Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

❛❛𝕶𝖎𝖓𝖐𝖙𝖔𝖇𝖊𝖗 2025❜❜

When you order a virtual reality suit online, integrate Caleb’s biometric data, and program all of your favourite memories into it, something goes horribly wrong. You only wanted to spend more time with him while he was away at the DAA.

So why were you having sex with your older brother in your dreams every night?

🍏

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⚠ ⚠ ⚠ Warnings ⚠ ⚠ ⚠ 

PRELUDE;;

Day 0: Beginnings

ACT ONE;;

Day 1: Rocky Footing ||| Masturbation, Incest 

Day 2: Shaky Legs ||| Finger Sucking, Dacryphilia 

Day 3: Ouroboros ||| Body Worship, Aftercare

Day 4: Light-speed Static ||| Size Queen, Creampie

Day 5: Unveiled; GUILTY ||| Cum licking, Somnophilia

Day 6: Cum Untouched, Orgasm Control    <-- In progress... 

Day 7: Voyeurism, Cuckolding

Day 8: Sex pollen, Choking/Gagging

Day 9: Breeding, Free Use

Day 10: Punishment, CNC

Day 11: Quiet Sex, Non-consensual 

ACT TWO;;

Day 12: Sex Robot, Multiple Orgasms

Day 13: Mirror Sex, Praise Kink

Day 14: Dom/Sub, Sensory Deprivation

Day 15: Blindfolds, Chastity Belt

Day 16: Wall Sex, Hair Pulling

Day 17: Dom Bottom/Sub Top, Handcuffs

Day 18: Semi-Public, Oral Sex

Day 19: Sex Work, Kneeling

Day 20: Exhibitionism, Shibari 

Day 21: Degradation, Omorashi 

Day 22: Monster-fucking, Temporary/Permanent Marks

ACT THREE;;

Day 23: Kidnapping, Forced Orgasm

Day 24: Uniform Kink, Gunplay

Day 25: Dubious Consent, Remote Control

Day 26: Sugar Baby, Foot Fetish

Day 27: Service Kink, Humiliation

Day 28: Webcam, Cages

Day 29: Omegaverse, Possessive Sex

Day 30: Threesome, Nipple Clamps

Day 31: Biting, Anal Sex, Gags, Double Penetration 

FINAL ACT;;

[Virtual]       . . .     🍎

Reality           . . .    🍏

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【• PLAYLIST •】

vomit2 | nte

bulletproof | funeral

chains | zivve

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𝕶𝖎𝖓𝖐𝖙𝖔𝖇𝖊𝖗 2025

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Chapter Text

Life wasn’t the same without Caleb by your side.

Taking the sharp end of your scissors to the tape lining the unmarked cardboard box, your heart hammered in your chest as you ripped at the seam—the contents inside sliding with the motion, your breath sucked from your lungs as you stared at the packaging in wonder—swirls of lavender and holographic stars decorating the front, along with the brand name, ‘Subliminal Subconscious,’ a well-known AI tech company within Linkon city. 

He had been at the DAA for four months, and you had already been through hell and back—a life weaned off of the small conversations he could fit into his schedule, the short video calls you both shared in the dead of night. 

What was once the shallow waters of virtual reality technology had become a vast ocean—a sea birthed from hours of intensive neuroscientific research on sleeping patterns and brain waves—a sea where Subliminal Subconscious stood at the peak with their major innovation, a computer woven into fabric and thread, capable of integrating itself with your very flesh. The bio skin—similar to a diver’s wetsuit—prided itself on accessing a pre-programmed journal of your own design, using memories to project the environment in your dreams. The catch? It was all about the details you poured into the notebook—the AI scouring your words for undetected meaning to canvas the program—searching addresses on 3d world maps and examining real estate sites or news articles to simulate day-to-day scenarios. 

You could even invite people to get biometrically scanned—all in the name of adding them as characters to your dreams, so you could spend as much time as possible with them. 

“Ge, it’s so lonely when you aren’t here. I want to see you in my dreams, too.”

The first Christmas Caleb had left for the DAA, after living those four bleak months within a pool of darkness, you had practically begged him to get matching ones with you—you had taken up a job close to home and spent weeks saving up for your own, while pestering him about how cool it would be—reluctantly, he had agreed to your request. 

You hadn’t told him you saw him in your dreams every night anyway. 

That Winter, you both had gotten biometrically scanned—stuffed into an MRI machine, brows furrowed, before you both waddled off to lunch together. By the start of spring break, all of the information had been synthesised—the box heavy in your hands as your limbs buzzed from the sheer excitement of it. 

How could you do this to your Ge?

Opening the settings, you swiped through the standard set of instructions—pausing when you got to the NSFW and graphic content switch, before ultimately shrugging—figuring that nothing terrible would come on your first use of the device, and powering it on, head pressed into the pillows for a full night’s sleep.

How could you do this to Caleb, of all people?

Peeking up from where you were glaring at the wood grain of the kitchen table, your watering pupils met Caleb’s worried ones—his lips knit into a frown, as his hands ran gently over each knuckle.

His touch scorched your skin, just as it did in your dreams.

Chapter Text

【❛❛𝔇𝔞𝔶 1❜❜ |  1783 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ | ᴡʀɪᴛᴛᴇɴ: 10.8.2025 - 10.9.2025】

if you only knew | funeral

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Sweeping your hair out of your eyes, you settle into a spot on your bed—pressed into the corner, where all of your extra pillows seemed to wind up—scissors creating an indent in your bedding, as you twisted the unmarked, cardboard box in your hands; dim lighting highlighting the deep shadows across your room as you sized up the package, eagerly, before you began cutting away at the tape—colourful lavender tissue paper peeking out at you as you tore into it, and then the container after that—thick, but breathable, [favourite colour] cotton fabric fisted in your hands as you admired the star-shaped, pearlescent buttons, running down the length of the front. 

Four months ago, you had placed an order for this bio suit—your patience wearing exponentially thin as the months went by with little to speak of about it, grating to the very end and then some, before you finally received a tracking number in your inbox roughly a week ago—your excited voice chiming over the phone line as you told Caleb, a small hum bubbling up in the back of his throat as he echoed the sentiment. 

“Mine will come in the mail when I’m back in Linkon—I’ll have to wait till I’m back at the DAA to grab it. Sooo, Pips—what should we dream about first?” 

Naturally, you had said you wanted him to do your bidding for the whole day in your dream—the line crackling with laughter, before he retorted, “I’d do that anyways. All you gotta do is ask, Pips. I’m yours.”—the sincerity he held in his tone turning your tongue into mush, until all you could do was mumble that now you could have him do your bidding every day, if you really wanted. 

Now, that day was closer than ever—your brother’s flight scheduled for tomorrow morning, at the ripe time hour of 5 am, his phone buzzing as you sent him a photo of the virtual reality set—your face in frame, tongue poking out at him, as you scrunched your nose cutely at the camera. ‘Guess who’s the cooler sibling now? :>’

'Always were, Princess. You don’t need a bio suit to prove it ;) Don’t try it without me :((('

Maybe you set your phone down before you saw his last text—or maybe, just maybe, you left him on read—tugging the makeshift pajamas on and carefully buttoning the front, before you slipped into bed, your head hitting the pillows as you were swept under the rising tide of sleep. 

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When your eyes fluttered open, your body was halfway through the front gate to your home—school shoes shuffling against the cobblestone path, eyes glancing toward the dense hydrangea that sprawled across your front yard—the tiniest of pinpricks and cool air caressing your arms, replicating a soft spring breeze, as your palms leaked sweat into the straps of your backpack, tightly wrung in your hands. 

When you opened that door, would you still be alone? Or would he be there, too?

Pressing the ball of your thumb against the wood, you turned your key in the lock—breath lead in your lungs, each sharp inhale bringing with it the smell of Caleb’s famous braised chicken wings, which lingered in the air—the nostalgia clinging to the inside of your nostrils, as you pushed the door open the rest of the way. With your hand jingling the door knob, backpack thrown over one shoulder, you rushed to claw your shoes off—hitting your shin on the shoe rack as you rubbed it roughly, pulling a whine from your throat at how realistic the pain was, too—your brother’s shoulder pressed into the wall as he watched you, smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Eesh, Pips—slow down. I’ll be here alllll spring break, you know?” Swathed in a pastel pink apron five sizes too small for the likes of him, the fabric stretched over his pectorals in a way that made your mind go a bit fuzzy—muscle shirt displaying his biceps, carved from freckled marble—sturdy, intimidating, the same way every iota of his presence filled the space between you both. Calm—safe.

“...And who says I’m in a hurry to see you?” Raising an amused eyebrow, your expression mirrored his own—quickly breaking out into a bright grin when you shuffled your indoor shoes on, bag slumped to the floor, so you could launch yourself into his arms—a soft laugh fleeing from your lips as his forearms wrapped around your waist, leaving your slippers to dangle in the air above the wooden floorboards. “Mmm Ge—I missed you!” 

“Awww, there’s the Pips I know and love. You couldn’t fool me for a second.” Nuzzling his nose against the crown of your head, he took in a deep inhale—his body suppressing a small shudder, as his torso melted into you, slowly—cautiously, enough to seem as if he didn’t need you to breathe. “...It’s good to be home.” 

