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You and Qifrey had an argument the night before so you decide to dodge him any time he tries to kiss you the following day.
Today was a particularly busy one. You needed to travel to Kalhn to grab a few supplies and Qifrey wanted to tag along, but you thought it be best if he supervise the girls. You loved Agott very dearly, but you knew she had certain feelings about Coco and you didnât want them getting into any trouble. As much as he understood your concern, that didnât make him pout any less when you went to leave. The girls waving goodbye before taking their leave back into the house.
Qifrey smiled, âTheyâre gone,â leaning in to kiss you, except you turned your face so he could kiss your cheek instead. His bottom lip jutted out, pouting as he looked down at you.
âIâll see you later,â You waved, ignoring your husbands face.
Truthfully, you both had gotten into a bit of a spat last night, but you werenât outwardly angry with him, you simply wanted to tease him a bit. And since you and Qifrey had decided it would be best to keep your relationship secret from the girls, any chance you had a moment away from them, he would kiss you. So you decided you would dodge his kisses, though the sad pout on his face made you feel bad, you were committed. Even just to make him beg a little.
The trip to Kalhn was quite exhausting. You ran into a plethora of villagers who needed your help with tasks and you simply couldnât deny them. Halfway through your day you were starting to regret not bringing Qifrey along as the tasks wouldâve gone much faster. But nevertheless, you finished them all, and quickly snuck away.
You entered the atelier and your stomach growled as you turned to close the door.
âSounds like someone is hungry,â Qifrey laughed, rounding the corner to greet you at the door.
âI was gone longer than expected,â You walked into his embrace, wrapping your arms around his waist, and holding him close.
He leaned down to kiss you again and you held back your smirk, swerving before his lips could lock with yours. However, before he had a moment to react, Coco and Tetia ran around the corner.
â[name!]â they squealed, squeezing your form.
âWe made dinner!â Tetia smiled.
âWell I am starving,â You rubbed your stomach, following as Tetia held your hand to lead you to the kitchen.
You turned, your gaze meeting Qifreyâs and suddenly you felt horrible. His head was tilted to the side, a sad pout on his face with his eyebrows furrowed, the ultimate puppy dog eyes.
You pursed your lips and paused, âGirls, give me a minute and Iâll meet you in the kitchen.â You took your hand from her embrace.
âOkay!â She smiled, none the wiser and going to the kitchen with Coco.
You turned to your lover, sauntering up to him, and wrapping your arms around his neck, âWhatâs wrong, baby?â You giggled.
âIs there a reason youâve chosen to be cruel?â He peeked down at you, still pouting.
âWhatever are you talking about?â Your tongue poked out through your teeth as you smiled up at him.
He leaned down to kiss you again, but you turned just slightly, âThat is what Iâm talking about, my love.â He gripped your chin with his thumb and forefinger, forcing you to stay in place before connecting his lips to yours. His pupils dilated as he pulled away, âIâve been dying to do that all day,â
âSo do it again,â You teased.
He didnât hesitate, cupping your face and pulling you further into him. You both hummed into the kiss. You could admit, youâd missed him all day.
âI knew it!â Tetia giggled, jumping out from behind the wall.
You jumped, Qifrey holding onto your biceps.
âWere you spying on us?â You asked, sliding your hand to your hip.
âNo,â She mumbled, looking at the floor.
âWe all assumed you were together anyway,â Agott peeked around the corner.
âAre you all over there?â Qifrey asked.
âYes,â Coco and Richie said, but didnât come out.
You both giggled at their antics.
âThen I guess I donât have to be secretive anymore,â Qifrey said, pulling you in for another kiss.
âEeew,â The girls squealed.
You laughed into Qifreyâs mouth, âAlright letâs go eat dinner,â You interlinked your fingers with Qifreyâs and led him into the kitchen, preparing yourself for what you assumed would be four incredibly curious little girls.
A/N: I just wanna kiss him and kiss him and kiss him and kiss him.
*Please do not repost, copy, or use any of my works to feed your AI*
Qifrey's good at hiding and smiling through everything he needs to. The facade is there for a reason. So it feels a little strange to get to kiss you so often now that you're properly settled into the Atelier. Sometimes he gets a little distracted, and what's supposed to be a stolen kiss ends up being him holding you there hostage for kissing properly.
It doesn't matter for the most part since Olruggio is in and out of the place, but sometimes he forgets that his girls have the keys and they too are in and out of the house.
Cue his current issue.
Qifrey's got you half melted against him, licking his lips as he pulls back for air, and he's halfway into kissing you when the door clicks, and chattering stops when it swings open.
The girls freeze in place, and Richeh is the one to speak up.
"Did we... come at a bad time?"
Qifrey wipes his mouth with a handkerchief, turning to face his girls as you push him off of you, sitting down at the table to catch your breath.
"Told you it was a bad idea."
"Hi girls." He smiles, and the four of them blink.
Coco threw her hands over her eyes second she caught a glimpse, and Tetia's got stars in her eyes that Qifrey thinks is going to become a barrage of questions. Agott, well.
"Could the two of you not picked a better place?"
"Qifrey's fault."
You're quick to throw him under the bus, laughing as you stand up to dust your skirt off.
"I'm hurt, love."
"To what do we owe the pleasure?"
Tetia fires a round of questions at you, hopping over, and Qifrey tends to the other girls as they ask how things have been.
Well. Considering that they caught the two of you kissing like that, things can't be bad at all.
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childhood bestfriends caleb and nonMC!reader, who he's secretly in love with while she thinks he likes someone else
warnings. angst, fluff, rejection, she fell first he fell harder, caleb is down bad, groveling, miscommunication, caleb sucks at feelings, slow burn, childhood friends to lovers, he gives her a nickname adjacent to pipsqueak
preview. "I love you," he says, pressing his forehead against yours. You want to tell him that it's not fair to treat you the way he does and expect you not to fall for him. That holding your hair when you vomit, falling asleep at your bedside when you're sick, and his eyes closing in on you in any room is not fair. "Then prove it to me."
wc. 8.4k (she's hefty...)
You proposed to Caleb for the first time when you were nine years old, with a flower ring.
The winter air had nipped at your flushed cheeks as you stepped into ice, holding it out to him. Your breath had puffed into the air like a dragon, and you nuzzled your chin further into the wool of your scarf to keep warm. It had been the only flower left after fall had faded away, yet its white petals stood brilliantly in between your fingertips, weathering against the cold.
The child in front of you was closed off. Eyes narrowed, fists balled inside his pockets, and usually adorning a solemn look on his face. Though, it had certainly gotten better since you first met him as one of Grandma Josephineâs adoptive children. Back then, he hadnât even spoken muchâonly keeping MC tight at his side, as if she might disappear if he didnât. He wasnât rude by any meansâŚjust, cautious. Too aware for a child of his age.
But without a doubt in your mind, he was the most handsome boy youâd ever seen.
Heâd raised his brows. âYou just met me last week.â
âItâs love at first sight.â
He rejected you, naturally, but it did little to make a dent in your childish heart. Not when his purple hues gazed into your own, with a softness that didnât seem intent on hurting you.
The next two decades becomes a perpetual cycle of this encounterâin which you learn that Caleb is a very caring person.
In that time, you learn a lot about him, aside from his gorgeous face. You find that heâs fond of nicknames. Pipsqueak for MC. Splints for you, when you launched yourself off a swing and broke your wrist trying to impress him. Safe to say, it didnât impress anyone but your doctor, who was baffled you managed to fly so high into the air with your 11-year-old legs. Caleb held your other hand tight in the emergency room as you wailed helplessly, waiting for the doctor to ease the pain. Youâd be lying if you said you didnât cry just a tad longer to keep your hand in his.
âThis thing is so ugly,â you whine, picking at your cast as he walks you back home. âDo you think Iâm gross now, Caleb?â
âItâs not ugly. You need it to get better.â
âI thought youâd fall in love with me if I went high enough,â you sniffle fake tears, which he reads in an instant. âI did go pretty high up, though. So maybe you like me at least.â
He laughs, and you scowl, insisting that you arenât joking. So instead, he smiles and holds your free hand in his again. Your heart skips a beat. A childish, but innocent love fluttering in your chest. âCome on, splints. Letâs go watch TV, and I can sign your cast.â
The broken wrist is so worth it.
With MC being two grades lower than the two of you and thus having a different schedule, it doesnât take long before youâre doing practically everything with Caleb. Heâs your seatmate in class, the two of you walk to and from school, and there doesnât seem to be a moment where you arenât glued at the hip. Throughout all of this, you make sure you shoot your shot whenever the chance arisesâeven when it doesnât arise at all.
âYou get any chocolates for Valentineâs?â you ask as you plop down in your seat with your lunch, not-so-conspicuously eyeing his desk as his friends begin to crowd around the two of you. It didnât take long for Caleb to adjust to ordinary school life. After his initial bumpy introduction where he seemed hesitant to get close to anyone his grandma would introduce him to, he was quick to adjust to a level of charisma even you havenât gotten to.Â
By now, heâs charisma personified. You, yourself, have no idea how quickly he adapts to things. Though, you do recall that after an exam measuring his intelligence, he was told he couldnât lower his grade by two years to be with MC. So you suppose heâs rather brightâalmost as much as his face.
âToo many,â one of his friends groan, dragging his hand down the side of his face. âLifeâs so not fair, dude.â
âJust a few,â Caleb laughs, turning to feel me stare at him expectantly. âMost of them are obligatory. I just helped a couple people out during gym.â
You glance at his friends. âHow many is a few?â
âAt least five,â another one grins. He wiggles his eyebrows at you, and his friend snickers at his shoulder. âYou jealous?â
Itâs not like your crush on Caleb is new news. In fact, itâs practically common knowledge at your school, given how open you are with your affection with him. Asking him out with a giant poster on orientation day, sending him notes with hearts littered everywhere during class, and refusing to be subtle when youâre discussing it with your friendsâŚit tends to add up. Most people believe your relationship to be strange, but those who matter thought of it as the norm, so it doesnât really matter.Â
âJealous? I donât think so, why?â
âMost girls would be if their boyfriend got a bunch of chocolates,â he responds, to which Caleb immediately reminds him that youâre not dating. Then his friend sighs. âItâs cute when girls get jealous, isnât it?â
At this, your ears perk.
âShould I be jealous?â you ask Caleb, making his friends erupt into snickers. âDo you think itâs cute too?â
He rolls his eyes and flicks your forehead softly. âDo you ever ask normal questions, splints?â
Throughout your childhood together, everything involves him. Family dinners, graduation, holidays, all of it. Of course, this means that MC is there for all of it too. Youâre helplessly in love, but youâre not stupid. You know what love looks like from the movies their grandma would play on their TV. He cares for her with a different look in his eyes. He protects her with a lovingness in his voice that he doesnât spare for you.Â
The same fingers that flick your forehead touch her arm gingerly, like she could crack in half if he holds too hard. He doesnât touch her very easily either, whereas he often falls asleep with his head fully leaning against your shoulder on the bus ride home. He wakes up at the crack of dawn to make her lunch, while the two of you munch on sandwiches from the school cafeteria during lunch breaks. He scolds you when your clothes are tossed on the ground while he folds hers without her having to ask. He never enters her room to protect her privacy while he lounges in yours like he owns the place.
Your Caleb, you have found, is different from MCâs Caleb.Â
MCâs Caleb is easy to depend on. Trustworthy, perfect, and never makes a mistake for the life of him. He never loses his cool in front of her, never has a hair out of place, lets her win at all the board games, and always has this clear but dazed look in his pretty purple eyes. Your Caleb has none of that. Your Caleb teases you mercilessly when you lose the card game for the fifth time in a row. Your Caleb passes out on his desk while studying for an exam, essentially drooling on his notebook to lie to MC that heâs naturally talented at math. Your Caleb sends you stupid videos about plane models and forces you to sit through a thirty-minute explanation about it.
You know he likes her. He knows you know he likes her. She doesnât know anything at all. All jumbled up, like a wordless pact ready to crumble at any moment.Â
Of course, this means that he prioritizes her over you at times. All the time. Itâs to be expected. Sheâs family, youâre not. Youâve grown used to it, and so has he.
MC doesnât notice though, because she doesnât have to. Because to her, Caleb is just a slightly nagging but cool adoptive brother. Nothing more, nothing less. And youâre one of her childhood friends, and Calebâs best friend. Nothing more, nothing less.
The first year after you graduate high school is a dramatic shift from your cozy hometown. You somehow manage to get into the same college as Calebâand you attribute his tutoring to be the main culpritâthough in different majors. Itâs a lot to convince him to go so far from home given that MC is still at home, but after a lot of reluctant discussion, he agrees.
âTake off your shoes at the door,â he reminds you as you barge into his dorm room after a particularly difficult exam for one of your classes. You do as he asks, grumbling about how he has no mercy for the fallen, tossing them haphazardly beside the door and prancing past him. He takes the time to tidy them up, as if heâs expecting it. âHow was your exam?â
âAwful. I went through war.â
Caleb grins as he sits down at the coffee table beside you, watching as you bury your face into your arms. âAnd whose fault is it that they didnât want to study?â
âYours.â
âFunny,â he snorts, and you feel his large hand ruffling the top of your head. âItâs alright, splints. I can tutor you a bit earlier on the next one.â
âEven you canât save me for this class.â
âIs that a challenge?â
He ends up cooking up something quick in his makeshift kitchen (essentially just a rice cooker), while you laze around on his bed, scrolling aimlessly on your phone. Once heâs finished, you scarf down his food like a man starved, lips stretching widely. At times like these, youâre oddly grateful for his hopeless love toward MC. How else would he have learned to cook such good food? âYou should honestly be a chef, Caleb. Actually, no, that would mean other people would eat your food. I guess you can just be my personal chef when weâre married.â
Caleb remains completely unaffected, wordlessly cleaning the plate in front of you. âI didnât realize I was engaged.â
âWell, now you know. Not sure if you remember, but I had fireworks for you and everything when I proposed. Plus an orchestra.â
He hums, looking up as if heâs in thought, and then nods. âNow that you mention it, that does sound familiar, splints. How could I forget?â
You shrug. âYou tell me.â
His face falls as you pace to the door and begin to put your shoes back on. âWhere are you going? Arenât you done with class?â
âGoing out. I deserve it after that exam.â
âWith your friends?â
âNo, with four guys,â you joke, but he doesnât seem to find it very funny. âIâm just going to a club. I wonât be back too late.â
Heâs already grabbing his jacket. âI can come.â
You push him back with your finger by the nose, and he blinks in surprise, making you laugh. âNo need. You have exams too, yâknow.â
âIâm done studying.â
âLiar.â
Though it takes some convincing, you eventually have him sit at his desk once more. He manages to nag a whole lot as you leave, reminding you to call him once youâre done so he can pick you up, but you just wave him off as you leave out the door. You take your time getting readyâdolling yourself up to hide the dark circles beneath your eyes. As you get ready, you video call MC, where she asks how you and Caleb have been doing in her absence. She rants about her days with her grandma, complaining about how quiet the house is when Caleb isnât home, though she indulged in the beginning. She asks you to show her your outfit once youâre done, and she beams brightly in your screen, squealing about how youâd likely get a boyfriend soon that you can tell her all about.
You just smile, because you donât know how to tell her that the only boy you want is wrapped around her unknowing hand.
The club is loud. Where the music rumbles through your feet to the tips of your fingertips, and the lights are flashing in a dimly lit room. Your friends flock to a table and order drinks while you let yourself feel the music and crack a joke or two once in a while.
A group of guys approaches you with easy smiles and louder voices than necessaryâconfidence sharpened by cheap cologne. One of them leans against your table like heâs done it a hundred times before, asking your name, where youâre from, if you come here often. The usual.
You answer, choking out a laugh to humor his unfunny jokes alongside your friends, while the swigs you take from your drink become deeper and deeper.Â
Heâs not bad at flirting, you think. Subtle, and not too glaring about it. But you donât particularly enjoy humoring it, and it becomes gradually more apparent as your eyes keep drifting elsewhere and you keep having to ask him to repeat himself. Youâre growing bored. Irritated.
Because heâs not Caleb.
It hits you in strange, inconvenient flashes. The way this guy stands just a little too far away. The way his voice doesnât quite reach you over the music, even when heâs close. The way you donât feel that familiar, grounding presence like an anchor holding you to the ground.
You find yourself glancing past his shoulder. Half-wishing to see Caleb there. Watching. Hovering.
But thereâs only strangers. Blurred faces and flashing lights.
âYou okay?â the guy asks, tilting his head.
âYeah,â you say too quickly. âLong week.â
He grins, like thatâs an invitation. Says something elseâsomething about getting you another drink, maybe dancing, maybe getting out of here.
You nod again. Smile again.
Across the room, your friends are already disappearing into the crowd, dragged toward the dance floor by laughter and hands you donât recognize. One of them glances back at you, gives you a look that asks âyouâre good, right?â before sheâs gone.
You sit back down at the table when the guy steps away. Maybe to grab drinks, maybe because he senses your attention drifting. You donât really care which.
The music swells in your chest. The lights flicker. You wish you could enjoy yourself, but itâs particularly hard today.
You take another sip. Then another. Your phone rests face-down on the table, but you flip it over anyway.
No messages.
Of course not. He cares, but not like that. Not in the way that he would spam MCâs phone whenever he didnât know where she was or how she was doing. No, not like that at all.
Another sip. The glass is nearly empty now.
And suddenly, youâre pressing send before you can even register whatâs happening.
[you]: hi
The answer comes immediately, the grey bubbles popping up on his end of the screen.
[futre hubs <333]: do you need me to come pick you up?
[futre hubs <333]: i can
Youâre not sure why you feel like shit, but you hate it. In moments like theseâmoments where the alcohol lets you lower your walls and truly thinkâit hits you like a truck, like a deeply sinking feeling in your chest. The years of rejection after rejection that the two of you frame like a bitâas if your feelings have become so miniscule that it no longer even phases him.Â
It hurts, a bit. More than you let yourself feel.
Youâre not sure how much time passes. Maybe minutes or maybe an hour. Thereâs buzzing throughout your body. The grip on your waist belonging to the man youâve been half-heartedly entertaining suddenly becomes harsher, snapping you out of your trance. It feels unlike Caleb, but you let it sit anyway. However, the hand moves to your wrist, and youâre being pulled out of the crowd towards the wall.
Too touchy. Heâs saying something into your ear, and you feel his breath against your skin. You donât like it. Too close. The buzzing feeling feels more like an alarm now.
The words either go unheard due to the music or donât deter him. You want to go back. Back to Caleb. In the moment, you begin to thinkâalmost as if the world is in slow motion. Perhaps the drinks, you think. You wonder if Caleb will leave you. You wonder if heâll leave to go be with MC. You wonder if the years youâve spent expressing your love to him meant as much to him as it did to you, or if he just found it plain annoying. You wonder if now that youâre in college, heâd want to explore other people, and heâll finally find an outlet to get rid of you for good.Â
But you know he wouldnât. Because he cares for you. Just not as much as he cares for her.
You wonder if heâs ever looked at you with the same softness he does with MC.
Someone pulls you away from the man and into their chest, and the worries dissipate in an instant. His scent. His warmth. You knew heâd come. He always does. It only takes a warning glare from Caleb before the man disappears into the crowd again, and you feel the grip on your wrist loosen. Caleb stares down at you, your back still to his chest as you blink wearily, almost in slow motion, and he sighs. He doesnât give you the same smile he gives to MC when sheâs in trouble.Â
A part of you wishes he wasnât always there for youânot when itâs so different from how heâs there for her.Â
You sit idly in front of a convenience store parking lot while Caleb fetches you some water and ice cream. You have your knees to your chest, arms pulling them close as you shiver against the cold autumn breeze. You shouldâve brought a jacket. The buzzing, hot feeling of the alcohol is subsiding too quickly.
âDrink.â You feel a water bottle press against your cheek from behind, and Caleb plops down beside you with a plastic bag. He notices how youâre holding yourself together and frowns. âAre you cold?â
âNo.â
âI told you to grab a jacket.â
âYou nag too much.â
He snickers and twists open the cap of the water bottle for you to drink, which you sip carefully. He strips his jacket off and drapes it over your shoulders, and you immediately bury yourself in it. It smells like him.
âWhat kind of woman do you like, Caleb?â
âYou and your questions.â
âI want to know.â
He shifts to face you, motioning for you to lift your arms. He grabs either side of his jacket and pulls it shut, fumbling with the zipper until he manages to zip it to your chin. You can barely claw your hands out of his sleevesâthe fabric almost engulfs youâbut he just laughs. âMy type? A woman who brings jackets when itâs cold.â
You scowl, making his laugh echo louder. âOther than that.â
âA woman who goes to class in the morning.â
â...Other than that.â
âA woman who doesnât leave her clothes all over my floor when she feels like sleeping over.â
âSomething else.â
âA woman who eats healthy, balanced meals. A woman who doesnât steal all my pens and then still ends up asking me for more. Maybe someone who doesnât pass out drooling on my pillow. Or someone who doesnât let half the world know that they like someoneâhell, maybe even the entire world.â
Caleb glances at you, chuckling to himself, but stops the moment he sees that youâre not laughing with him. Your head hangs low, your feet shuffling anxiously. His face twists, and suddenly the air thickens. âSplints?â
You pick at your sleeves. âSo just not me?â
âI was just kidding around.â
âJokes have some truth to them.â
âNot all of them. I didnât mean toââ
âItâs okay, Caleb,â you finally meet his eyes again, and shrug. âI know you like someone else. Iâm not an idiot.â
Silence commences, like a bell dropping on your head.
Caleb shifts his weight, one hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. Itâs a nervous habit youâve seen a hundred timesâusually followed by some half-joke, something to smooth things over.
But nothing comes.
The space between you suddenly feels too small and too big all at once. You try to act normal. You really do.
You fiddle with your sleeve again, smoothing it down, then pulling at it, then smoothing it again. Anything to give your hands something to do, so they donât reach for him out of instinct.Â
Caleb glances at you. Then away.
Then back again, like heâs trying to solve something written across your face but canât quite make out the words.
