smut version of caleb's secret times.
warnings: dom!caleb, sub!reader/mc, uniform kink, gloved fingering, light spanking, missionary, hints of yandere caleb, pi
“If you’re cold, you need to come over here yourself.” Caleb tells you, holding the blanket he supposedly got for you hostage.Â
You roll your eyes and stand up to walk towards him. The thin, oversized t-shirt you'd 'borrowed' from him does little to shield you from the chill left by the window you had forgotten to close. Your teeth chatter, but it's not just the cold that makes your body tremble. Caleb's gaze, dark and hungry, eats you up despite the shirt's baggy fit.
As you approach, you reach out to snatch the blanket, but Caleb yanks it away, a wicked grin playing on his lips. "Uh-uh," He tuts, patting his thigh. "Sit."
Your eyes narrow in suspicion and you put your hands on your hips. "What are you playing at here?"
“Nothing. What’s the matter? You’ve sat in my lap before.” He cocks his head at you, feigning ignorance, and you look him up and down again—-he looks imposing clad in his dark colonel uniform and you shiver once again, biting your lip and trying to hide your nervousness.
He catches onto your reaction easily. “Is it the fact that I’m wearing my uniform?”
“Of course not.” You shake your head, but your denial sounds weak even to your own ears. Â
“Do you actually believe I can’t tell what you’re thinking?” He asks and you flush. You really, really hope he can’t. But Caleb doesn’t have mercy tonight.Â
His eyes flash, and he reaches out, catching your wrist before you can react. He pulls you into his lap, one thigh slipping between yours and pressing against your panty-clad core. You try to bite down on your whimper but it slips out anyway.Â
"You think I can't feel it?" Caleb growls, shifting his leg, making you grip his shoulders for balance. You moan, the sound echoing in the silent room.Â
He leans up to kiss you, his mouth devouring yours as his hands move to cup your ass, lifting you slightly as he grinds you against his pants. The wetness gathering between your legs leaves a damp spot on his pristine white colonel's pants, the fabric growing darker with each movement. Caleb growls into the kiss, his tongue pushing into your mouth, tangling with yours as he roughly controls the kiss.
The heat rising up in your body reaches a fever pitch, and you think if you look at your skin right now, you’d see steam rising off it. He’s so rough with you today, and it’s so unlike him.Â
Yes, Caleb can be passionate. He can be controlling even. But something feels off about him today.Â
You push him back breathlessly, breaking the kiss. "Caleb, what's gotten into you today?" You force yourself to ask, your concern for him warring with the lust burning through your body. "Did something happen with the fleet?"
He smiles coldly, making you shiver as he slides one of his hands down your ass and between your legs. "Do you still have the energy to think about them?" He growls. "Then I guess I'm not doing a good enough job." His hand slips between your legs from behind, pushing your panties aside, his fingers rubbing against your wet, eager hole.
You gasp, your hips bucking into his touch reflexively. "Caleb, what are you—"
"Shh." He hisses, his fingers pushing inside you, making you cry out. "The person under the colonel's command right now is you. Watch your mouth." He starts to move his fingers in and out, the added girth of his leather gloves making you squeak.Â
“Caleb, listen to me—” You babble, crying out abruptly when his free hand smacks your ass, the sound ringing in your ear.Â
"When the farspace fleet's colonel is present, you're not allowed to be disrespectful." He warns, making you shiver. "But it seems you've already failed in that regard."
He smacks your ass again, plunging his leather covered fingers in and out of your hole, laughs cruelly at your moans and whines.Â
You try to pull away, to catch your breath, but Caleb tightens his grip. He kisses you again, swallowing your moans, his mouth demanding, his fingers pushing you closer and closer to the edge.
"You're pulling away again." He admonishes when he feels you squirming in his grip, "Are my leather gloves chafing you?"
“No, Caleb, it’s not that. We need to talk.” You try to reason with him, pulling away to put some distance between you but he's having none of it. He pushes you onto your back on the couch, his large body looming over you. His fingers slip out of you, making you whimper at the loss, but he's already moving, pushing his shirt up, baring your breasts to his hungry gaze.
"The interrogation isn't over yet." He murmurs, bending down to mouth at your breasts, leaving marks all over your chest. You arch into him, your hands tangling in his hair, pushing him closer reflexively. He chuckles, the sound vibrating against your skin, sending shivers down your spine.
When he’s satisfied with the new marks he’s left on your chest, replacing the ones that are fading, he sits back, his gaze locked onto your splayed open body as he unbuckles his belt. You watch, breathless, as he unzips his pants, his cock springing free, so hard and big. He gives it a few strokes, his leather-covered fingers glistening with your wetness.
"Tell me. Who is the colonel?" He demands, and the sight of him touching himself, using your arousal to lubricate his strokes, makes you squirm with need. You try to close your legs so you can rub them together and get some relief but Caleb won’t let you. "Say it.”Â
He presses the head of his cock to your entrance, his eyes locked onto yours. "You are, Colonel." You say, your voice barely a whisper, a shiver of anticipation running through you. You want to appease him, to make him feel better, even if you're not sure what's causing his strange mood.
He quirks an eyebrow at you, a smirk playing on his lips. "It’s me? Well then...Can I do this?"
He doesn't wait for your response, his hips snapping forward, his large cock filling you up in one go. You gasp, your pussy struggling to accommodate him, your fingers digging into his uniform.Â
But when you look at his face, you catch a glimpse of the Caleb you know, the one who's vulnerable and caring, as a needy whimper leaves his throat. For a moment, he's your Caleb again, not this rough, scary colonel. But the moment is fleeting.
He catches his breath, his smirk growing wider, more predatory. "Good girl." He praises, his hips moving, pulling out slightly before thrusting back in.
Your face scrunches up as he fucks you, his length too big despite the wetness coating your thighs. "Caleb, it hurts—" You gasp out, your nails digging into his uniform.
He pauses, his expression softening again for a moment. "Shh," He soothes, "I've got you, pipsqueak. Just open up for me." He keeps moving, pushing into you slowly but relentlessly, making your pussy take him. “I'll take good care of you. Just give in."
He leans down, his lips capturing yours in a heated kiss, distracting you from the prickle of pain in between your legs as he fucks into you. Gradually, his hips pick up pace as he feels your walls giving way to his cock, and before long, he can feel the moans you’re breathing into his mouth.
He breaks the kiss, his forehead resting against yours. "That's it." He sucks in a harsh breath, "Feel how good we fit together. This little pussy was made for my cock." He moves a faster still, his hips snapping forward, making you gasp, but the pain is already fading, replaced by a warmth that spreads through your body.
His cock fills you up so completely with each thrust. You can feel every ridge, every vein, as he moves in and out. "You feel so fucking good, pips." He growls, his breath coming in short gasps. "Your pussy is gripping me so tight." He leans down, his lips capturing yours in a searing kiss, his tongue moving over yours, swallowing down your moans.
When he breaks the kiss, his lips trail down your neck, his teeth nipping at your skin, his lips sucking harshly, leaving his marks there too that you’ll struggle to cover up. He knows he’s not supposed to do that, not there, but you doubt whatever you have to say will get through to him at the moment so you just give in, just for tonight.Â
You arch into him, your body moving in sync with his, your hips meeting his thrusts. He moves one hand between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing it in circles, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.
"You're close, aren't you?" He hisses against your ear. "I can feel it. Your pussy is gripping me so tight, wants to milk my cock." He kisses you again, swallowing your whimpers as he increases the pressure on your clit.
Caleb's pace becomes frantic, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. "God, I should keep you just like this." He mumbles, his words slurring slightly. "Locked up at home, wet and ready for me to slide into you the second I get back." It's his usual mantra, the one he always repeats when he's particularly pussydrunk.
You tell yourself it’s just the lust scrambling his brain, that Caleb would never do anything like that to you, but you’re not sure you believe it yourself. He has already locked you up here for a few days, he had willfully drugged you to keep you out of harm’s way, he had spied on you and worked in the shadows to make sure you were safe. That’s one part of it at least, the other part is something you don’t like to think about.Â
But his lust-filled fantasies get bolder and more emphatic every time he recounts them to you.Â
“No one would ever find you. You’ll be safe by my side, just for me. My baby sister, all mine.” He leans down, his lips capturing yours in a sloppy, desperate kiss. When he breaks away to rest his forehead against yours, there is a thin string of saliva still connecting your lips. "Say it, pips." He demands, slamming his hips into your brutally. “Say you want it too.”Â
You feel your body heat up despite your trepidation, your orgasm building, coiling in the pit of your stomach, your own lust clouding your mind. But it’s not just that. It’s Caleb—it’s the eager, kicked puppy look on his face, his overwhelming desire that infects you and his vulnerability that begs you not to kick him when he’s down.Â
Caleb likes to remind you how much power you have over him, but he never acknowledges how much you’re willing to let him slide or concede for him.Â
“Yes. I want it too, Gege.” You say and he gasps, pinching your clit lightly, sending you over the edge. You cry out, your body convulsing, your pussy pulsing around his cock. Caleb orgasm follows soon after yous, his body tensing, his cock releasing inside you as his groans fill the room.Â
“Yes, yes, mine. All mine, pipsqueak.” He cries out, kissing you again and again. “Mine forever.”Â
A/N: i think i'll do xavi's one next. ahhh let me know if you like these or if i should focus on fully original stories
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You were dressed comfortably, wearing a soft floral cami-top paired with some matching shorts. You lean back into the plush grey sectional couch sitting pretzel style. The large TV in front of you was on the weather channel background noise to mask the silence in the home. A little white robot swirled by with a tray of chopped apples and caramel dipping sauce in its possession waiting patiently for you to notice it . Absentmindedly, a soft sigh escapes your lips, your eyes flicker to the analog clock over the television. It's very unusual for the Colonel of the Farspace Fleet to be late. Your stomach growls and your eyes dart down to the tray that was held up by the bot.