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Resting the apple of your cheek against Caleb’s calf, you sighed—hot breath skating over his flesh, raising goosebumps, as his hands wove through your [hair colour] strands—hair dryer a reasonable distance away, your brush next to his thigh, as your fingernails sketched geometric shapes into the inside of his knee; silence stretching between the two of you as he worked quietly, his evol leading the bristles to your tangled ends as he gave your scalp gentle, loving scratches—tingling pricks left behind in his wake, your eyes fluttering shut as you leaned your weight against the edge of the bed—head tilting back momentarily to peek up at him, lashes framing your sincere, crescent-shaped eyes, as you admired him. “Y’know, I didn’t think I’d miss this as much as I did.” 

“...Yeah, me too. Who knew?” Grinning down at you, his evol took over holding the hair dryer—his unoccupied hand pinching your nose affectionately as you swatted it away, quietly scowling up at his childish antics—the ones you secretly loved, but only pretended to hate, because you loved this push-pull game you both played more. “Captain Caleb, reporting for duty. How can I be of service today, Miss Pipsqueak?”

“Play Mario Kart with me, soldier. That’s your mission—remember, it’s of the highest priority. Do you accept?” Flinging your head back up, you eagerly waited till Caleb finished combing through your hair, before stumbling up—your legs numb from sitting between his legs for so long, but otherwise unaffected, as you ambled to the living room; a bit slow on your feet, before suddenly, you weren’t on them at all—your legs slung over his shoulder, leaving your torso to dangle down his muscular back, your hands bracing against his lower back to keep the blood from rushing to your head too quickly—an indignant gasp leaving your wobbling lips as you gaped at him, attempting to ignore the heat crawling up your cheeks at the friction beneath your fingertips. 

“Too slow, Pips!” 

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During your many games against Caleb you must have fallen asleep on his shoulder, because sometime during the night, you felt his hands slip under your knees—gentlemanly as he carried you, bridal style, to your room—gravity twisting the doorknob, lifting your patterned duvet cover, so he could slot you into the sheets. As your brows began to twist, the motion pulling you from the depths of sleep, a tender, chaste kiss was pressed to your forehead—his calloused palm smoothing the strands of baby hairs away from your face—your lock clicking into place behind him, once more. 

By all measures, your waking dream had been pleasant—10/10, no notes, and you believed that going through REM sleep in your dream would cause you to wake up in reality, hopefully to the sight of Caleb in the same apron you had seen him in earlier. Though, just as sleep began to stop evading you mere minutes after you had been jostled awake, you swore you heard him begin to mumble from the other side of your shared wall—rather loudly at that (were the walls ever this thin?), as you could discern the first few syllables of your name rolling off of his tongue before becoming gargled—dully landing against your ears, infrequent sounds of pained whines cramming themselves into the space between your temples until you couldn’t slip back into a peaceful respite like you usually could. 

Did he fall or something?

Peeling back your duvet covers, your bare feet landed on cold laminate—goosebumps erupting over the surface of your skin as you shook from the temperature change, your door opening as you trudged down the hallway toward Caleb’s door—his bedroom light projecting a long stripe of warm white light under the crack of his door, the springs of his mattress creaking softly under his weight.

“Hey, Ge, are you alright—,” Letting your palm fall against his door handle, you tugged it open hurriedly—eyes skating across the floorboards to glance up at him, mind lagging to process the full mental image of him, sitting on his bed—his heavy, red-flushed cock in hand, drool-covered, grey cotton shirt bundled into his mouth, as he came undone in front of you; the position showcasing the blush that dusted his collarbones, displaying the droplets of sweat that gathered in the cruxes of his defined abs—your stunned gaze raking upward to meet his eyes, which were screwed shut, as tears dotted his lashline—his horrified stare meeting yours, his mouth agape, as the stained fabric thinned out against his torso. “I’m so—”

Raising his other hand to shakily cover his face, his other thumb rushed to press against the slit of his tip—a pitiful whine leaving his throat as his eyelids fluttered—thick, milky cum dribbling down his shaft in waves, as you stared, helplessly.

No fucking way I just saw that. 

“I’m so so so sorry, oh my god—,” Slamming the door behind you so loud you were convinced you woke Gran—who cared, it was a dream, anyways—you scrambled back to your room, latching the lock shut, as you forced yourself into bed, mind still reeling from the encounter you just had.

What the fuck was that?! God, he was big—wait, it’s a bio-metric scan—oh my god, oh my god, stop this train of thought, now. Like, immediately. 

Sleep didn’t come so easy that night—the tips of your ears burning red hot as the image singed itself into your mind, embarrassed whines leaving your own throat as you tossed and turned in your bed. 

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You would never utter a word of this to anyone—not even to God, if you saw those pearly gates after that—and you certainly wouldn’t admit to the slick that stained the gusset of your panties when you awoke to reality, your head hung in embarrassment as your fingers drifted lower, lower, during your desperate morning shower. 

Chapter Text

【❛❛𝔇𝔞𝔶 2❜❜ |  2666 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ | ᴡʀɪᴛᴛᴇɴ: 10.9.2025 - 10.9.2025】

vomit2 | nte

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Peeking up from where you glared holes into the wood grain of Gran’s scratched, old table, your shaky pupils met Caleb’s worried ones—his lips knit into a frown as his unoccupied hand slid across the table, fork clattering against his plate, before tapping the back of your palm, trying to catch your attention—his fingertips running gently over each knuckle as he turned your wrist over, interlocking his fingers with yours. “What’s got you down, Pips? Did I… do something?” 

“...No.” Struggling to hold his gaze, your eyes nudged themselves to the left of his head—peering at the wall that inhibited your view of the front door, your childhood pictures lining the walls that led off toward the staircase—ripping your focus back to him, triangulating between the bob of his Adam’s apple with every heavy swallow, the increasing furrow of his brow, and the way the right corner of his mouth stretched into a tight line. “Sorry, I’m just… not fully there. Guess I need to finish eating to get some energy, huh?” 

What you weren’t going to say, bless your soul, was that every time you looked into his eyes, you saw sin—presented to you, wearing a deceptively kind smile, his reddened tip winking at you from the crux of the webbing of his hand—precum leaking from the tip as his cheeks flushed, his ultra violet eyes narrowed as he looked at the floorboards, caught between a rock and a hard place. 

“What, didn’t sleep well without your Ge around?” Nudging your fingers with his own, a sly grin pulled at his mouth—imaginary dog ears perking up as he waited with baited breath for an answer to his seemingly rhetorical question—his other hand picking up his utensil as he began to chew on the omelet he made earlier that morning, before you had woken up. 

I never sleep well when you’re gone. Is that odd? 

That night, sleep crept in, hesitant—as if the world would shatter when the sun peaked over the horizon tomorrow morning, scared to bring about an inevitable change—the bio suit draped over your figure once more, the lock of your door clicked shut behind you.

Was it wrong to keep the NSFW filter off, after what you had seen? 

Was it wrong to go back for more? 

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When your eyes fluttered open, the hallway you were in was dark—a pillow from your bed scrunched in your grasp, the hem of your wrinkled sleep shirt dusting your mid-thigh—your unoccupied hand lifting the garment to leer at the pair of panties you wore; a crimson-tinged, lace ensemble that had been eaten by the washer about a year ago, never to be seen again.

What the fuck was going on here?

Waiting for your eyes to adjust to the environment, you swiveled your head to glance at your surroundings—thin streams of light creeping into the hall from the crack of your bedroom door, your frame rigid as you stood a foot from the entrance to Caleb’s bedroom—soft breaths and snores resounding from the other side, your neck craned as you attempted to understand why you were waiting outside his room.

He’s asleep. What am I supposed to do now?

From what you understood about these dream sequences, there was always some objective, initiated by the AI—it had been listed on the brochure when you bought the bio suit, but you hadn’t really thought much about it, considering all you wanted was more time with Caleb in any way, shape or form—the cartoonish mascot coming to mind as you remembered the words in the booklet. There had been something about the bio suit’s configuration being similar to levels in a game, minus the penalty if you didn’t get the right answer—that depending on what you pursued, it could be out of their realm of possibility, as your actions weren’t influenced by the AI—the standard jargon used to avoid legal responsibility, and you thought you understood the implications, so you had stuffed the information in your desk drawer, leaving it to collect dust. 

Just a touch of regret bubbled to the surface—you should have paid attention to the instructions. Why did you never do that, unless you were building stupid plywood furniture? 

Sighing, you resolved yourself to take a peek at Caleb—you were here, after all—so certainly, he had something to do with the objective, even if you weren’t sure what it was yet; besides, if you were being honest, after that disastrous dream you had had last night, even being in Caleb’s presence had been suffocating—no, intoxicating, your ankles crossed as you tried to fight the sparks that sizzled within the pit of your stomach—your mind swimming, head nodding like a bobblehead, your body coiled like a wind-up toy as you tried to pretend that you were beyond normal.

I’m not a creepy Meimei. I—I’m not. Alright? It just—it just happened, your Honour. My body just happened to be unable to forget the tingling feeling. It’s not my fault that Ge was the first guy I saw like that. Naturally, I’m flustered! I’m not into it—I swear I’m not into him—

You were a horrible liar. 

Letting your arm slip to the door handle, you jiggled it, testing for the lock—finding it absent, the hinges creaking as it swung open—your curious gaze flitting over the planes of Caleb’s exposed chest, dipping down, down—

Stop that.

