenda happen..

Caleb hasn’t been doing well mentally, and had shut his girlfriend out for a two month, and it didn’t help you had missions over missions.

You finally had come to pay him a visit.

You inhaled deeply as you turn the front door knob to Caleb’s apartment. You hoped he was at home, because leaving him for a whole two months because of an unavoidable mission as one of deepspace’s best hunters was bad enough. But before you left, knowing the state Caleb was in? It broke your heart when he was possibly the most vulnerable in his mental state that you inconveniently left.

 You promised to text him every day when you could and call every week, but a week before the big work trip, when you were packing up stuff and busy prepping, he stopped texting. He wasn’t online, answering anything. Not even a good morning.

You’d text him about taking his medicine, no response. Eating properly, nothing. Getting to work safely, silence. And this was very out of the ordinary, knowing that your boyfriend was the exact opposite of non-chalant and had no shame in texting you good mornings (at four am in the morning, but who cares) and spam texting you with every single inconvenience or just trying to convince you to visit him.

Just your boyfriend knowing you were at home, his household, no, the both of yours, wearing your (his) t-shirt and waiting for him could soothe him.

But now, as the slow four weeks went by, his profile never seemed to have turned online or read your messages. You knew what was happening, unfortunately. You knew that Caleb battled his own mind with depression, anxiety, bipolar disorder and trauma, especially trauma. So he'd, on instinct, just close himself up.

And though very alarming at first, you knew he’d come crawling back into your arms and tell you everything after a few hours, or usually up to a few days.Which then he’d reply to every singular message you texted him in an almost annoying way, but that was Caleb.

So where was your Caleb? 

Something wasn’t right, your heart fluttered, and desperate to wrap the mission up as quickly as possible, you returned a day and a half early back to Linkon where you didn’t miss a beat and immediately booked the skytrain to Skyhaven after quickly showering, changing into more suitable clothes instead of looking like you survived war. You didn’t need to pack much.

Literally just a small purse and a phone to spend preferably, no, actually three weeks. Because you were requesting some time out of office, with a sob story that you had priorities, Caleb.

Your heart ached every time you thought about his sad puppy eyes and if he had ears, deflating in desolation as you kissed him a long goodbye.

You couldn’t articulate why just two months away was so long, considering you’ve reunited after a whole year of grieving for his “death” but nevertheless, it seemed longer because it took a toll on him.The moment the train reached Skyhaven plaza, you bolted out, turned back around to retrieve your purse you accidentally left, and took anotyou slow transit bus to Caleb’s residence. And now you were there, hoping endlessly that there was a sign of him fine. You had to physically shake your head from those thoughts.From the doorframe, his penthouse looked messy. Boots looked like he just tossed them carelessly when they were usually aligned neatly on the shoe rack. Dirty dishes piled up in the sink and even the counter beside the sink and dust collecting everywhere. And the thought his you..

You rapped on the door softly, in the way you and Caleb always did since childhood to let each each other know that it was them. Long, short,short, long. Originally it was a whole ritual, but this was just the shortened version you shortened throughout the years.

There was still heavy breathing, almost as if the person behind was gasping for air.You push the door open, and let out a sharp exhale, the colour that was drained from your face slowly seeping back. Your clammy hands felt more relaxed. Caleb, but worry still wrote all over your face. You walk closer to the bed, and he’s tossing and turning, mumbling incoyouent things.

You kneel onto the bed, your weight slightly sinking the mattress. He was having a nightmare, wasn’t he? 

You’ve danced to this before, and you were basically a professional on how to handle Caleb. You stroke the back of his bedridden hair before your hand trying to nudge in the space between him sleeping on his front and the wrinkled sheets. Your hand could feel soft prickles all over the lower part of his face. 

He must’ve not looked at his face for quite a bit you thought, but you didn’t care how he looked at the moment. “Caleb..” you softly whisper out, and he tensed a little from your voice or his dream, you weren’t sure. He looked rough. Like he hasn’t been sleeping well in days. Part of you wanted to snuggle in with him and console him until it was all over, another part was screaming that you needed to wake him up.

 “Guess who’s ho-ome.” You softly sing out, not wanting to startle him, that could be the worst possible outcome for someone like him. His breath staggers a little in return before his eyes try to flutter open.

And when they did, his once bright violet eyes looked numb. Sad and soulless. Like his brain had been offline.

“Hey baby.”

You whisper down at him. He sits up, sort of robotically before he really wakes up, and when he does?

“Pipsqueak?” His hoarse voice rasps out, his eyes widening and his imaginary ears that drooped low the last time you “saw” them, perked up. Tears rimmed around the bottom of his eyes. You gently smile and hold his hand.

“Yeah, I’m here now.” And those tears threaten to spill out waterfall, as he immediately wraps his arms around you so quickly you almost fall back onto the sheets. You shakily chuckle as he sobs into the crook of your near, warm tears running down your collar bone. His stubble pricks a bit of your neck, but you couldn’t care less as you finally wrap your arms around his broad back as he shakes, your heartstrings threatening to just snap off from heartbreak.

“My pretty boy..” you trail. He doesn’t let go for a good three minutes, in fact, tightening his grip around you as if you’d disappear again before you feel his hands loosen and he collapses onto you, and the both of you fall back into the sheets. 

You giggled unsure how to react as you hold back tears of your own. And you get back up and notice how rough he looked. Apart from his puffy eyes, heavy eye bags drooped under his almost emotionless eyes that you shuddered seeing, and his stubble around him told you everything you needed to know.

He didn’t smell like his usual scent of sweet apples and a warm July evening. No, it seemed like he wasn’t able to physically shower.

He had an old faded DAA university hoodie that looked like that was the only thing he’s worn. And with dirty sweatpants. You tried being discreet as possible but Caleb noticed you eyeing him up and down and became very self-conscious. He awkwardly placed a hand at the back of his neck and looked around at the usually clean but now very messy room.“I..I found it hard to..” he was about to mumble, looking embarrassed but you cradle the right side of his cheek.

“I get it.” And that’s all you had to say before his glossy eyes almost took over as he tremoured to shakily explain himself.

“It was already hard enough ‘fore you left an’ then…then..I don’ know wha’ happened..” Your heart broke at the thought of him silently struggling alone.

“Why didn’t you text me back? I was worried sick.” You asked.

“Couldn’t bring myself to do it. Thought I was being clingy. What kind of boyfriend or man is so clingy, he.. he can’t live without his girlfriend..?”

“My Man.” You whisper.

He looks up to meet with your eyes.

“I couldn’t take it, what if you were..you were.. an’ if by texting you, I’d be more scared.. and..” “you were trying to protect yourself in a way.” You finished off for him, because even though he was jumbling his words, you could always understand him. 

He nods, defeat and past anxiety dancing in his eyes. You let out a breath and know what you have to do. “Come on, when’s the last time you took a shower?” And you lead him up, in which he sort of stumbles before using his evol to balance him out, which then makes you really wonder how long it’s been since he got out of bed. He is a little flustered, looks at the ground before murmuring.

“ ‘round a few weeks..” like he was waiting for you to judge him. But you didn’t. Didn’t even make a joke about how bad he smelt. You lead him to the bathroom and turn on the shower knob, not making it hot or cold, just warm in general. You have to physically drag him in, as he sort of follows you, a little clueless. You rub the palm of his hand and gesture to him to get in.

“Want me to stay or to leave?” You ask. “Stay.” He sniffles and you help him out of his clothes, quickly running to the washing machine to throw in (violently). You stay outside, holding a towel as you sit on top of the elongated bathroom marbles counter, smiling at him in which he’d return a weak smile back.

Once he finished up after gently reminding him time was up, you handed him the towel to cover himself and hold up a couple of hygiene supplies. You hold up a razor, your face wash and some of your skincare that you once jokingly(?) warned him to not use, though it was clear he didn’t heed your warnings and just replaced them before you came.

“I’m really getting spoiled today, huh?” He attempted a grin and you were happy just seeing a smile. Fake or not.“It’s part of the girlfriend care package?” You wink and smile. And a few moments later, you have him in between your legs dangling from the counter as you shaved the stubble off.

“You honestly look cute with it, but you also look like a sleep-deprived dad.” You joke, as with utter precision and care you avoid nicking him. “You really think I’m cute when I’m like this?” He slowly whispers. The dark blue razor is just upheld in your hand, in the air as you think about what to say. Because just complimenting him wasn’t…deep enough.

You looked back up at him and smiled as you carried on with the last part of his face.“Caleb, do you think I’m pretty?” You softly tease with the question hanging in the air. He looks up, almost surprised, voice raspy from days of silence. “Yeah,Of course.”You smile for a heartbeat really trying to keep it in but then your expression falters. He looks thinner, the edges of him dulled and you really notice how his eyes are red-rimmed and hollow. The air smells like dust and stale coffee.

“Then… why don’t you ever believe it when I tell you you’re handsome?”Caleb blinks, thrown. You lean in forward and cup his face in both hands. your thumb drags gently over the rough stubble along his jaw, the texture of raw neglect.

“You used to shave. Remember when we were kids? You used to smile like an idiot when I called you beautiful? Now you look at yourself like you’re something broken.”

Your boyfriend opens his mouth, but the words stick in his throat. You shake your head, eyes glistening.

“You are enough. You always have been. You’re my favorite face in the world. The way your eyes light up when you talk about childhood, Lego buildings, just teasing me, the way you laugh like it surprises you every time,God, I missed that. I missed you.”

your voice trembles and you press your forehead to his. “You don’t know what it did to me, seeing you like this. You’ve been torturing yourself, haven’t you? Thinking I wouldn’t come back, or that you weren’t worth waiting for.”

he doesn’t answer. His silence says everything. Your hands cup his cheeks tighter.

“Listen to me. You’re kind. You’re gentle. You love like it’s the only thing you know how to do. You take care of people even when you’re falling apart. You’re the best man I’ve ever known, and I hate that you can’t see that.”

your voice cracks, tears running freely now.

“So yeah, I’m pretty. But you—” your thumb traces his now cleanly shaven cheekbone, trembling “—you’re beautiful. Not because you look perfect, but because you love like this. Because you feel like this. Because you survived it.”

He finally exhales, a sound between a sob and a breath, and collapses into you. His hands clutch you like she’s the only thing keeping him from disappearing.

“I just thought…you… my pipsqueak would leave her Gege if you ever saw me like this.” He mumbles.

“Never, especially when you’re like this.” You whisper. “I stopped checking my phone. Every time it buzzed, I froze. If it wasn’t you, it just… hurt too much.”

You tilt his chin up until he meets your eyes. “I was gone, but I never left you. Not for a second. He gives a soft, broken laugh, forehead pressed to yours. “You’re the only thing that makes me feel real.” Caleb whispers.“This is all real, Caleb. Me sitting on your bathroom counter, coercing you into using my face scrubs, I’m here.”

You press a long, deliberate kiss to his cheek. It feels like time stood still as he leaned into your touch, exhaling as his arms rightfully found his way to your waist. You pull back, and he almost elicits a whine before you give him a watery smile, sniffle as you rub your nose and jump off the counter.

“I think it’s time to get you home-cooked food. Don’t pretend I didn’t see plastic plates and McDonald’s take out bags in the trash.” Your boyfriend smiles as you guide him back to bed, tucking him in with a fresh set of pajamas like a mother hen. You plant a kiss on his forehead, temple and lips after stroking his hair a little bit

. You hum a tune, a slow and sweet one. That one song you and him both discovered once upon a time of early dating. The memories of dancing together,barefoot with pajamas in the middle of the night as popcorn for midnight-munchies were being heated.

His eyes flutter shut, and you slip out after picking up a couple of clothes from the floor and sorted them either into the washing hamper, or back in his closet, neatly tucked and colour coded like he meticulously arranged them. Your work wasn’t done even if you just put your darling to sleep.

You were determined to wash all those dishes, piled after pile. And tackling the garbage from the bin and scattered all over the floor. And an hour of humming tunes where you swore you could hear Caleb very off-key harmonizing with you in the back of your mind, this apartment was clean.

Caleb was safe and clean. It would take him a large amount of time to slowly climb out of this slump, and you’d be sure to let him know that you were there with every little step of the way.

“Baby?” You hear his faint croak. You walk back to the bedroom, peeking your head from the doorframe. “Please..come here.” The bed feels different tonight.warmer, quieter, safer. The air still smells faintly of your shampoo, the one scent that hadn’t entirely disappeared from his sheets.

He lies on his side, back pressed against your chest, your arm wrapped snugly around his waist. His breathing is uneven, still learning how to slow down after two long, hollow months. You can feel the exhaustion in his body, the way his muscles tense even as he tries to rest.“I’m sorry,” he whispers into the dark.You blink, half-awake, your voice groggy but gentle.

“For what?”He hesitates, fingers twisting in the blanket like he needs something to hold onto. “For looking like this,” he finally murmurs. “For letting everything fall apart. I thought you’d come back, see me, see the place, and just… want to leave. I figured you’d want to do other things. Be with someone who didn’t—” He stops, voice breaking in the quiet. “—who didn’t fall apart so easily.”

Your heart cracks.