“Thanks,” you chimed as you popped a slice of said fruit into your mouth.
As if on cue, The door clicks and groans while being opened. Squelch, wet Black rubber boots groaned noisily against the dry tile floor as he entered. A very familiar gentleman walks in. His left hand removes his cover off of his dampened head. He shakes his head attempting to rid the water that defiantly clung to his dark hair. This caused His brown dampened hair to spike together from the wet gloomy weather outside. In his right robotic arm, he held a wet paper bag that miraculously survived the rain.
"I tried to get here as fast as I could but the downpour was relentless," he let out an aspirated sigh, "I hope you're not upset with me, pipsqueak.”
You jumped up from the couch to greet him at the front door. He was completely drenched in his black uniform from the storm outside. "No, no not at all," you reassured him, retrieving the wet groceries from his possession.
A light chuckle escapes his lips Caleb leans down and gives you a quick peck on the forehead. You beamed up at him warmly. You turn and move away from him headed to the kitchen to set up the wet bag of goodies. You were curious to see what he brought from the supermarket. You remove the contents from the bag onto the counter seeing shellfish, rice, and vegetables.
"I was thinking for dinner we could have paella," he starts as he removes his coat, tossing it to a nearby chair. "We can watch something on Netflix if you're interested. I'm going to take a quick shower and then I'll get started on cooking."
"I can help," You offered while opening one of the drawers to retrieve a knife. He appears behind you, his tall figure hurrying over you quick to remove the knife from your hand.
"I don't want you to get hurt and besides I always cook for us. I don't mind." He insisted, placing the knife next to the vegetables. You scoff annoyed with him crossing your arms over your chest. You scan the tall man before you.
Unfortunately for you His white shirt was molded perfectly against his chest. Everything underneath was almost visible, the valley and contour of his muscles were poorly hidden. His purple eyes looked over to the couch; noticing that the robot was holding up the metallic tray with chopped fruits. He starts, "But if you're hungry now I can cook-"
"I'll finish eating up the rest of the apple slices while you shower. I know the weather was completely unexpected."
He reaches out with his left hand and pinches your nose giving you a teasing smile. “Wait for me,” you playfully swat his hands away, sticking your tongue out at him.
True to his word Caleb takes a quick shower and is already in the kitchen before you knew it. He was shirtless sporting the notorious, dark, and grey sweatpants. His muscles were exposed freely, the sharp v line disappeared dangerously under his waistband. His charcoal metallic arm was on display with him in all his glory. You tried to act normal in an attempt to save face but your heart skipped several beats, every time you sneak a glance at him. You sit at the barstool next to the island watching him work on dinner.
With a towel draped around his shoulders to catch any falling water droplets. He moved gracefully around the kitchen. His motions swift and precise, he moved from the rice cooker, to the stove, chopping vegetables, to checking the stove. The room was filled with the delicious aromas of the cooking dinner.
He added spices and herbs to the pan, stirring the ingredients to ensure they were evenly mixed. Every now and then he'll glance over at you, his eyes studying your form, making sure you're still comfortable.
You're practically salivating already from the smell of all the foods that conjoined together in that single pan. You see his biceps at work stirring the pan with the shellfish, rice, and veggies. This man is a hell of a hard worker. He can manage a whole fleet. He's always cooking dinner for you. And make sure you were well taken care of at the end of the day. Rain or shine. He was always there for you.
Caleb scoops some of the food onto the wooden spoon blowing on it gently to cool it off. He then approaches you offering the first sample “Alright my taste tester,”
You perk up, your eyes lighting up at the sound of being the lucky one for the first taste. You leaned forward and parted your lips as the spoon approached your mouth.
"Mmm," your eyes flutter close as the food melted in your mouth. The flavors of the rice and shellfish burst over your tongue. The rice fluffy and perfectly cooked, with just the right amount of seasoning.
You swallowed and you couldn't help but let out a soft moan of approval. "Oh my God, this is so good. My compliments to the chef.”
The fawn haired man winks down at you and laughs, “I'll let the chef know you sent him your best regards.” He plates the food carefully so as not to make a mess in the kitchen. He serves you a plate. Next Caleb made himself a plate and places it next to you.
You both sat next to each other at the barstool next to the island. The air between you was comfortable and familiar. You savored the food he made. Caleb ate next to you, every now and then he'd glance over at you, observing the way you bit into the food and hummed in approval.
You could feel his gaze on you, his eyes studying your every move. He leaned in close, the heat from his body radiating against your skin. "So...I have the next two days off," he stated.
“You do?” You asked with a mouthful of food, “How’d you manage that?”
“I am the Colonel after all” He reminds you, “I figured we can use the time and spend it together.”
“Wow, abusing your position as Colonel to just to skip work.” you teased wagging your eyebrows at him “do your superiors know about this about you?”
He chuckled and shook his head, amused by your teasing. "Shush, it's not abusing my position. It's called using vacation days, pipsqueak. And besides, I have the right to enjoy a break every now and then. Or aren't you excited to spend more time with me?"
Caleb leaned in closer, his breath fanning across your face as he smirked at you. "Besides, I'm sure the fleet won't crumble without me for a few days.”
“Well, who said I wanted to spend time with you?” You retort carefully, removing yourself from the barstool and away from his touch. You take your plate and put it in the sink. Making your way back to the grey couch in the living room.
He watched you as you left the stool and walked away to the living room. A small smirk appeared on his lips as he was amused by your act of defiance. He couldn't help but find it cute how you tried to play hard to get
"Oh, is that right?" he chuckled as he followed you to the living room, his strides long and purposeful. He took a seat next to you on the couch, his muscular frame settling on the cushion. "But isn't that why you always cling to me?”
“Me cling to you?” You gasp dramatically, “isn't it the other way around?” You purposely scooted away from him to the furthest seat on the couch. As if to be extra dramatic you grab a cushion and place it noticeably between you and your childhood best friend. As if it would be the perfect barrier to keep him away from your tiny figure.
He stifled a laugh at your theatrical display. He leaned back against the couch, arms lazily resting against the back of the furniture. "Oh, really now? And who's the one who always sneaks into my bed in the middle of the night, seeking comfort because they're afraid of the lightning outside?”
“That was a long time ago!” You stammered annoyed that your face was burning up mortified. Literally, last night you crawled into his bed scared of the storm outside. You didn't like to sleep alone during the bad weather you never had. Caleb made it a habit to call you during bad weather just to talk to you. He had a way of making you feel comfortable. You reach over to the coffee table and grab the remote. With the click of a button you switched the TV from the news to Netflix.
Quickly changing the embarrassing topic you prompted, “Are we in the mood for something Spooky? Romantic? Or Funny?”
He watched you fiddle with the remote, amused by your attempt to change the subject. He knew he struck a nerve and he couldn't help but tease you further. "Oh, so you're just going to ignore the fact that you're still a scaredy-cat?"
He chuckled, giving you a crooked smile . "But, fine, we'll change the subject. As for what mood we're in tonight... How about we watch something scary and then a cheesy romantic comedy after?”
You nod in agreement your locks messily falling out of the bun , "Something Scary and then something funny." You shift your body to the right of couch stretching your legs out and resting them over Caleb laps. He casually rests both his hands on to them. He chuckled softly, feeling the familiar weight of your legs on his lap. He welcomed it, his hands automatically moving to rest on your thighs, giving them a gentle squeeze. He'd grown used to this gesture of yours, and he didn't mind one bit.
You clicked on a horror movie a random horror movie about Ghosts Haunting a Home. ..
His hands instinctively begin moving, lightly massaging your thighs in soothing circles. He was aware of each movement of your muscles, reacting accordingly to any tension he felt.
As the movie progressed he noticed that you were getting more and more tense. Despite your earlier statement that the scary movie didn't bother you, he knew that you were on edge. Every jump scare had you gripping onto the armchair, your legs involuntarily twitching in his lap.