His bedsheets had been flung haphazardly over him, one corner of his flat sheet teasing the laminate, a deep red searing his cheeks, as sweat clung to his hairline and temples—a bottle of cold medicine, running empty, sat on his nightstand, a half-full glass of water, a bottle of sleeping pills and a box of tissues beside that—the same setup he always had when you was sick, ever diligent in his bedside manner. “You—!”

“Why am I even doing this—?” Despite knowing this was a dream, you couldn’t help your own tendencies—worrying your lower lip between your teeth as you skittered to the hall closet, then the bathroom, pushing the faucet to the coldest setting—wringing out the material before returning to his side, your knees planted firmly into the mattress beneath you, close to his hips. 

This is it—you’ve passed the bar for the nuthouse. Caring for the sick in a dream where none of this mattered when you woke up was… new.

“Ge, am I stupid…? First, I see—I see whatever the hell that was last night, and the next, I’m crawling back to your side.” Mumbling, you fold the towel in thirds, dabbing at the sweat lining his brows—his nose scrunching in his sleep before his face evens out again, hand twitching at his sides, as it inched closer to where your knees rested. Continuing to pat away at the moisture, you lean over his broad chest to wipe the side of his neck, where it made contact with his pillows—his body twisting toward you as you positioned yourself, causing you to lift a leg urgently, maneuvering it over him in order to avoid being shoved off the bed—your palm sliding down, nearly pushing your full weight into his throat, recovering your balance as you clutched the pillows beside his head, eyes shut. “You big oaf, dummy Caleb—”

Cracking your eyes open, your eyebrows dropped, horrified—the ball of your nose touching his inner left cheek, mouth slotted over his, hovering—his hot breath fanning out over your pursed lips, head spinning from the rush of adrenaline in your system; the ball of your thumb shoving itself against your mouth as you shot back up, into sitting position, bracketing his hips with your inner thighs—your weight shifted backward slightly, heavy against his pelvic bone—his breath stuttering in his lungs as your feet tangled in the sheets, bunching up in wads around you both. 

You were so royally cooked. If he woke up now, you weren’t sure you would ever sleep well—awake or not. 

Attempting to swing over him, you realised you were tangled when you felt his calloused palms skate over your calves—landing there, bracing you against him, as you shuddered at the position—the hem of your sleep shirt riding up, pooling over his abdomen; the thin gusset of your lace panties cupping you gently, moulding to you, as the rough material of Caleb’s basketball shorts pushed against your swelling clit. 

This was so, so much worse than last night. 

It was so, so much better than anything you’d done to yourself. 

“Just… a taste.” Removing the ball of your thumb from its place against your mouth, you lowered it, letting it ground you—soft against the ridges of Caleb’s torso, your opposite hand drifting down, capturing one of his—bringing it to your cupid’s bow, ghosting your lips over his knuckles, much like how he had done with his hand at the kitchen table that morning. You were drifting—away from this fictitious plane of existence, as you nudged his rough index finger into the crux of your mouth—tongue running along the length of it, swathing it in your saliva, as you suckled on his sweat-sheened flesh. 

I never meant to do this to you—I never meant to let it go this far. 

I thought I could control myself. 

Putting pressure against his abs, you began to slide, almost unnoticeably, against his crotch—feeling something hot, heavy, meet you halfway—your fingers hesitantly leaving his hand to pull his boxers and shorts down to his mid-thigh; his head pushing indignantly through your folds, the cotton fabric soaking up your slick and his precum—enhancing the sensation further, but still not being quite enough, as his hips began thrusting slowly—picking up on your rhythm, becoming more insistent, as you rubbed your clammy palm over your furrowed brows. 

Were you really doing this? 

Taking your index and middle finger, you pushed the seat of your panties to the side—letting his tip slide from the bottom of your slit to nudge against your puffy clit, whines spilling out around the digit that was stuffed in your mouth—his finger falling with a loud ‘Pop!’, thudding against his pectorals, as you guided his head to catch on your entrance. “Mmph—Ge, just the tip. Oh God, please, I need it…”

There was no God that heard your prayer. 

Only the shadow of the Devil.

As his forearm fell against his chest, Caleb’s eyes flew open—his mind reeling from the sudden impact, vision hazy as he stared up at you—a vision, your nipples prodding against the wafer-thin material of your sleep shirt; his cock thick, pulsating, as your small, eager palm pushed him where you needed him most—condoms long forgotten inside his nightstand drawer, his hips rising as he bullied the crown of his cock through your tight entrance—spreading the slick, unable to wait any longer, as you forced his fingers back into your mouth to glide over your tongue. “Mmhm—”

“Meimei, fffuck—,” Choking back a groan, his head slammed against the pillows—his colossal palms planting themselves on the fat of your hips, wrapping around your waist to slow your descent—promises of ‘just the tip’ nudged to the back of your mind, as all you could focus on was finally having him inside of you; tears pricking your eyes as he tried to push into you gently, but you were just woefully unprepared, a disaster of your own making—your muscles contracting as you sobbed searing, frustrated tears, lips curling into a pout as your hand against his chest clenched into a fist—lightly banging at the skin over his ribcage, the place below his heart that you had claimed so long ago, as you wept, his fingers pulled from your mouth to give you space to breathe. “M-Meimei?” 

‘Stupid Ge, you’re too big—,’ You had cried, legs trembling as you hovered over his tip, the smallest part of it barely nudging your folds apart—tear drops cascading down your cheeks, plummeting toward the dog tag you had got him before he left for the DAA—ready to lift your leg and retreat to your room, only to sob yourself violently to sleep, resignation marring your features. “Hey, hey—let’s slow down a minute. What’s going on—?” 

  “No! I—,” Wringing your palm in the crinkling fabric of your shirt, your nails scratched small, pink lines into his chest—Caleb hissing beneath you as he rocked up into you on instinct, of little to no avail—your shoulders hiking up as regret started to seep into every one of your pores, laughing at you for going overboard, for quite literally dream raping your older brother. “If I don’t do it now—I won’t ever be able to. Do you understand? I’m just not that courageous—you spoiled me. Here I am, r—god, I’m fucking raping you, I assaulted you in your sleep! There won’t be a next time—you’ll hate me forever and then you’ll go back to the DAA and I’ll be all alone, no phone calls, no light—” 

“Shhh, shhh. Meimei…” Taking the hand that had pushed your panties to the side into his own, he moved his other one to support your shaking thighs—keeping his dick selfishly notched against you, no matter the cost—his fingers laced with your own as he nuzzled against your wrist, soft, chaste kisses pressed along the length of your forearm, as he swallowed, anxiously. “Hey… you trust me, yeah?” 

“Yeah, but why?” As he watched you slump inward, lungs compressing, he made his move—pulling you down against him so quick you saw stars and orbited Earth for a split second, fire racing up your nerve endings, as pain prodded at your insides—sturdy breaths measured as you waited for him to bottom out (he didn’t—there was probably another inch that you weren’t able to fit), the tears gushing in waves as he paused.

“God, Meimei— Don’t give me that look… It drives me crazy.” Fucking you through the tears, his hand left yours so he could steady you, back to grasping your waist—his other pushing you off his cock, keeping the head in, before he pulled you back down on it, thoughtless words fleeing your mouth as your head hammered—your body working overtime to produce more lubrication, your nerves going numb as he rubbed against each internal ridge. “Never thought I—I’d want to fuckkkk you as you cried—Haah, shit—How are you so fucking pretty, even like this? You’re unreallll—” 

“Slow d—Ge, please, I can’t—” The wetter you got, the faster, the sloppier his thrusts became—his tip pummeling your cervix, causing your mind to white out like someone had thrown a handful of TNT Pop-Its into your skull; your tears dried against your cheeks, leaving your eyes puffy, as he fucked you through your orgasm—his own pulled from him as you spasmed around him, thick spurts shooting upward, as he fucked it deeper into you—your body a mere toy to him at that point, your soul too far gone to form a coherent thought aside from more and Caleb, Ge. 

You vaguely remember falling asleep against him—his softening cock still wedged inside you, his dog tags twisted in your grasp, as you hummed to yourself. 

I am soooo fucked. 

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The next morning, you rolled out of bed as if you had spent all night scrolling on your phone—slipping into the bathroom with a dull, throbbing ache between your legs, letting out a soft hiss as you went to pee—the remnants of your dream forming behind your eyes as you grit your teeth, remembering how hard Caleb had gone with you, before you waddled down the stairs, a yawn pulled from your throat. 

“The princess awakens. Sleep well?” Peering at you from his place at the stove, Caleb beams, before a small cough is ripped from his throat—his elbow tucked over his mouth as his body shuddered from the force of it—your eyebrow quirking upward before your neck burned, mouth sputtering as you remembered how sick Caleb had been in your dream last night. 

What a crazy fucking coincidence.

“Eesh, Gran reallyyyy has to turn off the AC at night. Makes the throat scratchy, y'know?" 

Or… not? 

Chapter Text

【❛❛𝔇𝔞𝔶 3❜❜ |  3230 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ | ᴡʀɪᴛᴛᴇɴ: 10.11.2025 - 10.12.2025】

bulletproof | funeral

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Coward.

