He’s “just stretching” when he reaches over and pulls you into his lap while you’re trying to fold laundry. He’s “just making sure you’re warm” when he wraps his big arms around you and tucks you against his chest. He’s “just checking” when he leans down to nuzzle the top of your head for the fifth time in ten minutes.
You’re not even mad. How could you be?
Especially when his tail is wagging so hard behind him it’s practically creating a breeze, and his ears keep twitching happily every time you relax into him.
“You’re clingy today,” you tease, tilting your head back to look up at him.
“Am not,” he mumbles, but the way he immediately tightens his hold around your waist says otherwise. He buries his face in your neck, breathing you in like he needs it to survive. “Just like having you close. That’s all.”
You giggle and reach up to scratch behind one of his ears. The second you do, a low, happy rumble vibrates in his chest and his tail starts thumping even faster against the couch.
“Uh huh. Sure, big guy.”
He pretends to huff but ends up pressing a bunch of soft kisses along your shoulder instead, tail still going crazy. You’re both smiling like idiots.
Eventually he pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes soft and warm.
“…Can we stay like this a little longer?” he asks, suddenly shy.
You melt instantly, cupping his face and pulling him down for a proper kiss.
“Of course, baby. As long as you want.”
Valko’s tail does a full happy spin behind him as he tucks you closer again, perfectly content being your personal radiator.
i suggest reading prequel of this fic— SOULMATE? HOLEMATE! —for better understanding.
❞ summary ⠾ You and Caleb reunite at Gran’s house and BOOM—turns out those sketchy toys were secretly linking your dicks and pussies the whole time. Months of ghost-fucking each other? Mutual. Both virgins? Also mutual. Gran leaves for 3 days? → instant horny apocalypse. You two lose your V-cards in the most depraved, “gege/meimei” way possible :3
❞ wc ⠾ 7.7k
❞ content warnings ⠾ pseudocest, heavy og “gege / meimei” / big brother-little sister dynamic, explicit smut, heavy dubcon, usage of toys, toys connected to each other's dick and pussy (portal panties), virginity loss, oral (m! receiving), toy play, double penetration via toy + real cock, squirting, creampie, face-sitting, spanking, cum play, overstimulation, rough sex, voyeurism, theft of panties, reader's a brat, possessiveness, emotional intensity, overall just straight up filth with plot
❞ cherry’s note ⠾ thanks to @kingraspberry12-blog for commissioning this piece. I never thought I'd drag my ass down to actually write a part two but it is what it is. Here's the most awaited part two of soulmate?holemate!. I've lost count of how many times I've crashed out during this fic lol. My brain's so fried actually, need to sleep it off.
The summer drags like molasses this year, thick and sticky, every hour stretching longer than it has any right to. Maybe it’s the heat rolling in off the Bloomshore coast, maybe it’s Gran’s ancient air-conditioner wheezing like it’s on its last legs, or maybe—more likely—it’s because you’ve spent the last two days fucking a perfect silicone replica of your gege’s cock in the room right next to his, walls so thin you can hear the creak of his mattress when he shifts in his sleep.
You’re both on the living-room couch now, same faded floral pattern you used to fight over as kids, same throw blanket draped over your knees like nothing’s changed. Except everything has. The space between your thigh and his feels charged, electric, like the air itself is holding its breath. Neither of you looks directly at the other. Your eyes keep sliding to the TV screen—some mindless rerun neither of you is watching—then dart away before they can land on his profile, on the sharp line of his jaw, the way sweat beads at his temple and trails down the side of his neck.
Caleb breaks first.
He clears his throat, the sound rough, like it’s been stuck there for hours.
“Hey, pipsqueak…” His voice is lower than usual, careful. “How’s life out in Linkon? Big city, more people, all that noise?”
He chuckles, soft and awkward, rubbing the back of his neck the way he always does when he’s nervous. You used to tease him about it. Now it just makes your stomach twist.
“Don’t tell me you don’t miss your gege anymore…”
You glance up—too fast. His cheeks are flushed, a faint pink creeping up from his collar. He looks… shy. Almost boyish. It’s so unfair.
Your own face burns hotter. You look away quick, huffing a breath through your nose like it’ll cool you down.
“How can I not miss you…”
The words slip out quieter than you mean them to. You press your lips together hard, trapping everything else that wants to follow.
You miss him so much it hurts.
You miss you in ways you're not supposed to.
You miss you so bad you shove his dick—fake, warm, veiny, perfect—inside you every night and cry his name into the pillow while you hug that stupid apple plushie he won for you at the fair when you were fourteen. You clamp down around it until your thighs shake and your vision whites out, pretending it’s his arms pinning you, his chest against your back, his breath on your neck. You come so hard you sob, and then you feel guilty for hours, but you still do it again the next night. Because you're broken and you want him and you hate yourself for it.
But you don’t say any of that. You just stare at your knees and let the silence thicken.
Gran’s voice saves you both.
“Kids!”
You jump. Caleb straightens like he’s been caught doing something wrong.
She’s standing in the doorway, dressed in her going-out blouse, small rolling suitcase at her side.
“I’m headed downtown for three days. Something came up. Emergency stuff. You two will be fine, right? Like always.”
She’s said the same thing a hundred times over the years. Back then it meant popcorn fights and falling asleep to horror movies on the couch. Now the words land differently. Heavier.
The front door clicks shut behind her. The sound echoes.
Suddenly the house feels too quiet. Too big. Too empty except for him.
You’re hyper-aware of every inch of Caleb next to you. The sleeveless shirt clings to his chest from the humidity, dark at the collar where sweat’s gathered. His shorts ride up just enough to show the thick muscle of his thighs. His arms—God, his arms—flex every time he shifts, biceps rounding, veins standing out against his skin. He’s broader than last summer, taller, filled out in all the ways that make your mouth dry and your core ache.
You stare out the window at the garden like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world. Anything to avoid looking at him.
He notices.
Caleb chuckles again, softer this time, and reaches out. One finger brushes your cheek—light, teasing, the same way he used to when you pouted as a kid.
“Aww, is my meimei sad? Mm… I’m here. We can spend some quality time together—”
The touch is barely there, but it burns straight down your spine. Your whole body jerks away like you’ve been shocked.
Caleb freezes, finger still hovering in the air. His eyes widen.
“Pipsqueak… are you okay?”
You can’t look at him. Your face is on fire, heart slamming so hard you’re sure he can hear it. Your nipples are already tight under your thin tank top, traitorously visible, and you cross your arms quickly to hide them.
“I’m—fine,” you mumble, staring at the floor. “Just… hot.”
He swallows. You hear it—the dry click of his throat. His gaze drops for half a second, catches the outline of your nipples, then snaps away like he’s been burned too.
“Right. Uh… yeah. Hot.” He exhales, rough. “Alright. I’ll be in the kitchen. Lemme know what you want for lunch.”
He stands. The couch dips and rises with his weight. You watch his back as he walks away—broad shoulders rolling under the shirt, the dip of his spine, the way his shorts hug the curve of his ass and the powerful flex of his thighs with every step.
The second he disappears around the corner you clench your thighs together so hard it hurts.
You’re already wet. Have been since he sat down. Since he said your nickname. Since he touched your cheek.
You need a shower. Cold. Now.
You bolt upstairs before you can think better of it, lock the bathroom door, strip in record time. The dildo is already in your hand—pulled from under your mattress like it’s been waiting for you.
The water’s barely warm when you brace one foot on the edge of the tub, line up the thick head, and sink down with a broken moan.
It stretches you open in that perfect, filthy way—veins dragging, curve kissing your front wall, heavy balls nudging your clit on the downstroke. You fuck yourself fast, desperate, water pounding your back, free hand braced on the tile.
“Gege—fuck—gege—”
You don’t even try to be quiet. The house is empty except for him, and part of you hopes—prays—he hears.
Downstairs, Caleb grips the kitchen counter so hard his knuckles turn white.
The second you disappeared upstairs he felt it: that familiar phantom squeeze around his cock, hot and wet and impossibly tight. Then the rhythm starts—fast, shallow, greedy.
He’s hard in seconds, leaking into his shorts, breath coming in short pants.
He glances toward the stairs.
He knows what you’re doing.
He knows because he’s been doing the same thing to your toy every night.
And now you’re both home.
Both alone.
Both breaking.
He doesn’t go upstairs. Not yet.
Instead he leans his back against the counter, the cool edge biting into his spine like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. His cock is painfully erect under the thin fabric of his shorts, the obscene bulge straining forward, tenting so hard the waistband digs into his lower abs. Every shallow breath makes it twitch, every phantom slam of your hips upstairs sends a fresh jolt through him. He moans—low, broken, helpless—each sound punched out of his lungs as your rhythm rocks him from the inside out. His knees buckle once, twice; he catches himself on the edge of the sink, knuckles white, hips grinding forward into nothing like he’s fucking the air.
He reaches down without thinking, palm cupping the thick ridge through the cotton. One rough stroke and his head falls back, throat working on a groan. The wet spot at the front of his shorts spreads fast—dark, sticky, obscene. He grinds harder into his own fist, hips rolling in slow, filthy circles, eyes fixed on the mess he’s making, precum soaking through until the fabric clings transparently to the flushed head.
Upstairs, you stand frozen under the cold spray for a long minute, water pounding your shoulders, doing absolutely nothing to dull the ache between your legs. Your pussy throbs in time with your heartbeat, still fluttering around the memory of double penetration, still greedy for more. The shower did jack shit. You shut off the water with a frustrated huff, towel yourself off in jerky movements, and stumble back to your room naked, skin pebbled, nipples tight from the chill and from want.
You don’t even close the door all the way.
You crawl onto the bed, legs splaying wide, knees bent and feet planted so you can watch yourself take it. The dildo is still warm from earlier, slick with your earlier mess. You line it up, tease the fat head through your folds once—then slam it home to the hilt in one brutal thrust. Your back arches off the mattress with a choked cry, pussy clamping down like a vice, walls rippling around every veiny inch.
