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lalunanymph · 2 months ago

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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—

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

#🦢 writes #caleb xia yizhou #caleb love and deepspace #caleb lads #caleb x mc #caleb x reader #caleb x you #caleb smut #lnds smut #lads smut #love and deepspace fic

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thatdemiboymess · 11 months ago

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Turning up the music to max volume and laying facedown on the bed because the mental health has hit rock bottom like DROWN IT OUT, DROWN IT OUT, DROWN IT OUT, DROWN IT OUT, DROWN IT OUT, DROWN IT OUT--

Thoughts of self harm and maybe suicidal ideation in the vent in the tags. Sorry.

#irl #vent #self harm mention #self harm #i am not having a good time today at all chat #my brain is giving me the itchy little localized signals in my wrists that are connected to the Bad Thoughts and Horrible Coping Mechanisms #and like honestly i feel like i should be fine but im not #shit sucks #almost started crying because i realized i forgot to grab some new exfoliating gloves while i was at the store #gonna be eating nothing but ramen and potatoes this month #im lonely and life feels like a really shitty time loop and im probably never gonna be able to get my cats and bring them here #because i need to somehow manage to save up $500 just for oet deposit and pet rent #when everything is month to month to month #i dont have any friends and i dont talk to my family and i sincerely feel like i could die and the only person that would know would be #my partner and even then thats because we live together #and when i do finally die its not like anyone will have known me #people that i should or used to be close with will find out eventually and theyll all call me by a name that isnt mine #using pronouns and words and descriptors that misrepresent me as a person #ect ect ECT #whatever #like whats even the point honestly????#i dont know what im doing here i just feel like a huge burden to everyone around me #dssi is barely enough for groceries but its not like i can get a job near me being legally blind #im just a big ol burdensome money sink lolol #just an overly needy little waste of space #i dunno #i dont know shit anymore #im so fucking tired all the time man #im just #so tired

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kimstills · 6 months ago

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crazy

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!bau!reader

summary: after one heated and spontaneous night together, aaron can’t seem to get his pretty subordinate (or her pussy) out of his head.

content warnings: smut, 18+, minors do not interact!, pussy!whipped hotch, age gaps, dirty talk, rough unprotected office sex, multiple orgasms, oral (f receiving, mentions of m receiving in the past), choking, hair pulling, ass slapping, groping, some angst if u squint, love confessions and some asshole behavior, hotch is a munch and masturbates in his office.

word count: 6.5k (yea…)

a/n: this may seem a lil out of character for hotch? we all know he’s a professional thru and thru but the point is this is that he’s pussy whipped! also lots of flashbacks in italics whoopsies <3

Aaron was sure he was going crazy.

Or maybe he already was, and he was just starting to feel the effects of his craziness.

Aaron Hotchner, usually poised in a way that unwillingly intimidated others and made them back away from him, was unraveling in a way he had never done so before.

Having a one-night stand with his subordinate, the same subordinate he had been harboring painfully arising feelings for literal years, often led to such a reaction.

He could still recount every single detail from that night, from the moment the tension between you both began building itself up to the moment it actually snapped. It was as if he had everything engraved in his mind; the views he never thought he'd get to see to the things he never thought he would get to feel etched into his brain.

It had all been a blur that night, and a part of Aaron still couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that you reciprocated his attraction towards you, letting him, not only touch you but also fuck you.

You two had stayed up late in your shared hotel room only to talk, really. After you and the rest of the team had wrapped up a somewhat good case, you only wanted to rant to one another. Aaron knew that you weren’t a ‘whiskey girl,’ or whatever it was that you said, but he had offered you a drink either way.

Neither one of you had even gotten tipsy, so he couldn’t even blame it on the alcohol. But the connection had always been there, though, one thing finally leading to another and all the unsaid words and stolen glances between you both began to surface.

It was as if everything you both silently felt for another was starting to seep through and everything that hindered you from telling each other no longer mattered.

It had felt so hot, from the way you held him close with your legs wrapped around his waist to the messy yet passionate kisses you shared, your bodies connected beneath.

It was everything Aaron envisioned it to be. But, as magical and heated as it was, he was the one to have ended things before they even had a chance at starting.

The morning after, as soon as you had both untangled your bodies from one another and got dressed to get back home to Quantico, he had done the stupidest thing imaginable.

“We shouldn’t do this again.”

You froze in your spot, half-way through tugging your pants up your legs. You blink at him from where he stood on the other side of the bed, already dressed, “This?”

“Yes.” Aaron says, voice awfully neutral.

You frown, jutting out your bottom lip that same way you did when you were thinking, “May I ask why?”

He takes a deep breath, “I’m your boss,” he gives you a pointed look, as if he had to remind you after fucking you dumb, “and you’re my subordinate. This goes against several workplace regulations and if anyone were to find out we could both lose our jobs.”

You’re quiet for several moments after that, and Aaron uses the silence to his advantage to prepare for any arguments you could be thinking of to use against him. He can’t seem to read you, though, your expression pensive as you stare at the floor.

Then you shrug. “Okay.” You say, simple and nonchalant.

Aaron watches as you continue finishing getting ready and he doesn’t know if he should ask if you were actually okay with it.

He decides that it’s for the best, not getting any pushback or having to argue on why he’s just subconsciously pushing you away after having one of the best nights of his life.

“Okay.” He repeats, giving you a small nod, even though you weren’t looking at him. With one last glance to your surprisingly calm figure, he finishes collecting the rest of his things and heads out of the room.

Even after the team had checked out of their hotel and settled onto the jet, you didn’t spare him a second glance. You hadn’t necessarily moved to ignoring him or silently lashing out, but it was as if everything went back to normal, with no mentions or glances back to that night.

That should be what was driving him crazy; the way he didn’t know if you were only calm because you were planning on going to the higher-ups, to HR, about what had happened. If you were secretly planning on putting him on blast out of anger or betrayal or telling him that he had coerced you to sleep with him and threatened you in case you didn’t.

No. What was driving him crazy was that he couldn’t get you out of his head, even after he broke things off.

Everything was engraved into his mind, from the sight of you on your knees, mouth full of his cock while you stared up at him with tear-pricked eyelashes and basked in his praises. Or the way your nails dug into his skin as he thrusted into you and the way you felt around him, all while he took pleasure in the sweet sounds he emitted from you every second.

He was going mad, and the already established feelings he had for you weren’t helping, either.

Aaron stared at you from inside his office, studied your features from afar whilst you sat on your desk. Your face was set in a neutral expression, flickering your attention from your computer screens to the physical files in front of you, but all he could see was the same face and person morphed into the one that had been withering in pleasure underneath him.

“Hotch…” you whine, a hand wrapped around his bicep as he dipped a finger inside your glistening pussy.

He watched as your back arched off the bed, throwing your head back against the pillows at the feeling of his thick digit inside you, “What, sweetheart?” He asked, the nickname rolling of his tongue easily. “What do you need? Hm?”

Your hips stuttered as he inserted another finger, thrusting them in and out you, “Y-You. I want you. Inside me.” You peered at him through your fluttering lashes, your mascara smudged underneath your eyes from the tears that had slipped out while you were sucking his cock.

“Yeah?” His voice is filled with amusement and bewilderment, one part of him indulging in seeing you this way—all disheveled and needy for him—while the other was still stunned at the whole thing. “Want my cock inside you after you just had it in your mouth?”

You nod meekly at his words, a sweet pout adorning your flushed lips.

Despite the heat and tension that suffocated the room, Aaron’s heart fluttered at the sight of you. The way you were asking for him ever so bashfully after just giving him the best head of his life tugged at his heartstrings and made his cock twitch.

“Please,” you whisper, bucking your hips upwards. A stuttered gasp emits from your lips when you feel the tip of his dick prod at your sopping entrance, “Aaron…”

Aaron lets out a low, throaty groan at the sound of his first name mumbled in desperation, and he thinks back to all the times he’s thought about you like this. How many times he’s dreamed of having you underneath him, encaged by his broad figure and whining for him.

“I got you, sweet girl,” he says promisingly. He lifts himself to his full height on his knees, lining himself up with your entrance and holding onto the meat of your thigh. Another groan utters from the back of his throat, mixed in with your gasps and puffs of breath as he begins to sink inside you.

A knock on his office door forces Aaron to snap out of his train of thought. He looks down at himself, registering the painfully hard boner he was now sporting. Quickly, he scooted further into his desk so that the tent in his pants wouldn’t be visible by whoever was knocking on his door. Clearing his throat, he lets out a somewhat proper ‘come in.’

In walks Garcia, and Aaron doesn’t know if he should be thankful or mortified it was her out of all people.

“Sir?” She asks politely, files in hand and head tilted in an ever so Penelope manner. “We’re ready whenever you are.”

Right. It was barely nine in the morning and Aaron was already sporting a growing tent in his suit pants.

He nods, doing his best to feign being busy, “I’ll be there in five, Garcia.”

He wants to think he comes out as somewhat normal, but panic surges through him briefly when her expression turns into a curious one.

“Are you alright, sir?” She takes a step forward and Aaron has to hold himself back from screaming for her to stay where she is. “You look red and pale at the same time.”

He shakes his head, waving a hand dismissively yet good-naturedly, “I’m fine. Jack is coming down with something and I think I might be, too.”

Great. Now he was using his innocent son as a scapegoat for his own horniness and bad decisions. Some father he was.

Garcia nods, looking convinced enough before bidding him a nod shuffling out of his office and closing the door behind her.

Aaron lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding in. His boner had softened the slightest bit, and he was conflicted in trying to make it go down completely or taking care of it right here and now. But the thought of having to face his team after fucking himself into his fist mortified him. Of seeing you, right after fucking himself into his fist to the thought of you after leaving you hanging coldly.

He opted out of it, though it took more than five minutes to settle himself before heading over to the conference room. Once again, he tried to play it as casual as possible while he walked to his seat with everyone staring expectantly at him, including you.

“Let’s get started.”

The team’s briefings went on as so, everyone presenting their perspective cases and discoveries within them. It was a bit easier to lose focus of what he was thinking earlier when the gory crime scenes showed up on the TV screen each time someone went up, but all focus was lost when it was your turn.

You stood from your seat, taking the control from Penelope’s hands and talking everyone through the case you were currently focusing on.

Aaron held his fist up to his face as he tried to focus on the details of the case instead of you and your entire being. Your hair whipped out and into your face each time you looked from the screen and back to the team. The top part of your dress twisted with each turn and motion you made, the bottom part of it creasing along with it. Was it a new dress?

Didn’t matter. It didn’t compare to the pajama shorts he had slowly, almost tauntingly, pulled down your legs before–

“...makes me think he’s keeping them in a secluded space. He obviously likes the control and the pleasure of having his victims’ screams and cries for help to himself, so I’ve advised police to search condemned and empty areas far away from the city and even on the outskirts of the town.” You finished with a nod and once again Aaron was snapped away from his unholy thoughts.

While everyone else added their own commentary and advice, Aaron realized he had been the only to have not said anything during your presentation, too preoccupied with you once more.

“Adding in the possibility of him keeping them outside of the main town the victims have been found in was a smart move,” He quickly added, trying his best to comment on what he had paid attention to. His breath hitched when you turned to look at him. “Law enforcement might have missed that and can collaborate with police from the next town over. Good job.”

You smiled softly and nodded in appreciation, “Thank you.”

Fuck. How were you so nonchalant about this? Aaron’s mind wandered back to the probability of you getting back at him by going to Strauss about your rendezvous. It was only early morning Monday, the first day back in the office after said events, so it wasn’t a surprise he hadn’t heard anything from her. Yet.