âHey,â he starts, softer this time.
You hum in response, not trusting your voice yet.
Another pause. God, itâs awkward.
âI didnât mean it like that,â he mutters again, quieter now. Not defensive. Unsure. âYou know I think youâre amazing.â
Just not enough.
âI am pretty great,â but it comes out too soft.
Neither of you knows what to do with another stretch of silence. So you opt to drink some more water instead.
âWhy do you like me so much?â He eventually mutters out as he bites his bottom lip, eyes falling to the ground like he canât bear to watch your expression. âYou could do a lot better.â
You smile, but itâs half-hearted. âHow could I not?â
He pauses, as if choosing his words carefully before his voice comes out in a soft whisper. âYou mean so much to me. Youâre smart, beautiful, and everything good in betweenâwhoever gets to call you theirs is the luckiest person I know. And you know Iâd do anything for you.â
Despite their sweetness, his words feel like judgement wrapping around your heart in vines, squeezing just before itâs about to pop. You wish you could block your ears out for what comes next.
âBut it canât be me.â Calebâs lips purse, brows furrowing as he looks away. âI canât give you what you want.â
The rejection hurts more than you realized it would. You want to tell him that itâs not fair to treat you the way he does and expect you not to fall for him. That holding your hair when you vomit, falling asleep at your bedside when youâre sick, and his eyes closing in on you in any room that youâre in is not fair.Â
Instead, you nod. And you swear to yourself that youâll swallow this sickening lump in your throat that makes you want to hurl and sob at the same time. That youâll bury it deep in a graveyard within you that even the closest person to you would never know of. Especially him. Â
âI donât want it, either,â you snort back, immediately perking up to slap his back in what results in a jolt. His shoulders tense as he blinks wide at you, unsure of the sudden shift in atmosphere. âI donât want feelings that belong to someone else, dumbass.â
Once it sinks in that you mean it, a smile finds its way onto his face, though something flickers beneath it, like a flash of something you donât want to look too far into.
Not because you still had hope, but because whatever existed between you had never been something as simple as a crush. It had rootsâtangled deep into your souls and impossible to pull free without tearing something open. You wanted to keep what was left. Even if it lingered just a little longer, and even if you pretended not to see the splintering strands in the string tying you together.
So you let it settle. Let it rot somewhere you couldnât feel it.
The two of you fall into the kind of closeness that youâve always had, and time passes as if it was always meant to be this way. Itâs easier this way. For a while, it does work, but nothing ever really stays under wraps. Despite your incessant protests in telling yourself itâs fading, the scars heâs inflicted on you are just that. Scars. Unmoving yet subtle.
The thinning thread finally snaps a few years later, when MC develops feelings for a coworker in the Hunterâs Association. The day the cracks in the glass bridge holding you together shatter beneath your feet into a million different pieces.
âWhenâs the last time youâve slept?â
Heâs sprawled shirtless on the couch of his apartment in Skyhaven, freshly out of the shower after you arrived to visit him for the first time in monthsâonly to see that heâs nearly overworking himself to death. Despite him going off to the DAA after college, youâd kept close contact, the connection between the two of you never wavering regardless of your restricted time. It only changed after news of MC broke out. Worried, youâd rushed to Skyhaven to make sure he was doing okay, which youâre clearly glad you did now. Youâd practically had to drag him to the shower to keep him from passing out next to the front door in his gear.
Caleb, clearly, is off. You suppose you donât blame him. The woman he loves is yearning for another. Almost poetic, really, but you donât like seeing him this way. Especially when you know what it feels like yourself, even if youâve gotten used to it. Gotten over it. He looks like a kicked puppy. Hurt, like a dog whoâs just been scratched by its owner.Â
âI dunno.â
You peer into the empty abyss that is his fridge and frown. Thereâs a few measly apples sitting inside, and a half-eaten protein bar thatâs been there for god knows how long. âWhat the hell have you been eating?â
He responds with a grunt, letting his head fall back against the sofa. You decide to make do with the instant noodles he has stashed in one of the cupboards and bring it over to him once it seems mostly done. With a fork, you stick out a few noodles to his face, urging him. âEat.â
âNot hungry,â he mutters.
âDonât care. Sit up.â
He opens one of his eyes to peek at you, which somehow urges him forward. Thereâs darkness beneath his eyesâeven stubble littering his chin from a few days worth of not shaving. You want to reach out and poke fun at him, but the state heâs in deters you. Instead, you silently feed him, watching him chew his food while staring at your hands. It makes you wish you put on a fresh set of polish before you came.
You twirl another small forkful and hold it out. He leans forward this time without being told, taking it quietly. His shoulder brushes yours as he settles back against the couch, and you can feel his skin through your shirt.
âThanks,â he mutters, voice rough from disuse more than anything. âFor coming.â
âYeah,â you say, quieter now. âSomeone had to make sure you didnât rot in here.â
He huffs a faint laugh, though it doesnât quite reach his eyes. âProbably wouldâve. Dramatic way to go out, huh?â
You nudge his knee with yours. âStarving to death in your own apartment? Real heroic.â
A ghost of a smile flickers across his face. It makes your heart flutter. Stupid feelings.
ââŚthanks for coming, splints,â he says.
Your chest tightensâsharp and sudden. It feels like itâs threatening to feel something thatâs not yours to feel. So instead, you look down at the bowl, pretending to focus on separating another bite. You twirl your fork, more carefully this time. âI had to. You werenât responding, so I thought you died, or something. Open.â
He rolls his eyes, but obeys anyway. âBossy.â
âLearned from the best.â
His lids flutter shut, voice dropping to a lower hum. âI missed this.â
Your hand stills. âWhat?â
He shrugs, eyes still closed. âYou being here.â
His hair is sticking to his forehead, still damp from the shower. Before you realize what youâre doing, you brush a stray strand of hair off his forehead. You speak quietly. âYou look like shit.â
âWow,â he mutters. âYou have a way with words.â
You frown, and without thinking, your hand lingers at his temple for just a second longer than it should. His skin is warm, still hot from the shower.
âIdiot,â you whisper.
He catches your wrist. Not tight, not stopping you. Simply holding it there for a moment that feels too long and not long enough at once. Your eyes meet for a fleeting moment, and then youâre looking away, setting the mostly finished bowl of noodles onto the coffee table to pull away.
âDonât make this a habit. Iâm not flying out here every time you forget to eat.â
âCould,â he murmurs. âYou would.â
You donât respond to that, because heâs not wrong.
ââŚIs she okay?â
It slips out of him like instinct. Like breathing. And just like that, everything shifts. You donât answer right awayâinstead, your fingers tighten slightly around the fork.
âSheâs fine,â you say eventually. Leave it, you plead in your head.
âDid she say anything?â he asks, sitting up a little more now. Thereâs something in his eyes, like heâs searching. âWhen you talked to her.â
You shrug, trying to keep your tone even. âJust normal stuff.â Stop, you think. Please stop talking.
âLike what?â
âLike her job. Her grandma. Nothing serious.â Shit.
He frowns slightly. âShe didnât mention him?â
There it is. Itâs always about her.
You know heâs in a vulnerable spot right now, but it does nothing to ease the sudden flame roaring in your chest. Whether itâs from years of repressed hurt or shame, all it amounts to is a relentless ball of rage inside of you that leaves your nails digging crescents into the palms of your hands. You stare at him, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you inch away from him.Â
âDoes it matter?â
Calebâs face relaxes. âWhat?â
âWhy does it matter what she thinks about him? She likes him, end of story, no?â
âI just want to know if heâs a decent guy.â
Your ass. âThatâs not really your business, Caleb, but sure. Heâs a great guy. Amazing, honestly. Heâs really gentlemanly and checks every single box. He lives above her apartment, so theyâre right next to each other. He treats her gently, too. Iâd bet every girl would jump at a chance to date a guy like that.â
Youâre not sure where the words are tumbling out of, but itâs too late to go back. Neither do you want to.
âI wonder if he has a brother. Maybe MC could set me up or something.â
âOh. Is heâŚâ Calebâs back straightens, and you notice his fingers digging into his thighs. â...handsome?â
âDidnât you hear me? Iâm telling you, heâs perfect. His face could pay for the Linkon rent by itself.â
He suddenly stands, and you glare up at him through your eyebrows. âWhy are you talking like that?â
âI donât know what youâre talking about,â you scoff.
He narrows his eyes. Itâs something you havenât seen in a while, since Caleb rarely gets upset at you. âYou know exactly what Iâm talking about, splints.â
âCan you just spit it out? What am I saying differently?â
âYouâre angry.â
You stand, following suit. He looms over you to have his shadow essentially engulf you, and you wish you could kick his ankle so he falls to the ground. âMaybe if you werenât so irritating, I wouldnât feel so annoyed right now.â
âWhat?â
âItâs hard to watch, Caleb,â you hiss out in exasperation, throwing your hands into the air. âItâs always pipsqueak this, pipsqueak that, pipsqueak what. Seriously, weâre not kids anymore, you need to get over it!â
Youâre not sure if youâre talking to him or yourself anymore.
âCan we calm down and talk? If Iâve been talking too much about it, I can stop, soââ
âWe havenât seen each other in months, Caleb! And all you want to ask me about is how sheâs been? Why donât you ask her yourself, if youâre so curious? Oh, but you canât, because you always have to be perfect in front of her. So instead, you dump all of this on me. Your goods and bads, all of it, just for me to get kicked to the curb like Iâm some dispensable object.â
âWhat?â his balks. âDispensible? Are you serious? As if I havenât gotten you out of every little thing youâve gotten yourself into the past decade of our lives? As if I havenât picked you up every weekend from your friendsâ places at three in the morning? Like I havenât called you every single weekââ
âWell, I want you to stop that!â your words spit at him like weak knives, growing louder by the second.Â
âYou didnât seem very against it the last forty times.â
âI am now.â
âWhat has gotten into you, splints?â
âDonât call me that right now,â you glower, and you try to ignore the hurt flashing across his expression. âIâm just sick of seeing you follow her around like some wet dog. She doesnât see you like that, canât you see that?â
Your breathing begins to stutter, and you suck in a deep breath through your nose. Your chest stings, and you pray that you donât lose composure so the tears threatening to bubble at the corners of your eyes remain hidden.
âYou told me that you couldnât give me what I wanted. Well, she canât either,â you bore holes into his chest, too afraid of what you might see if you look up. âIf I can get over my stupid feelings, so can you.â
But youâre not over it. Not at all.
He opens his mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. For the first time in a while, youâve rendered him speechless, and it feels even worse than what it felt to be rejected years ago. Youâre not sure how your nails havenât drawn blood at this point. Youâd rather that they do, so you have some excuse to use the restroom.
âItâs not fair what you do, Caleb,â you try to will your tears to stay at bay, but you canât help them. They sting, blurring your vision as you drop your head in some pathetic hope that he wonât face them head on. âHow you treat me when you donât like me like that is not fair. At least MC doesnât know, but youâyou know, and yet youââ
The rational part of you says that itâs not entirely his fault. Sure, you insisted on staying by his side. Sure, you insisted that you could push down your feelings. Sure, youâve promised a lot of things, but itâs his fault too, for being the way he isâso kind, so thoughtful, just so him.Â
You wipe desperately at your tears. It was a lost cause from the start.
âPlease donât cry.â His face drains of color, apparent even against the dim lighting in his apartment. He steps towards you, and you take a step back. âPlease donât cry, splints, just not that.â
But when your tears refuse to cease dripping down your cheeks, your face flushing in humiliation, you feel both his hands cupping either side of it. He tilts your gaze up, and you realize that heâs only inches away from you, so much so that you can feel his breath against your skin. Itâs moments like these that you lose yourself in his beauty. The deepness of his eyes that seem to peer into your very soul is one of the first features that you fell in love with as a child, and it hasnât changed since. Damn him. You blink, eyes wide while his own flicker to your lips.Â
âBe as mad as you want. Hit me, hate me even,â he whispers, his nose almost touching yours now. His thumb pad smooths your tears away. âBut donât waste your tears on someone like me.â
You think you might be imagining things. Because with the tension that nearly suffocates you and his lashes almost fluttering against your skin, you think he might be about to kiss you.
A sharp pain jabs you in the chest. Is it pity? A consolation prize dressed up as something softer? Is it to smooth things over, to make this moment easier for him to leave behind? Or is it rebellion? Something reckless from the fact that he canât have her? Your tears have dried up, but the rest of your body seems to weep, as no excitement, no butterflies course through your veins.Â
Why is it always something else? Why is it never you? It only hurtsâbecause even now, youâre just the place he empties everything he feels for her.
Instinctively, you press your palm into his lips to push him away, and it feels like the air itself has stilled.
His breath lingers against your skin. Yours stutters like itâs forgotten how to exist in the same space as him. The air is so thick you could slice it with a knife.
Eventually, he pulls away. Caleb stares at you with an expression you havenât seen before, though you donât look long enough to analyze it. Wordlessly, you gather your things, stuffing your jacket into your bag and stumble over to the doorâall while he stays locked in a petrified state, like heâs processing what he just did. Your gaze remains fixated on the wooden panels of the floor while you pack, refusing to look any higher in case you might see anything other than his feet.
âDonât follow me,â you tell him as you leave.Â
You donât wait to see if he hears you.
The journey home feels like thereâs a gaping hole in your chest, and all you can do is stare out the window as you feel the vibrations of the train through your fingertips. Outside, the world blurs past in streaks of dim lights and shadowed shapes, and you wish that your feelings were as fleeting as the buildings blurring by.Â
You try to count the number of trees you see. Not on the warmth of his breath against your palm. Not on how close heâd been. Not on the fact that, for a second, you almost let him.
If you hadnât pushed him away, would it have meant anything? Or would you have just been a mistake heâd regret in the morning?
Your phone buzzes frantically in your pocket, and you pull it out to see his name in big bold letters. Heâs texting you simultaneously, apologizing in so many different ways that they all start to blend into one message you donât plan on reading. You refuse to give into what your heart wants. Itâs hurt you too much in the past. So instead, your thumb hovers above the âmuteâ button.
You press it and shut your eyes.
Even if itâs difficult to adjust the first few weeks without him, you canât bear to face him either. He shows up at your door. Nearly every day for some time, knocking softly and asking if youâd be willing to talk. When you simply plug in your earbuds and bury yourself into your bed, he apologizes through the door and leaves you something to eat. You tend to throw it out at first, but after a while, you figure itâs just a waste. Just like that, a month goes by. And then another. Then another. Until you canât count them on one hand anymore. He comes by once every two weeks or so now, likely busy with his work.
Despite how much your body seems to miss his presence, you wonder if you should distance Caleb permanently. Itâs a daunting idea. One that you never wouldâve thought just a few years ago, but the embarrassment runs deeper than you want to admit. The feelings youâve tried so hard to hide clearly arenât hidden. Is this sustainable?Â
Regardless of what you think, he comes around like clockwork.
âAre you in there?â He knocks gently on your door, voice soft. He probably knows you are.
âNo.â
He chuckles from the other end. âRight. Happy birthday, splints.â
You glance at your phone calendar. Heâs right.Â
As usual, he begins to talk about random events in his life that he hasnât had the opportunity to tell you, and while you usually muffle it out, you decide to quietly shuffle over to the door today. To tell him, maybe, that you donât want to keep doing this. Or maybe just to hear his voice, you donât know. Either way, you slide your back down the door where heâs on the other side, pulling your knees into your chest.
âI donât know if youâve read my text, butââ
âI donât read them.â
Caleb stops, and you can almost hear his breath hitch. You usually donât give him more than a few words, much less a full sentence, so it seems to have taken him aback. After the brief remission, you hear him clear your throat. âSplints, can you open the door? I want to talkâapologize to you.â
Silence.
âOr I can do it out here. Thatâs fine,â he sighs. âI want you to know that itâs okay if you want to hate me forever after this. I wonât keep clinging to you if you at listen to what I have to say, but I really justâI need to say that this is my fault.â
You half-heartedly hear his words drone on, his confidence wavering every so often while you pull up his chats on your phone. You have no idea how you hadnât folded and read his chats until now, though it mightâve been more so for your own peace than anything. Thereâs too many to scroll up to, so you read the most recent messages, squinting in the dark against the light of your phone.Â
[1:41PM]
[caleb]: are you eating well?
[caleb]: i made this today
[caleb]: [image attached]
[caleb]: your favorite dishes :) iâll drop them off at your place later
[caleb]: i hope youâre not just throwing them outâŚwouldnât blame you tho
[caleb]: at least take care of yourself :)
[8:13AM]
[caleb]: hi splints :)
[caleb]: you probably watched it already but that movie you wanted to see came out a week ago. I went to go see it
[caleb]: i still think itâs kind of badâŚbut it was entertaining
[caleb]: unless you wanna argue about it ?? :3
[5:32PM]
[caleb]: ranked first today
[caleb]: i was excited to celebrate it with you and then remembered :/
[caleb]: it doesnât feel as good when i canât tell you lol
[caleb]: hope youâre okay
[11:23PM]
[caleb]: i wish i hadnât been so stupid
[caleb]: i didnât deserve you back then
[caleb]: i still donât
[caleb]: i shouldnât have lost my cool when you were over here. didnât like hearing you talk about that guy like that
[caleb]: im sure heâs a good looking guy, and i know youâre particularly weak to good looking guysâŚ
[caleb]: i was being childish and i wish i couldâve explained it to you then
[caleb]: i know you donât owe me anything and you donât have to listen to what i have to say
[caleb]: but i never wanted to make you feel used, and i never did. if that even sounds believable lol
[caleb]: it was never about her
[caleb]: thereâs so much more i want to say but iâll say it in person
[caleb]: miss you a lot
[caleb]: sleep tight
You wish the tightness in your chest would go away. You wish you didnât feel his sorrow through him. And you wish you didnât care about your own feelings for him.
âI love you, splints,â he murmurs, and your attention tears away from the chats, your phone nearly clattering onto the floor. Your eyes widen, suddenly regretting that you missed the first half of his speech.Â
âNot in the way you say it to your friends, or the way you say it to family. Youâre my life, and youâve been my life since the day you gave me that ring. I care for MC, but what I feel for you is different. Itâs always been different. I realized that years ago, but I was afraid that it wouldnât be fair for you. I thought you deserved someone better than someone who doesnât know how to understand their own feelings.â Your throat dries. âI thought it wasnât fair because Iâd already put you through so much.â
âAt the same time, Iâm a selfish guy, you know? I couldnât let you go either, because I couldnât bear to see you with someone else. I wanted it to be us, and the only way I could think of existing without feeling like I was ruining you was to stay how we were. Stagnant, I guess,â he chuckles, but it feels sad. Weak. âIâm an idiot when it comes to you, you know.â
You donât respond.
Not because you donât have anything to sayâif anything, thereâs too much. It crowds your throat, every word scraping against the next until none of them can make it out. Your fingers hover uselessly over your phone, screen still lit with a conversation you canât even remember reading.
âI love you.â
The words echo, but they donât land the way you once dreamed they would. They donât bloom or soften or fix anything. They just sit. Too heavy. Too late.
Your chest tightens, aching outward like itâs trying to break free. Because youâve wanted thisâGod, youâve wanted thisâfor so long that you stopped letting yourself imagine it could ever actually happen. It should feel like relief. Instead, it feels real, but fragile.
Because you remember too much. The almosts. The waiting. The way you learned how to swallow your emotions when he built a wall between the two of youâand that doesnât disappear just because he finally found the words.
Your hand curls slightly against the door, fingers brushing the cool surface.
Even with all that, you still miss the warmth of his skin. How his hair felt through a towel as you dried it. How heâd flick your forehead when youâd get a question wrong during one of his tutoring sessions. How heâd tease you about your grades or interests, and learn more about them anyway. How heâd message you throughout the day about random endeavors. How heâd always be there. How with just a call of his name, he wouldâve crossed the continents for you. His eyes. His lips. His face. His painfully handsome face.
You remember him in all parts of your lifeâand not a single moment youâve spared has gone without him. You remember how he held your hand when youâd broken your arm, and the way heâd lifted you into the air and embraced you when you were accepted into the same college as him. You remember how heâd pet your hair as you complained about him going too far for the DAA, promising heâd visit often. And he did. He always kept his promises.
Your body moves on its own, as if this was how it was always meant to be. The door slowly creaks open.
ââŚWeâre a mess.â
A faint, tired smile is all you can give him. Still, when he sees you, the world seems to stop for just the two of you, and it takes him a moment to fully register that youâre really there. That youâre not just a figment of his imagination, and he hasnât truly lost you forever as heâd feared. âThis doesnât mean youâre completely out of the woods. Iâm still mad.â
âYou should be,â he whispers out, nearly breathless.
Hesitantly, you step towards him. He reaches his arm out, brows furrowed cautiously like heâs not sure if heâs allowed to even blink right now. The tips of his fingers twitch towards you. You raise a brow, and he swallows the lump in his throat, retracting back until you nod.Â
Realizing you donât have shoes, you step onto the fronts of his shoes one foot at a time, taking his hand until youâre flush against him and heâs already engulfing you into a crushing embrace. His arms wrap around you, strong and warm. He smells good. Though you canât confidently say the same for yourself given the state youâre in, he drops his chin into the crook of your neck and inhales deeply, like a man starved.
âNote to self,â you mumble. âDonât propose to any handsome guy you see.â
Caleb laughs, airy this time, and you feel it against your collarbone. âI thought you were going to leave your husband out here to die in the cold.â
âI should divorce you. Weâre not even married yet.â
He grins, lopsided. âYou should.â
âI wonât.â
âI know.
You bury your face into his chest, fingers digging into the fabric on his back. âI donât want a version of my life without you, Caleb. As annoying as you are.â
He pulls away for a brief moment and places a kiss on your cheek, his own dusting red. Flowers feel like theyâre blooming on the spot he pecked, but somehow, it feels natural. Youâve always been close to him physically throughout your upbringing, even if it never involved lipsâthat was new territory. You cross your arms, relying on his hands around your waist to keep you upright. âTell me more.â
âYou nag too much.â
He kisses your nose. âHm?â
âYouâre emotionally repressed.â
âOuch.â He kisses your temple.