Down the hall, Caleb sucks in a whimper so sharp it hurts. His eyes roll back; he has to brace both hands on the banister to keep from collapsing right there on the stairs. The phantom grip around his cock returns—tighter, hotter, wetter than before—and he knows exactly what you’re doing.
He climbs the last few steps on shaking legs, drawn like a magnet. Your door is cracked open. He shouldn’t look. He knows he shouldn’t.
He looks anyway.
And everything inside him fractures.
There you are—his sweet, innocent meimei—legs spread obscenely wide on the childhood bed you used to share during storms, tits heaving with every frantic roll of your hips, pussy stretched wide around a thick, veiny dildo that looks exactly like his cock. Down to the upward curve, the heavy balls slapping wetly against your ass with every thrust, the flushed brownish-pink head disappearing inside you over and over.
He can see the way your walls cling to it when you pull back, the slick strings connecting silicone to your swollen lips, the way your clit peeks out swollen and red every time you grind down.
“Mmhhh gege! Ahhh gege fuck—need you—mmpphhh!!”
Your voice cracks on his name, back bowing, tits bouncing wildly as you fuck yourself stupid, chasing that edge with desperate, sloppy thrusts. The sheets are soaked beneath you, wet patch spreading.
Caleb’s sure he would have moaned loud enough to wake the whole coast if he hadn’t bitten his lower lip bloody. It’s better than any porn he’s ever seen—hotter, filthier, because it’s you. His pipsqueak. His meimei. Ruining herself on a perfect copy of his dick.
The realization hits like a shockwave.
It was you.
All this time.
The ghost pussy milking him dry every night.
The way it clenched exactly when he needed it.
The way it knew his rhythm, his kinks, his breaking point.
And he’s been doing the same to you.
He shoves his shorts down in one rough yank; his cock springs free, angry red and leaking, veins standing out thick and pulsing. He wraps a fist around the base, strokes once—hard—and has to slap his free hand over his mouth to muffle the groan.
“Mmhh pipsqueak…” he whispers, voice wrecked, hips thrusting into his own grip like he’s fucking you through the doorway. “Such a needy little meimei… arghhh—it was you all along, huh?”
He can see every detail from here— the way your thighs tremble, the way your fingers dig into the sheets, the way you arch and sob his name like a prayer while you slam the toy deeper, chasing the stretch he’s been giving you in secret for months.
And he’s glad.
Fucking glad.
Because it’s mutual.
You out-freaked him first—ordered a replica of his dick and rode it until you cried his name—but he matched you, customized a perfect copy of your cunt and fucked it raw while whispering yours.
You’re both freaks.
Two depraved, lovesick freaks who’ve been secretly fucking each other stupid across hundreds of miles, and now you’re under the same roof with no Gran to stop you.
He strokes faster, matching your rhythm—every time you slam down, he fucks up into his fist. Precum drips over his knuckles, slicking the way. His balls draw up tight, aching.
You’re close. He can tell by the way your moans turn high and broken, the way your hips stutter, the way your pussy visibly flutters around the toy.
He’s right there with you.
One more thrust—yours, his—and you both shatter at the exact same second.
You come with a muffled scream into your pillow, body convulsing, squirting around the dildo in messy pulses that soak your thighs and the bed. The toy stays buried deep as you ride the aftershocks, whimpering his name over and over.
Caleb’s knees finally give out. He catches himself on the doorframe, biting his fist as he comes hard—thick ropes painting the floorboards, his hand, his stomach—while the phantom squeeze of your pussy milks him through every pulse.
He slumps there, panting, cock still twitching in his grip, eyes locked on you through the crack in the door.
You’re still trembling, legs limp, toy lodged inside you, chest rising and falling in shaky breaths.
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak.
But the door creaks just a fraction wider under his weight.
And your eyes—glazed, wrecked, still teary—slowly lift.
They meet his.
For one endless heartbeat, neither of you breathes.
Then your lips part on a soft, broken whisper that carries straight to him,
“…gege?”
And everything that’s been building for months finally snaps.
You freak out the second your eyes blink from eye contact.
The sheets fly up in a frantic scramble, bunching around your chest and thighs as you yank them to your chin. Your cheeks ignite—burning, scorching hot—while a high-pitched squeak tears out of you like a startled animal.
“What are you—!”
The door, already ajar, swings wider under Caleb’s unsteady weight. He loses his balance completely—arms windmilling for half a second—then crashes forward with a loud, graceless thud, face-planting straight into the floorboards.
You squeak even louder, the sound shrill enough to rattle the windows.
He groans, low and pained, and slowly lifts his head. Blood trickles from his nose in a thin, bright red stream, dripping onto the wood. He blinks once, twice, dazed, then pushes himself up on shaking arms. His shorts are still shoved halfway down his thighs from earlier, so his dick—half-hard, flushed dark, still glistening at the tip—bobs free with the motion, jumping against his stomach like it has a mind of its own.
Your breath snags in your throat, sharp and audible.
You stare. You can’t not staring.
When you’d scrolled through that sketchy website a month ago, trembling and horny and stupid, you’d picked every detail from memory—the exact length you’d felt pressed against your hip during too-long hugs, the slight upward curve you’d glimpsed once through damp sweatpants, the heavy hang of his balls, the thick veins that stood out when his forearms flexed carrying your luggage. You’d thought it was obsessive fantasy.
But seeing it now—in the flesh, real, twitching, leaking a bead of precum that rolls slowly down the shaft—you realize with dizzying clarity—they didn’t just make a replica.
They made an exact fucking match.
Everything clicks into place like a lock tumbling open.
The “ghost” sensations.
The double penetration every night.
The way your toy always seemed to know exactly when he was close, clamping down harder, milking tighter.
The way his phantom cock always mirrored your rhythm, pounding deeper when you slammed down hardest.
Caleb hauls himself to his feet, swaying slightly. He notices your wide-eyed stare locked on his cock and flushes darker than you’ve ever seen him—red creeping from his collar to his ears. With a rough, embarrassed jerk, he yanks his shorts back up, the waistband snapping against his hips, but it does nothing to hide the thick outline still straining forward.
“Pipsqueak…” His voice comes out hoarse, cracked, half-lidded eyes dark and glassy. A thin trail of blood slides from his nostril, curving over the bow of his upper lip. He doesn’t wipe it away.
You snap back to yourself with a jolt.
“Caleb—your nose is bleeding!”
You scramble forward on your knees, sheets slipping dangerously low as you reach for the box of tissues on your nightstand. One hand presses a wad against his nose while the other clutches the fabric to your chest—but not fast enough. The sheet drops just enough to bare your breasts again, nipples peaked and flushed from everything that’s happened.
Caleb’s gaze drops instantly.
He stares—openly, hungrily—for one long heartbeat before you yank the sheet back up with a mortified squeak. Only then does he drag his eyes back to yours, pupils blown wide.
“It’s not because I fell,” he rasps, voice thick. “It’s because of…”
His stare rakes down your body again—slow, deliberate—taking in the way the sheet clings to your sweat-damp skin, the dark patch between your thighs where you’re still dripping, the toy still half-buried inside you under the covers. You squeak again, smaller this time, thighs pressing together instinctively.
“Caleb!”
“Okay—okay, I want you to stop freaking out and listen to me—”
You look away fast, heart hammering so loud it drowns out everything else. You don’t know how to explain this. How to admit that you’ve been coming undone on a silicone clone of him for months. That you’ve whispered his name like a prayer while your pussy clenched around fake-him, imagining real-him pinning you down. That you’re terrified of what it means now that the secret’s out.
Who fucks a replica of their gege’s dick?
You do.
You really, really do.
Before you can spiral further, Caleb’s hands—big, warm, calloused from flight controls—cup your cheeks. Gentle. Steady. He tilts your face up until you have no choice but to meet his eyes.
They’re soft. Guilty. Desperate. Everything at once.
“We need to figure this out, okay?” he whispers, thumbs brushing your cheekbones. “Wait—I need to show you something.”
And just like that he’s gone—bolting out of your room, bare feet slapping the hallway floor, leaving the door swinging wide behind him.
You’re alone again.
The room smells like sex and shame and him.
Your thighs tremble. The dildo is still inside you—warm, thick, stretching you open—and every tiny shift makes it drag against your oversensitive walls. You clench once, involuntarily, and a fresh trickle of slick leaks out around it.
You can hear him in his room now—drawers opening, something thudding to the floor, a muffled curse.
Your mind races.
He’s going to show you something.
You already know what it is.
A possible pocket pussy.
The one he’s been fucking every night while you rode his replica. The one that’s been milking him dry from three hundred miles away.
And now it’s here in this house with both of you.
You swallow hard, heart in your throat.
The floorboards creak as he comes back down the hall.
You don’t move.
Don’t pull the toy out.
Don’t cover up any more than you already are.
You just wait—sheets clutched to your chest, thighs still spread, pussy still stuffed, pulse roaring in your ears—while the footsteps get closer.
When Caleb steps back through the doorway, holding the black satin box like it’s evidence in a crime scene, eyes locked on yours with something raw and unguarded…
You know.
There’s no going back now.
Not for either of you.
Caleb steps back into your room, the black satin box cradled in his big hands like it’s both a confession and a trophy. He doesn’t hesitate—doesn’t even try to play coy. He flips the lid open right in front of you.
Your eyes blow wide. Your mouth drops into a perfect, stunned little ‘o’.
Nestled inside, glossy and obscene, is the pocket pussy—soft silicone lips parted just enough to show the glistening pink interior. And draped over it, stretched across the entrance like a filthy bow, is one of your missing lace panties. The pale pink ones with the tiny bow at the front. The ones you swore the washing machine devoured months ago.
Caleb—shameless bastard now that the mask is off—hooks two fingers under the waistband and tugs the fabric aside. He drags the pad of his thumb slowly along the outer folds, parting them gently, stroking the slick entrance like he’s petting something precious.