The movie was getting intense to the point of where you a Hunter were getting squeamish. You bit the bottom of you lip. Your heart was pounding like a race horse on a track. Icy cold sweat crept up behind your neck. You gasped at the doomed woman on screen who picked up the disconnected landline that was ringing.
You knew the jumpscare was going to happen. Caleb felt your muscles tense up in anticipation, your body language betraying your attempt to feign nonchalance. His hands instinctively grip your thighs tighter, his touch warm and firm. It was all too obvious what was going on.
"Scared?" he whispered, amusement creeping into his voice. He knew he was right, but he couldn't help but tease you just a little bit. You jumped at Caleb's question. He purposely distracted you from the building jumpscare. He felt a pang of guilt when he looked over to your petrified figure. Tears poking at the corner of your waterline. "N-no." You whimpered, obviously lying as you tore your gaze from the screen in front of you. A high pitch scream followed just to prove you wrong. And if on cue the weather outside joined in the cruel joke letting a crack of lightning filled the room with thunder chasing it.
The thunder outside only added to the atmosphere, and you switched your grip onto the red Apple pillow that you used as a barrier between you and him gripping it even tighter.
He reached over and gently pulled your body towards him, enveloping you in a warm embrace. He could feel your body tremble against his chest as you buried your face into his neck. “Hey, I'm here.”
You instantly melted in his arms. Not all but most of your worries dissipated. He made you feel safe and secure. Whether you want to admit it or not. You didn't have to say it to anyone; it was an obvious secret between you two. With his left hand he tenderly stroked your cheek. His lips found their way back to your forehead. It was a cute attempt to get rid of the bad thoughts of the scary ghosts.
His touch was gentle, reassuring, and you relished the feeling of his large hand on your cheek. You took a deep breath in, inhaling his scent, and it felt like home. You nuzzled into his neck, finding comfort in the strong, familiar presence of his body.
He continued to hold you closely, his hand on your cheek moving down to cup your chin, slowly tilting your head up so that your eyes could meet his. His gaze was soft, filled with concern and affection as he studied your face…
You peer up into his dark purple eyes under your lashes. You felt his breath brush gently against your face. He always knew what you were feeling and thinking. You could have sworn that he was a telepathic when you were both kids. His body radiated so much heat you felt like a cookie baking in the oven. You timidly lick your bottom lip unsure of what to do. "Hm?" He hums arching an eyebrow.
The sound of his hum sent a shiver down your spine, and you could feel the air becoming thick with tension. He wasn't oblivious to the way you subconsciously ran your tongue along your lip, it captured his attention. His gaze flickered downward, fixated on the movement, and he felt his own heart quicken in response.
He reached up and ran his thumb gently over your bottom lip, the touch feather-light and teasing. his breath was shaky and unsure. lightly brushing over your plump lips. he was desperate to kiss you. but he wouldn't dare crossed that line until you were sure in your decision with him
"What?" You whisper ever so carefully frightened to shatter this moment and ruin it forever. You stared into his beautiful deep purple eyes your fingers carefully wander from his chest to his neck and just enough to cup his jawline.
His breath caught in his throat, feeling your soft touch against his face. He closed his eyes briefly, savoring the sensation of your fingers gently tracing his jawline. It was the first intimate touch he had experienced in a while from you
He opened his eyes again and leaned in closer, his face only inches away from yours. "are you sure you want to cross that line?" He murmured, his voice low and steady, as if the air between you was electrified.
You nod closing your eyes leaning into his lips. Your heart is pounding loudly in your ears and through your ribcage. Butterflies threatened your tummy.
He felt the small nod of your head, and that was all he needed. He closed the distance between the two of you, his lips gently capturing yours in a soft kiss. His actions were tender and hesitant, as if he was trying to memorize the feeling of your lips against his. He pulled back slightly, breaking the kiss just enough to meet your gaze. He gently cupped your face, his thumb running over your cheek.
His voice cracked as he whispered, “I’ve wanted to do that for ages…”
“Do it again,” you gently ordered him, through half hooded eyes. This time you snaked an arm around his neck. You used your other hand to draw his lips to your own. Your body reacted so naturally to his touch. You pressed your breasts against his chest as your plush thighs saddle him. His robotic arm clumsily grasps at your waist drawing you deeper into him. His left hand kneads mindfully against your bottom. The thin shorts were so flimsy he could practically feel your ass under his touch.
A low moan escaped his lips as he felt your body pressed up against him, the thin fabric of your shorts against his fingers igniting something primal within him. He continued to kiss you, deeper and more urgently this time. His grip on your waist tightened as he angled your chest against him and his hips, grinding into you. The feeling of your weight on his lap only heightened his desire for you.
He parted from the kiss, his breath hitched as he leaned his forehead against yours, trying to keep his composure. "You feel so good," he whispered, his voice hoarse with desire. “Let me make you feel good.”
You lifted your floral top with shaky hands(from the rush), revealing your mounds to him. He latched his watering mouth on to your bud. His gaze was gradually growing dark as he greedily sucked away. Your taste was electric, igniting a fire within him that he had long suppressed. He pulled you even closer, his left hand slipping under your cami top to feel the bare skin of your lower back. You light whimpers fused him on and on. He lapped slow and torturous swirls with his tongue. With a lewd pop he sloppily removes himself only to return the other neglected half. He assisted you in removing the damned clothing piece.
His hands were greedy as they roamed, exploring the curves and valleys of your body. Your whimpers only fueled his desire. He was a desperate man, craving your presence like a drowning man craves air.
He shifted you gently, laying you down on the couch. His body was on top of you, his weight pinning you to the cushion. His lips roamed your neck, kissing and biting down until he left a trail of possessive love marks. Each one of them a claim that you were his, and his alone.
“Caleb,” you pathetically sigh, withering against him.
Caleb shifts his weight onto his arms and props himself. Admiring his nifty work. The dark purple, pink, and red marks were strategically placed. Your poor bruised and swollen mouth from his greedy endeavor. Your puffy buds aching for his lips and tongue once more. You were absolutely stunning to him.
You boldly wrap your legs around his waist. Grinding your core against the tint of his sweatpants so shamelessly. You had an unbearable ache between your legs, and it was killing you that he was taking his time to take care of it.
He groaned deeply, the friction and movement of your body against him was almost just enough to push him off the edge of no return. He could feel your neediness, and it only made him want to prolong this moment, to draw out your desire for just a little longer.
He leaned down, his hot mouth at your ear, his voice deep and rough. "You're so impatient, aren't you?"
His hips instinctively bucked into yours, the desire and need evident in the movement.
“Make me feel good then,” you hiss through clenched teeth, attempting to savor his ruts.
You felt his lopsided smile form on his lips while pressed against your earlobe, “Pick a number.” he prompts.
“ Urgh,” you grumble, resisting the urge to roll your eyes at his stupid request. Was this another game of his? “I pick seven.”
The gentleman reaches behind his back with both arms, taking a firm grasp on your ankles, and reluctantly freeing himself from your legs. You begin to protest by resisting him, you couldn't shake or slip out of his iron grip on your legs.
“Stop squirming,” he barked sternly and suddenly your legs parted nice and wide open for him. You couldn't close them no matter how hard you tried. Your lower half weighed like a ton leaving you immobilized under him. This dummy was using his Evol on you!
Caleb lazily tugged your shorts to the side, “Ah!” You winced from an icy sensation resting on your clit. His metallic thumb was rubbing small circles.
“Tell me if it hurts,” he paused to gauge your reaction.
His thumb continued its slow, torturous gentle circles, applying just the right amount of pressure for you. The feeling was overwhelming for you, every nerve in your body was on fire. "Ah, Caleb, it doesn't hurt, it feels...it feels fine." Your words came out in between labored pants, each one a desperate plea for more.
He was amused watching you closely, his eyes locked onto your face, studying every little twitch or whimper that escaped from you. His free hand was gently massaging your inner thigh, his fingers drawing random patterns on the sensitive skin. He didn't need to hold you down; his Evol and imagination solved that issue for him.
"Feels so good. More please." You managed to say.
He let out a soft chuckle, his eyes gleamed with a mix of amusement and satisfaction. "Patience,” he said and his thumb slowly pushed his fingers inside you.
"Oh, god, yes!”You groaned, trying to squirm under him, but it was all in vain. He had you at his mercy, and there was nothing you could do about it.
His touch was cold against your most sensitive area, a sharp contrast to the heat that was building inside you. You could hear your own voice, a breathy sigh. Your head tossed back as your face contorts in ecstasy.
His fingers curled inside of you and he leaned in. His head at the level of your breast once again. "Look at me." He smiles cruelly as his gaze darkened with lust and possessiveness. You peer down looking at his satisfied grin.