âYouâre too good at things you donât try at.â
Your jawline.
âYouâre unstable. Youâre too protective. Youâre stupid.â
âI love you,â he says, pressing his forehead against yours. His lips hover above your own, just centimeters away.
Your lashes flutter against his. âThen prove it to me.â
âI will,â he whispers, just as his mouth slots against yours, and a warmth blooms throughout your chest. You melt into him, like you always have and you always will. âIâll prove it to you for the rest of my life.â
bully!gojo who takes you out for dinner, but of course there's a catch.
he's looking at you from across the booth, eyes wild with interest and curiosity. the restaurant he's taken you to is quite nice, far too nice for what he's doing.
"how you going over there? your face is a little red." he teases, wearing an innocent smile.
you squirm in your seat, trying to avoid the pleasure of the vibrator he shoved down there. one of his hands remains under the table, playing around with the vibrations on his phone. you can't even respond, eyes closed in both focus and desperation.
when the server comes over, he asks if you're all right.
"she's fine, just a little nervous. two waters please," gojo says with confidence and ease before ordering for the both of you. you look down, trying to hide the needy look on your face.
"y'know, i think we should try this during school."
"p-please, turn it down, satoru-"
"ha, no thanks. i'm loving this." he says. his eyes never leave you, admiring how your body curls in and tries to hide its shakes. he's been at this for an hour already, and you're beginning to feel overwhelmed.
"please, i can't, i don't want to." you say, although not entirely sure of what you do and do not want. gojo sighs dramatically before standing and making his way to your side of the table, sliding into the booth next to you. his arm snakes around your shoulders and holds you close.
he puts his phone on your thigh and points to it.
"go on, you do it." he says, voice softer. you look up at him, wondering if this is just some game, if he will take away the control. but he doesn't laugh or anything, patient.
your finger moves to the screen, small gasp leaving your mouth as you hold on the higher function. gojo chuckles lightly, whispering again.
"there you go. now make yourself cum and stop being such a baby."
"can't we take it out instead?"
"no, i want it in. come on, you're not scared of a little orgasm in public, are you?" he teases, smiling at your defeated face. your finger moves to the screen again and you close your eyes when the pleasure consumes you.
you squirm in the seat, your other hand gripping it's leather. gojo responds by leaning closer, preventing you from moving too much.
"such a wiggler. don't worry baby, i'll help you." he shuffles closer to you, effectively trapping you in the corner. his hand grabs your head and turns it so your hiding in his chest.
as your orgasm builds up, gojo kisses your head gently, whispering perverted things.
"such a whore, huh? you would have never done this before me. i make you that needy that you'll do anything i say. no debating that."
you take in a sharp breath as you feel yourself nearing the edge. finally, you cum. your body shakes and gojo firmly pins you, stopping the vibrations.
suddenly, your server returns with your food. gojo thanks him calmly while you hide your face again, overwhelmed with embarrassment.
when gojo looks at your face again, he leans in to whisper in your ear.
"don't be ashamed beautiful, here, feel how hard you've made me?" he grabs your hand and shoves it over his crotch.
"fuck, those little sounds. makes me wanna fuck you right here. come on, let's go to the bathroom."
your needy boyfriend!satoru accidentally wakes you up with his dick buried deep inside of you
cw: somnophilia
itâs not until the soft whimpers in your ear and the heavy breaths against your neck catch you that you slowly stir awake.
confused and still sleep dazed you try to make out the source of your nightly disturbance, still numb from your well deserved sleep.
you blink your eyes open slowly but are met with pure darkness.
every second longer that youâre awake you can slowly feel your body come back to senses. more and more..
âhmpf..â
the sound rings loud in your head and makes a shiver run down your spine.
you now feel the heat of a sweaty body pressed against your back, soft hands creeped up under your shirt, holding your hips in place.
fuck.. what is- your walls clench around something.. and suddenly youâre all too aware of the slick heat between your legs, your ass pressed against your boyfriend!satoruâs hips.
you can feel everything. the way heâs got you pressed against him, arms wrapped around you and his cock stretching you wide open.
your breath stutters as the sensation fills you out and satoru whoâs still oblivious to the fact that heâs woken you up is thrusting in and out of you in a punishing slow rythm.
âfuuckâ he whimpers and you can almost hear the way his eyes are rolling back as he forces himself to still, needing to stop himself from working you harder.
but itâs to no good. you feel your own walls clench around him again. hard. followed by a whimper of your own.
satoru inhales sharply, his grip on your hip tightening almost painfully.
âfuck- babe.. I- I didnât mean to wake youâ the high pitched voice of your boyfriend rings through the room, interrupted by a groan this time.
âshit- how long have you been awake for..?â he whispers against your neck between the kisses hes placing on you now, almost as if heâs apologizing.
your throats to dry to answer him, instead another whimper escapes your lips.
âmâsorry babeâ he mumbles as he kisses his way down your throat, slowly sucking on it. âmhmn.. I jsâcouldnât wait any longerâ
his apology doesnât help at all. youâre feeling your cunt clench around him again and youâre rewarded by a twitch of his cock, still inside you.
âsatoru-â your voice comes out in a rasp.
âshh.. baby. fuck.. you- you like this, donât you?â he groans as he feels you clench around him again, finally rewarding you with a deep thrust.
the desperate moan that claws its way out of your throat is answer enough for satoru. he picks up his pace as he continues pumping in and out, luring more moans from depths of your throat.
âshit- youâre so good for me, do you know that?â he groans as he pulls you even closer by your hips, burried balls deep. the only sounds echoing through the room are the squelching sounds of your slick folds being âruinedâ and the slam of his hips against you, mixxed by his grunts and your moans.
by now heâs already hovering over you, while youâre pressed into the sheets on your stomach. heâs got your hips tightly pressed against his, fucking you stupid with his thick cock.
âoh fuck- youâre so tight. tell me you love thisâ you whimper into the pillow below you. you canât help the way heâs got you in a chokehold. well not literally but-
another whimper rips through you as satoru pulls you up by your hair, your back flush against his chest. âfuck satoru-â his hand finds its way around your throat, squeezing.
-well, okay, maybe he does...
âanswer meâ he almost hisses in your ear while groaning. god. thereâs no way this is the same man whoâs been whimpering in your ear how sorry he was just 10 minutes ago.
a wave of heat rushes through you at the way his hands grip your throat, slightly cutting off your airway and making you choke.
you gasp for air as he lets loose again, just holding you tightly against him. âhmpf.. satoru- pleaseâ he squeezes once again âfuck- I love this-â you finally gasp out of breath. giving him the confirmation he wanted. no. needed.
âthatâs it.. take it like a good girlâ he groans against your ear, slamming into you harder.
your walls clench around him tightly once again and you both can tell youâre close.
âfuck baby, you gonna come all over my cock?â he groans, picking up his pace.
and thats it. you clench around him hard, moaning his name. his hand finds your clit, circling it fast and youâre coming on his dick, falling apart for him.
it doesnât take long until he follows. with a loud moan he spills inside of you as you milk him dry, filling you out.
âhah- babe- is sâgoodâ he whimpers, pulling out and collapsing next to you. he pulls you close by your waist, burrying his nose in your hair and mumbles âyou smell sâgoodâ.
your still breathing hard, collapsing against his chest exhausted and just breathing in his scent, murmuring against him sleepily.
âmh..âshould hate you right now-â
â- donât worry baby. Iâll make it up to you tomorrowâ
and with that youâre drifting back into sleep, just as if nothing happened.
all rights reserved Šsluttyangel04 - do not copy, translate, plagiarize or feed my work into ai.
you whine loudly, already overstimulated to hell with how heâs made you cum on his tongue twice already, but any time you stop spreading your pussy lips with two of your fingers, he gives your pussy a spank or bites your thigh hard enough to bruise.
he's on his stomach between your legs, messy mouth glistening with your slick as he guides your hand back to your sopping hole to make you spread yourself. you've never felt more lewd in your life. as you open yourself up for him again, juices drip down your thighs and ass in pearlescent globs.
his eyes are locked on you the whole time, burning up at you through his lashes. the moment you finally pull your dripping folds apart again the way he wants, he licks up into you, sucking your pussy lips into his mouth to gather your cum and leakage into his mouth. he leans back, mixes it with his saliva, and dribbles it out of his mouth to spit it back onto your pussy. "there. now your pussy's as nasty as you, girl."
his spit runs down over your folds, thick and messy, stringing from your clit to your hole before dripping into the wet spot beneath you, and he groans at the sight like it's art. his tongue follows it down immediately, licking it back up greedily, nosing at your spread-open hole before plunging his tongue deep inside, pushing past your fingers as if he's trying to tongue-fuck you open from the inside.
he pushes your thighs apart roughly, then shoves two fingers inside you without warning all the way to the knuckle. you scream and arch your back, but he's uncaring. he scissors them, stretching you open as his tongue flattens against your clit and starts circling hard. the combination makes your whole body lurch, your chest heaving as broken noises fall out of you, but he just groans into your cunt, the vibrations sending sparks shooting through you.
your fingers are shaking so bad you can hardly keep them in a v-shape to spread yourself, but you do because the alternative is worse. every drag of his tongue on your hole, then inside you as he fucks his tongue against your gummy walls; makes you clamp around his fingers.
but when he wraps his whole mouth onto your plump pussy and sucks violently...
your orgasm tears through you but he doesnât stop for a second. he moans into your cunt and continues drinking you down, fingers shoving in and out and tongue lashing at your clit while you scream.
see more in my multifandom masterlist
see more in my main masterlist
pt i pt iii pt iv pt v
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đâ.Ë ( jjk ) your son loves matching eye colour with his dad !
masterlists
"dada like me!"
your son has been squealing over gojo's eyes for the past minute, staring at the way they shimmer under the slightest reflection of light. the little bundle of oversized cloth and sweater paws stumbles towards his dad, cooing at the way gojo's snowy lashes flutter oh so hypnotically.
"that's right, baby. you look just like your daddy," you affirm softly, placing a supportive hand on your son's back as he waddles on shaky feet.
when he's close enough, gojo snatches him up into his arms, letting out a hyperbolic grunt of effort and rubbing his nose against his son's. the motion makes him belly laugh and slap his dad's face affectionately.
"blue," he babbles, though his lips are so puckered that it sounds more like "boo."
it's clear in the way gojo's shoulders slump and his breaths become shaky that this is getting to him, that his son's admiration and almost reverent touches are unfamiliar to his tender soul.
staring at the scene makes warmth spread through your chest. your son looks so much like gojo, what with his pure white hair and cloned eyes. if you weren't so enamoured with the two of them, you'd be upset that your genes didn't even try.
"what're you trying to do, hm?" gojo murmurs as his son caresses his face with tiny, chubby hands and brings their faces together, lashes fluttering in tandem and almost tangling together.
"match." gojo laughs softly and bats his lashes quickly, tickling his little boy's eyelids and making him whine. "dada stop!"
"noooo," he draws out, before grabbing his son's face in his hands and kissing him all over, paying close attention to his brow and the little creases of his eyelids.
"mama help!"
you wrestle your son out gojo's grip and run away with him. he giggles and urges you to go faster when gojo makes grabbing motions with his hands and chases after you.
ŕ¨ŕ§ â thinking about caleb doing the planking until failure challenge. yum! [smut, mdni]
he didnât even know that it was a semi-viral trend.
all he cared about was that his sweet, innocent girlfriend asked him to send a video showing how long he could hold it, and, since he has never been one to deny you, he did exactly that.
the doe eyes, you batted to make him weak to your every whim, were narrowed down to slits as you squinted against the harsh glare of your phoneâs screen. as soon as he sent the video, you dropped everything you were doing and bolted straight for your dorm room.Â
and now you lay in bed, naked from the waist down, earbuds in with the volume boosted to the absolute max and wielding the vibrator in your hand like it was a sword you were more than willing to use against anyone who interrupted you, you were ready. and impossibly wet.
you clicked the switch on, and the toy whirred to life with a soft buzz as the video started.
caleb was wearing dark grey shorts and a tight shirt. you wished he were shirtless, but you suppose beggars couldnât be choosers.
âhey baby,â the pet name was coupled with a deep chuckle, and it had goosebumps pricking along your skin. you squirm on your bed, pushed far beyond the edge of being needy, and he hasnât even started yet. âyou seemed to have a lot of faith in me when you asked for this video, so letâs see how long I can last.â
let's. when he drops to his knees, your vibrator follows suit, settling between your thighs and softly humming over your clit.
caleb gets into position, balancing on his forearms, then pushing his legs out behind him. his back is completely straight, core perfectly engaged, and itâs obvious he works out often.
maybe a little too often because the video goes on for a long while without him showing any sign of struggling. you sigh in frustration, and because you were too pent up to wait, you fast-forward until you see his shoulders quivering.
there we go.
after hitting play, the sound that graces your ears makes your hips twitch.
âyeeaah, I can definitely feel it now.â
sweat beads down the muscly chords of his arms, and you instinctively bump the vibrator up a few notches. calebâs head lolls forward, chin falling to his chest as he starts to struggle more. his hair seems even darker now that it's damp.
âhah,â the heavy groan elicits an answering moan from you and unable to hold back any longer, you rub the tip of the vibrator along your slit. slick immediately drenching the toy when you slide it into your cunt. the stretch makes your lips part with a gasp but it's nowhere near the real thing.
nothing compared to the feeling of caleb's burly body settled on top of you, hips noisily slapping against yours, as he rutted into you like his life depended on it.
âbaby,â caleb breathes with overexertion, form becoming less flawless as he starts to shake some more, âonly have âbout a minute left in me.â
and he isn't the only one.
your hips rocked even as your eyes stayed locked on the screen, hand gripping your phone hard while the other worked the toy in and out of your wet cunt. his weak panting only makes you speed up.
âs-shit, IâmâŚI canâtâfuck!â the stutter is what does you in, and with your lip tucked between your teeth to keep yourself quiet, you cum so hard it feels like you become weightless for a moment.
even when your hand stops thrusting the vibrator in and out of your pussy, the stubborn buzzes donât ease up. youâre moaning from overstimulation when caleb finally goes down in the video and his front meets the floor in a soft thud. without even knowing it, he only finished once he was sure you went over the edge first. just like he always did when he fucked you.Â
your phone falls out of your hand, landing on your bed in a soft thump. in your daze, too weak and numb to even take the fucking toy out of you, you barely have the strength to move when your door slides open.
your head lifts, gaze landing on dark amethyst eyes, and you watch as caleb freezes.
his lips are parted, like he was about to say something, but the sight before him makes him come up short. then his eyes latch onto your phone, and when he sees the video he sent you a couple of minutes ago playing, his jaw fully drops.Â
âholy shit,â he curses with the look on his face he always gets when heâs working something out. in this case, however, it wasnât some mathematical formula he needed to get down to a science before an exam; it was even more complicated to figure out.Â
his girlfriend isnât as innocent as he thought.
you give him a sheepish grin, face on fire as you finally slide the vibrator out and switch it off, but from the dark glint that touches calebâs eyes as he stares between your thighs and pushes the door closed behind him, you know the night isnât over yet.
not by a long shot.
A/N: Would you believe me if I told you I have the lowest affinity with him in the game? Not having a main is so freeing. Everyone can get it.
still hungry? visit the bistro for another nibble.
caleb hates it when you get jealous. he could fall to his knees whenever he would figure out that youâre jealous of girls around him. how dare you question his love? when he would do anything for you?
there was nothing in the room aside from a table, a wide mirror, and two bodies against each other.
his hand grasp your jaw, forcing you to face the two-way mirror in front of you. he plowed you from behind, your bare back rubbing against calebâs colonel uniform. his cock slipped in and out of your cunt, producing obscene slick sounds. you could only see your reflection in front of you. you could see how your mouth gaped open and calebâs face beside yours. his eyes were dark and there was an evil mist all over his features.
while one of his hands remained on your jaw, the other hand held your leg as he bent you a little more down the table. his hips snaps into yours as the tip of his cock kiss your cervix. you couldnât think anymore. you couldnât even figure out why your boyfriend chose to fuck you here. all you know is that you feel full of his cock and cum.
what you didnât know is on the other side of the mirror was the subordinate you were jealous of lately. the woman who couldnât take the hint when caleb announces that heâs taken. the same woman who made you question calebâs love. he would not allow that, not when he spent years yearning for you. sheâs watching. after all, thatâs all she could do. she would never be the girl getting railed by the colonel.
this was his own way of showing that he belongs to you and you belong to him.
âkeep your eyes forward.â caleb commanded. you obeyed, because you were his good girl. âlet them know who they could never replace.â
synopsis. maybe the problem isn't the stalker, maybe it's the one being stalked.
tags. nsfw, modern college au, strong yandere themes, dead dove, dubcon, obsession, stalking, killing, violence, manipulation, slowburn, plot-based, sexual tension, a bit of one-sided pining, somnophilia, depraved!caleb, yearning!caleb, detached!reader, m!masturbating, heavy make outs, fingering, p in v, reverse cowgirl, backshots, rough sex, strictly 18+
a/n. this is incredibly long and perhaps a lot to take in, i got carried away and did too much effort on this ^^; i suggest reading this when you're fully free ;D ps. image isn't mine. ctto.
wc. 18k (help me)
you never knew how it felt to be stalked by a guy long enough for your entire connections to be known, never knew how it felt to be obsessed over quite enough for the people close to you to disappear.
most of all, you never knew, would it had come from the guy most people refer to as a golden boy.
caleb knows you a bit too well. he knows the time you tend to feel most restless, the days you skip meals without noticing, the precise expression you make when something irritates youânot enough to complain, just enough to remember.
he knows because heâs watched, because heâs listened, because heâs arranged himself around the negative space of your life until the outline became clear.
you never call it attraction.
you just tell yourself, caleb would know, when a choice presents itself.
and every time you do, he gets close enough to see how little room you leave for anyone else.
youâre seated at the long oak table by the east windows at the school's library, the one that catches light only in the afternoon. and caleb knows this because he has noticed the pattern. he adjusts his steps to arrive when youâre already settled, coat folded on the chair beside you, book open but untouched for the last several minutes.
you donât look up when he stops at the edge of the table.
âhey,â
you glance up then, and your eyes pass over him with the same neutral recognition you give the shelves, the lamps, the exit signs.
âhi,â you say.
caleb smiles anyway, he always does as a golden boy. itâs a good tool. it opens space.
âstudying?â he asks, already knowing the answer. the textbookâs spine is creased in the same place it always is. page 214. you never dog-ear; you use a receipt as a bookmark. today itâs from a cafĂŠ two blocks away. he clocks the date without thinking.
âtrying, itâs quieter here.â
it is. the library smells faintly of dust and pages. he likes places that cooperate. âmind if i sit?â he asks, even as his hand is already on the chair across from you.
you shrug. âgo ahead.â
permission granted without weight. it settles in his chest, warm and sure. he sits, careful not to scrape the floor. he places his bag down precisely, knees aligned with the table leg.
you return to your book, as your attention moves away from him so completely itâs almost surgical. caleb watches the way your fingers rest against the margin.
âi ran into your friend earlier,â he says casually. âhe asked about you.â
your page turns. âyea?â
âyeah, said he hadnât heard from you in a while.â
you hum, noncommittal. âiâve been busy.â
caleb nods like this explains everything. it does, in its way. busy is useful. busy thins things out. busy creates gaps. âif you need help with anything, you know. notes, rides, food runs.â
you finally look at him again. âi know.â
thatâs all. no gratitude, no warmth. the words land and stop. caleb feels a small, private satisfaction anyway. knowing is enough. awareness precedes dependence.
as you read, his attention driftsânot away from you, never that, but inward, where his thoughts arrange themselves neatly. he imagines this table without the extra chair. imagines you alone, every day, because thereâs no one else left to ask. imagines your routines tightening until they circle him naturally, like a well-designed system.
he wonders, idly, how long it would take before you stopped noticing his presence entirely, before he became part of the architecture.
âwhat are you working on?â
you tilt the book so he can see the title. âresearch methods.â
âfun,â he says, dry. âwant help?â
ânope.â
calebâs smile doesnât flicker. he likes your noâs. they make everything else feel earned. âokay, iâll just⌠be here.â he doesnât need to say why, he's already bringing out a book he will pretend to work on infront of you.
your sleeve slips down as you adjust your posture. he notices the line of skin at your wrist, the faint indentation where your watch usually sits. today itâs missing. he doesnât linger on it the way a lover would. he catalogs it, the way one notes a missing screw in a machine that otherwise runs perfectly.
you shift again, crossing your legs.
he thinks about your home, sparsely furnished and everything placed for efficiency. heâs been there enough times to know where the spare key is hidden, though heâs never used it. no need. patience sharpens the edges of things.
âyou eating later?â he pretends to bury his eyes onto the book.
âprobably, havenât decided.â
âi can bring something by,â he offers. âsave you the trouble.â
you consider this for half a second. not himâjust the logistics. âsure, thatâd help.â
help. the word warms him more than affection ever could.
âtext me what you want,â he smiles.
you nod, already gone again, mind back in the book. caleb watches your breathing slow into a steady rhythm. he imagines it continuing like this, uninterrupted, because he removes anything that might disturb it; noise and mess and people who take up space they donât deserve.
someone just laughs too loudly at a table across the room and calebâs jaw already tightens almost imperceptibly. he releases it just as quickly though, because not now. this place is orderly. it will correct itself.
he stands after a while, smooth and unhurried. âiâll let you work,â
âokay,â you reply, without looking up.
he pauses, just long enough to be seen if you were paying attention. you arenât. thatâs fine. he leaves with a smile anyway.
~
you text him at 6:17 p.m.
[name]:
burgerâs fine the one from elm street ! get one for yourself too, iâll pay you when you get here. :)
caleb reads it once, then again.
elm street is six blocks out of the way, but the rain has already started, loud and impatient against the pavement, the kind that turns the city into a smear of motion and noise. he checks the forecast anyway, out of habit, as if it might surprise him.
as expected, heavy rain, gusts, and limited visibility.