The sensation hits you like lightning.
A surprised, broken moan rips out of your throat before you can stop it. Your pussy clenches hard around the dildo still buried inside you, walls fluttering wildly, fresh slick leaking out around the base.
Caleb flushes darker—cheeks, neck, ears—but his grin is pure sin. He chokes on his own spit when your inner muscles clamp down again, the toy translating every spasm straight to his cock.
“You get it now?” he rasps, voice wrecked.
Your brain kicks into overdrive, thoughts crashing faster than light.
You’d spent months drowning in guilt—convincing yourself you were the only freak here, the only one twisted enough to order a perfect replica of your gege’s dick and ride it until you sobbed his name into your pillow. You’d hated how much you wanted it, how wrong it felt, how right it felt every time you came clenching around fake-him.
But look at him.
Look at your freak of a gege standing there holding a replica of your cunt, wrapped in your stolen panties like some depraved keepsake. He didn’t just buy it—he customized it, scented it, fucked it raw while thinking of you, and then he kept your underwear like a trophy.
“CALEB YOU STOLE MY PANTIES?!!?” The scream explodes out of you, eyes huge, accusatory, betrayed.
He squeaks—actually squeaks—scratching the back of his head with his free hand, sheepish grin wobbling.
“Umm… well… I rescued them to wash but uh… hehehehehe—”
You lunge.
Your fists rain down on his chest, shoulders, arms—smacking him over and over, forgetting the sheet, forgetting the toy still stretching you open, forgetting everything except righteous fury.
“YOU JERK!!! I KEPT BUYING CUTE PANTIES AND YOU STOLE THEM?!??! HOW DARE YOU!!! I THOUGHT THE WASHER WAS EATING THEM!!”
“Ow—ouch—ouch—pipsqueak!”
He’s half-laughing, half-squeaking, trying to shield himself but not really fighting back. The sounds are ridiculous, boyish, so much like the old Caleb that it almost hurts.
Then his arms snap around your waist.
One hard yank and you’re flush against him—chest to chest, hips to hips, the thick ridge of his cock pressing right against your lower belly through his shorts. Your breath punches out of you in a startled gasp.
“I can buy you new ones, yeah?” he murmurs, voice dropping low, rough. “Anything you want. But right now… we need to talk about this, meimei.”
The name hits like a shockwave.
You stop breathing.
His eyes are locked on yours—dark, molten, stripped of every layer of pretense. You feel every inch of him: the heat radiating off his skin, the hard planes of his chest, the insistent throb of his cock trapped between you. And lower—the dildo still lodged deep inside you, making your walls flutter every time you shift.
“Take it out, pipsqueak.”
Your cheeks burn so hot you think they’ll combust. You shake your head frantically—no, no, no—too embarrassed to move, too mortified to pull the replica of him out of your dripping cunt while he watches.
Caleb frowns, impatient.
His hand slides down—big, warm fingers wrapping around the base of the dildo where it’s buried in you. He groans low in his throat at the feel of your walls gripping it—gripping him, then yanks.
The toy comes free with a wet, filthy pop.
You gasp sharply—sharp enough to hurt—your pussy clenching around sudden emptiness. Slick gushes out in a messy splash, coating your inner thighs, dripping onto the sheets, making everything even more obscene.
“Come on,” he chuckles, dark and teasing, holding the glistening dildo up between you like evidence. “I know you weren’t shy fucking this replica in Linkon, huh? No wonder the ghost was so needy…”
His eyes drag over the toy—taking in the way it’s coated in your arousal, veins shiny, base slick—and then rake back up your body, slow and hungry.
“I should’ve known it was my naughty little pipsqueak. After all… it’s only meimei who takes this much from her gege, hmm?”
His voice drops to gravel.
You gulp, panting softly, chest heaving. You pout up at him—bratty, defiant—and smack his chest again, weaker this time.
“But… you had a replica of mine too!”
Caleb laughs—low, rough, relieved.
“In that case… I’m guilty too.”
Then he moves.
One step forward and your back hits the mattress. You both go down in a tangle—sheets ripping away completely, your naked body splayed beneath him, still sweaty, still flushed, still smelling like sex and shame and him.
He braces on his forearms, caging you in, face inches from yours.
“Then we should share this sin together, right?”
His hips settle between your thighs. The hard length of him—real this time—nudges right against your soaked entrance, hot and thick and leaking through his shorts.
You whimper—small, broken, needy.
His mouth hovers over yours, breath mingling.
“Tell me to stop, meimei,” he whispers, voice trembling just enough to betray how close he is to breaking. “Tell me and I’ll walk out right now. We’ll pretend this never happened.”
Your hands slide up—fingers curling into his shoulders, nails digging in.
You don’t push him away.
You pull him closer.
“Don’t you dare,” you breathe against his lips.
And that’s it.
The last thread snaps.
Caleb’s mouth crashes down on yours—hungry, desperate, years of pent-up want pouring out in one bruising kiss. His tongue pushes past your lips, claiming, tasting, while his hips grind forward, dragging the fat head of his cock through your folds.
You arch up into him with a sob, legs wrapping around his waist, heels digging into his ass to pull him deeper.
He groans into your mouth—raw, wrecked.
“Fuck—pipsqueak—been waiting so long—”
Caleb pulls back just enough to drink you in—really drink you in.
You’re sprawled beneath him like a fever dream: lips swollen and glossy from his kisses, chest rising and falling in quick, shallow pants, eyes glassy and half-lidded with want. His gaze drags down slow—over the flushed peaks of your tits, the soft curve of your belly still trembling from aftershocks, then lower, to where your thighs are parted and your pussy is clenching desperately around nothing. Slick shines on your inner thighs, dripping down toward the sheets in lazy rivulets. The toy’s absence has left you empty and aching, walls fluttering visibly like they’re begging to be filled again.
His whole body burns—not just from the heat of the moment, but from the sheer, dizzying reality of it. His wildest, most shameful dream is right here: you, naked and wrecked and his, finally letting him see you like this. Touch you like this. He’s drowning in emotions—guilt, relief, raw hunger—but he forces himself to focus. He wants this to be good for you. Better than good. He wants to feed every filthy craving you’ve both been hiding, satisfy the hunger that’s been eating you alive for months.
“So pretty,” he stutters, voice cracking as two fingers glide down your slit. He parts your folds gently, watching the way your clit twitches under the lightest brush.
You yelp, thighs jerking inward on instinct. “Caleb!”
He shakes his head, firm but soft. His free hand comes down in a sharp spank to the plush meat of your thigh—hard enough to sting, soft enough to make the flesh jiggle.
“Oh no no no no,” he murmurs, eyes dark. “Don’t go hiding from me now. You’re beautiful, pipsqueak. I want to admire all of you.”
You bite your lower lip hard, cheeks flaming, but you don’t close your legs again. You watch—breath hitching—as his fingers continue their slow exploration: tracing your entrance, dipping just inside to feel how soaked you are, then sliding lower. He gropes one ass cheek shamelessly, kneading the soft flesh before landing another weak, appreciative spank. The jiggle makes him groan low in his throat.
“Aw damn…”
You huff, mortified and turned on in equal measure, and reach up to grab his ear—tugging hard.
He yelps instantly. “Ow ow ow—what’s wrong? Did I hurt you—”
You scoff, cutting him off, and slide both palms under his shirt. Your fingers find the hard planes of his pecs, cupping them shamelessly, thumbs brushing over his nipples.
“Take off your clothes too, dummy,” you mutter, voice bratty and breathless. “I don’t wanna be the only one naked.”
Caleb blinks once—then grins so wide it’s almost stupid, ear-to-ear and boyish despite the filthy situation.
“Fair enough.”
He yanks the sleeveless shirt over his head in one smooth motion, muscles flexing under sweaty skin as it hits the floor somewhere behind him. Next come the shorts—hooked thumbs in the waistband, frantic tug downward. The fabric slides off his thighs and his cock springs free, slapping lewdly against his lower abs with a wet smack.
You gasp—sharp, involuntary.
It’s exactly like the dildo. Down to the last detail: the thick veins, the slight upward curve, the flushed brownish-pink head already leaking, the heavy balls hanging low. Your pussy clenches hard around nothing at the sight, a fresh gush of slick trickling out.
“Like what you see, huh?” he smirks, voice hoarse and wrecked. He grips the base and smacks the fat head against your dripping folds—once, twice—coating himself in your mess.
You whine instantly, hips jerking up. “Ahhh fuck—Caleb—mmmpphhh!!”
But instead of pushing in, he pulls back. You frown, confused and needy—until you see him reach for the dildo again.
With a slow, sinful smile, he lines it up and slides it back inside your tight cunt.
“Hai—ahhhh—Caleb!?!”
You can only stare up at his face—pleasure twisting his features, mouth falling open in a perfect ‘o’—as he pushes the toy deeper. A low, rumbling groan escapes him.
“Fuck… exact feeling…”
He keeps going—slow, torturous—watching your face the whole time while he feeds inch after inch back into you. Your walls stretch around the familiar silicone, fluttering, sucking it in greedily until it’s buried to the hilt again: tip kissing your cervix, heavy balls pressed flush against your ass.
Only then does he stop.
But he’s not done.
He manhandles you with easy strength—big hands under your thighs, lifting you like you weigh nothing. You squeak as he repositions you properly on the bed: flat on your back, head near the pillows, legs spread wide. He climbs over you, straddling your chest, knees bracketing your shoulders.
His cock hovers right above your face—hard, twitching, leaking a fat pearl of precum from the slit.
Your brain empties completely. All you can do is stare: at him, at the dick that’s been haunting your nights for months, now real and inches from your lips.
“You’ll suck it, right baby?” he rasps, voice trembling with restraint. “Mmmh… suck gege’s dick while the replica stretches you open.”