He nodded back in response, though, casting his gaze downwards and collecting his things, “Great. I expect everyone’s reports to be on my desk by tonight, please.”

Everyone stood from their seats, shuffling out of the room with mumbled conversations. Aaron held back, taking his time in looking through his files and stacking them together while you did the same, leaving the two of you alone once everyone else had gone.

He wanted to say something, gather the courage to ask you something. Anything, just to make sure you were alright. If the two of you were still right, in spite of everything.

Only when you finished collecting things did he bring himself to open his mouth, a soft utterance of your name to get your attention.

You stopped in your tracks, a good couple feet away from him and the door. You stared at him, waiting for him to speak with a neutral expression on your face.

Not one of annoyance or irritation. Just expectant.

God, you really were driving him crazy.

You raised a brow when he didn’t say anything, “…Yes?”

He clears his throat again before asking, “Is everything okay?”

You blink and tilt your head, dumbfounded, “Why wouldn’t it be?”

Aaron grips at his files, guilt consuming him all over again. “With us,” he clarifies, swallowing harshly. “Is everything okay with us?”

You blink a couple more times, eyes wandering to the side as if you’re trying to catch onto what he’s implying.

It makes his heart churn.

“Oh.” You finally say, meeting his gaze. “Yes. We both agreed, no? To what you said.”

Aaron can’t decipher if the smile you give him is genuine or jeering, and he can’t tell if what you say last is clarifying as his answer or if it’s something underlyingly petty.

Either way it’s something. You’ve given him something and he’ll take it.

He nods finally, “Yes, we did.”

You shrug, smiling a bit wider this time, “All good then.”

He gives another curt nod, stepping to the side so you could exit the room. He moves to follow behind you, but he gets a whiff of your perfume as soon as you brush past him. The scent makes him halt and he has to hold onto one of the back posts of a chair to stabilize himself.

He takes a deep breath, inhaling the remnants that linger behind you for a moment.

He truly was going crazy.

The rest of the day goes by the same and hardly any work gets done on Aaron’s end. He’d scribble whatever he needed to write down or fill out then get distracted by the void of you.

It was getting impossible for him to keep working with the relentless problem that was his ongoing boner. He was tucked into his desk all the way yet it hurt whenever he leaned forward or backwards while moving around. Oftentimes he tried to give himself some sort of relief by running a hand over himself, but it didn’t help much, and the dirty thoughts about you certainly didn’t either.

The sounds that filled the room were lewd, your gags and moans from below mixed in with Aaron’s grunts and words of encouragement echoing off the hotel room’s walls. His large hand was entangled in your hair, pushing your head forward to take more of him, as if your jaw wasn’t aching enough already.

Though there wasn’t a way for him to tell, really. You gave no sign or indication that you wanted him to stop, your tongue swiping at the head of his cock each time he dipped your head even more. Saliva pooled from your tongue and leaked from your mouth, dripping into the carpeted floor and entailing a trail from your lips to your chin.

Aaron’s head was thrown back in utter pleasure and astonishment, bewildered that you’d ever be doing this to him. He didn’t want to finish before you, but it was taking everything him to not give in and fuck your face the way he truly desired.

He’d never received head this good, nor had he received it much recently. His legs were spread with you settled in between them contently. “That’s it sweetheart,” he mumbled, brushing fallen strands of hair out of your face lovingly. “Taking me so good, such a good girl.”

His praises only edged you on even further, bobbing your head up and down a couple more times before pulling off of him with a slick ‘pop!’ You rest your head on his thigh in an attempt to catch your breath, a shaky, stuttered sigh heaving from your chest as your hand comes up to continue the rest of your work.

Aaron has to run a hand over his face to try and keep his composure, his nails digging into the skin of his palm albeit their short length. He throws his head back against his chair, a grunt threatening to emit from his throat as he coercively runs his hand over his boner.

At least he wishes he can say it’s coercively, really it’s just a tainted image of you he’s embedded in his own dirty mind.

It doesn’t take long for Aaron to give in and reach inside his pants, sparing another careful glance to his now locked office door before springing his painfully hard cock free. A low, pleased grunt spills from his pursed lips as he wraps his hand around himself. He gives his length a good tug, bucking his hips up instantaneously, the same way he did when you first wrapped your mouth around him.

Still, as cautiously and quietly as possible, he begins to stroke at his length, a hand covering his mouth as he continues to dart his eyes from below himself to his door–as if anyone would walk in at any second and catch him jerking himself off in his own government-issued office.

He begins to imagine that his fist is you. That you’re sitting in the space between his legs with your hot mouth licking long stripes up his length and that your hand is toying with his balls the same way you did before. It only makes him pump at his fist even faster, the hand that was covering his mouth shooting down to the armrest of his chair, gripping at the cushioned leather as he began to reach his high.

“Fuck, Hotch, fuck!” Your whines are eccentric, head thrown back in pure ecstasy. Your legs wrap around Aaron’s waist, pulling him closer to you as he continues to thrust into your sopping pussy.

Aaron groans loudly, silently thanking that his and yours room was placed further down the hall from everyone else’s. His hands rest at the bottom of your thighs, his large hand gripping the flesh for support as he pounds into you relentlessly. Your pussy grips him like a vice and your nails dig into the skin of his biceps from where you hold him.

His sight is focused on you only, the way your tits bounce with each thrust and the way your mouth is curled into a wide ‘o’ from the pleasure you’re receiving.

“So good for me, baby,” he mumbles, hand coming down to grab at your breast, squeezing possessively before leaning down to crash his lips against yours hungrily.

You whine through the kiss, grabbing a fistful of his hair and tugging while your other hand scratches at his back. A string of saliva connects at your lips when he pulls away, his head dipping down to kiss and suck at your neck while he grabs your hips to better pistol himself inside you.

A moan echoes through the room again and straight to his ear, your back arching into his chest, “Feels so good, Aaron, so good!”

Aaron’s release sputters everywhere messily and he has to bite at his fist to stop himself from groaning loudly. His come spills onto parts of his leg, his desk, and even onto the floor. He leans back into his chair, trying to contain himself and his heaving chest.

He takes a look at the mess he created–the mess you unknowingly entailed from him. Like clockwork, the paranoia and guilt from doing this begins to seep in and he’s quick to snatch a handful of tissues from the box he kept on the corner of his desk to clean himself up. He tucks himself back into his pants then moves to clean at his desk and his floor.

Clearly, he hadn’t known what he was thinking. Not when it came to calling things off between the two of you before they even happened and certainly not now after he realized the spell he was currently in.

The last hour of the work day comes by agonizingly slowly. After his little session, Aaron finds it a little bit easier to get the rest of his work done (key word: a little bit). The rest of the members all begin to spill into his office to hand in their finished paperwork and files, all of them sparing him brief glances of curiosity and concern–the same way Garcia had done earlier–before bidding him goodnight and leaving.

The only one that hasn’t come to hand in anything was you. He knew you were still here, he could see you sitting at your desk from the view through his blinds, scribbling away casually like you had been doing so the whole day. After you had stalled to follow behind the rest of your co-workers, Aaron had gotten up from his desk and pretended to be walking around his office with a file in hand, lifting his head every few minutes to see if you were ever making your way towards him to turn in your work.

He wanted desperately to know what you were thinking. If you were secretly being tortured by the recollections of your hook-up, too, or if you truly didn’t care about him basically dumping you after having sex with you and telling you that it could never happen again due to your perspective titles.

With a defeated sigh, he closes the file he was still pretending to read. His eyes instinctively travel back to where your desk was at and his breath immediately catches in his throat when he sees that you aren’t there. He hears the sound of footsteps approaching closer and closer through the staircase that leads up to his office and you walk in soon after.

You freeze in the doorway when you see that he’s already staring at you. Your eyes flicker to a space behind him then back at him before you take a tentative step back and glance at the clock hung on the wall facing his desk, “Uh, is this a bad time?”

“No!” Aaron takes a step forward when you take another one back. He rubs at the back of his neck awkwardly, “No, no, it’s not. I didn’t know you were still here. Everyone else left almost half an hour ago.”

“Oh,” you glance back behind you to the rest of the bullpen before looking back at him. “I was just finishing up the reports you said you wanted done by the end of today.” You jut your chin toward the stack of files you were carrying in one arm.

“Right.” He clears his throat, motioning to the pile of files the rest of the team had stacked on his desk. “You can just leave them there.”

You nod, giving him a small smile.

He watches as you walk over to his desk, taking in your appearance while you double-check that everything was correct. He swallowed harshly, taking in the way your skirt hugged your lower figure perfectly the same way it did during the morning debriefing. Your hair flows ever so slightly and he takes in a good look at your side profile when you tuck a loose strand behind your ears while you continue to flip through the pages of your file.

You’re breathtakingly gorgeous and Aaron doesn’t know if what suddenly makes him start walking up behind you is from what he’s felt since sleeping with you or if it’s everything he’s felt since way before that.

You halt your movements when you feel his presence directly behind you, gasping when you turn and find how close he was standing.

“Hotch–” you gulp, heat blooming through your cheeks albeit feeling confused. “W-What are you doing?”

Aaron takes in your tone and he can tell that you’re not asking in a disgusted, annoyed way, more so in a flustered way. He lifts a hand to brush the hair that frames your face past your face but doesn’t actually move to do it, keeping it there to see if you push him away. But you don’t. So he brushes it away.

“I can’t get you out of my head.” He mumbles, eyes boring into the side of your face as you stare up at him as best as you can from your practically rigid figure.

You scoff, a sound filled with so much humor yet so little at the same time, “You were the one that said this couldn’t happen again.” You twist your head, trying to turn your body around more with the way he had you pressed against the front of his desk.

“That was a mistake,” he whispers. He dips his head so that his mouth is by your ear, watching you shiver from the proximity.

“A mistake?” You repeat, brows raised. You lull your head to the side but you don’t know if you do it to get away from him or to grant him access to your neck.

Aaron takes it as the latter and hovers his lips over your skin, the same spot where he had left splotches of pink and purple last time.

“Yes,” he confirms, “a mistake.”

You want to ask why he said it then, want to press him for answers but you can’t when his hot breath sends shivers down your spine and arms. Your legs go weak when he brings a hand around you to wrap at your middle, big hand splayed across your stomach to pull you in even closer, if possible.

“H-Hotch,” you clear your throat. “We can’t. You said so yourself.” You roll your shoulders back in a weak effort to push him away, but all he does is hold you tighter.

“I was wrong,” he mutters, pressing a feather-light kiss to the very side of your neck. He takes a deep breath, inhaling the aroma of your perfume again and letting out a pleased hum from the back of his throat. “I was so wrong.”

You gasp when he flings an arm out in front of you, proceeding to knock over the multiple things from his desk. Files, pens, and other trinkets fly off the hard wood and land on the floor with a loud crash. Aaron spins you around before you can process the whole mess, turning you around so that you were facing him.

“Aaron-!” Your mind is a whirlwind as he grabs at your hips and easily sets you down on the edge of the desk. His lips crash onto yours messily and you hum, satisfied.

The kiss quickly becomes sloppy and hungry, muffled whines as you two practically devour one another. Your hands wrap around his neck while his own roam your body, curious hands searching for the zipper of your dress and bunching up the fabric in the process. You mewl when he finally finds it and slowly tugs it down. You break apart from the kiss in order to help him, scrambling from side to side so that it comes off from under you.

Aaron lets out a groan at the sight of you as he tosses the dress to the side. You’re wearing a matching set: a lacy white bra that cups your breasts gorgeously and a lacy white thong paired with it. It takes everything in him to not come undone right then and there.

Holding your gaze, Aaron sinks to his knees, shrugging off his suit jacket as he kneels before you.