âokay,â he types back. âbe there soon.â
he doesnât hesitate. hesitation would imply negotiation, and there isnât one. you asked. thatâs the beginning and the end of it.
he leaves the school building with his jacket buttoned wrong, and he notices only after heâs already halfway down the steps. the umbrella he grabs from his bagpack is the flimsy one, the one that bends inward when the wind gets merciless. it doesnât matter.
the city looks different when itâs wet. surfaces shine, edges blur. caleb likes it. it simplifies people.
as he walks, he thinks about the way you phrased it. "get one for yourself too." not an invitation, but an instruction that saves you the trouble of refusing later. considerate in the way youâre always considerate, without sentiment.
he imagines arriving back at the library, rain-soaked, bag held carefully away from his body so the paperwrapper wonât soften. imagines you looking up from your books with that neutral expression, eyes flicking briefly to the bag before moving back to his face. youâll say âthanks!â you always do and say it like that.
the rain thickens, as his shoes darken at the seams. water slips down the back of his collar, cold and precise. he adjusts his grip on the umbrella, angling it forward, though the wind keeps catching it, tugging like a spoiled child.
halfway across the main road, a bus roars past too close. caleb registers it in parts: the sound, the pressure, the sudden arc of brown water lifting off the curb.
suddenly, mud splashes up his side, violent and abrupt, streaking across the white of his uniform. it blooms like a bruise.
he looks down at it. "ah..."
thereâs a momentâsmall, containedâwhere he considers turning back to change and arrive clean. the thought dissolves almost immediately though.
you didnât ask for clean.
so he continues walking.
at the burger place, the line is too long. people drip onto the tile floor, smelling like wet fabric and impatience. caleb stands still, posture perfect despite the water gathering at the hem of his sleeves and dripping down his hair locks. he doesnât shake it off.
when itâs his turn, he orders without looking at the menu. âi'll have two double cheese burgers please,â he smiles, remniscient of a wet golden retriever. âno onions on one.â
the cashier nods, bored. caleb pays without thinking, youâll reimburse him later. or you wonât. either way, the exchange has already served its purpose.
he waits, hands folded loosely in front of him. his reflection in the stainless steel is distortedâmud-streaked, hair darkened by rain, lilac eyes steady. he looks like someone who has been through something minor and inconvenient. he likes that too.
the bag is warm when he takes it. he adjusts his hold, cradling it instinctively to keep the heat in. the rain greets him again with renewed enthusiasm. but the umbrella finally gives a sharp, pathetic bend, one of its ribs snapping inward.
caleb doesnât curse, he simply angles it differently and keeps going.
he imagines you eating, he imagines watching from across the table, tail wagging, saying nothing.
by the time he reaches the school gates, the rain has soaked through everything. his uniform clings uncomfortably and mud has dried in uneven streaks. he looks down at the bag once more, checks for leaks. itâs intact.
heâs adjusting his grip on the paper bagâstill warmâwhen he sees you.
youâre coming down the steps, backpack slung over one shoulder, posture loose in that way that means youâre done for the day. beside you is a man caleb recognizes only vaguely: a face heâs seen in passing, a name heâs heard once or twice and didnât bother to keep. not important enough to catalog. not until now.
who is he?
the man laughs at something you say. caleb doesnât hear it, but he can see it in the shape of your mouth, the small tilt of your head. then, with an almost rehearsed politeness, the man lifts his umbrella and angles it over you.
you hesitate just for a beat. caleb feels it like a skipped stair as his pace slows.
then you step closer and accept. âthanks,â
you start walking, not toward him, but away.
caleb stops.
itâs not dramatic, his feet simply donât take the next step. he watches the two of you merge into the flow of pedestrians, his eyes following the pattern of your strides, and even the umbrella tilting slightly to keep rain off your shoulder.
and then, his phone vibrates.
he already knows what it will say.
[name]:
sorry, caleb. iâm heading home with a friend you can cancel the burger.
he reads it once, then again.
the bag is still warm in his hand, grease has begun to soften the paper at the corners. he thinks, briefly and absurdly, that he should eat it while itâs still hot. food shouldnât be wasted.
his eyes lift again, finding you easily. the umbrella dips as you step off the curb, the man adjusting it clumsily. caleb notes the poor angle, the way rain still hits your sleeve. amateur.
his thumbs move.
[caleb] okay :)
the smiley face feels right...
he doesnât feel angry. anger would require surprise, and this doesnât have that quality. this is just information. a variable briefly introduced, nothing more.
but caleb tries his best to ignore the sinking feeling in his chest.
he tucks his phone away and starts walking again, pace unhurried. he doesnât follow too closely. that would be rude. he stays far enough back that he could be anyoneâanother student, another figure moving through rain with somewhere to be.
he watches the way you lean slightly inward under the umbrella. the way the man angles himself protectively without quite knowing how. caleb almost smiles. itâs clumsy.
he thinks, not unkindly, that youâll be damp by the time you get home. the manâs umbrella is too small for two. youâll probably forget to hang your jacket to dry.
he crosses the street when you do, but not at the same light. he stays on the opposite sidewalk, reflection fractured in shop windows.
for a fleeting moment, something almost playful stirs in him. a faint amusement at how neat it all is, how unaware you are of the shape forming around you.
you think the burger is canceled.
you think the evening has simply rearranged itself.
caleb adjusts his pace, keeping you in sight as the street bends.
he has time.
the man beside you laughs again. that stupid, easy smile. almost cute.
it makes calebâs jaw tighten just enough to feel pleasure. almost, he thinks, but not quite. caleb lets the rain slick street guide his steps, following quietly, calculating.
and by the time the two of you reach your porch, by the time you finally went inside to leave your little friend alone, when he turns to an alleyway that cuts through to a side street, caleb is ready. the timing is preciseâhe lunges the instant the man is slightly ahead, stepping into the narrow corridor as if it belongs only to him.
the man doesnât understand immediately, feeling calebâs strong hands find his throat without warning. strength measured and restraint practiced. the alley swallows his sounds, struggling against the ground, coughing and gasping.
âwhatâwhat the hellâ?â your friend chokes out, wide-eyed.
caleb says nothing, he just watches the movement of the manâs chest, watches the panic flare. he imagines your terrified face if you were here. it steels him.
the man fights back, strong enough to shove him off for a moment. "what's wrong with youâ?" a punch lands, catching caleb's mouth. a quick, sharp pain. he tastes a bit of blood but doesnât falter.
instead, he pivots, countering immediately. the punches become a rhythm, measured but a bit out of place. he doesnât lose himself in anger; every movement designed to correct, to remove obstacles.
finally, he finds what he needs: a large, irregular stone at the edge of the alley. itâs heavy.
he swings.
the sharp edge of the form slams against the man's hard temple, and instantly he falls against the concrete once more. "fuck youâ!" and he's cut off by caleb's yet another swing.
again, "ghh!" and again, and again, blood starts to paint caleb's cheek, and again, "augh!" each time imagining only the one whose presence justifies the act. the man's face is already pooled with nothing but red, eyes unalive, unblinking.
at last, unconsciousness. caleb pants, chest and shoulders rising. he drops the stone, and the alley is now silent except for the pattering rain.
he looks down.
the man isnât moving now. caleb doesnât crouch immediately. he knows better than to rush the end of things. stillness has a texture to it; he waits until itâs certain. until the body has decided what it is.
only then does he kneel.
your name drifts through his mind, more like a constant hum. and his mouth aches faintly, he tastes it with his tongue and tastes copper. how inconvenient. caleb exhales once, steadying himself, and reaches for the manâs collar.
âsorry,â he pulls the shirt up and over the manâs head with careful efficiency. fabric tears a little at the seam. he folds the cloth and uses it to wipe his mouth, his knuckles, then the edge of his jaw. he presses firmly but not roughly. thereâs no reason to bruise himself further.
he works methodically, cleaning until his skin looks like his again. the shirt darkens with use, absorbing what shouldnât be seen. when heâs done, he wraps it around the manâs hands, then his faceâgentle, almost considerate. modesty should still be a habit...
he checks his reflection in a darkened window at the end of the alley.
a little pale, eyes bright, face bruised from your friend's punch, with a few of his damp fringes sticking to his forehead.
as for the restâheâs already thought it through. the alley opens into a service road, thereâs a construction site two blocks down, poorly fenced and poorly lit.
he grips the man beneath the arms and drags him a short distance, adjusting when necessary. itâs heavier than heâd like, but manageable.
all the while, he imagines you at home. maybe youâre already inside, shoes kicked off neatly by the door. maybe youâve forgotten about the burger entirely. you tend to do thatârelease things once theyâre no longer relevant.
he likes that about you.
caleb checks the time on his phone.
too late, by most standards. late enough that reasonable people would call it a night, late enough that the rainâstill falling, thin and persistentâhas driven everyone sensible indoors. the screen glows briefly against his damp palm before he slips the phone away.
he buys the burger again, because he accidentally stepped on the one he bought earlier while he was disposing the remnants of an added body count. the cashier doesnât recognize him; caleb looks different now, hair still wet, backpack sagging and misshapen from rain and weight. his umbrella is gone somewhere behind him in the city, forgotten and surrendered.
the paper bag is warm when he steps back outside. he walks the rest of the way without shelter, rain darkening his clothes further, water threading down his neck, soaking the strap of his backpack until it clings unpleasantly to his shoulder.
he doesnât rush.
by the time he reaches your house, he looks like heâs been through a disaster, with shoes leaving faint, damp prints on your porch.
he rings the doorbell once. he's known your address because of your recent study session with your blockmates together, or did he really?
inside, he hears movement. and then the door opens.
you freeze, just slightly.
your eyes take him in without asking permission: the state of him, the wet hair pushed back from his forehead, the way rain has sharpened the lines of his face instead of softening them. he looks worn-down and absurdly composed all at once. still⌠him.
âcaleb?â you say, incredibly confused. âwhatââ
he lifts the bag gently between you, like an offering. âyou wanted a burger,â he smiles, voice low. âfigured you might still be hungry.â
you stare at the bag, then at him. âiâdidn't you read my text?â
âmm, i know.â
that only confuses you more...
rain drips from his sleeve onto your doorstep. you donât move out of the way. youâre still processingâhis presence, the timing, the contradiction. he watches it all with quiet attentiveness, cataloging the way your expression shifts, the way your hand lifts halfway and stops.
âyouâre very soaked,â you say finally. thereâs a faint edge of distress now, practical in nature. âwhy are youââ
he doesnât answer. he steps closer instead, just enough that the warmth from inside your home brushes against his skin. his knees feel suddenly unreliable, like theyâve been holding a line longer than intended.
you reach for the bag, fingers closing around the warm paper. âcaleb, this isââ
thatâs when he lets go.
not dramatically, not all at once. his weight simply tips forward, the last of his restraint slipping quietly away. his head brushes past your cheek, and then heâs thereâcollapsed against you, shoulder to shoulder, heavier than you expected.
âcalebâ?â you gasp, startled, instinctively catching him. âwhatâs wrong?â
his head rests briefly against your shoulder, damp hair brushing your collarbone. for a secondâjust oneâhe allows himself to feel the simple fact of you holding him up.
âsorry,â he murmurs, faint and sincere. âguess i pushed it a bit, pip.â
your arms tense, unsure where to go, what to do. youâre not thinking about his feelings. youâre thinking about the mess heâs tracking in instead, the absurdity of a burger pressed between you.
âyouâre⌠youâre bleeding?â you say, noticing his mouth, the faint mark he didnât quite erase.
âitâs... nothing,â he answers, already closing his eyes, before completely fainting.
~
consciousness returns to caleb slowly, like a tide that doesnât announce itself.
first, thereâs softness beneath him. but it's not the rigid give of a couch or the utilitarian flatness of a mattress he knows.
he blinks.
the ceiling comes into focusâplain, faintly shadowed by light from the street filtering through curtains. his eyes drift, cataloging before understanding. the faint scent in the room isnât detergent or rain. itâs you. something heâs only ever encountered in fragments before.
he exhales.
his body registers itself next. same clothes are still on. damp, but not against fabricâthereâs a towel beneath him, folded carefully, placed with intention so the bed wouldnât absorb what he brought in from outside.
he turns his head.
youâre sitting beside the bed in a simple chair with a small basin on the floor near your feet. youâre wringing out a towel between your hands, itâs much tinier than the one beneath him.
for him.
you donât look at him immediately. âyouâre finally awake,â
âhello,â his voice is rougher than he expects. he swallows.
you stand and step closer, bringing the towel with you. he watches the way you fold it once before lifting it to his face. gentle pressure at the corner of his mouth, cool against the bruise.
âwhat happened?â you ask. âdid you get into a fight?â
caleb considers the truthânot the whole of it, just the outline. he measures how much weight the word can carry without collapsing the structure youâre both standing on. ââŚyeah, i did.â
itâs enough.
you frown slightly. not in disappointmentâmore like concern redirected inward, calculating what that means. whether it needs follow-up, whether it explains the state you found him in. âyou should be more careful,â you say, absently, as you dab at his lip again.
âi'm sorry,â he murmurs, because thatâs what fits there.
your focus doesnât waver as you clean the edge of the bruise, fingers brushing his skin with unthinking precision.
he feels it everywhere. his body reacts before his mind can smooth it over. heat creeps up his neck, and his ears feel too warm. heâs acutely aware of the way heâs lying in your bed, the way youâre standing so close, the way your attention is fixed on him without reverence or fear.
youâre not tending to him because you care about his inner life. youâre doing it because itâs necessary, thatâs what makes it unbearable.
his fingers twitch once against the sheets, then still. he doesnât want to move. movement might fracture this moment, and he wants it intact.
âdoes it hurt?â you finally look at him properly.
âno, not really, pips.â
you hum softly, accepting the answer without probing. you finish with the towel and step back, setting it aside. he immediately feels the distance.
his chest feels light and jittery, alive in a way thatâs almost inconvenient. heâs exactly where he wants to be.
you come back with a shirt folded over your arm.
itâs yoursâoversized even on you. you hold it out to him, eyes already drifting toward the door as if the exchange is finished the moment it begins. âthis should fit, you should change. your clothes are still damp.â
caleb pushes himself up on his elbows, the movement slower than necessary. he takes the shirt, fingers brushing the fabric, âokay,â
you turn, already halfway out of the room, when his hand closes around your wrist. the contact alone is enough to stop you, unexpected weight anchoring you in place.
you look back at him.
calebâs expression is... careful and faintly apologetic, vulnerable in a way thatâs been curated rather than stumbled into. his grip remains gentle, almost tentative, as if heâs waiting to see whether youâll pull away.
âhey,â he says softly. âcan youâwait a second?â
your brow furrows. âwhat?â
he exhales, a small sound, and shifts just enough to wince, deliberately. âi think i pulled something,â he frowns at himself. âmy torso feels⌠really sore. 's hard to move.â
you glance at him, unconvinced. your eyes flickânot to his face, but to his arms. his biceps, still defined even slack.
âyou?â you tilt your head. âwith those arms? youâll survive.â
caleb huffs a quiet laugh, corner of his mouth lifting. âbig guys feel pain too, you know.â
itâs almost playful. but you frown, unimpressed.
he looks up at you then, properly, lashes lowered, expression softening into something deliberately pitiful. a practiced helplessness, remniscient of a puppy. the kind that works on people who want to believe in it.
you donât.
your wrist remains in his hand, and you sigh.
âfine,â you reach for the edge of his jacket. âdonât be dramatic.â
calebâs breath catchesânot visibly, not enough that youâd comment on itâbut he feels it all the same. you undo the buttons with brisk efficiency, tug the fabric free from his shoulders. the jacket slips off and lands folded on the chair.
next is the polo. your fingers brush his side as you lift it over his head. the contact is brief, incidental, but it lights something sharp and electric under his skin. he keeps his eyes on the wall behind you, jaw tight, as if looking at you directly might undo him.
the undershirt comes last.
you pause, just barely. âarms up,â and he does.
fabric slides upward, peeling away inch by inch. his torso is bare now, marked only by faint tension and the shallow rise and fall of his breathing. caleb feels it thenâthe space between you narrowing, the quiet thickening. he wonders, absurdly, if you feel it too.
you do.
you just donât let it show.
your gaze flicks down despite yourself, a glance you probably didnât intend to give, catching on the lines of his abdomen, his abs, before snapping back up.
he gulps.
you clear your throat and step back, folding the damp clothes with unnecessary firmness. âthere, youâre fine. next time, donât overdo it.â
he doesnât answer. he just looks at you with a softened, open expression that hovers somewhere between need and embarrassment, like heâs been caught wanting something he knows better than to ask for.
you notice. ââŚwhat?â you say, exasperated. âdonât tell me you need help putting the shirt on too?â
his head shakes immediately. ânoâno, iâm good,â he says, voice a little too quick. âjustâuh. sore. i can manage.â
he reaches for the shirt you brought, grateful for the barrier, and pulls it over his head. it hangs loose on him, fabric skimming his torso instead of clinging. yours, unmistakably. caleb smooths it down, grounding himself in the feel of it.
you watch for a moment, âdo you need to change your bottoms too? i can look for something.â
âitâs okay, iâm fine.â
you accept that easily. too easily. you nod once, already halfway turned away when he says your name.
you stop and look back at him again, one brow lifting in mild question. patient, but faintly expectantâlike youâre bracing for something inconvenient.
caleb swallows. âhey,â he rubs the back of his neck, shoulders slightly hunched now that the moment has caught up to him. âthank you, for taking care 'f me. and for the shirt. andââ he gestures vaguely, encompassing the room. âfor everything.â
his smile comes easy, the familiar one. boyish and a little cheeky.
you look at him for a beat. then your mouth curves, just a little. âyouâre welcome, try not to get into fights every time it rains.â
caleb laughs, a soft huff of a sound. âno promises.â
something in his chest loosensâthen tightens again, because the smile you gave him wasnât deep, it was real. you didnât owe it to him, and thatâs exactly why it lands.
he feels it settle in his bones.
for one reckless, vivid second, he wants to close the distance between you. to grab you, lift you, press his mouth to yours and feel the thought stop being hypothetical.
the image flashes bright and dangerous, so immediate it nearly makes him dizzy.
he doesnât move. instead, he looks at you.
really looksâletting the feeling burn quietly behind his eyes while his face stays harmless. the boy-next-door facade fits him well. people trust it. you trust it.
the words "i like you" hover at the back of his throat. they feel insufficient, premature, and clumsy. saying them now would be like knocking on a door that isnât meant to be opened yet.
so he doesnât say anything at all.
~
two weeks pass.
caleb measures them anyway. he starts to show up more. when you leave class, when youâre deciding where to eat, when youâre reaching for something you didnât realize you needed help with until heâs already offering it.
his timing is always impeccable. too impeccable, if anyone were paying attention.
you donât comment on it.
you remain as you always are: calm, receptive in a practical way. you accept whatâs useful. you decline what isnât.
and caleb watches for a change that never comesâ there's no softening, no emotional echoes. and still, he persists.
âisn't this the place you like?â he says one afternoon, when he insisted on walking you home, gesturing toward a small cafĂŠ youâve never mentioned aloud. âthey donât over-sweeten their drinks.â
you blink at him. âyeah, howâd you know?â
he smiles, âguess.â
it keeps happening. the music he puts on when youâre in the carâsongs you never said you liked, only listened to once when you thought you were alone. the way he orders food exactly how you prefer it, down to exclusions youâve never bothered correcting in other people. the books he recommends, always landing a little too close to your taste.
âweâre quite similar,â he answers once, when you raise an eyebrow at yet another coincidence.
âi guess,â you reply, unconcerned.
and then, one friday night, the house is already overflowing when caleb arrives at the party he's been invited into.
people call his name the moment he steps inside, bunch of hands clap his shoulders. someone presses a drink into his palm without asking, and a girl he barely remembers leans in, laughing too close, eyes bright with expectation. "you've finally arrived!"
he grins, of course he does.
itâs the right response. it keeps things easy.
but he doesnât move far from the wall near the living room, where the shadows soften the edges of things. he plants himself there, with eyes drifting instinctively toward the front door every few seconds.
he heard you were coming.
one of the seniors mentioned it casuallyâoh, yeah, she said she might drop by laterâand that alone had tipped the scale. caleb hadnât planned on staying long tonight, but you give shape to things.
so he waits.
the music grows louder with the bass vibrating through the floor, through his ribs. people dance, shout, spill drinks. a girl brushes his arm and smiles like it means something. he smiles back automatically, then looks past her head.
not you.
his brow tightens, just a little.
where are you?
he checks the time on his phone with just a glance. it's still early. youâre not late yet. youâre just⌠not here.
caleb tells himself this is fine. you donât owe the night anything. you donât owe him anything.
still, he keeps watching the door.
laughter erupts somewhere behind him. one of his friends grabs his wrist, tries to pull him into the center of the room. âcome on,â they shout over the music. âdonât be boring.â
caleb laughs, lets himself be tugged a step forward, then gently disentangles.
âin a bit,â he winks. âiâm good here.â
he returns to the corner like itâs gravity, like the space is meant to hold him. from here, he can see everything. the staircase. the kitchen. the front door. he catalogs faces as they come and go, dismissing them almost instantly.
not you.
not you.
not you.
the longer it goes on, the harder it is to keep the smile in place. his frown deepens without him noticing, an expression out of sync with the rest of the room. around him, people are laughing, carefree, loud with borrowed joy.
caleb feels oddly detached from it all.
he imagines you arriving laterâquietly, maybe, scanning the room once before committing. he imagines spotting you immediately, the way he always does. imagines the subtle recalibration of the night the moment youâre present.
suddenly, someone hooks an arm around his neck and laughs straight into his ear. âdo it,â his friend yells, already half-dancing. âcome on. you always do it.â
caleb exhales through a smile that doesnât quite reach his eyes. âno,â he shakes his head. âiâm not in the mood.â
âyouâre never âin the mood,ââ another voice cuts in. âthatâs why itâs funny.â
hands push at his back, nudging him forward. the music surges, bass heavy enough to feel like a second pulse. caleb resists for a moment longer out of habit, itâs easier to give in than to explain why heâs been standing still for nearly an hour, eyes fixed on the front door like heâs waiting for something to break.
