#Bringing back another neglected Boi!

[lalunanymph]

SNAP AND BREAK

SYNOPSIS you piss caleb off by going on a risky mission so he makes you pay. dearly.

WARNINGS caleb x fem!reader, fights, arguments, tension, misunderstandings, secret relationship, pseudo-cest, punishment, unprotected sex, improper use of evol, gagging, cockwarming, restraints, bondage, bdsm scene, size difference, verbal humiliation, pussy job, dirty talk, multiple positions, orgasm edging, orgasm control, orgasm denial, nipple play, marking, biting, forgiveness, aftercare

DAWN SAYS another one for the cfgc <3 caleb punish me challenge mode: extremely hard. also, big thanks to bb vienna for tossing back some ideas and helping me shape up this bad boy ❤️

x / a03

It’s not often Caleb comes home for the holidays, and when he does, you want to make sure everything’s perfect for him. 

Sweat dots your brow, dripping down your neck as you spring around the house like a frantic OTTO-PHO, cleaning every inch of your old home and picking up after any mess left behind. With Gran in elderly care and your childhood friend stuck in Skyhaven, the onus is on you to keep the space spick-and-span—a duty you sorely neglected due to your erratic mission schedule. 

Damn it, you scowl, glancing at the clock. It’s already 9PM… Caleb could be home anytime soon…

Huffing, you bring out a box of Christmas lights, completely entangled together in a wiry mess, and you groan at the thought of spending hours trying to get one end loose from the other. Sure, Christmas Eve is a time for families to gather together and enjoy the festivities with merriment, food and one too many glasses of bourbon, but as much as you would love to spend time with Caleb on his rare days back in Linkon, there’s a lingering thought in the back of your mind, connected right to the Hunter’s watch on your wrist.

As you check through the notifs, you miss the front door clicking open, the soft scuffle of boots on the wooden floor only reaching your distracted ears when the person was a few feet from you. Despite your wicked fast reflexes, Caleb is quicker, caging you in his arms, pulling you tightly to his chest as his boyish laughter grazes your ears. 

“Really, pipsqueak? Being distracted could cost you some Hunter brownie points.”

“Caleb!” you squeal, whirling around and smacking his chest, your eyes sparkling at the sight of him. “When did you get here?! I didn’t even hear your bike.”

He releases his grip on your waist, spinning you to face him, taking you in with his warm gaze. You didn’t miss the dark circles under his eyes, stress-induced from nights in a world so far above the ground, with secrets you sense he could never tell you. 

“Guess someone was more distracted than I gave her credit for,” he teases, ignoring your probing gaze.

You tighten your grip on his arm, and pull him closer, scrutinizing him from head to toe. “And you look like you haven’t slept in days.” 

“Jeez,” he worms out of your grasp, though his cheery disposition remains unflappable. “Are you trying to steal my thunder? I’m the one that’s supposed to be the nagger, not the other way around. And you look like you’re short of a few days of sleep, too, Pips.” 

It never surprises you how at ease he makes you feel. Banter and laughter flow freely between Caleb and you, and where words fall short, the silence remains warm and companionable. The scent of food is in the air, and you take a moment to inhale the fragrance of warm bread leaving the pan greedily. Caleb makes your favorite baozi, the sweet dough mingling with the succulent fattiness of the pork belly sandwiched between the two buns melting on your tongue, sending sparks of serotonin straight to the pleasure center of your brain. 

He watches you eat with a twinkle in his eye. “Good?” 

"Heavenly,” you practically moan, and take another bite. You miss his eyes darkening, the quick aversion of his gaze from your blissed-out face.

“Mhm. Glad you love it,” he raps the table with his knuckles and stands, focused on the tasks ahead. “We’ll pick up Gran from the care center tomorrow and return home. Can I trust you with the turkey, Pips?” 

You nod, dusting your fingers free from crumbs and standing, too. “Got it. Turkey. What about the cupcakes?” 

“Oh, I can get them delivered. Don’t worry,” he reassures with a grin. “Wouldn’t want Gran to worry about us stuck in Christmas traffic.” 

He’s got a point. When Christmas Eve arrives, the streets of Linkon bustle with throngs of bodies hurrying down the sidewalks, a sense of urgency and excitement in the air. You’re carrying the turkey back to your bike when a familiar vibration on your wrist pulls your attention from strapping the bird tightly into your rear basket, and your heart falls when you see the fluctuation pattern. 

Wanderers. 

Your mind rushes with the implications of what comes next, and in your ear, the ever-present comm beeps, Nero’s voice on the other end briefing Team Alpha. 

“... interrupt Christmas break… urgent deployment to Chansia City—team of explorers—Caves—” 

It comes in bits and pieces. You’re struggling to listen while kicking your bike into gear, revving back home to pack for the overnight mission. 

“Nero, slow down—which part is overrun?” Jenna demands, her voice crisp from the other end of the line. 

“—Chapel Bay. We need reinforcements—”

Kicking up dirt in your wake, you zip back home, arriving in time for Caleb to poke his head past the door, his greeting dying on his lips when he sees the tension radiating off you in waves.

“Pipsqueak, what’s wrong—?”

There’s no time to consider softening the blow when an entire neighborhood is at risk of being wiped out by Wanderers.

“I just got a call to go to Chansia. There’s been a huge Wanderer attack.” You pry the turkey from your bike’s rear basket and hand it to him, sprinting back into the house to pack when a tight grip on your wrist stops you.

“Slow down, Pipsqueak,” Caleb urges, his eyes wide with trepidation. “Did you just say Chansia?” 

You nod, and something in his expression darkens.

“You can’t go.” 

“Wh—?” 

Before you can protest, Caleb slams the front door closed, barricading it with his broader build. “Pips, that area is certified Wanderer territory after the Profield Fall six months ago. Going there would be signing your death sentence .” 

His words ring in your mind, leaving behind a tremor of fear. But, your stubbornness and need to help takes precedence over whatever hesitation you might feel, and you shake your head.

“Caleb, it’s my job—”

“ Y/N, please.” 

No Pipsqueak, Pips, or short stack …

Your eyes widen as the realization hits you square in the chest. Caleb is completely serious about this. You take a step back when he corners you against the wall, those amethyst eyes shining with a desperate plea for you to listen to him—just this once.

“Trust me when I say this—the DAA knows what’s going on there and we’ve escalated it to Zone Three status. You could die there, Y/N—”

“Caleb, I can’t just leave my team behind!” 

He swallows hard, crossing his arms and in a tone brokering no argument, he utters: “Give me Captain Jenna’s number right now.” 

You gape at him, wondering if he’s lost his mind. �� Are you trying to get me fired? ” 

“Family code for the Hunter’s Association means family members can refuse to allow a Hunter to serve—”

“Now you’re just making things up!” 

Your cheeks burn hotly with indignation, eyes narrowing at the sight of his wilful glare. Deep down, Caleb is just worried for you, his overprotective big brother tendencies leaving him resolutely firm on not allowing you to go. But, you’re not a kid anymore, and this is the duty you swore to uphold. Family or not, Caleb has no right to stop you from leaving.

“No,” you reiterate, standing your ground. “Caleb, this is unacceptable. You can’t just dictate when I can do my job just like that!” 

“Oh, I can and I will.” 

You feel a firm tug around your waist, and to your horror, his Evol snatches your phone from deep inside your pants pocket. “Hey—!”

He holds it above your head, no longer goofing around like he usually does when he teases you like this; expression serious and unyielding. “Tell me your phone password now.” 

You seethe, wondering if he’s lost his mind. “Absolutely not!” Palm to his chest, he grunts, feeling the first stirrings of your Resonance piercing through the atoms binding his telekinesis together, goading him to explode. He grabs your wrist with the other hand, a mutinous and unfamiliar glare twisting his mouth into a sneer.

“Oh, don’t even think about using your Evol on me, little missy.” With a staggering strength you thought he would never use on you, Caleb drags you closer, pressing your thumb on the phone’s biometric sensor. It lights up and your phone unlocks, leaving him privy to your contacts.

In one swift motion, you kick him right in the bend of his knee, knocking him off balance. Caleb yelps and the turkey you so carefully transported back home goes crashing to the ground along with his knees hitting the carpet. Moving fluidly, you grab his shoulder, restraining his arm behind his back, forcing him to relinquish his grip on your phone where it clatters onto the floor. 

“Pips—”

You push your knee right in between his shoulder blades, forcing him to the ground. 

Caleb grunts in pain, but you’re too angry to even care about his discomfort.

“How dare you come in the way of my job?” You spit out, increasing the force of your knee into his back. “You have no right, Caleb. None.” 

“I was just—”

“What’s going on?!” 

You both glance up to find Gran staring at you in horror, frozen in her wheelchair. It’s been years since she saw a fight this bad between you and Caleb—the last one being when you two were angsty teenagers. At the look of dismay on her face, you hesitate and ease up, letting him go. Caleb rises with a derisive scoff, and without a second glance, tosses your phone back to you, remaining indifferent when you fumble to catch it. 

“Fine. But, don’t say I didn’t warn you. If you’re going through with this, then I have nothing else to say to you.”

He walks away, his head bent, broad shoulders tense with frustration. You watch him disappear back into the kitchen and glance down at the mess of the turkey scattered on the floor—reminding you of the chaos you’ve brought to what was supposed to be a day of family and celebration. How you single-handedly ruined Christmas Eve. 

“Gran, I’m—”

She raises a hand to stop your string of excuses and apologies. “Whatever you need to do, go and do it. Just come back in one piece, dear.” 

You glance at the deep set lines of her face, the kindness in her eyes you didn’t deserve. “Could you tell him…?” You trail off, and flicker your gaze to the kitchen. Gran nods, imperceptibly understanding your request. 

“I’ll speak to him, don’t you worry.” 

Taking one last look at her, you nod and hitch the strap of your purse higher, thoughts already racing on the logistics of returning to the Association base and retrieving your hunting gear. As you straddle your bike, you steal a final glance at the kitchen window, wondering if he could see you pulling away. But, the curtains are drawn, and the lights dim.

Feeling the melancholy of separating on such awful terms with him, you kick up the bike stand and zip down the highway to your unknown fate, ready to fight Wanderers despite how much every fiber in your body was screaming at you to turn around and make things right with Caleb. 

Caleb stares at the phone in his hand. It’s been three days since he last heard from you; since he last saw you. 

He’s gone through the entire cycle of grief the whole time you’ve been missing from his side: denial that you had the nerve to hurt him after all he’s done for you, anger at the way you dismissed his concerns and complaints about him mother henning you when all he wants is to ensure your safety; bargaining with the voices in his mind to forgive and forget; a crippling depression at the lack of consideration you had for him by not even bothering to reach out and finally acceptance that come what may, you had to return home.

He wouldn’t rest till he sees you again—till he makes sure you’re safe and whole.

But, when the fourth day trickles by with still no sign or contact from you, anxiety gnaws him right to the bone and he can’t focus on anything else but the chirp of his phone, heart pounding wildly and breath hitching as he picks it up, hoping to see the golden notification which will indicate you’re still alive. 

He’s disappointed time and time again. 

Yet, he doesn’t switch off his phone or mute it. Caleb reasons if you ever did call him, he would always be on standby to berate you. 

(And ask you when you’ll be coming home again so he can prepare to see you). 

His heart echoes a dull thud that grows murkier and darker with each growing day of your absence. Till he can’t take it anymore and punches in the emergency number you left on the fridge, hearing the dial tone that echoes forlornly in the background of this empty kitchen soaking in the last rays of sunset.

The call doesn’t go through, and he tries the other number you left for him. 

“Hello?” 

Mercifully, a woman answers and his white-knuckled grip on the phone tightens. 

“Hi,” he stutters and feels like a fool. “My name is Caleb. I’m… Y/N’s friend,” clearing his throat, he presses on. “I haven’t heard from her in days and I’m starting to, uh, get worried. Is she—?”

He barely gets the question out when the woman interrupts him, not unkindly. 

“Caleb, isn’t it? You’re her adopted brother. My name is Jenna and I’m the captain of Team Alpha. Unfortunately, I cannot disclose any further information about our Deepspace Hunters except that they are currently on a very important mission.”

Jenna’s tone is steepled in regret, and Caleb pinches the bridge of his nose. “I know. I know, damn it.” If she finds his cursing crass, she doesn’t comment on it. “But, it’s been four days already. I just need to know—”

“Mr. Caleb, we understand your frustration, but please, do let us handle the mission on our end, and if there are any updates—”

“You’d only tell me if she returns in a body bag.” 

The transparency of his resigned statement floats uneasily like a greasy film over a thick coating of lies he’s very well accustomed to in the military and law enforcement world. The reality is this: he would never know if you were alive until you came back home.

Caleb thumps his forehead against the frosty kitchen glass, watching the white snowflakes dance in front of him with listless, pained violet eyes. The necklace you gifted him hangs from his neck like a noose, threatening to choke the last of his composure. He struggles to hold onto his temper, as he swallows and nods.

“Alright. Roger that. Thank you, Captain.” 

He doesn’t give Jenna a chance to reply, ending the call and, in a fit of rage, slams his phone onto the table. His sudden fit of anger doesn't go unobserved, Gran’s weary eyes watching him pace restlessly through the kitchen, not noticing her sitting in the dark corner. She wants to comfort him but doesn’t know how. After all, it was you who usually took the mantle of calming down this unnerving, determined young man during his rare, but terrifying bouts of rage. 

Gran sighs quietly and stares up at the ceiling as if she could see past the layers of plaster and unease and into the graying, snowy sky.

Caleb slams the front door on his way out to god knows where. Like always, she remains reticent and disengaged, sitting in the furthest corner where his disconcerting emotions could never reach her. 

You weren’t expecting anyone to wait for you back in your apartment when you finally returned home. 

Light snow coats the front of your lobby stairs, and the second he sees you, the doorman waves to catch your attention. 

“Oh, Miss Hunter! You have a care package waiting for you in the mail room.” 

Curious and weary from your arduous mission, you trudge to the mailroom to retrieve the package under your name. Clasping it in one arm, you drag your tired and bruised body straight to your apartment and push open the door, switching on the lights and air conditioning. The space smells of stale air and an underlying current of tension, greeting you with a lingering melancholy you couldn’t quite shake off. 

You carefully close the door behind you and set the package on your dining table. Glancing out at the twinkling lights of the street below, the feeling of missing out on an important holiday creeps back in, and you fight back the urge to sob.

Now’s not the time…your inner voice chimes. You need to eat something… shower and rest. Wiping your damp eyes, you take a deep breath. The time to break down and mourn over your guilt can come later. 

Tearing the package open, your heart skips a beat when you see a bento box filled with dehydrated vegetables, powdered cranberry sauce, dried turkey, and a side of instant mac ‘n’ cheese. A note, written in a blocky scrawl you recognize as Caleb’s, makes the lump of guilt in your throat thicken even more. 

Merry Christmas, Pipsqueak. We missed you. — C

You boil some water, microwave the food, and rehydrate the greens again, taking your sad pre-packed Christmas meal on the balcony. The food is good, and you have an inkling of Caleb freeze-drying it for you—begrudgingly making sure you could still enjoy your holiday even after the catastrophic fight you both had. 

As you chew listlessly on a slice of turkey, you glance up at the sky where you imagine the outline of Skyhaven to be, snowflakes clinging onto the ends of your lashes, falling like powdered sugar onto your bare hands. 

Caleb… your mind echoes forlornly. Did he return to the base? Is he still here in Linkon? 

One quick look at your Moments feed, and you see he’s still here, catching up with old classmates and grinning brightly in his photos like the two of you hadn’t been at each other’s throats just a few days ago.

The temptation to call him up is at odds with your bruised ego from the smothering behavior he exhibited days earlier. A part of you wants an excuse to see him again despite the growing distance since the argument—to thank him for the meal he prepared for you. 

Snowflakes melt in your hair, an unceasing chill creeping up on you. Despite the unusual distance creeping insidiously into your relationship, the chill, the reproachful silence—the meal he sent you was more than a peace offering. It was his version of an apology. 

Your mind floats a million miles away, thinking about Caleb, wondering if he is still mad at you. You heave a sigh. As much as you dread it, there’s only one way to find out. 

Pulling out your phone, you click on his number. The dial tone drones on and on, plucking on your nerves, and you reflexively nibble on your nails, waiting for him to pick up.

“Hello! ” You expel a rushed breath, an apology on the tip of your tongue when you’re hit with the realization that you’ve reached his voicemail box instead. “—probably busy. Please leave a message after the beep—”

Silence. You catch a staggering breath. “Caleb? It’s me. If you get this, let’s meet up, ‘kay? Talk to you soon.” 

There’s a hum in the night air, a tension drawing lines around your taut figure. You wait and wait for his return call, glancing at your phone every minute, checking on your messages in case he left one when your back was turned. The warm shower you took could barely flush out the thought of Caleb, your anxiety peaking when you decide to check on Moments, seeing him post a picture of his dinner with his friends, but leaving your message on read.

Crap. You’re in deep trouble now. Sighing, you run your fingers through your hair, rubbing your face.

There isn’t a hint of doubt that he’s punishing you now with the silent treatment. Caleb is never the type to avoid confrontations—he thrives on them. He loves arguing, challenging your worldview, and trying to prove his point, just to rub it in your face that he will always be right. 

The indifference is odd; this distance is not like him.

Before you can stop yourself from calling him again, you slip on your coat, tug on your scarf, and rush to your bike. 

I’m going to make him talk to me if it’s the last thing I do, you think viciously, revving up the bike aggressively—kicking up snow and dirt in your wake to break this frostiness between you two.  

In fifteen minutes, you find yourself in front of your childhood home, the kitchen lights glowing warmly. Gran is probably already back at the elderly care center, and since Caleb is still treating you as public enemy #1, he’s staying here to keep his distance from you. You kill the engine and march straight up to the door, unlocking it with your spare key.

Inside the house is warm and toasty, the faint smell of food drifting from the kitchen. You freeze when the sound of heavy footsteps reaches your ears, looking straight into his wide, amethyst eyes.

Caleb exhales a sharp breath, his mouth dropping open slightly. “Pipsqueak…” 

You remain nailed to the spot, wondering if he would kick you out—ask you to leave for daring to show your face here again. But, he does no such thing, beckoning you to close the door and come in. Though he doesn’t outright reject you, he doesn’t welcome you with open arms, either, the usual exuberance and grins he reserves for you nowhere to be found on his unsettlingly serious expression. 

Caleb goes back into the kitchen, picking up a towel to wipe down his hands. The paper plane bracelet you got for him years ago peeks past the sleeve of his gray hoodie, a reminder of happier times between you two. 

You hesitate for a single second by the doorway, wondering when the thought of home left you this cold and disorientated. 

Like a lost puppy, you trail after him, removing your jacket and setting it on the back of a dining chair.

“Thank you… for the meal,” your hoarse voice breaks the icy silence. 

Caleb glances at you from behind the kitchen island and nods. “You’re welcome.” 

He doesn’t say anything else, and the easy familiarity from years of knowing each other fades into a glacial stillness. You hear your breath leaving your lips, and sense the way he’s avoiding your eyes.

“Caleb—”

He scoffs at the sound of his name leaving your lips, and turns around, putting all his focus on the bread he’s baking. You know him well enough to understand he only bakes when he’s completely stressed out over something.

Without thinking, you touch his wrist, not anticipating the sharp way he draws his hand back from you.

“Caleb…” 

He doesn’t glance at you—barely gives your pain a second glance. “What’re you doing here, Pipsqueak?” He murmurs gruffly. “Aren’t you supposed to be writing a debrief report right now?” 

As much as his distance stings, his dismissal hurts even worse, feeling like a knife carving through your chest. 

“It’s Christmas season,” you whisper. “The offices are closed—”

“And yet, risky missions still prevail, huh?” 

His words bite straight to your core, and you wince. “Caleb, it’s not—”

“Save it,” your childhood friend cuts you off, jerking his chin towards the dining table. “Sit down there and don’t disturb me. I’m making sourdough focaccia and if something goes wrong, I will 100% blame you.”

Despite the warning in his tone, you can’t help but smile faintly.

“Okay…”

Taking a seat at the table, you watch him work. The sleeves of his hoodie stretch tautly over his bulging biceps, rolling up to expose his forearms as he works the dough into a malleable ball. The silence is something new, a phenomenon born from the supernova of your hasty mistakes, leaving gaping black holes of awkwardness surrounding the two of you. Any light coming through from your attempts to make conversation is shut down with a dismissive hum or grunt from Caleb. 

You can tell he’s avoiding any attempts to talk, focusing on making the bread and ignoring your presence in the corner of his eye. The childish part of you that grew up with his undivided attention screams, tearing and twisting in your chest, needing to reclaim his interest and care again. You pout, sulk, and heave numerous heavy sighs. But, he doesn’t turn to look at you, much too busy focusing on brushing basil oil onto the bubbling surface of the dough. 

So, you amp up the distractions. You circle closer and closer to him, pressing your face near his shoulder to watch him decorate the dough with slivers of cherry tomatoes. You linger when he turns to grab the container of sea salt flakes, playfully sticking your finger into the concoction to pop a bubble forming.

“Okay, that’s it—” 

He grabs your wrist and tugs you back into the living room, making you sit on the couch with a scowl on his face. The look of pure wrath in his expression startles you, and you barely have time to murmur an apology when he shakes his head, glare intensifying. 

“Stay out of my hair, Pipsqueak. I mean it. ” 

“But—”

He whirls around, silencing you with a deep and unmistakable glint of rage in his usually gentle purple eyes. You fall into a stuttering disquiet, unable to stop the hurt from flashing across your face.

“Caleb—”

“Don’t give me that look. And stay away from the kitchen.” Stay away from me. He doesn’t say it, but the warning is implicit. 

You’ve never seen him this enraged before. Your breath falls out in a huff, and you give him an incredulous look. Caleb turns around, completely ignoring you, and returns to his focaccia. A voice in your head chimes in, telling you to just own up to your mistakes and apologize to him. But, the stubborn part of your consciousness, the one who insists she’s right despite how poorly she had treated one of her oldest childhood friends, remains stubbornly set on not breaking the ice first.