“Aaron…”

He immediately shushes you, discarding the jacket somewhere next to your dress on his office floor. “Spread your legs for me, sweetheart.”

Instead of obeying, you knock your knees together bashfully, the fat of your thighs pressing against each other.

Aaron’s eyes darken at your shy defiance. “I said spread your legs.” His hands come out to grab behind your knees and you gasp again when he spreads them apart forcefully, large hands holding them in place.

“Oh, sweet girl,” he utters, gaze locked on your soaked panties. His palms slide down your legs, eyes flickering back up at you as he begins to kiss at your calves. Each peck to your skin leaves a wet trail from your earlier kiss and you whine in anticipation as he makes his way up before coming face to face with your pussy. His fingers hook themselves inside the thin fabric and you immediately get the message, lifting your hips once more so he could slide them down your legs

Aaron swiftly shoves the wet material into his pockets, wasting no time before diving straight in and burying his head in between your thighs.

His tongue swiping at your folds elicits a loud moan from you, your hands shooting out to grab at his head, “Aaron!” You yell out, fingers tangling in his hair to stabilize yourself from the suddenness.

Aaron grunts from below you, the sound sending vibrations up your body and causing you to arch into his touch. He didn’t know how he hadn’t thought of tasting you that night in the hotel room, too preoccupied with the pleasure he had received from you. But–dare he say–this was better than head, better than anything else he had ever gotten, tasted or even done. He wasn’t even a minute into devouring you and he had already decided that this was the best pussy he had ever had in his whole life.

“Fuck, sweetheart. You don’t know how many times I’ve thought about this pussy.” He lapped at your juices, mouth hot on your dripping cunt. His hands continued to grip at your thighs, large palms still keeping you in place from where you were writhing in pleasure.

“A-Aaron,” you whimper, grinding your hips against his face. “Please, I need you. Need you so bad.”

Your head was thrown back in utter bliss, hips stuttering with each nibble at your clit. Your fingers tugged his face closer despite the longing you had to feel him inside you, caging his head to keep him there.

Aaron couldn’t help but bask in the sounds he was pulling from you. It was as if his mouth had a mind of his own and all it could focus on was licking up every single one of your juices, the taste nearly intoxicating. He flickered his eyes up to you, taking in the way your chest heaved and your breasts pushed against the cups of your bra, practically spilling out.

Without removing his tongue from your pussy, he reaches behind you and easily undoes the hooks.

You let the straps fall from your shoulders and aid him in tossing it somewhere in the room along with your dress. Desperately, you reach for Aaron’s hands and place them on your breasts, groaning when he rolls each already hard and sensitive nipple in between your fingers.

Your legs begin to shake and you’re quick to wrap them around Aaron’s head, the heels of your feet digging into his muscular back. “Mm, fuck, ‘m gonna cum,” you toss your head back as the coil in your belly threatens to snap.

“Yeah?” He teases, angling his head so that he could spit onto your cunt, all before diving right back in and swirling it together with your arousal. “You gonna cum on my mouth, honey?”

You nod, feverishly, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you feel your orgasm getting closer and closer.

“Go ahead, pretty,” Aaron ushers, voice deep and rough from his non stop nibbling and sucking. “Come on my mouth, sweetheart.”

A certain bite on your clit immediately has you seeing stars and the office is soon filled with your cries of ecstasy as your orgasm washes over you violently. Your body shakes and stutters as you ride out the high on his face, leaning backwards until your back was resting against his desk.

Aaron doesn’t relent even as you begin to come down from your high, enhancing the way your legs shook from where they were wrapped around him.

“No, n-no more, Aaron, p-please,” you begged, keeping your back on the desk while weakly attempting to push him away.

“Just one more, honey. You can give me one more, can’t you?”

You don’t get the chance to answer, back arching off the desk as his fingers prodded at your entrance briefly before he shoved two inside. A high-pitched moan emitted from your swollen lips and your hips rutted against his face once more as he scissored the thick digits inside your gummy walls.

“That’s it, pretty girl, that’s it,” Aaron’s sultry words only encouraged you further, his face wet with your arousal and the release of your first orgasm. “I’m gonna make it up to you, sweetheart. But first you gotta give me another one.”

His thumb came up alongside his mouth to rub rough circles on your already sensitive, swollen clit and you immediately felt that coil snap once more, mixing in with the first orgasm you hadn’t even properly come down from.

“Aaron, Aaron, Aaron!” You mumbled dumbly, mouth agape and head hanging back from the desk as you rode out your second high on his face, the heavy wood shaking with every motion.

Aaron’s head was buried even further in between your legs, lips trying to catch every single drop that leaked from your hole, pulling out your fingers and cleaning them with a swirl from his tongue. He delivered a sweet kiss to your folds before standing, his knees cracking in response to being kneeled on the ground for so long.

He leans over, bringing a guiding hand to the back of your neck to get you to sit up, “You good, honey?” Aaron asks, brushing away the stray hands of hair that had stuck to your face. “Still with me?”

You hum, nodding weakly, “Need you, Aaron.”

Aaron chuckles at your fucked-out form, pressing a gentle kiss to the side of your head, “I got you, sweetheart. Bend over the desk for me.”

You stand on wobbly legs and do as he says blindly, the need to have him inside you outshining your nearing overstimulation. You feel yourself salivate as the sound of him undoing his belt is heard from behind you and you look back to watch him pull himself out from his boxers.

He hears you gasp when his cock springs out and hits against his stomach, tip an angry red and leaking with precome. He wraps a hand around himself and groans at how painfully hard he was. He quickly lines himself up with your entrance, slapping his length against your dripping folds before easing himself inside little by little.

You whine from in front of him when he bottoms out, the tip of his dick easily hitting your sweet spot the same way it did before in the hotel. This time, though, it feels even better with how wet you already were, his cock glistening when he pulls out before shoving himself back in roughly.

It doesn’t take long for Aaron to set a brutal pace, hands on your hips as he begins to pound into you from behind ruthlessly, a stark contrast from the way he had asked you if you were okay.

“Fuck, sweetheart. You have no idea how crazy you’ve driven me since I first fucked this pretty pussy,” Aaron grunted form behind, fingers digging so hard into your hips he was sure there would be an imprint there. “Had to get myself off in my own office, that’s how crazy you had me going.”

You don’t answer. You can’t answer. Your mouth is wide open, small huffs the only noise you can make while a line of saliva drools from your tongue. It’s only when you feel him wrap your hair in his hand and pull your back flush against his chest that you squeal, the angle pushing his cock further inside you.

“You like that, pretty?” He asks deeply, voice hoarse and gravely as he continues to pound into your pussy, the squelching that comes from beneath scandalous. “Like getting this pussy fucked by me, huh?”

You nod dumbly, too fucked out to properly answer him. A harsh slap against your ass makes you cry out, the sting somewhat snapping you back to reality.

“Answer me,” Aaron commands, tugging at your hair and making your back arch even further against him. “Did I fuck you dumb like last time?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” you babble, legs shaking even in your standing position. “I l-love it, Aaron. Feels so g-good.”

He chuckles against your ear, the way you could barely register his questions only making him quicken his pace, “You gonna come on my cock, sweetheart? Gonna give me one more wrapped around me?”

You nod with as much fervor as possible, “Yes, y-yes, can I, Aaron? Want you to c-cum inside me, please.”

“Yeah? Want me to stuff you full of my cum?” He asks. He doesn’t bother to correct you when you don’t answer, instead snaking his hand to your front and down to your pussy.

The feel of him rubbing circles on your clit is the final push you need before you’re clenching around him, body trembling against him as he continues his assault on your swollen bud.

It doesn’t take long for Aaron to spill his own release inside you, giving you a couple more shallow thrusts as he comes down from his own high.

You whine when you feel him pull out, a string of your mixed releases following suit on the tip of his cock.

“So good, baby,” he praises, wrapping a hand around your neck gently and pressing soothing kisses on your cheek. “Did so good for me.”

You lean your head against his shoulder as he reaches for some tissues to clean you up, “So I guess we’re definitely doing this again?”

Aaron laughs, a pink adorning his cheeks, “Yes. Yes, we are. In fact, I’m telling everyone to work from home tomorrow so I can take you on a proper date. I’m not risking going crazy again.”

You suppress a giggle, “You went crazy? Over my pussy?”

He sighs, “If only you knew.”

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner x bau!reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner smut #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader #maddie’s stills

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shomatoriashi · 5 days ago

Text

02/15/25; 08:40pm

{ 18+ drabbles / headcanons }

[ when you have them whimpering with need for you ]

featuring: sylus, zayne, xavier, rafayel, caleb

[ minors don’t interact; by choosing to interact with this content, you have consented to viewing something n-fw despite the warnings. ]

the palms of your hands were planted against his broad chest, the sounds of your copulation echoing throughout the room. you were riding sylus, eagerly bouncing up and down his cock while doing your best to maintain a steady pace. with your back arched, you continue to move against him, noticing the way his eyes had darkened considerably in response to your slick heat sheathing him completely, unable to focus on anything that wasn’t youyouyouyouyou-

biting down on your bottom lip, sylus lets out a harsh gasp of your name each time you slowly drag your hips across him, making his cock slide out of you while leaving only his tip connected to you before inevitably slamming down on him.

“you know… i don’t get many chances to dominate you like this, sy.” sylus frowns in response to your words, feeling your hips slow down its pace considerably before stopping completely. a flash of annoyance was seen in his gaze, “why’d you stop, sweetie?”

a playful grin spreads across your features when you lean in to give him a gentle kiss.

one kiss-

two kisses-

three kisses-

each one chaste; no heavier than dew as such featherlight kisses causes the onychinus leader to let out a frustrated groan in response. “what do you want from me, kitten?”

you smile against his lips, placing yet another kiss on them while muttering, “i want you to beg for me.”

“you-“ sylus’s words were cut off when you slowly lift yourself off of him, ready to slide his cock completely out of you when you were stopped by his powerful grip on your waist.

“wait, sweetheart, don’t-“ he lets out a rasp of your name, “please, i need you. come back, come back down on me and show me what heaven is like. only you can…!”

heat blossoms across your veins, making you bite down on your bottom lip when you brought yourself back down on his cock. sylus continues to plead and beg for you to never stop, further accentuating your pleasure as you basked in his whimpers of your name.

“honey, you can’t be serious about this.”

“oh but i am serious. i want you to fall apart for me, dr. zayne. and i’ll do everything in my power to ensure it.”

you had your boyfriend right where you wanted him, settled back in his chair with you kneeling before him beneath his desk. your blouse had been carelessly tossed aside mere minutes ago along with the lace material of your bra.

your heaving breasts were free for his eyes to see, with his erection carefully placed between them. “you always work so hard, so it’s about time i treated you to something nice.”

your name comes out in stuttered breaths the moment you place his cock between your breasts. you end up pushing them together, stroking his cock with your smooth skin while placing the tip of his erection inside of your mouth. you were dimly aware of his low gasps and groans of your name, his hands gripping at the armrests while struggling to keep his voice down.

from outside of his office were the sounds of nurses making their rounds and the technicians delivering all the medications, and they were all clueless as to what sinful things were going on behind the closed office doors of akso hospital’s top cardiac surgeon.

here you were, giving him what had to be the best tit job of his life, with your tongue eagerly lapping up all he had to offer each time the droplets of his precum escapes from the tip of his cock. all too eager to have the doctor fall apart for you, you take him even deeper into your mouth while further sliding down his cock against your breasts, basking in his cute expressions and needy moans of your name.

it was your boyfriend’s idea to take you in this new position, with your legs spread out completely form him as your head was angled awkwardly against the sheets of your shared bed.

your moans were muffled when you bury your face within the mattress, feeling xavier pressing your body further down the bed when he kneels beside you. lifting up one of your legs, he tosses it over his broad shoulder, teasing your entrance with the tip of his cock before slowly pushing inside of you.