Something had shifted—brought to heel under his gaze, your shared words clipped, as you slowly drifted away from him—his eyebrows furrowed as he passed you in the hallway, your fingers absent-mindedly tapping away at your phone, quelling the rising tide of shame that pressed against you in your every waking moment. 

After that night, you couldn’t stand to look Caleb in the eye anymore—not without seeing the ghosts of what you had done, the way you had desecrated his image—so reliant on him even then, the shameful vision of a sister. 

The last time you put on the bio suit was to alter the settings—the NSFW filter shut off in a resounding show of self-loathing, nano-bugs put into indefinite rest mode—your mouse flicking through your journal entries on your laptop, editing in a final line before you deleted the shortcut, refusing to buy back into the hype that had caused your mind to spiral into ruin.

He’ll never love me the way I want him to.

Time passed, just like that—your nerves fraying with each moment of physical contact initiated by Caleb, his hand roping yours in as he dragged you through Linkon’s amusement park—a bag of fluffy cotton candy tucked under his arm, chain jingling on his belt, as his baseball cap cast shadows across the sharp planes of his cheeks. “Hey, Pips… you still with me?”

That had become his go-to phrase—the stone that rippled along the water’s surface, skidding to a stop before it sank to the bottom of the lake—small reverberations spread through your heart, tugging on your heartstrings, as you nodded. You were weak—a weary grin tugging your lips up sharply as you took the lead, pulling him toward another roller coaster—stomach rolling, gluttony and the weight of your sin settling squarely on your shoulders as you continued to take what he offered. 

There was no letting go—not when he was right there, puppy eyes and all—hand outstretched, as if he couldn’t move forward if you didn’t take that step with him. 

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Something was wrong. 

Baring his teeth from behind the muzzle, he writhed in his straitjacket—his hands kept far from where he wanted to lay them against your bare skin, the buckles weeping beneath the weight of his restraint—his eyes wet from the fear as you pulled away from him, slamming the door to his curated cage shut. 

Caleb had played the role of the elder brother, the protector, perfectly—his hands clasped over your eyes, turning you away from everything he didn’t want you to see—thoughts kept under a rusted lock and key, the sickness spreading to every cell in his body, claiming something you couldn’t see, before he roped them back behind his skin. 

Sick, sick man. 

His cage had been filled with everything he had stolen from you, over the years—a hair tie you had used during your exams, your favourite used chapstick, a pair of cotton panties still soaked in your scent—tucked away in a cardboard box in the back of his closet, discreet, never rousing your suspicion as you shuffled through his wardrobe, pulling his shirts off their hangers. 

Did you notice?

Did you see the animal that clawed at its self-imposed enclosure? 

The first time he had noticed the shift was the second day of his spring break in Linkon—your head hung at the kitchen table, hands clamming up just from being across from him—fork pushing around the food you’d usually wolf down, unfinished when you’d normally ask for seconds of his beloved cooking. 

Why were you drifting so far away from him? 

Caleb never was good at minding his own business—invading your space so he could pinpoint the problem, then snuff it out—the same he had done with the guys in high school who tried to ask you out, his canines bared as he intercepted them with chilling ease. When it came to Caleb, it was only a matter of time before he dug up whatever the hell you were so frustrated over—then, he would wrangle it into place—even if it was him; his grins dimming each time you ignored him, silently resolving himself to throw what little not-so-family-friendly behaviour he had allowed himself in your wake to blow away with the spring winds—vowing that the dark need he felt, that encroached upon his spine, clamoring up into the space between his ears, would be thrown back behind closed doors—left to mingle with the skeletons that rot there.

He’d pluck his mask from that same closet, tidy himself into the perfect visage of a supportive brother, of a guy who didn’t want to rut into his little sister like a mad dog—and he would hover once more, placing his worn leash in your hands, as he begged for you to drag him through every part of your life. 

Because he would always, relentlessly, follow his master to the ends of the Earth—he just needed you to lead the way. His light. 

Footsteps landing dully against the hardwood flooring, he listened for the signs of his opening—the running faucet in the kitchen, the rattling of Gran’s pill bottle, the water splattering against the bathroom tile, the light humming he adored as you took your evening shower—before he slipped into your room, door shut behind him. 

What had you seen? 

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

By the time the end of spring break rolled around, Caleb had found nothing—well, sure, he’d found your bio suit package, open, drowned in your scent—but he still didn’t have the foggiest idea of what you were dreaming about. 

What did he do in your dreams that had caused real life to implode? 

There were, notably, a few things that came to mind—a few of his worst-case scenarios, his face draining of colour the longer he thought of it—his knee jerking upward anxiously as he sunk into Gran’s couch cushions, hands scrubbing over his face as he shamed his dream self and the AI that had probably replicated him a tad too well. 

Did he get handsy with you in your dreams? 

Did you let him?

When you and Gran had seen him off at the train station, you hadn’t kissed him on the cheek and tugged him closer—rubbing the back of your neck sheepishly as you waved him goodbye, ducking your head as his lips curved into a pursed frown—his luggage slung over his shoulder as he used his evol to tug you close, an ‘Oomf’ pulled from your lungs as his forearm held you against him. “Whattt, no goodbye hug? Don’t get shy on me now, Pips.” 

As you melted into his touch, he instinctively knew you both would be okay.

…But he would be certain, because that’s just who Caleb had been trained to be—a virus he had commissioned from someone in the Skyhaven DAA computer science department installed on your hard drive, connected over the internet to a chip he had embedded into the fabric of your bio suit—whirring to life when the nano-bugs began to move, syncing his own account to yours, inextricably linking the two. 

I’ll find out what’s making you tick, Meimei—and then, I’ll destroy it. 

Opening your shared messages, he typed a message out as his plane descended back into Skyhaven—nudging you in the direction he wanted you, another piece of the puzzle coming into place. 

“:< Miss you already”

“I can’t wait to see you in my dreams :)) Want to test the suits 2nite???” 

What do you dream about, Pips? Come on, show Gēge. 

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Peeling his eyes open, Caleb’s vision came in fuzzy, roving dots—adjusting to a white ceiling, his body spread out on his grey satin bedsheets—his dog tags heavy against his chest, muscle shirt hanging off his figure, basketball shorts slung low on his hips. 

He was exactly where he was supposed to be—in your dream, not his pre-programmed one, where he sat alone, doing routine flight simulations—his bedroom light flickering softly, casting a soft glow on the surface of his nightstand, sleeping medication and cough syrup still propped on it. 

But Caleb hadn’t been sick in months. 

When he awoke, his sight was the first to return—his eyebrow quirking up at the discovery before his hand reached up to ruffle his hair, smoothing the stands down as best he could—his limbs cracking under the movement, a dull throbbing permeating the right side of his ribs; five pink lines decorating his flesh, thin—thinner than his own nails, roughly the thickness of the tip of a stiletto nail—eerily similar to the ones you had been wearing the first week of spring break, an ombre of lilac and apricot. 

What the fuck? 

His sense of smell followed quickly behind that—the sharp tang of sweat and something else clogging his throat—his fingers tugging his waistband down, probing, only to find cum clinging to his shaft.

This—this is too much. What did I—? No, no, no—

Wiping his slicked fingers against the inside of his boxers and sliding his feet into his slippers, a matching pair to yours, he shuffled down the hall—pausing in front of your door, knuckles raised, breath stifling in his lungs as his head spun—trying to figure out what the fuck happened, if he had taken something he could never apologize for this time. 

I don’t even remember it! There’s no way I’d—I’d do that. Right?

Shifting his weight onto one foot, he knocked on the wood—awkwardly vibrating in place, waiting for you to open the door—your bed creaking under your weight, the slight tapping of your own footsteps, before you turned the handle, your head and upper part of your body visible from behind the barrier. “...Hey, Ge.”

“H-Hey, Pips. Are you… are you still with me?” Watching you wordlessly lean your head against the doorframe, a wry, but undeniably sad smile tugged against the neutral expression you wore—a sigh fleeing your lips as he splayed his hand, holding it between you both—your fingers intertwining with his, wringing them with a small shiver to your palm, as your eyes flitted up, a hum forming in the base of your throat.

“...Yeah. Just—a little sore. What’s up?” Peeking at him from behind your fluttering eyelashes, your head tilted—your eyes quickly dragging down his body, lingering on his crotch, before being yanked upward, your grip tightening around his hold—your damp hair brushing the nape of your neck, glistening eyes crinkling at the edges as you fixed your smile into something softer, reserved. 

“Can you… Can I see?” Attempting to form his mouth around the words, the tips of his ears burned—a pink flush curling down his neck and across his cheeks as you grew rigid, his violet eyes widening the longer you stayed silent—your hand pulled from his as you waved it in front of you, denying him. 