âfine,â he lifts both hands in mock surrender. âone minute, alright?â
and they cheer like theyâve won something, so he lets himself be pulled into the center of the room, where the lights are brighter and the air is warmer, thick with sweat and perfume and noise.
someone presses a bottle into his handâwater, thankfullyâand before he can think better of it, the crowd starts chanting his name.
caleb laughs, genuinely this time. it bubbles up despite himself, because distraction is useful. he moves with the rhythm easily, and he tips the bottle over his head and lets the water spill freely, soaking his hair, streaking down his face and neck, plastering his white shirt to his torso.
the reaction is immediate. the scene causes screams to cut through the music, the attention is loud and uncomplicated and flattering in the most shallow way.
caleb grins, spins once, lifts the bottle again and spills the last of it down his chest.
for a brief, reckless stretch of seconds, itâs fun. genuinely. the kind of fun that asks nothing of him beyond being seen.
and thenâ
he sees you.
youâre standing just off to the side, near the edge of the room where the lights dim and the crowd thins, watching.
your eyes meet his.
and then, everything else falls away.
the music dulls like itâs been wrapped in cloth. the shouting fades to a low, distant roar. calebâs smile falters, muscles forgetting what they were doing. his heart even stutters, then pounds so hard it makes him lightheaded.
youâre wearing a dress.
it shouldnât matter but it does. it falls against you effortlessly, like it was always meant to.
you were watching him and the realization burns. he feels suddenly exposed, absurdly aware of his wet shirt, his damp hair, the heat still radiating off him from movement and attention. the contrast between the spectacle heâs making and the quiet way youâre seeing him makes his chest tighten painfully.
his body stops moving entirely.
then you look away.
just like that.
you turn, slipping through the bodies with the same unhurried ease you always have, as if nothing significant has occurred. as if you havenât just rearranged him from the inside out. you donât even glance back.
caleb almost jolts.
his breath comes shallow, his hand tightening reflexively around the empty bottle before he drops it to the floor.
someone calls his name again, laughing, reaching for him.
but he pulls free.
âhey, whereâre you going?â
he doesnât answer.
he pushes through the crowd, eyes scanning desperately for the curve of your shoulder, the fall of your hair.
the room feels wrong nowâit's too loud, too bright, and too crowded. his heart wonât slow down. his thoughts fracture, scattering around a single, urgent point.
donât leave yet.
he moves faster, following the path you took, letting instinct override everything else.
he has to see you again.
the crowd thins as he moves toward the back of the house, the noise loosening its grip the closer he gets to the open doors. and there you are, seated near the pool, slightly apart from the chaos.
people are clustered around youâlaughing loudly, perhaps tipsy with limbs slung carelessly over deck chairs. someone jumps into the water fully clothed. another spills a drink and doesnât care. you sit at the edge of it all, cup in hand, smiling.
caleb slows.
are you drinking?
the question hits him harder than it should. he watches the way you lift the cup, the way your fingers curl around it.
your expression doesnât give anything away. you donât look loose, or dulled, or different. you look exactly like yourself.
good.
then someone notices him.
âoh shit,â a girl laughs, nudging the person beside her. âitâs caleb.â
heads turn, and the circle opens.
âget over here,â someone calls, waving him closer. âwhyâre you hiding?â
you look up then.
and your eyes meet his again, briefly. no surprise this time, just recognition. like spotting a familiar object in a room you already understand.
caleb steps forward, heart steadying as he joins the group. his shirt is still damp, clinging in places, loose in others. he feels the cool night air against his skin in a way that makes him acutely aware of his body.
one of them whistles. âdamn. the wet look works on you.â
âyeah,â another voice adds. âhe really was overdoing it back there... don't do that unless you want them to keep fawning over you.â
caleb laughs, soft and easy, lifting his shoulders in a small shrug. âi'll keep that in mind.â
the conversation shifts quicklyâschool gossip, someoneâs messy breakup, a professor everyone hates, and rumors about who hooked up with who. caleb listens just enough to respond when expected, nodding, smiling, reacting at the right moments.
but his attention keeps drifting.
of course to you.
he steals glances when he thinks no oneâs watching. the way your smile flickers when someone says something amusing. the way you tilt your head as you listen, engagedâbut not invested.
you speak occasionally, concise and measured, then fall quiet again.
you never look at him.
itâs not avoidance, itâs indifference, pure and unadorned.
you donât glance his way. you donât seek him out. you donât acknowledge the way heâs angled slightly toward you, attention bent in your direction like a compass needle that refuses to behave.
he smiles at a joke someone makes, laughs when itâs appropriate, but all the while his eyes keep betraying himâslipping back to you, again and again.
someone laughs too loudly and says, âokay, but seriouslyâlet's talk about crushes.â
a chorus of groans and cheers follows. couples are named, denied, and confirmed. someone admits to texting their ex. someone else pretends not to care.
then the attention tilts toward you. âwhat about you?â a guy asks, leaning back on his hands. âyou seeing anyone?â
you shake your head lightly. âno.â
âbut do you want to? likeâare you planning to get into a relationship anytime soon?â
calebâs spine straightens without him realizing it. the noise around him fades just enough for your answer to matter too much.
you hum, thoughtful. âi donât know.. maybe.â
âthatâs not an answer,â someone teases.
âokay, thenâdo you have a crush?â
thereâs a beat.
you say, âperhaps i do.â
calebâs heart stutters. itâs not cinematic. itâs the quiet, visceral sensation of something missing a step and never quite landing where it should. his breath catches. his fingers curl slightly at his side.
you have a crush...?
his mind races ahead of itself, cataloging faces, voices, hands that might have lingered too close to you. anyone who has laughed with you too easily. anyone who has walked you home. anyone who has dared toâ
you just look at caleb, eyes unreadable, holding his for a second too long to be accidental.
his system short-circuits, eyes widening a fraction before he can stop them.
the world sharpens and blurs at the same time. he forgets how to sit like a normal person, how to smile on cue, how to breathe without effort.
you look away, and then you sway.
it happens too fast.
your shoulders dip as your hand comes up to your head like youâre trying to catch it before it falls. your cup tilts, liquid spilling a bit darkly down the front of your clothes, splashing onto the concrete.
âwhoaâheyââ
âare you okay?â
caleb registers the number only distantlyâsomeone muttering, half-impressed, half-alarmed, âsheâs had like⌠nine shots, right?ââas if itâs trivia, not explanation.
youâre drunk, more than he thought, more than you should be.
your cup slips from your fingers entirely this time, clattering uselessly as you press your palm to your temple, frowning faintly like the sensation is inconvenient rather than alarming.
âsheâs fine,â someone says, uncertain.
caleb is the one who speaks next.
âhey,â he lifts his hands in a calming gesture. âletâs not make it a whole thing. she just needs to lie down for a bit. donât kill the vibe.â it sounds generous, almost thoughtful.
no one argues right away.
caleb steps closer, and his arm slides behind your back, steadying you before anyone else can decide to do it. âiâve got her,â he adds, already committing to the role.
someone snorts. âlook at you.â
âdidnât know you were like that, caleb.â
he laughs, soft and unbothered, and bends without ceremony. one arm under your knees, the other at your back. you make a small, incoherent sound as he lifts you, surprised by the sudden absence of the ground.
youâre lighter than he imagined.
your body settles against his chest instinctively, head tipping toward his shoulder. your fingers clutch weakly at his damp shirt, more reflex than intention.
the group watches and a few eyes narrow, a few smiles turn teasing instead of amused.
âtaking her upstairs already? bold.â
caleb glances over his shoulder, grin easy and boyish. âjust gonna let her sleep it off, it's best to bring her back when sheâs not about to pass out.â
itâs said with such natural confidence that it closes the subject. the attention drifts back to the pool, the drinks, the noise. suspicion dissolves into disinterest.
good, he thinks.
he turns toward the stairs, indulging in the quiet thrill of itâthe way your weight presses into him, warm and unresisting. your head bumps lightly against his collarbone as he climbs, words slipping out of you in fragments.
âhey,â he murmurs, amused. âeasy.â
you donât answer. your eyes are half-lidded, unfocused, lashes dark against your cheeks. each step creaks underfoot. the party noise fades behind him, replaced by the dull hush of the upper floor.
âyou really overdid it, you know that?â he says lightly, as if you can still comprehend him. ânine shots... impressive, irresponsible, iâm a little proud.â
your head tilts toward his voice. he imagines you listening, he imagines you understanding. âdonât worry though,â he adds, adjusting his grip, âiâve got you.â
he carries you down the hall, savoring the simplicity of itâthe way the night has finally narrowed to just the two of you. and he doesnât hurry at all.
he fumbles for the door with his shoulder, nudging it open inch by inch while keeping his hold on you steady.
then he steps inside and eases the door shut behind him, the click sounds louder than it should.
âokay, here we are.â
the bed creaks softly as he lowers you onto it, careful, impossibly careful, like you might bruise from the wrong kind of attention. he adjusts you so your head meets the pillow, one hand lingering at your side longer than necessary before he pulls back.
for a second, youâre still.
then you stir.
your eyes flutter open, brows knitting together in faint protest. you push yourself up on your elbows, unsteady but stubborn. âiâm okay,â you mumble, words slurring into each other. âiâm fine. i canââ
ânope. lie down. youâre not fineâyouâre drunk.â caleb presses his palm to your shoulder, just enough pressure to guide you back down. "you took care of me last time, now it's my turn."
you let out a small sound of complaint as you sink back into the mattress. your head rolls to the side, hair spilling messily across the pillow.
god.
he exhales slowly through his nose, grounding himself. you look unreal like thisâsoftened by exhaustion with defenses dulled, mouth parted slightly as if mid-thought you forgot to finish. it would be so easy.
he doesnât move closer.
he wonât.
âyou really went all in tonight,â he says lightly, trying to keep the warmth in his voice from tipping into something else. âoverachiever.â
you respond with a string of quiet nonsense, syllables bumping into each other without direction. something about the music. something about being tired. something that might be his nameâor might not.
he smiles despite himself. âyeah,â he murmurs, indulging you. âi know. totally makes sense.â
he reaches out, fingers hovering for a heartbeat before he lets himself touch you at all. just your hair. just that. he tucks a loose strand back from your face, knuckles grazing your temple by accident.
you sigh, content, eyes slipping shut again.
that sound hits him low and dangerous.
âthere you go,â he whispers, almost absurdly gentle. âjust sleep, okay? iâve got you.â
you mumble again, softer this time, words dissolving before they can mean anything. he answers anyway, nodding, âmmhmm. yeah. i know.â
his hand lingers at the edge of your hair, then withdraws, curling into a fist at his side as if to physically hold himself in place. his chest feels too full, too tight, emotion pressing up against restraint until it almost trembles.
he loves you in a way that feels unmanageable.
suddenly, a knock sounded.
three quick raps against the door, cutting straight through the quiet heâd carved out for the two of you.
calebâs expression changes instantly.
the softness drains from his face, replaced by something colderâan irritation that settles deep and heavy in his chest. his jaw tightens. how dare anyone interrupt this. how dare they intrude on a moment that finally feels contained.
he exhales through his nose and stands.
âone second,â
when he opens the door, thereâs a guy standing thereâsomeone from the party, flushed and curious, holding a red cup like an excuse. âoh,â the guy says, blinking. âcaleb?â
âwhat,â caleb replies, already halfway to a glare.
the guy hesitates. glances past him, triesâand failsâto see into the room. âuh, nothing. never mind.â he shrugs, backs away with a sheepish laugh, and disappears down the hall.
caleb doesnât watch him go. he shuts the door immediately and turns the lock with a firm, deliberate twist. the sound of it clicking into place settles something in him.
only then does he turn back around.
youâre still on the bed, exactly where he left you. sometime in the last minute, you mustâve shiftedâyour dress has ridden up slightly, fabric caught higher on your thighs than before.
itâs nothing.
caleb inhales through his mouth, slow and careful, like heâs bracing against a wave.
his gaze fixes for a second too long before he forces it away, muscles in his arms flexing as he resists the instinct to reach, to adjust, to touch.
not like this.
he swallows, grounding himself with the simple facts: youâre drunk. you trusted him. youâre asleep because you feel safe, and that matters more than anything else.
still, his restraint creaks under the weight of how close he is, how easy it would be to blur lines heâs spent so long perfecting. âget it together,â his eyes return to your face instead, but the yearning doesnât leave. it never does.
sighing, he runs a hand through his messy hair, his eyes refocusing on your sleeping form once more. you really do look cute like thatâŚ
at that moment, you shift in your sleepâthe covers around you sliding down your torso as you flip to your other side. immediately, caleb's gaze focuses in on your squished-together cleavage, and his cheeks redden. how could you wear such a dress like that? shouldn't you be weary in a party?
his eyes begin to rake over your soft skinâsettling on the curve of your neck, as he imagines how pretty youâd look covered in his hickies. a dull ache settles in his gut, and while he knows he should stop, he continues to let his mind wander.
he imagines your breasts in his hands, and the quiet little sounds youâd make as he touched youâunable to help yourself. heâs sure your skin is very soft, and he wants to caress every inch of it, until he knows of each mole, scar, or otherwise.
shit, he thinks to himself, hand moving down to palm at his crotch. heâs hard thanks to his roaming imagination, but as much as he wants to touch you, that would be really wrong... right?
caleb swallows harshly, and despite himself, his hand reaches down to grab the edge of your covers. slowly, he peels them down your sleeping formânot too surprised that you donât awake. one of your friends had joked about your sleeping habitsâone being that once you got to sleep, it was very hard to wake you during the first few hours.
he hates that he gets aroused at the idea of touching you while youâre unaware. butâŚit would be so easy. so easy to just slip your tank top down your shouldersâŚlistening to you quietly moan while he sucks on your titsâhis fingers finding their way beneath your shortsâŚ
before he can think twice, he finds himself lowering onto the bed beside you. gently, he grips your shoulder and rolls you onto your back, releasing a breath he hadnât realized heâd been holding when you donât stir.
surely, he'd be going to hell for this...
reaching out, he cups your breast though your shirtâthe flesh squishing beneath his fingertips. he feels your nipple hardenâpressing up against the flat of his palmâand a quiet chuckle sneaks past his lips. even in your sleep, your body canât deny its desires, huh?
gaining a little courage, caleb slips the straps of your dress off of your shouldersâadditional inches of skin becoming exposed to his hungry eyes. and despite wanting to rip it off of youâhe works slowlyâpeeling the fabric down inch by inch until finally, your breasts are fully accessible.
abruptly, he leans overâflattening his tongue against one of your nipples and giving an experimental lick. at the sensation, your breathing hitches slightly, but you donât awaken. it makes him grin, hand reaching out to claim the other mound as his mouth continues working at the present one.
despite being asleep, itâs clear that your body has sensed a change. quiet whines begin to build in your throatâeyebrows furrowing on your forehead. however, the sounds only urge caleb to proceed.
his tongue continues swirling around your taut nippleâteeth gently nipping at the bud on occasion, and the whines that leave you in response has his cock straining against his underwear. without ceasing, his eyes drag down your torso, pausing at the crotch of your shorts. he can see your thighs clenching ever so slightly.
âpipsqueak....â he mumbles to himself, his hot breath fanning against you. âdo you want something to happen between us? that the reason why you're wearing this dress?â
caleb sucks your tit into his mouth a bit more harder, and you mewl beneath him. you stir slightly, your limbs stretching against the sheets, but caleb is too distracted to care. if you wake up, then you wake up. however, until then, he has no intention of stopping.
his chest fills with a warmth so complete it almost hurts. thisâthisâis how it was always supposed to be.
thenâ
the fantasy fractures.
caleb blinks, sharply, like waking from a dream.
heâs still there, standing near the door.
the bed is still between you, and the light hasnât changed, and the door is still locked. youâre still asleep, unaware of him in every way that matters. his hands are empty, hanging stiffly at his sides.
nothing happened.
the absence is... jarring. his mouth feels wrong, like itâs remembering pressure that was never there. his heart pounds too fast, as if itâs been fooled into thinking something has already been claimed.
he exhales, dragging a hand down his face. âjesus,â
he straightens, forcing his weight back onto his heels, reestablishing distance like itâs a rule he has to keep reminding himself of. âyouâre unbelievable,â
the thought that he could be cruelâthat cruelâsettles heavy in his chest. not because he fears crossing the line, but because he knows how badly he wants to pretend itâs already gone.
it settles low and insistent, a pressure that makes his stomach knot and his breath go shallow. caleb stays where he is for a moment too long, staring at the line of your body beneath borrowed sheets, at the quiet trust written into the way you sleep.
he turns away abruptly, like the sight of you has burned him. his steps are quiet as he crosses the room, the bathroom door is right there, just across the bed. close enough to feel like an escape route heâs been pretending not to see.
and in there he goes to work on himself.
one hand braces against the porcelain, tendons standing out stark beneath his skin. the other reaches down, his long fingers wrapping around the thick, throbbing length of his cock. he could feel every vein, every ridge, every sensitive nerve ending crying out for stimulation. and slowly, torturously, he began to stroke himself, his fingers gliding up and down his aching flesh with a sensual rhythm.
he leans forward slightly, forehead almost touching the mirror, shoulders rising and falling. "ah, fuck,"
the chain around his neck swings faintly. and without thinking, he lifts it and bites down on the dog tag, metal cold against his teeth. the familiar weight gives him something to clench around, something to muffle the sounds that threatens to break loose from his chest.
caleb's breath began to come faster, his chest heaving with the exertion of his strokes as he tried to lose himself in the fantasy, in the imagined scenario of you unwittingly inspiring his lust. his grip tightened, fist pumping faster along his thick shaft.
"fuck, fuck, fuck," he chanted dazedly, his hips starting to rock into his touch. wonder what you'd do if you knew it was you he was thinking about, you he was imagining as he touched himself like this? would you be shocked? aroused? disgusted?
he swallowed back the groan that threatened to spill from his lips, biting down hard on the metal of his dog tag instead.
his strokes grew even more urgent, more desperate, his fist a blur as it flew over his cock. "nmnnghh...!" he could feel the pressure building, the need coiling tighter and tighter in his core.
"i'm.. so...close," his eyes squeezed shut, his other hand gripping hard around the sink's edge until the pleasure bordered on pain, and finally, finally, he came with a silent, shuddering groan that wracked his frame.
thick ropes of cum erupted from his cock, splattering across his hand and dripping down onto the floor. his body jerked and spasmed, his hips bucking wildly as he rode out the waves of his intense release. and still, he bit back the sounds of his rapture, his face contorted in a silent scream of ecstasy.
he rests his back against the cool tile, letting the wall take his weight.
his head tips back just enough to expose his throat, breath shuddering as he triesâagainâto find its rhythm. in through the nose. out through parted lips. slow it down. contain it.
his jaw loosens, and the dog tag slips free from between his teeth and falls back against his chest.
caleb closes his eyes.
for a moment, all he can feel is the aftermathâhis hand slides up to press flat against the door beside him, steadying himself as if the room might tilt.
if he's this lost in just masturbating to the thought of you, what more if he finally gets to be inside you?
god.
it unsettles him how easy it is, how effortlessly you undo him without ever touching him, without even knowing.
just the thought of you reduces him to this quiet wreck trying to remember how to breathe like a normal person. he lets out a soft, humorless laugh under his breath.
âyou have no idea,â
he opens his eyes and stares at nothing, replaying you with surgical clarity: the curve of your mouth when you smile without thinking. the way your voice stays even, never bending toward him the way his bends toward you every time.
the simple fact of your presence, enough to tip him off balance...
~
you wake up with your head split clean down the middle, light pressing too hard against your eyes, your mouth feels really dry and sour with regret. the room is unfamiliarâstripped of the partyâs noise like it never existed. the bed beneath you isnât yours, either.
your phone is on the nightstand, charged, and your shoes are lined up by the door.
someone sure took care of you.
the memory comes back in pieces.
caleb...
you sit up slowly, head throbbing, and scan the room. he isnât here. no messages or anything like that - just the quiet evidence of his presence, already cleaned away. you donât feel panicked. you donât feel grateful either. mostly, you feel mildly inconvenienced by the gap in your memory.
monday morning arrives then.
by the time you make it to campus, the social hall hums with weekday lifeâvoices layered over each other, chairs scraping, the smell of coffee and crowd. you sit with your friends at one of the long tables, hands wrapped around a paper cup, listening as they dissect friday night like itâs a shared dream.
âi donât remember half of it,â someone laughs.
âyou disappeared,â another points out, looking at you. âwe thought you left.â
âmaybe i did,â you say, rubbing your temple. across you, a table away, someone is asleep.
hood pulled low, arms crossed on the table, head turned away just enough that you canât make out his face. his posture is unbothered, like he belongs anywhere he decides to stay. something about the shape of him tugs at your attentionâfamiliar, but not urgent enough to investigate.
your friend keeps talking.
âhey,â she says suddenly, lowering her voice. âhave you seen jaden lately?â
you blink. âno, i haven't,â
âhe hasnât been around,â another adds. âlikeâat all. hasnât replied to anyone. itâs been, what, almost three weeks?â
three weeks?
you frown faintly, thinking. jadenâs name slides through your head and bumps into the memory of rain soaking through your clothes as youâd laughed under a borrowed umbrella, him walking you home, and the wet pavements.
that was the last time, wasnât it?
âmaybe heâs busy,â you say, because itâs the easiest explanation. âor sick.â
someone shrugs. the conversation drifts on, attention pulled elsewhere, already bored of absence.
you take another sip of coffee and glance, without really meaning to, at the sleeping figure across your table.
the hoodie shifts slightly, and his hand moves, just enough to suggest awareness.
you look away.
âmaybe we should check on jaden,â you say, stirring your drink absently. âlike⌠go to his apartment later or something. just to make sure heâs alive.â
a few people nod. someone says, âyeah, do that. i'm starting to get worried of him.â
then someone laughs, sharp and sudden. âoh my god, waitâspeaking of friday.â
you hum in response, distracted.