He lowers himself slowly. The swollen head smacks against your lips—hot, sticky, salty.
You open immediately.
Your mouth wraps around the tip, tongue swirling, sucking gently at first. Caleb throws his head back with a guttural sound.
“Ohhh fuck—dual sensation—ahhh… shit!”
His fingers slide into your hair, gripping gently but firm. He starts fucking your mouth in shallow thrusts—careful not to choke you yet, but deep enough to make your eyes water.
“Fuck baby… take it deeper. I know you can—ahh… you’ve been swallowing that dick down your throat, haven’t you? Hah…”
You can barely think—pussy stuffed full and throbbing around the toy, mouth stretched around the real thing, taste of him flooding your senses. But you obey.
Your hands fly up—gripping the firm meat of his ass, nails digging in as you pull him forward. You relax your throat and swallow him to the base in one slow, greedy glide.
Your nose buries into the neatly trimmed, newly shaved patch of pubic hair. His scent—musk, clean sweat, him—overwhelms you. Your eyes roll back, lashes fluttering, fingers sinking deeper into the thick muscle of his thighs while tears of effort slip down your temples.
Caleb’s head snaps back, face contorting in raw pleasure—jaw slack, brows furrowed, a broken moan tearing from his chest.
“Fuck—pipsqueak—good girl—fuck—”
He holds himself there for a heartbeat—letting you feel every thick inch pulsing on your tongue—before he starts to move again.
Slow, deep thrusts into your mouth while the dildo stays buried in your cunt, every rock of his hips making the toy shift inside you just enough to drag against your walls.
You’re stuffed at both ends.
Full.
Claimed.
His.
And he’s not stopping until you both break again.
Caleb keeps fucking your mouth with slow, deliberate rolls of his hips—balls smacking wetly against your chin on every deep thrust, the filthy sound echoing in the quiet room. His moans are low and ragged, pleasure ripping through him in waves as your throat flutters around his length, tongue pressing flat against the underside, sucking greedily.
You snap your hips forward uselessly, clenching desperately around the dildo still buried deep in your cunt. The dual fullness—mouth stuffed with real him, pussy stretched by fake him—has you trembling, thighs shaking, slick dripping down your ass in steady rivulets.
That’s when he breaks.
Caleb’s whole body locks up, shaking violently. His fingers tighten in your hair—almost too hard—burying himself to the root until your nose presses flush against his pelvis. A guttural groan tears from his chest as he starts cumming.
Thick, hot spurts flood your mouth instantly—salty, bitter, overwhelming. Your eyes roll back so hard you see stars, throat working frantically to swallow it all, but there’s too much. It overflows the corners of your lips, dripping down your chin in messy strings.
He doesn’t stop.
He pulls out with a lewd, wet pop—cock still jerking—and shoots the last few ropes across your face: warm streaks painting your cheeks, your nose, your swollen lips. You gasp for air, tongue darting out instinctively to lick what you can reach, tasting him everywhere.
Caleb pants above you, chest heaving, staring down at the mess he made. You look wrecked—face covered in his cum, eyes glassy and dazed, lips parted and shiny. He knows he should feel ashamed. He should apologize, clean you up, stop this madness.
But fuck—you look so hot like this it’s rewriting his brain chemistry. Ruining him for anything else.
You flutter your lashes up at him, slow and deliberate, tongue tracing your lower lip to catch another drop. The sight snaps something inside him.
He groans, low and broken, and reaches for the dildo. One rough yank and he pulls it free from your overstimulated pussy.
You arch violently off the bed, hips jerking, a gush of slick squirting out around the sudden emptiness. “F-fuck—Caleb—!”
He stares, mesmerized. “Fuck… you’re so hot, meimei. I think I’m losing my mind.”
You’re panting, trying to catch your breath, body still twitching with aftershocks. Guilt crashes over him like cold water—he reaches for the tissue box on your nightstand with shaking hands and starts wiping your face clean, gentle despite everything.
His cheeks are crimson, burning with embarrassment and leftover heat. “Ah shit—sorry pipsqueak, didn’t mean to… fuck… I’m sorry, okay?”
You just stare up at him—brain fried, body humming—and reach out. Your fingers wrap around his still-hard cock, slick with spit and cum.
He hitches a sharp breath. “Ahhh—oh god—mmhh—”
You give him lazy, teasing strokes, smirking mischievously through the haze.
“I want it, Caleb,” you whisper, voice hoarse. “I want your dick.”
He groans, hips snapping forward into your touch. Hearing you talk like that—filthy, needy—makes him throb harder in your palm.
“Say it again, meimei,” he rasps, voice trembling. “Say it… properly.”
You bite your lower lip, thumb flicking over the sensitive head, circling the slit, smearing precum.
“I want your dick, gege,” you purr, slow and deliberate. “Please?”
You don’t stop. Somehow you sit up—legs shaky—free hand sliding up his arm, over the thick muscle of his shoulder, then flicking his hard nipple. You lick your lips again, eyes locked on his, and climb into his lap.
“Need you inside, gege,” you breathe against his throat. “Not the… toy. Need your dick to fuck this pussy—mmhh!”
Caleb snaps.
Since when did his sweet pipsqueak become this seductive little tease?
He hauls you up the bed in one swift motion—then slams you back down onto the mattress. Not too rough—just enough to make you squeak in surprise, tits bouncing with the impact.
“Fuck—look at that sultry expression,” he growls, voice dark. “You’re such a tease, meimei. Such a dirty girl begging her gege’s dick.”
His palm comes down in a sharp smack against your pussy—wet, obscene. You whine, arching hard, the sting turning into molten heat that makes you even wetter.
“You bought a dildo to fuck this needy little cunt, huh?” Another smack—harder. You sob, mindless, hips grinding back toward his hand. “Used a replica of your gege’s dick to train this pussy?”
You can only nod—whimpering, desperate—grinding shamelessly against his palm.
“Fuck—but who am I to judge?” he chuckles darkly. “I’m a freak too, ain’t I?”
He presses the fat head of his cock to your entrance—hot, leaking, real—and snaps his hips forward in one powerful thrust.
You both nearly scream.
The bed shakes beneath you as he bottoms out—thick, burning, stretching you in ways the toy never could. Your walls clamp down instantly, fluttering around every veiny inch.
Caleb grips the headboard above you, knuckles white, hovering over your body. His other hand slides between your legs—fingers finding your clit, pinching and flicking with his thumb while he watches your face twist in pleasure.
“Good thing is… I don’t have to train you for my dick anymore, hah,” he pants, hips rutting in sloppy, messy thrusts. “You’re nice and ready to take me full… fuck… I never thought—”
He throws his head back, eyes squeezing shut. Tears well at the corners—not from pain, but from too much everything: pleasure, relief, fear.
He’s terrified he’ll cry in front of you. Terrified you’ll disappear when this ends. Terrified he’ll lose you after finally having you.
So he fucks you deeper—hands roaming everywhere: groping your tits, spanking your ass, squeezing your thighs. Rough, unpracticed, desperate. He can’t help it. He’s never done this before—not like this, not with anyone.
Suddenly he stops—mid-thrust, sweat dripping down his chest in rivulets. He looks down at you, panic flashing in his eyes.
“Hey—hey hey hey, pipsqueak… hah… are you like—feeling actually good? Like… or…”
His whole face is on fire. He gulps, vulnerable in a way that makes your chest ache.
Your brain is too fried to process deeply. You just grin—mindless, blissed-out—and grind back against him with a small, innocent smile.
“Mmhh… best big brother ever…”
Caleb’s mouth falls open. He chokes on a laugh—or maybe a sob—then shakes his head and goes back to fucking you.
He’ll ask when you’re sober. Right now you’re too drunk on his cock to think straight.
He finds your clit again—rubbing tight circles—and feels the telltale shiver in your hips. You’re close. He can see the faint bulge in your lower belly every time he bottoms out, and it makes him shy and so fucking turned on at the same time.
The fact that he’s claiming you like this—fucking you so deep you’ll feel him for days—makes his head spin. He prays this isn’t a fever dream.
His own brain is melting from the pleasure, the sensation, the sight of you taking him so perfectly.
He reaches down—presses the heel of his palm against the bulge in your belly—and pushes.
Both your eyes roll back at the same instant.
Broken moans spill from your tongues as you cum together—hard.
You squirt violently—soaking his cock, his abs, the sheets in messy arcs—walls clamping down like a vice around him.
Caleb comes with a shattered whimper—hips stuttering, spilling inside you in thick, endless pulses until it leaks out around his base, dripping down his balls and onto the ruined bed.
He collapses next to you—breathing ragged, eyes half-focused and glassy.
After a long moment he reaches over—gentle now—brushing damp hair off your face. A soft, satisfied smile curves his lips.
“Thank you…” he whispers, voice hoarse and raw.
You turn your head—still panting, still trembling—and press a lazy kiss to his palm.
“Gege…”
He pulls you close—bodies sticky, tangled, hearts hammering in sync.
Caleb’s hand comes up slow—almost reverent—caressing the side of your face, thumb tracing the curve of your cheekbone like he’s memorizing the texture of your skin. His breath hitches when he feels the warmth, the realness of you still flushed and glowing against him. A low, stuttering rumble escapes his chest.
“Did you… like it, pipsqueak?”
You’re draped over him now—breasts cushioned against the hard plane of his chest, cheek pressed to the thick swell of his pec, listening to the thunder of his heartbeat slow. You grin lazily, voice cracked and hoarse from all the moaning, all the screaming his name.
“I fucking loved it, Caleb.”
His smirk falters—just for a second—something soft and vulnerable flickering in his eyes. His thumb circles lazy patterns over your hipbone, the touch grounding and possessive at once.
“Me too.” He swallows. “I thought I was pushing things too fast… making it uncomfortable since I’ve never—”
Your eyes shoot open. You half-scream, half-gasp, bolting upright so fast your tits bounce against his chest.