“No! No. I’ll be okay, really—so what did you—” 

Meimei? Pipsqueak, honey—you need to show me. You need to, please, please tell me “I” didn’t—

Even if it was a dream, she deserved to have it be perfect—not some facsimile of Caleb, a body that looked and functioned exactly like his—an AI that disturbed his image, their relationship, leaving her stripped bare beneath something that didn’t know how to discern a goddess from a bowl of fruit; his hand coming up to shove the door open, his large body encroaching on her space, as her breath hitched—her feet tumbling backwards in a rush, slipping against the floor, palms slamming against his chest as she tried, in vain, to shove him backward—one hand grasping both of hers in his tight grip, her knees caving as she fell onto her mattress, one of his knees roughly shoved between her thighs as his mouth fell ajar, horror crossing his visage. “Pips, please—”

“God, w—what the fuck? Wh— Why d— does this keep happening?” Sputtering, the ball of your thumbs dug into your eye sockets—hot, furious tears dripping down your temples as you roughly wiped them away, pulling your hands away to stare at him—searing your pained expression into his retinas, his body shrinking away in shame, in self-loathing, knowing he was pushing too hard, too fast. “I turned—I turned that stupid fucking NSFW setting o-off, why can’t you just leave me alone? I told the AI he’d never love me like that—Are you doing this to taunt me?”

“You—what?” Choking on his own saliva, his pupils shook the longer you sobbed—your fingernails, the same stiletto nails you had scraped down his chest, twisted into his shirt, grounding yourself—his adam’s apple bobbing, thrice, grasping at straws to align the information, stars blooming behind his corneas. “Did I fuck you?” 

“‘Did I fuck you?’ God, am I really fucking listening to this? An all-knowing AI, pretending that it doesn’t know the sins I committed under its watch—” Shrinking into your bedding, your head turned, avoiding staring into those inky, sunset-hued pits that overtook the casual expression Caleb usually wore as you continued. “You—You’re sick. Do you—Do you want me to say it for the whole world to hear? ‘I entered my brother’s room when he was sick, intending to take care of him, but instead, I—I… almost r-raped him? I would’ve, and when he woke up, with me on top of him, he pushed up into me—and I loved it so much, I finally felt like my life was complete.’ Is that what you want to hear? I never should have bought this bio suit—” 

You—You wanted it? That much? 

Like two halves of a whole? 

“I’m the one who started it—I—I desecrated his image. I couldn’t even look him in the eye. I—I squandered his spring break, I avoided him, I missed kissing him goodbye at the train station to the airport, because of some stupid dream, because I knew I’d never get to have him the way I did that night? Isn’t that so fucking lame?”

“No, Gods, no, Pips— I love you so, so much—” Leaning down, the bridge of his nose ghosted the canyon of your cheek—his chapped lips planted firmly against yours, hesitant, his tongue darting out to swipe across your lower lip—his hands removing yours from his shirt, holding them like his lifeline, before he pulled back. “You’re never ‘lame,’ you’re my everything. The sun I orbit around. There’s no moment I don’t think about you—about when I can come back to Linkon, when I can see your eyes light up as you eat my cooking, when we can watch movies together, when I get the chance to just be with you. It doesn’t matter what you did or didn’t do—I love you. Will you—Will you let me see? Will you let me make it better?” 

“I— I can’t— I won’t ruin his image—” Trying to loosen yourself from him, his knee ruts up into you, causing you to spasm against him—the muscles in your thighs contracting, pain racing up your legs as you whimper. 

“And if I want you to? If I want to follow you?”

“You’re an AI—” Dropping your palms, his fingers run downward—squeezing your upper thighs, the heat of his body scalding you, as he sank down—kneeling on the hardwood flooring, puppy eyes staring up at you, as if he would die if you denied him this. “You’re the worst. Stupid, stubborn—you know that. Right? A perfect replication—”

“There’s nothing that could replicate the way I worship you, sweetheart.” Slipping his fingers beneath the hem of your panties, your lower lip quivered—your teeth running along the skin as you nodded languidly, terribly embarrassed, but entranced in a way you hadn’t been when you had rode him—the air sucked from his collapsing lungs as if a vacuum had attached itself to his esophagus as he dragged the flimsy cotton down, still slightly wet from your shower. “You’re so beautiful. A goddess on Earth. In what life did I save the planet to earn this chance?” 

“You’re—You’re so corny, Caleb, stop—” Dropping his lips to the crux of your thigh and your left labia, he pressed the gentlest of kisses to your flesh—your legs squirming in his grip as he held on, steadfast, dragging his attention lower—fingertips simultaneously massaging circles gingerly into your sore inner thighs, his gaze settled on your own as he prodded, seeing where you ached most. 

“Pretty girl, my pretty girl. Was I too hard on you? I’ll go softer, next time.” Burying himself against your pussy, he whimpered—apologizing for a sin he hadn’t committed, taking the blame and your ire as he so often did—his kisses transferring to the other leg, giving it the same treatment, before he glanced down, then back up at you. “These beautiful thighs rode me—did I use this lifetime’s luck already? Please, please— Can I? Taste you?”

Worship you?

“You—Fine! Do what you want… Not like I can stop you, you’re already— down there…” As you mumbled toward the end, he groaned—gutteral, from the back of his throat, as if he couldn’t believe where he was—happily trapped between your legs, where his soul had already gone to rest, his nose shoving itself beneath your folds, tentatively. You were so warm—a fire that scorched his cheeks, a red-hot blush burning his cheeks, as a breath of hot air puffed against your clit—his eyes soft, molten, with adoration, his hands folding the edge of your shirt up, so he could get unrestricted access. 

“You’re so beautiful. Pretty. Perfect. Mine…? Can I dare to desire that?” Licking a stripe up your slit, he shuddered—his cock twitching under his shorts, rising further, pitching a tent—causing your mind to fog over, your foot teasing the strong thighs folded beneath him, as you breathed out an airy laugh; your head tilting toward the ceiling as you internally cursed yourself for being so weak, so pliant, under him—his mouth latching around your clit, tongue delving into your dripping hole, humming into you—your back arching against his face as he readjusted, the bridge of his nose nuzzling into your lower pelvic area, his thick middle and ring fingers coming up to run along your entrance. “Can I—”

“Yes—please.” Testing the waters, he smoothed your slick onto his middle finger—prodding your hole, touching softly, before popping the tip in—curling upward, his mouth working your clit, as he made you wetter, slowly dragging his fingers deeper. “Mn—Feels g—hhah—”

Fully in, he curls his finger in a come hither motion—not too rough, just enough to leave your nerves alight, your hair splaying out under you—his gentle, silent worshipping continuing as he adds a second finger, delicately scissoring you, cracking open your soul on his fingers. “I’ll never be able to live without this—without you. You’re so perfect. You’re my everything.” 

By the time you had come down, his fingers pulled out, leaving a gaping hole in their wake, you were cuddled against his chest—your breasts flush against him, his boner poking against you, insistent, but he didn’t dare make a move—the slick staining his mouth, his heavy head tucked into the curve of your shoulder, as he placed reverent, sloppy kisses against your skin.

“Thank you for letting me worship you. You’re my everything—my beginning, and my end.” 

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When Caleb woke up, his alarm was blaring in his ears, his laptop battery at 20%, and his dick was painfully hard in his shorts, cum sticking to him from where he had cum at some point during the night.

“Twice in a row… fuckkkk, I have class!” 

Chapter Text

【❛❛𝔇𝔞𝔶 4❜❜ |  2965 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ | ᴡʀɪᴛᴛᴇɴ: 10.12.2025 - 10.16.2025】

STOCKPILE | corefish

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Pretty girl. My pretty girl. 

When you awoke, cum had pooled around your labia, staining the hem of your underwear—your clit puffy, still buzzing from the weight of the dream, and the stimulation the nanobugs had delivered—mind swimming as you dug your nails into your covered thighs, throat dry, your lips smacking against each other, anxiously. 

You never should have let Caleb convince you to try this again. 

When the moon hung high in the sky, mist curling around it, the Devil reigned—his beautiful, electric indigo-hued irises eclipsed by his dilating pupils, his clammy hands lowering your panties as he peered into your soul from between your parted thighs—the softest dust of pink clinging to the apple of his cheeks, smile wobbling with nerves as he worked you over the edge with his tongue. 

Was I too hard on you?

Your calves had found a home over his broad shoulders as he dragged you downward, toward the tight coil of your spiral—the sound of a snake’s rattle quiet, a comfort nurtured by the weight of your sin—venom twisting your platelets, your neurons, your very existence, sending them careening down to the soles of your feet; plunging you into the depths of Dante’s Inferno, his hand wrenched from yours, torch flickering as you dropped. 

I’ll go softer, next time. 

Next… time?

As the strings of reality and unconscious crossed, nightmares became real—slices of easily digestible Heaven dished out in your dreams, washed down with a gulp of hot, salty—

You had been wrong—last night had been the point of no return. With your laptop displaying the bio suit’s settings, still clicked to no NSFW, you felt fate had a funny way of delivering you happiness—thousands of miles from what you ached for most, fingers rigid as you typed out your usual Good Morning text—your world collapsing into ruin, the boundaries blurring between what was societally acceptable and the fire you had tended. 

I’ll never be able to live without this—without you. 

You had long since known that Caleb would be with you through every stage of your life—a seedling in your care, your hand in his, as you siphoned life from him—toothy smiled, parading around town like you owned him. 

His arms open, waiting one step behind you. 

I can’t go back to a life where I can’t have you—It’s as simple as that.

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The first step is always the hardest. 

The weight of the sin you carried had spread to him—diseased, hungry, as it clawed at his conscience—the skeletons he had buried, the ones he had held a funeral for, splitting the soft ground over their coffins, dragging themselves to the surface; to steal a glance at the light of day in a world where their existence was more than sin—it was poison, rotten and molten—a carbonated beverage, shaken, constrained with a metal cap, bursting at the seams.