Easier said than done. 

It’s hard. 

It’s hard for you to sit on the couch, quiet and seething when Caleb is just a few feet away. It’s absolute torture to not be in there with him, yapping off his ear with updates to your mission, or trying to sneak eat a few cherry tomatoes when his back is turned. You miss him, and you miss his shitty jokes and dopey smile. You miss him. 

You find yourself sneaking glances at him, wondering if he’s making an extra batch for you—hoping he isn’t too mad to deny you from having a focaccia slice. You know you’re being selfish and immature again, thinking he will be okay with you after the stunt you pulled on him when the reality of his dejection runs deeper.

Shamelessly, you stand and venture back into the kitchen, unlike a stray kitten who could never take a hint. You stand by his side, hovering around until he pays you a morsel of attention—gifting you back his sunny smiles and easygoing laughter.

But, Caleb remains steadfast in his efforts to ignore you, and you decide it’s time to bring out the big guns. Pressing closer to him, you lean your head against his shoulder, nuzzling your cheek into the soft material of his hoodie.

“Gege… don’t be mad at me…”  

He stiffens, and yet, you persist with your efforts. Playfully nipping the back of his ear, you find his weakness in an instant, hearing his breath catch in the back of his throat.

Caleb pretends you don’t exist, letting you fight for his attention, but you can tell his resolve is crumbling. You hear the hitch in his quiet groan when you lick the sensitive shell of his ear, the heat of your body seeping past the thick fabric of his hoodie.

Gran isn’t here, and you don’t have to hide your desires from her, free to mess around with Caleb as much as you can. 

You stand on your tiptoes, tracing the tip of your tongue down the curve of his neck, scraping your teeth against his sensitive skin.

Caleb hisses, and you fight back the urge to grin in triumph. His hands grip the marble island’s edge with a white-knuckle hold. You feel his resolution to ignore you falling apart, piece by piece, simmering in the knowledge of you offering yourself to him as a way of apologizing for the things you said—how you hurt him both physically and emotionally before your mission. 

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry, gege,” you murmur against the salt of his skin, feeling his body heat under your touch. “Can you ever forgive me? Can you ever forgive your mei mei? ”

He bites back a groan, narrowing his eyes. 

“You’re playing a dangerous game, Pipsqueak…” he hisses under his breath. 

The way he says it, full of anger and warning, sends a sick, dark thrill up your spine. You resist the urge to lay off him, needing him to fully crack and give in to your whims like he always does—like he always will when it comes to you because you’re nothing if not Caleb’s spoiled rotten mei mei who always gets what she wants.

“Pipsqueak—” his words cut off into a low growl when he feels your arms belting around his waist, your hands sliding further down… fingertips teasingly brushing the bulge tenting under his pants. “Watch it.”

But, his warning lacks bite, and you gnaw on your lower lip, feeling his patience slowly dissipating. Caleb is once again putty in your hands, easy to mold to your desires. You grin against his back, feeling the same revulsive knot twisting in your stomach, the stench of the impending perverseness making your nostrils flare. 

“ Gege… ” you whisper again. 

It’s the final nail to the coffin of his attempts to resist you. Except when he snaps, he does it in a way you never expect. 

Caleb grabs your hand and spins you around, pinning you right to the counter edge. Without a second’s hesitation, he drags your pants down, baring your vulnerable backside. The stinging pain of his hit on your left cheek draws you up short, and you cry out, cursing profusely. 

“My, my,” you can hear the grin in his dark tone. “Such a mouth you have on yourself, mei mei … you need to be reprimanded.” 

Another sharp spank lands on your right cheek this time, and your head jerks up, a yelp slipping past your clenched teeth.

“C-Caleb—”

“Don’t you dare Caleb me,” he sneers and drags you like you’re a ragdoll to the bedroom—his bedroom. Inside, you’re faced with gege’s full wrath, as he stands before you, tall and imposing, those amethyst eyes barely wavering when he takes in your warm cheeks and the glimmer of pain simmering in your gaze.

“Strip,” Caleb commands, lifting a dark brow. “ Now .” 

You want to argue, to tell him to ease up, but the look on his face remains flinty and firm. 

Swallowing your trepidation, you start by pulling your shirt over your head, letting it fall to the floor. Caleb’s expression doesn’t shift, not even when his eyes rake over the lace bra you’re wearing. His jaw tightens, and he gestures at your pants, silently telling you to go all in if you want to earn his forgiveness back. 

You reluctantly tuck your thumbs into the waistband of your pants and drag them down, leaving you shivering in your matching lacy panties.

He scoffs, running his eyes up and down your scantily-clad form. “You sure you weren’t thinking indecent thoughts, you shameless minx? Good girls don’t try to seduce their older brothers by looking like this.”

You flush warmly at his degrading words, feeling your bravado slipping. “I-I wasn’t—”

Your words die in the back of your throat when you feel the restrictive force of his Evol grasping your wrists, drawing them above your head. Caleb’s expression and outstretched hand don't falter, and he takes another step closer, bearing down on your helplessness.

“Be quiet,” he snaps. Flicking his fingers, he pushes you against the wall, hearing the gust of breath rushing out your lungs when your back hits the hard plaster. You grunt in surprise, struggling and failing to fight your way out of the bonds he has your wrists in. 

“Scared?” He goads, approaching you, taking your chin, and tilting your face up. The look in his eyes is borderline terrifying—you’ve never seen Caleb ( your sweet, lovely, kind, and sunny Caleb )—look this angry in your life. “This is what you wanted, right?” Grabbing your wrists in one large palm, he tightens his grip on you. “Teasing me… hurting me… you have a knack for breaking your gege’s heart, huh, Pipsqueak?” 

You shake your head, wanting to protest when he silences you with a punishing kiss. Caleb bites down on your lower lip, your words and coherence lost in the slurry mess of his tongue fighting yours, tasting the warmth and wetness of your mouth. 

“Mhm,” you moan into the kiss, tilting your head to the side to get more—taste more of him. He runs the tip of his tongue over the hard ridges of your teeth, squeezing your cheeks in a possessive hold, forcing your mouth to remain open and giving as he continues to take what he wants without a care for your pathetic whines.

“Don’t think I’ll go nice on you, Y/N,” he warns, tipping your head back, his lips brushing the sensitive shell of your ear. “You treated me like dirt before you left. You hurt my feelings—” He growls, biting down hard on your earlobe. “You selfish, bratty little Pipsqueak… I won’t go easy on you, do you hear me? Nod if you understand.”

You can’t do anything but nod, helpless in the face of his anger. The corners of his mouth twitch at the sight of your submission, the dark monster within he tries hard to suppress rearing its jealous head, beckoning him to devour you. With a surprising show of dominance, he tangles his fingers in your hair, yanking your head back with a grunt, exposing more of your throat to his wandering lips.

He licks, nips, and sucks his marks onto the pristine column of your throat, needing to see his marks bloom on your skin. Caleb is relentless in his attempts to remind you who you belong to.

The force of his touch sends sparks of thrill up your spine, and you gasp with every hot press of his open-mouth kisses to your vulnerable jaw and neck.

Caleb’s teeth scrapes your sensitive skin, drawing guttural gasps from your kiss-swollen lips.

“Ca-leb—” you break off into a hiss when his Evol rearranges your limbs, spreading your thighs wider; your arms restrained above your head. The last time he had you in this position was a summer ago before he left for a mission to Vagrant Land. You swore after that night when he was done with you, that you had to double your Plan B dosage less your body betrayed you and you conceived his baby. 

“Please—” 

He doesn’t hear your begging, taking a step closer, his bigger build pressing harder into your body. 

“I said: Shut. Up. ”

In one swift motion, his telekinesis holds your lips shut, your struggles and indignant squeals barely triggering a reaction from him. The look on his face sparks both terror and desire, your body responding to his unexpected dominance; proof of your arousal shining from between your thighs.

“Already wet? How pathetic…” 

He smirks, coating his fingers with the proof of your desire pooling right between your folds. 

“Mhmph—Cwaleb—” your desperate squeak shoots his ego straight up to the moon, and Caleb is on cloud nine. 

Such a desperate, little Pipsqueak. You want this so badly, huh? Mhm hmm. That’s right. That’s fucking right. You like my fingers in you? Good girl. Such a good, little Pipsqueak. You’re doing so well—fuck.

His anger aside, Caleb can’t help but praise you. It’s his default; his DNA. You drive him insane and he wants to punish you for getting under his skin—where you’ll always belong, not if he can help it.

“Something you wanna say, Pips?” he sneers, pumping two long, lithe, and callused fingers inside of you, catching on a spot that makes your toes curl. 

“S-swo…sworry,” you manage to spit past the pressure clamping your mouth shut, tears swimming in your eyes, “Cwaleb… mhm .”

He can’t say he doesn’t enjoy your struggle. The flush on your cheeks, the wetness glimmering on your lips. Caleb wants to see you completely and utterly ruined for him. 

“Beg,” he commands, slipping into his Captain persona with ease. In his eyes, you were nothing but an unruly cadet in need of a stern fixing. “Beg me and I might give you what you want.”

Thumb on your clit, he’s driving you delirious with feathery, teasing circles. Your eyes roll back into your head. 

Cwaleb, you groan against his Evol. Pwease—mhmph!

The pressure of his fingers gets meaner, the look in his violet eyes muffling the last of your protests. Giving up on trying to get him to relent, you submit with feeble sighs, letting him take full control. Caleb grins, feeling you succumbing to his ministrations, your squeaks and sighs growing louder and more distraught. 

He loves having you like this—on the edge, overstimulated, and completely relying on him.

Years of knowing your body and what makes you tick is enough for him to push your buttons—taking your limits past the breaking point.

He’s meticulous and sure with his punishment, doing whatever it takes to hammer in the anger and shame he wants you to feel—the lesson he’s trying to impart to your desperate body and distraught mind.

As he releases the pressure on your mouth so you can moan and gasp freely, Caleb’s quick with a foot of rope, using it to bind your hands in your front, allowing you just enough give to grip a pen in your shaky hand as he makes you sit on his cock and write ‘I will always obey my gege’ over and over again until your eyes swim, and your cunt is pulsing from every slight movement. 

He teases you with shallow thrusts, lips in the crook of your neck, and warm, large palms covering your heaving breasts; playing with your distended nipples till they blossom into a pretty blush shade. 

Driving you further into a pleasure-filled delirium, he rubs your clit with teasing circles, smacking your thighs when they start to snap close.

“I said—keep 'em’ open unless you know what’s good for ya, princess,” he sneers, leaving another stinging mark blooming on the plush flesh. 

“Please…” The plea drops from your swollen lips and he chuckles. 

“Struggling already?” 

Caleb peers over your shoulder at your almost illegible writing and shakes his head. “I thought you were better than this—didn’t you once win the best handwriting award in high school? Tch.” 

To your mortification and horror, he picks up the sheet of paper and tears it in half, ruining your hour-long effort of completing a hundred lines.

“Again,” he orders, and grabs a blank sheet, placing it in front of you. “And make sure your writing is pretty Pipsqueak. I wanna frame this.”

A strangled whimper tumbles from your mouth, and behind you, Caleb smirks at the sheer frustration at the sound.

Good.

Now, you would understand a sliver of the anguish he felt when you went missing for days. Now, you would feel the exasperation and outrage he did—and god, does it feelgood to watch you come undone for him. 

You pick up the pen, and with a teary, little huff, start to write again. He hooks his chin over your shoulder, breath warm and distracting against your neck. 

“Atta girl,” he murmurs, chest rumbling with deep satisfaction. “Look at’cha. Doing so well… I oughta reward you after this, hmm?” 

He teasingly trails his palm up your thigh, squeezing your flesh—enjoying how your pretty, tight pussy squeezes down on him with every rasp of his palm on your skin. The sight between your thighs is lewd, a creamy mess coating the base of his cock, dribbles of arousal gathering at the lips of your entrance which ripples around his thick girth. Caleb is equal parts mesmerized and thrilled by the sight, watching how your little clit shivers when he teases her with the rough pad of his index finger; how your body shudders, and the pen in your hand shakes.

“Much better,” he compliments your penmanship, giving your clit and nipple a squeeze. 

“Ah— mhm! ” You choke through your tears. This minute reaction costs you a firm smack on your thigh, his fingernails digging into the singing flesh. 

“Did I say you could take your eyes off the paper?” Caleb demands, and in a low tone, barks out, “ Write .”

Tears mist your vision, your hips twitching and muscles tightening around the fleshy intrusion lodged deeply in your tender pussy. Caleb wraps his hands around your waist and gingerly lifts you up and down, fucking you on his cock as the words on the paper get blurrer and blurrer.

I will always obey gege.

I will always obey gege. 

I will always—

The words get subconsciously stuck in your head, your lips shaping and breathing them out in shaky puffs. Black strokes of your obedience begin to fill up half of the page, and soon the whole sheet is covered with the affirmation. Caleb presses his lips to your jaw, giving you a much softer kiss, catching you off guard with his gentleness.

“There you go… lookin’ good, darlin’.” 

He takes the paper from you and scrutinizes each word, well aware of your body trembling; your sweet, tight cunt squeezing pitifully around his cock. You’ve made such a mess on his lap, Caleb is surprised how the powerful orgasm you’ve been holding back for the past two hours hasn’t taken you under yet. It seems like one single touch and you might blow.

He chuckles, chest vibrating against your back, and sets your work down, gripping your hip tighter.

“Good girl,” he croons in your ear. Those maliciously thick and long fingers slide up the length of your thigh, reaching to wrap around your neck.

“I did what you asked,” you pant, squeezing your eyes shut and moaning at the sensation of his lips kissing down your throat. “A-am I forgiven yet?” 

Hmm, Caleb hums, his smirking mouth pressing on your pulse point. He loves how despite your lofty title as Linkon’s shining Hunter, you’re still so much smaller than him; your entire body dwarfed between his bigger build and the hard edge of the table. “... suppose I could show you some mercy.” 

He traces random patterns on your thigh and a sliver of hope takes root in your heart. Maybe you’ve done enough to fully earn his trust and love back. Maybe he might be merciful and kiss you—

As if you weighed next to nothing, Caleb’s strong arms carry you back to bed, setting you down on his lap again. He buries his nose in your hair and inhales like a starved man tasting honey for the first time, his tongue darting out to trace the jut of your jaw, trailing down your throat.

“You’re so sweet… so sinful…”

His grave murmurs send sparks of desire straight to your core, and you clench your thighs, whimpering.

“Caleb…” 

Your whisper is a fleeting plea of desire that disappears under his smothering kiss. Caleb devours your mouth, swirling his tongue with yours, his fingers holding your chin in place. Hungry, open-mouth kisses smear down your neck, right to your collarbone, where the ghost of his breath on your perky nipples makes you shudder.

He takes his time, playing with you while you’re all tied up and helpless. Caleb grins against your sternum, hearing your breath hitch when he parts your thighs and sinks a finger inside you with barely any prep. Your body takes him without resistance, and he nuzzles your bare breasts, relishing how soft your skin is against his cheek.

“You’re so eager… so ready for me…”

His dick throbs, but he pays it no mind, completely zeroing in on your pleasure. Caleb’s entire focus is on you—your whimpers, your sighs, how your poor, puffy pussy clenches down so nicely on his thick fingers.

You’re just ready to burst, darlin’ ... he murmurs huskily into your ear. Must be frustrating, hmm? Not being given the chance to come… I’m sure you’re aching…

His thumb circles on your greasy, little nub, hearing your soft moans and sighs in his hair. Caleb guides you to the bed, your bound body falling in a heap under him. He positions himself over you, forearms on either side of your head as he goes back to licking and sucking at your neck. 

The sting of his teeth leaving another bite leaves you light-headed with lust, your body throbbing for the slightest bit of relief.

Please… you whimper again, trying your luck. Caleb… I need you…

Yeah? He murmurs huskily. Where’dya need me, princess? 

You squirm, moving your hips and he feels you writhing underneath him. “Inside. All the way.”

His breathing hitches, blood growing hotter at the desperation and need in your tone. 

“All the way? You know what to say to get a man going, sweetness.”

“I— ohhh .”

Your words die in the back of your throat at what he does next. 

Caleb grins as he pushes your thighs apart, settling in between them. He carelessly tugs his pants down, ripping off his clothes to toss them to the floor, gifting you inches and inches of bare, tanned skin and defined muscles to gawk at. Ready, baby? Giving his cock a few good pumps, he lines the tip to your entrance, catching it on the rim of your pussy. 

Teasingly, he works the flush, sticky head up and down your weeping clit, circling your opening, pushing it in past the tight ring of muscle with taunting ‘pops’. Your gasps reach his ears, and he grins, enjoying drawing out your pleasure far too much.

Like that? He licks his lips, eyes half-hooded and heated. It’s all going in you, baby… just… at my… pace.

He punctuates each languid word with a few more inches sinking inside of you, coaxing more sweet sounds from your slack jaw.

Oh, yes… yes… fuck me, Caleb. Fuck—oooh.  

Your drawn-out hiss springs a wicked smile to his face. The way your eyes roll back; how your hips twitch. 

Spasming wildly, your sweet pussy draws him in, and Caleb can’t get enough of you. It’s excruciating how much he’s edging himself as much as he’s torturing you. But, the moment he bottoms out inside of you, all the tension condenses right to the point where you’re connected to him. 

Caleb sets a rhythm that leaves you gasping, legs wrapping instinctively around his fitted waist. His biceps and abs ripple with every thrust, those pesky lips you love too much finding the hollow of your throat, leaving behind his claim on your delicate skin for the world to see. His mouth presses to yours in a heated display of ownership, tongue delving past your lips to dominate yours. 

His taste—musk, salt, man—coats your tastebuds, and you’re swimming in his heat and scent. 

Caleb is everywhere and anywhere over you, all at once. 

His bigger build completely dwarfs you on the bed, expert hands pushing your thighs apart and pressing your knees to your chest, leaving you flushed and completely vulnerable to him.

He laughs when your clit trembles under his scrutiny, the little bud exposed with nowhere to hide. 

Zeroing in on your tender bundle of nerves, he presses his thumb to it, feeling the greasy little button twitch under his fingertip. 

You look so pretty like this… all tied up and vulnerable… just for me. 

“Caleb…” your moans begin to stutter, your hips beginning to spasm. You’re so close, all it takes is one misstep on his end to lead you down the biggest orgasm of your life.

Hours of teasing and drawing out your pleasure renders you an incoherent, babbling mess. 

Faster, faster… oh god, please. Yesyesyes. Caleb—Caleb… 

Anyone passing by the room could tell you were barely holding on by a thread. You look so beautiful under him like this: hair fanning across his pillows, cheeks warm and lips flushed. The glassy look in your eyes.

God, he’s so in love with you. 

Having you here, under him where you belong, heals the fissured part inside of him that still aches from your cruel dismissal of his concerns.

His thrusts grow more punishing, the tip of his long, girthy cock hitting your cervix. Caleb tilts your pelvis, making you take him deeper.

There ya go, sweet thing, he coaxes. Can you feel me here—? He touches your womb. Feel me where ya need me. Oh, darlin’... I’m gonna make sure you feel me for days.

Picking up his pace, the bed creaks and rocks under you. Caleb makes sure to tease your clit as well with every punishing thrust, feeling your thighs tremble around his shoulders. 

He’s so deep, so flushed against your body, he thinks you could suck him up and take him in your body forever.

Caleb is hard-pressed to admit he doesn’t want that—there is nothing in the world he desires more than to be one with your bones and breath. His movements get erratic, needing to bring you to the edge and back.

He can tell you’re close. 

The look on your face, the warmth in your cheeks. You’re holding back and he couldn’t be any more prouder.

“What do you want, princess?” He asks, eyes soft with affection.

You struggle to put your desires into words, completely wrecked at the end of his cock. 

“I… mhm— close… ”

He feels your muscles squeezing down on him, and chuckles breathlessly.

“Yeah? I can tell, princess. You want to cum—you need to cum, huh?” 

You give a teary, little nod that tugs on his heartstrings. But, Caleb isn’t done with you—not by a long shot.

He grins and without warning, switches the position, putting you on top of him. When you falter and almost fall face-first into his chest, the familiar stirrings of energy hold you upright, his Evol keeping you centered and balanced on his cock.

“Ride me,” he whispers huskily. “Show me how much you want this—prove to me how badly you want to cum.” 

The challenge in his tone drives you dizzy with lust. Licking your lips, you murmur a whimper which makes his grin stretch wider, and shift your hips, testing the give of his Evol.

Sturdy and sure, his grip on you doesn’t falter, and you quickly find a rhythm that makes his eyelids flutter shut. A groan slips from Caleb’s lips, his pretty purple eyes prying open to drink at the sight of you riding him feverishly.

Arduous and urgent, you move your hips like a pro. Caleb’s sure he’s never seen you this determined—the look in your eyes searing through him.

The sight of his dog tag and the apple charm you gave him years ago shining silver from his neck catches your eye, a stark contrast to his tanned and flushed skin. 

God… you’re killing me…

Caleb smirks at your breathless words. I do? Glad to know, princess…

His large palm collides against your plush ass, watching the flesh jiggle with each precise spank. Your sharp inhales and whines spur him on as he takes his frustrations out on your pert ass, venting the fear and anger he felt when you left him behind for that torturous week onto your willing body. 

Try to leave me again. His nostrils flare, eyes dark with promise. And I’ll make sure you’ll never have any use for your legs, you hear me, Pips

Possessive and passionate, he tangles his fingers in your hair, tugging your head back to expose the vulnerable skin of your neck. His Evol loosens its grip, and you go falling into his arms, his lips practically devouring your neck with heated kisses and nips.

You gasp when he works in another mark over one he just made a few minutes ago, the stinging bite of pain enough to get you fluttering all over his cock. 

“ Mhm… ” you groan. You’re lost to the sensations, drunk off the high he’s giving you.