“WAIT—you… YOU MEAN YOU WERE A VIRGIN?!?!”
Caleb’s whole face ignites—crimson flooding from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. He squeezes his eyes shut in pure mortification, but the corner of his mouth twitches upward in a faint, sheepish grin.
“Yeah yeah… first time got my dick wet. Kinda nervous.”
You beam—bright, wicked, delighted—and crash your mouth to his in a messy, giddy kiss. Then you’re scrambling off him, lunging for your phone on the nightstand.
“Wait—lemme take a picture of us losing our virginities together!”
Caleb’s mouth drops open. You were a virgin too. The realization hits him square in the chest—funny, warm, possessive—and a smug grin spreads across his face before he can stop it.
You flip the camera to selfie mode, crawling back into his lap, thighs bracketing his hips. His arms snake around your waist immediately—tight, claiming—pulling you flush against him while you stick your tongue out in a naughty little pose.
“Say cheese!”
He looks straight at the lens—smug as hell, eyes half-lidded and dark with leftover lust—while you giggle and snap the photo.
Caleb huffs softly after, nuzzling into your neck. “You better not show this to anyone.”
You wiggle your eyebrows mischievously. “Oh, I’m gonna show it to any guy who’ll bother me like—you should be scared of my big brother.”
He wheezes—chokes on his own spit—and bursts out laughing, arms squeezing you until you squeak in protest.
“Diabolical.”
His palm comes down in a light, playful spank on your ass—watching the flesh bounce with open delight.
“You’re a menace to society, you know that?”
“I get it from you.”
You bite your lower lip, rolling your hips back slow—grinding your slick folds along his still-hard cock. He groans low in his throat.
“Fair enough.”
He dives back in—kissing you deep, tongues tangling messy and hungry. You both moan into each other’s mouths, hands roaming, relearning every inch now that the barrier’s gone.
“Fuck… I’m gonna miss you when I go back to Skyhaven…”
You grin against his lips, crawling higher up his body until you’re straddling his chest. Your hand wraps around his cock—still slick, still leaking—and guide the head to your mouth.
“That’s what the toys are for, gege.”
You hum as you wrap your lips around him again—slow, teasing—tongue swirling over the sensitive slit. Caleb lets out a low, rumbling moan, hips twitching up into the wet heat of your mouth.
“Ahhh… I almost forgot…”
His fingers slide down—two thick digits pushing into your dripping pussy without warning. You moan around his cock, the vibration making him curse under his breath.
“Three days left… fuck, I can’t get enough of you, meimei…!”
Neither can you.
The next three days blur into one long, feverish haze.
You fuck like rabbits—hours bleeding into hours, positions changing, surfaces shifting—bed, floor, shower, kitchen counter when Gran’s still gone, even on the old couch in the living room where you used to watch cartoons together as kids.
He eats you out until your thighs shake and you’re crying his name.
You ride him slow and deep until he’s begging.
He pins you against the wall and fucks you standing until pictures rattle on their hooks.
You suck him off in the hallway while he tries—and fails to stay quiet.
Every time one of you starts to flag—exhausted, sore, spent—the other just reaches over, touches, whispers filthy encouragement, and the fire reignites.
Even after Gran comes back—bags in hand, cheerful questions about your “quiet week”—you keep sneaking.
Late-night tiptoes down the hall.
Muffled moans pressed into pillows so she doesn’t hear.
Quick, desperate fucks in the bathroom while the shower runs to cover the sounds.
His hand over your mouth while he grinds into you from behind, whispering “quiet, meimei, or Gran’ll hear how much her good girl likes her gege’s cock.”
When the vacation finally ends, you stand on the platform watching the train to Skyhaven pull away.
Caleb leans out the open window one last time—hair mussed, eyes soft and dark—and presses a final, lingering kiss to your lips.
“Be good,” he murmurs against your mouth.
You grin, wicked. “No promises.”
The train starts moving. He disappears down the track.
You stand there until it’s gone, thighs clenched tight—still feeling the fresh load he stuffed you full with this morning before dawn, warm and thick and leaking slowly down your inner thighs under your skirt.
You shift your weight—feel it drip a little more—and smile to yourself.
Three hundred miles apart again. But the toys are waiting. And now you both know exactly what the other needs. You turn toward your apartment in linkon, already counting the days until the next break.
at first, you thought he was just being mean, hogging the highest-tech thing you’d ever seen all to himself. then, once you got old enough, you wondered if all the secrecy was for…nefarious reasons. but every time he smiled and ruffled your hair, you just couldn’t bring yourself to think he’d ever watch that kind of stuff.
plus, the thought made your stomach hurt.
eventually, you grew old enough to value your privacy just as much. gone were the days of you sneaking glances over his shoulder and trying to guess his password while he wasn’t looking.
*his password wasn’t your birthday. why wasn’t it your birthday? was it someone else’s birthday?
**it always was your birthday. just typed backwards.
in all that time, you never would’ve guessed the thing he’d tried so hard to keep from you was his own sims fantasy land.
he’d spent hours designing both of your appearances and outfits, chasing accuracy down to the pixel. once he was satisfied, he moved your household into an empty world, so that you were free to live as you were instead of who you should’ve been.
he’s an astronaut, you’re a secret agent. you have a garden, but he always hires someone to tend to it so the plants don't command too much of your attention. his cooking skills are maxed out, as is your relationship level. and there’s a shiny silver band around your left ring finger.
you have a mansion with a motherlode of things to entertain you: hot tub, cupcake machine, karaoke station, rocket ship. and rest assured, there’s a trusty cowplant in the back to deal with anyone who disrupts your peace. over the years, it has lured and devoured multiple incarnations of a certain black-haired, green-eyed, sweet-toothed genius who you could never seem to stop gushing over.
and when the grey hairs come in for both of you, and your time starts winding down…well. he already has twin burial plots mapped out in the backyard, right in the middle of the apple orchard.
not that he’s dreamed about a life with you, or anything.
୨୧ — “Hey.” Valko's voice is rough, scratchy, but he's trying for lightness, “You still in there, sweetheart? Or did I fuck you into another dimension?”
“Mmm.”
It's the only response you can manage. Your brain is still offline, your thoughts scattered like leaves in a storm. You feel boneless, liquid, like someone has scooped out your insides and replaced them with warm honey.
“M’good,” you finally manage, the words slurring together, “‘M’really... really good.”
A soft huff escapes him- almost a laugh, edged with disbelief. Valko's palm cups your cheek, thumb brushing a tear track, smearing salt and sweat- and then he really looks at you.
His golden eyes travel slowly down your body.
The bruises blooming on your hips. The red marks circling your wrists. Your cum smeared thighs, your puffy, fucked out hole still weeping his seed onto the already ruined sheets, cunt gaped and swollen from his knot. Body absolutely limp against the mattress, trembling faintly with aftershocks…
The playful smile on his face... falters.
“I…” He swallows hard. His hand hovers over the finger shaped bruises on your hip, not quite touching, like he's afraid to cause more damage. “...I lost control again.”
“S’okay-”
Look at her. Wrecked. Because of me. Because I couldn't- …She's pregnant, the thought slices through him. She's carrying your pups and you still couldn't- you still-
“Valko.” Your hand finds his jaw, weak and trembling but there, “M’okay. Promise.”
He doesn't look convinced, “I should've been more careful. You're-” His gaze drops to your belly, the swell of it unmistakable now. “-you're pregnant. With twins. And I just-”
“Fucked me exactly how I wanted?” You manage a tired smile, “Yeah. Terrible. How dare you.”
A laugh escapes him, “Brat.”
“Hmm~ But I’m your brat.”
His thumb traces your cheekbone, impossibly gentle, “In my defense, you make it really hard to hold back when you beg like that.”
You try to swat at him, but your arm just... flops. Pathetically.
He grins, “Cute.”
"Sh'up."
“Make me.” He leans down, pressing a feather light kiss to your sweaty forehead, “Actually, don't. You can barely move. It wouldn't be a fair fight.” Another kiss, this one to the tip of your nose. “Don't move a muscle, not one. Doctor Valko’s orders.”
“You're not- not a doctor-”
“Hmph, well i’m your personal one tonight.”
He vanishes into the bathroom -click of the light, hiss of running water- before returning with a warm washcloth draped over his shoulder and a glass of water in hand.
“Drink first.” He tips the glass to your lips, patient, waiting while you take small sips.The first swipe of the warm cloth across your cheek is heaven. He works with focused gentleness that steals your absolute breath away- wiping the mascara threatening to stain your cheeks, the pearly streaks from your belly, the slick mess from your inner thighs.
But his movements are almost too careful now. Like you're made of glass. Like he's terrified of breaking you further.
The cloth moves higher, and his expression shifts again- guilt flickering through the warmth as he reaches your collar. The bite mark there has dried, crusted with blood, the perfect imprint of his teeth purpling against your skin.
“Shit.” He winces, dabbing carefully at the wound. “I really did a number on you here, huh?”
“I liked it, felt good~” you mumble.
“Yeah?” A hint of that playful smirk returns. “Liked getting marked up by your big bad wolf?”
Then his gaze falls on something in the corner of the bed, “Oh, perfect.” a silly gift he'd given you months ago that had somehow become a permanent fixture in your shared space. The little stuffed wolf has button eyes and an embroidered smile, and it's quite possibly the most ridiculous thing he's ever purchased.
He loves it. (He loves that you love it.)
“Look who's here,” he says, voice warm and playful as he makes the stuffed wolf bob and weave in front of your nose. “Mr. Wolfie was very concerned. He heard all that screaming and thought something terrible was happening.”
You snort weakly.
Valko pitches his voice higher, making the plush nod sagely. “‘Are you okay?' Mr. Wolfie asks. ‘That big mean wolf wasn't too rough, was he? Should I bite him?’”
“Oh my god-”
“‘I'll protect you,’” Valko continues, completely shameless, pressing the little grey snout against your cheek in a playful kiss, “‘I'm very brave. Very fierce. Grr.’”