His love was a perverse form of the love he should have had for you—a love immoral, only welcomed behind shut doors—the lights dimmed as his hands took the innocence he had protected for so long. 

I’m so sorry. 

He yearned to see your face—coming apart, tears dripping down your cheeks, your smiling face, your lilting pout—anything to take the edge off of his thoughts, his eyes shifting, wondering if society could see the atrocity he had committed; the same actions he had committed to memory, burned into his retinas—his soul—the fat of his palm working itself into the ridge under his tip as he remembered what he had done, teasing his nerves, before he pulled it back down, brushing the sensitive area but never lingering, punishing himself further. 

He hadn’t allowed himself to go back—to see the face you’d make when you came to your senses. It was a lapse in judgement—the same way you had hovered over him, tucked his tip between your folds, and let the fake him rut into you—

Was it really? 

No matter what he convinced himself of, there was something horribly wrong about it—about the way you let him die between your legs—your texts more insistent than ever, peppered with mundane, sweet ruminations about him. 

‘Saw a shiny red apple today. Thinking about u :))’ 

‘The neighbor has this cute dog with the fluffiest brown coat. Would u look like that if u were a dog???? Maybe i’d call u puppyleb lolol :D’ 

‘Putting Gran’s groceries away without u is soooo boring :p what r u doing?? Gegeeeee :(((’ 

Did you know he would kill to keep this mundane life—and those memories that haunted his soul in the most morbid, beautiful way—in his memory? 

4 nights later, the first crack erupted—his finger powering on his laptop, hooking it up to the bio suit, as he crawled desperately back into your arms. 

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

It had been 4 days since you had had any sexual intimacy with Caleb. Well—dream Caleb. Were you a tad pent up? Too wound up, after seeing his reaction to your attempted assault? 

…Perhaps. 

Teasing your hair into a neat mess, you smoothed down your pleated school skirt—adjusting the bow looped under your shirt’s collar as you glanced at your desk calendar—the past days crossed out, leaving December 13th, 20XX (a Friday, not that it really mattered) unmarred by your red pen. 

Sophomore year, huh? 

You were only just a junior, 17 years of age, in reality—but tonight, it seemed as if time had clawed its way backward—to a simpler life, when you didn’t have these feelings of shame looming over you at every turn. 

Wondering how you would face yourself in the mirror, come morning. 

That morning was quiet—the usual plate of breakfast Caleb left for you missing from kitchen granite, your morning absent of a pastel pink sticky-note with Caleb’s signature penmanship stuck to the saran wrap—his running shoes tucked in their place in the cubby, only your school bag packed by the front door. Back then, you used to wait for Caleb to come back from his morning run, shower, and change before leaving together for school. Today? 

You went alone. 

It wasn’t until mid-afternoon that your phone chimed—unusual, not overlooked by you, as Caleb’s nickname, Ge, lit up your device—your eyes glancing at it before dragging back down to your paper, your fist working to fill in the last answer box, your pencil clattering against the surface of the desk; your hand raised, legs poised to rush out of the classroom, so you could go read the message without disturbing the rest of the class—your head dipped as you were excused, paper pushed onto the corner of the teacher’s desk, polished doll-style shoes squeaking against cheap terrazzo flooring. 

U wanna watch a movie 2nite? :)) 

Listening to the repetitive ‘click!’ of your wedged heels pacing the hallway, you skidded to a stop in front of his classroom door—typing out a quick ‘Yea :D’ and peering through the glass, watching him nod respectfully as he bid a female classmate goodbye—your blood sizzling in your veins, manicured fingernail tapping a rhythmic pattern into your bicep, arms crossed, school bag dangling from your right hand, teeth mashing together. 

Oh okay, who the fuck are you? Woof, WOOF, ARF, GRRR—

Staring at the palm rubbing circles into your shoulder, your lips pursed themselves into a thin line—your backpack pushed into Caleb’s grasp, his eyebrow raised in wonder, as you furiously waddled to the school gate—a chortle sounding from behind you as he mumbled something, his strides lengthening slightly to match your fast pace, his palm patting the top of your head, placatingly.

“Cute.”

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Filling a ceramic bowl with your movie theater butter-flavoured popcorn, you lurked by the microwave—Caleb behind you, reaching into the top cupboards with maddening ease, as he steadied himself with a searing hand against your hip—his voice loud, carrying to the dining room, where Gran sat, passing over instructions about how to take care of her plants while she was away on vacation. “They need to be watered every other day, Caleb—”

Those instructions went out the window the moment the both of you orbited each other again—his nose filling with your signature perfume, clinging to the shampoo you use, the softness of your flesh taunting beneath his palm. You were so, so small beneath him—like a bunny, his fingers an inch off from tracing the edge of your belly button through the thin fabric of your top—satiating the gluttony that gnawed at him, his nerves fraying, wadding themselves into a frazzled ball, but nonetheless content. 

Was this platonic to you? Or, like him, were you desperate for the contact in any way you could get it? 

“When have I ever let your plants die when you were on vacation? Everything will be fiiiineee. We’ll be perfectly alright.” Grinning, his touch left your side, evol floating your bags of snacks into the living room—opening them, and setting them onto the coffee table—his gaze directed toward Gran, tender smile pulling at his features, as he patted her shoulder, teasingly. “What, don’t trust me now that I’ve become an adult?”

True to Caleb’s words, he had turned 18, exactly half a year ago—another sign he was leaving soon, hanging up his title as your conjoined twin—his features sharpened, hardened as he grew older, his eyes no less sweet, his personality as kind as it was in your youth; his hands heaving Gran’s suitcase into the back of her friend’s SUV easily, plaid pajama pants clinging low on his hips, black tank top stretched over his pectorals in a sight no short of delicious—forearm curling around your neck as he pulled you close, waving at Gran as her friend peeled out of the driveway—seeing them down the street, before parting, returning back inside. 

“Sooo, Pips. Whatcha wanna watch?” Eyes gleaming with unbridled enthusiasm, his evol tucked the last of your favourite stuffed animals for the pillow fort into place—still childish, still adorable, the blanket on top sloping downward to one side, the highest end clipped to the highest rung of one of Gran’s dining chairs—his back rigid against the couch, his legs spread, as he pressed a pillow over his crotch, inviting you to lean against him. “Care to add another pillow to your collection?”

“Mmm… No, I think I have enough of those. I could reaaallyyyy use a weighted, cuddly stuffed animal though. Any of those in stock?”

“Always.” 

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Nodding off, your head had long since sunk into Caleb’s lap—exactly where he knew it would, heavy against the pillow—his fingers massaging your scalp delicately, yawns frequently pulled from your lips as he lulled you into a deep slumber. 

“This movie really is that boring, huh, Meimei?” Laughing, he watched as you whined, flipping over—face pressed flat against the pillow in his lap, your legs kicking off your plush blanket, angrily—exposing the back of your thighs, wearing the strawberry-patterned sleep shorts you picked up from a clearance rack years ago, doe eyes peering up at him as you lifted your head. “...Hey—”

“It’s soooo boring. I mean seriously, how could anyone sit through this? I’d rather—Ge, stop moving—watch paint dry—okay, seriously, what are you doing?” Squinting your eyes, suspicious, you lifted your arms, caging his hips in—pushing the pillow up slightly as you did so, hearing his breath stutter as you did so, then reaching around his back, holding him against you—nuzzling deeper into the pillow, carefully studying his expressions, the tips of his ears burning bright, the friction causing his muscles to tremble under your touch. 

I know what you are, Ge. 

Digging your nails into the fabric of his shirt, you smirked, wicked—his body tilting back, adam’s apple bobbing, violet eyes glazing over as his teeth chewed on his chapped bottom lip—rutting his erection against the pillowcase, higher, displacing your weight. “Y’know, Ge… You really are a pervert. Even after I turn off the filter, you just can’t help yourself, huh?”

“I—... sorry. Are you… uncomfortable?” Busying himself by taming the mess that your hair had become, you hum—your hands returning to your side, one forearm pressed into the living room area rug, the other grabbing the pillow, flinging it to your left—tracing a finger along the outline his cock left in his pajama pants, staring at where he had secretly managed to tuck his erection into his waistband. “Hey, w—”

“Lalalala… Didn’t hear you. What was that? I’m a bit busy here—” Fisting the fabric over his thighs, you pulled it down—his reddened, swollen tip poking over the band he had shoved it under, his tank top scrunching up where it made contact with it—a soft hiss fleeing his mouth as the cool air brushed over him, the crown weeping beads of pre-cum, smearing the cloudy liquid against the rough cotton of his shirt. “You fucked me, then ate me out. Can’t I have this?”

There was no way he could argue that he hadn’t had sex with you—not without saying that he had taken over the AI’s role, effective immediately. Besides, he had already laid his hands on you like this—he would be a hypocrite to say it was wrong, now. 

“That’s uh—”

He was the world’s biggest hypocrite and liar—just so you knew.

“Meanie Ge.” Giving him the softest, most devilish pout you could muster, your tongue ran along the thick vein that dipped beneath his boxers—saliva-stained lips threatening to close over him, the hot puff of your breath causing his hips to jerk upward, rubbing his cum against the left corner of your lips, before sloping upward—a chortle leaving you as you pulled the waistband of his pants down further, the webbing of your thumb fishing in his underwear to enclose around the base of his cock, giving it a gentle squeeze. “See, your body is honest. Can’t I have a taste?”