Caleb is no better. He’s almost cross-eyed from the pleasure, drunkenly leaving marks on your jaw and collarbone. 

Sloppy. Languid. Caleb fucks you like he’s got all the time in the world.

He runs his hands down your back, over your sides, fondling your sore and stinging ass. Moving underneath you like a strong wave, he slowly rolls his hips up against you, pulling you closer onto his lap. 

“You’re so good… taking everything so well… my perfect pipsqueak…”

Caleb’s moans and praises get lost in the crook of your neck. He uses his free hand to grip and squeeze your breast, drawing your turgid nipples into his mouth one by one; his other hand continues to spank and grope your ass.

It’s too much—all too soon.

You’re on the edge and he still hasn’t permitted you to come. The need to be good is at war with your primal instincts to give in to the pleasure, your gasps and moans are a desperate symphony to his heated ears.

His thrusts get more erratic, the wet sounds of your bodies joining together bouncing off the walls. The windows of his bedroom start to fog up, the bed creaking maddeningly with every thrust.

“Caleb,” you gasp, feeling the familiar tension coiling in your lower belly. “Oh… oh… ”

He hears the note of panic in your tone and chuckles gravelly. Dark hair in a disarray, amethyst eyes shining with mischief. Caleb is the picture of ravaged underneath you, and there’s little doubt you’re in a much worse state above him. 

Licking his puffy lips, Caleb shakes his head, abs undulating from the release he’s also trying to hold back. 

“Uh-uh-uh, princess,” he taunts, voice dropping an octave lower. “Not yet…”

You clench your jaw and squeeze your eyes shut in despair. He grins, lips moving back to your neck, murmuring against the salt of your skin.

“I love seeing you like this… hearing you gasp and whimper… feeling you writhe so desperately above me…”

Caleb… you whisper his name like a prayer, one you hope he grants.

“Yeah, princess? Say my name… I love it when you say my name.”

“Caleb… oh… Caleb… ”

He nuzzles your neck in an unexpected gesture of adoration, feeling how tense your body is. 

“You’re so close, hmm?” He murmurs, unlike how a pet owner tries to soothe a fretting kitten. “I know you are, Pips. I can feel ya. So close… oh… and yet so… far .” 

At the last second, before you succumb to your pleasure, Caleb’s Evol lifts you off his cock, the sudden, gaping loss ripping the earth-shattering orgasm right from under your trembling body. 

No! You cry out in a thick voice, and you swear real tears spring in your eyes. No… no… please…!

Begging him shamelessly. That’s what you were reduced to. 

Caleb chuckles, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. He loosens his grip on you and guides you back onto his cock. You hiss from the intrusion, eyes rolling back in your head. Nothing but a puppet to her Master’s strings; Caleb is firmly in control.

He manipulates your body to his own pace, using his Evol to fuck you on top of his cock like you’re a lifeless doll, made only for his pleasure.

“Oh… oh… y-you ass—”

Caleb laughs, cutting off your tirade by gripping your hips tighter. 

“Don’tcha love it, princess? Don’t lie to me—you adore it when I tease ya. Make you work for my lovin’,” he mutters hotly into your neck. “You can deny it all ya one, Pips, but I know what you want… I know what you want deep, deep down…”

As he drawls out ‘deep’, his Evol loosens, making you slide down his cock until you bottom out. 

“ Ngh! ” You cry out, the tears in your eyes dripping down your cheeks. Caleb clicks his tongue and wipes the proof of your frustration away with his calloused thumb. 

“No need to cry, Pips. I gotcha. Gege’s got ya, don’t he?” 

You struggle to reply, the last of your coherent thoughts scrambled by his cock working you back to the edge again. 

Caleb… Caleb… you cry out, his name a mantra, a chant that grounds you as his cock continues to fuck you up. 

It seems like forever passes by when he brings you to the edge, abandons all motion, and does it again until you’re practically sobbing from the overstimulation. Caleb is a mastermind of your own body—he knows just how to get you trembling from the onslaught of pleasure without ever letting you fall over.

The torturous cycle starts and ends the same: with your begging and whining doing nothing to move him.

“Please…” you finally gasp, hanging your head, strands of your hair tickling his chin. “I’m sorry, Caleb. I’m so sorry…” Fighting back the lump in your throat, your shiny eyes beg him to show you some mercy. “I’m sorry I hurt you… s-sorry I— ah… mhmmm… treated you like shit… I’m so sorry—”

Caleb sweeps you into his arms, his Evol completely releasing its grip on you. “That’s all I wanted to hear… all I needed…”

He registers how you’re choking up and rubs gentle circles on your back. “Hey—ssh. Ssh. Apology accepted, Pipsqueak. Don’t cry, okay… come here…” Gripping your chin and tilting your face up to meet his, he gives you a soft smile. “You did so well… I’m so proud of you, hey? You wanna come, sweetness?” 

Without a shred of stubbornness left, you eagerly nod. He chuckles, and positions you back on his cock, purple eyes glistening with the pure adoration he has for you. 

“Alright—come on, baby… ride me good this time, okay? And don’t hold back—you deserve this… deserve all this for being such a good, little girl—”

It doesn't take long for you to get to the edge, hours of suppressing your release make you needy and very sensitive.

Come… come for me… he encourages you, rubbing your clit, pinching your nipples—doing everything in his power to get you to lose control.

The tension in your belly snowballs to something beyond your control, and you tilt your head back, expelling a long, drawn-out moan. 

In the ropes and under his cruel yet tender ministrations, you find the courage to fall apart—his name rebounding across the room like a screamed cry of relief. Caleb feels you shuddering all around him and gives in to his baser need to fill you up, grunting low and deep into the crook of your neck as ribbons of warmth coat your walls.

Drops of white dribble to stain your inner thighs and his lap, but neither of you cares.

Undoing the rope and relinquishing his Evol’s hold on you, Caleb catches you in his arms, burying his nose into your hair, soothed by your delicate scent.

The afterglow settles like a haze, enveloping your body like a warm, fluffy blanket.

Caleb traces patterns on your bare back, pressing soft kisses to your temple and cheek. He breathes in your light scent, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck.

“You alive, Pips?” 

Nodding, your eyes flutter close, the comfort found in the crook of his body intoxicatingly cozy. Your heartbeat starts to slow, lulled by the gentleness of his breathing. His pulse steadies under your cheek, his arms tightening around you, pressing you closer to his chest.

“You did so good, princess…” he murmurs, stroking your head. “So proud of you—I’m so proud of my little Pipsqueak…”

His praise hits your system like a shot of red wine, warming you up from the inside out. Flushed from his gentle words, you eagerly rub your face against his throat, his boyish chuckles easing the guilt still swimming in your soul. 

“Caleb?” He looks down at you, taken by your small voice.

“Yes, Pips?” 

“Am I… forgiven?” 

He nods without a beat of hesitation. “You sure are. There’s nothing for you to be sorry about anymore, okay? Let’s put this behind us and start fresh, princess. How’s that sound?” 

Relieved, you nod, and the love you feel for him intensifies, radiating brightly from deep within. 

One thing you’ve learned about wounded hearts is this: with Caleb’s smile, everything can be healed.

— feedback and reblogs are much appreciated ❤️ your support means a lot to me

© all works belong to lalunanymph. do not copy, repost, claim as your own or feed my works into AI

[msmk11]

Pretty Boy

Harry Potter x fem!reader

WC: 563

CW: mentions of the Dursleys being neglectful; FLUFF

Summary: You love to make your boyfriend embarassed

Day 21 of mk's mad dash

Sadly, your boyfriend grew up without any affection from his family. So, it was no surprise that any affection he was shown was foreign to him. And, in some cases, maybe even a little embarrassing. You remembered the early days of your relationship- how even a peck on his cheek or a hug would make him blush furiously. With time, of course, he became more comfortable in your affection and even initiated it himself. Still, occasionally, you were able to bring back out his shy side, intentionally or not. 

In this instance, you were very intentional about trying to make your boyfriend blush. After he’d called you pretty girl a few weeks ago and left you a flustered mess, you were determined to get revenge. 

You decided to act completely unassuming, only throwing the term of endearment back in his face when he was most vulnerable and sweet in your arms. 

After a long Friday of classes, you brought Harry back to your dorm to cuddle and relax, simply enjoying one another’s presence. You snuck some food from the kitchens that now left you both feeling stuffed and satisfied. In your current position you were laying sprawled out, back on the bed and Harry nearly entirely on top of you.

In your post-dinner bliss, you two had gone mostly silent, reveling in each other’s company and touch. You absentmindedly ran your fingers through Harry’s wild black hair, pursuing a pointless mission of trying to untangle his curls. 

Your boyfriend’s face was buried in your neck, occasionally pressing gentle kisses to your skin when the urge presented itself. 

When your fingers made their way to the nape of his neck, Harry hummed softly against you.

“Feel good, Haz?”

“Yeah, baby. So good. Love when you play with my hair,” he sighed.

You pressed a kiss to the crown of his head, “Good. You deserve to be spoiled, you know.”

“Why? ‘Cos my parents are dead?” he mumbled.

To those who didn’t know your boyfriend, this type of comment would’ve left them floored. But for you, who was used to his dark humor, you only laughed disbelievingly, squeezing his arm chidingly, “Harry!”

“Well?”

You pressed another fond kiss against his skin, this time to his cheek, “You deserve to be spoiled because I love you and because you’re a sweet boy.”

Then more quietly you whispered, “my sweet boy.”

Harry raised his head from its home in your neck and pecked your lips lovingly, “love you, baby.”

You knew that now was the time to strike. 

“I love you too, my pretty boy.”

Your boyfriend’s face went from loving to embarrassed in seconds, his brown skin coloring red. 

He whined and buried his face back in your neck.

“What’s wrong my love,” you asked teasingly.

“You know what’s wrong,” he grumbled, “you did it on purpose.”

“Did what on purpose?”

Harry looked back up at you, the most adorable pout gracing his lips, “You called me…. pretty boy…. just to make me embarrassed.”

“I said what I meant,” you answered honestly, “though the teasing was a benefit.”

Your boyfriend continued to pout at you, “I hate you.”

“You love me,” you reminded him, “Otherwise you wouldn’t feel so embarrassed right now.”

“Fine,” he huffed, rolling his eyes, “Whatever you say, pretty girl.”

And damn him, because now you were the one left a blushing mess.

[cxrrodedcoffin]

Close to You - Spencer Reid

Likes are always appreciated but reblogs and feedback keep artists going!

Summary: Spencer is needy and Reader has a work deadline to meet, so they try something new as a compromise.

Word Count: 1.9k

A/N: me writing another cockwarming fic? it’s more likely than you’d think ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ (no mommy kink this time cuz this feels more mild as far as the sub/dom dynamic goes, maybe next time!)

TW: sub!spencer, softdom!reader, cockwarming, unprotected sex, penetrative sex, creampie, afab reader

Rating: R/18+ (oops all smut)

——

The blue light of your computer screen was starting to make your eyes hurt, the hours of completed paperwork in your rearview feeling like nothing compared to the digital mountain of remaining work for your proposal you still had to complete by the deadline your boss had given you. Working from home certainly had its perks, but right now the only thing you could think of was how much more focused you’d be if you were still in an office.

“How’s work going?” Spencer’s voice broke your train of thought as he turned the corner into your home office.

“It’s fine, I still have a lot to get done.” You sighed, continuing to type away on your keyboard.

“You know, I was reading an article the other day about studies being conducted that explore the long term effects the extended work hours work-from-home jobs require have on the average adult, it went pretty in-depth on how psychologists suspect the lack of separation between work and the home environment can negatively affect the way we prioritize professional work with personal tasks and quality time.” You could tell your boy-wonder was using his vast knowledge to pick an article with a topic that was a bit too on the nose to beat around the bush of his point, but you didn’t know why.

“That’s very interesting Spencer, but why bring that up when you know I can’t stop working?” You questioned, calling his bluff.

“We haven’t had sex in 2 weeks.” He mumbled, just loud enough for you to hear. You knew that, and it was driving you crazy just as much as it was him, but this project was major and if you wanted to get the promotion you had been working so hard to get, you had to set your personal needs aside for a bit.

“I’ll make it up to you once I finish this, I promise.” You weren’t lying, your accidental celibacy had stretched your imagination to some very interesting places, and you couldn’t wait to try those new things with him, but it had to wait, no matter how touch-starved you felt.

“I want you.” He almost whined, taking a couple steps further into your peripheral vision.

“Spencer, you know I need to get this project completed before my deadline tomorrow, I don’t have time for this.”

“But I need…help.” His words were drawn out, his hushed tone piquing your interest. You pushed your chair out, craning your neck to make eye contact with him before his gaze dipped lower and yours followed. The fabric of his pajama pants was pulled taut over his bulge, his fidgeting hands barely restricting your view despite his attempt to hide the evidence of his arousal behind them.

“Oh baby, that must hurt, huh?” You sighed, giving him a sympathetic look before turning back to your work.

“It does, I need you.” He pleaded, coming up behind you to rest his hands on your shoulders.

“You need to take care of it yourself.” Your statement came out more blunt than you intended and a hint of guilt started to pang in your chest, the stress of this deadline was starting to get to you and you didn’t mean to take it out on him.

“I’m sorry to bother you, I know you’re busy, but I already tried and I just made it worse, you feel so much better than my hand does.” He over-explained, continuing to plead his case as his fingers started kneading the sore muscles atop your shoulders.

You mulled over your options, the concept of his admittedly impressive cock filling your neglected cunt sounding all-too appealing in the moment. You knew you couldn’t take the time to fuck him right now, after no sex for two weeks your carnal urges would absolutely take over and you’d wind up ignoring your work for the rest of the night, to the detriment of your employment status. You were about to send him away when an idea popped into your head, something that could be a good compromise to both of your predicaments if done correctly.

“Drop your pants.” You bluntly stated, beginning to stand from your chair. He followed your instruction, a bit confused but too excited to question, always eager to please you. You also stripped from the waist down, ignoring the growing slick between your thighs.

“Sit down.” Came your next instruction, your eyes fixed on his erection, his head blushed pink and dripping with precum. When he was situated you climbed back onto the chair with him, positioning your knees on the suede fabric on either side of his thighs, hips hovering over his member. You reached down, fingers wrapping around his length as you positioned his head at your dripping entrance, reveling in the first sexual contact the two of you had experienced in far too long.

You slowly sank down, your warm walls engulfing his throbbing cock until you were seated fully on his lap, the fullness giving you a sense of satisfaction. Spencer’s breathy sighs and white-knuckled grip on the arms of the chair told you he was enjoying this just as much as you were, but you knew he would want more any second. You on the other hand were always better at controlling your desires, even just this level of intimacy enough to satiate you for the moment.

You relaxed into him, back pressed to his chest as you began your work once again, ignoring the dull ache in your core.

“A-are you going to move?” Spencer’s desperate voice broke the silence after a few minutes of you typing away at your computer.

“No. This is all I have time to give you right now. If you’re a good boy and stay still for me, I’ll let you do whatever you want tonight.” You were curious to see how well he’d do with this. Even though Spencer prided himself on being the smartest in the room at any given time, he wasn’t very good at controlling his urges and it amused you how his composure could disappear if he was desperate enough, particularly around you.

“Okay.” He breathed, seeing the muscles in his arms relax and the grip he held on the chair loosen out of the corner of your eye.

You continued your work, busting your ass to complete your project as quickly as possible. Every once and awhile you’d flex your kegel muscles, your walls contracting around his cock to keep him as hard as possible, teasing him to see how hard you could push his patience.

You grew closer to your last tasks, the end finally in sight when you felt him start to shift under you, hips attempting to thrust up into you. You anchored your hips, holding him down to not break your focus. He let out the most pathetic whine you’d ever heard, running his hand through his hair out of frustration.

“If you move again, you won’t cum tonight. I’m almost done, do not distract me again.” You told him sternly, rocking your hips back one time as an incentive.

“Understood.” He groaned, thighs relaxing beneath you.

You wrapped up the last paragraph of your proposal, satisfied with the work you had done. You could feel Spencer tense when you closed out of the last application and shut off the computer, screen darkening and leaving the two of you bathed in the golden glow of sunset in an otherwise dark room. Instead of finishing him there, you rose off of him, leaving him groaning in desperation.

His cock was covered in your slick, veins throbbing and head almost purple from how desperate he was to cum. You started walking out of the room, finger motioning for him to follow you and he almost tripped over the chair, trailing in your shadow. You found the bedroom, stripping out of your remaining clothing while contemplating what position you wanted him in. Your thighs were starting to burn from sitting in the position you had held for so long, so you opted for good old-fashioned missionary. You laid down on the bed, thighs spread as Spencer pulled off his shirt and waited for your instruction.

“Come here.” The words had barely left your lips and Spencer was already on the end of the bed, crawling up to you like an animal on the prowl.

“Do you want to fuck me, Spencer?” You asked, drawing out his torture just a little while longer.

“Yes please, need to feel your perfect cunt again.” He begged, looking down at you with his big brown eyes.

“Go ahead, but don’t cum until I say so.” You instructed, your hand finding the nape of his neck, tugging lightly on his hair. He moaned, positioning himself at your entrance before thrusting fully into you, his gaze locked on the way your breasts bounced with each desperate thrust into your warm cunt.

His pace remained steady, pounding into you, your pleasure slowly building but not quite hitting the spot you needed him to. You wrapped your legs around his hips, angling your hips up ever so slightly and you couldn’t help but cry out, his cock finally hitting the soft spot inside of you that you’d been craving. He dropped his head into your shoulder, bringing his hand to your pussy to rub firm swipes over your clit, clearly desperately trying to make you cum so he could.

“So close, I don’t know how much longer I can last.” He panted, hips faltering slightly.

“It’s okay baby, don’t stop.” You moaned, too close to care about being firm with him anymore after how good he’d been for you today.

His thrusts became increasingly desperate, driving into you at a pace that had you seeing stars, the combined pressure on your clit sending you over the edge in a blur of white hot ecstasy.

“Spencer!” You cried out, nails digging into his back as you rode out your orgasm, rocking your hips to meet his thrusts.

His moans grew louder, hips stuttering and you could tell he was almost there, but something was holding him back.

“Cum inside me.”

Your request was all he needed to hear, not having to worry about pulling out anymore allowing all of his focus to finally come undone, hot ropes of cum filling your aching cunt. He pulled out of you, collapsing beside you with his head on your chest, long legs almost dangling off the side of the bed. You laid there spent, gently running your fingers through his hair until you both caught your breath.

“Thank you.” He spoke, lifting his head to look you in the eye.

“There's no need to thank me Spence, I’m sorry I’ve been so busy. You were right about overworking, I’ll try to delegate a bit more.” You sighed.

“I just don’t want you to overwork yourself, you deserve to enjoy yourself more often.” He leaned up to pull you into a kiss, his arms wrapping around your waist as you finally got a moment to relax for the first time in weeks.

——

Tag List: @pleasantwitchgarden @lover-of-books-and-tea

DM me or send me an ask if you’d like to be added to my general or spencer reid taglist :)

[ceilidho]

my most realistic Ghost headcanon is that he’s so absent father coded that he definitely has a wife and kid squirrelled away in a house somewhere that he visits from time to time but he finds it painful and uncomfortable being part of a “family” for too long so his visits are weird and sporadic, like he’ll randomly pick his son up from school and take him on a drive somewhere and you have no idea until your kid comes home that evening and tells you “oh yeah dad spent the day with me” and you’re GOBSMACKED because Simon never told you he was coming.

And other times he comes just to pick you up and bring you to a motel room he’s rented to fuck you six ways from Sunday and then when he’s done he just zips up and says “put another couple grand in the account for you and the boy” and kisses you on the head before driving you back home. Never stays very long. It can be rough on you, but if he stays too long he can feel his nerves fray. His upbringing made him hard and cold but there’s a part of him buried very very deep down that just doesn’t want to risk being his father.

Also I think he’s got a real kink for seeing you take care of his kid because of his own upbringing and how neglected he was as a child. He sees you sneak an extra sandwich in his son’s lunch and nearly breaks the glass in his hand. Obsessed with talking about how good you are to his kid when he’s fucking you - “good fuckin’ girl - gonna give me another?”

This has some adverse effects though because he has to be the hard ass parent like god forbid you try to tell his son he can’t have a snack before bed, he’ll just frown and go “the kid can ‘ave a snack, he’s no’ gonna go ‘ungry” like chill out, mate, he’s gonna have an upset stomach. It’s kind of a blessing when he’s not around because he always tries to contradict you when you’re trying to instil some discipline in your kid.

[luveline]

jadey, could I request some hurt/comfort with hangman (or Steve or Eddie if you’d prefer) where he asks reader out and they’re like “are you sure this isn’t a joke? or a prank? or a bad decision you’ll regret tomorrow?”? and he’s really sweet and kind about it? cause ngl with how shitty my dating life’s been so far, any man that approaches me with romantic intent is gonna have to do so with the same gentleness and tact as someone who rescues and rehabilitates neglected dogs.

“Look out,” Liv says, nodding toward the front of the arcade and then quickly turning away, “Harrington’s back.”

Why she says it like a chore you’ve no idea. You hurry to clip your mirror compact closed and shove it under the desk into a bucket of Chinese finger traps and pencil toppers. You look ridiculous in your polo with your Palace nametag taking up a solid two inches of your chest, but Steve Harrington used to wear a little sailor’s uniform with tiny teeny shorts, so perhaps he doesn’t hold it against you. You really hope he doesn’t. 

Steve looks less smiley than usual —he isn’t surrounded by his usual troupe of friends, the younger kids Nancy Wheeler’s brother and the gaggle of dorks that keeps getting bigger. He pretends they piss him off, and sometimes they really do, but when Max needs to go stand outside for a minute he always goes with her, and when Dustin flinches at a seriously loud noise, he clasps the boy by the shoulder and tells him it’s alright. He clearly doesn’t mind that he’s inherited a brood of younger siblings.