The childish gesture is so at odds with the man who just fucked you senseless- who'd knotted you so deep you'd sobbed- that you can't help but giggle. “Valkooo,” you finally manage, pinching his nose weakly, “I'm okay.”
Then you look up at him, one hand drifting to rest on your belly, “We're all okay. All three of us. I promise.”
His ears perk up at that- both standing tall and alert, swiveling toward you like satellite dishes catching the most important signal in the world. Something in his expression cracks open, the playfulness still there (never fully gone, with him) but bleeding into something rawer underneath. Something that looks like home.
He stretches out beside you, gathering your tired body against his chest and tucking Mr. Wolfie securely in your arms. His face nuzzling into your hair, breathing you in like you're the only air worth having.
“All three of you,” he repeats softly. His palm spreads warm over the swell of your belly, right where his pups are growing. “My little pack”
His lips brush your forehead as his tail wraps around your legs and hips like a living blanket, soft fur warming every inch it touches.
“My pups,” he whispers, quiet and wondering, thumb tracing slow circles over your bump. “My beautiful wife. All mine.”
His chin comes to rest atop your head. The tail curls tighter, cocooning you in red softness,
Safe. Loved. His.
When sleep finally pulls you under, it's to the steady thrum of his heartbeat and the soft rumble of some half remembered lullaby hummed against your hair.
you'd be laying down in bed, all comfortable under the covers, when you feel his presence before seeing him. it almost makes you jump, the way he's just hovering over you from the edge of the bed. he steps forward once, twice, before you realizes what happening.
"val- valko wait WAIT-" in his over six foot tall build of pure muscle, he flops right on top of you. he's way to big to be acting like he's a pup curling into your arms, but hey, how you've got a valko-shaped overweighted blanket keeping you warm.
it's even worse when you're both standing up. you'd be out buying groceries, roaming up and down the aisles, when you first notice the stares. is your shirt inside out? maybe you forgot to brush away the frizz in your hair? it's the whisper from concerned bystanders that make it click.
"...are they being followed?" "how intimidating..." "wolf following them around..."
ah. right.
right behind you, less than a foot at all times, valko trails behind like you've got a leash and collar on him. and maybe you do- but not in this scenario at least.
it's not that valko's got a resting bitch face, but rather, those wolf eyes of his can seem like they're piercing right through you. when in reality, he just forgot his glasses at home and is squinting to see if the snacks that you like are on the shelf.
and don't get me started on when he's got your legs thrown over his shoulders. sure, he's made sure to work you open by now— his hands, his tongue— but it always takes a deep breath and many, many orgasms before you're able to take him fully.
sometimes he's aware that he's big. valko likes to tease you about it too, "you can handle it, right baby?" "weren't you just beggin' me to fill you up?" "relax angel, gotta get you ready for my knot, yeah?"
and oh, his knot is a monstrous thing on its own. the first time you guys got intimate, he made sure to pull out right before. valko was worried about scaring you off, of making you uncomfortable or hurting you. but after plenty of reassurance, and lots of pets between his ears, he finally lays you down on your back, positioning himself into you.
once you've both reached you peak- valko always makes sure you come first, or at the very least times his climac with you, his lips finds yours, hungry and desperate and praising you for taking him so well.
his knot is, well huge, yes, but it fills you up just enough where the lines between pain and pleasure melt together. valko makes sure your comfortable, propping a pillow to your side, rubbing circles and stars onto your skin. it can take a while before his knot swells down, so he always makes sure to hold you close, whispering sweet everything's.
even when you feel his knot slips out of you, his size still towers yours as he carries you effortlessly into the bath. you've had to upgrade it when the two of you moved in together, just to accommodate his size.
but it makes it all worth while, when the heat of the water relaxes your muscles, and the warmth of him- his body, his tail, his arms, envelops you in a den of love and safety.
all right reserved to @myntrose on tumblr. do not copy, translate, repost, or claim my work as your own. the artwork on my blog does not belong to me, unless stated otherwise.
‧˚꒰ ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ SYNOPSIS once in a while, your dear boyfriend goes through an intensive rut— all of a sudden you are the only cure to the pain he’s feeling!
‧˚꒰ ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ GENRE smut, porn with little plot
‧˚꒰ ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ INCLUDES Valko
‧˚꒰ ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ CONTENT WARNING fem!reader | explicit content | no guaranteed spoilers of main/side quests | established relationship | possible grammar errors | not proof read | pwlp | hybrid AU | wolf hybrid | feral Valko | mating press | piv | implied creampies | dirty talk | unprotected sex | breeding | mention of blood
At the start of the month it was almost completely unnoticeable, subtle. . but that sweet and slightly frustrating heat in his lower stomach was only intensifying by every passing day. Valko’s already sensitive senses were heightened even further than before; the sweet and addictive scent of your pheromones, the gentle touch of you when you lightly caressed his arms, and even the mere split second where he sees you has become far too dangerously intoxicating. Here you are, peacefully relaxing into his side while scrolling on your phone— and yet, he’s salivating like a feral dog, burying his face deeper into your hair to greedily inhale and exhale your suffocating scent, eyes blown wide with hunger and lust. . hunger to completely eat you up.
“Ohgod—! Valko —mmhp. . I- I need a break!” You hiccup out through loud wails and breathless moans, shivering and trembling widely from the overwhelming pleasure Valko has bringing for hours after hours.
Your voice is completely battered and high pitched from how much you’ve been screaming in ecstasy every time Valko forces his thick cock into your drooling hole, pushing you over the edge over and over until he’s reduced you into a babbling mess. Godd. . how long has it been since your boyfriend trapped you on the bed?
Keeping you immobilized in the meanest mating press, rough hands splayed on the underside of your soft thighs— forcing your thighs to stay glued to your plump chest.
“G- god. . you feel sooo good ‘round me—! This pussy is just so —nghh, t- tight ‘n. . hckk— wet” Valko stutters out, shameless with his words.
“Needa’ f- fill you up —fuckk! wanna’ -haaah ohfuck, wa- wanna fill you up till your dripping m- my cum out, baby” he pants out between groans of your name and breathless whimpers, his terry digging into his bottom lip till scarlet trickles from the small punctures.
With a broken, whiney voice, you loudly squeal out his name— tears trickling down your flushed cheek as fresh tears waters in your glossy eyes. When he leans down to be closer to your exhausted body, the angle only has his thick cock sinking even deeper into your creamy pussy. . eliciting a sweet wail, your body uselessly writhing. That hungry mouth of Valko’s finds itself suckling on the exposed and sensitive skin of your neck, tongue dragging along your sweaty skin.
With each push of his hips, thick cock plunging deep into your raw and swollen velvety walls, his thick cum pours down the delightful curve of your ass. . staining the messy fabric below. Needily, Valko suckles the skin of your neck aggressively, a wet pop filling the room when he pulls away to admire the pretty mark he left. Your flavor; sweet, inviting, and addictive lingers on his tongue, cock bobbing in your gooey, white- covered walls.
“N- noo — mmhp! ne- need more of this sweet, baby!” Valko whines out pathetically, his grip tightening on your poor thighs— surely there will be a bruise on your tender flesh.
The thickened knot at the base of his cock pulses widely, kissing at your swollen pussy lips with every mean thrust.
“Valko—!” You gasp out, shivering violently when his lips find your sweet spot on your neck, submitting to his own instincts. . those sharp canines of his drag along your poor skin until you conceive his mark.
Your velvet walls convulse and squeeze so tightly around his cock, a lewd squeal torn from you when your pussy erotically sprays your juices on Valko’s abdomen. He tears a whiney shriek from you when one of his hands slides from your thighs to rub firmly and roughly at your swollen clit— groaning in pure delight when more jets of your juices sprays from your over sensitive cunt.
“Nnngh—. . ohfuckk! H- haah, ca- can’t take it! Too much—!” You moan out, throwing your head against the pillow, hair sprawled out.
“C’monn, le- lef me —nghh fuckfuckfuck. . fill you with my pups, baby” He groans out in a primal tone, cock twitching and drooling thick beads of precum in your walls.
He’s soo close, knot throbbing painfully as it begs to be buried deep in your creamy pussy. You barely manage to arch your back, shouting out his and when your cunt is stretched out by the thick swell of his knot. Valko whines, drool seeping from his lips to drip on your neck as his knot slowly and slowly spreads your hole wider to accommodate the extra stretch.
It slips in with an obscure and loud squealchh, eliciting loud moans from both of you as it just presses deeper and deeper into your poor pussy. Valko opens his mouth wide, groaning as he bites at your neck, sharp teeth piercing into your until blood seeps from the small punctures. . his tongue smoothing the aching area— you let out an ear piercing scream, sobbing as you feel his wet tongue smearing against your sensitive skin.
“Haaah—! Ohfuckfuckfuck! V- Valko. . hckk” You wail out, a new batch of fat tears pouring from your glossy eye as your hole lewdly slurps his knot until it is seated deep in your cunt.
“Ju- just like thatt. . nnghh— y- you take me soo well—!” Valko whines out, closing his eyes tightly, shoving his nose into your hair to sniff up your delicious scent while his tail wags fastly.
Valko’s balls twitch and tighten as thick ropes of his cum shoot deep into your spasming hole— your belly bloated from how much he’s been filling you up. Your pussy throbs and aches, a small ring of cum forming around his base, his balls throbbing against your ass as his cock throbs. . shooting more and more cum into your sloppy hole. And with his knot stuck and plunging your cunt, your trembling and whining from the fullness— not knowing what to do with yourself.
୭⋆˚⊹𐂯 All work belongs to only ME, jadestone2. Translating, plagiarism, copying, posting on another website, claiming as your work will NOT be tolerated, instant block‧˚꒰ ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ
caleb just can’t seem to let you out of his sight on his birthday
"wouldn’t you like to know?" he hisses, kissing you all over your face, pounding into you so fast yet so passionately that you almost reached a state of utopia where you came alot of times.