“Good girl,” he praised when you followed the order. His hardwire fingers slipped past your soaked lips and began to repeatedly assault a sweet spot in your spongy core. Even though he couldn't feel you with his part; he made damn sure you felt him.
You abruptly cried out to him. The heated coil in your tummy is too much to bear. Your muscles clamp down on his digits. Your back arches up Caleb uses his other hand to ground you down back onto the couch his fingers buried deep in you. Coaxing your every being to him.
“Look at me,” he orders, “look at me when you cum.” Your vision blurred when you locked your hues with his. “That's my good girl.”
He withdraws his fingers from your core when he's certain you finished. Your juices coated shamelessly on his digits. Your musk and arousal are beyond evident. He brushed your hair out from sticking to your face. “That's One.” You couldn't process what he said. Your ears are ringing, you're still trapped in your heady high. Body tingling in a blissful state. You silently cursed yourself for not crossing this line with this man sooner.
Your legs were still splayed open. He saw the white flimsy fabric stick to your excitement. Unfortunately, it was blocking his complete view. So with that he made short work of it by ripping it off. You wanted to protest and shout at him for doing that to you but you just couldn't organize your thoughts in time.
“I'll buy you as many of these as you want,” he promised. Cold metallic fingers find themselves back at your core once more. A light buzz fills the air. “Ah!” You moaned, tossing your head back. His fingers were vibrating and generously spoiling your selfish cunt.
“My goodness,” He coos mockingly, “Look at this mess you're making.” You were absolutely trapped underneath him and his mercy. Your lips puffy and pink. You scrunched your face and bite your bottom lip muffling your sweet sounds from him. Tears threaten to spill from the corner of your eyes, all because he effortlessly guided you to another release.
His dick ached at the sight of your blissful demise. You had beads of sweat frame your pretty face. Your face flushed and pink. Your love drunk gaze drinking in his awe struck face . Your chest heaving up and down and up and hard on the down when he touched just the right spot to bring you undone. His two digits were three knuckles deep inside you vibrating away. The sound of your sopping wet pussy encourages him to do more. He grins watching you fall apart.
“Caleb-” you cried out sobbing looking up at him, “ I'm cumming, I'm cumming,” You felt your walls quake finally imploding around his digits once more. You muscles clamped on to him. He quickens his fingers and his thumb circles roughly against your bud to push you just enough to make you feel good.
“What a good girl,” he purred, watching your eyes roll into the back of your head. He noted that you were obediently cute. You tried to look at him as you released just as he directed you to do in your first one, “That's Two. I need a few more from you.” he shows you the wet mess you made on his robotic hand.
Your chest was heaving heavily. More? He wanted more from you? You felt hot burning tears run down your face. You couldn't close your legs together to catch a break. He kisses your tears away and you nuzzle into his touch relishing it. He brought his right arm up to his mouth, sucking down your essence. Your juices glistening on his lips. He moves back to you kissing you harder and hungrily. You taste yourself on him.
“Yeah, Give me one more,” he said huskily, “One more.”
By now you were a hot mess. Tears stained your flushed face. You came several times. The couch was soaked. You were babbling incoherent nonsense to him. “It's too much”, “No more please”, and “I feel good,” And he was just on top of you savoring your fucked out expression the entire time commiting everything to memory. Caleb nodded along with whatever nonsense you spewed to him in your stupor haze. His fingers drawing out more orgasms from your poor pussy, like a magician pulling out endless magical tricks from his hat.
“Sweetness, we're at seven.” he smiles, how he managed to still stay hard and not ruin his sweatpants was a mystery beyond him. Perhaps it was because He IS the colonel after all, very patient and well disciplined. And he sure as hell wasn't going to embarrass himself in front of you. You're too gone to notice the vibrations from his hand had stopped.
The two of you finally made it to seven. Caleb removes his grey sweatpants, his self restraint a miracle. A bead of precum sits at the top of his heavy pulsing rod. “You're going to feel so good when I'm through with you.” he slurs shuffling towards you.
He went over and beyond with making sure you were wet and ready for him. You should be able to take him without any issues. Caleb uses his left hand and collects your drool that ran down your chin. He coats his dick in it, triumphantly angling himself along your entrance.
The Evol finally dissipates. However, your legs felt heavy like cinder and you were unable to close your legs together. You couldn't muster up the strength to do it. He forced his bulbous tip past your soaked cunt. Stars threaten to fill your vision as you feel him penetrate. He oh- so- slowly stretched out you with ease He wasn't met with any resistance with how he slipped in. He sucked his breath in astonishment with the way your gummy walls clenched on to him. As if to finally welcome him home. This was more than what he dreamed of. Slightly shifting his hips he felt your squishy muscles suck him in further as if begging him not to pull out. Who was he to deny your body its wishes? He peppered your face with kisses praising how well you, his good girl, took him.
He couldn't stop himself from pounding your abused and spoiled little pussy. It started with one greedy and thorough thrust- leading to another. Whoops and another. It just wasn't enough for him. He slung both your legs on each side of his shoulders. Hips meet against the plush from the back of your thighs, skin upon skin echoes loudly in the room. Your sweet cries encourage him to go on. His firm grip pulling your lower half back to him harder and harder. “I just want to make you feel good,” he groans to you through half hooded eyes, “That's all.”
He's deeper than before. How was it possible for each thrust to be deeper than the last? Your hands splay across his well built pelvis in an attempt to ease the pounding he's giving you. He hits a delicious spot to where you balled your hands into fist savouring his thick length. “Ah!” you sobbed.
Caleb snatched one of your hands and placed it on his cheek nuzzling into your touch. His lips part and you slip your thumb into mouth lost in the moment. What an unholy sight to behold. Caleb's gaze was cast down on your lustful bouncing breasts. He suckled at your thumb while melting at your touch. Tongue swirled hungrily around your thumb. Your pussy was taking quite a beating from him. The bed whines and rocks with his starved desperate movements.
“Caleb,” you warned, crying out to him as a new set of tears spill from the corner of your fluttering lashes. “I can't hold it.”
He hums in response to your urgent outburst. He was a true pilot. Just as he promised you from when he was in college. He kept his words and took you to see the stars as they polluted your vision of him. Hell maybe it was the tears. But you did what he instructed you to do. You willed yourself pass the tears and the blurry vision. Finally finding his beautiful eyes zeroed down on you.
“Oh, you're so close,” he rasped, pushing out your thumb from his mouth. “I can feel it.”
He bites down on the palm of your hand. You're a panting mess. An arch forms along your back, your chest up to him, and breasts in his face. Your toes behind his back curled up just attempting to hold back. Your muscles quake once more and clamp down on him harder than ever before. Thankfully your pussy milks him just as hard as he fucked you senselessly.
“Be my good girl and cum,” Caleb grits his teeth and curls forward. He's chasing his release and pushing you further to enjoy yours. He stills and a shudder rack through his entire body. A lovely low groan fills your ears. Suddenly, a warm tingly sensation spills in your stuffed cunt. He filled you up to the brim cum leaking out the base of his cock of where you two were intimately connected. “That's my girl.”
You're spent. Exhausted. Drained. In a daze as the man before you examines your face and body. He made a mess out of you and was absolutely proud of it. Hickeys that decorated your body. Messy hair. But damnit you were still beautiful and sturdy. He pulls up his sweats and tugs you towards his body. That way you're bare and laying on top of him resting. The two of you lounge on the sofa relishing in the afterglow.
“You did so good for me.” He coos softly, running his fingers through your tangled hair and down your sticky back. He pressed feather-like kisses against your scalp. “Let's rest for a while and then we'll take a bath together, yeah?”
You hum lazily in agreement as a yawn parts from your mouth, “Okay.”
Synopsis: In a future where war and technology have blurred the line between man and machine, Caleb was resurrected—not as who he was, but as who he was programmed to be. With only 3% of his original self left intact, the latest reboot of his chip has reshaped his logic, his purpose, and his understanding of his emotions towards you.
Bound by his own design, he has built you the Maze—a flawless, shifting sanctuary meant to protect the one person he refuses to lose. But protection and captivity are two sides of the same coin, and inside the Maze, freedom is just another unsolvable puzzle.
Will you escape, or will Stockholm Syndrome take hold before that day?
Details: 2600ish words. Some kind of spin off AU, but corresponds with in-game canons. Obsessive Caleb. Yandere Caleb. Controlling Caleb. Colonel Caleb. Crazy hot Caleb. 18+ due to psychological thriller/drama/angst galore (and a prelude for p0rn with plot, I’m just calling it now tbh lol). You are warned.
The sheets beneath your fingertips are soft, smooth against your skin—yet the coolness of the night still lingers, a stark contrast to the heat of your own body.
For a moment, you just lie there, still. Listening.
The room hums with a faint, steady silence—too perfect, too controlled. There’s no creak of floorboards, no shifting of walls, only the barely-there whisper of circulated air filtering through vents.
A breath. A heartbeat.