âthe crush thing,â she continues. âby the pool.â
âyou remember that?â another voice chimes in, grinning at you. âwhen we asked who your crush was?â
you pause.
âyou totally looked at someone, like very obviously.â
âyeah,â someone else adds. âyou looked right atââ
you cut in. âit wasnât obvious.â your tone is flat, mildly corrective.
âcome on,â they insist. âwho was it?â
thereâs a stretch of silence that feels longer than it is.
âi donât really talk about that stuff,â you say.
they groan and continue to push.
âokay, but hypothetically.â
âjust say it.â
âwe already know.â
you sigh. and finally, you give them what they want. âwhat about it if i like caleb?â
the words land without flourish. there's no smile, no nervous laugh. your voice stays even, almost bored with the confession. you continue, as if clarifying a logistical detail. âheâs my type.â
thatâs it.
âoh my god,â someone laughs, leaning closer. âyou know what people say about caleb, right?â
you hum noncommittally, already half-detached as the teasing starts to pile up. âapparently he lives at the gym.â
âyeah, have you seen his back?â
âyou should check his socials,â another adds, grinning. âitâs honestly unfair.â
you roll your eyes, slow and deliberate. âiâm not doing homework on a guy,â you mildly scoff. âif i wanted to look, i would.â
that earns a chorus of groans and mock disappointment. someone nudges your shoulder, someone else mutters that youâre impossible. you let it wash over you, because rumors donât interest you and bodies donât impress you enough to warrant effort. caleb remains, in your mind, exactly what heâs always been.
the bell rings.
chairs scrape back, conversations fracture mid-sentence, and people scatter toward their respective buildings. you stand, sling your bag over your shoulder, and follow the flow without looking back.
you donât see the way the figure at the other table stirs the moment your footsteps fade. the slow lift of his head. the way his body uncoils like heâs been awake far longer than anyone suspects.
caleb slides the hoodie back from his hair.
his face is faintly flushed, color blooming high along his cheekbones. his eyesâa little too wideâtrack the empty space you left behind. a hand comes up, absentminded, to rake through his hair, leaving it artfully disheveled in a way that looks unintentional and isnât.
for a second, he just sits there. then he exhales, something breathless and disbelieving, mouth curving into a smile thatâs soft and stunned all at once.
you like him.
caleb slowly stands, shoulders rolling back as he slips fully into himself again. by the time he moves to join the current of students, heâs wide awake now.
~
after class, the sky has settled into that dull, undecided gray that makes everything feel suspended.
jadenâs building is older than the rest nearbyâthree floors, narrow stairwell, paint chipped thin from years of use. you climb to the third floor with a growing sense of unease, phone already in your hand.
you stop in front of his door to knock.
nothing.
you dial his number as you wait, pressing the phone to your ear, listening to it ring unanswered. you knock again, louder this time. still nothing.
minutes bleed together. ten. twenty. almost thirty.
youâre just starting to consider calling someoneâanyoneâwhen you hear footsteps behind you.
âhey,â a voice says, familiar enough to make you turn immediately. âyou.â
you look over your shoulder.
and itâs... caleb?
heâs dressed downâblack compression shirt clinging cleanly to his torso, sleeves hugging muscle without effort. a black cap shadows his eyes, brim low and casual. heâs carrying two grocery bags, one in each hand.
he pauses when he sees you, eyebrows lifting just a little.
âwhat are you doing here?â you ask, the concern in your voice overriding any social preamble.
he tilts his head, then nods toward the door youâve been knocking on. âi was gonna ask you the same thing.â
you glance back at jadenâs door, then at caleb. âiâm checking on a friend. he hasnât answered anyone in weeks.â
caleb follows your gaze, his expression shifts into a thoughtful one. âoh, well, i live here.â
you blink. âhere?â
he gestures vaguely down the hall, then back toward the door beside you. âyeah, third floor.â
the words settle slowly.
ââŚwait, you and jadenââ
âare neighbors,â caleb finishes easily.
the hallway feels smaller all of a sudden, quieter, like the air has been rearranged around the information.
you didnât know that.
you didnât know a lot of things, apparently.
caleb shifts the grocery bags in his hands, plastic rustling softly. âheâs not answering?â
âno... iâve been here for a while.â
he hums, considering, eyes flicking once more to the door. âthatâs weird,â he says calmly. and somehow, the way he says it makes you feel like it isnât.
he glances at your phone, then at the door again, as if checking the same conclusion you already reached. âhave you eaten?â he asks, casual, like it just occurred to him.
you shake your head. ânot really.â
thereâs a brief pauseâbarely thereâbefore he nods once. âthen while we wait,â he says, shifting the grocery bags in his hands, âyou can come to my place, was about to make dinner anyway.â
you hesitate.
itâs instinctive, the kind of pause you donât consciously justify. this wasnât part of the plan. you were supposed to knock, worry, maybe leave a message taped to a door. not follow someone into their apartment.
caleb doesnât rush you. he just waits, patient, like he already knows how this will go.
ââŚokay,â
his place is a few doors away.
inside, the apartment closes around you with a quiet thud. the interior is stark in a way that feels intentional: concrete tones, sharp lines, furniture chosen for function rather than comfort. itâs quite clean, but not welcoming.
gloomy, you think, without quite meaning it as a criticism.
caleb sets the grocery bags down on the counter and reaches up to pull off his cap. he ruffles his hair once, resetting himself now that youâre here. then he looks at you.
âiâll cook steak, how's that?â
you blink, processing, then nod. âsure.â
you move toward the kitchen island and take a seat on one of the tall chairs, legs dangling slightly as you settle in. the surface is cool beneath your palms. from here, you can see everythingâhis movements, the quiet efficiency with which he unpacks the groceries.
he moves like this is normal.
like this is planned.
he knows youâre watching.
not because youâre obvious about itâyou arenâtâbut because caleb has always been painfully attuned to the way your attention moves.
his back faces you as he cooks. the pan hisses softly, oil blooming into heat. he rolls his shoulders once, sleeves of the compression shirt hugging muscle like it was designed to be admired. he doesnât turn around. he lets you look.
then you stop.
you reach for your phone instead. caleb catches the faint shift in your posture in the reflection of the blackened microwave door.
he's a bit sad you've stopped looking at him. nonetheless, he salts the steak with care, flips it, listens.
your friendâs voice echoes in your headâcheck his social mediaâand you do.
caleb doesnât post. you already knew that. there's no grid, no carefully curated persona. just a profile picture and silence.
exceptâthere's a story posted an hour ago.
your thumb taps before you can reconsider.
itâs a mirror shot with gym lighting, and his back to the glass, shirt pulled just enough to expose the clean, brutal lines of muscle and spine, skin sheened with sweat. the kind of photo that isnât trying to be sexyâand is, because of it.
you feel heat rush up your neck.
caleb smiles to himself.
he turns then, quiet as a thought, and you donât hear him approach. youâre still staring at your phone when his shadow falls over you, close enough that you can smell him.
âyou were really drunk last friday,â he says mildly.
you jolt.
âiââ you lock your phone, flustered and mortified. âiâm sorry. i didnât mean toââ
your words tangle, and caleb watches them fall apart with fond patience. âdid iâŚ,â you hesitate, cheeks warm now for a different reason. âdid i say anything weird? or did anything inappropriate?â
that gets him.
he stills. the pan sizzles behind him, forgotten for half a beat too long. his gaze drops to your faceâalmost tender in how carefully he studies your worry.
inappropriate.
the word is almost funny.
he thinks of your weight against him, your breath, the way you trusted him without ever saying so.
caleb pauses just long enough to make the silence mean something. then he smiles. slowly.
he reaches out before you can interpret it, taps your cheek twice with his palm, light as a promise. âwhat if,â he murmurs, âiâm the one who did something inappropriate?â
he straightens before you can respond, turns back to the stove like he hasnât just tipped the room off its axis.
but his ears are burning.
you stay quiet.
he exhales first. âiâm kidding, you didnât do anything inappropriate. nothing happened.â he doesnât look at you when he says it. he turns back to the stove, gives the steak one last glance, lets the heat kiss it just right. control, caleb reminds himself.
restraint looks good on him. it always has.
when he plates the food, he does it neatly, he sets it down in front of you with a soft clink, the meat resting perfectly with juices glistening. he watches your eyes widen despite yourself.
you dig in almost immediately, hunger winning over caution. caleb leans against the counter, digging in as well, arms folding loosely as he watches you eat like it matters. like you trust what heâs given you.
âthis is really good,â you say around a bite, unguarded.
his smile comes easy at that. âthank you, sweetheart.â
then you pause.
he notices before you do.
your gaze flicks to his mouth, brows knitting just slightly. caleb tilts his head curiouslyâand thatâs when you reach out.
your finger brushes his lip. just once, absent-minded, intimate in a way that isnât trying to be. âyouâve got something,â
caleb stills.
his heart slams so hard it almost hurts.
for half a second, the world narrows to the press of your fingertip, the faint heat of you, the obscene tenderness of the gesture. he doesnât move. doesnât breathe. doesnât dare.
then he laughsâunder his breathâas if that might save him. âcareful,â he says, eyes dropping to his plate. âyou act like that with guys, youâre gonna get yourself a boyfriend real fast.â
you scoff immediately. âno i wonât.â
caleb hums, amused, and thenâwithout thinking, without filtering the thought as he usually doesâhe adds, âyou didnât seem to mind when you were with jaden. laughing and leaning into him under that umbrella.â
you blink.
âhow did youâ?â
caleb blinks back.
shit.
the realization hits him a fraction too late, sharp and sudden. he straightens just a bit. he hadnât meant to say it like that. he hadnât meant to say it at all.
he laughs again, a little louder this time. âpeople talk, you know how it is.â he watches you closely as he says it, watches to see if you believe him. âjadenâs a good guy, from what i hear.â
you take another bite of steak, slower now. âyou sure hear a lot.â
he smiles at that, âonly whatâs worth hearing.â
there it isâthat faint edge beneath the joke. it pricks at you, subtle but present. you glance up at him, the way his eyes stay on you a second too long before flicking away.
âhe hasnât been answering anyone,â you say. âitâs weird.â
âmm.â caleb hums, âheâs like that sometimes, right? just disappears.â
ânot like this.â you pause, watching his reaction. âitâs been weeks.â
caleb tilts his head considering. âpeople change though.â
the way he says it makes your fingers curl faintly against the plate. you let out a breathy laugh, half-joking. âyou sound like you donât like him.â
he chuckles, âi donât dislike him. i just donât think heâs very⌠reliable.â
âand you know that how?â
caleb finally meets your gaze head-on. thereâs warmth thereâalwaysâbut itâs concentrated now, focused in a way that makes your stomach tighten. âi pay attention,â
you should brush it off. you almost do. instead, you find yourself leaning back in the chair. âyou notice a lot about me too,â
âyouâre not hard to notice.â
that should be flattering.
and yet, you swallow. âyou knew what burger i liked, you knew i hadnât eaten today, you knew about jaden and the umbrella.â
caleb lets out a quiet laugh, like youâve amused him. âare those crimes now?â
ânoâŚjust interesting.â
for the first time since you sat down, caleb moves closer. âyou donât mind, do you?â he asks, âme paying attention?â
âi donât know,â
his eyes soften at that, something almost tender flickering through them. but beneath itâyou catch something else. possession, maybe. or anticipation. âthatâs okay, you donât have to know yet.â
you look away first, heart doing something uncomfortable in your chest. part of you wants to push. to ask how he knows so much. why it feels like heâs always one step ahead of your questions.
you finish the last bite slower than the rest, more aware now of the quiet between movements. caleb notices, but he doesnât comment. he simply reaches for your plate when youâre done.
âiâll wash these later,â he says, setting both plates in the sink. he turns back to you, leaning his hip lightly against the counter, and his gaze lingers on you in a way that feels⌠assessing. âdo you still want to stay? i was going to take a half bath.â
you shake your head. âi should get going.â
âthen iâll walk you out,â he says, âafter i rinse off.â
âyou donât have toââ
âitâs fine.â his tone is warm, agreeable. non-negotiable in a way that doesnât raise its voice. âjust a few minutes.â
you hesitate, then nod. âalright...â
thatâs all it takes. he turns away from you and heads toward the bathroom, rolling his shoulders as he goes, already loosening the tension from his body. you watch him disappear past the doorwayâthe broad line of his back, the confident ease of his stepsâuntil the door clicks shut behind him.
you tell yourself youâre only looking because waiting feels awkward, because standing still makes you too aware of the running water down the hall, of the fact that caleb is alone behind a locked door, rinsing heat and effort from his skin while you remain in his space.
you step off the chair quietly.
from calebâs perspectiveâthough heâs not here to see itâyou move the way you always do when youâre thinking, eyes tracing rather than darting, and the apartment opens up to you in fragments.
a book on the side table. not just any bookâone you mentioned once, offhandedly, weeks ago. you never said you owned it. only that you liked the ending. there it is anyway, dog-eared at the same chapter youâd quoted.
a spare mug in the cabinet, chipped in a familiar place. the same brand you keep at home.
even the way the furniture is arranged feels tailored to someone who dislikes clutter, who hates feeling boxed in.
to you.
your curiosity sharpens into something colder.
so you move farther in. the sound of the shower continues steadily, a soft rush through the wall, distant but present. caleb is taking his time. he always does when he thinks he has it.
you stop short at the center table.
thereâs a necklace there. a small, familiar pendant that youâve seen disappear beneath shirts more times than you can count.
jadenâs.
your breath catches, like your body forgot how to finish the inhale. your fingers hover above it, then pull back as if the metal might burn you.
why is this here?
your mind scrambles for explanations that donât quite land. borrowing? coincidence? something youâre missing? but the weight in your chest doesnât lift. it sinks deeper, spreading nauseatingly.
behind you, the hallway seems longer now. calebâs bedroom door is closed. and it shouldnât matter. itâs none of your business. youâve already crossed some invisible line just by being here, by looking.
and yet, the shower keeps running.
you swallow. it's just a peek, you think.
you move down the hallway like youâre trespassing inside a thought that isnât yours.
every step is quiet, your attention split between the closed bedroom door ahead of you and the bathroom behindâwhere the shower still runs. the sound should reassure you. instead, it presses against your nerves, reminding you that caleb is here.
the air feels cooler in the corridor, much denser. you stop in front of his bedroom door. your heart thuds loud enough that youâre certain it must be audible, a traitorous rhythm in your ears as you lift your hand. your fingers hover, trembling just slightly, before curling around the doorknob.
just a peek, you tell yourself again. just enough to quiet the unease.
you donât get the chance to.
before you can turn, a large hand comes down against the doorframe beside your head, close enough that you feel the vibration of it more than you hear it.
you gasp and spin, losing your balance for half a second before instinct catches up.
caleb is there, just stepped out of the bathroom, shirtless, skin still damp, droplets tracing slow paths down his chest and disappearing beneath the waistband of loose black pants. his hair is darkened from the water, and a small towel hangs around his neck to catch its dampness.
from calebâs perspective, the sight of you like thisâcaught mid-reach and eyes wideâis almost unbearable. not because itâs shocking, because itâs intimate. because it feels like heâs walked in on a truth you were trying not to admit to yourself.
he smiles, like this is exactly where he expected to find you.
âwhatâre you doing?â he asks gently.
his voice is calm. too calm. it contrasts painfully with the way your pulse spikes, the way heat floods your face. you open your mouth to answer, but the words donât cooperate. they tangle, stall, dissolve before they can become excuses.
âiâ i was justââ you stop, frustrated, swallowing hard.
caleb doesnât interrupt, nor does he move his hand. he leans slightly closer instead, not enough to touch you, but enough that youâre acutely aware of the warmth radiating from him. his eyes stay on your face, patient, intent, and unblinking.
take your time, he thinks.
finally, you straighten, forcing yourself to breathe evenly, to meet his gaze head-on. ââŚyouâre unsettling me, caleb.â
for a split second, something flickers behind his eyesâsurprise, maybe. then something warmer, almost pleased.
âunsettling?â he repeats softly, like the word interests him. he tilts his head, studying you with an intensity that makes your skin feel too tight. âi didnât mean to make you uncomfortable, but you wandered pretty far in.â
you donât step back.
that, more than anything, is what caleb notices first.
your pulse is loudâhe can see it, jumping at your throatâbut your spine stays straight. your expression settles into something almost flat, as if fear has to pass through several filters before itâs allowed to show. it intrigues him.
you draw in a breath. âyou...watch me too much,â caleb doesnât interrupt, he lets you go on. âyou know things you shouldnât, like- like my habits, my preferences. and jaden. i donât tell you everything, so explain how you know.â
all caleb could think about is how beautiful you are right now.
the way you confront him without dramatics, the way you donât ask why, only how. the way you keep your distance emotionally even now, even cornered in a hallway with his arm blocking the door.
he catches every word and every place where you could have softened and chose not to.
âi pay attention,â he says again, but this time itâs quieter, more honest than it should be.
"really? crossing the line is... paying attention?"
"no line has ever mattered to me when it comes to you."
you scoff, faint and humorless. âthatâs not an answer.â
he smiles wider, the kind of smile people trust. âit is, just not the one youâre expecting.â he shifts his weight, finally lowering his arm from the doorframeâhe wants you to feel like youâve regained ground. âyouâre observant too, you just donât like what this one implies.â
you search his face, clearly trying to decide whether heâs deflecting or confessing. he lets you. heâs good at thisâknows exactly how much to give. âi donât mean to make you uneasy,â he says softly. âbut when you care about someone, you remember things. that doesnât make it sinister.â
care?
he watches how the word lands. how you donât react the way most people would. just a narrowing of your eyes, analytical.
âyouâre twisting it,â you say. âi didnât say you cared.â
âyou didnât have to.â he tilts his head, âif you want me to stop doing something, tell me what it is. donât guess at my intentions. youâll only scare yourself.â
itâs subtle, he reframes your fear as imagination, your instincts as overthinking. and it makes you hesitate just for a second.
youâre scared, yesâbut youâre also curious. and that curiosity is the crack heâs been waiting for. âi donât like feeling like i donât know where i stand,â
caleb nods, as if thatâs the most reasonable thing in the world. âthen stay right here, i wonât move you.â
you donât realize it yetâbut the moment you chose to confront him instead of leaving, heâd already won something. and caleb, patient as ever, is more than happy to let you believe this was your move.
you stand there, barely breathing, and caleb notices every subtle shift in your posture. he takes it all in, cataloging it quietly, a predator and a poet at once.
âi think itâs time,â he murmurs, almost a caress. âtime you understood⌠everything.â
you donât respond. you canât. your chest has tightened so suddenly that every breath feels precious.
he leans slightly, just enough for the shadow of him to fall across your face. âeverything about me. everything i've needed. everything i've⌠wanted.â
his words arenât rushed. theyâre seductive in the quietest, deadliest wayâand youâre just speechless, caught in the pull of his gaze.
âyou donât know how youâre supposed to feel, do you?â he says, a small smirk playing at the corner of his lips. his thumb brushes lightly against your jaw, ghosting a line that makes your pulse jump. âdonât worry...most people donât.â
thereâs a pause, just long enough for your own heartbeat to fill your ears.
maybe the problem isn't me, caleb thinks. maybe... it's you.
âdo you want to hear a secret?â he asks, voice dropping lower.
you just stare at him, flabbergasted, breath hitching.
âgood,â he murmurs, interpreting your silence as consent. âiâll take that as a yes.â
before your brain can even catch up, he moves. his hand cups your chin with an ease that leaves you no choice but to tilt your head up, and the other braces against the door behind you.
"mm-!" his lips press against yours, the heat from his chest pressing fully into yours, and your knees threaten to buckle.
he doesnât pull away, not when youâre beautifully breathless, not when your hands twitch, uncertain where to place them. he leans in just enough that every inch of him presses into your senses.
âyouâre mine,â he whispers against your lips, and itâs not a threat. itâs a promise, and you canât think, canât respond, canât even fully comprehend how tight your body has gone under the weight of it.
from his perspective, every second is perfection: your hesitation, your surprise, the flush rising on your cheeks, the way youâre pinned yet unresisting. he leans in just a fraction more, teeth grazing the soft curve of your lower lip as he deepens the kiss, and he doesnât plan on ever letting go.
he whispers again, âiâve wanted you for so long,â and it vibrates against your skin, against the fragile line of your lips, as if every word is carefully designed to consume you.
you close your eyes, heart hammering in your chest, caught between disbelief and the strange, undeniable comfort of being consumed by him.
âyou feelâŚâ he murmurs against your lips, a vibration you feel more than hear, âso good. so... goddamn.. good.â
his teeth graze your lower lip just enough to make you shiver. he moves down your jawline, tracing it with the same precise attention he uses when memorizing the curves of your body, mapping each line with reverent obsession.
your pulse spikes, your skin feels too hot, too alive. and his hand slides gently around your waist, pulling you closer, anchoring you against him. the other rises slowly, threading into your hair at the nape of your neck, tilting your head so the column of your throat is exposed. he inhales it, lips grazing, tasting, a feather-light press that leaves you breathless.
he whispers again, âyouâre mine⌠mine to notice, mine to keepâŚâ
caleb's damp hair clings to his forehead, strands falling slightly over his eyes. the faint sheen on his skin catches the light from the hallway, highlighting the taut planes of muscle beneath the skinâhis shoulders, chest, arms.
he moves down to your collarbone, lips brushing, teasing, savoring. every exhale against your skin is a confession, a claim, a promise. his hands explore just enough to make you aware of his strength, his control, without ever forcing or frightening you.
he mumbles against your throat, words melting into the skin: âevery piece of you⌠every thought⌠iâve wanted it all. and now i can have just this.â
and for some reason, against all reason, it feels right. you lean into him, surrendering, letting him hold you, map youânot cruelly, but with the slow, dainty precision of someone who has memorized every part of you, who savors each moment as if you were his favorite candy.
caleb smiles against your skin, confident. devastatingly sexy.
you pull away suddenly, hands pressing against his chest with more force than you meant to use.
caleb lets himself be pushed back.
that, more than anything, steals the breath from your lungs.
his body yields easily, a half-step back, palms open at his sides like heâs showing you he never intended to trap you. the space between you snaps open, cold and dizzying.
you turn your face away and breathe. once. twice. again. your heart is loud, disobedient. âitâsââ you start, then stop, swallowing. âitâs too fast.â
caleb watches you like heâs watching weather roll inâyou keep going because stopping feels worse. âiâve never⌠kissed anyone like that. i donât know how far this is supposed to go.â
when you finally look back at him, you realize he hasnât interrupted once. heâs just staring at you.
then he leans in slightly and murmurs, almost to himself, âyou look...beautiful even when youâre overwhelmed.â
ââŚwhat?â
was he even listening?
heat rushes up your neck, straight to your face, traitorous and immediate. your reaction betrays you before you can mask it, and caleb sees itâhis lips curve faintly then.