But today he’s frowning, nearly, something steeled about him as he stops at the desk. You smile carefully and he smiles back, but it quickly fades as he opens his mouth, you assume to talk. For a second, nothing comes out. 

“Hi,” he says finally. 

“Hi, Steve.” 

“How are you?” 

“I’m good, yeah. Thank you.” You raise your eyebrows. “How are you?” 

“Nervous.” He scratches the back of his neck, peeking quickly down at his hand and then wiping it roughly into his thigh. “Shit. Listen, I think you’re so pretty, and I practised this part in my head but it’s not– I got another look at you as I was coming in and I forgot what I was gonna say.” 

You don’t mean to ask, but, “You think I’m pretty?” 

“It’s dire,” he says seriously, hair flopping into his eyes and half-heartedly batted away. “You’re beautiful.” 

He says it so simply, it doesn’t compute. 

“Oh. Well, thank you,” you say softly. 

“Shit.” Steve shoots a look at the door. You follow his gaze, wondering what the hell he’s looking at. Did he bring somebody with him? You’d thought he was alone, but maybe he’s not. 

“Steve, are you okay?” 

“That’s why. This is why I’m– I’m fucking up monumentally. I didn’t think I’d be nervous. Like, sure, I felt like I was gonna throw up all morning but I’m usually better at the asking part.” Steve straightens up. A light beige polo is neatly buttoned at his neck, and his hair looks nicer than usual, super shiny under the overhead. When he turns to you, the red light coming off of Dig-Dug paints him with a pink hue, emphasising the dash of blush filling the tops of his ears. “You wouldn’t want to hang out some time, would you? Or– shit. I don’t want to hang out. I do, but– Do you want to go on a date?” 

“With you?” 

He winces. “With me, yeah.” 

You’re quiet for so long it makes you both uncomfortable. Slowly, Steve’s face starts to lose the squirmy nervousness he’d brought in with him, and a familiar softness fills his eyes, his brows pinching at their starts, lips pursed. 

“You look upset,” he says. 

In the tens of times you’ve seen Steve Harrington come in here, and the fewer times he’s come up to the desk to talk, you can’t confess to thinking he’d ever ask you that. You’d imagined it once, how he’d lean against the display of teddy bears and smile at you just so, like you already knew what he wanted. 

“No,” you say, watching his expression for some sign that this is a trick. It doesn’t seem like it is. You can’t say you think he’d be that cruel, but you can’t not ask, either. “I’m wondering if this is a joke.” 

“A joke? No.” Steve frowns. “Did someone do that before?” 

“Just doesn’t make any sense.”

Steve is a nice guy. He’s asked you so many questions about yourself you can’t remember what he knows and what he doesn’t, but you aren’t eager to tell him why you think what you’re thinking now. 

You shy away from him, letting your eyes fall to the pencil erasers. 

“Hey,” he says softly, reaching across the desk without touching you, “hey, hey, it’s okay. I’m not kidding around, I’ve wanted to ask you out for ages, but I– guess I thought this would go better if I waited. You don’t have to say yes.” 

“You really want to go on a date with me?”

“Yeah, I do.” 

“You swear?” 

“I swear. I mean, duh. Who wouldn’t want to go on a date with you? I sort of wake up thinking about you.”

Your eyes fly to his face. “What?” 

“Not in like, a loser way. In a cool way.” 

You still don’t really believe Steve wants to take you on a date until he’s knocking on your door, 7PM sharp, handing you a bouquet of twelve red roses and a hopeful smile. “Told you,” he says, grinning as you step down onto the path with him, something you recognise as nervousness in his smile, but elation, too, “Jesus, I knew you’d look pretty, but this is just something else. Who wouldn’t want to take you out?” 

You hit him very gently with the flowers. “Stop.” 

He grins. “No. Don’t think I will, babe.” 

[pinkslaystation]

Tulips or Roses?

John Price x reader

In which you find John's old diary detailing his love for you his teammate and you begin to question his love for you. Word Count: 3.6k -> blurb - rose meets tulips

Being a civilian to a soldier was hard enough.

And it was even harder when your husband was a commander for one of the most skillful task force. So it wasn't unusual for him to be gone for long periods of time.

So on a random Friday evening, anticipating his arrival in the coming week, vacuuming the floors, cleaning the windows, you found yourself at the door of John's study, with was decorated with a glass name plate, with the words 'Study' accompanied with a painted heart created from blue and pink fingerprints from you and your husband.

John was never the man to tell you off if you entered his study, instead he encouraged it. He's beckoned you to bring him his evening tea to him, to give him a massage, sometimes when you wanted him, he'd allow you to help him under the desk, if you get what I mean. (speaking from experience ;>)

As you stepped into his room, you noticed the ceilings adorned with sizable white cobwebs, cringing at the apparent neglect of his study. When was the last time someone had even been here?

Sweeping his desk, wiping away the dust, you find a box underneath beside his chair, which prompted you to lifting it up and placing on top of the desk. Man, you underestimated it's weight. You struggled to lift a small but heavy moving box, and it caused a few books and papers to fall out.

You cursed at your clumsiness, picking up the loose sheets, until you fingers caught the spine of a red vintage-like book, which had the word 'diary' written on the front. You didn't take too much notice, skimming through the pages until you caught your name being mentioned a phew times.

You giggle, it's a diary probably with John confessing his love to you numerous time! You know you probably shouldn't look through it, I mean privacy exists, but you just can't help it.

So you look through some of the infrequent entries, the oldest dating back to 10 years back, and the most recent one being nearly 4 years, when you and John had first met.

30th February 2010

Suffering in Afghanistan, the lads and I are stuck in the safe house for a week now. Rose is here too, I should ask her if she's okay.

Ahhh you remember this story. When the Task Force was stuck in the city of Kandahar, in the safe house. You also remember John's team, whom you are well-acquainted with, Soap, Ghost, Gaz, Roach, Rose?

You skip through the boring entries, most of which are just John documenting his work-out plan and the places him and his team had visited.

5th July 2016

Gaz's going on and on about his lass. Someone tell him to talk to her at least, he doesn't even know her name! I keep bringing it up but he keeps mentioning when I'll talk to Rose.

You chuckled, assuming the chick was Gaz's current wife. But the last part caught your attention, Rose again? You remember John telling you that she'd retired, went back north to settle with her family now, so you don't think much of it, I mean they are team mates.

19th June 2017

Saw a cute kid and her mama, wishing I had kids, without this lifestyle. Rose wants a son but I don't particularly mind. Soap overheard our conversation and spammed me lols on Whatsapp, but I thought lol meant little old lady? I am a man though.

You raise your eyebrow at another mention of Rose, why doesn't he care if Rose wanted a son? You didn't realise how close your husband was to her.

2nd December 2018

Christmas this month with my boys. Rose invited me over for a smoke. Ghost rolls his eyes when I mentioned it to him, says I need to man up and make a move.

You squinted your eyes, rereading the entry, and hesitantly skipping to the next one.

7th April 2019

Drinks with my men (and Rose haha, she doesn't like being part of the men). It's her birthday and she wants to tell us something. She's got her red lips again. I'm excited, Soap kept nudging me the entire ride, that cheeky bugger.

Then immediately below it, an update: She's seeing someone.

You're slowly piecing the puzzle, though you don't want to assume anything.

21st August 2019

She came into my room crying, seems like it's not going well, good for me. I hope she's okay and she realises there's better fish in the sea. She hugged me, she smells like roses, I love floral scents. I tried leaning in, she says I'm like an older brother to her.

Your heart breaks a bit, sniffing at your freshly washed hair, which smelt like ... like roses.

You thought floral scents were YOUR thing.

You continued, to the next entry which was marked the date you remember meeting John for the first time at the pub. You force a smile, hoping the entry would lighten your mood.

30th November 2020

In the pub and bored. Rose brought her lad... they're back together. What does she see in him? Soap urges me to find someone else but my heart is set on someone, for a long time. Won't change. He keeps gesturing to a girl on the other end of the counter, she's pretty, but like a tulip. Not like a rose. Not like my Rose.

You grip at the notebook and you try your hardest not to rip the papers out of the book and set his entire study on fire.

You remember this day, when you were dragged to the pub by your friends after being dumped by your ex for another girl. You sat at one end of the counter, with tears in your eyes but one look at that buff Englishman on the other end and your mood flipped instantaneously, 180 degrees.

"Kelsey, look at that guy, Mr Army over there." You beckon towards John's direction, to your friend., slightly tipsy after a peg of beer.

Your friend looks at you with a raised eyebrow, then turns to the guy whose piqued your interest, "You should go for it." She encourages you.

So you get yourself 2 drinks and approach the guy, more confident that usual due to your alcoholic state. A beer would do.

"Hi, this seat empty?" You smile at him innocently.

All this time you had recalled a look of fondness towards you, when he'd first locked eyes with you. You remember bragging about how it had been love at first sight for the both of you, but thinking back, a feeling of doubt starts bubbling inside you.

"It's reserve- you know what. Take a seat."

You remember sitting next to him, passing him a drink, and telling him your name, "...and you are?" you question, although you see him wincing. At first you thought it was just an army thing, so guarded that even the slightest of movements would make him twitch.

But now you're questioning whether he really wanted to engage into a conversation with you.

The following hours, as you painfully recall, was filled with you talking about yourself and occasionally asking him after his life, though he gives you one word answers and frequent nods.

But that was just because he'd just come home from a mission right?

"...and he just broke up with me out of the blue! Like was my 12,000 followers on TikTok not good enough for you?" You chuckle, attempting to crack a joke. He smiles confused, and you note he's probably too old to understand what TikTok was.

"Sounds like an asshole, love." He replies.

"Hmm, he was...I- I just don't know what he'd leave me for her...like I gave you my everything, I was always with you through thick and thin and what, that wasn't enough for you?" You trail off, the effects of the 2nd beer hitting you.

"I understand dove, you just give 'em everything and they just find someone else. What does he have that I don't?" He spaces out, his eyes falling on his teammates sitting at a different table. You follow his gaze, smiling slightly when you lock eyes with one of his smirking subordinates, whom you know know as Soap.

"Those people, they're your team?" You question.

His eyes aren't on you though as he responds, "That mohawk, that's Soap, Ghost next to him, tough as steel but soft at heart, Gaz on the opposite, funny lad, Roach, good ol' Roach..."

You look at the woman to the right of 'Roach', taking in her beauty. Though she's sitting down, you can tell she's taller that you by least 4 inches, with a blonde pixie haircut and painted with a dark smokey eye. A deep smirk is plastered onto her plump ruby red lips as she looks at John Price finally talking to a woman that isn't her. She raises a hand, waving to the both of you, which is almost instantaneously reciprocated by John.

"And her?" You ask, head nudging towards the woman.

"Her...That's Rose. You should meet her, you would like her, but who doesn't..." His chuckle fades out and you at how his attention was fully directed to her. A sinking feeling told you that you should have backed off from the married man, but it disappeared when John pointed out her partner, with gritted teeth.

Your hands are gripping the pages at this point, as you recall memories from the diary from his point of view.

You turn the page to the next entry, dreading the words.

19th December 2020

Thought me and Rose would go back to the pub for another drink for the holidays, but she's going back to his place. Seems they're taking the next steps with meeting the families.

Soap's annoyed at how I'm 'ghosting' the girl I met at the pub, I'm once again unfamiliar with the lingo, I'm not Simon?? She's nice but, not sure I see anything further than a friendship. Gaz and him are picking out an outfit for me, she wants to meet up for bowling apparently. I just want to be with Rose...

Clenching your fist, you shut the diary and toss it aside, feeling all kinds of emotions. Upset that John had never truly looked at you the way you'd looked at him. The way he never wanted you, like you wanted him.

Every time you'd seen him online on Whatsapp, but still hadn't opened your messages, he was ghosting you? Sure after a while of being friends, his behaviour gradually changed, accompanied with rapid texts, but you felt like this relationship was built on lies.

Did he even want to go bowling with you that day? Did you win because he purposely let you, because he was bored and wanted to go home, be with Rose instead? When he asked you to be his girlfriend, did he ask you with Rose in mind?

The ding of the oven stopped your trail of thoughts, so many questions swirling around your head. You walk out of the study, slamming the door behind you, the combined mess of dust and cobwebs remaining untouched.

The glass name plate falls to the ground, the edge shattering, with shards of clear glass laying dangerously on the wooden floor.

A couple of hours go by and the doorknob rattles at 8:45 P.M. on the dot. John was never late when he had to come home to you.

He reaches base at 7:30, drives exacting an hour to your shared home, after making a quick pit stop at the florists within 10 minutes to give you a freshly scented bouquet of red roses.

Roses. So that's why he'd give them you every time...

He makes sure to leave him 5 minutes of spare time, which was designated to flipping open a small metal notebook you'd gifted him, and writing his thoughts down. And once those 5 minutes were up, he places the notepad back into his jacket pocket and practically runs towards the front door.

"Dove, I'm home!" He exclaimed, gently placing his belonging on the floor, before walking into the living floor, where you sat on the sofa with your legs and arms crossed. (MY BITCH POSE IS NASTY)

"Sweetheart, you didn't run up to me at the door, you alright love?" He sits next to you, his calloused and freshly bruised arms rubbing your knee.

The silence was deafening and you couldn't find it in yourself to look at him after all you've read.

He takes it as a cue to continue, "I got you some roses, baby. Your favourite-"

"When did I say they were my favourite?"

John blinks at the interruption, "I mean, you don't like them? It's tradition to bring the same red roses for you every time I'm back..."

"And when did I say I liked them? Are they my favourite? Or are they her favourite?" You shift towards him, anger evident in your voice.

"Her? Who? Sweetheart, what's going on?"

"I mean, come on man, you like floral shit that much that now you're making me wear it?"

"You...don't like floral scents? Did you want tulips instead, baby?"

Your eyebrows are furrowed in annoyance by his confusion.

"It doesn't matter if I wanted tulips, John, it's the fact that YOU like roses. In fact you've like Roses this entire time! Don't act like you like tulips 'cos you don't- to be honest I don't think you ever have!" You rant, handing running through your hair.

"I mean I like both honey, roses are just, um, prettier?" He sounds like he's asking you rather than telling you.

"Of course roses are prettier to you- that's all that you're fucking used to you. It's always roses, roses, roses. You're so obsessed with fucking roses, you never gave tulips a bloody chance!"

"Are we still talking about flowers-"

"And when you do give tulips a chance, you're still thinking about roses- how red they are, how pretty they are, how they need to be watered every 5 fucking minutes, even then there's already someone to water those damn. Red. Roses."

"I- I mean I like tulips too, baby-"

"No. You don't. No, you don't. Tulips are just the safest options for you, cos someone already plucked out those fucking roses. Cos roses don't want you."

You're standing up now, and John's attempts to speak are futile with every sentence you shout.

"No. In fact, roses has never wanted you, roses look better with someone else, and ol' poor John has no more roses, so he goes and waters some unwanted tulips instead!"

John stands up, towering over your shaking frame, his hands come up to stroke your biceps, but he's pushed away.

"I mean, did John ever even like tulips? Or was he faking it cos he never got roses? Was tulips just the safe option? Does John still want roses after all the years tulips have been there for him?"

You left out a pained cry, you didn't even notice the tears leaking out of your eyes.

"Does John even like tulips? Does John even love tulips?"

His hands wipe your tears away, and he brings you into his chest, and you don't attempt to push him away this time.

"Does you even love me, John?" You break down into his arms, letting him carrying you into the bedroom, where he places you gently on the bed, while you hiccup through your uneven sobs. He smells the stench of wine through your shaking breath, whilst stroking your hair, and you slowly fall into a deep slumber with your head pressed against his still uniform-clad chest.

The clock hits midnight and John gets up, trying not to wake you up, grabbing his sweats from the drawer and walking to the bathroom across the hall, in order to not wake you up, from what looked like a well-needed rest.

As he trudges out of the bedroom and through the corridor, the reflection of the broken glass catches his eyes and he squints in the darkness, squatting down to pick a small shard. As he lifts the remains of the nameplate, hooking it back to the door, he steps over the mess into the study to retrieve a dust pan and brush.

Flicking the lights on, he's met with what looks like a scene from the reality TV show - Hoarders. So starts cleaning quickly, picking up the duster and bunching up the paperwork from the floor, the pot of pens that had seemed to be knocked down, the diary he'd used to write in...hold on-

Picking up the diary, John flicks through the entries, the book naturally opening to the last open slide.

He begins reading the last entry.

19th December 2020

Thought me and Rose would go back to the pub for another drink for the holidays, but she's going back to his place. Seems they're taking the next steps with meeting the families.

Soap's annoyed at how I'm 'ghosting' the girl I met at the pub....

"Oh...my tulip, I've never loved roses as much as I loved you." He mumbles to himself, whilst simultaneously cringing at his previously written words, immediately throwing the book back on the floor.

It's past breakfast when you wake up, throat and eyes painfully dry from last night's crying session, forcing yourself to drag yourself to the bathroom. You've forgotten that John had come home last night, as your met with a familiar empty bed.

After brushing your teeth and washing your face, you walk downstairs, being face to face with the naked back of Captain John Price.

The smell of chocolate pancakes waft towards your nose, as you look around the kitchen, the room garnished with a variety of different flowered bouquets, with so many variations of plants.

Bundles of dahlias and lotuses, orchids and lilies, carnations and irises, roses and tulips.

John turns to your footsteps, smiling at his perfect woman.

"Baby, good mornin'" He greets you, placing a single rose into your hair, and pecking your forehead warmly.

"John, listen about last night-"

"It was the old diary, wasn't it?" he asks.

You nod, ashamed for your abrupt behaviour yesterday. John lifts your chin up, resting his forehead against yours.

"Rose never taught me how to love like you did."

"John, you don-" His pointer finger is pressed against your lips.

"Reading those words from the past, I can see how it may have painted a different picture of my feelings. But let me assure you, my love, that you are the one I adore with all my heart."

Your stroke his face, heart warming to his words.

"Every rose I brought home was a symbol of my love for you, not because it was her favorite, but because it reminded me of the beauty and grace that you bring into my life. And those tulips, they represent the new beginnings and the fresh start that we share together.

My love for you is unwavering and unconditional. You are my tulip, my true love, and I vow to cherish and adore you for all eternity. Please forgive me for any pain or doubt my past words may have caused."

"John..."

He hands you his notepad from from his back pocket, beckoning you to open it.

You look at the first entry.

19th February 2021

I mentioned how I journal sometimes to her, and she bought me a new notepad, it's cute how she calls it a diary. Things are looking good. Bowling's our thing, I let her win because seeing her smile means I've won too. I'm asking her out tonight, Soap cried real tears when I told him.

You turn the page.

20th July 2021

Our 6 month anniversary. Took her to a field of roses and tulips, though nothing compares to her beauty.

The next one.

17th September 2021

I seldom think of Rose, I have my tulip on my mind now. Rose retired, and the team celebrated last night. She hugged me and thanked me for being a good captain. She also acknowledged my previous feelings for her. Man that was uncomfortable, but I reassured her I'm with my tulip now. I love my tulip.

I've always preferred tulips anyway.

And the next.

5th July 2022

Our 500 day anniversary. I want to propose.

17th September 2022

She said yes!! She may be my fiance, but I've already started calling her my wife, not legally yet at least...illegally?

28rd December 2023

We married 30th November. The day we met. Xmas was amazing, I can't see myself with anyone but her. I'm getting deployed tomorrow though.

You look at the most recent entry, dated last night.

16th February 2024

Missed the valentines day with my missus. Hope these roses are enough, though I wanted to get something better. Tulips for my tulip. They ran out haha. Missed my girl, missed her like I've never missed someone before. Soap's right, deployment suck.

Tears welled up in your eyes, not from pain or doubt this time, but from overwhelming joy and love for the man standing before you.

"I'm sorry, John," you whispered, your voice choked with emotion. "I didn't mean to doubt your love."

He smiled, a genuine and heartfelt smile that reached his eyes, pulling you into a warm embrace. "No need for apologies, my tulip. Thank you for teaching me how to love."

And in that moment, amidst the scent of chocolate pancakes and fresh flowers, it felt like you love story was just beginning, filled with trust, forgiveness, and a deep, unwavering love for each other.

That should not have taken me 2 days to complete what in the world. Also if i was tulip, that old diary is going straight into a fire! Barbecue anyone? <3 Quick Notes: I head-cannoned Rose to look like Sergeant Calhoun from Fix-it-Felix lolololol woman crush fr i get u john boy I've decided to start a tag list! -> lemme know you're interested to be tagged in my future posts! tags -> @lilliumrorum

[heartcereql]

velvet crowbar

childhood friends torn apart as Viktor rises to the elite world of Piltover while you remain in Zaun, neglecting feelings out of fear.

cw: use of y/n, angst angst !!!, viktor acting like an ass out of pure fear and love ://

a/n: we're sooooo back hehe:)

The sky over Zaun always seemed to press down on you, a heavy blanket of gray smoke and the faintest glimmer of dying light. The city never slept, its heartbeat thrumming through the cracked streets and rusted pipes, a constant reminder of its pulse. Yet, despite all the noise, all the chaos, there was a quiet corner of your mind where the memories of him still lingered—of Viktor, the boy who once dreamed beside you, in a world where you both could be more than this.

But now, as you stood on the rooftop of your building, on the verge of collapsing, staring out toward Piltover, the city of metal and glass that seemed so far removed from everything you knew, it felt like a lifetime had passed since those dreams. You could see the lights beginning to twinkle in the distance, an endless sea of gold, cold and untouchable.

You had once imagined running to Piltover with him, escaping the smog and decay of Zaun, finding a place where dreams were not just for the rich, but for the willing. You had imagined standing beside him in the light, where he was the brilliant inventor, the genius, and you were... whatever he needed you to be.

But that was before.

Before the city had swallowed him whole. Before the distance between you had stretched out like the gap between the stars. Before Viktor became the man Piltover needed, and you were left with nothing but memories and an aching chest.