Then—
“Morning, sunshine.”
The sound curls through the space, warm, teasing, familiar.
You don’t flinch.
Your hands, hidden beneath your pillow, run over the rough scratches in the headboard.
Ten days.
Ten days in Caleb’s Maze.
Ten days of carefully mapping the shifting corridors, learning the rhythm of the walls.
Ten days of waiting for a single mistake.
You let your thumb press against the newest line, the wood rough beneath your nail. The only thing here that feels imperfect.
Ten lines. Today makes ten.
Your fingers move carefully, hidden beneath your pillow, tracing over the rough scratches in the headboard. The grooves are uneven, worn from repetition.
A habit now. A ritual.
Another inhale. Another second where you are just waking up.
Then, deliberately slow, you stretch—arms reaching high, toes curling, your spine arching briefly before you relax again, exhaling softly. You force yourself to move naturally. To pretend.
“Did you sleep well, Pips?”
His voice is smooth, effortless, the same playful lilt it’s always had. The intercom crackles faintly at the edges, a reminder that he isn’t here.
You push the sheets off, swallowing down the tightness in your throat.
“I’ve had worse,” you murmur.
A low chuckle hums through the room. Soft, unbothered.
“That’s not an answer.”
You don’t give him one.
Instead, you slide out of bed, bare feet meeting cool marble flooring, and head toward the kitchen. It’s pristine, the kind of luxury that feels staged, artificial. Polished marble, deep walnut cabinets, light spilling through windows that show a perfect sky that isn’t real.
You reach for a glass from the overhead rack—thin, cool, smooth against your fingers—before pouring yourself orange juice.
It’s cold when you drink, tangy with just the right bite of citrus.
“The apple juice is fresher.”
You pause mid-drink.
His voice is still warm, too conversational for someone keeping you captive.
“But,” Caleb adds smoothly, “you’re free to choose whatever you please.”
Your jaw tightens. You set the glass down too hard.
“Oh, how generous.”
Silence stretches for a moment, and you swear you hear the faintest flicker of static in the speakers. Like he was about to say something else.
Then—nothing.
You don’t wait for him to continue.
You turn on your heel, leaving the kitchen, heading toward the bathroom.
You brush your teeth, staring at your reflection. Messy hair, sharper eyes. With a slow inhale, you smooth down the wrinkled fabric of your pajamas, then splash cool water onto your face, letting the droplets slide down your jaw. You straighten, gripping the sink for a moment before exhaling.
You look fine. Healthy.
And yet, something invisible coils inside you as you step out of the bathroom. The plush carpet yields softly beneath your bare feet, a stark contrast to the cold, sterile reality of the Maze beyond this space.
The walk-in wardrobe is spacious, curated to perfection, a collection of clothes you never asked for but were chosen with meticulous care. Your fingers trail along the fabrics, skimming over silken dresses, impossibly soft loungewear, intricate embroidery.
Not clothes meant for movement.
Not clothes meant for running.
But today, you dress for yourself.
Your hands move with quiet certainty. A fitted, dark long-sleeve shirt, breathable and weightless against your skin. Black cargo pants with deep pockets, light enough for speed, flexible enough to run.
You don’t rush as you pull the shirt over your head, as you fasten the buttons on your pants.
You don’t care if he’s watching.
Let him.
You glance at your wrist, at the smooth, metallic weight of the watch he gave you—shaped like an apple, polished to perfection. A taunt. A joke only he found amusing. You’d scoffed when he fastened it around your wrist on the first day, smirking like he was doing you a favor. As if time mattered in a place like this. As if knowing the hour would change the fact that every second still belonged to him.
And yet, it had given you something.
You’d started noticing the patterns. The way his voice filtered through the speakers more often at certain times, his presence reduced to an unseen observer rather than the man himself. A shift in routine, a window of opportunity. If he wasn’t here in person, then maybe—just maybe—it was the best time to run.
Not in the way a person does—not with lungs or with a heartbeat—but with the constant, seamless shifts of its corridors, the silent recalibration of its pathways, the ever-adapting nature of its design.
It moves because it is meant to.
Because he made it so.
His design.
From his office aboard The Fleet headquarters, Caleb watches.
Multiple screens flicker in front of him, displaying live feeds from the Maze’s surveillance systems. Some show stark, metallic corridors bathed in cold fluorescent light, their silence almost oppressive. Others reveal lush, curated spaces—gardens where bioluminescent flowers bloom in a soft, otherworldly glow, their petals unfurling like whispers against the artificial breeze.
Waterfalls cascade down smooth stone walls, their shimmering descent captured in crisp, high-definition clarity. Libraries sleek and modern, with floor-to-ceiling glass, dark wood shelves lined with both rare books and glowing data slates, and plush leather seating bathed in soft, golden light—a seamless blend of luxury and knowledge.
Yet, despite the breathtaking variety before him, his attention is drawn to one screen in particular. Something about it—perhaps the flicker of movement, the subtle shift in shadow—demands his focus.
You.
You stand before the open wardrobe, fingers skimming over the array of fabrics, hesitating.
Something twists in his chest.
It happens fast, instinctive—like a flicker of old wiring trying to reroute itself. Something he shouldn’t feel.
But he does.
His violet eyes trace every detail as you shift through the clothing options. There’s an abundance of choices—elegant silks, soft cottons, layers meant for comfort rather than necessity.
And yet, when your fingers pause, it’s on something practical.
Dark, fitted. Movable.
A slow, amused sound escapes him—“tsk, tsk, tsk.”
He already knows.
Even before you strip off your nightwear and begin sliding into a long-sleeve shirt, breathable and light, he knows.
You’re planning to run.
Again.
His gaze lingers for a second too long as you fasten the buttons on your cargo pants, checking their fit, testing their flexibility. It’s almost methodical, the way you move—not just dressing, but preparing. A muscle feathers in his cheek, and without thinking, his teeth catch his lower lip, a small, unconscious bite—barely there, barely a reaction, but enough. A fleeting lapse in control before he smooths it away, blinking once, recalibrating.
Caleb exhales through his nose, fingers loosely tapping against the polished surface of his desk. The gesture is unconscious, almost idle, but there’s an undercurrent of something he can’t quite name.
Not frustration. Not even disappointment.
Something closer to sadness.
For a moment—just a moment—he allows himself the thought:
You don’t trust him.
Even after ten days in the Maze, after the security, the warmth, the meals he ensures are exactly as you like them—you still choose to run.
That small, dying fraction of himself—the part that still feels, still remembers, still wants—aches.
Then, just as quickly, he shuts it down.
His violet gaze hardens, refocusing his thoughts, and with a measured glance toward the digital clock in the corner of his screen, he makes a decision.
“Early lunch then.” The words are low, absentminded, spoken only to himself.
He stands, rolling his sleeves down, adjusting the crisp lines of his uniform. His movements are fluid, practiced—not rushed, not tense.
This isn’t unexpected.
You always were predictable in your defiance. And while he should be sitting through another briefing on Fleet logistics, securing operations for Skyhaven’s next expansion project, this takes priority.
You take priority.
Without another glance at the monitors, Caleb steps away from his desk, his boots echoing lightly against the pristine floors of his office.
His command to The Fleet’s automated systems is brief, quiet, and final.
The air is fresh, sterile. The Maze is designed to feel real, but it isn’t.
Some corridors have grass growing in patches, soft beneath your steps. Others are lined with polished stone, textured enough to feel almost natural. Somewhere, hidden beyond the walls, you hear the soft, rhythmic hum of unseen machines. The constant, inaudible shifts of the Maze adjusting itself.
Every sound. Every change.
Caleb built this place beautifully.
But a golden cage is still a cage.
You let your fingers graze the walls, memorizing the faintest seams. The air is still, too quiet. You keep walking, turning a corner—
Then—
A door stays open a second too long.
Your breath catches.
You move. Fast, silent, sharp.
Each step is calculated, your feet landing light against the ground as you slip through the threshold before it can close.
The first hallway is clear.
Your pulse spikes, adrenaline flooding your veins.
A second hallway—open.
You keep going.
Your heart pounds.
A third hallway. Open. Your pulse spikes, adrenaline burning hot in your veins.
You don’t stop. You don’t think. You move.
And then—
A shadow. A shift in the air.
Arms wrap around your waist.
A solid, crushing force, an unyielding grip stronger than your own body. Your breath leaves you in a sharp exhale, and you thrash immediately. Fingers claw at his forearm, at the muscle in his wrist, nails digging into flesh—but he doesn’t even flinch.
“You know better than this, Pips.” Caleb’s voice is too steady. Too calm.
The fight in you explodes.
You shove back, twisting, slamming your elbow into his ribs. It’s a clean hit, right where you aimed—
And he doesn’t even move.
“Really?” Caleb exhales, the sound a mix of amusement and something dangerously close to indulgence.
You fight. He doesn’t flinch.