"c-caleb i can’t take it anymore s-slow dow— aah-" yours moans were barely controllable due to him not being able to keep up with his own pace because dear oh dear he was determined to make you feel so good that when you do cum, your whole body shakes uncontrollably.
“that’s it, baby,” caleb growls against your ear, voice thick and wrecked, “let go for me again. wanna feel you squeezing my cock just like that- fuck, pipsqueak, we can get closer.”
his hips snap harder, making you shiver, cake and sweat make everything slippery and messy between you two, your breasts bouncing with the force of it as he drives into you. he latches onto one of your nipples in his mouth, sucking hard while his fingers dig into your thigh, spreading you wider for him.
you cum again with a broken cry, your slippery walls fluttering and clenching around his thick cock so intensely it almost pushes him out. but caleb doesn’t stop. he fucks you straight through it, groaning low and filthy as your orgasm milks him.
“good girl… my perfect little pipsqueak,” he praises between heavy breaths, kissing your tear streaked cheeks and swollen lips. “one more. give me one more, baby. i know you can.”
his pace turns punishing, cock dragging against that perfect spot inside you over and over. one of his hands slips between your bodies, thumb circling your sensitive clit in tight, messy strokes. the overstimulation has you sobbing his name.
only then does caleb let himself go. he buries his face in your neck, hips stuttering as he thrusts deep one final time and spills inside you with a guttural moan of your name, filling you up until you feel warm and full.
you both stay like that for a while, panting, bodies sticky with cake and cum and sweat. caleb finally lifts his head, eyes soft despite how wrecked he looks, and presses gentle kisses all over your face again.
"you okay, baby?" he whispers, voice hoarse but full of love. "this right here pips- has to be the best birthday gift ever… but i’ll run that bath now, yeah? then we can get all messy again after."
they did say not to mess with a man in uniform. your husband is loving and always gives in when it comes to you... but until when will you believe he is always the kindhearted boy from your childhood and will hesitate to lay claim on what's his?
genre/warnings:
18+ suggestive content—minors do not interact!—possessive & protective!caleb, fluff, explicit smut, fingering, rough sex, fluff again, overall very self-indulgent, taking elements from caleb's secret times verdant wetlands
note:
*takes a deep breath* the very idea of doing that in his uniform... that sex tape verdant wetlands... is so unhealthy for me asdfhgkl jp dub caleb is just built different :')
“Execute him.”
Farspace Fleet is a filthy business—and the deeper Caleb was pulled into it, the darker his mood became with each passing day.
His eyes gleamed in the light as he coldly stared at the mole who shook like a leaf at his order. “You sealed your own fate the day you decided to cross the Fleet.”
“Nooo—!”
The plea was cut short as guards seized the man by the arms, hauling him away. His screams echoed down the corridor, growing fainter with every step until only silence remained.
Caleb didn’t even flinch. Mercy is a liability, hesitation a death sentence— such was the rhythm of his existence here.
Just as he turned to leave, a sharp ringtone tore through the silence. He paused, reached into his pocket for his phone—and there it was, your name glowing on the screen. He answered immediately.
“Caleb! I’m here~!”
Ah. Just like that, the frost in his gaze melted. And he remembered.
To protect you— this was the path he had chosen.
In this holiday season, the two of you were staying in Skyhaven.
You had an entire week off for New Year’s and did your best to keep yourself busy—baking, cooking, even catching up on the latest fashion. But it wasn’t enough. You were becoming lonely, and you lamented how Caleb wasn’t given the same courtesy for New Year.
So you resorted to the next best thing to chase away your boredom—paying a visit to your husband at the Fleet’s headquarters.
The building loomed cold and imposing as ever, all steel and glass, utterly indifferent to the holidays. You were directed to the lobby to wait—
“That’s her… The colonel’s wife...”
And it didn't take long until you became the object of their newest chatter.
Hushed conversations, eyes flicking your way... You pretended not to notice, gaze fixed on your phone. Being Caleb’s wife meant not blending into the background—especially in the heart of the Fleet, where his name carried authority and fear in equal measure.
There was a certain pride and satisfaction in this though. You savored the attention as you crossed your legs, the hem of your sundress fluttering with the movement. The whispers didn’t stop— if anything, they grew more animated, even as you sat unbothered and unapologetic.
“Y/N.”
You only looked up when you heard the familiar light tone. Caleb stepped into the hallway, tucking his hat away as his gaze found you—
You beamed at him with the brightest smile, sauntering towards him in hurry. “Caleb!”
You failed to notice it, but just as quickly, his expression shifted. He frowned, fixed on your outfit. A cardigan over flowy, sleeveless sundress—overall baring far too much skin. He’d loved it on you, the way it wrapped your body was just perfect.
But here? Too revealing. What were you thinking?
“Have you had lunch yet?” you queried, lifting the lunchbox you’d packed. “If not, then let’s eat together!”
Caleb slipped an arm around your back, deliberately pulling you closer as he cast a pointed glance at the subordinates who had been watching the two of you.
“Yeah,” he said coolly. “Let’s eat in my office.”
You caught the coldness in his voice then, but brushed it off, never thinking it would amount to much.
“Look—look!” You waved your phone excitedly in front of your husband’s face. “Do I look good in this? I want to buy it because of the cutting, but I’m not sure if—”
Caleb watched you with quiet amusement, leaning back in his chair as he munched on the apple you’d packed for him. He smiled, eyes warm, clearly adoring the way you rambled on, brows furrowed in earnest concentration over something so trivial.
It felt almost out of place, this domestic little moment unfolding in his bleak office. In this uniform, he was usually issuing orders, deciding fates, plotting his next move—not listening to you debate dress designs.
Your husband chuckled under his breath as he ruffled your hair. “If you can’t even pick a dress, how do you plan on surviving out there?”
You pursed your lips. “Hey! I’m telling you, I’m a very capable hunter on the field!” you protested, jabbing a finger at his chest. “I just earned a recognition recently, thank you very much!”
“Hmm? Is that so?” Caleb scooted closer to you, his amethyst-like eyes twinkled. “My cute wife got an award… then we should celebrate properly.”
"Yes, yes~! I want to eat at that new hotpot restaurant!"
He laughed softly, shaking his head as he rose from his chair. “I’ll be right back,” he said, heading for the restroom. And as the door shut behind him, his mind was already made up.
Hotpot was fine. But you deserved more than that.
By the time he washed his hands, he’d already decided—he’d take you somewhere fancy. Somewhere worthy of celebrating you. He would make the reservation, find you a little gift too to commemorate and—
“Such a sweet little thing… isn’t she, Colonel?”
Caleb stilled.
The voice came from behind him, smooth and unmistakably familiar. He lifted his gaze to the mirror, meeting the reflection of the man he least wanted to see—Professor Lucius, wearing that infuriatingly relaxed smile.
“Your wife, I mean,” he added, as if trying to mock him.
Whatever ease he’d carried moments before was gone, replaced by the guarded edge befitting the Farspace Colonel. Caleb's posture shifted at once, shoulders squaring, jaw clenching.
“Watch your words,” he said evenly, turning to face him.
The Ever researcher only chuckled, eyes gleaming with provocation. “Relax. I’m merely observing. Hard not to notice someone like her in a place like this.”
“She’s off-limits. In every sense. We had a deal.”
The smile on his enemy’s face widened. “If you said so, Colonel,” he drawled in an implication of mocking his title. “I’d hate for anything to befall her pretty face too.”
No storms should ever touch your life. That was the principle Caleb had always lived by. The politics, the blood on his hands—those were burdens he chose to carry alone. You were never meant to be part of that world.
He had drawn that line long before the day he married you.
But the world was cruel—especially to him. His knuckles tightened as the man leaned in, voice a whisper against his ear:
“Just be careful, Caleb. You have far more to lose now than you ever did before.”
. . .
When your husband returned from the restroom, his posture was stiff—yet you were still all smiles.
“Caleb, I found it!” you turned to him with a wide grin. “The hotpot place is just a few miles away from our condo—”
But unlike you, Caleb just stared at you in complete silence. His gaze on you darkened, heavy and unreadable, as a forlornness flickered beneath his violet eyes.
You blinked, unsettled by the sudden shift. “Caleb…? What’s wrong—”
His next word cut through you without warning.
“Leave.”
“Huh?”
“Go back home. I’ll see you when I return later.”
The words stung and didn’t register at first. “What? Why?” You frowned, instinctively reaching for his sleeve. “Caleb, you’re being weird. Did something happen?”
He remained quiet, and it made you even more agitated and irritated all of a sudden. You grabbed him, forcing him to face you. “Caleb—!”
That was when he moved.
One hand grasping your waist, the other lifted your chin without hesitation. His lips then crashed against yours—brief, commanding, stealing the air from your lungs and every protest from your tongue.
“Mmmph!” The kiss burned with urgency, a wordless demand rather than comfort. His hands then ran up and down your back, slipping inside your revealing dress, hot against your skin. You gasped, clutching the chain on his uniform as your breaths mingled together.
When he pulled back, his forehead rested lightly against yours. “Please,” he said quietly, voice rough. “Go home. For me.”
Your resistance wavered. Heart lurching and racing, breath shallow, you felt the way his hands held you—reluctant, aching—as if sending you away cost him more than he was willing to admit.
Something happened and sooner or later, you had find out what it was.
It was well past midnight when Caleb finally returned home.
He was exhausted, and the last thing he expected was to find you curled up on the sofa, fast asleep—far too lightly dressed for January’s cold.
For a long moment, he simply watched. The slow rise and fall of your chest. The way your hair spilled messily against the cushion. How utterly unguarded you looked in the safety of his home. The soft purple nightgown clung to you, its hem hitched up just enough to reveal your knees.
Caleb grunted, realizing how it was too similar to the sundress you’d worn earlier. Too tempting.