You hadn’t seen him in months, not properly. Letters had become few and far between, the words that used to come so easily now barely reaching the paper. And when they did, they felt distant, almost like he was writing from another world—one that didn’t have a place for you.

You tried not to let it bother you, tried to pretend that you didn’t still wait for his visits, for the sound of his voice. But the truth was, you missed him. You missed the boy who had been your anchor in this crumbling place, the one who used to say your name like it was the only thing that mattered.

Today, however, something was different. You didn’t know what it was at first—maybe it was the way the wind shifted, or the way the light in Piltover seemed to call to you, pulling your gaze towards it. Maybe it was just your heart, too tired of pretending that nothing had changed.

You heard him before you saw him. The soft shuffle of boots against stone, the quiet exhale of breath in the cool air, the metallic clink of his crutch against the pavement. And then, there he was, standing at the bottom of the steps that led to your rooftop.

Viktor.

For a moment, you just stood there, frozen, as you looked at him. His figure was taller now, his frame more angular, the clothes he wore no longer the worn fabrics of Zaun, but the fine, immaculate garments of a Piltover citizen. His face, still familiar but so different, looked as if it had been shaped by something far away from the world you both had once shared.

You didn’t know how long you stood there, just watching him, before you found your voice.

"Viktor," you whispered, as if the sound of his name could pull you both back to what you used to be.

He smiled, but it was a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. It was a smile of politeness, of formality—a smile that didn’t know you the way he once had.

"Have you been well?" His voice was smooth, but there was a distance to it, something colder than before.

You nodded, but your throat tightened. There were so many things you wanted to say—things that had festered in your chest for far too long. But you didn’t know where to begin.

You used to tell him everything. Now, you couldn’t even bring yourself to ask how he was.

"I’m managing," you said, your voice sounding weaker than you intended.

He stepped closer, but the space between you felt impossibly wide. Every step he took was a reminder of how far apart you had become. He wasn’t the boy who had climbed up here in the dead of night just to whisper dreams of a different life. He was Piltover’s Viktor now, and you were still here, in the shadow of Zaun, holding onto the remnants of a life you once shared.

"I’m sorry I haven’t visited sooner," he said, and for a moment, you thought you could hear the weight of guilt in his voice. But when you looked at him, all you saw was the stranger who had once been your closest friend.

The silence between you stretched, heavy with things unsaid, until he finally spoke again. "It’s just... things have been busy. There’s a lot I’ve had to focus on in Piltover."

You swallowed, trying to ignore the sting in your chest. You knew what he meant—Piltover had taken him. Taken him away from everything that had once been important to him.

And you had been left behind.

"Of course," you managed to say, even as your heart twisted. "You’re doing important things. I understand."

The air between you both felt thick with unspoken words as you both lingered in the quiet aftermath of your meeting. Viktor’s hand stayed close to his chest, his fingers twitching as though he wanted to reach out but didn’t know how.

You swallowed hard, finding your voice again, though it trembled.

"What is it, Viktor? What’s going on? You've been so distant. I don’t— I don’t get it. You used to tell me everything." Your eyes searched his, desperate for a glimpse of the Viktor you once knew.

He shifted his weight, his gaze flickering down to the ground before meeting your eyes again. There was hesitation in his expression, something raw, like he was fighting with himself to say the right words.

"I’ve been... busy." He let out a long breath, and there was a heaviness in it, like explaining it to you wasn't something natural, but something to be elaborated. "I’ve been working on something important in Piltover. It's… something that could change everything, for both of us."

"Piltover?" The word left your lips before you could stop it, disbelief in your voice. "You're really living there now? You’re—you're working there?"

He nodded slowly, almost reluctantly, like the confession itself pained him.

"Yes. I’m working under a researcher—Jayce Talis. He... he and I are developing something that could revolutionize technology. It’s hard, Y/N. So hard. But it’s the only way forward." His words were heavy with the weight of his ambition, but something in his eyes betrayed him, a flicker of doubt, or maybe regret. "I wish I could have told you sooner."

Your heart twisted at the mention of Jayce, and the strange unfamiliarity of Viktor’s words lingered in the air. There was no more talk of your shared dreams, no more talk of Zaun, only Piltover’s cold steel and polished streets. The world he now belonged to felt so far from you—like something that could never belong to someone like you.

"Why didn’t you tell me?" You wanted to ask if he missed you, if he even thought about you anymore, but the words felt selfish, fragile. You felt small in this new space he had carved for himself.

"I didn’t want to drag you into it," Viktor said, his voice quiet, almost a whisper. "The people in Piltover… they’re not like us. They wouldn't understand. It’s complicated." He looked away, the distance between you both growing as he ran a hand through his hair, his breath ragged. "I didn’t want you to be caught up in it, Y/N. Not with everything that’s happening now. I—I thought it would be better this way."

You felt your chest tighten, the hurt festering behind your ribs.

"Better for who, Viktor?" You swallowed, the lump in your throat threatening to choke you. "You think it’s better for me to be left in the dark? For you to pretend that nothing’s changed?"

His eyes softened, and he took a hesitant step forward.

"No, it’s not like that. It’s just… I can’t put you in danger. Not with how things are moving. I’ve seen how Piltover treats people like us." His words were raw, heavy with the weight of everything he had seen, everything he had become part of.

You shook your head, forcing back the wave of bitterness threatening to spill over. "So, what? You just want me to stay here and wait? Wait for you to get so far away that you forget who I am?"

"I could never forget you," he murmured, his voice a gentle plea. "But Y/N, you need to understand. This place, it’s changing me. It’s changing everything. And I need you to stay safe. That’s why I..." He stopped himself, the words falling short of the meaning you both needed.

You were silent for a long time, the air between you both thick and awkward. You could feel the cracks forming between you both, widening, pulling you apart with every unspoken word.

Finally, you spoke, though your voice was shaky, almost uncertain. "Where are you working? Piltover... I mean, you said you’re working with Jayce. I just... I need to see you, Viktor. Please. I need to understand."

For a moment, Viktor seemed to hesitate, his face creasing with the weight of what he was about to say. Then, with a sigh, he muttered, "I’m at the Hextech Labs now. It’s in the heart of Piltover. If you really want to understand, that’s where you’ll find me."

The words hung in the air between you like a challenge, like a door you could either step through or close. You clenched your fists, a strange resolve settling in your chest.

“I’ll come,” you said, your voice firmer now, despite the coldness creeping up your spine. “I’ll come to see for myself.”

Viktor’s eyes widened as if he hadn’t expected you to say that, and for a moment, there was panic in his gaze, a flicker of fear. But he didn’t stop you.

“Y/N, I don’t think you should—” he started, his voice tight with a warning.

But you were already turning away, the weight of your decision pressing down on you like the very world you were about to enter.

You’d never imagined Piltover would feel like this. Its gleaming towers, so pristine and far removed from the chaotic, gritty streets of Zaun, made you feel small. As you stood on the edge of the grandiose bridge that separated the two cities, the weight of your own breath felt louder than the bustling crowds around you. The air was too cold, too crisp. Too polished for someone like you.

But you were here.

You didn’t know what you expected to find when you crossed the bridge—perhaps an entirely different Viktor, one who had shed the layers of their shared past, a man too far gone into his new life. Maybe a part of you thought that if you came here, you could still see the boy who used to walk alongside you in the alleys of Zaun, whose hands you once held with reckless hope.

The Hextech Labs stood in front of you now, a towering monolith of glass and steel that seemed to radiate the ambitions of the city. You could see its grand entryways, the carefully crafted banners that fluttered above, the people walking in and out with an air of purpose, none of them even sparing you a second glance.

And there he was, inside. Viktor.

You took a step toward the door, your heart thudding loudly in your chest. This wasn’t just a visit anymore. This was the final step to understanding. Or, perhaps, to unraveling everything that had grown between you two in the silence.

You didn’t know how much time had passed since Viktor told you where to find him, but now that you were standing here, you couldn’t turn back.

The automatic doors opened with a faint hiss, and you stepped inside, blinking against the sterile brightness of the lobby. No one took notice of you as you walked through, a stranger to this world. But the path was clear, a hallway that led to the heart of the lab. Your footsteps echoed softly, each sound a reminder of the difference between you and the world you were entering.

You found Viktor just where he’d said he would be—standing near one of the Hextech machines, deep in conversation with a group of people in polished uniforms. The sight of him, now fully immersed in his new life, took your breath away. His lean on his crutch was firm, his hand moving as he explained something, his voice steady and authoritative. The Viktor you knew—who fumbled over his words in Zaun—was gone. In his place stood a man who carried the weight of Piltover’s expectations on his shoulders.

When he turned and saw you standing there, his expression flickered, just for a moment, before he masked it. He excused himself and dsimissed the other topsiders. The word burned in your thoughts.

His lips pressed together, and for a second, he looked like he might say something. Instead, he only took a hesitant step toward you, his brow furrowing as he took in your presence.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice colder than you remembered. “What are you doing here?”

You flinched, the sting of his words hitting you more than you’d expected. His tone wasn’t warm. It wasn’t affectionate, either. He sounded distant—almost as though you were an intrusion. His eyes, those familiar honey orbs, seemed to search you for an answer he already knew but wasn’t willing to accept.

“I—” You paused, trying to swallow the lump in your throat. “I came to see you, Viktor. I needed to understand.” Your voice shook, and the resolve you’d built up back at the entrance began to waver. “You said you were working here. I wanted to see... see where you’ve been. What you’re doing.”

Viktor’s gaze hardened, and he quickly glanced around the room, as though the walls themselves were listening. He took your hand and led you to a stark corner, hidden by all the machinery, dark and dusty.

Viktor’s eyes softened, but there was something restrained in the way he looked at you. He glanced over his shoulder, as though calculating something, before turning back to you. “I’m glad you came,” he said, though his words felt heavy, like they were forced out of him. “But you shouldn’t be here, not like this. It’s… it’s different here.”

The hesitation in his voice only made your heart ache more. You stepped closer, trying to reach him with your gaze.

“Different how? Viktor, I came all this way. I just want to see you. I just—”

“You don’t understand,” he interrupted, his words quieter now, but there was a slight urgency behind them. “This place, Piltover—it’s not like Zaun. It’s... it’s hard to explain. There are things here—things I didn’t expect that... I didn’t want you to see.” He paused, rubbing the back of his neck in a gesture you recognized. “I don’t want you to get hurt, Y/N.”

You blinked, confusion mingling with the rising frustration in your chest. “Hurt? What are you talking about?”

His eyes darted away for a moment, as though searching for the right words.

“The judgment here... the way they look at people from Zaun.” He shook his head, looking at you as though seeing you for the first time in a new light. “I’ve endured so much to be here. They don't take it easy with us. I don’t want... I don’t want you to be part of that. It’s dangerous. You shouldn’t be involved with any of this.”

Your heart sank. “So, that’s it, then? You’re ashamed of me? Of where I come from?”

Viktor’s eyes widened slightly, and he stepped back, clearly shaken by your words.

“No, Y/N. That’s not it. It’s not about you, it’s about—about the risks. I can’t ask you to put yourself in that position. I... I care about you too much to let that happen.”

You felt the sting of those words hit harder than you expected, each one feeling like an unspoken apology, but still holding you at arm’s length.

“You care about me?” you echoed, a bitter laugh bubbling in your throat. “Then why won’t you let me be with you? Let me see the life you’ve built? You’ve kept me at a distance for so long, Viktor.”

“I never meant to hurt you,” he said quickly, stepping forward. But then he hesitated again, as if the distance between you felt like an insurmountable barrier. “But this is... this is bigger than us, Y/N. I need you to understand that.”

His words hung in the air, but you could hear the crack in his voice. Still, the weight of his protection felt like a cage.

You wanted to say more, to demand that he explain himself further, but instead, your body turned of its own accord. Without another word, you walked away from him, your footsteps heavy with the disappointment you couldn’t shake. It wasn’t the rejection that hurt the most, but the way he couldn’t see you—couldn’t see what you needed from him.

The journey back to Zaun was a blur. The twisting alleys and rusted walkways passed by in a haze, the familiar scents and sounds of the Undercity failing to ground you. All you could think about was the way Viktor had looked at you—the hesitation in his eyes, the tightness in his voice when he told you to leave.

This isn’t your world.

The words echoed in your mind, each one sharper than the last. You had always known that Viktor’s life in Piltover was different, that it wasn’t the same as the life you shared in Zaun. But you had never thought that difference would grow into a chasm, one wide enough to push you apart.

You sat down on a rusted bench near the bridge, your hands clenched into fists. The sting of his rejection burned hotter with each passing moment. It wasn’t just the fact that he had told you to leave—it was the way he had said it. As if you were a liability. As if you were something to be hidden, something to be ashamed of.

And yet, you couldn’t stop yourself from making excuses for him.

Maybe he really was trying to protect you. Maybe the people in Piltover were as judgmental as he said. But even if that were true, it didn’t explain why he had let their opinions matter more than yours. Why he hadn’t trusted you to decide for yourself.

You swallowed hard, your chest tightening. Viktor had always been your anchor, the one constant in your ever-changing world. And now, for the first time, you felt adrift.

You didn’t cry, not then. Not when his sharp words cut through the air, nor when the weight of his rejection sank deep into your chest. You refused to let yourself break while standing in his polished, lifeless world.

But later—when you reached the safety of your rooftop, its closeness to the sky wrapping around you like an old, tattered blanket—you let yourself unravel.

His words had replayed in your mind, over and over, like the static from a broken radio: “You shouldn’t have come.” The pain wasn’t just in what he said but in the way he said it. Quiet. Unyielding. Like a door closing in your face.

It didn’t make sense. He had always been proud of his roots—or so you thought. You’d seen the fire in his eyes when he spoke of the change he wanted to bring, of how Zaun deserved more than what it had been given. But when you stood there in his world, it was as if all of that had been erased, replaced by something cold and distant.

You couldn’t stop wondering: Was it me? Did I remind him of what he’s trying to leave behind?

Yet even as doubt gnawed at your resolve, another voice in your mind fought back.

This was Viktor. Your Viktor. The boy who used to stay up all night with you on the rooftops, whispering dreams of a better world into the dark. The boy who had limped to your door with bruises on his knuckles and a wild grin on his face, holding up a gadget he swore would make life better for everyone. The boy who had looked at you—really looked at you—in a way that made you feel like you weren’t just surviving. You were alive.

That boy couldn’t just be gone. Could he?

The lab was quieter than usual, save for the faint hum of the machines and the occasional clink of tools on metal. Viktor sat hunched over his workstation, his eyes fixed on a piece of Hextech equipment that had been giving him trouble all afternoon. Yet, for once, it wasn’t the device that occupied his thoughts.

It was you.

The memory of your face lingered in his mind, the hurt in your eyes when he had asked you to leave. He could still see you standing there, a stark contrast to the polished, sterile surroundings of his lab. You were a reminder of everything he had fought so hard to leave behind—and everything he couldn’t bear to lose.

He had wanted you to stay. More than anything, he had wanted you to stay.

But that was the problem, wasn’t it?

The thought of you being dragged into this world made his stomach twist. This cold, unfeeling place where everything was measured in worth and potential, where people like you were judged for where they came from rather than who they were. He had barely managed to claw his way into their circles, and even then, he wasn’t truly accepted. Not fully.

They whispered about him—about his accent, his limp, his strange inventions. He could feel their stares, their skepticism, every time he entered a room. And if they saw you, they wouldn’t just judge you. They would judge him.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. And yet, he couldn’t ignore it.

Viktor leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. He wasn’t afraid of how they would see you. He knew exactly what they would see: your resilience, your warmth, the fire in your eyes that refused to be extinguished. But he was afraid of how they would use you—how they would turn your presence into a weakness, a chink in his already fragile armor.

And more than that, he was afraid of how they would use him against you. He had seen it before—the way the topsiders wielded power, how they twisted vulnerabilities into leverage. If they decided you were a liability, if they decided you were expendable…

He closed his eyes, gripping the edge of the table so tightly his knuckles turned white. He couldn’t let that happen.

“I’m protecting her,” he murmured to himself, as if saying it aloud would make it true.

But deep down, he knew the truth was more tangled, more shameful.

He wasn’t just protecting you. He was protecting himself.

Because if you saw him through their eyes—if you saw him as less, as weak, as someone who didn’t belong—it would break him in ways he wasn’t sure he could endure.

He didn’t sleep that night.

The lab was silent, save for the hum of machinery and the occasional crackle of electricity. Normally, that sound was comforting—a reminder of the work waiting to be done. But tonight, it only grated against his nerves.

He should have gone after you. He knew that. The moment the words had left his mouth, he had known. But instead, he had stood there, rooted to the spot, watching as you walked away.

The way you had looked at him before you left... it haunted him.

Viktor leaned heavily on his cane, staring down at the blueprints spread out on the table before him. None of it made sense anymore. Not the equations, not the diagrams, not even the goals he had once clung to so fiercely.

He wanted to tell himself he had done the right thing, that pushing you away had been for your own good. Zaun and Piltover were two different worlds—worlds that didn’t belong together, no matter how much he wanted them to. No matter how much he wanted you.

But the truth he didn’t want to admit was far less noble. He hadn’t pushed you away just to protect you. He had done it because he was afraid.

Afraid of what it would mean if you stayed. Afraid of how they would see you. Afraid of how you would see him.

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration bubbling in his chest. For all his intelligence, for all his inventions and ideas, he couldn’t figure out how to bridge the gap he had created.

But the thought of losing you completely? That was a problem he couldn’t solve.

The smog of Zaun had a way of clinging to your skin, a reminder of where you belonged—or at least, where the world thought you belonged. But you couldn’t shake the thought that there was more, that you deserved more. That he deserved more.

That’s why you found yourself on Piltover’s shining streets again, your resolve hardening with every step closer to the towering building where you knew Viktor would be. This wasn’t just about the words he had said, or even the ones he hadn’t. It was about answers. About understanding why the boy who once promised you everything now seemed intent on giving you nothing.

You didn’t announce yourself this time.

The lab doors slid open with a soft hiss, and you stepped inside, your presence breaking the sterile quiet. Viktor didn’t look up immediately, his focus pinned to the contraption in his hands—a sleek, glowing device you couldn’t begin to understand.

“Viktor,” you called, your voice firm yet trembling at the edges.

His head snapped up, the familiar amber of his eyes flickering with surprise, then something else you couldn’t place. Guilt, maybe.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, his tone careful, as though the wrong inflection might shatter the fragile air between you.

You ignored his question, stepping further into the room. The scent of metal and ozone filled your nose, and you noted how starkly this world clashed with the smoke and grit of Zaun. “I needed to see you.”

His jaw tightened, his lips pressing into a thin line, eyes avoiding yours. “I thought I made myself clear.”

“Clear?” you echoed, incredulous. “Viktor, you’ve been avoiding me. And then, when I came to you, you—you pushed me away like I was nothing. Do you have any idea how that felt?”

His fingers twitched against the cane, his weight shifting uncomfortably. “You shouldn’t have come here.”

“Why not?” you challenged, your voice rising. “Is it because I don’t fit into this perfect, shiny world of yours? Because I’m not one of them?”

“Stop,” he said sharply, and the word hit you like a slap. He drew in a shaky breath before continuing, softer this time. “You don’t understand.”

“Then make me understand, Viktor,” you shot back. “Because all I see is someone who’s ashamed of where he came from. Of who he left behind.”

His head dropped, his hair falling into his eyes as he exhaled a long, heavy breath. For a moment, you thought he wouldn’t answer. Then he spoke, his voice low and laced with something raw.

“You think I left you behind?” He looked up, and there it was again—that guilt, etched into every line of his face. “I would never... you are the one part of Zaun I’ve never wanted to leave.”

“Then why?” you demanded. “Why push me away? Why say those things?”

He turned from you, limping toward the far table where his tools lay scattered. His grip on the cane was tight, knuckles white. “Because I am not proud of what I’ve become,” he admitted finally. “Not here, not in this world.”

“What are you talking about?” you pressed, your frustration giving way to confusion.

“I have fought for respect, for a chance to prove that people like us can be more than what they think. But they do not see me. Not truly. To them, I am a... novelty. A curiosity. And if they knew about you, about us...” He trailed off, his hand curling into a fist on the table. “They would see you the same way. Or worse.”

“Let them judge,” you said, taking a step closer. “Let them think what they want. I don’t care, Viktor. Why do you?”

“Because I do not want you to endure what I have endured,” he said fiercely, turning to face you. “You deserve better than this place. Better than me.”

The words hung between you, heavy and damning.

“Don’t you dare decide what I deserve,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “You think I don’t know what this world is like? What people like them think of people like us? I do, Viktor. But I would endure it a hundred times over if it meant being with you. So why can’t you let me decide that for myself?”

He stared at you, his expression unreadable. The silence stretched, filled only by the faint hum of the machinery around you.

Then, finally, he spoke. “Because I’m afraid,” he admitted, his voice breaking. “Afraid of losing you. Afraid that... that if you stay too close to me, this world will crush you the way it has tried to crush me.”

You stopped, his words robbing you of your breath. The anger that had carried you here faltered, giving way to something softer, something more vulnerable. He wasn’t ashamed of you. He was afraid.

Though his words didn't extinguish all of the fire of your frustration, your gaze softened, and you stepped closer, close enough that you could see the slight tremor in his hands, the way his chest rose and fell as though each breath was a battle.

“Viktor,” you said gently, “I’m not afraid. Not of you, not of them. I’ve survived Zaun, haven’t I?”

He laughed bitterly, shaking his head. “Zaun may be harsh, but it is honest. Piltover... it is sharp in ways you cannot see. You do not know what it is to be dissected, to be dismissed with a smile. It is cruelty dressed in gold, and I—” He broke off, his voice catching. “I could not bear to see it touch you.”

You reached out, your fingers brushing his hand where it rested on the table. He flinched, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you slipped your hand into his, squeezing gently.

“I’ve been through storms, Viktor,” you said softly. “I won’t shatter because someone here thinks less of me. You have to trust me.”