“ngh…!” while your cunt was taking in every inch xavier had to offer, you felt the moisture steadily leaking out of you at the sounds of his sexy grunts. he lets out a moan of your name, trembling all while sheathing himself into you.

with this new position, you felt the tip of his cock hitting a new area that was much deeper than you expected, causing your moans to echo across your shared bedroom as xavier works on thrusting himself in and out of you.

“the way i’m curved to fit you in this new position… fuck, i feel every inch of you gripping me, starlight.” you were too far gone to voice your pleasure as eloquently as xavier, choosing instead to let out a series of soft mewls as your breasts eagerly bounce in tune to xavier’s movements.

you were both getting drunk off of the pleasure, unable to stop for even a moment even when you had both reached your respective climaxes-

you chose instead to partake in your respective addictions, becoming a tangle of limbs as you basked in the pleasure that surrounds you.

“hehe, your moans sound so cute as i’m bouncing up and down your cock, rafayel.”

“s-shut up…”

even when your boyfriend was pouting at you, the blush on his cheeks remained. he lays back against the porcelain tub, not even caring that your movements were making copious amounts of water spill over the edges.

perhaps you were becoming a bit too naughty when it came to your boyfriend, always feeling so needy for him during moments where he wished to spoil and take care of you. a simple hot bath had suddenly turned into you sucking his cock to full hardness from beneath the lukewarm waters before riding him with a desperation.

and despite how rafayel turned shy at your teasing words-

the way he guides your hips up and down his shaft was more than enough proof that he didn’t mind these turn of events at all. basking in the way his handsome face was twisted with pleasure, you braced yourself on his slender shoulders and speed up your movements, wanting nothing more than to have your beloved lemurian gasping and needy for you.

“o-oh fuck-“ with one last push, you still your hips and let out a content purr of his name, feeling his cock twitching inside of you, pumping his seed within your heat before slumping back against the tub.

your respective breathing was heard around the bathroom, and you press a lingering kiss against his shoulder before slowly attempting to remove yourself from him-

only to be stopped by a slow whine of your name and the sensation of his hands on your wrist. “n-no, don’t leave me. i still need you…” you were about to say something, only to let out a low moan when he suddenly grows inside of you, pressing you back into him as you continue to bounce up and down his cock, knowing that you had now made rafayel insatiable for you.

you eagerly take caleb’s cock into your mouth, stroking whatever couldn’t fit with your hands. practically drooling on his cock, you use the moisture of your saliva as lubricant all while basking in his groans of your name.

his hands delved themselves into your hair, guiding your cock back and forth on his cock. while he controls your every movement, you dart your tongue out, tracing at the veins that pulsate against his shaft.

that was what caleb finally lose control when he grips at your head with both hands, keeping your head still while ramming his cock in and out of your mouth. your mind had gone hazy with pleasure, feeling the moisture of your arousal stain at your panties as he fucks your face with his cock.

“fuck fuck fuck!” he continues to pound his cock in and out of your mouth, making tears dot your vision as you willingly take him in over and over again. never before had caleb been so aggressive with you, truly using your body for his own pleasure-

and that fact turned you on immensely.

before the familiar twitch could happen, caleb forces himself to remove his cock from your hot and wet mouth, deep magenta eyes going dark when he pushes back your form to the bed.

he spreads your legs momentarily, tracing his wet cock against your pussy lips before sliding into you, letting out a shuddering breath of your name. “oh fuck, you feel so good…! you feel too fucking good, baby…!”

words failed you, rendering you unable to voice how good caleb was making you feel. each time he slides his cock out of you before slamming back inside made you feel so achingly full of him. at the pace he was setting, it wouldn’t be long until you spilled yourself on his cock, drenching him completely with your love juices.

as if reading your mind, caleb smiles down at you, his hips pumping his cock within your slick at a faster pace while caressing at your cheek with the back of his hand, “despite how much i enjoyed having your mouth surrounding me, nothing quite tops the feeling of your cunt wrapped so desperately around me, baby.”

end notes: i got thirsty again, but i also wanted to make this post to announce my semi-hiatus. my creativity has been so low, and i want to try and write longer stories / one shots someday-

but in order to do that, i gotta take a break from writing ｡ﾟ(TヮT)ﾟ｡ so please do wait for my return, or when my inspiration does come back ♡ as always, thank you so much for giving my stories a chance to begin with ♡

major edit: changed main banner at 11:45pm

all stories are written by rei; please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works!!

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obsesssedblerd · 8 months ago

Text

"Who's your new teacher?"

Synopsis: Toji meets Megumi's new preschool teacher and immediately develops a crush.

Pairings: single dad! toji x f! reader

Wc: 2.3K

Contains: plenty of fluff, crack, a tiny bit of angst, megumi is four, tsumiki is seven, toji is still toji (but like he's soft for his kids and he takes care of them), reader is a preschool teacher, reader and toji are around the same age, toji being soft, mentions of shiu, shiu and toji work together, shiu being an idiot (lol sorry he'll get love in another fic) , everyone is happy bc I said so

a/n: omg, first fic, we made it! barely proofread, sorry for mistakes. also, tysm for 1,000 followers here! the other two fics that were on that poll will be coming soon!

update: pt 2 here

-------------

Toji’s Fushiguro’s muscles ache. The job he took was harder than he anticipated, and it took way longer than it was supposed to. After confirming that the payment from the job is in his account, he calls Shiu Kong so he could check in on the kids. “About damn time,” Shiu scoffs when the line connects. “I was beginning to think I wouldn’t hear from you until sunrise.”

“Job’s done,” Toji says as he gets into his car, settling into the drivers’ seat with an exhausted sigh. “I hear the TV in the background. Better be cartoons or something age-appropriate.”

Shiu laughs. “Of course, what else? ‘M not getting cussed out by you. Anyway, you comin’ back with Megumi? Can’t believe you took him on the job with you. Once you’re back, I can get out of here.”

Toji’s heart nearly stops. He sits up in his seat, gripping the phone so hard that the screen nearly cracks from his strength. “The fuck did you just say?”

“Huh?”

“Megumi isn’t with you?!” Toji’s voice booms in the car. On the other line, he hears Shiu gulp. “I… I thought he was with you.”

“You idiot! I asked you to pick him up from preschool around the same time you pick up Tsumiki from her school because I knew this would take a while!”

“You did?!” Shiu asks, and then it goes quiet; him more than likely flipping through his messages to double check. “...Shit,” he breathes out.

Toji inhales sharply, then exhales shakily in an attempt to calm the rage, and even the fear that pools in his gut. “If anything has happened to my fucking son, Kong, I will murder you and make your death look like an accident. Keep an eye on Tsumiki.”

“Fushiguro, I swear, I-” Toji hangs up before Shiu can explain himself further, then he starts the car.

He grips the steering wheel hard, and his breathing picks up as his mind spins with every horrific scenario possible. The preschool closes at six thirty. It was close to nine. He didn’t see any missed calls from them. On a normal day, he’d be done before work with plenty of time to pick up his four year-old son, but today’s job was far more difficult and required more time.

The car speeds down the street leading to his destination. He’s half-expecting to see Megumi sitting outside with his backpack, clinging to his dog plushie and crying. Or worse, he’s not there at all; because this world is full of terrible people, and they won’t hesitate to steal a small, unsupervised boy. His heart aches at the thought, and he shoves it away before he feels the need to throw up. He’ll be okay, he thinks to himself. Everything is going to be fine.

—

When Toji arrives at the preschool, he rushedly parks lopsidedly in the lot, then exits the car. His eyes scan the steps leading up to the front, and when he doesn’t see Megumi outside, he rushes to the door.

He sees a security guard in a booth, and before Toji can even ask any questions, the guard gives him a small smile and nod, pressing a button that unlocks the door to the preschool with a click. Toji’s shoulders slump in relief. They were expecting him. That meant Megumi is still here and safe.

Toji nods back at the guard in thanks, and rushes down the dimly-lit hallway. He sees a light coming from a classroom that still has its door open, and he slows his steps when he hears a child giggling. His child.

Then it’s followed up by a beautiful, melodic laugh that makes him stop in his tracks. It’s a lovely sound; one that his heart skips to, and one that gently rings in his ears even plenty of seconds after it stops.

Toji peeks into the classroom to see Megumi comfortably resting in a pillow fort, and you, kneeling beside a lamp and using your hands to make shadow puppets on the wall to entertain him. “Alright,” you say softly as you rearrange your hands and fingers. “What’s this one?”

You smile as you watch Megumi hum thoughtfully, and Toji is transfixed by you. Who are you? Where did you come from? Since when did Megumi get a new teacher? Why is your smile so bright and so beautiful that the sun would envy? Why is his heart beating wildly in his chest at the sight of you? Fuck, why is he staring?

“Ooh!” Megumi gasps as he figures out the animal you made with your hands. “Rabbit!”

“Correct, great job!” You reach forward and give him a high-five. “I think you’ll really like this next one,” you say, and Megumi giggles again as he sits up, completely focused and ready to guess. “Ready?” You ask, and the boy nods.

Toji crosses his arms, quietly leans against the door of the classroom, and watches, unaware of the soft smile that creeps onto his face. When you put your hands in front of the light, and the shape of the animal displays in front of Megumi, he squeals excitedly and stands up. “Doggy!” He shouts with a wide grin and pulls up his favorite dog plushie that he takes with him everywhere, imitating the sounds a dog would make. You break out into laughter, and Toji nearly stops breathing so he can fully take in the sound of it again.

Beautiful, he thinks. You’re so fucking beautiful.

Megumi’s eyes flicker towards the door, and he gasps before running as fast as he can towards Toji. “Papa!”

“Hey, Megs.” Toji kneels down, hugs the small boy against his chest before picking him up in his strong arms, sighing in relief as he runs a hand through his dark hair. He’s okay, and he doesn’t look too upset that he was here for this long. “I’m so sorry I’m late. Are you alright?”

“Yeah!” Megumi pulls away, then gestures towards you, who watched the tender reunion with a sweet smile. “Ms. [Y/L/N] played so many fun games with me!”

“Aw, I’m so happy you had fun, Megumi.” You take a step closer so you’re standing in front of Toji, slightly lifting your head upward to meet his eyes due to his height. “We tried calling you, but your phone went straight to voicemail. Megumi said that it does that sometimes. He took a nap earlier, but I’m sure he’ll be sleepy soon after all of those games. I also gave him dinner earlier.”

“That’s… I just-” Toji struggles to find words, especially when you slightly tilt your head to the side and blink slowly. He exhales, then snaps himself out of his daze. “Thank you so much,” he says. “Are you new? I swear, I’m not usually this late.” Great. Megumi’s pretty teacher might think I’m just the worst parent on this damn planet.

You nod. “Yes, I’m new. Today was my first day with this angel,” You use a finger to gently boop Megumi’s nose, and he smiles, shyly burying his face into Toji’s shoulder, “and the other kids. I figured you might’ve been held up at work or something. It’s okay. Things happen. Besides, he’s such a well-behaved kid. I didn’t mind spending this much time with him.”

Toji places Megumi on the ground, then gently taps his shoulder. “Let’s grab your stuff, okay?” As he helps Megumi pack his backpack, Toji bites back a smile when he sees you watching him out of the corner of his eye. He notes the way you fiddle with your hands and avert your gaze after catching yourself.

You walk over to your desk and open a drawer, pulling out three suckers from a sealed jar. Once Megumi had all of his things packed, you kneel before him, handing him the suckers one by one. “Here you go. One for you, one for your sister, and one for your dad. I can tell he works really, really hard.”