You tighten your arm around him, pulling him closer until your chest presses to his back and your lips are right by his ear. “Hey,” you whisper. “Look at me.”He hesitates, then rolls slightly, enough for his eyes to meet yours in the soft light seeping through the curtains. His face looks so tired,his cheeks a little sunken, his eyes rimmed with the kind of ache you can’t sleep off.“You think I came all this way to judge you for surviving?” you ask quietly. “You think I care about dishes or dust or any of that? 

You were alone, hurting, trying to hold yourself together when you thought I might never come back. Of course things fell apart. You were hurting.”

You reach up and brush your fingers through his messy hair, thumb resting at his temple. “I didn’t fall in love with you because you had it together all the time. I fell in love with you because of how you love,because even when you’re breaking into pieces, you still care.”

His breath stutters, eyes glistening as his chest rises and falls like he’s trying not to cry. You lean in, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, then another to the corner of his mouth.“You didn’t scare me off,” you whisper.

“You make me want to stay.”That’s when he breaks. His shoulders shake as he turns in your arms, hiding his face against your collarbone. You hold him tighter, your fingers tracing circles across his back. His voice comes out small, muffled against your skin. “You don’t know how bad it got.”

You swallow hard, steadying your voice. “Then show me,” you say. “Let me see all of it. We’ll fix it together, okay?”He nods against you, trembling a little. You press your lips to his hair. “You don’t have to be perfect for me to love you,” you murmur.

“You just have to be here.”He exhales, slow and shaky, and the tension finally leaves his body. You keep tracing patterns along his arm, whispering into his hair, “We’ve got time now. No more counting days. No more empty bed. Just us.”

He doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t need to.

You can feel it in the way he melts into you, the way his breathing evens out. For the first time in months, he drifts off in your arms,safe, quiet, and finally home.

Taglist yet to be added for Caleb….

[queencinnamonsugar]

Pervleb Drabble

content °✧୨ৎ psuedocest! gege+meimei use, him setting up small situations to be pervy, manipulation a little, him getting off beside you w/out you knowing, his fantasies are dub-con, pussy eating mentioned.

a/n °✧୨ৎ This is not proofread. I had originally planned to use some of this for longer pervleb fic (but more detailed) & I still might. I really want to expand on some of this and show his descent into deeper depravity/have him act on his fantasies.

He tries to be good, but it’s an endless losing streak. Each visit home, he fails. Every you that greets him is somehow even more beautiful—a constant evolution into something lovelier.

He detects each change in your body. Every curve is memorized too effortlessly. He’s built a map of your entire figure, accounting for what’s unseen with vivid estimations.

Your trust is exploited. He’ll orchestrate small inconveniences with foul motives. It happens repeatedly, yet you never show any suspicion. Things will be placed on higher shelves just to observe your struggle. While attempting to reach, you’ll let out those cute frustrated huffs. Your shirt might raise to offer a glimpse of your belly, your ass will bounce as you hop to gain height. And when you’re wearing those tiny shorts he cautioned against, it’ll reveal a little more.

He always imagines following the sick urges. The opportunity is constantly being dangled in front of him. He could easily pin you to the counter and have you feel what you do to him. His thick cock would press into your back while he touches everything he’s longed to. And you don’t even have to move. He’d get on his knees and devour your cunt from behind, dragging his face over your folds until he’s covered in fluid. You’d be shaking, desperately dripping onto the floor. Then he may just lick it all up in front of you; your horrified reaction would be priceless.

But for now, he refrains. He just watches closely, waiting for you to inevitably call for him. Your dependence stirs something twisted inside him.

In exchange for his help, he may have you praise him or outright beg. It’s not the type of playful teasing you believe it is. It’s far less pure than you assume.

You’ve learned what works best when you need something, and he always ensures there is something. There’s one simple phrase that will make him do practically anything you wish.

‘Pleaaseee gege.’

When he hears that, he can barely restrain himself. It’s just too fucking easy to envision you whining for your gege in another context. That’s probably how you’d beg for his cock, all sweet and needy for him. He knows you would. He knows you so well, you’d love being stuffed full of him.

He envisions that while taking care of the brutal throbbing left by your sweet words. He prefers to do so right beside you—pumping his dick while watching you sleep, or under the blanket while you sit together on the couch.

One day, he won’t hide it. He’ll show you just how much he adores his meimei.

dividers by @cafekitsune

[6x-x9]

-`♡´- Suguru makes love to you..! :: 18+ :: fem!reader ::

You lay on your tummy in the soft sheets, phone glowing in your hands as you scroll mindlessly. Suguru’s resting on your back, his big body a comforting weight that pins you gently into the mattress. He feels so solid and warm, his chest rising and falling against you with each breath, the room's quiet except for the low hum of the fan and the occasional tap of your finger on the screen.

"Should we order something for dinner?" he murmurs near your ear, voice low and smooth, "Or maybe I can make something just for you? Eggs the way you like them."

You smile into the pillow and nod, his hands starts to wander then. At first they're innocent, sliding along your sides, but soon his palms grow bolder and he slips them under your t-shirt, mapping the curve of your waist and the softness of your skin. His touch gentle yet sure, fingers spreading wide to feel more of your warmth.

A soft moan slips from your lips. It was quiet, barely there, but it made him shift and you felt it immediately. His cock begins to harden against your ass, pressing through his sweatpants as he moves, the more he rocks subtly, the more obvious it becomes... he's getting hard just from touching you like this.

"Are you getting hard right now, Suguru?" you tease, voice playful.

He sighs, a sound full of pain and want. "Fuck yes Princess. And you're such a brat for pointing it out."

Before you could laugh, he flips you over with ease. His strength always surprises you and now you lay on your back, staring up at his handsome face, dark hair falling forward, framing those sharp violet eyes thats looking at you with hunger and he traces his hands up your arms until he pins both your wrists above your head with one of his large hands. The other resting besides your face.

He leans down and kisses you. First came soft pecks, light and teasing against your lips, then the kiss deepens, his mouth claiming yours fully, tongue pushing inside to taste you. You moan into it, body arching up to meet him and he slots perfectly between your thighs, his hips settling against yours as if he always belonged there.

The grinding starts slow, his hard cock rubbing right against your pussy through your thin shorts, with each roll of his hips makes you wetter, the fabric growing damp from how much you want him, then his free hand roams down your side, squeezing your hip before sliding under your shirt again to cup your breast.

You tug against his grip on your wrists, not to escape but to feel the control he has and It sends sparks through you. Suguru notices and tightens his hold just enough to remind you whose in charge as his tongue tangles with yours, the kiss turns messy and hot, breathy sounds filling the space between you.

He breaks the kiss for a moment, lips brushing your jaw. "Look at you. Already so wet for me and I haven't barely even touched you properly, sweet girl." His voice husky and he grounds down harder, letting you feel every inch of his erection pressing against your plump pussy.

Your legs wraps around his waist instinctively, the pressure feeling so good, each movement drags cock right over your clit, making you gasp and he kisses you again, deeper this time, swallowing every little moan you give him, His hand leaves your breast and travels lower, slipping into your shorts to find you soaked.

Suguru groans against your mouth. "So warm and ready. My sweet brat." His fingers teases your folds, circling your clit with just enough pressure to make your hips buck and you try to move your hands but he keeps them pinned, forcing you to take the pleasure he's giving.

He kisses down your neck, sucking lightly at the sensitive spot that always makes you shiver. His hips never stopping their slow grind, even as his fingers explore you. Two thick fingers pushes inside your pussy, curling just right and the stretch feels perfect and you clench around them, moaning louder now.

The weight of him on top of you is everything. His broad shoulders blocking out the light from the lamp. His scent, clean and masculine with a hint of his shampoo, surrounds you, making you feel safe and claimed all at once.

"Please, Suguru," you whisper.

He lifts his head up to look at you, eyes dark with lust. "Please what? Tell me, baby." He adds a third finger, pumping them in and out slowly while his thumb rubs your clit.

You whimper... "I need you inside me. All of you."

He smiles, that lazy, dangerous smile. "Good girl for asking so nicely." Then he releases your wrists but only to pull your shirt off. His own clothes follows quickly and when he settles back between your thighs, his bare cock rests heavy against your slick pussy.

He takes his time rubbing the head up and down your folds, coating himself in your wetness. Every slide making you tremble, then he pushes in, inch by thick inch, stretching you open until he bottoms out, the fullness makes your head fall back against the pillow.

Suguru stays still for a moment, savoring how you pulse around him and his hands finds yours again, lacing your fingers together above your head and he starts to move, deep and steady thrusts that hit every sensitive spot inside you.

Your moans mix with his low groans. The bed creaks softly under you both, he leans down to kiss you through it, tongues sliding together in time with his hips and weat begins to slick your skin where you're touching.

He angles his thrusts to grind against your clit with every push, the pleasure builds fast and your legs tightens around him, heels digging into the small of his back. "Aaa— Close," you breathe.

"Come for me," he commands softly. "Let me feel it."

You shatter around him, pussy clenching tight as waves of pleasure washes over you and he keeps moving through it, drawing it out until you’re shaking. Only then does he let himself go, burying deep and filling you with hot pulses of his milky cum.

He collapses on top of you, still inside, his weight comforting once more, he presses soft kisses to your shoulder as you both catch your breath.

"Dinner in a minute," he murmurs with a smile. "And maybe round two after."

You laugh softly and nod, running your fingers through his raven hair. The night is still young, and Suguru is far from being done with you.

-`♡´- MAIN MASTERLIST-`♡´--`♡´-GETO M-LIST-`♡´-

[andromedasgallery]

jason todd loves bulking season. so much so its basically just a year round thing for him. partly due to his nighttime job. partly because he loves the way you look at him when he bulks up.

his muscles get thicker as his figure fills out more, scarred skin slightly taught and his v-line blends into his stomach. his hands are large, splaying over the small of your back when he grabs a cup from the cabinet.

the fabric of his shirt stretches at his shoulders and biceps, lifting at the stomach to reveal the thick hairs of his happy trail.

he’s naturally warmer too.

jason sleeps in his boxers and drapes himself over you. his warmth seeps into your skin as he murmurs sleepy nonsense in your ear.

it’s distractingly attractive. he scratches his soft abs in the morning when your brushing your teeth, the subtlest smirk sitting on his lips when you eye his body in the mirror.

he comes home late one night to you still up. your working on your laptop, listening to the sound of him climbing into the apartment before locking it.

his heavy boots thud through the apartment and the bedroom door is pushed open. you glance up for the briefest moment. and he’s standing there, kevlar armor stretched over his muscles, helmet in a gloveless hand with his glove pinched between his teeth. there’s a few scrapes and bruises on his face. his black hair sticks to his forehead, the white streak almost completely hidden.

and he grins.

like he didn’t just come back from patrol in one of the most distracting ways he could. jason tosses his glove in his duffel back along with his helmet, stripping out of his armor until he’s in his boxers and crawling across the bed.

he smells like sandalwood, leather and iron, sweat clings to his skin as he moves your laptop out of the way, kissing you senseless with the night’s adrenaline still fresh on his skin.

@anotherumbranwitch for the biggest jason todd fan I know

[dcorensupez]

you can’t convince me otherwise that clark would not LOVE a bush. 18+..smut w/fluff at the end

It’s not like clark was just some sheltered boy from buttfuck nowhere. He knew what sex was— educated himself about it, had his parents talk to him about how to treat a lady because one day he’d have to bring a gal to his bed and roll in the hay with her. (Is what his ma said to him as a boy)

And of course, he knew what other boys in his class thought about sex: comical, superficial. But most importantly, he noticed that most boys in his class hated body hair. I mean, come on. Body hair? What an irrational thing to be afraid of during sex. He was appalled.

Clearly that characteristic of his bled into his adult sex life because the first time you let him eat you out— and the first time he had ever eaten someone out period, he couldn’t stop himself from being utterly infatuated with the curly tuft of hair right above that pretty pussy of yours. You called it obsessive. He would deflect that argument and say he was highly appreciative of your qualities.

Like today, for example. Like any other, he’s stationed right in between your spread thighs, kissing and sucking on the meat of them, heart racing in his chest out of pure excitement for what’s hiding for him underneath your panties. Your fingers rake against his scalp the way he likes, feet on the blades of his shoulders.

Clark can smell you so clearly, it’s making his mouth water. Smells earthy, sweet. Smells like you.

“Gonna lay there and make goo-goo eyes, or what?” Your thighs move to squeeze his head a tiny bit to shake him out of the fucking coma he’s in just by zeroing in on your cunt.

He squints and opens your thighs wider with his hands, lips detaching themselves from your inner thigh. “i’m not doing that. Can you just let me admire you?”

you scoff, “Hm. Is that what cumming-in-your-pants-at-the-smell-of-some-pussy’s called now?”

His ears turn bright red as his eyes redirect away from you. “That’s— Come on.” he stutters like some nervous teenage boy, hips not-so-subtly shifting on the mattress. Your palms slide down to his cheek, thumb teasing his lip so it spreads, revealing his bottom row. Clark’s pretty blue eyes suddenly dart to yours. he instinctively opens his mouth to make way for his tongue, wet and pink on your finger like the obedient boy he is.

You slip your thumb out of his mouth, too impatient to engage in foreplay. “Clark, hurry.”