He met your gaze, the weight of his fears reflected in the golden depths of his eyes. And then, as though the dam had broken, he closed the distance between you, cupping your face with trembling hands.

“I have tried,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “I have tried to keep you safe, to keep you away from all this. But I... I cannot. I cannot keep myself away from you.”

His lips met yours in a kiss that was both tender and desperate, as though he was pouring every unsaid word, every unspoken fear and hope, into that single moment. For a heartbeat, the world outside the lab fell away—Piltover’s gleaming towers, Zaun’s shadowed streets, the endless weight of their struggles. There was only him, only you.

You hesitated, your body frozen in the whirlwind of emotions. Then you felt it—his tears on your cheeks, warm and unyielding, as though they carried the weight of every burden he had shouldered alone. It was that touch, more than the kiss itself, that undid you.

For so long, you had built walls of your own, convincing yourself you could carry the unspoken love in silence, that it was enough to be near him. But in that moment, you knew: love demanded trust, not just from him, but from you. Trust in the man before you, in the bond you had forged through years of hardship and laughter, hope and pain.

You gave in, melting into him as your hand found the back of his neck, pulling him closer. Your lips moved against his, answering every plea with a promise of your own. The kiss deepened, your tears mingling with his as you surrendered to the love you had carried for him, quietly, always.

When the kiss finally broke, you were both trembling, breathless. His forehead rested against yours, his hand lingering at your cheek as if afraid to let go. His voice came as a whisper, raw and vulnerable.

“I was wrong to push you away,” he said, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “I thought I could protect you, but I see now... I was only hurting us both.”

You searched his eyes, finding the weight of his apology there, but also something deeper—a glimmer of the man you had always known, the boy you had grown up beside. “You don’t have to carry everything alone, Viktor,” you murmured, your hand covering his. “You never did.”

He closed his eyes, exhaling a shaky breath. “I just...” he began, his voice faltering. “I didn’t want to risk losing you.”

“You won’t,” you said firmly, your voice steady even as your heart ached for him. “Not to Piltover, not to your fears, not to anything. I’m here, Viktor. I always have been.”

His gaze softened, the tension in his shoulders easing as if your words had pulled him back from the edge. “I don’t deserve you,” he said, a bittersweet smile tugging at his lips.

“Then it’s a good thing love isn’t about deserving,” you replied, your own smile breaking through your tear-stained gaze.

For the first time in what felt like years, you saw hope in his expression—a fragile, flickering thing, but real nonetheless. And for the first time, you let yourself believe that the fractures between you could be healed, that together, you could weather the storms to come.

The lab was quiet again, but this time it felt like a sanctuary, a place where the past and future could finally meet.

“Come back to Zaun with me sometime,” you said after a while, your voice soft but carrying a playful edge. “Even if it’s just to remind yourself where you belong.”

Viktor’s lips curved into a small, genuine smile.

“I will,” he said, his voice steadier than before, “It's about time I stop running. And I start trying to make this right.”

© heartcereql, 2024 || thank you for reading ! 𓆩 ♱ 𓆪

[figthoughts]

What do u think Deans main kinks would be?? Tbf though I feel like he’d be into pretty much everything 😭 he’s a slut and we love him for it

you’re so real, that man loves sex and we do love him for it!!!! i personally hc dean as a switch, so i think his kinks would probably be quite general and would depend on his partner, but he’s definitely up for trying new things! 18+

— praise.

that man is heavily neglected when it comes to compliments and gentle touches. his eyes would light up at every little “you feel so good” or “good boy”. it doesn’t even matter if he’s praising you or the one being praised, he just loves seeing you happy and hearing how good he’s making you feel. he definitely sees sex as a way to relax and have fun with you, so he’d be all about wanting to make you feel beautiful and desired through praise and compliments. he shows his love through physical touch and gentle words.

— manhandling.

now hear me out with this. dean wouldn’t be big on being rough with you in the bedroom, considering how harsh the hunter life is. he’d want to be gentle with you, although he wouldn’t be super opposed to some choking or a cheeky little spank here and there. however, he’d love it if you got a little rough with him, like shoving him against a wall or onto the bed, just taking what you want. he’d definitely love when you get a little confident and grab him by the jaw to make him look at you or tug on his hair as he goes down on you. he just likes you touching him, even if it’s in a rougher way, it gets him all giddy and excited.

— teasing.

we all know this man is a brat. dean loves making inappropriate jokes that make you squirm and shoot him disapproving looks in public or touching you in teasing little ways, just to get you riled up. seeing you get all whiny and needy in the bedroom would make him go crazy, though he wouldn’t mind also being teased. in fact, he’d kinda love it. he’d love it if you’d walk around in tight little clothes, taunting him almost, or doing provocative little things just to mess with him. it’d be how you get him back. dean is definitely whining and begging if you tease him, “please, baby. i can’t take it anymore. need you so bad,” that kinda thing. he’d never tell you, but he loves it.

— roleplay.

dean would go crazy for a little roleplay with you. his favourite would definitely be cowboy x damsel in distress, although you playing naughty nurse would be a close second. initially, he’d be nervous about bringing up his lil fantasies with you. he’d wait until he knows you’re both comfortable enough with each other and your sex life. naturally, you wouldn’t be able to wipe the dopey grin off his face as you walk in wearing whatever silly little thing he asked you to. he’d just love it.

— breeding.

dean is a family man. he’d die a thousand times for sammy, for cas, for his parents. so it makes sense that filling your pussy with his cum would make his head go brrr. the idea of starting a family with you fills his chest with a warmth he can’t even begin to describe. the idea of putting a baby in you, watching a life grow inside you, a life that he helped create, he’d lose his damn mind. if you weren’t already on birth control, he’d (respectfully) beg you to go on it, for the sole purpose of cumming in you. he also just really loves watching it pour out of you. to him, it’s the hottest thing in the entire world. again, his head would just go brrrrrr.

— cockwarming.

dean definitely is making you cockwarm him as soon as he gets back to see you after a hunt or something. just sitting in the deancave with his cock up your cunt as you watch some cheesy horror movie, neither of you bothering to move, just completely happy with feeling him inside you. of course, it would eventually lead to him pounding in and out of you, but at least for a while it’d be sweet and innocent.

— somno. (both consenting with prior discussion abt it)

this might be another hear me out, but considering dean is a slut, he’s up for sex just about anytime he can get it. he’d be extremely hesitant to try anything with you when you’re half asleep or fully unconscious (he just doesn’t wanna make you uncomfortable), but he’d be completely okay with waking up to his cock in your mouth or you using him while he’s half asleep to get yourself off late at night.

— mutual masturbation.

dean loves the idea of you touching yourself to the thought of him, so he’d definitely beg you to let him watch as you play with yourself. it’d start off slow, until his pants are so tight he has no choice but to let himself spring free and jerk himself off in front of you, while you’re busy trying to get off in front of him. he’d melt at that and the way you call his name when you cum. after that one time, dean’d beg you to let him watch again and again and again.

— edging.

this one’s definitely more-so for himself. dean’s definitely jacking it in motel showers when he’s on hunts, just edging himself in there to the thought of you. he’d be so close every time, your name on his lips as he strokes himself, but he’d pause his movements right before cumming, just teasing himself for as long as he can take it.

— public sex.

dean’s no stranger to a quickie in the impala or even perhaps in the alleyway behind a dingy little dive bar. the thrill of getting caught would drive him absolutely wild. he’d be gripping your jaw, whispering in your ear telling you to keep quiet and be good. public sex would probably force out a more dominant side of dean. he’d wanna have fun with you, whilst also making sure he’s in control of the situation just in case you actually do get caught.

— toys.

i’m not sure if i’d consider this a kink, but i’ll list it anyway. dean is definitely the kinda guy to see toys as an aid to better sex, instead of his competition. he’d love to see you writhing underneath him with a vibrator pressed against your pussy or perhaps even some handcuffs thrown into the mix (again, he’s not fussed on who’s being cuffed). he loves the idea of you using toys on your own when he’s away on hunts. he’d definitely be begging you over text to send him videos of you using them.

— other.

none of these are really kinks, but i do wanna mention them.

i fully believe at some point in your relationship, dean would bring up the idea of making a sex tape with you. it would be exclusively for yours and his eyes only, and he would definitely watch it and get off to it during hunts when you’re not there.

i also think dean would be a little cheeky and steal your panties to take away with him on longer hunts. sure, calling you and receiving pictures and videos helps when he’s away, but nothing beats the physicality of holding your panties in his hands, wrapping them around his cock and cumming into them. maybe this is something he does without telling you, but you’d know when a pair would go missing and then return when dean does. it wouldn’t take you long to figure out. and you wouldn’t really mind.

i believe anything to do with him causing you pain or distress would be a hard no for dean. he loves you and wants to make you feel good during sex, not see you all marked up and sore because of him. he wants you to feel safe and comfortable. he’s definitely the kinda guy to check in with you constantly, “does that feel good, baby? you want me to keep going?” or “tell me what you want”.

your comfortability and pleasure is number one priority for dean. always.

A/N: ahhh such a fun request. these are my personal headcanons for dean. idk how popular these opinions are but i see that man as a LOVER if he’s in a relationship!! <3

edit: added ‘breeding’ to this because i was thinkin’ about it and it totally makes sense. can’t believe i forgot it LOL

[aeonstale]

ㅤ WHAT IT MEANS TO BE A GENERAL'S CHILD .ᐟ

pairings; jing yuan x plantonic!child reader.

content warning; mention of depression ✘ child neglect, angst ✘ hurt/comfort ✘ alcohol ✘ gn reader ✘ 2.8k wc. thank you @mikashisus for proofreading!

syn. being the child of an esteemed general was harder than it seemed. especially being one of a general who was heartbroken. will time fix your relationship? you could never say, but a part of you hoped it will.

All on the Luofu know of the general Jing yuan. One of the seven Arbiter-Generals of the Xianzhou Alliance. An esteemed individual who proved time and time again his worth. But none knew of the family he had built behind doors. 

Your mother was a straightforward lady. The type to get what she wanted with no efforts needed, so it was no surprise she managed to charm the lazy general after he had caught her eye. Their love story was almost one sided. Jing yuan was enamored with her, finding her intelligence and personality to be beautiful features of hers. Yet, your mother’s feelings weren’t mutual. 

She wouldn’t deny he was a wonderful partner and knew he would be an even greater father, but her heart was never with him. Their love story ended the moment it started. She was driven with guilt every day. Reminiscing how she had charmed him and never properly broke ties with him. The guilt that ate her alive worsened when you came into the picture. 

Selfish as it was, she was thankful you looked more like her than the general. 

But for your sake, she endured. Swallowing her feelings down, feigning ignorance at the lump that choked her each time you would call out to your father. 

Finally, one day she could no longer pretend. She fled, leaving behind a three sentence letter for your father to read. 

The general was devastated. Yet another one of his beloved left him. He judged every one of his past acts, trying—clawing at his memories to find one moment where he stepped over the line. Yet no matter how far he looked, he could only drown in self loathing. 

That was when you came into the room. 

The blessing that your mother was grateful for, was a curse to your grieving father. 

You looked like her. Down to the shine in your eyes as you called out to him, a plushie resembling Mimi held tight against your chest. You were oblivious to the storm raging inside of the man. He turned his gaze away from yours and in a low voice, asked you to return to bed. He wasn’t ready to confront you. 

And it will be his cowardly self that will quake the bond you shared. 

He drowned himself in work, a feat that raised suspicion on his well being. Jing yuan was aware you didn’t deserve such treatment, but he couldn’t do anything else but ignore you. whenever you asked about your mother’s whereabouts, he would bite his tongue. 

The news of her leaving was given to you by the mouth of another. The comfort you sought was given by the arms of another. The father you begged to return was hidden away by the heartbroken general. 

But you grew. 

You grew to look more and more like your mother. And the more her features settled in, the further a distance was built between you and Jing yuan. 

You commend him for trying to repair what he once broke, but no one could extinguish the fire that burned with hatred. Even more so after Jing yuan picked up the stray Yanqing. Providing him with the fatherly love you were deprived of. Giving him his attention when he never gazed at you. 

Seeing him care for him as a son. 

When you were his blood.

Unfortunately, you could not bring yourself to hate the young boy. Say what you will, but he wasn’t at fault for an adult’s mistake. The two of you grew close, and he noticed the awkward tension between you and the general. 

He tried to bring back what was burned to ashes. 

That was when the video diary started. 

Yanqing was persistent. Somehow he managed to convince you to empty all your frustration and anger on a video. Ranting and cussing the general out. You were reluctant at first. How can this help? 

You doubt talking to a camera lens would do you any good, but you humoured the young boy. 

The first entry was awkward. It was obvious you had never done this before. By the third, you became more relaxed. You talked of your day, how horribly awkward a cloud knight gave you a birthday present on behalf of your father. 

(You sat at your desk, the camera aimed at you while you went off ;″ scoff, get this. My birthday was today, and I expected it to go well! Go out with friends, eat and celebrate, right?″, you asked the lens, ″ Well the general had other plans, because tell me why a knight came out of nowhere and delivered my supposed gift? At this point I saw him more times than I did with my actual father. He might as well adopt me.″ You crossed your arms, gaze lost somewhere.

 You mulled over your thoughts, a familiar lump forming in your throat. ″ What is it that made him so keen on ignoring me? What because my mother left him? I’m still here.″ Your voice cracked. You tried reining your emotions back in. But the stinging in your eyes was hard to ignore. ″ Whatever.″ and the recording ended. )

The method was healing in some way. All the anger that ate at your mind, all the emotions you didn’t know where to put finally had a place.

It was rejuvenating. 

Maybe it was the calm of your mind that pushed you to do one last video. One last moment in your room before you went looking for your mother. 

And when the scene was cut, you took one last look. 

Whether you will miss it or not, that all depends on the future. But for now, you wanted to leave it behind. It was time for you to close this book and start a new one. 

Five times. 

( That was the number of times someone he held dearly walked out of his life. Five times he was at his lowest but forced himself to act as though all was fine. And as the stillness of his home met him, Jing yuan knew it ringed the sixth. 

His steps heavy, his heart beating harshly against his ribcage. Tearing open a new wound, one he swore would push him to become mara struck. With trembling hands, he pushed the door to your room open.

Jing yuan was met with the consequences of his actions. )

You reunited with your mother on Penacony. She was the most radiant woman you saw. Her brightness seemed to have been fueled even more after she left. On her arm was a man, dressed formally with a small child in his arms. You guessed she remade her life after she left. 

You didn’t want to interrupt the moment, so you lingered nearby. It would be considered lying if you denied the hurt you felt at the sight of the happy family. But you weren’t here to ask her to form a family again, just fix the link you once shared. 

And so you waited. And waited. And before long, it had been three years since you landed in Penacony. Yet, not once have you initiated any contact with your mother. What was it? Fear of rejection? Or was the bittersweet moment between her family a reminder of what could have been? What should have been? 

During your stay, you began to wonder who was truly at fault. Was it you? Or perhaps Jing yuan? Or was your mother the one in the wrong all this time?

With a heavy heart, you approached her. Concealing your true identity, you became her friend. You asked her about life, about love, about failed projects. And it was one night, when you both were drinking (she convinced you to drink non-alcohol despite you being hundreds of years old.) Her drunk self quickly admitted to her wrongs, to her feelings. 

(″ I had a child and a husband. Before the current ones. ″ your mother spoke in a melancholic tone. ″ They should be around your age by now. I,..I wasn’t the best mother to them. I was selfish and only thought of myself. I left them behind. Was there for their first day at school, wasn’t there for their first heartbreak. I wasn’t there. And I,″ her lips began to tremble as did your hands. ″I regret breaking the heart of a wonderful man.″ she sobs, the grasp she had on the glass tightening,

″ He was so so wonderful, but I was young and scared of commitment. I broke his heart and just left. I wouldn’t be surprised if he hated me. Gosh,″ she tried to wipe the onslaught of tears but to no avail. The dam was broken. ″It must have been hard, having to juggle between being a parent, a broken man and a general. If only I hadn’t been so dumb.″ You don't remember how you got home that night. Only the still tears and the stains on your pillows being the reminder of reality.)

While sulking in your own sorrows, you met the Astral Express. They were a much needed breath of fresh air. Their comedic and energized selves was something you missed having in your life (you wonder how Yanqing is doing?). 

You proudly deemed them the happiest moments of your life. 

(The room was pristine. The same state it was after you left. Jing yuan made sure to clean it each time. He hoped that once you returned, you would smile up at him for his help in taking care of it. Just as you did when you were a young little child. 

The general was at the desk, much smaller than his build. His eyes focused on the video playing. He listened to your voice. He listened to your complaints. As the next video rolled by, he could only wonder. 

What overcame him that pushed him to become such a failure? If his mentor saw him now, she would have knocked some sense into him, or beat him up until not even Lan could help. 

Jing yuan misses you.)

Once you met back with Welt and Himeko, the one who you least expected to see again was there, his back given to you. You had half a mind to run away and hide somewhere else, but the tight grip March had on you locked you in place. (You ignored how your heart tugged at the haggard sight of him. He who loved sleeping in the sun like a big cat, looked as though he hadn’t slept in years.). 

Your reunion was awkward. 

″ Well, would you look at that? Here comes the big heroes—″. 

Silence. 

And then, a call of your name. 

You couldn’t take it any more. You made out some sort of excuse and ran. Just like you did all those years. It was the one thing you pride yourself in. The calls to your name fell deaf on your ears. All your mind could conjure was to get away. 

Why was he here? Was he looking for you? No, he wouldn’t waste time with a senseless matter such as your whereabouts. But,..what if he was looking for you?

Your running skid to a stop. And what if he was? What should you feel about it? Happiness, anger or nothing? When did it become so complicated to know how to feel? 

He was a father who neglected you. But he was also a father who cared somehow. You weren’t a fool, you saw how hesitant he was to talk to you, the attempts at reconciliation. To mend your relationship. But he was a coward, he never dared to take the leap. 

He was still wrong for the neglect. 

But do you have the heart to forgive him? Do you have the want for a new bond? To mend the broken and shape it into a new future?  

You don’t know. 

But it seemed as though Jing yuan took the leap this time. The heavy steps of his were easily recognisable. ″ I,..May we have a moment? ″ Should you?

The look of hurt, familiarity and guilt swirled in his amber eyes. Maybe you should. 

″ I know a place where we could talk. ″

The walk was agonizingly awkward. You had to steel yourself so as to not run away. Time had created an obvious gap between you both. Not knowing how to act, not knowing what the other liked. Not knowing about the other. You might as well be strangers. 

The sight of the bar owned by Siobhan washed away the tension on your shoulders. 

″ We arrived. ″ turning around to meet his gaze, you found it was already on you. Coughing, you walked ahead. Trying to ignore the soft expression he wore. Trying to ignore how guilt swirled in his eyes, trying to ignore how he looked at you as a father would. 

″ There will be much to talk about, but let me start. Please? ″ you flinched.

You didn’t expect him to talk first, busy preparing yourself for another hour of silence and uncomfortable small talk. ″ let’s sit down first. ″ 

He followed behind you like a lost puppy. Ordered a non-alcoholic drink for you despite your protest. And then you sat down,

″ I’m sorry. ″ Jing yuan spoke. ″ I have been nothing but a terrible father to you. I was a coward, fleeing from you, fleeing from my mistakes. I convinced myself it was for your sake. I deluded myself until I forgot who I was to you. Forgot my role as your father, gave you cold when you needed warmth. ″ he inhaled, attempting to calm his beating heart. And there he was acting all nervous, he cursed himself out. Where did all that big speech training in front of a mirror go? 

Jing yuan could only lay his heart bare. And pray for you to accept him. To forgive your disappointment of a father. 

If anyone saw The general of the Luofu trembling in fear right now, they would call him an imposter. For such a strong pillar of the Xianzhou to shake like a wet dog due to his fear of rejection, how sour. 

″ When you…″ you gulped, licking your lips and taking in a breath. It will be fine, all will be fine. 

″ When you left me to deal with the pain that mother’s leaving gave me, I was furious at you. How could you? I,..I wasn’t even in school yet—But I had to learn to deal with it. I had to seek comfort from a measly blanket. ″ clenching your fist, you tried calming yourself. 

″ I was furious. I was ready to never forgive you, to leave you to rot in that same place you left me! ″ slamming your fist down on the table, you ignored the looks you received. Your eyes staring straight at the calm man. 

How can he be so calm?, you choked on a sob. 

″ But no matter how hard I tried to detest you, to loathe you. I could never bring myself to do it. ″ With your voice breaking, you let it all go. You let it all fall. The walls you had built crumbled leaving behind only dust and debris. 

″ Then I left, hoping to find my mother. And I did, ″ Jing yuan’s eyes widened. ″ But she had built herself back up, found herself a nice home. ″ And just as your heart broke, so did the general’s. 

″ I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know who to blame, was I in the wrong? Who was wrong in this entire farce? ″ you rested your forehead on the table, voice barely above a whisper. You wondered if he could hear you.  

″ I was tired. I just wanted to go back to simpler times. ″ your body shook as tears fell. You wanted to wail like a child, you wanted to cry as loud as your vocal chords could allow you. To be in the embrace of your parents once more. 

You were just a child. 

And Jing yuan could see that. His wrongs could never be forgiven, 

Jing yuan stood from his chair, kneeled before yours, and hugged you. He gave you the shoulder you needed to cry on, he let you wail, he let you take your anger out on him. To share your burdens and sorrows with him. He knew how heavy they are, he could help you. 

″ I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Please forgive me, my dear sweet child. ″ 

But perhaps, Jing yuan can atone for his sins. Starting with giving you the comfort you sought.

AEONSTALE .ᐟ ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. DO NOT COPY OR EDIT MY WORK. 2025.

[kolsmikaelson]

— WIN OR LOSE

— a/n - this is the filthiest thing i’ve ever written hope that y’all enjoy <3. please comment and reblog if you did enjoy !!