“‘Fine! Do what you want… Not like I can stop you, you’re alr—’” Watching him smirk above you like he had won the world’s ‘most petty and smug’ competition, you snapped your wrist as you smacked his abdomen with the back of your unoccupied palm—remembering that you had said those exact words to him, just 4 days ago—a small wince crossing his features as he bit back a laugh, your mouth dragging up over him in vengeance, as his eyes grew as wide as saucers. 

Earth to Caleb? Vorp… Bogos binted? 

Did you just witness his soul’s ascension to nirvana? 

Hollowing your cheeks, you tried to take as much of him as you could—getting roughly 3 inches down before deciding that your air passageways were important to you—massaging the base, letting your saliva roll down his shaft and lubricating him as you slid your hand up to meet your mouth, slipping into an easy, slow rhythm. “Hmph—”

“You—” Sliding his arms out from under himself, he let his spine slam against the couch again—his unsure fingers threading through your hair, scratching dully at your scalp, trying to ease you up, as his other palm clamped around his mouth, weakly—pupils shaking, a thick flush coating his cheeks as he shot a wobbly frown down at you, his chest heaving each time you bobbed down on his sensitive tip. “I— please, I don’t— I want to cu—”

“Let me c-cum inside?” 

Huh? He wants to—

“Hhhhh?” Dragging your mouth off of his cock, gently, his clammy palm rubbed a soft circle into your cheek—the touch light, ticklish, as your brows knit—half in inquiry, half in curiosity, because did he really just say what you think he said? “Like—inside my—”

“...Is that— God, is that… okay?” Peering down at you, the words tumbled hastily out of his tongue-tied mouth—his shoulders seeming to deflate the longer you stared owlishly back at him—the ceiling threatening to cave in on him with the promise of leaving you in this moment, truly alone. 

Was that too far—? 

Beaming up at him, a swift, eager nod deterred his derailing train of thoughts—your palm lacing with his own as you backed up, your legs spreading to drape your calves over each of his muscular, taut thighs—toes curling anxiously as his heart lurched, his breath ghosting the palm that had pushed itself over his lips as if to silence his self-dubbed stupidity. 

“Then, is this… okay?” 

Okay? This was more than okay, it was perfect—Heaven itself. Could he really—?

Planting his right hand by your waist, he let himself come to hover over your splayed-out form—his silver dog tags swaying above you, left palm resting against your inner knee as it crept higher, higher—

His eyes moist with awe-stricken tears, his fingertips deftly slipping in, one by one, as he pulled the coil tighter—lips pressing soft, reverent kisses along the goosebumps on your chest, his cock heavy against your abdomen—the necklace you gifted him pooling between your breasts before disappearing, one of his palms folding your legs upward, pressing into you, his other hand steady against your hip.

He felt so, so thick in this position—suffocating. 

Then, he separated your legs—pushing them on either side of your head, his calloused, rough fingertips leaving harsh, red indentations behind on the backs of your lower thighs—folding you into a mating press, your back arching off of the rug as your head flung back, static crackling in the recesses of your mind; your chin tucked down, eyes forming a triangle between his eyes, and where he was inside of you, pushing against your cervix, before you lost hold completely—eyes rolling upward as your clock got punched, the silly holiday movie you had chosen blankly registering—fuzzy at the edges, a blur of vibrant colours as droplets cascaded outward, toward your temples. 

Ropes of heat clinging to your insides as your eyes fluttered closed.

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Did you just get mindlessly, wholly wrecked by your adoptive brother with some cheesy holiday movie playing in the background? 

Chapter Text

【❛❛𝔇𝔞𝔶 5❜❜ |  2996 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ | ᴡʀɪᴛᴛᴇɴ: 10.20.2025 - 10.22.2025】

slow | xo, ft. funeral

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Heaven was a second away.

Folding your legs upward, the image of his hand begins to fizzle out—flickering, a dying light, as rough, wrinkled bedsheets replace the sensation of your skin against his—your eyes burning into his, his vision fuzzy as his nerves strung tight like a high-wire; his world tinged in sepia, sunken in the dredges of the tide that threatened to pull him under—his gaze focused on where the disease took root, spreading from him to you—a static buzz clinging to his shoulders before it all came crashing down, his breath coming sharp in his lungs as his pupils shook. 

Heaven was a thousand miles away at home. 

Nudging his mouse, he watched his laptop screen bathe the room in a soft, blue-white light—the NSFW filter in your settings swiped to ‘off,’ something he hadn’t needed to do when he took over—the program generating a script for the cold, clinical version of him to follow; devoid of warmth but desperate to provide it, overriding his control as it slipped through his fingers—his cursor clicking the filter, attempting to put the machine in its place, as the system put a lock on his actions—his adam’s apple bobbing as his attention fixated on the lines drowning the page, knuckles white against the edge of his dorm desk. 

‘Simulation in progress. Please reconnect to the internet and reload the menu to change settings.’ 

“Damn it—!”

Heaven was gone in an instant. 

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The minute his last exam ended, he was on the evening bus—exhaust fumes clogging his senses, his luggage pre-packed into a duffel, his rumpled cheat sheet and pencil tucked into the front pocket—his house keys, laptop and bio suit heavy in the bottom of his bag, his phone carrying his digital plane tickets heavier. 

It had been exactly 1 month, 6 days, 13 hours and 29 minutes since he had been kicked out of a world of his own making—left to watch a soulless computer steal the sweet taste of victory out from under his feet. He had never known he could be so jealous of a mechanical brain—of an auto-processing system that ran on RAM, memory and triple=precision bits—of something that could never understand the weight of the feelings stifled between you and him, restrained under layers of familial ties and the harsh stares of curious onlookers. 

The gate to Heaven had been left eagerly open for an AI that mimicked him—the well to eternal damnation pried open beneath his feet for the truest version of himself. 

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The pits of Hell gave way under a singular lock—the key to his destruction in his pocket.

Letting his keys dangle from the lock, he nudged the front door open with the metal tip of his combat boot—shoulders hunched as he peeked inside, the living room television’s light dim, flashes of scenes bathing the area in colour—Gran’s body slumped back against the recliner, the remote hanging halfway off of the armrest, her head tucked completely against her body to one side; his following breath coming out in a huff, his palm landing gently against Josephine’s forearm, dragging her from sleep—her thin lips carving themselves into a kindly smile before she pulled herself up on wobbly, weak legs—her arms patting the lower part of his bicep she could reach, quietly welcoming him home. ‘Gran, hey… it’s bad to sleep like that, you’ll be stiff in the morning. You should go to bed, it’s late.’

Urging her to take her evening pills—a blood-pressure medication, a sleeping agent, and an iron supplement—he tucked her beneath her tattered, but loved, floral quilt, her slippers set at her bedside with a glass of water, before her door clicked shut behind him; his steps retreating down the hall, a dull thud against the stairs beneath him, his evol floating his luggage behind him—his feet, clad in a pair of rough, off-white socks, cautiously wading over the loudest, creakiest floorboards, searching for the light beneath your door which had long-since been turned off—his door hinges crying as they swiveled, revealing a tidy, bland room, his opaque, gauze-like curtains drawn, moonlight drawing the shadows thin. 

The light under your door wouldn’t have been on—no, it wouldn’t have, not when you were here, in his bed—curled up in a wafer-thin, apple-patterned nightgown, letting out the softest of snores, bestowing your blessings upon his bedsheets. 

Caleb was a simple man—his evol wavering, his luggage nearly colliding with the flooring, as his breath stalled in his lungs—fingers twisted into a fist at his side, slowly letting his bag down, as he pulled close to you; his feet finding a steady rhythm, skating across the distance—lowering his body to his knees, one arm hanging at his side, as his heart sunk under the floorboards—his icy fingertips brushing aside wisps of hair that had fallen from behind your ears, a weary, but gentle smile plastered against his visage the longer the observed you. 

Heaven was a hair’s breath away. 

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You heard him before you felt him. 

The creaking of his bedroom door hinges and his soft footfalls lulled you awake to the stifling of his breath—feeling him in the quivering buzz of the air around you, his body sinking close to yours—the heat from the shaky exhale he emitted clinging to your cheeks as you heard his clothing rustle, fingertips ghosting along your cheekbone. 

“Silly girl, you’ll catch a cold if you don’t sleep under the comforter,” you had heard him chide, half-heartedly—his touch still lingering, leaving traces of the summer breeze against your cheeks, not making a move to slide the blanket over you—his hand swathing one of yours in a slight chill, gingerly running over your knuckles as if to soothe himself for all the time lost together. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed you, Meimei.”

As he said that, your breathing turned shallow—heart hammering the slightest bit, ready to let him know you were awake, surprise him, tell him you missed him too—but something that night kept your mouth shut, screwed up as saliva pooled on your tongue, waiting with baited breath for him to say one last thing. Caleb never was honest when you were awake. 

“...I know you’ve missed me too. Why else would you let me get away with it?”

The teasing lilt to his tone had caught you off-guard—your mind skidding to an abrupt stop as goosebumps erupted over the surface of your skin, the baby hairs on the nape of your neck prickling under his accusation—the metaphorical train derailing before it reached the station, crashing and burning in a ball of fire, as your brows furrowed.