He smiles, dimples forming in his stupidly handsome face. “What’s the magic word?” Suddenly, it’s time to be funny. like he wasn’t sporting a fucking brick in his pants, on the edge of humping the mattress like some mutt.

“Clark.”

“Okay.” He whines and immediately starts slipping your pretty panties down your thighs, which are his favorite color, by the way— an even greater reason for his tail to wag.

He throws the pair somewhere in the corner of the room in addition to being completely distracted by your pussy. His mouth starts to water as he lays right back into the same position, eyeing your pretty cunt. He takes his time admiring every ounce of you, taking his thumbs to spread your folds open, revealing your slick slit all for him.

“Geez,” he mutters, almost shy, deliciously overwhelmed with you invading his senses. You respond with a small tug at his curls and a smile on your face- encouraging, sweet. he kisses the spot above your clit, lips pressing against the course hairs that lay there. “So pretty right here.” he almost whispers to himself as his mouth travels down to where you need him most.

He starts off by licking a linear stripe up to your clit, gathering your slick on his tastebuds— he moans just by that alone as if he was the one getting his dick sucked on. your legs twitch on his shoulders, repressing your own noises.

Clark’s got his thumbs spreading you open completely for him, folds open wide so he could slide his tongue all across your wet pussy. His tongue dives in your hole each time he passes it as he moves his head up and down like clockwork, working your cunt so well. He’s gotten so used to it, it’s basically routine— except every time he eats you out, it’s like he’s doing it for the first time all over again.

He runs his pink tongue flat up to your clit, suckling on the little bud until you grip his hair from the roots, whining out “hn.. right there, baby. Fuck.” This is the best kind of encouragement he ever receives from you because it innately makes him want more of you. He groans on your slick as his dick twitches in his sweats, spilling a small sticky mess of precum in his boxers.

He’s dead set on making sure you get your fill, guaranteeing your satisfaction by making you cum on his tongue alone as his face slurps on your pussy with coordinated shakes of his head before diving down to your hole to stick his tongue right in it, burying his nose in your pubes, breathing you in and occasionally bumping against your throbbing clit while you tug on his curls. In the midst of your brain being completely numb, you push his head further into your arousal, virtually fucking his face and getting it wet and sloppy while you repeat his name like a wicked prayer. At this point, he doesn’t need to breathe. He could die happy just like this.

You can see him rutting against the mattress to give his dick some relief while his voice vibrates against you, “mphh.. use m’face. mhm. make a mess outta me, honey..” he whines all the while he’s looking up at you through those pretty lashes, face a sticky mess, pliably letting you use his tongue.

He dips his thumb into your slick hole, pairing it with the relentless, constant push of his pink muscle in your sopping pussy. the intrusion makes your entire body still completely, a weak moan of clark’s name falls out of your lips as your hips raise an inch above the mattress, cumming on his tongue, forming a pretty white ring on his finger.

Much to his perverted delight, he can taste you so prominently— and he’s fucking drunk off of it. The squelch of his thick thumb sliding out of you is loud. The tip of his nose nudges against your clit as he makes sure you’re clean from the inside out, tongue licking inside of you like a dog until there’s nothing left to feed from, until you’re completely spent.

Clark eases your waist back down with a gentle push. Your hands occupy themselves on his curly head of hair as you catch your breath. Clark gets his final taste of your pussy with one last lick up from your hole to your clit, kissing the wet curls at your pubic mound, dragging his face against it for a spit second before you even noticed— just because he wanted to.

You finally look down at his used up face just to be met with him look right back at you, eyes wide and eager to please, half of his face is sticky with slick. All you can do is smile. “God, your face is a mess, Clark.” Your palm slides down to wipe the wet skin around his lips.

Clark smiles, planting his hands at the sides of your hips, raising himself up to eye level. “I did tell you to make a mess outta me.” He moves in to kiss the dip of your neck, sticky skin making contact with yours. You burst into a giggling fit, hitting Clark’s shoulders in retaliation to his attacks. “Clark, ew! It’s so wet, stop.” In your defense, it really did tickle— and he knows how much you hate that feeling. You can almost hear his smile, if it wasn’t for the feeling of his grin on your skin.

He stops, thankfully and looks back at you— only for you to notice the raging hard-on he’s got poking and twitching on your inner thigh. Poor Clark was so fixed on your own pleasure that he completely neglected his.

“Need help with that, Kent?”

[jellyvaine]

𝒕𝒂𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒄𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒃'𝒔 𝒃𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉 𝒂𝒘𝒂𝒚.ᐟ‎

notes: 18+ mdni.ᐟ‎ oral sex (male receiving), kinda sub!caleb.

there's nothing in this world that could ever make him hate the way you looked at the moment: tear-stained cheeks, flushed, swollen and slobbering with his cock. your eyes, once glinting with sweetness now brimming with fresh tears from gagging on his length—an epitome of ethereal sin.

“shit, pips—taking me in so well,” he groans, snaking his veiny hand around the back of your head before pushing you further in—balls deep.

you gag; he chuckles, amused by the sounds slipping out of your lips. “mmm throat so tight—gonna be the death of me—fuck.” he moans, leaning his head back as an attempt to hide his blissful teary eyes.

he loves the way your throat wraps around him perfectly, reverberations forcing confessions of pleasure from his parted mouth. it’s as if it’s molded just for him.

his alone to use. his alone to ruin.

the way you swirl your tongue with mastery, precision, tracing and gliding the tip of its flesh along the right vein that had his nails gnawing into your scalp.

the way you bob your head in a torturously cautious pace, coaxing pathetic whimpers out of him, taking his breath away.

it’s driving him to oblivion—you’re driving him to oblivion.

you pull out with a slight pop, sliding your tongue out as you maintain eye contact with him before taking him whole once more. the spectacle between his spread thighs has him moaning your name like a hymn, so raw, so pleasing, until his hips bucks—a clear sign of his oncoming peak.

reflexively, you pump him with precision, palms slippery with the viscosity of his juices, eliciting lewd squelching noise. he coos at your desperate state, jaw shivering from the overwhelming pressure you gave. “‘m gonna cum, pips—fuck—you gonna take every last drop, yeah?” he murmurs breathlessly.

god. the way he sounds—melodiously sinful—makes your walls clamp down onto nothingness.

“hah—” you popped him out before kissing the angry flushness of his tip, gripping his cock a little tighter that elicited a harsh hiss from him.

so sentive. you thought.

you huff, amused at the way you made a mess of him, licking your lips clean. “hurry up and cum already.” you grit, brows furrowing in the slightest, impatience lacing your voice

god. you looked so good, caleb felt his cock aches more.

you really know how to take his breath away.

a/n: hooray! thank u for 60 followers! i can feel all the love and support for this blog<3

‎© 2026 𝒿ℯ𝓁𝓁𝓎𝓋𝒶𝒾𝓃ℯ : likes and reblogs are much appreciated

[nottellingofname]

For My Caleb ⋆⭒˚｡⋆✈

Gege, i think i shrunk the clothes!

Here’s the thing about trying to do something nice for someone who is annoyingly capable of doing everything himself: it doesn’t work.

You’ve been trying for three weeks.

Three.

And you have nothing to show for it except a slightly bruised ego, a jaw that aches, a pussy that’s always throbbing, and a creeping, maddening awareness that Caleb Xia Yi Zhou might actually be impossible to spoil.

His birthday is in two weeks.

Two weeks, and you’ve cooked him exactly zero meals because every time you shuffle into the kitchen with some grand intention — a recipe pulled up on your phone, ingredients arranged on the counter — Caleb is already there.

Already at the stove.

Already flipping something in a pan with the confidence of a man who learned to cook before he learned to shave.

He’ll glance over his shoulder at you and smile, and it’s that smile, the soft one with the slight crinkle at the corner of his purple eyes, and you’ll feel your irritation deflate like a sad balloon because god, he’s so annoyingly pretty.

You tried cleaning.

You got up early. Practically military-early, which for you is a genuine sacrifice.

You dug out the cleaning supplies from under the sink and you had the vacuum cleaner out before seven in the morning, which should have earned you some kind of medal.

Instead you found the living room already clean. Not recently clean. Impeccably clean. Like it had never been touched by the concept of mess. There was a note on the coffee table in his handwriting: Don’t strain yourself, Pipsqueak. — C.

You may have crumpled that note aggressively.

You may have then proceeded to sit down in the middle of the clean living room floor and have something that could generously be called a meltdown. A tantrum, if you’re being less generous.

Caleb came in from wherever he’d been — still in that black and orange flight jacket, hair slightly messed, looking unfairly effortless — and found you sitting on the floor with your arms crossed and your expression set to full operational sulk.

He didn’t say anything at first. He just looked at you, and then the corner of his mouth tugged upward, and he laughed. Not mean. Never mean with you.

Just warm and rich and a little helpless, like you were the funniest thing he’d ever seen and also slightly exasperating.

“I just wanted to help,” you told him, which came out more like a whine than a declaration.

“I know,” he said, and before you could say anything else he had you up over his shoulder like you weighed nothing — like you were a bag of laundry, like the laws of gravity simply applied differently to you when he decided they did — and the world flipped upside down and his hand was firm and warm on the back of your thigh.

“Caleb—“

“You wanna work so much?” His voice had dropped, that particular low register that lived somewhere between teasing and intent. “Alright. Put that mouth to work.”

And the thing is. The thing is. You’re not going to dwell on what happened after that.

You’re absolutely not going to think about how you ended up on your knees on the floor of his office with his hands loose in your hair and his cock heavy on your tongue, or about the sounds he made, or about the way he looked down at you with those purple eyes gone dark and said good girl like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

You are not dwelling on any of that.

You’re especially not dwelling on the fact that you’d have done it again. Enthusiastically.

But the point is — and you have to keep coming back to the point because your brain has a truly inconvenient tendency to wander — his birthday is in two weeks.

And you have done nothing.

Zero.

You’ve been outmaneuvered at every turn by a six-foot-two military pilot who apparently never sleeps and has a pathological need to do everything himself before anyone else can.

Domestic route: blocked. Culinary route: blocked. Cleaning route: blocked and mocked, very gently, via handwritten note.

Fine. Fine.

If he won’t let you help him with the house, you’ll help him in a different way. A much more interesting way.

The idea had come to you in the middle of the night, the way good ideas tend to. If Caleb loves his uniform, and he does, he’s meticulous about it in a way that borders on religious — the pressed lines, the insignia, the whole Colonel energy he wears like a second skin — then what better way to short-circuit his brain than to wear it yourself?

You’d ordered it three weeks ago, back before the tantrum, when you still thought the cooking plan might work.

It had been sitting in your closet ever since, tucked behind a row of regular clothes, hidden in plain sight as something so mundane that Caleb, who does occasionally poke his head into your room to return folded laundry like some kind of domestic nightmare, would never look twice at it.

Just a dry-cleaning bag. Just a work uniform. Nothing to see here.

You pull it out now, holding it up in the soft late-afternoon light that comes through your window, and you look at it critically. It’s exactly right. The cut, the fabric, the insignia you’d had replicated. The jacket. The pants. The whole setup.

Caleb is in his room, the door cracked open the way it always is when he’s working at his desk, which means you can hear the faint occasional sound of papers shifting or his pen moving, which means he is exactly where you want him.

You look at the uniform again. You look at yourself in the mirror on the back of your closet door.

You’re going to march into his room, and you’re going to make Colonel Caleb Xia Yi Zhou lose every single thread of his composure, because it’s almost his birthday and you refuse — refuse — to be outmaneuvered a fourth time.

But here’s what they don’t tell you about ordering a uniform online when you’re more focused on the fantasy of it than the logistics: size matters.

Size matters a lot.

You step into the pants first, which is a process. You get them up past your knees fine. Past your thighs is already a project. By the time you’ve wrestled them up over your hips you’re already slightly out of breath, and when you look in the mirror the fabric is pulled so tight across your ass that you can practically count the individual seams.

You turn sideways. You turn back. You try bending at the knee to test the range of motion and the pants make a sound like a warning.

Don’t, the pants say. Absolutely do not.

Okay, so bending is out.

Moving with anything resembling caution is also out.

If you sit down in these you might genuinely be trapped.

You accept this as the price of the plan and move on to the jacket, which is the least of your problems until it isn’t — the buttons close over your stomach fine, but once you get to your chest it becomes a negotiation.

The fabric strains. The buttons are doing their best. They are trying so hard and they are losing, and there’s a gap between the second and third button from the top that wasn’t there in the product photos, where the fabric pulls apart just enough to show a strip of skin and the edge of your bra.

You look at yourself in the mirror for a long moment.

“Okay,” you say.

Your ass looks genuinely extraordinary. You have to give the too-tight pants that — they’ve done something transcendent back there. The uniform jacket hits just above the curve of it, which means when you lean forward even slightly there is an event happening. And the gap at the chest is doing something. It’s doing something you hadn’t planned, but you’re choosing to count it as a feature.

You rake your hair back, let it fall, tilt your chin. You point at your own reflection.

“He’s not gonna know what hit him.”

Your reflection looks back at you with the energy of someone who is sixty percent confident and forty percent about to back out.

You do not give her the opportunity.