In a single motion, he lifts you. Effortless. Controlled. Like this was always how it would end.
Your breath stutters as the world tilts.
His hold is secure, strong, completely unshaken. His body is warm against your back, his presence a wall you can’t break through.
“I’m disappointed,” Caleb murmurs. “I thought we were past this phase.”
You twist again, wild, desperate—he tightens his hold.
It isn’t painful. It’s just inescapable.
“Still fighting me, huh?” A sigh, low, almost indulgent.
The door hisses shut behind you, locking with an unmistakable click.
The room is warm. Comfortable. Familiar. Which only makes you hate it more. Everything here is chosen for you. The plush seating, the softest blankets, the bookshelves filled with titles you’ve mentioned in passing. There’s even a record player in the corner, already humming out a low, nostalgic tune.
Caleb has built you a paradise.
And then he’s tied you to the chair.
The contrast is almost comical.
A high-backed, cushioned armchair, angled just slightly toward the crackling fireplace. The restraints—thin, smooth straps, nothing rough or cruel—keep your wrists and ankles in place.
And once again it’s not painful. Just inescapable…
“You know,” Caleb says conversationally, adjusting the straps like he’s tucking you in for the night, “this wouldn’t be necessary if you behaved.”
You don’t answer.
Instead, you glare at the bookshelf across from you, focusing on the hardcover spines of your favorite novels rather than the man currently fastening you into your luxury prison.
“Pips, don’t be like that.”
The nickname makes you grit your teeth.
Caleb straightens, stepping back, hands loosely resting on his hips as he surveys his work. His violet eyes flick over the restraints, your tensed arms, your jaw clenched in irritation.
Then—a smirk.
“Comfy?”
Your glare could burn through steel.
“Oh, come on,” he sighs, gesturing vaguely around the room. “I could’ve put you somewhere far less accommodating.”
Your eyes flicker around the room, unwillingly cataloging every sickeningly perfect detail.
The softest blankets in the universe draped over the nearby couch. A table of fresh fruit, chocolates, and a steaming cup of tea—your favorite blend. A window overlooking a perfect sunset, artificial but beautiful.
And worst of all—the armchair you’re currently restrained to? It reclines.
Your fingers twitch.
“See?” Caleb tilts his head, reading your expression effortlessly. “I’m not unreasonable.”
You huff through your nose, looking away.
Caleb leans down, hands bracing the armrests, his breath a whisper of warmth against your skin. Violet eyes—too sharp, too knowing—trace your features, his stare slow, deliberate, as if committing every defiant line to memory.
“I don’t like doing this to you, Pip-squeak.” His voice is softer now. Too close. Too careful.
His gloved fingers glide over your cheek, a slow, feather-light drag of cool leather against your too-warm skin. It shouldn’t leave an impression, but it does—a whisper of control, deliberate, inescapable.
Then, he moves—not back, but forward.
He leans in, slow, deliberate, until his breath ghosts against your lips, warm and steady, the space between you shrinking into nothing.
And then, just there, against your mouth—
“But you have to stop trying to leave me.”
The words are soft, almost gentle—but there’s nothing soft about the way they settle into your bones. A command, a fact, absolute.
He’s already gone.
Straightened. Moved away, as if he hadn’t just stolen the air from your lungs, as if he hadn’t just set your pulse stumbling. Like he’s in control.
Because, of course—he is.
Caleb he tilts his head slightly, gaze flickering down as he taps a single finger against the watch on your wrist—light, teasing, as if this is just another game.
“Should we say two hours of relaxation?” His voice is smooth, almost coy. Then, with a smirk, he leans in just slightly, like he’s sharing some playful little secret. “Then we can go play basketball later.”
And just like that, he turns on his heel, stepping away, unbothered, already moving on—as if he hadn’t just tied you down, as if he hadn’t just reminded you exactly where you belong.
Caleb stands just outside the room, his back to the door, his gloved fingers twitching at his sides. His breath escapes too sharp, too uneven, something off-rhythm about it.
He should be proud. He handled the situation with perfect efficiency.
You fought. He won.
And yet—his pulse is off. The air in the corridor feels heavier than it should.
He presses his fingers to his temple. Once. Twice.
Like he’s trying to force something back into place.
Steps sharp, too controlled.
He moves down the corridor, into the main halls of the Maze, the exit looming ahead.
Then, as if remembering something only he can hear, Caleb pulls a small device from his belt—sleek, no larger than his palm, its surface smooth and seamless.
His grip tightens around it.
It’s unnecessary.
You’ve made your choices. He’s made his.
And yet—his thumb presses down.
A soft, nearly imperceptible beep registers in his earpiece. Inside the locked room, the restraints will loosen. You won’t be free to leave. But you’ll be free to move.
His shoulders drop by a fraction of an inch, just enough that someone trained in reading body language might notice.
But no one is watching.
Caleb’s fingers press down on a door panel.
The door unlocks.
And Caleb steps through.
Behind him, the Maze remains unchanged, unmoving, silent. But no matter how far he walks, no matter how many doors close between you—
He will return to you.
He always does.
Because you are still inside.
And Caleb has never been able to stay away from you for long.
Writer’s note: So I had this idea and I love crazy delulu Caleb. I kinda like it? It’s something? It has potential, I think? I’m playing around with writing styles and this is the product. I feel like anything could happen in this maze lol. Okey then, thank you for reading 🫶🏻
Synopsis: In a future where war and technology have blurred the line between man and machine, Caleb was resurrected—not as who he was, but as who he was programmed to be. With only 3% of his original self left intact, the latest reboot of his chip has reshaped his logic, his purpose, and his understanding of his emotions towards you.
Bound by his own design, he has built you the Maze—a flawless, shifting sanctuary meant to protect the one person he refuses to lose. But protection and captivity are two sides of the same coin, and inside the Maze, freedom is just another unsolvable puzzle.
Will you escape, or will Stockholm Syndrome take hold before that day?
Details: 3500ish words. Some kind of spin off AU, but it corresponds with in-game canons. Obsessive Caleb. Yandere Caleb. Controlling Caleb. Crazy hot Caleb. Fem reader. Dom!Caleb. I mean it. He’s absolutely feral dom (imo). Freak vs freak. Psychological thriller, p0rn with plot. 18+ and super filthy explicit language. This is the dom-iest I’ve written Caleb. And it’s all for the plot, I promise. This is not for the faint of heart, ok? You are warned.
The air is thick, charged, humming with artificial electricity as you sprint down the winding corridors, the breath in your lungs sharp and burning. The Maze shifts around you, walls recalibrating, openings appearing and sealing off just as quickly—a living, breathing thing designed to keep you trapped.
Designed by him.
Your muscles already ache from the chase, your heartbeat thrumming like a war drum, but you crave it—the rush, the unbearable anticipation crawling up your spine. Thank god dinner was light—just enough to sustain you, not enough to weigh you down, leaving only the hunger that truly matters.
Because you know he is close.
Somewhere behind you, Caleb is hunting. Calculating. Stalking.
His footsteps are slow, measured, deliberate—click, click, click—echoing through the steel corridors, following the path you’ve unknowingly laid out for him.
Because you are predictable.
Not in your escape routes, not in the way you twist through the Maze like something wild and untamed—
Caleb tilts his head slightly, watching you just ahead, watching the way your body moves, the way your breath comes in sharp, quick bursts—each inhale lifting your chest, each stride making the hem of your skirt flick higher, teasing glimpses of bare skin with every desperate movement.
And for a second—just a second—something deep inside his chest claws against its cage.
Not yet.
He swallows it down, smooths it over, lets the darkness curl through his smirk as he watches you sprint, as he watches the exact moment your pulse kicks too high, too sharp.
Your feet barely make a sound against the cold, smooth floor, but the Maze feels it. Every movement. Every desperate breath. Every flick of fabric against your thighs as your skirt shifts with each stride. The thin tank top clings to your skin, damp with sweat, the air cool against your overheated body.
You’d picked it on purpose.
Something unassuming. Non-threatening. Innocent.
But now?
You feel like prey.
Your legs burn, muscles screaming, lungs fighting for air, but you don’t slow.
You can’t.
Because behind you—
He’s there.
Not running. Not chasing.
Not yet.
Just watching. Waiting. Hunting.
A steady, calculated click, click, click of boots on steel somewhere behind you.
Measured. Unhurried.
A predator who knows exactly how this ends.
A sharp shudder ripples down your spine, something cold and hot all at once, making your breath stutter as you push forward, harder, faster.
And then—
A door slightly ajar.
Real. Solid. Just beyond the next turn.
Your pulse spikes, a bolt of something terrifying and electric slamming into your chest.
So close.
Your fingers stretch toward it—
And then—nothing.
Your body locks mid-stride, momentum cut off so violently that a strangled noise rips from your throat.
You’re suspended. Weightless. Trapped—before you even had the chance to play your part properly.