Toji doesn’t hide his smile this time; it was impossible, especially when Megumi accepts them excitedly. “Candy! Thank you!” He hugs you gently, and you return it, rubbing your hand up and down his back. “You’re so welcome. Thanks for being so sweet today. You made my first day so fun.”

A muffled gasp coming from outside has the three of you looking towards the window. Toji sees Tsumiki’s face squished against the glass with her usual, excited smile, and Shiu Kong standing beside her, looking relieved when he sees Megumi safe and sound. He purposely avoids Toji’s glare.

The sound of Megumi’s small yawn gets his attention, and Toji’s gaze softens when the boy rubs his tired eyes. “Aw, ‘m sorry. It’s past your bedtime. Let’s get you home.” He leans down to pick him up again, and once you have your belongings, the two of you leave the building together.

When you three make it outside, you face Toji and Megumi. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Megumi,” you say quietly to him, who is slowly beginning to drift off. Then you look up at Toji, who is softly smiling at you. “And I’ll see you tomorrow, too, right?” You ask.

“Yeah, you will.”

You wave goodbye, and Toji makes sure you get into your car safely. “Hey, Megs,” Toji gently shakes Megumi as he watches you drive out of the parking lot. “Do you know her name?”

“Ms. [Y/L/N]”

He chuckles. “No, kid, her first name.”

“I dunno,” Megumi mumbles before closing his eyes and resting his cheek on Toji’s shoulder. “Sleepy, papa.”

“Ah, there they are!” Shiu exclaims, and Toji would’ve thrown a punch if his son wasn’t in his arms, and if his seven year-old daughter wasn’t happily skipping towards him. “Hi, papa!”

“Hi, sweets, how was school today?”

“Good,” Tsumiki says, then grins mischievously as she points to the spot where your car was just a minute ago. “You like her!” She teases. “You wanna hug her and kiss her and give her chocolates!”

“Alright, you.” Toji rolls his eyes and laughs softly as he uses his free arm to lift up a giggly Tsumiki, then presses a kiss to her forehead. “Both of you should be in bed. Let’s get home.”

“Aw, okay.” Tsumiki then leans forward to gently kiss her sleeping baby brother’s cheek. “Night, Gumi.”

Toji secures both Tsumiki and Megumi in his car, and then faces Shiu, who is smiling nervously. “Well, look at that. Megumi’s doing great and you even developed a crush. How cute. All’s well that ends well.”

“Very cute, but guess what?”

“What?”

Toji finally throws a swift punch at Shiu’s jaw, greatly holding back his strength so it wouldn’t break. Shiu stumbles, then groans, cupping his face with his hands. “Okay, fine, I deserved that.”

“Damn right,” Toji says as he opens the door to the driver’s seat. “See you later.”

—

Toji almost never stresses about his appearance in the mornings. After all, it was just dropping off the kids. But this morning, he frets over which shirt would look better with the jeans he picked out, if he should wear a different type of cologne, or if he should slick his hair back.

All because he’s seeing you again.

He decides to skip the new cologne and go for his usual, simple one, dresses in a dark shirt to match the jeans, and also ditches the idea of slicking his hair. Once the kids are ready for the day, he leaves early and goes to a coffee shop to pick up a medium cup of coffee. First, he drops Tsumiki off at school, then he takes Megumi to preschool.

Toji spots you almost immediately. You were out in the front amongst the other preschool teachers, parents and their kids, wearing a gorgeous yellow top and simple blue jeans. When you see Toji and Megumi approaching, you pause your conversation with your coworker and walk over to them. Toji decides that he likes that, and that he loves the way you kneel in front of Megumi to meet his eye level, telling him good morning and asking if he was excited for the day.

You raise to your feet, Toji hands you the cup of coffee he purchased earlier. “For you,” he says, “As a thank you for everything yesterday.”

“Aw.” Your eyes light up as you accept the cup. “Mr. Fushiguro, this—”

“Toji,” he corrects softly, and he ignores the way his heart stutters when your smile grows.

“Well, Toji, this is lovely. Thank you so much.”

“I never caught your name last night.”

You tell him your name, and Toji tests it once. From the way you shyly avert your gaze, he can tell you that like the way it sounds in his voice. Megumi clears his throat, and Toji looks down to see him staring up at him, his brow raised in suspicion. “You never stay this long. Don’t you have to go to work?”

Damn, kid. Thought we were on the same team.

You laugh as Toji rolls his eyes and sticks his tongue out at Megumi—a gesture that the four year-old returns immediately. “Well, he’s right, gotta get going,” Toji says, looking back up at you. “I’ll see you later?”

“Yes.” You nod, then point to the warm cup in your hands. “Thanks again for the coffee. Have a great day at work.”

“You too.” Toji then gently ruffles Megumi’s hair. “Be good.”

He doesn’t realize how big he’s smiling until he’s back in the car, and he sighs as he remembers Shiu’s words from the night before. A crush. That word seems so silly. He’s not a teen in high school. Toji looks up just in time to watch you take Megumi’s hand and lead him inside the building with the other children, and he chuckles to himself as he starts the car up.

Maybe “silly” was okay when you’re this pretty.

#i love soft toji #toji fushiguro #toji fushigro x reader #toji x reader #jjk #jjk fluff #toji fluff #posts by rey <3 #written by rey <3 #jujutsu kaisen

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syoddeye · 2 months ago

Text

sliding scale

You're in need of a handyman. He has needs of his own. cw: discussion of kids/pregnancy, john price inserting himself into your life, heavily implied breeding kink, unsettling and smutless (my brand)

You win the jackpot. Okay. Not the jackpot, but you're hit by a respectable windfall. It's like a cheesy movie you'd watch around the holidays: A distant relative dies, you receive a very serious letter, and suddenly, your account isn't as sad as it once was.

So, you do the impossible. The unthinkable. You buy a house.

An old, well-loved house from an elderly couple.

The day you close, they tell you about raising their kids in the house and mention the names etched on the door frame. When you arrive home that evening, the empty house feels grand and hollow, but there they are, just where they said. Names climbing upward in uneven increments, faded with time, but legible. You trace your finger along the marks, imagining small hands and the measuring tape, the years slipping by. It makes you smile, despite yourself.

You've never wanted kids, not really, but the thought of this, people leaving bits of themselves behind—it makes you mushy. You figure, once the dust settles, you'll let rooms to friends, maybe friends of friends. Start a fun little commune of sorts, a collective of people coming and going.

The first night, you drink nonalcoholic wine straight from the bottle and lie on your mattress on the floor, staring up at the ceiling. There's no furniture yet, just your overnight bag and the smell of fresh paint from a patch you tested on the living room wall. You fall asleep smiling. The house needs a lot of work, but you're not worried. Some TLC and elbow grease can go a long way.

Over the next few weeks, you move in and start working. Anything is possible with the power of YouTube tutorials and the local tool library.

You start in the primary bedroom and bathroom, learning to tile, install flooring, and connect plumbing for the perfect vanity and sink you found at a thrift store. It feels good to learn how things fit together and see the fruits of your labor. At night, you sleep in one of the old kid's rooms. The wallpaper is covered in rockets and planets. A couple of glow-in-the-dark stars cling to the ceiling.

The bathroom comes together wonderfully, and you feel invincible.

But then you get to the kitchen.

After an outlet zaps you, you decide you may be in over your head. That there really is a limit to what one person can do on their own. You start looking up local contractors, but everything is out of your budget. You've been doing all the work yourself for a reason. Then, after digging for ages, you find a promising lead: John Price - Handyman - Sliding Scale.

On the phone, John seems normal. Charming. Funny. He tells you he's impressed you bought a house on your own. (You've heard that a lot lately, and while it feels patronizing, you let it go. You did jump up a band upon inheriting your chunk of Great Uncle Leroy's money.) He agrees to come by and see what he can do.

You have to admit he makes a good impression when he shows up. He's punctual, polite, and looks the part. Broad chest, thick arms, big hands resting on his hips as he surveys the kitchen. After only a few minutes, he says he'll take the job. No hesitation.

You explain your tight budget and that you'll work alongside him when you're not at your day job. You show him the money you've set aside, expecting him to back out, but he just shakes his head and nudges the folder back across the table.

"Said I'd do it. Don't you fret, darl."

You vet him afterward, just to be sure. His references check out. The reviews are solid. He appears to know a little about everything. You text him to confirm, formally offering the job, and he accepts.

On the first day, you let him in and immediately have to avert your eyes. You didn't realize a toolbelt could look like that on someone. His sleeves are rolled up, exposing his forearms, and the way he moves—confident, purposeful—makes you grateful you're heading out to work. You tell him when you'll be back and leave quickly, gripping the steering wheel tighter than usual thinking about the hunk of man in your house.

When you return, the kitchen looks different, unfinished, but vastly improved. John's already fixed things you didn't think could be fixed. Over lunch, he even scoped out other problems around the house: a crack in the basement wall, a loose board on the stairs, and spots where the flooring must be replaced. He gushes about the house, praising its character, the way it's held up over time.

John's face grows serious, and stares down his nose when he finally asks, "You're not gonna ask me to paint over the wood or rip out the built-in hutch, are ya?"

His relief over your answer is palpable: No. That's why you bought the house in the first place. You describe what you love about it: the glass doorknobs, the dining room archway, and transom windows above the doors. He nods. He knows exactly what you mean.

Before he leaves for the day, he stops at the doorframe and points to the tallest name etched into the wood. You explain it belonged to the previous owners, a family with seven kids.

"Seven," he repeats, eyebrows raised.

"Right? Can you believe that? Seven!" You laugh. Frankly, anything more than two sounds insane.

But John doesn't laugh. He stares at the names for a moment, his jaw tight. "Yeah. Difficult to imagine."

After he leaves, you scold yourself. You don't really know John. You've known him for all of a day. What if he came from a big family? Or what if he doesn't speak to his family anymore, if things are complicated with his parents? You feel awful, and the guilt channels itself into stress-baking.

The next morning, when he shows up, there's a platter of breakfast pasties waiting on the counter. He hesitates, looks almost bashful, until you insist. He takes a bite, then another, and looks at you with genuine astonishment. He says if you leave food like this every morning, he'll knock his rate down even further.

It makes sense, financially speaking, so you agree. You start making breakfast for two, and in return, he keeps the repairs affordable. The ritual becomes routine: John shows up every weekday morning, you eat together, he gets to work, and you leave. You look forward to seeing him. Hearing his voice rumble out good mornings and goodnights.

For two weeks, you come home to find steady progress on the kitchen. You help him out for an hour or two in the evenings, and by the time it's nearly finished, you've started discussing other parts of the house.

You mention the two smallest children's rooms aren't really usable for tenants. You show him your plans to knock down the wall between them and create a library or office space.

But this time, John doesn't agree.

"First I'm hearing of this," He leans back in his chair at your table. His arms cross over his chest, legs spreading wide. Even sitting, you see what he's doing. Trying to take a posture that carries authority, to cow you. "Tenants? What about a family?"

You try to steer the conversation back to your plans, to the picture you've sketched. "I'm not planning on having one. So, like I was saying—"

"Why buy a house this big, then? Why spend all this time fixin' it up if you're not planning to honor its legacy?"

The tone of his voice shifts completely, with no trace of the easy, flirty banter that's been your norm for weeks. His words drip with disdain. His brow knits together. Nostrils flaring. He looks genuinely upset. Mystified that you're not going to fill the house with your…your brood.

It's as if your refusal to have children is an affront to him personally.

It sends a chill down your spine. Instantly, your image of him—this dependable, good-humored man—cracks apart. You glance past him, searching for the right words, and focus on the kitchen instead. The cabinets, the fixtures, the paint. All of it bears his mark now, and it leaves a sour taste in your mouth.