You turn away from the mirror before the forty percent can gain ground, grab the door handle, and head out into the hallway.

The apartment is quiet. The late afternoon has gone gold and long-shadowed, and Caleb’s door is still cracked the way it was before, a thin rectangle of warm light falling across the hall floor. You can hear him in there — the faint shift of paper, the soft particular sound of his pen, totally absorbed. He has no idea.

You stop outside his door. You breathe.

You arrange your face into an expression of worried contrition, which takes some doing because underneath it you are absolutely delighted with yourself, and you knock twice on the door frame, keeping your body just out of sight around the edge.

“Caleb?” Your voice comes out with exactly the right wobble — concerned, a little sheepish, the voice of someone who has done something they feel bad about. “I’m really sorry, but — I was trying to do something nice, and I think I kind of messed up...”

There’s a pause. You hear his pen stop.

“Messed up how?” His voice is careful, not alarmed. Just attentive, the way he always is when you sound uncertain, because Caleb has never once in his life been able to hear you sound uncertain without immediately paying attention. It’s one of his more exploitable qualities.

“I tried washing your uniform for you,” you say, and you let the words come out small and guilty. “And I think — I think it might have... shrunk.”

Another pause. You can picture him at his desk, his brow doing that slight furrow, trying to work out why that’s a problem that requires you to sound this apologetic.

“Sweetheart.” His voice is mild, unoffended, just a little puzzled. The chair shifts. “Let me see it. Come here.”

That’s your cue.

You step around the door frame and into the light of his room, and then you walk toward him. You take your time with it, because the pants make fast movement inadvisable anyway, and because the whole point is to let him see every inch of you in this thing that barely contains you — the jacket pulled tight across your chest, the gap where the buttons strain, the pants that have given up any pretense of modesty and are simply painting you in detail.

Caleb goes completely still.

He’d been turned partway toward the door, one arm braced on his desk, and that’s how he stays — perfectly, completely motionless — as you cross the room toward him.

His mouth doesn’t drop open. He’s more composed than that. But his eyes go somewhere darker and the breath he’d been in the middle of just... stops. You can see it. The stillness of his chest.

His cock is already pressing against his pants. You notice this without looking directly, the way you notice a fire — by the heat of it, by the fact that the room feels different suddenly

You don’t say anything. You walk to his desk, turn so your back is to him, and lean against the edge of it. Your ass settles onto his work papers with a soft, definitive sound. You glance back at him over your shoulder.

He still hasn’t spoken. He’s just watching you.

His eyes trace the uniform, absorbing every detail like a blueprint he’s determined to master. His jaw is tight. The smirk hasn’t arrived yet — it’s building, you can see it in the set of his mouth, the way the corner of his lip is just beginning to pull.

You cross your arms loosely, settle your weight back, and look at him.

“Well?” you say, keeping your voice light, unbothered, like you aren’t desperately aware of your own heartbeat. “What do you think? Think it shrunk?”

And there it is — the smirk, slow and deliberate as a knife being unsheathed, landing at the corner of his mouth like he was never trying to hold it back, just waiting to make sure you were watching when it showed up.

“Mhm,” Caleb says. It’s not an answer. It’s not even a word. It’s just a sound in the low register of his voice that goes directly down your spine. The look in his eyes is the look of a man who has already decided what’s going to happen next and finds it very, very funny that you thought you were in charge of this.

You swallow.

Maybe you didn’t think this through all the way.

You think — well, you THOUGHT — that you have the upper hand here.

You’re sitting on his desk, his papers crinkled under your ass, wearing his uniform like you own it, and he’s just standing there in front of you looking at you with that smirk, and you think: yeah, okay, I’ve got him. You think: he’s flustered and I did that. You think a lot of things very quickly, in the way you do when you’re trying to feel confident and your brain is helping you lie to yourself.

Then Caleb stands up.

He’d been leaning slightly forward, one hand on the arm of his chair. He rises to his full height like the tide coming in, slow and inevitable, and suddenly he is very tall.

You’ve always known he’s tall. Six-foot-two is not a secret.

You have lived with this man, you’ve stood next to him at the grocery store and craned your neck at him across the dinner table and had him tuck you under his arm for years without really registering it the way you register it now.

You have to lean back just to keep eye contact. Your hands go automatically to the desk behind you, bracing.

“Hi,” you say, which is not what you’d planned to say.

He doesn’t answer. Instead he reaches out — and picks you up. Both hands, one at your hip and one at your thigh, and he lifts you like you’re a piece of paper he’s clearing off the desk and deposits you further back on the desk surface, higher up, and the pants — the beautiful, already-suffering pants — finally meet their end.

The seam goes with a sharp tearing sound right down the middle, and you feel the cool air of the room find your inner thighs, and you make a sound you hadn’t planned to make, somewhere between a gasp and a laugh, and your hands fly down to cover yourself automatically. That does nothing, by the way, because Caleb’s hands are already there, wrapping around your wrists and holding them to the side with a calm, immovable firmness.

His hands are enormous around your wrists. You could probably fight it but you don’t, because you’ve already forgotten what you were fighting for.

Your panties are orange. Bright, irreverent orange, the exact same color as the stripe on his flight jacket, and they are completely visible through the wreckage of the pants.

Caleb stares at them.

And then he does something you didn’t predict, because you should have known by now that Caleb in this mode is ungovernable: he drops his head.

He dips down between your thighs and puts his nose right against the fabric, and inhales. Long and deep and completely shameless, like you’re something he’s been wanting to smell for a long time and he is going to take his time about it.

You feel the breath of it through the fabric, warm and deliberate, and your hands jerk reflexively in his grip but he doesn’t let go.

“Caleb—“

He licks. A long, slow drag of his tongue over the front of your underwear, and the fabric is thin enough that you feel all of it — the wet heat, the pressure, the shape of his mouth working against you like he’s trying to memorize you through the cotton.

He does it again. He makes a sound low in his throat that is not a civilized sound, that belongs to something older and less housebroken than any version of Caleb you’ve been allowed to see before.

There is saliva soaking into the fabric now. There is the obscene warmth of his mouth. And there is you, gripping the edge of his desk with fingers gone white, breathing through your teeth.

He lets go of your wrists, steps back, and reaches into his own pants. He doesn’t bother taking them off — just shoves them down to his knees, enough to free himself, and his cock springs out like it’s been waiting for this, already flushed and heavy, standing up toward his stomach.

He wraps one hand around the base of it and strokes it slowly, watching you, watching the orange of your panties, watching the evidence of what he’s already done to them.

“Mmm,” he says again, that low sound from before. Not a word. An assessment.

Then he steps forward, and instead of pushing in — instead of doing the obvious thing, the thing you are absolutely ready for whether you’ll admit it or not — he just leans against you.

Pushes his cock down flat against the front of your panties, along your stomach, and the length of him is just. There. You both look down at the same time.

His tip passes your navel. Surpasses it. There’s cock laid against your stomach in a way that makes the math of the situation very, very clear.

“Look here, Pips.” His voice is low and easy, like he’s making an observation about the weather, like he’s discussing something reasonable and not currently resting every inch of himself against your skin. “I’m gonna be in here one day.”

Not I want to. Not can I? Just — I’m going to. The same tone he uses when he talks about flight routes and promotions and things he’s already decided are going to happen.

Your mouth opens. Nothing comes out.

He pulls back, and there are wet spots on your panties, and he looks at them with an expression of profound satisfaction before he presses himself back against you. Not inside, just along you, rubbing the length of his cock over your pussy through the ruined fabric. You’re so wet that it soaks through immediately and he can feel it.. You can tell by the hitch in his breath and the way his hips rock forward once, twice, following the slick heat of you like he can’t help it.

“Fuck,” he breathes, and it comes out reverent.

His cock moves against you in long, rolling strokes, gathering up your slick, dragging it across the fabric. Spreading isn’t enough. It isn’t enough, and Caleb knows it, and you know it, and the knowing doesn’t stop anything.

You feel the exact moment he loses the last organized thought in his head. It’s in the shift of his hips, the way they press forward with new intent instead of the rolling stroke from before.

His hands grip the backs of your thighs, and he pushes, and the wet cotton of your panties catches him, gives just a little, and his tip nudges in by a fraction — barely there, barely a suggestion of inside — and that’s all it takes.

He cums.

Just like that.

A low, bitten-off sound tears out of him, and you feel it — the heat of it soaking into the fabric, spreading in a wet rush that joins everything already there, and he’s still pressed against you, shuddering, his forehead dropping toward your shoulder without quite landing.

“Jesus—“ he breathes, and it comes out broken, like he wasn’t expecting himself.

You look down. The orange cotton is wrecked, soaked through and stained, clinging to you with the weight of what he’s done, and Caleb is looking down at it too.

“Again,” he decides, out loud, which is not a request.

He draws back and pushes forward again, harder this time, and the fabric holds for approximately one more second before it doesn’t.

The seam at the center tears cleanly, cotton splitting apart, and with the combined slick of you and the mess he’s already made, his cock slides and then doesn’t quite find the angle it was looking for. Instead it slides up, and he ends up fitted snugly between your lips, sandwiched in the wet heat of you, your folds closing around him on either side without him getting inside. The tip of him grazes your clit.

You make a sound that isn’t your voice, or isn’t a voice you’ve used before.

He goes still. Then his hips roll, experimentally, once, feeling it — the slick of you on both sides of him, your flesh pressing in, and the soft brush of your pubic hair against the base of his cock strike him directly in the brain stem.

“Oh, fuck.”

His hips find a rhythm, a steady roll that sends his cock gliding between your lips. Each thrust drags him against your clit, his length slick with your desire and the remnants of his own release. The room echoes with filthy, sloppy sounds—the smack of skin on skin, the lewd squish of his cock plowing through the fucking mess you’ve made together.

He cums again. Just erupts, fountaining up your stomach, over the ripped hem of the costume jacket, and it goes everywhere and he watches it go everywhere. His cock is still twitching.

Then he looks up at you.

“Ma’am,” he says, and the word is wrong and filthy in his mouth. Wrong because you’re not his superior, wrong because he’s never called you that in his life, wrong because of everything. He says it with a straight face.

With his hand already moving, rubbing the flat of his palm over your stomach, spreading what he’s put there into your skin. His jaw is tight. “I don’t think this uniform belongs to me anymore.”

“Caleb—“

“’Yes, sir’ works.” He isn’t looking at your face. He’s watching his own hand move, the cream worked into your skin going slick and shining. His thumb drags through the mess of you and he pushes it between your pussy lips — against them, not in, just the pressure of him insisting — and your thighs try to close and his hips stop them. “You’re so wet for me, Pips. You’re soaking. Did you know that?”

You knew. You’ve known for the last fifteen minutes in excruciating detail.

“You did this to me,” you manage.

“Yeah,” he agrees, like that pleases him enormously. “I did.”

He takes the ruined waistband of your panties in both hands, the torn fabric hanging in tatters, and pulls the remnants taut. A strip of it pressed flat against you, between your lips, and then he presses his cock back over it, and the combined friction is something your nervous system genuinely wasn’t prepared for.

He drags. Long and deliberate and slow, forcing the fabric tight against your skin, and the edge of the seam catches your clit just right and you make a noise loud enough to embarrass yourself, your hands scrabbling at the back of his neck.

“There she is,” Caleb says, very quietly, and he does it again.

Your thighs shake. The pressure builds with a speed that makes you feel cheated out of the anticipation of it, and when you tip over the edge you take him with you. You squirt, sudden and surprised and messy, and it hits him across the lower stomach and the base of his cock and he makes a sound like he’s been hit.

You expected this to slow him down. You expected this to be the moment he regroups, take a breath, bring some of that Colonel composure back to bear.

He grabs your hips instead.

His eyes are wide and dark and there is nothing composed about him. He looks at the mess between your bodies, your slick and his cum and the ruined orange cotton of your underwear, and his expression is the expression of a man who has found the meaning of life,

“Need gege to clean you up?” He asks.

His hips roll forward, coating himself back in you, and the mess makes a sound, and Caleb Xia Yi Zhou, Colonel, decorated pilot, the most responsible person in your life, looks at you with your ruined uniform jacket hanging off your shoulders and your thighs wrapped around him and his cock slick with everything that’s passed between you, and he smiles. Wide and a little wild and completely without apology.

You are in so much trouble.

Caleb grabs the remnants of your panties in both fists and pulls, and they give immediately. The cotton is already destroyed, and the last of it comes away with a sound of final surrender.

He drops it somewhere. He grabs the shredded ends of the costume pants, what’s left of them still clinging to your legs, and those go too, peeled down and discarded over the edge of the desk. You’re bare from the waist down in the ruins of this cheap costume uniform and the cool air of his room comes for your skin all at once.

Caleb doesn’t notice, or maybe he doesn’t care. He’s looking at you with the focused, slightly unhinged attention, and his cock is still hard and flushed and absolutely ready despite cumming all his kids all over you.

He picks his cock back up in his hand. Looks at you. And then he brings it down against your pussy in a single, deliberate slap.

The sound it makes is obscene. Wet and sharp and loud in the quiet room, and the splatter of everything already there — your slick, his cum, the accumulated evidence of the last twenty minutes — goes everywhere, and you jerk. Your thighs try to close and Caleb puts one hand flat on your inner thigh, open-palmed, holding you in place.