Evol. Caleb.
“Fuck—”
The word barely leaves your lips before you hear it—
That slow, deliberate click, click, click.
The rhythm of his boots against the floor is steady, calculated, each step falling with unbearable precision.
Then, another sound—
A slow clap.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Not rushed. Mocking.
The sharp echo bounces off the metal walls, vibrating through your bones, wrapping around your breathless form like invisible chains.
And then—he’s there.
Towering. Casual. Unrushed.
A man who knows he’s already won.
The flicker of artificial light catches against his dark clothing, the crisp lines undisturbed, his violet eyes gleaming with amusement, with hunger, with absolute control.
Caleb presses a thumb beneath your chin, tilting your head up. Not gently.
Firm. Demanding.
His nail digs in slightly, just enough to make your breath hitch, your pulse thrum against his fingers.
“Well, well.” His voice is silk-drenched smugness, smoothed over steel. “Look how far you got. Almost impressive.”
Your lips part slightly, but his eyes are already there. Watching. Measuring.
His grip tightens.
And then—he kisses you.
Slow. Deliberate. Unshaken.
A claiming.
His lips are warm, firm, steady, molding against yours like they’ve done it a thousand times, like they have all the time in the world to do it again. You try to turn away—pretend to resist, just to play your part, just to spite him—but his fingers tighten, keeping you exactly where he wants you.
It should be humiliating.
It isn’t.
Because the fire curling in your stomach, the molten ache pooling between your thighs, tells you exactly what it is instead.
Still, you manage to mumble against his lips, a breathless, mocking sneer—
“Cheater.”
He stills.
Then—he smiles.
A slow, wicked curve of his lips, pressed against yours, against the heat of your open mouth, stealing the breath you don’t have left.
Then—his tongue flicks out.
A slow, deliberate lick along the side of your jaw, dragging up over your cheekbone—hot, wet, obscene. Your breath catches, body tensing at the deliberate, vulgar intimacy of it. But you don’t pull away.
You can’t.
Because the moment he pulls back, his breath skimming your cheek, his voice is a whisper of laughter.
“Run, then.”
His fingers glide along the side of your throat, lingering just long enough to tease, to remind—before he finally lets you go.
Your movements are calculated, controlled—too controlled. Every turn you take, every sharp pivot, every burst of speed through the dimly lit corridors carries intention. Strategy.
It’s almost charming, in a way that it shouldn’t be—this clever little game you’ve devised.
A trick. A thinly veiled excuse to give yourself permission.
To turn what you want into something you can bear.
Something he can bear.
Because you both knew—after dinner, after the tension settled into something tangible, something dangerous—that passion? Real passion:
The kind that grips like a vice, that drowns you in it, leaves you gasping, shaking, wrecked beyond recognition—
Would destroy him.
Would destroy you.
Because Caleb doesn’t get to want like that.
Not anymore.
He’s spent years learning to hold himself together with careful stitches of control, seams tight enough to keep from splitting apart.
Your breath sharpens, ragged and uneven, each inhale dragging through your lungs like it’s trying to claw its way out. The sound carries, bouncing off the smooth steel walls, a signal, a beacon—leading him straight to you.
Caleb’s breath? Steady. Unshaken.
Measured.
You’re ahead—barely. But it’s slipping. Your legs are burning now, the deep ache spreading, curling in your muscles, warning you that you’re running on the last reserves of your strength.
And he knows it. You see it in the way his violet eyes glint—sharp, already victorious.
“Tsk, look at you.” His voice is teasing, amused, but layered with something darker. Hungrier.
He’s not winded. He’s not struggling.
He’s playing.
“You’re panting already?”
Your teeth grind, but you don’t answer.
You can’t.
But he doesn’t need a response. He sees everything.
The way your shoulders stiffen.
The way your fingers twitch, as if they want to curl into fists.
The way you push harder, push faster, even though you both know you can’t outrun him.
That smug bastard is already enjoying this—far too much. Every quiet chuckle, every barely-there exhale of amusement is proof of it. You have to focus, force yourself not to laugh back, not to let him see just how much you feel it too.
Then—heat.
Close.
Too close.
His body is at your back before your mind can register it, before your instincts can scream at you to move, to do something—but it’s already too late.
His breath ghosts against your ear, warm, deliberate, curling over your skin.
The shock of it jolts through you, a violent shudder ripping down your spine, stealing the next breath from your lungs.
A hesitation—small, fleeting, but unmistakable. A fraction of a second where your body betrays you, where exhaustion cuts deeper than instinct, where hope flickers just enough to make you hesitate.
And that’s all he needs.
All he’s been waiting for.
Caleb moves.
A single, fluid motion—effortless, lethal, precise.
He lunges.
Hard. Fast. Unstoppable.
Your body collides with his, mid-stride, the force knocking the air from your lungs. The impact is calculated, deliberate, inescapable—not enough to wound, but enough to break through every last defense you have left.
The predator’s final kindness—ensuring that when you land, it’s the damp grass that catches you, not the cold, unforgiving steel. But it doesn’t feel like mercy. Not with the weight of him pressing down, solid muscle and overwhelming heat pinning you beneath him.
Your breath stumbles, a sharp inhale snagging in your throat—shock, exhaustion, something else entirely.
And then—you realize.
It’s over.
Caleb looms above, his body a cage around yours. His wrists pin yours effortlessly, his grip firm yet controlled. The air is thick, charged, humming between you as your heartbeat pounds in your ears.
A low chuckle rumbles through his chest, slow and satisfied.
“Gotcha.”
Your stomach tightens, a betrayal of instinct, a sharp coil of something too warm, too dangerous.
Caleb sees it. Caleb feels it. All of it.
The way your chest rises too quickly. The way your thighs press together. The way you shudder, just barely, beneath his touch.
And then—his hands move.
Slow. Deliberate. Knowing.
Fingertips skim beneath your shirt, a featherlight drag over heated skin. A whisper of contact that makes it impossible to keep still.
His palm presses against your stomach, fingertips grazing over your ribs—higher, teasing, possessive.
Then—his hand closes over your breast.
Firm. Rough. Kneading, claiming, taking.
Your back arches before you can stop it, instinct overriding the plan, a sharp breath dragging through your teeth—your body responding before your mind can catch up.
He hums—pleased, indulgent.
“Silly little rabbit,” he muses, the words a slow, wicked purr.
His hips shift against yours—a grind, slow, deliberate, pressing into the heat pooling between your thighs. A sharp, rolling pressure that forces another gasp from your lips. Your body tenses, your fingers twitching, desperate to grasp at anything—to push, to pull, to react.
But you can’t.
Not yet.
Because this is the game you agreed to play.
And prey doesn’t beg for its hunter.
Caleb knows.
He knows how hard you’re fighting this, how tight your control is stretched.
And he revels in it.
Another grind, slower this time, deeper, just enough friction to make you bite back a sound that would give you away.
His breath is hot against your skin, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.
“Little rabbit,” he muses, voice rich with mock discipline. “You ran. And now you suffer the consequences.”
The damp grass prickles against your exposed skin.
Cool. A sharp contrast to the unbearable heat curling low in your stomach. A reminder.
Where you are. Who has you.
Caleb’s fingers drift to your jaw, firm but teasing, tracing the delicate line of your throat.
Then—his hand wraps around it.
Not squeezing. Not yet.
Just holding.
Reminding you.
He owns this moment.
He owns you.
Your breath stutters, lips parting slightly as he tilts your head—forcing you to look at him.
And fuck.
His eyes.
Violet, sharp, wickedly pleased—drinking you in, dissecting every little reaction, savoring the way you tremble beneath him.
Caleb hovers, his breath ghosting over your lips, lingering like he wants to ruin you right there. His fingers drift lower, mapping you out like he’s memorized you yet still wants to rediscover every inch.
His hand slides down your stomach, fingers pressing into the soaked fabric between your legs.
A sharp, deliberate pressure.
And you gasp.
Caleb chuckles—low, dark, cruel.
“Dripping. Already.”
The words slide over you, rich with amusement, a slow drag of mockery and indulgence.
Then—he presses harder.
Your hips twitch, breath catching, fire racing through your veins.
His smirk sharpens.
“Tsk, tsk. Such a needy thing. Now—on your knees.”
His fingers tighten in your hair, guiding you, controlling you, setting the pace—
Making you take it.
A deep, rough groan rumbles through his chest, his violet eyes locked onto you, watching the way your lips stretch around him, the way your throat swallows, the way your breath hitches with every inch.
“There you go,” he murmurs, voice thick with something dark and indulgent.
His grip flexes, guiding, controlling you to take everything he gives.
Your hands clutch at his thighs, fingers digging in, trying to steady yourself, trying to keep up.
But he’s ruthless.
And he doesn’t stop.
Not until you’re trembling, until you’re gasping, until your body gives out from sheer exhaustion.