The realization settles like a stone in your stomach. You can't keep working with him. Not if your plans for the house, your house, are going to be a problem.

You tell him as much, as gently as possible.

His anger bleeds out of him quickly, melting into embarrassment and shame. His shoulders drop, and he folds into himself in a way that seems almost impossible for someone his size. "Don't know what came over me, darl."

He packs up his tools while apologizing again, both for his outburst and for the unfinished work, and gives you the spare key you lent to him for emergencies. Before he leaves, he asks you not to write a review, not even a positive one, and you agree. Things had been good until now. You don't want to ruin him over this. People have bad days.

With the kitchen functional and nothing too big left on your plate, you cut your losses and decide to finish the work alone.

Progress is slow on your own, of course. One pair of hands, only so many hours after work to chip away at the list after work. Still, time moves faster than you expect. You push through exhaustion, head often swimming, and work late into the evenings. One night, you finish patching the floor and tackle the basement's cracked wall. Only when you get down there, it's already done. Smoothed over perfectly.

You tell yourself John must've fixed it before everything went south. But then you notice other things. Several odd jobs from your list are already complete.

Squeaky door hinges turn silent. The dings and nail holes in the walls, spackled over. The second toilet that kept running starts working correctly. It's partly a relief, like the house is taking care of itself, but also deeply unsettling. You don't remember doing it, you've never sleepwalked or slept-repair in your life, even in your overtired state, and you're still too sore over your falling out to text John and ask if he did it all.

Instead, you decide to take a break. A few days off work, a proper rest. Let the house settle, let yourself breathe. Nothing happens. No floating tools. No ghosts. It's like the house is waiting for you to look away.

Paranoia sets in. You order cameras—indoor and outdoor, enough to cover every angle.

The day they arrive, you barely make it through the door before tearing open the box. But something stops you. Your eyes catch on a strange wooden box sitting on the dining table. It's a shadowbox.

Inside the box is the slat from the front doorframe, the one with the heights and names of the seven kids who grew up here. It's been cut out, perfectly, and framed like an artifact.

Your stomach drops. You scramble to the doorframe and run your hands over it, frantic. The patchwork is seamless, so clean it's like the names never existed.

Then you notice the boots. Tucked in and lined up next to your own pairs. The extra jacket hanging on the hooks.

A shadow falls over you.

You freeze, heart in your throat, and slowly turn with eyes the size of dinner plates. Towering above you, sleeves rolled to his elbows, fists planted on his hips, is John. Grinning.

"Work alright today?" He bends down and pulls you to your feet by your wrist, wrapping you up in an embrace and welcoming you home. He sways slightly with you, like you're dancing, his chest rising and falling against yours. He looks at you with a clear fondness and affection, but there's something off, like a splintering foundation. Stable until you look too close.

You try to push yourself away, palms flat against his chest, but he doesn't let go. "What are—What are you doing here? What are—Why did you do that?" You glance again toward where the measurements used to be.

He chuckles, soft and unbothered, a wistfulness threaded in his words. "Well, we're gonna need the room for our little ones, yeah? Oh, we'll have seven or more, dependin' on what takes. Sliding scale and all that."

At your stunned, horrified silence, he slots a hand into the back pocket of your jeans. He gives your cheek a little squeeze and starts steering you toward the kitchen. The one he built for you.

"C'mon. Lemme tell you all about my plans for us."

#price x reader #john price x reader #sy writes

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estrellami-1 · 3 months ago

Text

Ok so I saw a post about Steve as a teacher letting his kids control his Spotify which means his Wrapped is All Over The Place but the top artist is Corroded Coffin and Steve finds out from the thank-you video that Eddie is hot. I see it, I love it, it’s inspired.

I’m thinking something… a little different.

“Alright, class!” Steve calls. “Marcus, it’s your turn to choose the music, right?”

“Actually, Mr. H?” Amber pipes up. “Spotify Wrapped came out today!”

Steve blinks. “Spotify… what?”

Marcus is nodding. “Spotify Wrapped! It tallies up what you’ve listened to and gives you stats and stuff. It’s cool!”

“Ah,” Steve says, nodding, squinting at his computer. “And I see that… how?”

There’s a cacophony of noise until Steve holds up a hand. Everyone quiets, and Becky holds her hand up. He nods at her. “It’s at the top,” she says softly. “Where your recently played is.”

He smiles at her. “Thank you, Becky.” He navigates to it, clicking on it and letting the graphic play.

Their genre, apparently, is soft grass indie metal. He’s entirely sure that’s made up. Their top artist, making up sixty-four percent of the music they listened to, is Corroded Coffin.

There’s a video; a little thank-you the band put together. It starts with Eddie up front, as the lead singer. Gareth, Jeff, and Freak are slightly behind him, grinning at the camera. Steve recognizes the background as Jeff’s living room. “Hi!” Eddie starts. “Thanks so much for listening to our music this year.”

“We couldn’t do what we do without you,” Gareth adds on.

“And everything we do is for you!” Jeff says.

“It’s totally metal of you to listen to our music, and we appreciate it!” Freak finishes. They all wave, and the camera cuts off.

Steve is… gobsmacked. He loves his husband, truly, but he looks so uncomfortable, and the way he’s speaking is weirdly stilted. He was not made to stand still.

He shakes his head, knowing he’s about to make Eddie’s year, and blow these kids’ minds.

Eddie had always been more vocal than Steve about coming out, saying fuck it to the consequences. Maybe being gay was accepted in the metal community, but Steve had been too new in his current job to even think about the jeopardy this could put his career in.

But honestly. That video was terrible, and his kids deserve better.

He sighs, raises a hand to get the class’s attention. “I know that was cool,” he chuckles. “But if you can be quiet and patient, I could get you something even cooler.”

“Cooler than a video from Corroded Coffin?” Nick asks.

Steve tilts his head. “Cooler than that video, at least.”

Nick doesn’t look convinced. “Are you sure?”

Steve just smiles. “How about we find out?” He puts a finger to his lips and FaceTimes Eddie.

He makes sure his volume is low, enough so that he even has trouble hearing when Eddie picks up.

“Baby!” Eddie exclaims, then clocks the background and is instantly worried. “Wait, you’re still at work. Are you okay? Is everything okay? Did you hit your head again? Do I need to come get you?”

“Christ, you’re dramatic,” Steve mutters, grinning wide. “I’m fine. I’m with my class, and we just finished looking at our Spotify Wrapped. Guess who our number one artist for the year was.”

Eddie’s eyes sparkle. He grins. Steve nods. “Corroded Coffin,” he confirms, then sighs. “I have to say, though, I was a little disappointed by the video.”

Eddie groans, throwing his head back. Steve gets a great view up his husband’s nose. “I know! I know, it sucked, but the guys were happy with it and it was, like, our eighth go, and-”

“I get it,” Steve promises. “But how would you like to one-up it?”

It takes Eddie a second, but his eyes gleam. “Are you sure? Your career-”

“Is stable enough now,” Steve finishes. “I’m sure. If you are.”

“Fuck,” Eddie mouths, conscientious of Steve’s class. “I love you.”

Steve smiles, blows a kiss to the camera. He gets a smattering of awws from some of his female students.

He figures out how to connect his phone to his computer to the screen, pushes the volume button up, and nods. “Go, Eds.”

Eddie grins and waves at the screen. “Hi, Mr. Harrington’s class! I’ve heard so much about you guys. It’s totally metal that you’re listening to our music—that’s something your teacher neglected to tell me.” He grins at the screen, a private thing for Steve, who dutifully rolls his eyes.

“I hear your music every day, Eds, forgive me if I don’t think anything of it when I hear it here and at home.”

“Mr. H,” Nathan asks in a pseudo-whisper, “how the hell do you know Eddie Munson?”

Eddie bursts out in a laugh. “You must be Nathan,” he says.

Nathan goes white, then pink. “H-hi, Mr. Munson, sir.”

“I think you should be their teacher,” Steve says, grinning first at Eddie, then his class. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard Nathan say sir before.”

Everyone laughs—including Nathan—and Eleanor raises her hand. “How do you know him?”

Steve takes a breath, glances at his phone. Eddie’s smiling patiently at him, and Steve’s own smile grows as he answers her. “I’m his husband,” he tells her.

“Ten years and counting!” Eddie crows. “Though we’ve known each other for… twenty… something.”

Steve chuckles. “Twenty-three, Eds. If you count high school, which I don’t.”

“But I do,” Eddie nods. “Twenty-three years. And counting.”

Steve chuckles again. “And counting,” he agrees.

As his room explodes into noise, he looks back at his phone to find Eddie already looking at him.

That’s the way it goes, he thinks. Eddie saw him the whole time. It took Steve a while to catch up, but now that he has, he’s never been happier.

Twenty-three years and counting, indeed.

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #I don’t know what this is #it’s probably terrible #my brain didn’t want to do this #but I made it #starambles

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allbark-no-bite · 9 months ago

Text

good boy.

art donaldson x reader (wc: 2.9k)

summary: as Art’s personal physical therapist, it’s your job to fix what Tashi has torn apart, by whatever means necessary. or in which Art just needs some TLC

warnings: 18+ smut, it could be worse tbh, mentions of disordered eating

author’s note: i’m back ig?? im out of uni for the summer and challengers has me in a chokehold. Art Donaldson the man that you are

————————————————————————

You're standing just within earshot of the doorway, passing a sanitary wipe over one of the tables in the athlete treatment room when you hear the door abruptly open. Tashi storms in with a purpose and Art trails meekly behind her. Even if you had been clueless to how the match had gone rather than on the sidelines beside Tashi not even twenty minutes ago, you could have guessed by the hard line of her mouth that Art was in for it. Not that her displeased scowl was much different from her usual scowl, but you'd been around long enough to know the difference.

She stops abruptly, and Art heels obediently as Tashi turns around to face him. "I need you to tell me when you're going to fucking get it together so that I can stop wasting my time."

Weary and sweat soaked, Art just stares at her with that pitiful look on his face and says nothing in reply. His blue eyes solemnly take in her harsh disappointment as though beyond used to it. At this point it's not all that foreign to you either.

"You may as well be fucking asleep out there," she snaps.

This time his mouth opens. "I- I'm just tired-" he begins, although there's hardly any argue to his voice at all.

"No, I'm tired, Art," Tashi interjects. "Do you have any idea how much fucking work I've put into getting you back onto the court this past year?! I've done everything! The least you could do go out there and try to act like I've done anything for you at all!"

Art swallows, the slight frown on his face deepening. "I am. I just- I don't-"

Before he can even finish his sentence. The open palm of Tashi's hand connects with his cheek as she pops the left side of his face. Art closes his mouth. You pretend to concentrate on wiping down the table. It's not the first time you've witnessed one of these conversations but it still feels private, like you shouldn't be here. You keep wiping the table.

Understanding that anything else he says is only going to make Tashi angrier, Art resigns to once again watching her in silence. His blue eyes are sad. The usually fair skin of his cheek is tinted pink where she popped him. Although it wasn't very hard, you're sure it still hurt him all the same.

"Quit wasting my time," is all she says before she finally turns and leaves, walking right past you and out the other door. You hold your breath as she passes you. Art watches her go but makes no move to follow. You release an audible sigh. It's been a frustrating day for everyone. As Art's personal trainer, physical therapist, and close friend, you felt every loss, every ache and pain, every bad play. And there seemed to be a lot of those lately.

Art is still standing there, watching the closed door that Tashi left though.

Not knowing how to break the silence, you finally pat the freshly sanitized treatment table. "C'mon," you call gently, as though beckoning to a wounded dog.