âi was listening, i just didnât want to stop looking at you.â his hand lifts slowly, deliberately, like heâs giving you time to pull away again if you want to. you donât.
the back of his fingers brush your cheek, feather-light, barely there. then your shoulder. then the curve of your hip, just tracing, like heâs reminding himself youâre real.
your breath catches.
and caleb takes your hand next, guiding it gently, reverently, as if itâs something fragile. he brings it to his mouth and presses a kiss into your knuckles, there's a soundless whimper of devotion more than desire.
he lifts his gaze to yours, eyes undone in a way that feels far more dangerous than confidence. âdo you know how badly youâve imprinted yourself on me?â he whispers.
caleb eases back just enough for you to breathe. it costs him more than you could ever see. âwe can stop, if you want to.â
his body betrays him anyway.
from where you stand, you can see itâthe way his fingers curl slightly, as if resisting the urge to pull you back in. the way he's fixed on you with an intensity that borders on hunger. heâs still close enough that you feel his warmth, still angled toward you like gravity hasnât released its hold.
he means what he says, but he also doesnât want it to be true. inside calebâs head, he begs silently.
don't stop. please donât stop.
his thoughts crowd in, sharp and feverish, all orbiting you. the way your breath hitched when you pulled away, the way your hand felt in his, the way your mouth softened under his. he wantsâno, needsâto continue, to show you how carefully he could unravel you, how deeply he already has.
say yes, his mind pleads. let me keep going. let me prove it.
his chest aches with the force of it, with the restraint heâs forcing on himself. he has done terrible things with calm hands and a clear head. he has crossed lines without flinching, cleaned up messes the world never noticed.
for you.
he doesnât think the words out loud. he never would. but the truth sits heavy and warm in his chest: he has already chosen you over everyone else. irrevocably.
outwardly, he softens his grip, though he doesnât fully let go. his thumb strokes once, unconsciously, over your wristâan echo of possession he hasnât earned yet.
âi donât want to scare you,â caleb says, voice roughened by restraint. âi just⌠want you to choose.â
his eyes search your face, desperate in a way thatâs barely contained, like a fault line just under the surface. heâs smiling, but itâs fragile.
choose me, he thinks. choose this. choose now.
you donât answer himânot yes, not noâand the silence stretches. he exhales softly, a slow sigh that curves into a smile, as if heâs already forgiven you for hesitating.
âitâs okay,â he murmurs, âyou donât have to rush.â
his hand lifts again, unhurried, and this time you donât pull away. from his perspective, this feels like standing at the edge of something sacred.
his finger traces a careful path down the center of your chestâa line of awareness following his touch. he watches your breathing change, then lower, to your stomach, then down to your lower abdomen where he presses lightly, testing, grounding you in the moment.
âdoes that feel good?â he asks.
you donât answer, your silence thrills him more than words ever could.
his finger drifts a little further, right where your clit is. the pressure is firmer now, deliberate but still restrained, as if heâs asking permission without actually asking. he repeats the question, âdoes it?â
your throat works, you hesitate, then you nod.
calebâs breath catches. itâs sharp, involuntary, the kind of reaction he canât fully hide. his smile deepens into satisfaction, eyes flicking up to your face like heâs just been handed proof of something he already knew.
âgood,â he murmurs, approval threaded through the word. "i'll... just do this," he sneaks his hand under your shorts, feeling the dampness of your panty on his digits. this makes you squirm, the back of your hand covering your face. "i'll put it in, okay?" caleb's just about to shove a finger in, when you grab his wrist almost frantically.
"waitâ"
"hmm?" caleb stops short, eyes flicking up to you. "what's wrong, dear?"
"i... isn't that painful?"
his look of curiosity then turns into one of delight, how cute you are. "have you not tried putting your own finger in?"
"wh- why would you ask me that?"
"so i know how many fingers i can put in," caleb drags his voice in a seductive manner, eyes intentionally looking you down. "and how fast i can go," he continues pressing on your clit with little nudges. "and... how deep i should be."
you've lost count of how many times caleb have had your mouth ajar, utterly perplexed at this man's range of quality. there you are again, staring at him with furrowed brows, and despite yourself, you can feel your pussy clenching around nothing at his words.
"let's make a deal, pip," caleb places an open-mouthed kiss on your jawline, and instinctively, you tilt your head and shut your eyes. "every time you don't speak, i'll do whatever i want with you, 'kay?"
"aah!" that's what you let out the second caleb slides a long finger in, your hands flying to his shoulders for something to grip onto.
he catches your mouth, sealing your noises with a feverish lapping while his fingers linger at your slick heat, skimming just enough to make you ache, barely breaching you before retreating again.
when instinct makes you try to escape from his hand, his grip tightens, stopping you coldâand the small sound you make is answered only by his cruel restraint. he pulls his fingers back, not to leave you alone, but to continue tormenting your bud, circling, brushing, deliberately avoiding both your clit and the relief of letting himself sink inside.
without any warning, caleb pulls away and buries his face into your neck, his teeth sink into your skin as two of his fingers slide into you in one smooth motion. a shaky sound slips from your throat, the sharp sting blurring into heat, and when you instinctively try to move away from his hand, he bites you againâan unspoken command to stay still.
you part your lips to tell him to slow down, but he steals the moment from youâhis mouth claiming yours as his fingers drive into you with sudden intent. his tongue presses past your teeth, devouring every broken sound you make, swallowing them whole while his hand moves with an unrelenting rhythm. itâs rough, almost punishing, and he knows itâs exactly what pulls the gasps from your chestâthe obscene, wet sounds of his movements filling the room with every sharp roll of his wrist.
âcâcaleb,â you choke out, between the kisses, your legs threatening to give beneath you, already spiraling toward release as his fingers strike that sensitive place inside you again and again.
"yeah?" caleb breathes, the veins in his arm almost poking out as he makes an effort to piston into you with just two of his fingers.
you roll your head back against the door, arms now wrapping around his neck. you hate how the heat in your gut is starting to betray you. "f-feels good, caleb..." you cry out, tears starting to form around the corners of your eyes.
caleb stills abruptly, the sound of your voice cutting through him like a blade. he pulls back as if struck by the suddenness of it, breath catching. for a moment, he only staresâthen his gaze drops to his own hand, glistening with evidence of just how far heâs pushed you.
a quiet, disbelieving breath leaves him, something between a laugh and a sigh, and that familiar, dangerous smirk curves his mouth.
âlook at you....â he brings a finger to your cheek, caressing the texture of your skin ever so softly. "do you realize how being very good i am right now?" he whispers, " "...you should appreciate how hard this is f'me."
hard?...
"aren't you gunna say anything, bunny?"
you purse your lips together, shy and avoidant. you aren't familiar with these feelings, and you aren't sure how to approach them. so all you settle for is silence. just silence.
but, despite yourself, you like that caleb takes it as consent. that he's doing the honor of adjusting the sails. even though you haven't processed the fact that caleb's admitted his obsession toward you long enough for it to sink into your chest.
all you can understand, right now, is not that caleb had implied of doing horrible things just to keep you in his orbit, but the mere sensation of his hands on you, allover you.
and the way his gaze just tells you to let him in, to let yourself feel him.
so you do.
you lunge forward before you can think better of it, fingers fisting into his damp hair, palms cradling his face as you rise on your toes to crash yourself against him.
the world stops. his eyes squint shut on instinct, then flutter open again in disbelief, ghost-blinking like his mind has short-circuited. this wasnât the script. this wasnât how it was supposed to go.
youâre kissing him.
you chose him.
oh. god.
he makes a sound low in his throat, something broken and reverent all at once, and thatâs all the hesitation he gets. he cannotâwill notâlet this slip through his fingers. his hands move before his thoughts can catch up, sliding securely under your thighs, lifting you with terrifying ease.
youâre suddenly higher, closer, pressed to him as if you were always meant to fit there. he keeps the kiss intact, unbroken, unhurried now that he has you where he wants you, like this is the only reasonable outcome.
his grip is firm but careful, holding you as if youâre something precious heâs finally been allowed to claimâmouth still on yours with a heart thundering with the knowledge that this timeâyou came to him.
caleb carries you across the living area as if the distance is nothing. the room blurs at the edges until the sofa catches the back of his knees and he sinks into it with a soft exhale, cushions swallowing him whole.
you end up straddling his hips without quite realizing how, knees pressing into the give of the pillows, hands braced at his shoulders. for a split second, the closeness startles you bothâthe way your balance shifts, the way his hands hover at your waist, unsure whether to hold or let go.
you don't stop kissing. itâs clumsy in the way first things always are. your mouths donât quite align at first, teeth bumping faintly. caleb lets out a breath that sounds almost like a laugh, smiling into the kiss, relief and wonder softening the sharpness he usually wears so well. he follows your pace instead of setting it, learning you as he goes, tentative and greedy all at once.
your lips part, meet again. tongues brushâhesitant, exploratoryâlike youâre both testing how far the other will go. itâs almost intoxicating not because itâs perfect, but because it isnât. because youâre figuring it out together, right here, tangled up on his sofa like this is the most natural place in the world to be.
unconsciously, you donât register when the kiss stops being just a kiss.
your body has already begun answering for youâthe way your hips rock forward and grind against him isnât intentional, just a restless seeking born from heat and closeness. you think youâre only trying to stay balanced. you think youâre only following the rhythm heâs set.
caleb notices.
his mouth falters first. the kiss breaks unevenly, breath catching sharp between his teeth. when he kisses you again, thereâs a sound this timeâlow, strained, embarrassingly honestâslipping into your mouth before he can stop it. his brows draw together, the smile gone, replaced by something raw and overstimulated.
then his hand closes around your arm.
he pulls you back just enough to break the contact, and the absence hits harder than the closeness ever did. calebâs face is flushed now, color climbing high on his cheekbones, his chest rising and falling too fast.
his gaze drops, just for a second, down belowâthe way his hardening bulge is pressed against your pussyâbefore snapping back up to your face, wide and almost accusatory, like heâs been wronged by his own body.
âdo you even know,â he asks, voice rough and frayed at the edges, âwhat youâre doing to me?â
you shake your head immediately. no, of course not. panic prickles at your skin, fear that you crossed a line you didnât even see. your hands loosen on his shoulders, ready to retreat, ready to apologize.
but caleb doesnât let you move away. instead, he shifts beneath you, giving you a grinding motion upwards. it presses the truth of him into the space between you, heat and tension where there hadnât been any a moment ago.
your breath stutters, because you realize how rock hard caleb is.
his eyes darken, embarrassed and ruined all at once. âthat,â he murmurs, almost helplessly, âthatâs what.â then, quieterâlike itâs a confession he never meant to giveââyouâre making it so much worse.â
and the way he says it makes your face burn, all the way down to your chest, because suddenly you realize this isnât a mistake to him at all.
"i'm sorry... i thought, maybe... that you would like itâ" the words slip out soft and clumsy, tripping over itself the way you suddenly feel. you apologize again, quieter this time, eyes darting away as if youâve misread everything.
caleb doesnât answer right away, and he just looks at you.
with that maddening, knowing ease of hisâhead tipped slightly, mouth curved in a slow, indulgent smile, like heâs watching a child stumble through something inevitable. his eyes donât leave you, not even when you keep talking, explaining yourself, backtracking.
âoh,â he murmurs, voice low and almost amused. âthere you goâŚâ
you falter. "i'm sorry, i don't know how to do thisâ i..."
âmmhmm,â he nods along as if heâs encouraging you to keep going, like your apologies are something sweet heâs savoring. âyeah, go on...â
it makes heat crawl up your neck. you almost snap at him for teasingâalmost tell him to stop looking at you like that, to take you seriouslyâbut before you can gather the words, caleb leans in just enough to steal the space from your lungs.
âdo you really think, that a sorry is what i need from you?â his gaze drifts down your chestâyour cleavageâlingering a second too long before returning to your face. the implication settles heavy in your chest, in the silence he leaves behind on purpose.
caleb exhales through his nose, smile deepening, and slowly, calebâs fingers find the hem of your shirt.
he lifts it just enough to break the line between what he knows and what heâs imagined, breath stalling in his chest as if the sight alone has struck something vital.
his eyes narrow with awe, staring at your boobs, the kind that makes his throat work as he swallows hard. "you're so... beautiful."
for a moment, he doesnât touch you. he just looks. "so beautiful it hurts."
then his hands rise, tentative at firstâtesting, asking without wordsâbefore confidence overtakes restraint. his palms are warm on your mounds, memorizing you as if heâs afraid the knowledge might be taken from him. his breathing turns uneven, and you feel the answer in his body before he ever says a word, the way he presses closer without meaning to.
caleb buries his face against you as he slides your brassiere down to take your nipple in his mouth, murmuring something unintelligible, something wrecked. he clings like a man starving, and all you can do is clutch at him, a sound slipping from your throat before you can stop it.
caleb presses closer, hips moving on instinct rather than intention, chasing a sensation he doesnât have language for yet.
he rolls his hips upward, eager to bury his clothed erection into your sex, and you feel the way his tongue is simultaneously laving the pain of your nipple. it's desperate, like a man whoâs wandered into paradise by accident and is terrified someone will drag him back out.
his arms lock around you, fingers digging in as though you might disappear if he loosens his hold even a little.
he nuzzles closer, face buried against your chest as if he belongs there, and every movement of his body is pleading, clumsy and earnest, like heâs trying to fuse himself to you through sheer will.
suddenly, caleb pulls away and forces you to rise up. "for a while," he says it almost like a moan, you almost smile from how undone he obviously is. but that immediately falters when you see him unbuckling his belt.
"caleb?"
"yeah?"
"are we... going to have sex?"
he looks up at you, pausing for just a second. "do you not want to?"
you gulp, because the most rational choice is to stop. you don't have a condom. and yet, you can't help but imagine the feeling of his cock buried deep into your womb. shit, just the image is enough to have you clenching your pussy.
"please."
your eyes snap back to caleb, and he's giving you that look. that same look he gave you when you helped him put on a shirt in your bedroom. that same desperate, puppy eyes. "please, please let me fuck you." his voice is raw with desperation, and it takes you aback.
"please let's do it, please let me..." he murmurs against your skin, hands going down your hips, lingering further. "let me thrust into you, let me feel how tight you are, please, please."
you stay silent.
"let me fuck you raw, please."
and that's all it takes.
all it takes for caleb to be lounged back against the pillows, his chiseled abs on full display beneath his rumpled shirt, sweat dripping down his flushed face. his eyes were glued to your every move now that your back is facing him (it was easier to put inside that way), a look of pure, unadulterated lust etched on his handsome features as you rode him with slow, sensual rolls of your hips. the way your ass bounced and jiggled with each thrust, swallowing his rock-hard cock to the hilt, left him absolutely spellbound.
caleb's hands quickly grew restless, roaming greedily over your curves. they slid from your hips, up to your waist, before eagerly descending to grasp at the pliant flesh of your ass. his calloused palms smoothed over the supple mounds, squeezing and kneading the giving skin as if he needed to map every dip and swell. he couldn't resist the urge to grab and mold your ass to his hands, his fingers sinking into the plush, pillowy flesh.
he grabbed two generous handfuls, squeezing them almost roughly as he spread your cheeks apart. this allowed him a shameless, unobstructed view of your slick, dripping pussy swallowing his thick cock to the hilt with each roll of your hips. "oh, god..." caleb groaned, his voice low and rough with lust, almost as if he spoke to himself. "you're... taking me so... well. shit, i can'tâ" his eyes remained watching your walls stretch around him, your body accepting every thick throbbing inch as he bucked up to meet your downward thrusts.
your thighs quivered with exertion, muscles burning from the intensity of your movements. beads of sweat trickled down your back, your body glistening from the heat of what you're doing. yet caleb remained oblivious to your fatigue, his hands still greedily exploring every inch of your curves. his touch turned almost rough in his fervor, fingers sinking into the pliant flesh of your rear with shameless abandon.
"keep going..." caleb's voice was a low, husky murmur, soft even as his grip tightened meanly on your hips. "c'mon, just a little more." he urged you on, eyes still riveted to the debauched sight of your dripping pussy swallowing his cock over and over, his own need overwhelming any thought of your exhaustion. "you can do itângh! take... a little more of this dick, bunny."
but, it seems you couldn't take it anymore. caleb felt you starting to slow down, a soft whimper escapes your parted lips. not wanting you to stop, he leans in and captured your cheek with a tender kiss from behind.
seizing the opportunity, he wrapped a strong arm around your waist, gripping you tightly. and with a swift and sudden movement, caleb flipped you both over, your body tumbling down to the armchair of the sofa. the change in position left you face down, your shapely ass now raised and presented.
he takes a moment to admire the erotic sight of your backside up in the air, your dripping pussy on full display, before standing up. rising to his feet behind you, he grabbed your hips in a firm grip, then, with a primal grunt, he slammed his rock-hard cock deep into your soaked, needy hole.
"angggh!" you scream, as caleb sets a wildly fast pace from the start, his hips pounding against your ass with a staccato rhythm, the obscene slap of skin on skin filling the room. he gripped you tighter, pulling you back onto his thick shaft as he pistoned into you, the blunt head of his cock kissing your cervix with each brutal thrust.
the new angle allowed him to plunge even deeper than before, your body shaking from the force of his wild fucking. caleb leaned over your back, his sweat-slicked chest pressing against you as he growled filthy words of praise into your ear. "baby, this pussy is amazing. 'm gonna fucking ruin you, oka-ay?"
this is it.
this is heaven.
this is everything he's ever wanted, ever needed, ever imagined in the silence of his head. he's replayed this scene in him for many impossible times.
caleb's head rolled back, eyes squeezing shut as he fucked into you with wild abandon. guttural whines and grunts spilled from his lips, his hips slamming against yours with a force that shook the sofa.
"caleb, wait... don't cum inside," you gasped out between ragged breaths, feeling your own peak fast approaching. but he paid no heed to your plea, instead choosing to drive into you even harder and faster.
a dark chuckle rumbled up from caleb's chest, vibrating against your back as he leaned over you. "don't cum inside? mmm, you say that, but your pussy is squeezing me so fucking tight," he punctuated his words with a sharp thrust, grinding his pelvis against your ass. "like it's trying to beg for my cum."
suddenly, caleb's hand fisted in your hair, gripping the strands tightly as he yanked your head back. a surprised, wanton moan tore from your throat at the sudden sting of pain, your back arching as he forced your chin to tilt up. your pussy clenched around him, walls fluttering wildly as a fresh gush of arousal flooded your core.
then, without warning, he wrenched his swollen cock out of your dripping cunt, the sudden emptiness making you whimper. before you could process the loss, hot, thick ropes of cum erupted from the weeping slit of his dick, painting streaks of pearly white across the smooth expanse of your ass.
caleb's body shuddered and jerked as he came undone, his low moan rising in pitch until it almost sounded like a sob of ecstasy. he milked his pulsing cock, stroking it through the throes of his intense orgasm until the last weak spurts dribbled onto your skin. panting harshly, caleb slumped forward over your back, his chest heaving against you as he tried to catch his breath. "fuck... fuck..." he gasped, still gripping your hair with a trembling hand.
almost in disappointment, you look back up at him with a slightly confused gaze. "i... i thought you'd cum inside?"
still panting softly from his intense climax, caleb looked up as you glanced back over your shoulder at him. his eyes, though glazed with lust, met yours with a hint of amusement. a lazy smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he took in your questioning gaze.
"what, baby? did you really think i was gonna pull out at the last second?" caleb chuckled, he brushed a few stray strands of hair from your face with his fingertips, his touch surprisingly gentle despite the rough grip he'd had moments before. "i'm still the same guy, dummy."
same guy, sure.
caleb's still the same guy.
he doesn't know better that after he's finally, finally laid his hands on you like this, he'll spiral into something even more worse.
"caleb,"
"mhm?"
"can we... move to your bedroom?" you say softly, eyes tracing the line of caleb's biceps.
his bedroom?
no, anywhere but his bedroom.
caleb gives you a smile, lets out a breath that gives away a laugh. "we can stay here, can't we?" there's no way he'd let you in there. no way he'd let you see the true depths and layers of his feelings for you. the pictures, the posters allover his wall, the collection of pieces he stole from you, even pieces of all the previous people he's killed for you.
caleb inhales the scent of the sweat from your neckline, and he squeezes his eyes shut. "wanna fuck again?"