Then—he pulls back.
Slow. Cruel.
Your lips are swollen, slick, your breath ragged, wrecked.
And he smirks.
“Good girl.”
A thumb brushes over your lower lip—mocking, almost affectionate.
You’re gone. Lost beneath him, trembling, unraveling, coming apart with every brutal stroke, every precise drag of his fingers against your clit.
Caleb watches, drinking in every gasp, every sharp, wrecked moan, every stutter of your breath. The Maze hums around you, its silence thick, swallowing the sounds of your ruin.
And then—he stills.
No movement. No pressure.
One hand remains firm at your waist, keeping you down, keeping you exactly where he wants you. The other? Just barely hovering. Close enough for you to feel the heat of his palm—but offering nothing.
He waits.
Watches.
Because he wants to see it.
Wants to see the moment realization sets in, the slow, helpless flicker of need in your eyes.
And there it is.
Your lips part. Trembling.
A breath catches in your throat, your body shifting instinctively, chasing his touch, chasing what only he can give you.
And fuck—
It’s beautiful.
Caleb’s hand is like hot iron, soaked in your slick, branded with your need—steady, unyielding, waiting. A presence that sears, that claims, that lingers. And it doesn’t move.
Not yet.
His voice is a dark murmur, smooth, indulgent.
“Let me see how badly you want it.”
Fuck, he loves it.
Loves the way you beg without words, without pride, with only your body.
Loves how you bend for him. How you break for him.
Loves that, together, you’ve carved out a way for this—for him to have you, for you to take him, for nothing to stand between you.
You don’t want to say it. You don’t want to give him that satisfaction. Not yet.
But your body?
Your body betrays you. Your hips arch, chasing his next stroke, chasing the unbearable friction of his cock against your clit.
And Caleb?
He laughs.
”Of course you do.”
His hand slides down, gripping your waist with deliberate pressure, holding you still as he sinks in—slow, unhurried, stretching you open, making you feel every inch of him.
Splitting you apart.
Claiming you completely.
And he takes his time—watching, savoring, feeling the way your body trembles around him, adjusting, yielding, helpless beneath his control.
“You were made for this.”
His hands shift, sliding from your thighs to cup your ass. With effortless strength, he lifts your lower body from the ground, tilting your hips just enough to expose more of you to him. He spreads you wider, admiring the sight, savoring the way you tremble beneath his touch.
Another deep thrust. Measured. Designed to ruin.
Your gasp breaks.
He sees your struggle, your hands twitching, desperate to grab onto something, onto him, onto the earth beneath you, onto anything to ground yourself.
“No touching.” The command is sharp, final.
He won’t let you have that control. He can’t let you have that control.
“You take what I give you. Nothing more.”
Then, with effortless force, he flips you over, pressing you down until you’re on your hands and knees, the cool earth beneath your palms, the damp grass tickling your skin.
Exposed. Open. Waiting.
His fingers flex, his grip tightening around your waist, holding you still, making you to take it, to feel every second of your loss.
Caleb doesn’t falter, he never slows. Each deep, calculated thrust is authoritative, demanding—designed to remind you exactly who’s in control, to make you feel every second of his dominance.
And then—
The first crack. A sound leaves you—wrecked, helpless, something high and desperate and utterly broken.
His jaw clenches.
Because fuck, that does something to him.
His grip tightens, fingers pressing deep into the softness of your waist, holding you steady as he claims you. One hand slides forward, rough and demanding, cupping your breast, squeezing, pulling you up, arching you back against him. Your spine curves, your head tilting, the heat of his breath against your neck, the weight of his body controlling every movement. His control slipping—
But the chip doesn’t stop him.
His body tightens, his own control slipping, because hearing you break—feeling you break beneath him—
It’s intoxicating.
And he wants more.
So he pushes further.
“Say it.”
You bite your lip. Shake your head. Pathetic.
He wants it broken.
He wants you broken.
So he changes the angle—snapping his hips forward, deeper, harder, exactly where he knows you can’t hold out.
His hand fists in your hair, tugging just enough to keep you exactly where he wants you.
“Say. My. Name.”
A sharp cry rips from your throat.
Another thrust.
Another.
And then—you snap.
The way your body tightens around him, clenching, desperate, pulling him in, refusing to let go.
The way your body shudders beneath him, shaking, convulsing, utterly wrecked.
“Caleb—! Fuck—”
A high, shattered moan spills from your lips. Your muscles tighten, locking around him, gripping him in a way that nearly destroys him.
And fuck, yes.
That’s it.
“That’s it,” he groans, voice wrecked, victorious.
“Let go. Let me have it.”
And you do.
He feels it.
The way you unravel beneath him, wrecked and ruined, shaking with pleasure so raw it sears through you like wildfire.
And it—it destroys him.
Something sharp, something raw, something uncontrollable surges through him.
“Fuck—”
His pace stutters. His fingers dig deeper. His breath shudders.
Until he loses himself completely.
Caleb’s body tenses, wrecked, desperate, utterly gone. His release slams into him with brutal force, tearing through every last shred of control.
Caleb watches you, his own breath still uneven, his body still thrumming with the raw, intoxicating high of what just happened. Pleasure lingers in his limbs, warmth sinking deep into his bones.
For the first time in so long—
He feels free.
He leans in, letting the tip of his nose brush along the damp heat of your throat, breathing you in, slow and deep.
Your scent. Your warmth. The proof of his victory.
His lips part slightly as he presses a kiss to your skin, open-mouthed, deliberate, letting his breath ghost against you.
Not a claim.
Not a taunt.
Just a quiet, wordless reward.
And fuck—the way you melt.
The way your body softens, relaxes against him, the way your cheek presses against his chest as if it belongs there—as if you are meant to be here, against him, with him.
Your breath spills over his collarbone, warm, uneven, still trembling from the aftershocks of pleasure.
And he lets you.
He lets you rest.
Lets you take comfort in his warmth, his presence, his touch.
His fingers trail up—slow, careful. Threading into your hair, tilting your head just slightly, enough for his lips to brush against your forehead.
Soft.
Unrushed.
A silent reward for your submission.
Because you are his.
Completely.
Utterly.
And yet—
A dull pressure pulses at the base of his skull. A slow, creeping weight curling into his thoughts, threading into his awareness like a shadow.
It’s not a shutdown.
Not a failure.
Not yet.
But the chip is reacting.
And for the first time, he doesn’t know why.
Not until the thought cuts through him, cold and gutting.
Would this be enough for you?
Would you accept him—if this was all he could ever give you?
If the only way he could hold you, touch you, take you—was by keeping you beneath him, conquered, obedient, controlled?
Or would you still struggle?
Still resist him, not because you didn’t want him—
But because this isn’t what you wanted at all?
What if—even now—you were just enduring this?
What if—even in surrender—you were still waiting for the Caleb you once knew?
The thought tightens something in his chest.
And then—
Your voice.
Soft.
Barely there.
“Caleb, I love you.”
The words slip from your lips so quietly, so unconsciously, that for a moment, he thinks he’s imagined them.
Until—
Until he feels it.
The gentle tug at his chest.
Your fingers. Curling around his dog tag. Holding onto it like an anchor.
His name—whispered like something fragile, something holy.
His body goes rigid.
The weight of those words hangs between you, too heavy, too real.
And suddenly—he is afraid.
Because he doesn’t know which Caleb you’re speaking to.
The one he is now?
Or the one you’re still hoping will come back?
And worse—
Who is the one answering?
His throat tightens. His mind races. The chip sends a warning pulse, static curling at the edges of his thoughts, demanding that he suppress, overwrite, forget—
But he can’t.
Because the truth is burning through him, deeper than any error message, deeper than any system override.
Still, he forces himself to speak, forces himself to answer.
His voice sounds like him—but he doesn’t know if it is.
“I love you too, Pips.”
And fuck—
It hurts.
The pressure behind his eyes intensifies. A tightening grip. An invisible force coiling around his mind, threatening to crush something he can’t afford to lose.
The chip.
It doesn’t like this.
It wants him to ignore it.
To erase it.
To pretend.
But he can’t.
Not now.
Not when everything feels like it’s slipping through his fingers.
This was a victory.
He had you.
Completely.
Utterly.
And yet—
It doesn’t feel like winning.
It feels like losing something he can’t name.
Like holding something too tight, only to realize it’s slipping away.
And suddenly—
The thrill of this loophole feels like a cage all its own.
Writer’s note: So they just wanted to fuq but every rose has its thorn. Whyy does my brain function like this bahhh. I was nervous about posting this, but I hope I balanced the power play, angst, and lust. And: not me listening to Running Up That Hill while writing the smuttiest, dom-iest scene so far in my fanfic scribbles career—Kate’s lyrics are just chef’s kiss for this chapter. And the other; well. It’s predator Caleb. So! On to the next chapter. Okey then, thank you for reading 🫶🏻