“Stay,” he says, like you’re a very beloved problem.

He does it again. The slap of his cock against your pussy, light and then firmer, and every impact sends a shock up through your hips. The wet sound of it fills the room and he is watching — watching it happen, watching the cream fly, watching the way your lips part and close around the impact, and his expression is so rapt and so unabashedly delighted that you almost laugh except that you’re too busy making sounds that aren’t laughter.

“Caleb—“

“Sir,” he corrects, absently, still watching what he’s doing with the focus of someone who finds it genuinely fascinating. “Or ma’am, I don’t care, pick one.”

“I’m not calling you ma’am,” you say, breathless.

“No, you’re the ma’am.” He looks up briefly. “You’re in uniform, Pips.” Then back down. “You’re technically outranking me right now.”

This is demented reasoning and you both know it. But it doesn’t matter because he’s moved on from slapping his dick on you to pressing his tip directly against your clit, circling it in slow, lazy strokes like he’s drawing something. His free hand has found your pussy lips, two fingers sliding along either side, pressing them together, releasing, pressing again, the wet sounds mortifying and you’re watching him do it with your mouth open because apparently your body has decided to spectate.

“Hi,” Caleb says to your pussy, conversationally. His fingers press your lips together again. They make a sound. “Yeah,” he says, nodding, like he’s hearing something only he can understand. “I know. Me too.”

“Are you talking to it—”

“Shh.” His tip presses down and rolls over your clit again and your sentence evaporates. “We’re having a moment.”

You are going to lose your mind.

In fact, you are already losing it.

You lost it approximately seventeen minutes ago and you’ve just been running on the fumes of it.

And Caleb is still working that slow deliberate circle with the head of his cock and squishing your lips between his fingers with the focus of a man who has found his calling.

“You’re so goddamn soft,” he says, and now his voice has dropped all the way down, into that register that does things to your ovaries.

“You know that? Every time I think about how — “ he presses down harder, rolls, and you make a sound that does things to his expression — “how fucking small you are—“ another stroke, the tip dragging slick — “I can’t even, Pips. I would fill you up to your throat, do you understand that? I’m not — I’m being serious right now—“

“Caleb—“

“Sir,” he says again, more firmly this time, though it’s undercut by the fact that he’s clearly struggling to form sentences himself.

His hips have started moving again with that roll, working himself against you, and the slick built between you is audible and continuous and bubbly. “I would split you in half, sweetheart, I would be so far in you—”

He cums.

It happens mid-sentence, which would be funny under other circumstances. His voice just stops, replaced by a rough broken sound, and he tilts forward and his cock kicks upward and he paints you with it. Long white stripes landing across your stomach and the open front of the costume jacket, soaking into the fabric and your skin alike. And he keeps stroking through it with his fist, milking every last drop out, watching it land.

The uniform is destroyed.

It is a complete loss.

There is no dry cleaner in the world that could help this uniform.

You don’t care. You reach out and grab his wrist.

“Again, sir,” you say, which is what he said earlier.

He looks at you. His chest is heaving. His hair is messed up, falling across his forehead. His pants are still at his knees, which looks ridiculous, but on Caleb it just looks like a man who didn’t have time for niceties.

He tries. He genuinely tries.

His hips shift forward, his hand moves, and then his whole body seems to make a decision. Caleb falls forward, catching himself on his forearms on the desk, and lowers his head until his forehead rests in the crook of your neck. His weight on you but managed, warm and enormous, his breath coming against your collarbone in deep, ragged pulls.

He doesn’t move.

The room is very quiet.

After a moment, Caleb says, in a muffled, genuine tone, “I think my soul just left my body, Pips.”

You stare at the ceiling. Your chest is heaving.

There is cum on the costume. There is cum on you.

Your pants are in pieces on the floor and you are sitting on his work papers and his face is in your neck and he has just, apparently, experienced some kind of astral event.

“Are you dead?”

“Yes.” A pause. “Don’t tell Gran.”

You bring your hand up — slowly, because everything is a little slow right now — and rest it on the back of his head.

His hair is soft. It’s always soft, stupidly soft, and he makes a low satisfied sound at the contact like a very large, very spent dog who has found his spot and has no plans to relocate.

“Don’t die yet,” you tell the ceiling.

Caleb laughs into your neck. It’s muffled and helpless and warm, and it shakes through his whole chest and into you, and you feel it everywhere.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Refer to Party RSVP

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[meanhamster]

Author has me gnawing at the bars of my enclosure 😳

Like... actually speechless. 10/10 will be reading this again and again and again 🤩

[calebunny]

⋆. Feed me ᝰ.ᐟ

art credit: on pinterest

⋆ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧ ⋆ AppleDays ⋆ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧ ⋆

𑣲Day 4

All gege wants is for you to be filled and content… in more ways than one.

Warnings: Explicit NSFW, MDNI (18+), Feeding/Force-feeding (Mild), Dubious Consent Tropes: Dom!Caleb, Brat Taming, Food Play, Body Alteration (Soft/Plump MC), Possessive/Obsessive Boyfriend, cunnilingus WC: 1175

Caleb has cooked for you as long as you remember. 

Back in your school days, he was the boy slipping snacks into your backpack to get you through afternoon classes. When your grandma was too tired to cook, he would step in without a second thought. But most of the time, Caleb didn't even need a reason to cook for you, he did it simply for the joy of watching you munch and gobble down his food, letting out muffled, “mmh, Caleb... i'sh sho good!” while he ruffled your hair affectionately. 

This habit didn't change when the two of you stepped into adulthood. He started showing up at your door with random home-cooked meals, always attentive to the moments you lost yourself a little too much into your work, gently reminding you to take a break by sliding a plate onto your desk. And on the days you were sick? Caleb stayed by your side, insisting on nursing you back to health with endless bowls of hot soup and comfort food.

Now that the man was your boyfriend, his gentle doting had become a daily occurrence. Before you even realized it, Caleb had become your sole source of nutrition. Maybe you had just relied a little too hard on your younger metabolism, but the endless stream of delicious food had made it easy to ignore the new, soft fullness your curves now carried. 

Until today.

Guilt radiated through your body as you peered down at the numbers on the weighing scale beneath your feet. Seeing confirmation of what you had been noticing in the mirror for weeks felt like a little pang to your chest. Maybe I need to make some changes, you thought, 

But Caleb, being the observant man he was, was highly attuned to all your shifts in emotion and habit. He wasn't unaware of the sudden guilt clouding your relationship with food. It started with you skipping meals, insisting you “just weren't hungry,” or barely finishing half your plate. Then came the peculiar questions, asking him exactly what ingredients he used so you could type them into a mysterious calorie-tracking app on your phone. 

All of it slowly caught up to him. Caleb couldn't help but feel a dull ache whenever you refused food he made for you. At first, he hoped it was just a passing phase, that you would go back to eating normally for him. But as he watched you push a fork around your plate yet again, his patience began to wear thin. 

You were sprawled on your bed, laying flat on your stomach and resting on your forearms, deeply engrossed in your book with your legs absentmindedly kicking the air behind you. That was when you heard your bedroom door click open. Your attention immediately diverted from the pages, looking up to see Caleb entering the room, balancing a small plate with what looked like a pastry on it.

Your face broke out into a soft, bittersweet smile, melting at the sight of your devoted boyfriend. But your brain quickly went into alarm. Sugar. Sugar. Calories! You felt terribly, horribly bad, because you were going to have to deny his food all over again. You watched as Caleb sat down next to you on the bed, the mattress dipping heavily under his weight. He placed the plate right next to you, completely in clear view now. It was a miniature, perfectly golden apple pie, the warm crust smelling entirely divine. Your mouth watered instantly at the sight. Caleb was perfect at making almost any dish, but apple pie was one of his absolute specialties. God, why must you test me? you mentally cried. 

Looking up at Caleb’s hopeful eyes, your heart broke just a little bit more as you sat up and forced the words out. “I don’t think I'm very hungry, Caleb,” you said quietly. A flash of hurt crossed his features before he let out a low sigh. He picked up the fork resting on the side of the plate and began cutting out a small piece. Panicking, you quickly continued insisting, “No, believe me! I’ll have it later-” Your voice faded as Caleb brought the fork to his own lips, sliding the piece of pie into his own mouth instead. A confused expression riddled your face now. 

You opened your mouth to say something else, when Caleb’s hand grabbed your jaw, tilting your face up firmly as he smashed his lips against yours. Before you could even think to protest, he bit down sharply on your bottom lip. The sudden sting made you gasp, your mouth parting perfectly for him. Caleb took the opportunity; Using his tongue, he pushed the warm, sweet bite of apple pie straight into your mouth.

He broke off the kiss just as quickly as it started, leaving you breathless and stunned, but he didn't forget to lean back in for a fraction of a second, lazily licking the leaking syrup right from the corners of your lips, and closing your mouth with a finger pushing up on your chin.

“So, are you still not hungry, or do you want gege to feed you like this?” A smug smile now rested on his face. Still starstruck, you couldn't come up with a response. “I’m gonna take that as a yes, then,” he said, pushing you back onto the bed. Keeping your mouth open with his large fingers, he fed you with messy kisses, licking up any syrup that dripped down your body until you had finished every last bite of the apple pie. 

By the end of it, Caleb had a noticeable tent in his pants. “Fuck- since you’re done eating. My turn now,” he muttered, giving you a deranged smile. He immediately pulled your shorts off, diving straight to your cunt where you were already leaking and ready for him. He shoved his tongue right inside your tight hole, letting all of your sweetness collect on his tongue before slurping it up like a starved man. You, meanwhile, could only buck into his mouth, gasping as you felt his nose press flat into your clit.

“Caleb...!” Your pleas fell on deaf ears as he only focused on one thing, losing himself in your smell, your taste, and you. 

And just like that, every single hope you had of losing weight was dashed. Every time you tried to deny his food, he took it as an open invitation to claim your mouth, tasting you again and again until you took everything that was given to you. Sometimes, though, he would get a little selfish, completely forgetting about your meal and choosing to have his fill of you instead. Like the afternoon he pinned you flat against the kitchen counter, drizzling chocolate all over your collarbones, neck, and chest just so he could lick you clean. 

He made it his personal mission to keep you soft, full, and utterly dependent on him, and the thought of your body plumping up solely because of him was enough to make him absolutely feral. 

taglist: @meanhamster @feral-espresso-boba @dbglow @hilliserose @violojezel @sickleddreamer

♡ Bunny's Note: You can't tell me Caleb isn't a slight bit of a feeder :3 But anyway, I again got out of my comfort zone for this one, so I hope you enjoyed it! And for those of you who struggle with nourishing your body with the food that you deserve, know that gege wouldn't be happy with you not eating. Take care of yourselves, sweets <3 ₍ ᐢ.ˬ.ᐢ₎ 

[tojicide]

dilf caleb wip added to the list because WWWWOimhornyasfuckgivemethatdickOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWW 😭😭😭😭😭😭

art by sashaa_art2 on x !!!!!!!!!

[knightjpg]

red string | chapter 2

tags: 🔞dubious consent, vaginal fingering, unprotected piv sex, no y/n, pseudo-incest, semi-public sex

1 | 2

You think you're doing the right thing, breaking up with Caleb. He sees things differently.

So breaking up with Caleb turns out to be a little more complicated than you’d anticipated.

You do your best. You keep saying no to him. You refuse to pick up when he calls. You dodge him when he tries to kiss you, and don’t open the door when he rings the bell. Anything you can manage to create distance between the two of you, to drive the message home that you are serious. And it gets to him—though you’re not sure whether this is a sign of effectiveness or not. After he refuses to give back the spare key to your apartment you change your lock, yet find that next time he comes by to visit you he simply breaks it. When he steps inside, tossing the screwdriver to the floor, you shiver at the way his eyes darken when they land on you. Inevitably the ensuing argument ends in bed, leaving you dazed and wrung-out and littered in bite marks. What happened to my little girl? Caleb husks in your ear. She used to be so good for me. That’s okay. I like it when you’re bad, too. Now count. I’m starting over again if you forget.

You need to change tactics.

He’s just not taking you seriously. Is there someone else, he asked you, and you said no. But if there were someone else, if he saw that you really meant it, maybe then he’d understand that you’re not just suggesting a breakup on a whim.

You sign up for a dating site. You click through the suggested profiles curiously; there’s people in all shapes and sizes, dressed to the nines or looking like they’ve just rolled out of bed. You don’t have anything specific in mind. You see plenty of people that are good-looking; beautiful girls with done-up hair, handsome guys with sharp jawlines, bios that are terrible puns or entire paragraphs. It doesn’t really matter. None of them are Caleb. In the end you send off several messages, hope for the best, and go to bed.

To your surprise you wake up to a significant response. And while the majority of messages are very clearly looking for a one-time thing only, there’s plenty of reactions that seem interested in more than just that. You’ve never thought of yourself as desirable. Caleb wanting you is objectively hard to believe, but you’ve compartmentalised this as Caleb just being Caleb. It’s always been the two of you. Inevitable. The axis of the earth that spins around the brightest star. You’ve wondered out loud before, of course, asking him why he likes you. It’s always elicited a puzzled response; as though your brother could not comprehend the notion of not loving you. Because you’re perfect, he’d insisted earnestly. Silly.