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Iâm literally craving those jaw-dropping, heart-stopping, completely soul-crushing âshe falls harder but he doesnât choose herâ kind of angst stories⌠like the kind that hurts so bad it stays with you for days. Tumbler angst writers pls do your thingggg i beggg huhu
there are flowers lying dormant in your chest, vines scattered with thorns slowly taking shape around your lungs.
at least, thatâs how your doctor describes it to you.Â
upon delivering the diagnosis, he looks solemn, as if telling you iâm sorry, without saying it aloud.Â
for you, it seems the gravity of the situation hasnât settled yet.
like itâs just another turn of the mill. another passing illness that will hopefully fade with medication and time. Â
except it isnât simple. itâs serious. Â
you had only gone to the doctor to find the cause of your cough and the recurring discomfort in your chest. the type that left you gasping for air in the early hours of the morning. Â
the doctor, absolute in his findings, presents to you the recommended treatment for a better chance of survival. he tells you there are specialists who deal with the disease, ones he can order a referral to. Â
with your permission, they can remove the flowers, burn them away, and grant you a long, fulfilling life. Â
but there was a catch, as there always was with these types of things.Â
he further clarifies, pointing to the x-ray next to him. these specific flowers are tied to your emotions. removing them means eliminating all feelings for the person who gave them to you.Â
you donât move, donât say anything. you just fiddle with your hands in your lap as you process his words.Â
silence fills the room, and itâs so quiet, you can hear the playful laughter of the nurses just outside the door. Â
your doctor dwells in the stillness for a moment, but itâs broken as he turns to move. with the pen in his hand, heâs already documenting your chart with his diagnosis, waiting for your answer, heâs made the decision to assume youâll be ready to schedule the surgery by next week. Â
heâs wrong to make such an assumption.
before you know it, youâre already forcing yourself out of the chair, brushing away nonexistent crumbs off your thighs.Â
you avoid his gaze.Â
but you announce this is something youâll need time to think about. find out the pros and cons.Â
except there are none. not when your life is at stake.Â
thereâs disappointment sprinkled with the slightest hint of worry, you can tell with the way he sighs deeply. still, he allows an order for the strongest pain medication available and something to help with your throat soreness. itâs not a permanent fix, but itâll help until youâve come to your decision.
you thank him, already crossing the room where your hand lies hovering above the knob, you ask him. Â
âif i donât get the surgery, how long would i have?â Â
you hear him inhaling a sharp breath.
âyouâd have nine months. after that, thereâs nothing we can do.â Â
you nod, moving to shut the door behind you.
the worst part is you already know who it is. Â
but you make a vow for yourself.
you will never tell him, and he will never know. Â
in a way, youâve already sentenced yourself to death.Â
so, youâll hold out for as long as you can. Â
because there is no world where you confess to your best friend youâre in love with him. god no. Â
you donât want to tell him youâre dying; you canât fathom to tell him heâs the causeâthat the vines wrapping around your heart, around your lungs, come from loving him. Â
sentencing him to a lifetime of guilt and regret for not giving you his heartâsomething he has no control overâwas cruel, and that quiet, ever-present voice in your head reminds you:Â Â
you are your own ruin as much as he is.
later that day, you find caleb waiting for you outside the steps of your apartment, a hand perched on his knee, looking uninterested. Â
that is, until he hears you approach. in an instant, he lights up; violet eyes painted like the sky before sunrise, and he gives you that familiar smile. Â
âhey, you.â heâs already moving to stand beside you, watching as you pull your keys out of your bag. âcare to explain where you've been?" Â
you donât try to look at him. you keep your focus on the clamoring of your keys as you twist one into the lock. Â
âwhat do you mean?â you push the door open, and you drop all your belongings in the foyer. âi was in class.âÂ
lying always seemed easier than telling the truth. itâs a good thing itâs a habit youâve mastered.Â
âiâm confused. was class at the doctorâs office today?â
or not.
there are times you forget you willingly share locations with caleb. it was something both of you agreed upon during your third week of school. it was never a problem then. and before today, the only times he seemed to check on it were to see if you were home, which wasnât often, as far as you were aware.Â
but of course, today just had to be one of those days he decided to check.Â
damn your luck.Â
âwhatâs going on? are you okay?â caleb asks, reaching down to grab your backpack off the floor and hanging it on the hook in your hallway closet like itâs second nature. Â
sometimes, he reminds you of an overbearing mother with the way he puts away your things without asking. on other days, heâs buying groceries after taking one glance at your empty fridge.
then there are the mornings he offers to drive you to class when the forecast shows even the slightest chance of rain. Â
you make your way to the kitchen, opening the pantry to grab a snack.Â
âfeeling hungry?â Â
âyouâre avoiding the question.â he appears from the hallway, settling into the chair near the island. caleb isnât the forgetful type. no attempt at side tracking could stop him from asking his questions until he gets a proper answer.Â
âno iâm not.â you stuff your mouth full of cheez-its, nearly the entire bag, hoping it might buy you some time to come up with another reason for being at the doctorâs. Â
âfine. if you donât want me to ask, then i wonât. but if thereâs something wrong, you can tell me.â Â
a full minute passes until youâve chewed and swallowed the last of the orange crackers. but he remains there watching, waiting. Â
âwhat?â you turn away from his gaze and reach into the refrigerator for a bottle of cold water. Â
when your eyes fall upon him again, he looks like a kicked puppy, and for a second, you ask yourself if itâs fair to him to keep him in the dark about your condition. but would you be able to handle it? him knowing? still being around him as-Â
then you cough. Â
it comes out so suddenly that itâs harsh. itâs enough to make you put the water down and double over in exasperation. Â
your fit feels endless, as if your body was attempting to rid itself of those petals your doctor had warned you about earlier, and maybe that was the case. the reason why your lungs refused to let you breathe.Â
caleb is at your side in an instant, hands hovering over you, unsure of whether to comfort you or pull you upright. Â
and just as quickly as it begins, it ends, leaving you parched, throat aching, the taste of iron strong on your tongue. Â
you donât want to turn to look at him, knowing if you do, youâll find worry on his face. Â
this was the last thing you wantedâfor caleb to see you like this. it hasnât been even four hours since the doctor told you about your disease. Â
how were you going to last another nine months? Â
his voice cuts through your thoughts, laced with concern. Â
âyou okay there, cupcake?â his warm hand rubs circles on your back as you take another swig of water, trying to soothe the pain. âis this what you didnât want to tell me? that youâve got a cough?â Â
lie. Â
finally, as you direct your gaze towards him, you see him attempt to maintain his playful facade. the slight tilt of his smile, but beneath it, you see how theyâre lined with unease.
you nod.
âitâs just a cough. iâve been having it for a few days now, but it started bothering me last night. thatâs why i went.â he takes a step away from you. âitâs nothing contagious, if thatâs what youâre worried about. the doctor said it should go away with the medication he gave me.â Â
âi donât care about that.â his reply is almost instant. âso thatâs it? only the cough?â Â
âyeah.â Â
this time, his smile is bigger, and he chuckles. Â
âhad me worried there for a sec. i thought it was something really serious.â he pats your head. âyou really should take better care of yourself, little troublemaker.â Â
you pout at the stupid nickname, ducking your head so his hand slips away, and roll your eyes.Â
âi will.â you nod, making promises you know you canât keep. Â
for some odd reason, caleb clears his schedule to come around more often.
even on days where he has flight simulations lined up, or a study session for another aviation paneling exam. he would be there, on the steps of your apartment, bored on his phone when waiting for you to appear.Â
other times, heâd call you after class, wanting to check if youâd want to stop by the ramen shop near campus. youâd tell him no, you already had plans with your other friends.Â
you assume itâs his attempt to make sure youâre taking your medications, that youâre eating enough, or simply because heâs worried. but you mention to him that your illness isnât something he needs to fawn over. itâs a simple sickness, one that will go away in due time.Â
the fit you had the other day in front of him wasnât even that bad. youâve had worse ones.Â
but still, heâs persistent. Â
heâs there in the morning to pick you up before class, shoving a breakfast sandwich into your hands. Â
on the walk, he tells you that she was accepted into a selected program for aspiring hunters.
after class, he follows you home as if he lives there too, sometimes standing idly by as you do chores around the house or tend to your garden caringly (ironic, isnât it). Â
itâs such a coincidence when he mentions both you and her take a liking to purple hydrangeas.Â
and heâs there after a late-night patrol shift, making sure youâve already eaten dinner and taken your second round of medications for the day. Â
just minutes before, he stepped outside, answering her the second he saw the caller id.
and when he returned minutes later, the smile on his face and the blush on the tips of his ears were not lost on you.
even during times like this, when it seems as if his actions towards you are pushing the boundaries of being more than friendly, you are immediately reminded where you stand in his life.
and you remember why youâll take your secret to the grave. Â
tonight, caleb stands in your kitchen, mincing the mushrooms, keeping a close eye on where you stand by the stove. Â
you hadnât invited him over, but he showed up anyway, like he always does.Â
when he had texted you earlier, your replies seemed more clipped than usual. curt and short. Â
and when he tried to call you, you declined, replying with a text that you were in the lobby of your doctor's office, waiting to be called by a nurse.
another visit, another push from your doctor to get the surgery, but you still havenât decided. you have, you just canât stand to be faced with disappointed eyes and a frown.Â
the music in the background is low, but you canât help but hum along to it anyway, using the spoon to stir the vegetables as they caramelize. Â
in seconds, he enters your peripheral vision, dumping the pile of mushrooms from the cutting board into the pan. Â
when heâs done, his eyes are on you, gifting you a lopsided grin as your brows scrunch. Â
âyou canât just dump without saying anything,â you say to him, trying to keep your voice leveled. Â
âwhatâs so bad about an element of surprise?âÂ
smug bastard and his stupid smile. his gentle violet eyes and teasing voice.
sometimes it was so hard not to fall even further for him, he always made it near impossible.Â
he was your undoing. your weakness.Â
and you can never stay annoyed at him for too long.Â
he turns back around to grab the marinated chicken from the fridge, and when the next song comes on, your thoughts already subside. instead, youâre singing lightly to the lyrics as they simmer through the air. Â
heâs at your side again, humming the background vocals, attempting to harmonize with you. then without warning, he reaches for the spoon in your hand, successfully takes it and uses it to stir the vegetables. Â
âyou deserve a rest. go ahead and sit down.â that sentimental smile again. the one that makes the vines around your heart tighten. âi got it from here.â Â
you allow him to take over, let him move into your spot by the stove as you saunter to the seat next to the island. chin leaning against your hand as you gaze upon him, attempting to keep the painful ache in your chest from robbing you of this moment. Â
in this little bubble of your creation, he is yours. undeniably yours. Â
and you pretend you were not dying from an almost incurable disease.Â
caleb, on the other hand, begins to worry. Â
heâs been observing the changes in your behavior.Â
he notices how the color leaves your face with every passing day, sees how you attempt to find excuses to avoid him and your friends, hears the cough you had told him would pass with medication worsen. Â
yes, youâve assured him countless times that youâre attending your appointments and heeding your physicians instructions, so why are you still sick? why are the circles under your eyes darker and why does it seem like your quality of life is decreasing?Â
he has all these questions. wants to ask you, but heâs afraid of crossing a boundary, one heâs not even sure he has the right to cross.
especially since you seemed so defensive about it when he asked about it the first time.Â
he holds on to the fact that if you needed something, wanted to share anything, you would tell him.Â
but you havenât, and that concerns him even more.Â
even with your measly efforts to pretend you didnât catch his call or see his texts as they came in, he appears at your doorstep, backpack over his shoulder, windbreaker dotted with raindrops from the light drizzle outside.Â
before you can refute him or offer another excuse about having too much homework, he invites himself in.Â
âare you hungry?â he asks, already making his way to your kitchen. heâs certain he bought the ingredients to make spaghetti and meatballs, and itâs not like you ever used what he placed in your fridge to cook for yourself. not often, at least.Â
âcaleb what are you doing here?âÂ
his gaze flickers to the blanket wrapped tightly around you, to the way you watch him from where he stands, exhaustion weighing heavy on your eyelids.Â
âsaw you were home, and walking back to my apartment is just too far.â he says lightly, ducking to reach the pan from your cabinet. âfigured you havenât eaten either.â
you purse your lips at the half-truth and look away.Â
and as if on cue, your stomach growls, embarrassingly loud.Â
a light chuckle escapes his mouth, already turning away towards your fridge, pulling out tomatoes and meat.Â
you roll your eyes. âwhatever you use, you wash. iâm not in the mood to clean.â and with that, youâre already walking away.Â
his eyes linger on your retreating figure, a small pout forming when he realizes you donât care to sit by the island to watch him cook like youâve done a hundred times before.Â
with tonight's dinner eaten and your dishes washed, he decides to overstay his welcome.Â
comfortable on your couch, his leans against the plush pillows, eyes fixed on the sci-fi movie you had playing as nothing more than background noise. Â
he makes no move to leave when you excuse yourself for a shower. you tell him heâs free to go if he pleases, more than welcome to stay if he desires, but once youâre out, youâd be turning in for the night.Â
violet eyes meet yours, and he shakes his head. âmovies too good for me to leave halfway through. iâll still be here when you get out.âÂ
then, fifteen minutes pass, and he hears it.Â
a vile cough from your bathroom, once. twice. until it turns into the fit he recognizes from the first time, and for a moment, he thinks to run to the bathroom. to knock on your door and ask if youâre okay.Â
but just as suddenly as it starts, it stops.Â
another fifteen minutes tick by before the bathroom door opens, steam spilling out from the hot shower youâve taken.
you exit with a towel in hand, massaging it through your hair, and he notices it immediately how pale you look. much paler than before.Â
not hesitating, heâs on his feet and at your side in less than three strides.
âwhat was that?âÂ
âwhat was what?âÂ
he hates how oblivious you pretend to be. how you think lying to him will make him forget what he hears. Â
âyouâre still coughing.âÂ
âitâs a virus, itâs not going to leave me so easily.âÂ
âthatâs it. iâm taking you to the hospital.â he reaches to grab your wrist, but youâre quicker. you rip it away before he can grab hold.Â
you take a step away from him, âno youâre not. thereâs no need to.âÂ
âyouâre not okay. you donât sound okay. youâre really worrying me.âÂ
âcaleb, look at me.â you say to him, tone serious. âreally. look at me.âÂ
you donât know what takes over you. what causes you to cradle his cheeks in your hands.Â
he flinches at the touch, noticing how cold your fingers feel against him. in the past, when your hands would graze his, or you leaned into his shoulder, you were always warm, but now...
your voice breaks him away from his thoughts.Â
âiâm okay. thereâs no reason to worry. if there were, iâd tell you. itâs my body after all.âÂ
he takes in your words, studies your face for any trace of hesitancy. you had to be lying. there was no other excuse.Â
in the end, seeing your conviction, he chooses to believe you. you were right.Â
still, he holds on to the doubt, the one that knows it isnât true. youâre hiding something from him. he may not know what, but heâs sure of it. it would explain the distance, your cool skin, the faint red he barely noticed on your tongue.Â
âalright.â he pauses, choosing his words carefully. âif my best friend says sheâs okay, i wonât push. but please, let me stay with you tonight. itâll put me at ease.âÂ
you nod, agreeing to his terms.Â
even if it kills you. even if it is killing you.Â
resigned, he gently takes the towel out of your hands and beelines past you to the bathroom. in seconds, he fetches the blow dryer from underneath your bathroom sink. Â
when he returns, his free hand finds your elbow, guiding you to sit by the couch without even asking if he could do this small, minuscule task for you.Â
but you let him.
you seat yourself crisscrossed on the floor in front of him with your eyes shut as he turns the blowdryer on, running his fingers through your hair while you subconsciously lean into his touch. consistent and soothing, he brushes through another section. then another, and then another. Â
you breathe in that familiar scent of his, something that strongly gives you the nostalgia of summer, twinged with the sweet aroma of apples and sandalwood.
itâs a scent you know youâll miss dearly when the time eventually comes, one you know youâll memorize even in death.Â
you find it difficult to believe how easily caleb is able to divide his time between you, school, and her.
because, unlike before, he never tried to reconcile the space between the woman he loves and the woman he calls his best friend, or the career heâs so desperate to excel in.Â
but on this particular day, he invites you to try a new coffee shop. one he found scrolling through the campusâs moments page. itâs a small business, and apparently, they have an apple crisp latte that is simply to die for.Â
you hadnât wanted to go. you wanted to stay home and pack a few of your belongings into boxes. that way, after you were gone, itâd be easier for your parents to-
your thought is interrupted when a chime rings through the empty cafe, and the scraping of the chair caleb is sitting in slides across the tile.
your eyes follow him, watches as it takes no effort for him to be by the entrance in seconds, smiling from ear to ear.Â
when she throws herself into his arms, giggling as he spins her around, you pretend the thorns donât sink into your lungs deeper.Â
youâve only ever seen her through photos, heard her voice through voice messages, or facetime calls. but today was different.Â
sheâs here, sheâs real, and she plays a small, uncredited part in your suffering.Â
no she doesnât. thereâs no blame to put on anyone but yourself. itâs your own fault.Â
and maybe calebâs.
risen from your chair, you stand like a forgotten third wheel behind them.
and even if you hated it, it probably wasn't cordial of you to stay seated after all.
caleb's eye catches sight of you, and lets her go, putting her down, his hands are on her shoulders, and he turns her to face you.
her kind eyes fall upon you, and excitement, bright in her voice, she tells you how long sheâs wanted to meet you.Â
âi swear calebâs been keeping you from me. he thinks iâd steal you for myself.âÂ
you force a small laugh when you feel the way his gaze settles on you. itâs not hostile, nor jealous, but even then, youâd rather not play into their teasing theatrics. your body is too tired, throat burning as it waits for the next dosage of pain medication.Â
still, her joyous personality seeps into you. she takes your hand and guides you to where you were seated at earlier.
she's already asking you all sorts of questions, takes a moment to compliment your outfit, and returns back to chatting about god knows what.
your eyes glaze over caleb, and you notice the way he's engrossed in her musings, rolls his eyes when she asks something too ditzy, laughs when appropriate, and pinches her cheek when she mumbles a memory from their shared childhood.
in return to her incessant chatter, you reply with polite formalities, compliment her back, then shift the topic away from girl talk, asking her how she tolerates caleb when heâs nothing but bothersome.Â
âyouâre lucky you two live so far away from each other,â you say, forcing your tone to stay light. âtrust me, if you were around him this often, youâd get tired of him. god knows i do.âÂ
itâs a lie, of course. because the bitter truth is how you wished to be in her position.Â
and not when it comes to the distance. no.
you may have his time and his presence, but she has his heart.Â
and so much more.
at this realization, an itch creeps into your throat. that familiar heaviness that comes just before you cough.Â
you stand abruptly, pushing yourself away from the table. itâs so loud and sudden, even the barista from behind the counter stops refilling the cups to look at you.Â
âiâll be right back,â you manage, already rushing to the bathroom, slipping inside and locking the door behind you.
crouched beside the toilet, uncaring of how unsanitary it is, you hurl.Â
crabapple petals spill out. first, one by one. then, in clusters, clogging your breath, forcing your lungs to fight for air while you can only endure and pray that the music playing over the speakers is loud enough to mask the sounds.Â
it isnât.Â
mustnât have been, not when you hear the pounding on the door, urgent and relentless.Â
âhey, are you okay in there?â caleb. of course.Â
âopen the door. iâm seriousâÂ
he isnât yelling, but the firmness in his voice makes your chest tighten.Â
luckily, it seems like your hanahaki gives you a little grace. the fit slows, the petals trickle off, ceasing and nothing but the blood that spills from the corners of your mouth is the only thing left.Â
you flush the toilet, wincing at the concerning amount of familiar pink and burning red that disappear from sight. Â
forcing yourself upright, you stumble to the sink and take a glance at the mirror in front of you. catch the way your tears had caused smudges into your foundation, see the blood on your lips.Â
you barely recognize yourself.Â
you turn on the faucet, allowing the cool water to sink into your hands, and bring it to rub your face, clearing away your makeup, causing the mascara to bleed down your face.Â
finally, you use the paper towel to wipe the chaos away.Â
caleb knocks again.Â
âplease, let me in.â
you ignore him.Â
you clasp your hands once again, bringing the water to your lips, gargling away the taste of copper and washing the red away until the inside of your mouth returned to its normal shade of pink.Â
a few more knocks, softer now, reverberate around the walls.Â
once satisfied, do you walk to the doorâonly to find caleb leaning against it.Â
he loses his balance, stumbles forward onto his knees from the lost support, and you watch as if happens.Â
âoh my god caleb iâm so sorry.â you say, instinctively reaching out.Â
but caleb catches it, drags you down with him until youâre also seated on the dirty tile.Â
âyou had another fit, didnât you?âÂ
you avoid his gaze.
âanswer me.âÂ
the sharpness in his tone sends a chill down your spine, and youâre reminded how scary caleb can get. itâs so rare when it happens.
âiâm okay. it wasnât that bad.â you gently pry his hand from your arm and place it back in his lap. âi think itâs just time for my afternoon dosage. i should go.âÂ
âno. iâm taking you to the hospital.â he leaves no room for argument.Â
âcaleb, iâm fine.â you dig your knees into the ground, using them as leverage to push yourself upright.Â
âsee?âÂ
then, without warning, everything blurs and the edges of your vision darken.Â
calebâs expression shifts from frustration to fear in an instant.
âhey. look at me.âÂ
you attempt to, but itâs so hard, and the vertigo crashes into you with no mercy. your knees wobble, then weaken. your body becomes too heavy to keep upright. with no strength left, you let gravity drag you down.
but he catches you before you meet the floor, guiding your head to fall against his chest, wrapping his arms tight around you. youâre motionless, but he sees youâre still breathing, and your heartbeat is there. faint, but enough to reassure him youâre alive.
âcaleb.â her voice cuts through his thoughts. âwhat happened?âÂ
âi donât know,â his grip tightens harder around your body. it frightens him how cold you were in this moment.
you hear them, but they sound far away. too muffled for you to make out their words.
and itâs getting dark. too dark. you feel your eyelids ignoring your command to stay open, and your chest⌠you feel no itch, but itâs burning, searing like a hot iron.
you want to scream, to move, to do anything, but you canât. itâs too much, nothing at all.
âhey. youâre going to be okay, stay with me.â
you can barely register the words. but you catch it, the tremble in his voice.
but you canât find it in you to respond. thereâs no force left within you.
all you can do is succumb to the darkness, allow your body to rest, sink into that feeling of comfortable warmth, and become enveloped in calebâs familiar scent of apple orchard and leather.
itâs heaven your mind thinks before it slips into nothingness.
âž
a/n: i hate to be the bearer of bad news (and before readers get their hopes up) but there is no happy ending. at all. whole house doomed by the narrative! (and the song lyrics sum up da ending pretty much)