— warning (s) - 18+ mdni, pwp, switch!reader & switch!art, nipple play, fingering, squirting, pussy eating, unprotected piv sex (wrap it before you tap it), subby art in the beginning, not proofread.

— word count - 1k+

join my taglist or follow @rodrickhefley to see when i post!

“Looking so pretty for me baby,” you murmur, Art’s teary eyes looking back at you from his place in between your thighs. Your cunt clenches around nothing, the mixture of hearing the sounds coming from him and the sight of him desperately grinding himself against the mattress nearly pushing you over the edge. “My good boy, aren’t you baby? Doing so well for me.”

The blond moans in pleasure, the atmosphere in the room overwhelming him. Art hurriedly slides two long, slender fingers inside of your wet heat, almost immediately hitting that spot inside of you that makes you see stars. “Love the way you taste,” he whined, pressing his lips to your clit, his tongue slipping between them and gliding over your nub before sucking it into his mouth yet again.

“Yeah,” you quip, tugging at his curls and gently pulling his face from your cunt “Then I’d suggest you get back to it if you want to cum, baby.” Deep groans leave his mouth sending vibrations through you, making your toes curl in pleasure. Your thighs tighten around his head and he wallows in the warmth of you, licking from your opening to your clit and back again. It’s like he can’t get enough of you. He isn’t sure he ever will. Art couldn’t think of a better way to spend his time, between your legs, each thigh on either side of his head with your pussy in his face, he could die a happy man.

Your mouth falls open into a silent scream as you squirt, your cum leaving a sleek shine across the lower half of Arts face. He peers up at you again, mouth still attached to your pussy, not wanting to let a single drop of you go to waste and you can see the cocky look in his eyes. He always got that way after making you squirt.

“C’mere baby.” you sighed hazily, relishing in the afterglow of your orgasm.

Art kisses his way up your body, leaving a final kiss on your clit before making his way up. He presses feverish kisses to your hip bones, leaving a trail of them up your stomach only to stop at your chest. He sucks one of your nipples into his mouth, bringing his hand to your other breast, twisting and pinching at the neglected nub.

He lets go of your nipple with a pop, “Want to fuck you now. Please, let me.” he cried out, wanting more.

You don’t answer him, instead reaching down to grab his cock and line it up with your entrance. Art slides into you easily with how dripping wet you were. He kisses the back of his teeth, sucking in a deep breath at the feel of your tight walls clamping down on him. Giving you a moment to adjust to his size, he kisses your lips gently.

“Y’look so pretty when I’m fucking you like this,” his muscles tense as his thrusts quicken. Your walls clench around him at the praise. This exact scenario has played out between you two countless times and each time is just like the first. Hot, messy, gentle, loving. It was the perfect balance.

The blonds hips continue snapping against yours, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room, each thrust feeling deeper than the one before. Neither of you could get enough. The headboard was slamming against the wall with how hard Art was fucking into you. It was a wonder to both you and him how there wasn’t a single mark on the wall.

Arts head falls into your neck making needy groans muffled against your skin, grasping his hair you lift his head up again and begin kissing him. It’s a mess of spit, arousal and your teeth are clashing against one another’s.

“‘M so proud of you, y’know that? Win or lose I don’t care.” You whisper once he pulls away. Your words cause the tears to spill over yet again, knowing he needed to hear it you didn’t mind cupping his cheek letting him nuzzle his head against your palm. Turning his head he places a soft kiss to your hand, the simple sign of affection tells you so much. He’s not only thanking you, but showing how much your words meant to him. He’s conveying how much he loves you.

His hips slowed, stuttering, showing how close he is. Reaching down with your free hand you cup his balls, playing with him the way you know he loves. Within moments he’s thrusting all the way into you, spurting hot ropes of cum into you, coating your walls with his warmth. His orgasm and the feel of his fingers feverishly rubbing figure eights into your clit set you off again.

Pulling out of you gently, Art falls to your side panting for a moment before pushing himself off of the bed and leaving the room for a few moments. Once he returns you see the wet washcloth he’s holding in one hand and a glass of water with a straw sticking out of it in his other hand. Walking up to you he sits on the bed beside you, putting the straw to your mouth, “You okay to hold this?” Art gestures to the cup, smiling softly when you nod, taking the cup from his hands.

Sliding down the bed he takes your thigh in his large hand spreading your legs bringing the wet cloth to your core. “Sorry, angel.” he grunted quietly when you wince at the attention to your overstimulated clit. Once he’s done cleaning you up, he wipes himself down quickly, tossing the cloth onto the floor.

Taking the glass from your hands he sets it onto your shared nightstand. Art quickly lies beside you, wrapping his arms around you while you’re curling into his side.

“So good for me,” you smirk lazily looking up at him, pressing a kiss to his pec. Rolling his eyes, Art leans down giving you another kiss smiling into it.

“You know it, baby.” He grins.

dividers by : @.cafekitsune

[microsofttothemax]

the resentment leo would have with splinter post-krang. i genuinely think they would take a bit for them to recover and be comfortable around each other

why do i think that? here’s some reasons. this is gonna be a HELLA long analysis so be prepared. sit down, grab some popcorn, and let’s dive in

in the movie, after raph was taken, leo goes on a whole rant about how he got the key, he gets the answers, and he will get raph back. yes this is irrational and brash, but not in leo’s eyes. in his eyes, this is a foolproof plan that will work

splinter attempts to intervene, and tell him like it is. “it’s not your plan, you need to work with your team.” however, it comes out as a sharp sting to leo’s previous attitude

“My son, listen to your team. This is not about you.”

it’s meant to be sensible and wise, but to leo, it’s a jab at him. it’s a stab at his cockiness and self-centered attitude, and it reminds leo of why they’re even in this position in the first place. which he hates

most of all, it’s splinter saying it. it’s his father telling him that it’s not about him. because to leo, he’s always been last place to splinter’s affection, and it’s like splinter’s confirming it here

don’t believe me? here:

splinter talks to leo, and it seems that for a minute, he listens to his father’s words. that maybe he should really stop and listen. maybe he should stop and think of a plan, listen to his brothers’ input.

but the second splinter says it’s not about him? leo shuts down. he pulls away from splinter, and refuses to listen to him. and while splinter may be right, it was something leo never wanted to hear

it’s obvious that he has a somewhat testy relationship with his father, and splinter is trying to make up for it by giving leadership advice. but to leo? this is the guy who made him leader to seemingly mess with him, never bothered to give him attention or praise on his accomplishments, and never truly knew leo beyond his “acting as the best to save face” charade

which brings me to another reason. no, i do not think splinter was ever abusive or purposely neglectful to leo, or any of the boys for that matter. but its clear theres a bit of a rift between him and leo. i think that he kind of resents leo a bit (without meaning to) because he sees himself in him. he sees the irrational movie star who never thought ahead, and made too many mistakes to count

an example would be when leo got punched by lou jitsu two times. none of his brothers got punched, why just him? and sure it could be a running gag, but i find it also to be intentional

maybe deep down, splinter still resents leo for being so much like his irrational, unreasonable younger self. that every time he sees leo, he sees his stupid past self, and without meaning to, he at times hates leo because of it. and if he doesn’t hate him, he seems to resent him to some extent

splinter also has plainly stated that donnie was the funniest one to him, (s1ep 1, mystic mayhem) and outright laughed when leo asked if he was the favorite son (rottmnt wake-up alarms on youtube, timestamp 1:59) leo also staight-up said that he was splinter’s least favorite (s1ep 4b, down with the sickness)

so yeah, i can see the resentment leo may have for his father deep down. it could be pretty apparent post-krang, hidden behind his jokes and teases

now don’t get me wrong, they have their moments of bonding, and i do love to read little drabbles and fics where they hug and heal. however… realistically speaking, it would take a while for them to get to that stage of father-son bonding post-krang. with splinter naming him leader out of the blue, to the missing lou jitsu posters on the walls of leo’s room in the movie — and we’re definitely talking about that in a later post, trust — i would bet their relationship as father-son pre and post-movie would be extremely rocky.

another reasoning for this could be that splinter often underestimates and undermines leo’s abilities and accomplishments. far as i’ve seen, the most reaction splinter’s given to leo’s accomplishments is an eyebrow raise

for example, when outsmarting big mama, leo was genuinely proud of spending time w his dad and showing him his abilities. he genuinely thought they were working together. however, splinter didn’t say he was proud or anything, just complained he wished he’d brought donnie (s2ep 2, many unhappy returns)

“I knew I should have brought Purple.”

ouch. that mustve hurt a bit

and yes, i will admit, leo was being a bit of a little shit in this scene, and yes, he could’ve told splinter of the plan before starting to yap and blab to big mama about the plan he cooked up. however, the response splinter gives is not much better. essentially, he’s saying, “i don’t like this kid or his plan, so therefore i think i should’ve brought one of my favored children to solve the problem better.”

and before you go and tell me donnie could’ve outsmarted big mama the way leo did, think for a moment. leo fully admitted to manipulating and lying in an episode before

“I don’t lie, I just… change the truth.”

whereas donnie cannot tell a lie to save his life. i love him, but the guy is a shit liar. he has failed multiple times at it

“We are just typical normal humans.. who got lost in the middle of our normal… everyday human lives— nailed it.”

“Uh… nothing. Just having a typical, normal, mystic-free day.” “What? I said mystic-free.”

“Why aren’t you guys more upset?”

“Oh. This… hurts me. Uh… I’m very sad…?”

raph & mikey aren’t much better. mikey straight-up started sweating when he had to lie to splinter about piebald, and raph has so many different stinks/scents to him that it’d be easy for others to tell he was lying

also, mikey has doctor delicate touch. who does not know what lying or “don’t be blunt” means

and donnie’s really only being extremely straightforward with what he thinks or about what’s going on around him. so it makes no sense as to why splinter would want to bring donnie along to outsmart big mama, unless he genuinely doesn’t enjoy leo’s presence, which seems to be the case

now all of this is evidence to point towards a very unsteady father-son relationship with these two. yes, splinter seems to be a very lenient father, and i genuinely think he wants to be a good dad. however, oftentimes that leads to miscommunication and misread moments, empty promises, and overall neglecting behavior on his part, all without meaning to

so while he does try harder to be there for his sons later in the show, it’s pretty obvious that one brother — who thrived off any attention possible — probably stopped caring about that validation after all that he went through. splinter gives, but leo doesn’t take. he doesn’t bother to, because he thinks it’s either a prank of some kind, or because he just genuinely doesn’t care for his father’s input anymore.

(this was based on that one post about splinter & leo by @midwesternvibes, i just figure i revisit that bc i’m thinkin about it again)

[sitepathos]

I've been thinking about a what if for gold and mold

It's pretty simple

Let's say one of the Batfam was chasing killer croc and they come across reader and they managed to save his life

So reader begins to get clingy with them, but not in a sweet "were family again" no, reader is very traumatized and uses them to remind himself he is still alive.

So he's not hugging them, he's clasping their forearm with enough strength to leave a mark, because he wants to make sure he can still move his hands.

And he talks to them, but not about their day or something like that

Reader is asking then simple trivia/math equation, to make sure that he can still have a conversation,

So while the rest of the family is jealous of the time they spend with reader, the member in either is horrified or tries to take advantage of the situation (depending on which member the scenario is for, I decided to keep it in n general)

What do you think? Is it interesting?

A very interesting idea! Hope you don’t mind if I add onto it a little! In this scenario, you were still shot, but were rendered in a brain damaged state and the Batfamily picks up the pieces. And because you weren’t thrown into the cavern by the thugs, you don’t meet the Megamycete. (Note: this will provide insight into the Bats for future chapters. Read at your own risk.)

The Bats had been looking for the Joker, but instead found Killer Croc and gave chase, following him to Gotham Woods.

He forced his way into an old cabin and as they approached it, heard a gunshot, forcing them to surround it and enter from all directions.

They didn’t know what they expecting, but seeing you, lying on the floor with blood pooling around you and surrounded by three thugs and Killer Croc.

The sight of you, his baby boy, spread out on the dirty floor of this disgusting cabin, dying, fills him with a rage, one that burns brighter than his rage for Joe Chill.

In a flash, he takes all three thugs down, leaving Croc for the rest of his children while he carries you out of the cabin and rushes you to the Batcave, already telling Leslie Tompkins to be there with her med kit.

When the others return to the Cave, they see him looking over the doctor’ shoulder as works diligently to bring you back from the brink of death.

As she works, Bruce calls Alfred and inform of what happened, causing the butler to tear into him from the other side of the world.

When Alfred yells at him for not being a good father and ignoring you for years, guilt lands on all of them like a sumo wrestler.

When they look at one another, asking when was the last time any of them talked to you, they realize that they knew less than nothing about a brother that’s been living with them for years.

They sit around the cave in silence for hours, drowning in their collective guilt and promising that if you make it through this, things would be different

They’d give all the love and attention you could handle and more, including you in their post-patrol meals, taking you out on the town, and spoiling you rotten.

They’re only brought out of this state when the doctor exits the surgical suite and tells them that she managed to stabilize you and extract the bullet from your brain, which made the relax.

But when she said that you were brain damaged, stuck inside your mind, only able to speak phrases from your memories, they all felt the world around them collapse.

They made plans to make up for their years of neglect and beg for your forgiveness, and now, they can never atone for their sins.

Dr. Tompkins provides a few places they can admit you to, ensuring you’d be given the utmost care, but Bruce declines it immediately.

“He’s a part of our family and we’ll care for him,” he vows.

He has you moved to a bedroom on their side of the manor, an empty one next to his, to be precise, moving all your belongings and buying anything he thinks you’d like in hopes that some part of you would feel at home.

They all move back to the manor to care for you and abide by a schedule that took them hours to decide on.

Alfred is the first one to enter your room everyday, placing your breakfast in your feeding tube and helping you use the bathroom and change your clothes.

He insists on doing this, no matter how much the others beg to take his place, because he feels ashamed that he failed in his responsibility to you.

He knew that the family didn’t pay you the attention you deserved and thanks to his lapse in judgement, you’re reduced to a shell of your former self.

He’s resigned to doing this for the rest of his life, hoping to make amends.

Bruce always comes just after he finishes, sitting next to your bed, talking to you about anything he can think of, hoping that somehow, it would get you out of this state.

It doesn’t, of course, but he always listens when you mutter about whatever your mind allows you to say.

He notices that you tend to talk to him about your Momma more than the others and he feels like even more of a failure.

Truth be told, he didn’t remember your Momma, at least not until he looked her up.

She was an up and coming writer he had met at some fancy party, they both had a little too much to drink and that’s how you came to be.

When he looks back at how he treated you when you first came to live with him, he wants to go back in time and beat the living shit out of himself.

You lost your Momma, were forced to leave your home, and all you wanted was your father to make you feel like you weren’t alone.

He wasn’t man enough to do the bare minimum.

He lets his tears fall while he wipes yours as you say, “Momma’s in heaven?”

“Yeah she is, baby,” he whispers. “But don’t worry, Daddy’s here.”

Dick pulls out all he stops for his big brother act.

He comes in, taking over for Bruce or standing in when he has to leave.

“Hey, baby bird,” he exclaims every time he enters. “How’s my favorite little brother doing today?”

He always uses his time stretching your limbs to prevent atrophy and shows off his acrobatic skills, hoping it would impress you.

By the time he’s done, Alfred delivers your lunch, which he places in your feeding tube.

He wishes you were able to chew solid food because he totally would spoon feed you.

Jason comes in and out of all of them, he feels the most guilt about how he treated you.

He’s harped on Bruce for forgetting all about him for years, not knowing that he’s done the same to you.

And the memory of him giving you that black eye makes him want to tear himself apart as penance.

“You really drew the short straw when they were giving out families, huh, kid,” he jokes.

He spends most of his time reading his favorite books to you and telling you trivia about them and their authors.

He spends the remaining time crying, his head pressed against your body, begging for your forgiveness.

He totally kills those three thugs when Bruce isn’t look, hoping that act of revenge makes up for his behavior is some way.

Tim comes in after him, pretending not to notice the tear stains on Jason’s face or how red his eyes look.

He goes back to how you two first met, thinking about how he could’ve done things differently. How he should’ve said something.

He knows what it’s like to be ignored by your family, god knows he wasn’t his parents’ favorite child and they only had him.

He uses his time to play your video games, either on the giant tv in front of your bed or siting next to you on the bed, the brand new laptop he bought for you between the two of you.

He 100% your games, getting every achievement possible and even buys new games he thinks you’d enjoy.

He listens to everything you say, committing it to memory and answering back no matter what it is.

“Fear the Old Blood.”

“Bloodborne,” he answers. “That’s a tough one. But you seem like a guy that appreciates a challenge.”

When he discovers the beginnings of your game and the book you wrote all your ideas for it, he devotes all his free time to bringing it to reality, personally developing it and following your book to the letter and when it’s released, everyone knows it was made in your honor.

Steph comes in with Cass since neither of them have the courage to come in alone, ashamed of how they treated you.

Steph spends the entire time talking, filling the room with talk to drown out the awkward silence.

She goes on about anything and everything, from her visit to the coffee shop to her nightly escapades.

“I swear, Kite Man is obsessed with me! I think he wants to be my nemesis and I keep telling him it’s not gonna happen!”

Cass just sits there, not even able to look at you due to the weight of her guilt.

Bruce had taught her how to live in a family and she couldn’t show you the love she shows the others.

Damian is after them, followed closely by Titus and Alfred the Cat.

“Good evening, brother,” he says, hoping for a response, but knowing you’ll never be able to answer back again.

During his time with the League of Assassins, he was taught that one can never redeem themselves after failure and so it must be avoided at all costs.

He thought himself above the rest of his siblings, worth of being the heir to both the Demon and Bat. That he was the very definition of perfect

Seeing your frail body, lying there, doomed to live out the rest of your days stuck inside your own mind?

He knows he’s imperfect in every possible way.

When you first met, he was threatened by you as he was led to believe he was Father’s only blood son, the one who would inherit everything both Bruce Wayne and the Batman possessed.

He knew you weren’t a threat, his trained eye telling him you couldn’t defend yourself against Drake, let alone a real threat, but he just had to go and attack you what his sword to assert his dominance and place in the family’s hierarchy.

He could’ve just ignored you like the others, but no, he had to go and actively make your life more difficult, insulting you at every chance and sending his animals to attack you.

And when Pennyworth told him the pen he stole from you was your late Mother’s?

For the first time in years, he actually sheds a tear.

He spends his time either in your room, his loyal pets on either side of you while he draws you in his sketchbook or paints a complete portrait of you to be mounted in the living room.

Sometimes, he paints scenes of you two together, some of them have you standing next to each other while others have you playing some game.

He wishes you two could do this, but for now, these portraits will do.

Other times, he places you in a wheelchair and pushes you through the gardens (he fought tooth and nail for that privilege), telling you tidbits about the birds you see or the flowers you pass by.

Everyday, he wishes that you’d come out of this vegetative state so you two could walk together, but until that day comes, he’ll take up this responsibility without complaint.

By the time his time’s done, Alfred serves you your dinner and that’s when they leave to patrol Gotham, each of them hugging and kissing you.

And when they get back, Bruce carries you down to the dining room so you can be a part of their feast and watch movies with them.

They failed you before, but they won’t do it again. All of them will repeat this, day after day. Year after year.

They just wish you could talk back so they can make their apologies properly.

[itsabouttimex2]

Y/N’s not the Beloved?

(At least, not at first)

Thinking so hard about Y/N just… not being the “beloved” in the yandere dynamics, and instead being the “neglected” party.

Just, like-

It’s not that Sun Wukong and Macaque don’t love you for being their precious adopted kiddo, but… you’re “just” a person, and you don’t have a tail or fur to groom like them. You can’t climb as well as they can, and you don’t have fangs. And you just aren’t strong enough to keep up.

So there’s this inherent disparity, and you feel sometimes more like a guest than a member of the family.

But then MK’s rock comes along! And then it hatches and there’s a new little monkey in the family for them dote on! They have a new baby, one that’s just like them!

In a way that you just… aren’t.

You just can’t compare. Sure, they still love you- you’re never hungry or cold, your clothes are plentiful, and they still support your interests, but…

They just don’t love you like they love him.

Because MK gets the nicest things, in all the ways you didn’t. He gets brand new clothes just right for a growing boy with a true form that fractures in and out of existence. But many of your “new” clothes have to be hastily sewn up because they’re hand-me-downs from Papa, and they had ear and tail slits- they were made for Mystic Monkeys, after all!

(And you aren’t one of them, no matter how hard you try to be.)

And MK gets his favorite foods and snacks whenever he asks, no matter how far Baba has to travel or how many stores his clones have to trawl to find those illusive treats. And when he digs in, you think of the times Papa taught you to “appreciate” his hard work in the kitchen by making you eat every bite of a meal he made, even if you gagged and coughed through it… but MK gets full impunity to have sides replaced whenever he decides a food is “yucky” without even trying it.

You got gifts for being well-behaved or accomplishing goals, but MK gets them for simply asking. You got money by doing extra chores or babysitting the mountain monkeys. MK is given it because your dads are in a good mood.

Not to mention how many of your hobbies and free days are undermined because you “need” to babysit the favorite child.

So on, and so forth.

And then one day it all grinds to a peak and you can’t take the favoritism anymore, so you eventually have the quietest messy breakdown known to man in the ungodly hours of the morning. When you finally manage to pull yourself together, the decision is promptly made- with a tightly-packed bag in tow, you sneak out through a window, clamber down the house walls, and disappear beyond the horizon.

And Macaque and Wukong are devastated, obviously. Sure, you aren’t the “beloved”, which is clearly MK, but you’re still their baby!

BUT! It gets even worse, because for all the worry in their hearts, MK is even worse!

He throws tantrums and rejects food and has uncontrollable fits where he bites bloody marks into his arms through hysteric tears. And even when the kiddo isn’t screaming his bloodied little mouth off, it’s only to scream for you to come back.

So, while they would’ve always made an honest effort to bring you back home (this is your home, even if it doesn’t always feel like it), having their “beloved” child start to genuinely harm himself over your absence only ramps up the efforts to get their first kid back.