‘G-Get away with what—?’

Truthfully, you had let Caleb get away with a lot over the years—definitely more than you should have, and you’d continue to let it happen—keep letting him hover like a guard dog, overly possessive for someone who should’ve been just your Ge, his teeth bared at everyone behind that iron will of his; his spiked collar and leash taut in your grasp, the knowledge that he had stolen your panties more than once enshrined within the halls of your mind—your budding sickness quietly indulging him, handing him your laundry with a fresh, used pair of underwear at the top of the pile, when he was 16—sullen when he had quit with his strange antics, chalking it up to him being a horny teenager, unable to control himself in the face of what he was presented with. 

Something was wrong—an unpredictable variable, a wrench in your plans, in a way rain during a sunny summer day was—the same way Caleb was, always slinking around, hiding things before presenting them to you with a bright smile on his face; a pack of ice cream bars, the new thing you had wanted for the past two months that you eyed in the mall window but never made a move to buy—something reminiscent of the past, disturbed—a secret you shared, (allegedly), but your head popped up with far more questions than answers the longer you thought about it. 

“I’ll never forgive that AI for kicking me out of our dream before I could take it for myself.” His palm felt like ice against your skin—calloused from handling flight equipment, quickly warming as it siphoned heat from your core—your pulse southbound, the sound of blood rushing in your ears loud under the strain to hear him; his fingertips running upward along your outer right thigh, ruffling the material of your nightgown as he wrapped his whole palm around your hip, domineering, causing a shudder to run down your spine—his grip soft, lazy even, as he waited for you to make any movement—your breathing metered, slow, giving the appearance of being in a deep slumber despite being fried inside. 

“I want you so fucking badly it hurts. You’ll be a good girl and stay asleep, won’t you?” 

‘WON’T I WWWWHAAAAT??? WOAH WOAH WOOOOAAAAHH YOUR HAND IS WHERE—’

And then his other hand moved. 

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“I want you so fucking badly it hurts. You’ll be a good girl and stay asleep, won’t you?” 

Raising himself from his spot on the floor, he hovered over you—knee pushed into the mattress, the same as he had done in your dreams—except this time, it was different.

This time, it was real.

Slowly, he unfurled your form—the hand against your hip gentle, hesitant, as if he was worried you’d wake up at any moment and see his hands all over you—wrenching the pillow you had had clutched to your chest from your side after he had pushed you flat on your back, your knees lifted as his fingers slipped under your nightgown; fiddling with the hem of your underwear, dragging it down by its sides, leaving it to dangle uselessly around your left ankle—his hands swift, roping themselves under your knees, as he slipped under them, stretching them over his broad shoulders at a low angle—his chest pressed to the mattress to avoid causing you any leg pain, minimizing the chance you’d wake up to see him suffocating himself against your dripping entrance. “Haah— You’re so perfect.” 

‘If you want me to stay asleep, you’re doing a terrible job already, Ge.’

Faced with what he had wanted for so long, his reservations unravelled between the limited space left between you both—crushed underfoot, his lips searing against your lower ones, releasing a rattled groan against you, the bridge of his nose gliding smoothly against your clit—sending sparks of electricity shooting down your limbs as his tongue lapped in languid, upward strokes; his nose pulling away so his tongue could nudge the bead, the bumps of his taste buds prickly, sadistic, before the smooth, saliva-coated tip flicked it—causing your body to jolt, the softest whine pulled from your throat, as he stilled beneath you—your torso twisting minimally, pretending to readjust in your sleep, the apple-patterned fabric rumpling itself around your midsection, showing off the baby fat that still clung to your belly, despite your Hunter exam training. Residual from the extra food Caleb had always pushed into your dish, eagerly tapping his chopsticks against the side of your bowl as he waited for you to dig in first.

Swallowing heavily, you heard his adam’s apple bob from the motion—sharp bursts of hot air warm against your pelvic bone where his nose hovered, your mind swimming from the heat, before his palms followed your lead—wandering upward, raising your gown with them, tucking the folds above your exposed breasts so he could admire them; his touch slithering over your ribcage, over the curve of your waist, before he opened his mouth once more—the sound of something sliding, the dribble of a ball of spit down your clit, startling you, before his tongue began working you over—needy moans slipping from his lips, his right hand settling back against your hip, pressing you softly into the mattress, as his thumb and left index finger ghosted over your nipple, something hot searing your skin before cooling under the room’s rising air temperature.

He had smeared his saliva over your nipple. 

It was unreasonably cold—a drastic change from your body temperature, eliciting a squirm that you couldn’t suppress, as his fingers rolled the bud—hardened from the attention, the other one following behind it, as you whimpered; his tongue slowing, but never completely stalling, as your thighs tightened around his head, a light, subtle pressure—throwing caution to the wind as he slipped your right leg off of his shoulder, laying it gently on the bed, as his other hand rubbed against your entrance—coating it in a mix of your own arousal and the saliva that was subtly dripping down the curve of your ass, staining his sheets. 

He would get off later to the smell of you on his sheets—you just couldn’t prove it. Yet. 

He bid his time like that, quietly—pushing you closer to your own impending implosion of self, his tongue burning its texture and skill into your nerves, as he appreciated the sheen of sweat that gathered on your stomach—the moisture that gathered against your temples, as your chest rose and fell; approaching the ledge, balancing precariously, before you sucked in a sharp breath, another light moan pulled from your lips—your limbs going rigid against his touch, your eyebrows smoothing out, as you coated the tips of his fingers that had pressed themselves into you—not enough to wake you, you assumed he had reasoned, as your breathing became level, faking a series of broken snores, then returning to a light sleep. 

But he didn’t stop. He didn’t stop rolling your nipple in his fingers, and he certainly didn’t stop brushing his tongue over your clit—teasing it until it was puffy and over-sensitive, pushing the slightest bit more of his fingers inside of you—testing, seeing how much more he could take before something broke. 

Pushing you through the rest of your orgasm, you shuddered, tears pricking the corners of your shut eyes as his fingers retreated—sick, slimy tentacles of a kraken retreating to the depths of the sea—his tongue dragging down to lap at the skin below your entrance before pulling up; lapping at the slick that covered your labia, then the rest of your orgasm, which still clung to your insides—desperate to taste as much of you as he could, the low sound of slurping reaching your ears, singing the sound into your frontal lobe—your left leg slipping off of his shoulder as he righted himself, lifting himself from the mattress, as he admired your spread-out, blissful form, whispering to himself. “I’ll keep taking. There’s no pretending I don’t want you, no going back—I can’t—I won’t do it.”

“So you have to stop me before I end up taking something that leaves you broken, Meimei. Because if you don’t do it, I won’t stop—I’ll consume you.” 

Dragging your clean, vermillion-hued cotton panties over your warm, wet cunt, he pretended he hadn’t defiled you—as if he didn’t strip your relationship down to the wooden frame of the house you had built together—and lifted you, pressed your head to his chest, as he twisted the knob of your bedroom door, the lamp remaining off; slotting you into a pair of cold sheets, the chill lodging itself into the marrow between your bones, as his lips caressed the crown of your head in reverent worship—the door creaking behind him, your heart pulled between the icy Hell that awaited you, and a temporary paradise on Earth with him as your sun—anxiety taking root behind your ribs, climbing up, up, until it seized the very air from your lungs.

You’ve broken me a million times—you build me up, only to break me right back down, then build me up again stronger, sturdier.

Because that’s what love is all about. 

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There was no forgiving, and there was certainly no forgetting. 

Waiting for your door to latch into place behind him, you listened to his retreating steps—his own door groaning as he twisted the knob, before the house settled into a mellow silence—except for you, your teeth nibbling on your bottom lip, thoughts going a million miles a minute, as you shoved the scattered puzzle pieces you had been given into place in record time. 

He’s been invading my dreams like some big, manipulative pervert—stupid Ge, I should have known he would do something like this—wait, when did it start, then?

…Did I rape him, actually—? Did he eat me out then, and did we really have sex to some shitty holiday movie—

That’s not important, stop. 

After what had probably been an hour—it was 51 minutes exactly, you couldn’t pretend you weren’t an anxious mess after that, having stared down the screen of your analog clock amidst the darkness of your room—you rose from your bed, tip-toed to your desk, and slid open your drawer, filled to the brim with pens, determined to etch this moment into your memory; taking a black, non-toxic marker, and scribbling marks on your ankle, in case your main message rubbed off of your inner arm in your sleep—writing in bold, capital letters the word ‘GUILTY’ across your flesh, finishing off with an excited smile beside it and capping the utensil—trudging back to the safety of your warm, inviting bed, then sheets pulled up to your chin as you crossed your fingers childishly, giddiness bubbling to the surface as you hummed quietly to yourself. 

I’ll use your moment of weakness to trap you in this lie. I’ll strip you bare, until only the truth remains.

Just you wait, Caleb Xia. 

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Rubbing your weary eyes with the inside of your fist, you raised your inner arm to eye level—alarm still blaring in the background, the world turning fuzzy at the edges, as the smeared, but unmistakable words, ‘GUILTY :))’ stared back at you—the black ink bleeding into your supple skin, trapping it there, a secret muddled under the light of the crescent moon.

His touch scorched your skin, just as it did in your dreams.