You feel a little bad, reading the messages in your inbox. You don’t know that you can ever love someone that’s not Caleb. But then this isn’t about you, and so you push your feelings of guilt to the side while you scroll. You narrow it down until you find a guy your age. Tall and reasonably handsome. Brown hair, dark eyes. A good build. His shoulders aren’t as wide as Caleb’s, but he has a cute smile. He invites you for lunch, and you agree. That same evening you pick up Caleb’s call for the first time in a while.

There’s a beat of surprised silence before he speaks. “Is everything okay?” he asks.

“Fine,” you lie. “Why do you ask? Are you still at work?”

“My baby sister hasn’t been takin’ my calls recently, so I thought maybe she needed my help.” There’s a rustle of paperwork in the background; faintly you hear the creak of a chair. “I’m just finishing up here. Why don’t we go on a date tomorrow? You’re free, right?”

“I can’t,” you say. “I have plans. Also, we’re broken up, so we can’t go on dates.”

“We’re not broken up,” Caleb says sharply. His voice gets slightly louder, like he’s pressing his phone to his ear more tightly. “Stop saying that.”

“We can be—” Friends, you want to say, but you can’t manage the word. It’s too small for what you are. Not appropriate for someone who you’ve called your brother for as long as you remember. Caleb will always be part of you in some way; it just can’t be in a way that makes him hurt himself for your sake. “We can go back to before,” you correct yourself.

“I’ve loved you my whole life. There is no before.”

You bite your lip. Anguish. “Then there has to be an after,” you say, bile in your throat. This will be last time you’ll hurt him. He’ll understand, after this. “I’m going on a date tomorrow.”

A long silence.

“With who?”

“No one you know. I’m just—I’m telling you so that you know I’m serious. We’re not together anymore.”

“Pips—”

You press the end call button like a coward. Your heart is thundering inside your chest, and a cold sweat clings to the back of your neck. There. It’s done now. Caleb knows you’re moving on. In time he will do the same, and you won’t be dragging him down anymore. You ignore his caller ID flashing on the screen and place your phone face-down on your nightstand. You’ve already picked out what to wear for tomorrow; your outfit is neatly draped over the back of your chair. Just like Caleb would do for you when you were small.

All his little habits that you’ve carefully collected, then swallowed one by one. Merged together in the marrow of your bones; as inescapable as blood.

“Hey!”

Your date waves at you from across the street, and you nervously smile and wave back. “Hi,” you say when you reach him. You readjust your bag, hands fluttering over the hem of your dress. “Did you wait long?”

“Naw, I just got here. You like to be early too,” he says in approval. He holds the door open for you, and you step inside the place you picked for lunch. It’s not busy. You’re able to get a corner seat booth, and a waitress stops by to hand you the menus. You could have chosen something flashier or fancier, but you feel much more at ease someplace familiar. This restaurant sits on the outskirts of town, the buildings tapering off against a backdrop of faded greens and vibrant pops of gold. Autumn making its grand entrance. You’ve hiked around these parts many times, and have stopped for a drink and a meal here more than once on your way back home.

Fortunately your date seemed happy to go wherever you suggested. When you peek at him over your menu he’s already looking at you, smiling slightly. “You know, you’re even prettier in real life,” he says, and you flush.

“Oh, um. Thanks… You look really nice too.”

He laughs. “Are you shy? That’s cute.”

“Just a little nervous,” you say, face burning. You shift in your seat. Are you overdressed? You tried to go for something casual-cute, but your date’s gaze keeps drifting to your outfit. You hope that doesn’t mean you look bad.

“Don’t be,” he says. “Don’t worry. I don’t bite.”

You exhale and nod, and try to smile too. That’s right. It’s just a date. This is a normal thing people do. There’s no need to be nervous, you tell yourself while you order your food and talk. Your date likes to be outdoors, just like Caleb, and you discover that you’re not the only one who likes to frequent this place after a hike up the hilly terrain surrounding the city.

Having something to talk about relaxes you. Apparently there’s a lot of people who like to hike in groups; you date tells you that he sometimes leads them. You never even knew that kind of stuff existed. You rarely bumped into people during the hikes you took with Caleb—somehow he always knew how to get to the prettiest parts with hardly anyone around. You take out your phone to show your date one of them: the view over the forest is beautiful from there, with the sun catching on the tallest buildings of Linkon in the distance.

“Who’s that?” your date asks.

You raise your head, surprised, then realise he means your lockscreen. It’s a photo of you and Caleb flashing peace signs. Caleb’s arm is slung around your shoulders. You’re both smiling, though like in most pictures Caleb is looking at you instead of the camera. It’s been set like this for so long you didn’t even think about changing it.

“Oh,” you say. “Um, that’s my brother, Caleb.”

Your date relaxes. “Cool,” he says. “I’ve got a little brother. He’s just finishing up school, but he still doesn’t know what he wants to do at all. All he wants to do is hang out with his friends.” He shakes his head, but there’s a fondness to it that softens you. “I mean, I get it. Not like I was any better his age. But still…”

“It can be pretty tough,” you say, sympathetic. “Even though I knew what I wanted to do I would say I changed my mind every time I was sick of studying.”

Your date laughs a little. “It’s kinda hard to imagine you fighting Wanderers out there. You look so prim and proper, like you’re a—”

“There you are,” Caleb’s voice says. You freeze in your seat. The food in your mouth turns tacky, and you swallow with some difficulty; when you look up with wide eyes Caleb is standing at your table. He holds up his phone. On the screen you see a list of missed calls going out to your number—you’d put your phone on do not disturb before you left, determined not to be swayed by his stream of texts. Afraid that if he just talked to you long enough you’d give in. To Caleb or to your brother, either or both.

“Sorry, who are you?” your date asks. He’s frowning, cutlery hovering over his food.

“Caleb,” you manage. “What are you doing here?”

“Caleb? You mean your brother?”

Caleb exhales a laugh, though he looks anything but amused. His gaze stays on you while he speaks, even though he’s addressing your date. “Oh, yeah. I’m her brother. Did you know she takes my dick too?”

Your mouth drops open. “What are you doing?” you hiss desperately. You rise from your seat, fork and knife clattering against your plate. “Caleb—”

“Then again, she calls me daddy sometimes too.” Finally Caleb’s eyes slide to your date’s. “Has she done that with you?”

Your date’s eyes widen in shock, and he rises from his seat as well. He’s still holding his cutlery, knuckles tightening to whites around the handles. “Hey man, what the fuck is your problem?” He turns to you. “Do you really know this guy? I can—”

“You can sit back down and shut the hell up.”

Caleb’s cold voice whips across your spine, pricking at your skin like needles. It’s the Colonel and your dad and your older brother scolding you all at once, and you resist the urge to follow a command not meant for you. Your date falters. You can’t see Caleb’s expression fully, but you catch a glimpse of it; a storm about to unleash, dark and drawn and angry. Electric. He almost seems to grow taller when he speaks with this voice, exuding authority that you’ve only seen him reserve for his Colonel’s duties.

In the brief pause that follows Caleb grabs your wrist and drags you out of the booth. He’s taken your bag, too, carrying it in his other hand while you stumble after him and try to yank your arm free without drawing the attention of the rest of the restaurant. It’s a miracle that no one has witnessed the little scene he started. “Caleb,” you whisper-hiss. “Caleb, let go!”

“Come again!” a cheerful waitress calls out when Caleb pushes the door open.

Caleb holds up a hand, smiling. “Yep, thanks a lot!” Then he turns to you, that same smile vanishing in an instant. His expression is unreadable as he steps outside, fingers still firmly lodged around your wrist. When you try to tug it free again he squeezes tighter, and you wince.

“Ge, it hurts…”

“Yeah? Then stop struggling.” Caleb takes you around to the back of the restaurant where the parking lot is; you can already spot his big-ass car parked near the entrance. He opens the passenger door. “Get in.” No argument. You consider it for a moment—talking back, raising your voice. You’re angry. But when you look at him the thought of refusing him is fleeting, and dissolves like a little wisp in the wind. Vanished in the depths of his dark eyes that gaze at you passively. Caleb’s mouth is a tight, unhappy line; his skin seems paler, the freckles dancing across his cheeks standing out starkly in contrast. Handsome even in his anger. Your stomach flutters traitorously.

You get in.

Caleb bends over you, zipping the seatbelt across your chest. The door closes with a smack, followed by a soft click. The button above the door handle has flipped, showing the red little dot that marks it as locked. You frown and push it back, but it’s stuck in place. Before you can try again Caleb has stepped inside, however, and you quickly retract your hand.

“What’s wrong with you!” you accuse, but your voice is an unsure thing. “Why did you come here? How did you even know where I was? And why would you—why did you say that? Caleb—”

“What? Are you worried about that guy?” Caleb’s pretty violet eyes are sharp when he looks at you. “Forget about him. He’s not good enough for you.”

“Then who is?” you say angrily. A rhetorical question; you don’t mean for Caleb to answer, but he does.

“Me,” Caleb says, just as angry. “I am.”

He’s wrong. You’re the one who’s not good for him. “Give me my phone.”

For a moment you think he might not, but after a beat Caleb quietly opens your bag for you and reaches inside. He hands you your phone. Your date has sent you more than one worried text asking if you’re okay, which only makes you feel more awful. He’s just a normal guy. Someone nice who didn’t deserve to be dragged into whatever this is.

You start tapping out a reply. I’m okay. I’m really sorry about this. My brother isn’t usually so—

“What’s this?”

Your fingers still, hovering above your screen, while you look at what Caleb’s holding between his fingers. He’s got your bag open on his lap, but he’s looking at you.

A zap of nervous shock flits through your stomach as you look at the condom in his hand.

A precaution. You hadn’t been planning on doing anything other than have lunch and talk, but the guides you used to prepare insisted on being safe rather than sorry, which is why there’s a small can of pepper spray tucked inside your bag as well. But Caleb doesn’t have eyes for the pepper spray. Don’t rifle through my stuff, you want to say. You don’t get to decide what I do, you want to tell him. But instead of words only your breath rushes out of your mouth. You feel like you’re a child again, caught for sneaking a piece of candy after Caleb told you to wait until dinner was ready.

“That’s—” you stutter. “That—don’t touch that.”

Caleb’s fingers tighten over the condom, its reflective wrapping crinkling in the quiet of the car. He laughs, but there’s no mirth in it at all. “You’re using condoms now?” His mouth twists; smiling, if you didn’t know him better. “Right. ‘Cause no one gets to cum inside you but me, right?”

Your brother’s skin is buzzing again. His body is tense, poised; ready for the kill. “No,” you say weakly. “No, I wasn’t… I wasn’t going to.”

A large hand grasps your face, forcing you to look into Caleb’s eyes. “Weren’t you? Then what was this all about?” Caleb’s hand slides from your jaw to your neck, fingertips pressing against the sides of your windpipe. “Does my baby sister just want to see me get angry? Is that what you like these days?”

You shake your head, but your thighs are restless. Somewhere along the way lines got crossed. Reward, punishment, obedience; Caleb opens his palm, and you take whatever’s in it. And when he closes it you let his fist swallow you whole.

You weren’t trying make him angry. Even now you want to please him. To be good. To be better than what you know you are. Nature against nurture; despite Caleb’s best efforts to raise you into someone worthwhile you fall short time and time again. If you were stronger, smarter—if you were good—your skin wouldn’t be flushed, and your lower stomach wouldn’t be knotted with what you shouldn’t want anymore but can’t help yearning for.

“I dunno, pips. Maybe I should check. See if my baby sister got wet after the little stunt she pulled.”

Before you can react Caleb unclicks your seatbelt and rucks up the hem of your dress. You fluster, trying to swat him away, but the hand around your throat squeezes, and you go lax. He pushes, and you yield; he leads, and you follow. The sun splits, scattering rays through a misty fog, and pierces every part of your body with unfailing accuracy.

There is no hiding.

Caleb says nothing when his fingers touch your panties and find them soaked. He only exhales harshly before leaning forward and slotting his mouth over yours. He’s not nice about it—he bites, hard, and you wince. His canines scrape the delicate skin of your lips, and faintly you taste a trace of copper. No hiding, and no running: Caleb keeps you in place as he licks your mouth and pushes your underwear aside to fill you with one long finger. It takes all the struggle out of you. Just this much, and you cave. Weak-willed. Pathetic. Desperate and needy and helpless to flutter to his light like a dark little moth. But you can’t help it. You can only hate yourself when you reach for him, hands grasping for purchase in his shirt, as your brother fucks you in his car with his fingers.

Caleb’s mouth trails from your lips to your jaw, down to your neck where he bites you again, sucking angry marks into your flesh too high for you to cover up with turtlenecks or scarves. Back off, they say. This is spoken for.