It takes a moment for him to budge, but eventually he does, his disheartened spirit apparent in the way he walks over. Used to the usual routine, he tugs his damp shirt off over his head as he takes a seat, the lean muscles of his torso flexing as he does so. You allow yourself to ogle at him, only for a brief moment before stepping in between the bracket of his knees. Gently, you cradle his chin, tipping his head back to look up at you as your thumb smooths over the redness of his cheek. His blue eyes blink up at you, sad and dog-like.

"It wasn't terrible," you reassure him. "You had surgery six months ago. You're still getting your feet back underneath you. Most people wouldn't have come back." You're right. The still-pink scars on his shoulder are still fresh on your mind. The stitches weren't even out before Tashi had him in physical therapy. Even though his medical team had released him, it was still a bit early to start doing rehab so soon after surgery, Art's comfort being your biggest concern. But when Tashi wants something, she gets it.

Wordlessly, Art sighs, the weight of his head settling into your palm as he finally lets go of the tension he'd been carrying. It was always like this. You fixing what Tashi had torn apart. You understood where Tashi was coming from. Art needed a firm voice in his training, and you had a lot of respect for the way she put her foot down and never let up, not even once. But there was only so many times you could kick a dog while he was down.

So if Art needed someone to coddle him, you would coddle him.

He trusts you. He needs you, is what Tashi had told you when she asked you to stay on as his trainer full time. The three of you had been in the same year at Stanford all those years ago, Tashi and Art on the tennis team and you helping out as a student trainer as part of a class requirement. Three peas in a pod, the trio of you were. Of course then they both graduated, leaving you to finish up your schooling, meanwhile Art set off to go pro.

A few years later, once Tashi officially took on the position as Art's coach, she began building his team, and that's where you came in. You were hesitant at first.

'I already lost to you once, Tashi. I won't come in second to you again.'

She had paused on the other end of the line. Back in your Stanford days, it was obvious to anyone with eyes that you were head over heels in love with the blonde tennis player. But loving Art was like accepting the participation ribbon for a game you knew you weren't going to win in the first place. It was like standing next to the podium, just lucky enough to be included in the picture while Tashi and tennis took first and second place. And so you let him go.

'I'm not asking you to. This is different.'

Your hand slips from his face, and he forces his eyes open.

“Have you eaten?" you ask, stepping away in order to put some distance between the two of you and look for the granola bars that you keep especially for him. The gels were good sources of quick fuel in between sets, but they were hardly enough to even begin to make up for the calories he burned while playing.

Slowly, Art shakes his head, but he makes no move to take the snack from your hand when you offer it to him. Ever since his injury, nutrition became all the more important. So much to the point that every single thing that he consumed was mapped out to the exact calorie. Although he would never admit it, any sort of change in this routine made him incredibly anxious. Some days it was better not to cause him the anxiety than to force him.

Today, you insistently hold out the bar until he begrudgingly takes it from your hand. You don't move until you've seen him tear open the package and take a bite.

"Were you still feeling tight?" you ask as you walk around the table, stopping at the slouch of his turned back. You reach out to grasp at the joint of his neck and shoulder, your thumb smoothing over the kinesiology tape that's peeling away at the base of his neck.

He half turns his head to glance back at you. "You watched the match. You tell me."

His response is meant to be snippy, but it comes out more defeated than anything. To be fair, you've been his trainer long enough to know that if something was bothering him physically, you would have picked up on it.

"I want to hear it from you."

"I felt fine."

Your left hand follows suit on the other side of his neck, and you use both of your thumbs to apply pressure to what you assume will be a tense spot along the upper part of his traps. Predictably, Art groans at the attention. The muscles of his back contract as he fights the urge to shake you off. Relaxing the muscle hurts as much as it feels good. Besides his obvious discomfort, the rest of his body has gone lax under your touch. His shoulders have dropped at least an inch, and his chin has fallen to rest against his chest.

"Finish your granola bar," you reprimand him, your firm fingers working across his back until you find another spot that nearly has him jerking away. He releases a whine but obediently takes another bite of the bar. This time he finishes it before you have to remind him again.

You spend a few more minutes torturing him before you're satisfied that a majority of the tension has left his shoulders.

"Okay, good boy," you murmur, leaning forward so that your chest is close enough to brush against his back. One of your hands trails up to squeeze the back of his neck reassuringly.

You're close enough to hear him swallow at the name. The skin on the nape of his neck shivers despite how hot he still is from the match.

"Was I?" he asks timidly. "Good today?"

'I can be his coach. Or I can be the person he cries to after a bad day. But I can't be both. That's why he needs you."

Without removing your hand from his neck, you walk around the table so you're standing in front of him. Art widens the spread of his legs so that you can stand between them. His chin is still pressed to his chest, blue eyes focused on the ground.

"Art," is all you say, shifting your grip on his neck to tug lightly at his golden blonde hair. At your voice, he lifts his head just enough to look up at you through the pale wisps of his eyelashes. The irises of his blue eyes shine are wet with uncertainty.

Your fingers loosen their grip to allow your nails to scratch at his scalp. "You're good, Art. You'll always be good."

Art twists his head to nuzzle his cheek along the inside of your outstretched arm. His lips kiss the crook of your elbow. He swallows again. "Even if I don't play tennis?"

You can tell the question's been bothering him, eating at his nerves, and messing up his game. You know him well enough to know that retirement isn't what he wants, not really. At least not right now. What he wants is the reassurance that it's going to be okay if he can't swing the comeback.

"Look at me."

He lingers a moment longer with his lips pressed lovingly against your skin before he reluctantly shifts his gaze up to you. His look is anticipatory but reserved, as if to preemptively conceal his disappointment should you choose to crush his heart with your answer.

His fear is understandable. Art's relationship with Tashi has always been entirely built off of his tennis career. By being the driving force behind his success, Tashi has vicariously lived out the life she would have had had her injury never happened. Without tennis, Art has nothing left to offer her. He knows that if he gives up tennis, he loses Tashi.

Your relationship with Art was a little less conditional. Hell, you'd been in love with him since the first time you'd laid eyes on him at Stanford. You can still picture him standing there on the court, barely nineteen, scrawny, nervous smile, backwards cap over his strawberry blonde hair. Before he was the Art Donaldson. But when Tashi had stepped into the picture, you figured that was where your fairytale ended.

"I don't love you because of tennis. I love you because you're kind, and thoughtful, and you're passionate about what you do." You smile a bit before adding, "And you're my good boy."

The name turns him bashful again, and he's quick to turn and hide his smiling face against your arm, only the flushed tips of his ears visible. "[Y/n]," he mumbles, likely meaning to be threatening, but it doesn't come out that way.

Art Donaldson lived to be praised.

You laugh, pulling him closer so that his face is held against your chest. The hand that you don't have threaded through his hair trails up the muscle of his defined quad. "You're my good boy. Aren't you, baby?"

Art whines, squirming when your hand reaches the apex of his thigh and hovers over the forming bugle of his shorts. He's not quite there yet, his dick only half chubbed up in interest, but given the day that he's had, you won't make him wait.

"Please?" he mumbles, his face still buried into your collarbone, as if attempting to curling into you, like a small child needing their parent to hold them for comfort.

You rake your nails lightly up the inside of his thigh. "What, baby?"

Not only did Art liked to be praised, but he was masochist even on his worst days.

"Want you to touch me," he mumbles, his voice muffled by your shirt. "Please."

Your hand still scratching through his hair, you press a kiss to the side of his head, unable to suppress your smile at his timid politeness and how it never seems to fail him. The only time he ever resembled anything remotely voracious was on the court.

Palm finding his tented shorts, you cup him through the fabric. Art responds immediately to your touch, his hips shifting further into your grasp. You continue to pet him through his shorts, appreciating the way you can feel him actively responding to your touch.

His nails dig into the padding of the treatment table when you give his now fully hard dick a less than sympathetic squeeze. His breath is hot as he pants against your collarbone, alternating between laving open mouthed kisses to your skin and whining when you pause fondling him just to feel his hips rut up into your palm.

Art was so in control on the tennis court, that often after a match, putting the control into someone else's hands was just what he needed.

When his hips start to stutter, you ease up but continue to stroke him through his shorts. The front of his shorts are damp with the musk of residual sweat and precum.

His breath is shallow—anticipatory.

"Gunna come?" you ask softly, speaking into the blonde mess of his hair, cradling him. He right there, you can tell by the lackluster buck of his hips, his building fatigue, and the change in his breathing.

"Can I? —Please?" Art asks breathily. He hiccups out the last part, his voice catching.

"You know you don't have to ask."

There's a brief pause, as if coming to the realization, before he meekly murmurs, "I know.

It should be sad really, his unwavering obedience, but there are two sides to Art, two polar extremes. On the court, every match, every set, every debilitating second is up to him. No one else can help him out there, and up until about a year ago, he played like it. That was the side of Art Donaldson that Tashi wanted. After the match is a different story. In private, Art needed someone to do the thinking for him, to pull him into a reality where he could believe that it didn't matter whether he won or lost. Tashi had not the sympathy nor the patience for that kind of fragility.

Art comes with a brief cry into your chest, his body arching into yours. Your hand palms at his pulsing dick until he's oversensitive and pulling away. When you relent, the front of his shorts are sticky and wet.

Finally, Art lifts his face from the safety of your chest. His blue eyes are glossed over, but it's an improvement from the detached look they held ten minutes ago. His cheeks are flushed, a mixture of his own embarrassment and satisfaction.

You can't help the soft smile that creeps onto your face at the look of him, and immediately Art is abashedly trying to hide his face again, his own smile starting to appear. Before he can, you bring your hands back up to cradle his face, thumbs wiping away the wetness from under his eyes. This time he lets you.

His eyes study your face for a second, admiring you, appreciating the love he has for you.

“I don’t want to play tennis anymore.”

You can’t tell if it’s more of a statement or a confession. Either way, you know he’s telling you the absolute truth.

“Okay,” you reply softly, not hint of judgement in your voice. Maybe some disappointment, but that was understandable.

Retirement would be a kindness. Art would finally put back on some healthy weight, start smiling again, put on a real, actual smile. You could already see it, a nice house for the two of you to settle down in, with a picket fence and a dog in the backyard, the kind of things the two of you would have never had time for on tour.

Tennis had brought the two of you together, but it wouldn’t end you.

#art donaldson x reader #art donaldson #art donaldson x you #art donaldson x y/n #challengers #challengers smut #art donaldson smut #challengers imagine #challengers x reader

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hailsatanacab · 1 year ago

Text

Family Dinners - dpxdc

"Holy shit, you're Bruce Wayne!" Danny gaped, jabbing a finger at the man sitting at the head of the table.

The bustling dining room goes silent as everyone turns to look at him.

"Danny, who did you think was going to be here?" Tim asks, disbelief plain in his voice and Danny feels his face flush red.

"Sorry, I, uh, I guess I just never put it together. Tim Drake-Wayne. Wayne Manor. It, uh, makes sense now." He laughs sheepishly and scrubs at his neck before slumping back down into his chair.

"Well," Tim says with an indulgent sigh, "at least I know you're not just friends with me for my connections."

"Yeah, I'm really sorry, I just never thought about it, I guess."

Danny sinks lower as everyone around him laughs. Come to dinner, he said, the food is the best, he said, ignore the family, he said. Danny really wishes he'd listened to Tim and just ignored them—almost as much as he's regretting accepting the offer in the first place—but... he's having dinner with Batman.

Ancients, that's so weird!

The last time he saw Batman was in the future and, suffice it to say, it was not going well. There hadn't really been time for family dinners there.

Wait. Family dinners?