Dangerous thoughts stirred, unwanted and unbidden—his gaze lingering longer on your bare skin than it should. He clenched his jaw, keeping his breath even.
You were too precious. Treasured. Something the world had no right to touch roughly.
And yet—
Desire curled low and insistent, restrained but unmistakably alive. He wants you—your warmth, your softness, the closeness he so often denied himself in the name of restraint.
Caleb turned away with a slow exhale. Apparently, protecting you from himself was another kind of challenge.
“Y/N… why are you sleeping out here?” His voice was low as he finally reached for you, brushing your arm gently. “Hey…”
You stirred faintly, a soft sound leaving you. With a quiet sigh, Caleb decided to carry you to the bedroom instead. He slid one arm beneath your knees, the other supporting your back—
And froze.
His gaze caught on the loosened buttons of your nightgown, the fabric parted just enough to reveal the swell of your breasts... Why on earth aren't you wearing bra at all…?
His throat tightened.
“Caleb…?” you murmured drowsily, lashes fluttering as you shifted against him, utterly unaware of the storm raging beneath his calm exterior.
He swallowed, jaw tensing as he forced his eyes away, but the damage was done. Your weight in his arms, the heat of your body, the sight of you—it all struck at once.
Your hand reached out to his chest, clawing his uniform. "You just came back?"
And lord, the way you yawned, bleary-eyed and soft—
He wants to see that precious face of yours contort in pleasure he brings you.
He wants to ruin you.
The image of earlier that day flashed through his mind—his subordinates’ eyes lingering where they shouldn’t have. The thought burned.
Before you could fully register what was happening, you stirred—and suddenly you were upright, settling onto his lap. The movement startled you awake that you nearly yelped, hands gripping his shoulders as your eyes flew open.
“Caleb…?” you murmured. “Wha—”
“You’re doing this on purpose,” he murmured against your ear, husky and accusing. “Do you really think I can’t tell what you’re thinking?”
His eyes, the violet ones you had adored so much, seemed to shine with a gleam you'd usually see during your nightly wonders.
Ah... so this trick works after all. Your husband had always seen through every scheme you tried to pull.
You couldn’t deny it—being awoken by a husband who’d just come home was one thing, but being awoken by a husband wanting a thirst was something else entirely.
Caleb's pensive gaze on you made your heart skip a beat. “Open up.”
“Uh…?”
“Your legs.”
But you were a touch too slow, and his hand slipped between your legs, tugging at your panties. You gasped, feeling his cool fingers feeling your entrance.
“C-Caleb…” you stuttered at the ticklish sensation. “You...”
“What?” A roguish smirk curved his lips. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” His voice dropped. “From day to night… you did all of this on purpose, just to get to me.”
You felt yourself getting warmer, and the coil in your lower belly had started to burn. Your husband's eyes twinkled at your agitated response, and then he started his play.
He kissed you slowly, one hand cradling the back of your head to draw you closer, while the other still pecking the space between your thighs, trying to make you wetter and wetter.
“Mmm...” You sucked his dry lips, clinging to his neck. Dazed, you watched his Fleet uniform wrinkle beneath your grip, and it somehow turned you on even further.
You were gradually losing to the heat when suddenly his two thick fingers slid in at once, slowly and deeply, curling inside your sticky folds— making you cry out.
“Oh? What is this?” Caleb broke the kiss and sneered. “Surprised now, are we?”
You barely had time to breathe when he pushed deeper again. You glared up at him, “C-Caleb... you're so foul...”
“Foul, hmm? What's foul is you showing off yourself for everyone to see.”
His fingers started dragging in and out of you relentlessly, drawing moans from your throat as your hips bucking helplessly. The sensation left you breathless, unconsciously grinding against his fingers.
“Ahh... Mmm, ah!”
Watching you fall apart under his touch only fueled him further. You were totally trying to restrain yourself, and it wouldn't do you good.
And so, on his whim, he picked up the pace, and you threw your head back, a scream finally slipped from your lips.
“Yeah... just like that...”
Your thoughts scattered in an instant the moment you let yourself drown in the heat of his fingers scissoring you. You mewled nastily, fingers digging into his neck as you tried to pull him closer, closer—
“A-are you in a bad mood—ngh—” your back arched sharply, “—because o-of... the Fleet?”
“Ha...” Caleb scoffed softly. “Do you really have the energy to think about them still?”
His eyes locked onto yours, that slow, dangerous smirk returning.
“Right now,” he said quietly, “the only one under the colonel’s command… is you.”
Afterwards, incoherent moans came out of you in breathless babbles. His fingers were merciless, driving you to tears—
And then, your climax hit you hard, his name tumbling from your lips as your whole body shook, cumming all over his fingers.
“Ah... aah...” You were helpless against him, feeling the knot inside you finally melted, legs parted even apart. His fingers then pulled out of you, glistening with the evidence of your release.
“Good girl…” he murmured, bringing them to your lips, smearing the juice there in a slow stroke. Your eyes widened at the vulgarity of this very act.
Yet even then, your husband wasn’t done. Before you could even catch your breath, he pushed his pants aside, intent clear in his darkened gaze.
“Get on top. Let me see you better.”
You obeyed like a dutiful wife you were, yielding as he guided you down onto him. He proceeded to bury himself inside you, and your breath broke into uneven gasps, body trembling as you struggled to take every inch of him.
He was still in his uniform, stretched beneath you now, looking up at you with raw, unrestrained lust burning in his eyes.
“So damn pretty...” he breathed, gazing at you as if you were a wonder. A wanton who is his wife... flushed cheeks, clouded eyes, the bulge right where your flesh joined together...
His tone shifted, low and unmistakable as he issued his order:
“Now... move.”
Again, like a puppet on strings, you yielded to his will. Your movements were slow at first, your breath catching as you rolled your hips against him. Each motion drew a quiet hiss from your lips.
Caleb watched you closely, eyes darkening with every hesitant movement, every small sound you made. This won't do, he thought, even more so when your pace faltered, pleasure stealing your control.
“That’s enough.”
In one decisive motion, he shifted you, turning the tables with effortless strength. Suddenly he was above you, braced and steady, taking control completely.
His gaze locked onto yours, intense and unyielding, as he set the rhythm himself. And damn, he set it fast.
“C-Caleb… please…!” Your voice broke, tears slipping free as the pressure inside you began again, tight and merciless. You were spent, overstimulated, yet your body still arched helplessly with every movement, betraying you all over again.
He didn’t slow. Didn’t soften. Instead, his hand came up, fingers firm at your jaw, forcing your attention back to him.
“Answer me,” he said, voice low and absolute. “Who is the colonel?”
The question left you reeling, but then you screamed when he hit that one spot inside you.
“Y-you…” you sobbed, breath shaking.
His eyes narrowed. “Who?”
Thrust. Thrust. Thrust. The pace didn't relent. If anything, it sharpened, deliberate and punishing, as if he were wringing the truth from you one heartbeat at a time.
You could barely think—only feel him, how overwhelming and inescapable he was, until the answer was the only thing left in your mind.
“Caleb…! I-it’s you!”
The moment you said it, something in him snapped. A low, broken sound left his throat as he penetrated you harder, deeper—
“A-aah...!”
Your body trembled violently in response as you chanted his name. Your second release followed and it was cresting too high, too fast—white-hot and all-consuming. The world blurred at the edges as your strength gave out, your thoughts dissolving into darkness as Caleb filled you full with everything that he was.
There was this indescribable sense of safety in the way you clung to each other in mornings.
Caleb woke first, and the first thing he saw was you. You were nestled against him, warm and serene, as if that was where you belonged. For a moment, he just stayed still, drinking in the sight.
His chest tightened. Too precious. Mornings like this reminded him how beautiful life could be still.
Slowly, carefully, he lifted a hand and brushed a few loose strands of hair from your face. His touch was feather-light, fingertips lingering as he smoothed your hair back again, unable to resist doing it once more.
“Mm…” However, the motion made you stir, and he almost regretted it.
You shifted closer, brows furrowed faintly, before your eyes fluttered open.
“Morning,” he whispered, offering that gentle smile you had seen countless times since your childhood. Your limbs were stiff, and still hazy with sleep, you looked up at him, blinking once… twice...
Then, on the third blink, you shot him a sharp, cranky glare— “Hmph!”
—before turning away and presenting him with your back.
“Huh? Why?” Caleb frowned, caught off guard. He reached for you anyway, instinctively wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you back against him—
Only for you to whimper softly. His arm froze as you curled in on yourself, one hand clutching your abdomen.
“Hey,” Caleb said at once, confusion giving way to concern. “What’s wrong?”
You didn’t answer right away, shoulders tensing as you breathed through it.
“Cramps?” Understanding dawned, and his expression softened immediately. He adjusted his position, moving closer without pressing, one hand resting warm and steady over yours.
“Easy,” he murmured, voice low and gentle. “I’ve got you.”
Honestly, he was this close to laughing—but seeing you like this softened even his steel-hard heart into something tender and full.
Just like this. All he needed to stay sane was this.
A determined vow made a carve in his chest. He would protect you with everything he has.
“Stupid, stupid Caleb...” you grumbled under your breath, and he finally snorted, kissing your neck in adoration. “How could you be so rough with me…”
“Yeah, yeah...”
His name, his rank, his strength—none of it mattered if it meant keeping you like this. He would not allow the world, the Fleet, or anyone else to lay a finger on you.
“Don’t talk to me. I’m angry.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“As punishment… you’re on bathroom-cleaning duty for the whole month!”
“Alright—”
“And laundry. Oh, and dishes too!”
“Pfft— wait, isn’t that too much...?”
Caleb grinned, his eyes crinkling despite your threats, his melodious chuckle filling the air as he tugged you closer so you couldn’t squirm away.
No matter what happens, he would be there for you, always.
And maybe, it's because... he just loves you a little more than you realize.