It hurts, and you cry quietly each time Caleb’s teeth bite down. But whether the sounds you make are from pain or pleasure doesn’t seem to matter to him. Any noise that leaves you only spurs him on further, until the familiar oil slick of his Evol envelops you and lifts you from your seat onto Caleb’s lap. It happens so quickly you flinch, afraid to bump your head against the roof of the car, but Caleb’s hand is warm against the back of your skull. Stupidly this is what makes your eyes well up with tears. You’re supposed to be angry with him. But looking down at your brother from astride his lap, awkwardly straddling him in the limited space of his car, both your faces flushed, breath rapid, lips parted, only brings you a sense of selfish, relieved inevitability.

You watch the moon turn, and you run to stand in its shadow.

You don’t struggle when Caleb palms your skull heavier and brings you down to him to kiss you again. You make a sound of anxious protest when he lowers his seat, because the windows on his car aren’t tinted and you know what this looks like should anyone walk by, but Caleb shushes you by grinding his hardon against your wet and open cunt. Your dress bunches around your waist, draped over Caleb’s strong hands gripping your hips on either side, and his belt digs into the soft flesh of your thighs as he grinds your hips over him. After he’s worked his jeans open the tip of his dick keeps catching on the edge of your entrance. You whine each time it does, lulled deeper and deeper into compliance. Caleb is here. All is well.

Now if he just put his cock inside you—

“Caleb,” you beg when he keeps your hips from moving the way you want.

His name is the spell that breaks his silence. “Hm? You need something?”

Your hands curl into fists on his chest. He knows what you want. What you need from him. It’s the same thing he needs from you—a two-way mirror, an infinite loop, skin to skin, bone to bone. There’s a scar on your right shoulder. Marred flesh hit by a burning projectile from the explosion. You could’ve gotten it fixed, but never did. Your family died—what did your mangled body matter? But then Caleb came back, and you were so glad that you kept it. Glad that you can still be the same. That you can still be like him.

You push yourself up slightly, arms trembling. Your hair falls around your face, brushing the edges of Caleb’s cheeks. He smiles up at you, eyes narrowed. “What? Cat got your tongue?”

Your hands clench, and you bow your head. “Please.”

“Please what?”

“Please, ge…”

“You want your ge? Does it get you excited, thinkin’ about your brother fucking you in his car?” Caleb laughs at you, and your face burns. He mock-thrusts his hips against yours, jostling your body against his. “Your date might walk by. You wanna call him to watch, pips? You want him to see your brother feeding you his dick?”

“No,” you choke out. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“That’s better.” Caleb’s arm wraps around your waist, pulling you flush against him. Your dress hikes up further, and Caleb smacks his hand against your exposed skin. “Tell your big brother how sorry you are. Well?”

“I’m really sorry,” you whisper. “I’m sorry, ge. I’m—I won’t do it again. I’m sorry.”

“Promise me. This is gonna be the last time,” Caleb says. All the humour has left his face. “Use your words.”

“I promise,” your voice says before you can even think it through. Caleb exhales; brief, harsh, then hooks his pinky around yours, spreads his knees, and pushes you down on his cock. It punches the air out of you—the lack of oxygen makes you feel lightheaded, and you acutely feel everything all at once. The skirt of your dress pinching your waist, your knee balancing your weight against the hard console, the strain in your thighs from being spread awkwardly and forced up and down, rough and mean and desperate, which in and of itself embarrasses you. To know that this is all it takes. That you’d get this wet, this tightly strung, over being fucked in a parking lot only a couple of feet away from where you left your date hanging. Knowing that he could walk by, or anyone else, a constant edge of strained nervousness clinging to your spine that the car will shake, that people will see, that they’ll know—

And then to have all thought leave your head when Caleb fucks up into you. You slump against his chest in defeat and take it.

“Should I go kill that guy after I’m done with you?” Caleb’s voice rasps in your ear. “What do you think, pips? Huh? Should I?” You gasp; Caleb thrusts inside you again, and your voice breaks on a moan. You scrabble for balance against his chest. Caleb hisses when you clench around him, and laughs softly. “No answer? Can you even think at all?” He rests his hand heavily on the back of your neck, squeezing. “No. You still need ge to think for you, don’t you. It’s okay. I’m the only one who can. I know everything about you.”

You get a glimpse of his expression when you turn your head; your brother is flushed and sweaty, his eyes dark and heavy on yours. He’s grinning; the sharp little tooth on the left side of his mouth winks at you before Caleb opens his mouth and bites your shoulder. You tense, whimpering, and feel his dick twitching in answer.

You cling to him while he fucks you. The lack of room means he stays lodged deep inside your cunt, snapping his hips with short punches that make your head spin. The air inside the car is stifling and hot, and burns on your skin—you can’t catch your breath. Even after Caleb works his thumb against your clit until you’re sobbing, potential passerbys all but forgotten; even after you come on his cock, after he licks the tears off your cheek, and after he crushes you against him when he comes, groaning long and heady.

You’re panting like you’ve run a marathon, body slicked with sweat to match. It takes very little to succumb to the fatigue. Caleb holds you there for a long time, cock still hard inside you, and you let him with your eyes closed. He calls you his little doll and his princess, and tells you he’ll put balm on your rubbed-red knees. Are you hungry? Are you tired? He’ll make you your favourite tonight. You can nap on his shoulder. Just take his hand. All you have to do is follow his voice. He’ll take the lead, and you’ll follow. He’s been yours the moment you looked at him. This is how it’s always been meant to be.

Caleb takes you home after that.

You let him, defeated and spent, and remember little of what follows. All you know is that you wake to his warm body curled around yours. Just like always. The light filtering through the edges of the curtains is pale and thin, clinging to your brother’s lashes gently as he breathes. His brow is furrowed. As above, so below; it seems that restless nights are yet another thing you share.

You look for a long time at the face you know better than your own.

Things can’t continue like this. You love him too much. You keep getting swept up by him. You thought pretending to have moved on would help, but all it did was impress upon you the clarity of his refusal to accept your absence.

I wish you’d tell me what you were thinking.

Why won’t he listen to you? What must you do to get him to understand that he’s better off without you? You exhale before extracting yourself carefully from Caleb’s embrace. You get all the way to the edge of the bed until he breathes out suddenly, and two strong arms pull you back roughly against his chest. Wearing his stupid gloves and the long-sleeves he only pulls out for winter again. They’re slightly damp from his sweat. He runs so hot, especially at night, and still he wears them. To hide from you.

You watch his eyes open. “Good morning,” he says. His voice is rough with sleep.

You lower your face, lips pressed together, and push at his arms so you can sit up. “We can’t keep doing this,” you say in a small voice. You don’t know where to go from here. Nothing you’ve said or done is working. Now what? What are you supposed to do?

Caleb is silent for a beat—then he pushes himself upright as well, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. He stands with his back to you as he opens the closet. “I’m leavin’ for the Fleet again today.” Exasperated, you open your mouth to complain—didn’t he hear what you just said? Is he just going to pretend none of this happened? But he continues, “So if you don’t want me anymore you should tell me now.” He turns around and looks at you. He’s just standing there, in his underwear and mussed hair, but none of this diminishes the intensity he exudes. His eyes are sharp on yours, but they carry a flat detachment that makes you want to shrink away from him. “If you’re not there when I come back from my mission I don’t know if I’ll be able to make it.”

Your mouth closes. You don’t understand. Why would he—?

“I need you too, you know. I can’t breathe without you,” Caleb says casually. “If you’re gone there’s no reason for me to be alive.”

“Don’t say that,” you say, horrified. “Caleb—you can’t say that.”

Caleb buttons his pants. His eyes are cold when he raises his head. “Can’t I? When you say you want to break up it’s like you’re stabbing me with a knife. Should I get one from the kitchen, pips? Would you rather do that?”

Tears well in your eyes. “Stop it. That’s not fair.”

Caleb doesn’t acknowledge that he’s heard you. “Or you could do it with your hands. If you wanted to choke me I’d let you. Though you’d probably have to tie me up first—”

“No—”

“—because the body starts to struggle when it loses oxygen. I might accidentally hurt you.”

“Stop it,” you cry. “Stop, stop, ge, stop it!” Your voice comes out in heaving sobs. “Why are you doing this me?” you cry. “I don’t want to hurt you—I love you so much, I would never—I would never—I’m trying to do it right. I’m trying to do it right for you, and you—” whatever was supposed to come out next is swallowed by another full-body sob, and you collapse in on yourself. You bury your face in the covers, smearing them with tears and snot. All the anxiety and stress from the past couple of weeks pours out of you, muffled by the sheets that Caleb still insists on changing for you. All the little things that you took for granted and thought you’d never have again. His life is a miracle, and he wastes it on you without a second thought.

Your cries scrape over your throat, rattling your teeth, bleeding acid that clings to your molars hidden by the soft flesh of your gums. Don’t look, you think. When you see what’s underneath, eaten away by the corrosion of loss, you’ll be disturbed. Concerned, in that distant way that precedes a loss of closeness. You’ve seen it before. You made the mistake of letting Tara inside your apartment too soon after Caleb’s death, and while she’s a kind girl things were different after that. It was too close to the bone. She saw what you really are. A dead little girl hiding underneath the shape of boxes strewn everywhere, drowning in the dirty dishes in the sink, bleeding out on the broken mirror in the hallway.

“I’m sorry,” Caleb says, slightly frantic. Your tears have shocked him out of whatever made him say those horrible things, and brought colour back to his voice. “I’m sorry. It’s my fault. I’m sorry, baby, ge is sorry. I’m the worst, so just be angry at me.” His voice has moved, now coming from somewhere in front of you, and you look up with blurry eyes to find him kneeling before you. He looks so young and worried. Pale. He’s always been a little helpless when you cry, like your distress hurts him more than it hurts you. He draws you into his arms carefully, and only seems to breathe when you wrap your arms around his shoulders. “Can you forgive your big brother, baby? He’s so sorry. Don’t cry. I love you. Don’t cry, angel.”

But it’s not him you’re so upset at. You try to tell him, but you can’t get any words out without choking on them, and Caleb rubs your back and tells you to slow down, pips, just breathe with me.

Only when you’ve calmed down and cried a wet patch into Caleb’s shirt does he let go of you. He grabs tissues and water and sits down next to you, his weight dipping the mattress and letting you fall into his side. The mechanisms of gravity. With or without it, his pull on you is always the same.

“What did you mean when you said you’re trying to do it right?” he asks while he wipes your face. “What are you trying to do right?”

You clutch the glass in your hands.

“I’m not leavin’ until you tell me,” Caleb says. He’s smiling slightly, his big brother smile that he does when he’s trying to make you feel better.

“You said you have work,” you croak.

“Yep. I’ll be in biiig trouble if I show up late.” Caleb catches the last of your tears, and carelessly tosses the tissue in the bin without looking. “Good thing I’ve got a kind and caring little sister, who will make sure I get there on time.”

“Maybe your sister will, but your girlfriend won’t. She’s spiteful and unfair.” You sniffle. “Just like you. So it’d really be best if you broke up after all.”

To your surprise Caleb laughs softly. He pulls you against his side, and his lips brush over your brow. You feel his warm breath against your skin when he sighs. “No can do, agent pip. She’s my everything, so I won’t let her go no matter what.”

“You told me to stab you,” you accuse.

Caleb hums a little, squeezing you tighter. “Yeah. Caleb is a real bastard.”

“You’re not even going to deny it?”

“How can I?” You look up at your brother. He’s wearing a faint, helpless smile. His rough hand brushes over your arm, stroking up and down. “You already know I’m a bad person.”

“No,” you say, and turn your eyes away from him. “You’re just stupid.” You look down at the glass in your hands. Your reflection is blurry and opaque in fluctuating degrees; one second you’re there, and then you’re not. Your expression is lost to the water. You wish it was big enough to put your face in. “I know what happened,” you say quietly. “To your arm. I saw. And I saw you, in the Fleet. You were asleep and hooked up to machines.”

“I’m sorry, baby.” Caleb’s voice is gentle. “I must’ve scared you, huh? But I’m fine now. Don’t worry about me.”

“You’re not fine,” you snap suddenly. The water trembles, and your silhouette vanishes. “And I do worry. Even now, you—” you tug on the long-sleeve he’s wearing, shaking his gloved right hand, “—you’re hiding from me. I don’t have to do any of the stabbing, because you’re doing it for me. I already lost you, and now you still won’t let me see.” Tears well up in your eyes again, and when you speak you do so without really thinking, words rushing out, rambling; “And when I saw you lying there, under white sheets, it was like you’d died again, and it felt like I was dying too, because it was my fault again. I killed you. And when I’m not killing you you’re killing you.” You gasp for breath. “Because of me. Because I’m such a—such a burden to you, and I just couldn’t take it anymore, that you were hurting for my sake, I couldn’t bear it, and then I thought I would just leave but you wouldn’t let me—”

“Slow down, pips,” Caleb says, and you cough, trembling. Your breath is coming rapidly, and Caleb gently plucks the glass out of your fingers to set it down on the floor. His big arm is still curled around you, and he puts his other hand on your chest. Right on your sternum, fingers splaying towards the edge of your bleeding beating heart. “Breathe in. Hold… and out. Good girl. Let’s do it again, in… and out. Do it with me. Push my hand out, in… and out.”

You’re crying again, big fat tears streaming down your cheeks that Caleb just wiped a minute ago, while you try to catch your breath. Caleb’s hand on your chest is wonderful. It feels like he’s holding your heart. It feels like he’s ripping out your lungs.