“Open the door,” comes your papa’s tempered voice, barely second after you’ve registered the knock. “C’mon, kiddo. We need to talk.”

His foot meets the wooden door, tapping and testing the strength- not that there was really any question he could clear the flimsy barrier.

Tap. Tap.

At the pause, you drop everything and scramble into the closet, right as Macaque kicks through the door with a huff. The leather of his boot catches the light with a dark gleam, but he retracts it and readies for another blow.

“You in, Mac?”

“Not yet- I missed.”

His next strike lands true, shredding the cheap doorknob out of place so forcefully that it tears through the glass window behind it and disappears into the bushes behind the hotel, entirely flattened into a copper disk.

“Not bad,” cheers Wukong, peering into the wrecked room. “Not bad at all, bud!”

With a hand clasped over your mouth to muffle the sound of shallow breathing, you hunker down and wait- with a bitter thought at how casual they are about all this.

Didn’t they realize how badly hurt you were by the unabashed favoritism, the constant coming in second, the unending isolation?

How could they treat this like a casual outing?

“Alright, bud- pack your bags and put on something warm! We’re heading home!

Just barely you manage to bite back a cry of frustration over this miserable circumstance, expected to return to a home that had essentially shunted you aside.

“C’mon, brat. Did you really think we’d let you spend any more time in this hellhole? The mountain is a lot safer, anyways.”

You don’t even realize that Macaque is reaching into the closet until he has your upper arm in his hold, pulling until you’ve cleared the wooden threshold molding between your sanctuary and the living space.

Barely even on your feet, Wukong is upon you with a scarf, wrapping it tight and finishing with a neat bow.

“You know, MK really missed you,” he sighs, thinking of tantrums that spanned hours and the smell of mold in the kitchen when food the child flung had spilled under the counter and gone unnoticed for far too long.

Why should you care that their baby was suffering?

But whether you care or not (and they’re certainly not waiting for your opinion), they’re going to take you “home”.

With Wukong’s hand to wrap around your shoulders and Macaque’s to grip your wrist, they slowly march the way back to the precious little Mystic Monkey that you’ve come to hate.

And though your heart turns over at the sight of MK wailing on the floor, there’s this strange discomfort that arises when they call it that:

“Y/N is back!”

and it prompts an immediate end of his formerly hysterical waterworks?

Because he runs to you and throws both of his chubby little arms around your legs, demanding that you “never ever leave again!” and both of your dads are right behind him, because their son gets whatever he wants, when he wants it-

And what MK wants is you.

[zhelin-thames]

Death’s Gentle Touch

@demonic0angel thank you for letting me write this.

Ps. This is not a dead silent ship but a dead on main ship. I am way too much of a dead tired, dead on main and dead serious fan🫣, so..... Srry😇

Danny hadn’t planned on staying in Gotham for long. The city was overwhelming, a swirling mess of emotions, crime, and shadows that never seemed to sleep. But something about it called to him—a faint pull in the back of his mind, like the restless murmur of ghosts who hadn’t yet crossed his path.

And then he started noticing them.

The kids.

Each one had a presence that whispered of death’s touch. Not full-on ghostly, but close. Too close. It tugged at Danny’s core, a strange mix of familiarity and concern. The first was a quiet boy, barely seven, with hollow eyes and a haunted expression. Danny found him huddled in the shadows of Crime Alley, shivering and alone.

It wasn’t even a conscious decision. He couldn’t leave the kid there.

And so, the warehouse became home.

The old building wasn’t much to look at from the outside, but Danny had poured what little ecto-energy he could spare into reinforcing it, patching up leaks, and making it livable. Inside, it was surprisingly cozy. Rugs covered the cold floor, mismatched furniture filled the space, and shelves lined with books and trinkets added a sense of warmth.

Within weeks, Danny’s little family had grown.

Five kids now called the warehouse home, each one with a story that left Danny seething with quiet rage. Abusive parents, neglectful guardians, and the harsh streets of Gotham had taken their toll on each of them. Danny couldn’t fix the past, but he could offer them something better: safety, warmth, and the promise that they’d never be alone again.

One of the kids, Sam, was from one of Gotham’s elite families. He’d run away after his parents’ cruelty pushed him too far. When Danny had found him, Sam had been too weak to argue.

It was Cassandra Cain who stumbled upon them.

She’d been tracking a lead on a missing child—the wealthy parents had finally reported Sam missing after weeks, though their concern had seemed more for appearances than genuine worry. Her trail led her to the refurbished warehouse.

Cass slipped inside silently, her every movement a shadow. What she saw stopped her in her tracks.

Danny was sitting cross-legged on the floor, a tattered storybook in his hands. The five kids were gathered around him, leaning against him or huddled close, their faces rapt with attention. Danny’s voice was soft, animated, bringing the story to life.

“...and the brave knight faced the dragon, not with a sword, but with kindness.” Danny smiled, looking down at the youngest child, a girl clutching his arm. “Because sometimes, the bravest thing you can do is try to understand someone else.”

Cass didn’t move for a moment.

The scene was so achingly peaceful, so pure, that it seemed impossible in a city like Gotham. She could feel the protective energy radiating from Danny, the way the kids seemed to trust him implicitly. It wasn’t just a man taking care of children. He was their anchor, their safe harbor.

Still, she stepped forward.

Danny looked up, his glowing green eyes meeting hers. For a second, Cass tensed, ready for a fight. But Danny’s expression softened, and he raised a hand in a calming gesture.

“Hey,” he said quietly. “You must be one of the Bats.”

Cass tilted her head, curious but cautious. “Who... are you?”

“I’m Danny,” he replied simply, closing the book. “And these are my kids.”

Her gaze flickered to the children. Sam had tensed at her presence, but Danny placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“They’re safe here,” Danny continued, his voice calm but firm. “I promise. I know you’re probably here for him.” He nodded toward Sam. “But he ran for a reason. And I’m not about to let anyone hurt him again.”

Cass reported back to Bruce and the others. The revelation sparked an intense debate in the Batcave.

“He’s just a kid himself!” Damian snapped, glaring at the screen showing Danny’s image. “What gives him the right to take in strays like this?”

“Pot, meet kettle,” Tim muttered, earning a scowl from Damian.

Bruce, arms crossed, studied the footage Cass had captured. Danny’s protective aura was undeniable, as was the bond he’d formed with the children. “We need to know more about him,” Bruce said. “His intentions, his background, his... abilities.”

Jason leaned against the wall, a smirk tugging at his lips. “You’re just mad someone’s beating you at the whole ‘adopting strays’ thing, B.”

Alfred cleared his throat. “Master Jason, perhaps we should focus on how best to ensure the children’s well-being.”

When the Bats finally confronted Danny in the warehouse, they were met with calm defiance. Danny stood his ground, the kids huddled behind him.

“I get it,” he said, arms crossed. “You’re the big, bad vigilantes of Gotham. But these kids? They’re not just cases or numbers. They’re people. And they deserve better than what the system gave them.”

Bruce stepped forward. “We’re not here to take them from you. But this isn’t sustainable. You’re their age. How do you plan to provide for them long-term?”

Danny hesitated, then sighed. “I’ll figure it out. I always do.”

Jason, watching the exchange, stepped closer. “What’s your deal, Danny? You’re not just some random guy.”

Danny met his gaze, his glowing eyes narrowing slightly. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

Jason smirked. “Try me.”

The Bats weren’t ones to leave mysteries unsolved, and Danny wasn’t about to spill his life story to a group of masked vigilantes without some trust first. It took weeks of cautious interactions and reluctant cooperation for things to come to light.

It was Jason who finally got Danny to open up.

One night, after dropping off a bag of supplies Bruce had insisted the kids needed, Jason stayed behind. He found Danny on the roof of the warehouse, leaning against the railing as he stared at the Gotham skyline. The night air was crisp, carrying the distant hum of the city.

“So,” Jason began, hopping onto the ledge beside him. “You’re not just some ordinary kid with a big heart. What’s your story?”

Danny let out a long sigh. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“Not a chance.”

For a moment, Danny said nothing. Then he raised his hand, letting a soft green glow surround it. “You ever hear of Amity Park?”

Jason frowned. “The town with all those ghost rumors? Thought it was a bunch of tabloid nonsense.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not,” Danny said, his voice quieter now. “I grew up there. My parents were... ghost hunters. They built a portal to another dimension—the Infinite Realms. Something went wrong, and I ended up... connected to it. Half-ghost, half-human.”

Jason blinked, his eyes narrowing as he processed the information. “Half-ghost? Like, you died?”

“Sort of.” Danny’s tone was light, but his eyes reflected the weight of the experience. “It’s complicated. I didn’t plan to stick around Gotham, but then I started noticing these kids—how close they were to death, how much they’d suffered. I couldn’t just leave them.”

Jason studied him for a moment, then nodded. “You’re a weird guy, Danny. But I get it.”

Danny smirked. “Thanks, I think.”

Each child Danny had taken in had their own struggles, their own pain that had led them to him.

Sam: The son of a wealthy Gotham family, Sam had been raised in luxury but at a terrible cost. His parents cared more about appearances than his well-being, and the pressure to be perfect had been crushing. When Danny found him, Sam had been wandering the streets, bruised and desperate for escape.

Mia: A street-smart girl with a sharp tongue, Mia had grown up in foster care, bouncing between homes that never cared for her. She’d survived on her own for months before Danny found her, stealing food to survive.

Leo: Barely six, Leo had been abandoned in Crime Alley. He didn’t speak much, but he clung to Danny like a lifeline.

Ella: A bright-eyed girl with an affinity for art, Ella had been living in a condemned building with her older brother, who’d died protecting her. Danny found her crying over his body, her face pale and haunted.

Max: A quiet, thoughtful boy who had a near-death experience after falling into Gotham River. His brush with death had left him sensitive to the supernatural, and he’d been drawn to Danny almost instinctively.

Danny had given them all a second chance, teaching them to trust again. The warehouse became their safe haven, a place where they could heal.

Despite their initial skepticism, the Bats couldn’t deny that Danny was doing good. Bruce offered resources to help with the kids, on the condition that Danny let them monitor the situation.

“I’m not looking to turn this into a charity case,” Danny had said. “I just want what’s best for them.”

“And that’s what we’re offering,” Bruce replied evenly. “Whether you like it or not, we’re invested now.”

Danny found himself working with the Bats more often, whether it was coordinating efforts to help other at-risk kids or teaming up with them during ghost-related incidents.

Cass became a frequent visitor, quietly helping with the children and bonding with Danny over their shared love of storytelling. Tim couldn’t resist asking questions about ghost tech and the Infinite Realms, while Damian begrudgingly admitted that Danny wasn’t as useless as he’d assumed.

Jason, however, became Danny’s closest ally. The two shared a mutual understanding, both having faced death and come back changed.

Years passed, and the warehouse evolved. The children grew, some eventually striking out on their own while others stayed close. Danny became a pillar of the community, the once-abandoned warehouse now a thriving community center.

Jason remained a constant presence in Danny’s life. Their friendship deepened, and somewhere along the way, it turned into something more.

The wedding was a quiet affair, held in the Infinite Realms. The guests were a mix of humans and ghosts, an unusual but fitting reflection of Danny and Jason’s lives.

Sam, Mia, Leo, Ella, and Max—now young adults—stood by Danny’s side, their smiles bright and proud. The Bats, dressed in uncharacteristically formal attire, watched with a mix of fondness and exasperation as Jason said his vows.

“I didn’t think I’d get a second chance at a family,” Jason said, his voice steady but soft. “But with you, Danny, I found something I didn’t even know I was looking for.”

Danny smiled, his eyes glowing faintly. “And I found a home—in Gotham, in these kids, and in you. You’re stuck with me now, Jason.”

As they exchanged rings, the Infinite Realms shimmered around them, a quiet acknowledgment of the bond they’d forged.

And as they stepped into their future together, hand in hand, they knew they’d face whatever came next—together, as a family.

Over the years, Danny and Jason’s “kids” grew into remarkable young adults, each finding their own path while staying connected to the family they had built together.

Sam: The Voice for Justice

Sam’s upbringing in Gotham’s elite circles gave him unique insight into the city’s upper class. As an adult, he used that knowledge to challenge the corruption ingrained in Gotham’s wealthy families.

By day, Sam became a successful lawyer, taking on cases for those who couldn’t afford proper representation. By night, he used his connections to help Danny and Jason uncover and dismantle illegal operations hidden behind Gotham’s polished facade.

Despite his serious demeanor, Sam never forgot the kindness Danny showed him. He often visited the community center to mentor at-risk kids, giving them the guidance he wished he’d had.

Mia: The Protector

Mia’s sharp tongue and street smarts made her a natural fighter. She trained with Cass and Damian, honing her skills until she became a formidable vigilante known as Specterblade.

Unlike most of Gotham’s protectors, Mia embraced her ghostly side. Danny taught her how to channel ectoplasmic energy, giving her an edge in combat. She patrolled the streets with a ferocity that even Damian respected, targeting human traffickers and abusers with relentless determination.

Though she worked in the shadows, Mia also took an active role at the community center, running self-defense classes for women and teens.

Leo: The Guardian of the Realms

Leo’s quiet nature hid a deep connection to the Infinite Realms. Over time, his near-death experience evolved into a unique ability to sense disturbances between dimensions.

Danny noticed this early on and trained Leo to become a Realmwalker, a protector of the delicate balance between the mortal world and the Infinite Realms. Leo embraced the role, splitting his time between Gotham and the ghostly dimension.

He became a key figure in handling supernatural threats that even the Justice League struggled with. Though he was often away, Leo remained fiercely loyal to his family, returning whenever they needed him.

Ella: The Healer

Ella’s love for art evolved into a passion for design and restoration. She studied architecture and urban planning, eventually becoming a key figure in revitalizing Gotham’s neglected neighborhoods.

Her ghostly sensitivity gave her a unique perspective on spaces and their emotional resonance, which she used to create safe, welcoming environments. The community center was her first major project, and she expanded its reach with satellite locations across the city.

Ella’s gentle spirit made her a comforting presence in the family, and she often acted as the mediator when tensions ran high.

Max: The Tech Genius

Max’s brush with death left him fascinated by technology and its potential to change lives. He became a brilliant engineer, blending ghost tech and human innovation to create devices that pushed the boundaries of possibility.

Working alongside Tim, Max developed tools to help Gotham’s vigilantes fight crime more efficiently. He also created gadgets to help people with disabilities, inspired by the struggles he witnessed during his time on the streets.

Despite their busy lives, the kids never forgot their roots. They visited the warehouse-turned-community center regularly, helping Danny and Jason with new initiatives and staying connected to the city that had once failed them.

Max was the quiet brain behind many of the family’s operations, preferring to let his work speak for itself.

Family dinners were a chaotic but cherished tradition, with everyone gathering around the table to share stories, tease each other, and reaffirm their bond.

In their own ways, each of Danny and Jason’s kids carried on their legacy of hope, proving that even in a city as dark as Gotham, second chances could bloom into something extraordinary.

I might make this a series and show each kids journey. Hope you guys liked it.

[tinylilacbun]

Littlesister!reader who keeps begging jj to get her a bunny!! But his brother always says no to her until one day him and john b offers to reader a stuffed plushie bunny and she treats it like a real bunny :(( omg

Another Version Of A Pet

Pairing: brother!jj maybank x toddler!sister!reader

Warnings: just fluff

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"Pweaseeee!" You were pulling on JJ's shirt, giving him your best puppy eyes.

You have been asking and begging him to get you a pet bunny for days now, promising to always behave and take care of it yourself but JJ of course knows better than that from experience.

"You remember bubbles the fish?" He asks and you tilt your head confused.

"You mean the one you said swam away?" You furrow your brows and JJ mentally curses at him himself for bringing it up.

"Yeah...right. Nevermind. Kiddo, listen, you're too young to take such responsibility. A bunny is a lot of work." He tries to reason with you, hell he just manages to take care of you and doesn't have the heart to tell you another lie should another animal...die from neglect.

"M'gonna take care of it! I promise!" You whine.

He sighs, running a hand through his messy hair. "I'm sorry. But it's not up for discussion."

You frown sadly, detangling your hands from his shirt. "Otay...m'gonna go play outside." You mumble, your head hanging low as you walk outside, not acknowledging John b who just came back after running some errands.

"Hey, Maybank junior. You wanna- oh okay." He cuts himself off as you just walk past him and towards the hammock.

He turns to JJ with a raise of his eyebrow. "What's up with her?"

They both look in your direction, seeing you swaying in the hammock, watching you throw your small teddy in the air and catching it again. They look back at each other, smirking when the get the same idea.

"The same thing that's been goin' on for days. She wants a pet bunny and won't stop asking." He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You remember her fish?"

John B hisses, remembering the day they had to flush him down the toilet.

A few days later, after JJ mowed a lot of lawns or fixed cars he finally had enough money for a bunny plushie. He couldn't stand to see you so upset so he hopes that at least the plushie will make you a bit happier.

He got out of the store, plastic bag in hand as he jumps into the Twinkie with John B behind the wheel. "And?"

JJ pulls out the white stuffed bunny with a smile. "I just hope she likes it..." He mumbles and John B pats his shoulder.

"I have a good feeling, bro."

You are sitting in the living room of the Chateau watching a movie with Kie and Pope. They were asked by JJ to look out for you until he comes back from the 'doctor' as he told you.

As the screen door opens you just gave the boys a quick glance before focusing back on the tv. JJ moves to stand directly in front of it, holding the bag behind his back.

"I have a surprise for you, squirt." He grins and now you were paying attention to him, sitting up.

"Me?" You point at yourself. "What is it?"

He just tosses the bag onto your lap, watching in anticipation as you look into it. His smile widens when you gasp, quickly pulling out the bunny and holding it out to admire it.

"Is a bunny!" You squeal and all the pogues smile at your excitement. You jump off the couch and run over to hug JJ's legs tightly, the bunny clutched in your hand. "Fank you..."

Throughout the next week JJ notices how you treat your stuffed animal like an actual bunny, taking it with you everywhere, feeding it, letting it 'hop' around outside, and instead of a crate it would sleep on a pillow beside the bed you're both sharing at the Chateau.

"Not for that, kiddo." He rubs your back, glad that you're beyond happy and grateful for the gift he worked his ass off for. He would do anything for you.

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Taglist

For everything:

@my-river-lilly @pauntedblacknails @fanfictioniseverything @devilslilbabysblog @buckymydarlingangel @hallecarey1 @daybreakwinter @loveshineslikethesky @wandaslittlewhore @vase-of-lilies @white-wolf1940 @simpingbutch @mischiefsemimanaged @alina02 @teddybearsgrr @doozywoozy @angelbabydoll28 @glxwingrxse @lilymurphy03 @veryvaughnny @lokigirlszendaya @youngstarfishdinosaur @little--baby--bear @minideathgoddess @rach2602 @aagn360 @gh0stgurl @flourishandblotts-inc @fluffyblanketgecko @lovelyy-moonlight @yoruse @kissforvoid

For JJ:

@chiaraanatra

[chaotic-iguana]

desperate | billy butcher x reader

a little something in spirit of kinktober and my delirium. lmk what you think. nsfw below the cut. mostly denial/teasing.

“fuckin’ look at you, doll.” butcher flashes you a shit-eating grin before reaching up to pinch your nipples between his thumb and forefingers harshly, rumbling a chuckle at the whimper it draws from you. you’re all splayed out for him with your hands tied to headboard above, thighs wrenched open by his shoulders; skin hot and flushed under his touch. he’s told you to stay still twice already but you can’t, not when he’s been leaving featherlight brushes on your skin for hours and cruelly laughing at every sound that comes from your mouth, smiling at the way your hips buck in his hold- 

and then he’s leaning in just to press hot, open-mouthed kisses to your sternum, beard stinging against your sensitive skin, jaw working to nip and bite until your tears are falling and he’s pulling back with a mocking tut, eyes twinkling.

“all these pretty tears just f’me, love?” your frantic nod makes him raise a brow, hand coming down to swat the inside of your thigh - the impact shooting straight to your poor, neglected cunt. 

“use y’words, chatterbox.” 

his tone makes you want to curl in on yourself, because he knows you’re too far gone to form words right now, too far gone to think about anything beyond the fact that you need him and that you might actually die if he stops touching you. but you know butcher, and you know how mean he really is - he’ll keep you writhing on the bed for hours to fix your attitude if he doesn’t hear an answer now; uncaring of the fact that you’re barely grasping at thoughts and completely fucking gone. and like the devil, you  he starts rubbing circles into the juncture of your thighs while you struggle to answer him.

“y-yes, da-butcher. ‘m cr-crying for y-you.” he hums, and suddenly runs a knuckle through your folds, making you keen, tears sticking to your lashes. 

“yes, who?” bastard. he knows you can never bring yourself to say it - not even if it rests on the tip of your tongue every time - and despite yourself, you bite your tongue and shake your head, hiccuping. 

“oh we’re being shy now? fuck me, honey, where was this when i had my cock in your ass?” his hands rest just above where you need him now, thumbs stroking your abdomen in careful, downward brushes. your back arches into the touch, hips chasing him even when he pulls his hands away, and then you’re sobbing in earnest. 

another tut, dripping with condescension. “no more cryin’. tell me what you want, baby.” and you’re gasping another breath and gulping air, wrists straining against the rope before stammering out another response, too delirious with your need to register what you were saying. 

“need you to t-touch me, d-daddy, please.” he shuffles up, gripping your chin to turn it towards him before capturing your lips in his, his tongue sweeping into your mouth. his thumb presses gently on your buzzing clit, making you jolt with surprise. you blink at him, frowning. he’d never cave this quickly. 

until- he’s reaching down to plant a kiss to your forehead, smoothing over your hair before nuzzling against your cheek. 

“gotta give my pretty girl what she needs, don’t i? 

masterlist

taglist: @bastardmandennis and @amanitacowboy (no one else would be into the boys i think) love u both @imherefordeanandbones

@cafekitsune’s divider.