“You didn’t kill me. Okay? Don’t think that. Never think that. And you didn’t lose me, baby. I’m right here, aren’t I?” Caleb cradles your skull and guides it to rest your cheek on his shoulder. “Why do you think you’re a burden?”

“Because,” you sniffle. “You’re perfect. And you deserve better.”

“Better than what? I’ve already got the best thing in the whole world,” and Caleb gives you a little shake, smiling slightly, but you can tell he’s doing it for you and not himself. He averts his eyes after a beat, smile fading, and speaks quietly. “You won’t think I’m perfect anymore after you see my arm.”

“If there was ever a time I stopped loving you it would be after you told me to strangle you,” you say, and wipe your nose with a new tissue Caleb presents to you. “Psycho.”

Caleb lowers his head. “It’ll scare you.”

“I am scared,” you admit. You speak slowly, trying to put the oppressive feeling that’s haunted you the past couple of months into words. “But I’m scared for you, not of you. I’m afraid that you’ll hurt because of me. And—and when you’re gone so much, I get scared too. Or when you hide things from me.” You look down at your lap. You sound like a needy little pet who anxiously waits for their owner to open the door. Another burden. You don’t want Caleb to hear these things from you—things that will bind him even closer to the earth, things that will constrict him, suffocate him, make him kill himself with his work and his arm and his self-flagellation. The chain burns in your hand, and still you selfishly drag it forward.

“I’m sorry,” Caleb says after a long silence. “I’m not trying to… I don’t want to make you feel anxious. And there are some things I can’t tell you. For both our safety,” he adds when he sees your little scowl. His expression softens, and he raises a hand to your face, thumb running gently over your tear-streaked cheeks. “When my sleeve came loose I thought it scared you. Or that I scared you. And I was—I couldn’t bear that. That you were afraid of me.” Caleb sighs. You’re pressed against each other thigh to knee, hip to shoulder, and you feel each breath pass through his chest. His voice is a faint tremor against your cheek as it picks up again. “I want my baby to run to me, not away from me.”

“If—” you swallow, “if you promise. To show me everything. And to not get hurt because of me—and if you still do get hurt, to tell me. I won’t try to break up with you anymore.”

Caleb breathes out, his shoulders loosening. “You can’t back out, okay? Even if you don’t like it. You have to promise me.”

It as in his arm, or as in him? Either way, it doesn’t matter to you. “I promise.”

“Pinky swear.” Caleb holds out his hand, and you curl your pinky over his like you’ve done a hundred times before. Caleb’s pinky is bigger than your index finger, and his hand dwarfs yours when he seals the promise by pressing his thumb against your own. Your heart in the flat of his palm. You shake on it, once, but after the promise has been made neither of you let go.

“Show me,” you demand, wiping roughly at the last wetness on your cheeks. You tug at the long-sleeves he’s wearing.

“Now?” Caleb looks surprised, then reluctant. His eyes dart away, and his jaw works as though he’s still considering it despite what he promised just a second ago. “Let me wash up first at least. I stink.”

“No,” you say stubbornly. “Now. I don’t care.”

Caleb tries to rise from his seat. “I haven’t brushed my teeth yet either,” he says, but you crawl over his lap and throw your arms around his waist. Realistically your weight means nothing to him, and you know that; if he really wanted to he could pluck you off him, or just stand up and start walking while you cling to him like a little koala. But he does neither, only exhaling when you press your face in his shoulder. His hand gently pets your hair while you hold him.

“You promised,” you say into his shirt. “Are you going to break it?”

Caleb sighs again. He hugs you against him tightly, rocking you slightly in his lap like you’re little again. “Tell me you love me.”

You won’t think I’m perfect anymore, his voice echoes. “I love you,” you murmur. “I love you, gege. Show me now.”

“Gege loves you,” Caleb says gently. Habit. Ingrained. Then he hesitates, and adds, “And Caleb? You love him too?”

You don’t understand why he asks. It is a given of the world; Caleb exists, and therefore you love him. Why would he ever even consider otherwise? But you nod, and say, “I love Caleb most in the whole world.”

With this Caleb sighs, then silently pulls back, and you do too to give him room to pull the shirt over his head. You watch his muscles work, the broad planes of his back, his neck, down the slope of his shoulder, and then—

Your breath catches a little when the first sliver of metal is revealed. The ghost of your brother’s arm hovers over your eyes, warm and tanned and covered with little freckles, then disappears like a hazy dream. Lost to reality. He flinches when you touch him. “I thought you couldn’t feel it,” you say, and pull away your hand.

“Yes and no,” Caleb says. “I know something’s there. I know it’s touching me. But whether it’s warm or cold, or hard or soft…” He trails off bitterly. “I wouldn’t know it was you or anything else. I wouldn’t be able to recognise it.”

You fall silent for a while, looking at this hard, empty shell that was once bone and flesh. Caleb’s cybernetic arm looks naked. Lonely. Dark and still, uncannily death-like until Caleb moves it slightly to curl his fingers into a fist. The exoskeleton of a beetle that has lived its whole life in secluded darkness, burrowed deep under the earth, and is now forced to gleam in the harsh light of your eyes. “You said it would only take a few weeks to get a new one,” you say finally. Caleb’s still not looking at you, and he presses his lips together somewhat nervously. “…So why is it still like this?” you press.

“…”

“Caleb. Why is that?”

“It’s not a big deal,” he says reluctantly. “It isn’t. I don’t want it to make you sad. The sleeve was—it just wasn’t strong enough.” He forces a smile. “They’re makin’ me a better one now. So it shouldn’t happen again anytime soon.”

Overuse. Torn ligaments. Dislocated shoulder, nerve complications, skin irritation and scarring. Heaven pressing down on Caleb’s shoulders until it crushes him, staining the earth with his mangled corpse and deep red blood. You take his metal hand in yours. You open your mouth, showing him your tongue, your teeth, and gently close it again over his index fingers. “An this?” you say around them. They taste bitter. Copper makes metal makes blood. “Can yhew few this?”

Finally your brother looks at you. His eyes are a little red. “No,” he rasps, and clears his throat. “No. But I can see it.” His hand twitches, the pads of his fingers pressing down on your tongue. You take them a little deeper, biting down. This, too, you’ve done many times when you were a child. Always on Caleb’s insistence; when you cried and he couldn’t calm you down he got so worried you’d choke on your sobs that he made you bite him instead. You’d fall asleep with his thumb in your mouth, teary and exhausted, little hands wrapped around his wrist to cling to him even in dreams.

Caleb makes a funny little sound, so you bite harder. He groans, then nudges your lips with his ring finger. “This one too,” he says, a little strangled. You comply, sucking and biting in turns, and watch a deep flush spread over Caleb’s cheeks. On one particular hard bite he inhales sharply.

You release him, saliva clinging from his fingertips to your lips. “Did I hurt you?” you ask, worried.

“No,” he says quickly, then corrects himself. “It hurts a little. But I like it. So don’t stop, okay?”

Your eyes lower to his lap. There’s a sizeable tent straining against his zipper, but before either of you can say anything about it his phone buzzes. Caleb glances at it, and you watch his expression fall. “I have to take this,” he says reluctantly, and takes his fingers out of your mouth. “Report,” he says as he stands, and you think you hear Liam before Caleb closes the bedroom door behind him.

Work. A glance at the clock tells you that you have your own to get ready for, and so you do; when Caleb comes to find you again you’re in the bathroom, rinsing your mouth. You’re still in your underwear, and Caleb hugs you from behind, his flesh arm curling around your waist. He kisses your hair and watches you put away your toothbrush in the cup that says worlds okayest brother. “Heading out?” he asks without letting go.

“So are you,” you say. You look each other in the mirror. You wish you were as tall as him. That you had his eye colour, or his hair, or both. The chain in your hand is heavy, and bleeds red until you can wind it tight around your pinky like a string that connects Caleb’s heart to yours. Fate must be made and remade all the time. Who says he isn’t your brother?

“I could call in sick,” he says to your reflection, and finally you smile.

“I wonder how I grew up so well with such an irresponsible big brother,” you reprimand him, and that makes Caleb smile too. A small indulgent grin that says I love you. You don’t have to wonder what he’s thinking, because you’re thinking the same. You soften, then shake your head. “It’s okay. We’ll have more time.” Bile rises, and you try to breathe around it, the uncertainty, a long promise across a deep river. No matter how brave you sound the thought of him leaving still unsettles you. “Which is why you have to come back. No matter what, okay? This is also included in the promise you made.”

“Addin’ extra conditions after the fact? If you’re trying to scam me I’ll have you know my sister works at the Association.”

You laugh a little, then grow quiet. “And your girlfriend?” you ask, slightly unsure.

“She does too. For now, at least,” Caleb says, and his eyes crinkle. “Once I ask her to marry me maybe she’ll let me take care of her a little more.”

He laughs at your shocked expression, smacks a big wet kiss on your cheek, and then slips away while you’re still stunned. By the time you’ve collected yourself enough to chase after him and pelt him with questions about just what he meant with that he’s already one foot out the door, cheerfully dodging your interrogation with a pleased, secret smile.

“Ready? Didn’t forget anything?”

“How could I have,” you say. “Mr. Drill Sergeant.” He was up and about before the sun and made you run through his mandatory checklist twice. You stifle a yawn behind your hand.

“What, I’ve been demoted already?” he says with a laugh. Caleb shuts the back of the car with a thump, then pushes his sunglasses on his nose before opening the door for you. “Your steed is waitin’ for you, my fair lady. Hop in. You can take a nap while we drive if you’re tired.”

It’s a beautiful day, autumn in full bloom, and the fresh air is bright and crisp in your nose. The garishly bright orange tent is tucked securely in the back, along with a million other things that can’t really be necessary for a few days on the camping grounds, but seeing Caleb fuss over which blanket to bring if you’re cold at night or what thermos will keep your hot chocolate warm for longest makes you feel a little helpless. You tell him it doesn’t matter and to not worry about this kind of stuff so much, to which he responds with half serious, half playful indignation; of course it matters. What if his baby is cold? Or hungry? Or thirsty? Or trips while hiking? He wouldn’t let that happen, you won’t trip as long as gege is by your side, but what if it does?

You shake your head at him. How does that even make sense? But he likes being busy about these things, so you let him do as he wants.

Besides—you have your own things that you insisted on bringing. Tiger balm for his tired muscles. Heat packs for his aching joints. His skin sleeve, brand new and still sealed. It looks unsettling, if you’re honest, too-real even for a film set; but it’s Caleb’s, and so you can’t do anything but love it. It has every little freckle and every scar, save for the lines from his growth spurts at the top of the shoulder, recreated in minute detail to the point that even upon close examination it looks just like the real thing.

You requested that you be the one to put it on. To your surprise Caleb didn’t argue, but he’s been holding you tighter than usual at night. He asks in a quiet voice to tell him you love him, and then asks again. He still doesn’t like going around without his gloves or long-sleeves, but when it’s just the two of you he’ll do it if you ask. He lets you play with it while you watch TV together. Sometimes you cry over it, feeling the acute loss of what should have been; sometimes you’re angry, and want to rip the whole thing off. Sometimes you feel anxious for no reason at all.

You’re not the only one who’s made amendments to your original promise. Caleb does many things unsaid—shifting his schedule around, texting you regularly during work hours, even sending you voice messages for the nights where he isn’t home to lull you to sleep—but he did tell you, firmly, to always let him know when you’re feeling low. It’ll make me happy that I’m the one you come to, he said. So always just come to me, okay? Okay.

More than anything you wish for his happiness. When he puts it like this, how are you supposed to resist?

You watch the road slip by through the window. A pale moon burns in the sky, marking an otherwise uninterrupted blue with its ghostly impression. You catch it in your mouth. You look at your brother, and he looks back at you, smiling, and it tastes sweet.

[eclipses0]

caleb who gets into an unprecedented flying accident and needs you to nurse him to recovery. on his journey to recovery he’s mastered wincing and appearing to be in pain with full believability.

he rubs your thigh slowly as you sit on the bed.

“i need help with breakfast… it’s hard for me to eat.”

you’ve got that sympathetic look on your face caleb loves as you bring the spoon of oatmeal to his mouth.

“tastes better when you feed it to me” he says sheepishly

you’ve always doted on him, but he loved the special type of care you provided him when he was injured or sick. you treated him like the most fragile thing in the world. for once, he had your attention 24/7, uninterrupted by anything else — away from the world, all the noise, your devices… just the two of you and your cozy apartment — he refused to head back to his skyhaven place. your place was better.

you put off everything to look after him and caleb loved it. you called off work and all social events. you technically didn’t need to stay with him all day, everyday, after the 4 week period — where he was most dependant on your care due to the severity of his injuries, but he was still feigning great pain and a difficulty to do basic tasks.

the way you attended to his every need, the way you let out those soft sounds of concerns whenever he would do anything “oh baby… you poor thing… let me” as you rush to help him, the way you gently brushed any remnants of food from his mouth with your thumb, the way you helped him bathe — those soft strokes against his back. he loved every moment of this and carefully calculated how long he could milk his injuries. two more months couldn’t hurt, right?