He peers around the table, openly gawking at everyone as it all clicks into place.

"Everything alright, Danny? Now realising who everyone else is?" Tim asks with a roll of his eyes.

"Uh... something like that..." Danny mumbles as everyone laughs again.

From further down the table, the smallest Wayne scoffs and clicks his tongue.

"I thought you said he was smart, Drake?"

"So, you all do it, too, then?" he asks, ignoring the jibe. Danny's only a little bit jealous as he thinks of how much easier they must have it, how much easier it'd be if his family had been on his side, too. "You all work together?"

"Nah," Dick says from across the table with a brilliant grin. "Tim's the only one that works with Bruce, we all have different jobs. I'm a police officer in Bludhaven."

"Disgusting." Danny blurts out without thinking—because seriously, what kind of self-respecting vigilante would also be a police officer?—before clapping a hand over his mouth. "Sorry."

The whole table laughs again, the loudest being the blonde girl a few spaces down from Dick. Look, Danny wasn't really paying attention to names when they were all paraded in front of him. Dick only gets remembered because his name is a joke.

Come on, Danny, recover!

"That's, uh, not what I meant, though."

"Oh?" Dick asks, cocking his head slightly to the side. Is it Danny's imagination or does his smile tense slightly?

"Yeah, I mean like, you know, in costume. It must make it so much easier to have everyone together like this."

"Costume? What do you mean?"

Yeah, Danny's not imagining it, everyone tenses up at that. It's really only now that he's realising that this probably isn't how he should bring up that he knows about their... night time activities. In fact, he probably shouldn't be bringing it up at all.

"Uuhhh..." Danny looks wildly around the table as he continues making his stupid noise. Think, think, think! There must be a way out of this!

"Danny?" Tim asks, looking concerned.

"Oh, Ancients, this isn't how I wanted it to go at all," he mutters, slipping even further into his chair. He's almost on the floor now and he so, so wishes it could just swallow him up.

His real first meeting with Batman was meant to be cool! He had planned to be Phantom, maybe save them from a tight spot, prove his worth as a mysterious and powerful ally as thanks for the help Batman gave him in the future.

"Danny, what are you talking about?" Tim starts tugging on his sleeve in an attempt to pull him back up from his pit of despair.

Eventually, Danny relents and sits up straighter, hiding his face in his hands and whining all the while.

"I'm sorry, I just didn't expect him to be here and it threw me off so now I look stupid and it's so embarrassing!" he wails, flailing his arms wide. "Why wouldn't you warn me that Batman was your adopted dad, Tim? Couldn't you have let me know?"

"I'm sorry, what? Danny are you alright? There's no way Bruce can be Batman, look at him!"

"Yeah," the blonde girl laughs from the bottom of the table, "look at him! That's a wet noodle of a man! Batman can actually do things, B is incapable of pretty much everything."

"Thank you, Stephanie," Bruce sighs, massaging his forehead.

It's... Those are the first words Danny's heard Batman say since everything went down and it's enough to knock him out of his embarrassment.

It's really good to hear his voice again. Especially now, when it's strong and healthy and full of personality—even if that personality is little more than a tired father right now—far better than how it had been, at the end.

Danny sits up, back straight, and grins. He's got this. He remembers it perfectly. Some people count sheep to fall asleep, Danny repeats his mantra to be certain that he'll never forget it.

"Gamma alpha upsilon tau iota mu epsilon, 42, 63, 28, 1 colon 65 dash 9."

Once again, the whole table falls into silence.

"Holy shit..." breathes the other D name (Duke? Danny's pretty sure he's Signal) from opposite Stephanie. "Isn't that...?"

"The time travelling code." The littlest Wayne says stiffly. "We have met in the future?"

"That's not just the time travelling code, Dami." Dick says, looking between Danny and Bruce. "That's the family time travelling code."

Danny's grin freezes in place.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"1 colon 65 dash 9." Dick explains, still flicking between him and Bruce. "It means you've been adopted into the family and we should all treat you as such, no questions asked."

"Tell you what, I'm about to ask a question." Danny says, dumbstruck. "You just told me it was a code to identify time travellers, not anything about being adopted! What the hell, B?"

Bruce looks about as shellshocked as Danny feels.

"We must have been close," he says finally, after opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water a few times.

"No! Not that close!" Danny reels back, taking a deep breath ready to refute it all, but... "Well, I mean, you found me when I first got stuck, and you helped me get better despite being... And then we fought together against the, uh, bad guy, before he, um, he... before you couldn't."

An uncomfortable beat passes while they all pick up on what Danny tried so hard not to say.

"So, you're not from the future, then, you travelled there and came back?" Tim asks, breaking the tension and leaning forward with a glint in his eye.

"Yeah, it was a whole end of the world thing, but don't worry about it," Danny says with a hand wave, "It's all kosher now, won't ever happen."

"What did happen?"

"Seriously, don't worry about it, we cool."

"How long in the future was it?"

"About ten years? You were pretty spry for an old man, B," Danny laughs, wishing they'd get off the topic of what happened and get back to the adoption bit.

Everyone shares degrees of a cautious smile as they relax out of the shock, and Dick—whose grin is the biggest—says, "No wonder you got the family code, you're already riffing on him like one of us. How long were you there for?"

"A week, before I managed to get back to my present and stop him then."

"A week? Jeez, B, that has to set some kind of record, seriously."

"Oh!" Danny says, sitting bolt upright and blinking in surprise before pointing at Dick and bouncing in his seat. "You're Nightwing!"

"What?"

"That's exactly what Nightwing said when Batman told me the code! Makes so much more sense now."

Dick laughs and claps his hands, delighted.

"You were not formally adopted?" The grumpy small one—Dami?—asks, his face pinched.

"I didn't even know I was informally adopted."

"And your parents? Are they alive or dead?"

"Damian, stop—"

"They were dead in the future, but they're alive now." Danny says, looking down. He fiddles with the tablecloth, twisting the fabric around his fingers as he fights down the pang of sadness that he always feels when he thinks of them now. He forces a bright smile on his face and hopes it doesn’t look too strained. "I just, uh, can't talk to them much, anymore."

"Damian," Dick warns, "1 colon 65 dash 9. Treat them as family, no questions asked."

"This is Damian treating him as family, the little turd has no manners." Tim scoffs, rolling his eyes, but he gently bumps shoulders with Danny to knock him out of his funk. Danny can't help but send him a watery smile.

"I have the most exemplary manners, Drake, unlike some people." Damian spits, crossing his arms with a pout. "I was merely ascertaining his status to see how he could possibly fit into the family."

"I know this is all a bit sudden, Danny," Bruce smiles, ignoring Damian and reaching out to lay a warm hand on his arm, "for all of us. But if I felt strongly enough to give you that code after spending a week with you in the future, then you are more than welcome in this family, if you so choose it. I think I can speak for all of us when I say we'd like to get to know you a bit more."

"I know a threat when I hear it, Bruce." Danny snorts. "But, yeah, I get it. I'm sorry this is all so weird, it really wasn't how I wanted to find you again, but... I'm glad I did."

"So are we, Danny." Dick says, with a warm smile. "And formally or not, 1 colon 65 dash 9 means you're family. Welcome to the fun house! No take backs or refunds, sorry. You're stuck with us."

#dpxdc #dcxdp #dc x dp #dp x dc crossover #batpham #hailsatanacrab🦀🦀writes #look. this has been in my mind for so long guys so long - and idk if its canon that the batfam have codes for time travel situations or what #but i feel like ive seen it before and if its not canon it should be #so here - how i think that would be funny to go down #i have so many thoughts about TUE and its place in a dpxdc crossover like holy shit there's so many ways it can go!!#i have another wip in the works thats kinda similar to this but with superman and i cannot wait to work on it again #there are so many ways i wanted this to go but i just couldnt get there - i wanted to keep it on the shorter side but like #perhaps ill have to expand #i just love the idea that like. theres a stranger at your table who knows you and knows you well. who knows the secret that youd die to keep #there's a stranger at your table and he says something and you know he's family. you know you're strangers but now...#now you have to be something more #oh man theres so many juicy ways it can go and I KNOW I DID NONE OF THEM #i want to write this whole plot again and make it angstier #(me with everything)#anyway! sorry love you all hope you enjoy it!!

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ha-rinrin · 4 months ago

Text

Torn Between Fire and Ice

summary: In a world divided between Piltover’s rules and Zaun’s chaos, a forbidden connection grows.

wordcount: 9.7k

pairing: Jinx x fem!reader (Caitlyn’s little sister)

warning: smut

sequel

masterlist

Zaun always felt different at night. The sharp edges of the day softened, and the endless noise dulled to a hum. Neon lights flickered in the distance, casting a soft glow over the worn buildings. You couldn’t help but smile as you made your way through the familiar alley, anticipation buzzing in your chest.

Jinx had been waiting for you, perched atop a stack of crates, her legs swinging idly. When she spotted you, that wild grin spread across her face, but it wasn’t the mischievous one she wore when she was causing chaos—it was the softer one, reserved just for you.

“Hey, troublemaker,” you teased as you approached, your heart lifting at the sight of her.

She hopped down from the crates with ease, her electric-blue hair catching the light as she landed in front of you. “Says the girl sneaking down here in the dead of night,” she shot back, her grin widening. “Pretty sure you’re the troublemaker.”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t stop the smile that crept onto your face. “Maybe. But I’m here now, aren’t I?”

Jinx’s eyes softened, and for a moment, the reckless, wild girl you knew faded away, replaced by someone softer, someone who let you see the side of her that no one else did.

She took your hand, tugging you gently toward her little hideaway—a tucked-away rooftop with a perfect view of the city below. It was your secret spot, away from the dangers of the Undercity and the watchful eyes of Piltover. Up here, it felt like it was just the two of you, like the rest of the world didn’t matter.

You sat together on the ledge, your legs dangling over the edge as the city stretched out beneath you. The hum of Zaun echoed in the distance, but here, in this moment, it was quiet. Peaceful. For a while, neither of you said anything, content to be wrapped up in the stillness of the night, just the two of you.

But the peace you felt was fragile. The thoughts you had been pushing away slowly bubbled back to the surface.

“I’ve been thinking about Caitlyn.” you said softly, breaking the silence.

At the mention of her name, Jinx’s playful demeanor faltered. Her eyes flickered with something sharper, a flicker of unease. She knew exactly who Caitlyn was—Piltover’s top Enforcer, the one person who could ruin everything for both of you.

Jinx’s legs stopped swinging, her carefree smile fading slightly at the name. She looked over at you, eyes cautious. “What about her?”

You sighed. It was hard to even say it out loud, but the more time you spent with Jinx, the more the worry grew. “I’m afraid she’ll find out… about us.”

Jinx shifted, standing up from the ledge and running a hand through her electric-blue hair. She crossed her arms, her expression tightening. “So what if she does? You think she’s gonna march down here and drag you back?”

“No, it’s not just that,” you replied, standing as well. “She’s been keeping an eye on me, asking questions. If she catches on… I’m worried she’ll see you as a threat.”

Jinx snorted, a sharp, bitter sound. “She already does.” She turned away from you, pacing a little. “To her, I’m just some dangerous criminal. A problem that needs solving.”

The words hung in the air between you. You couldn’t deny the truth in them, but it didn’t make it any easier to hear. “It’s not that simple, Jinx. She’s doing her job, but I’m scared of what she’ll do if she knows we’re together.”

Jinx stopped pacing, her fists clenching at her sides. “What, you think she’s gonna throw me in jail? Put a bullet in my head?”

“Jinx…” The thought of something happening to her made your chest tighten. “I don’t know what she’d do. She’s determined, and once she’s on a mission…”

Jinx’s jaw tensed, her eyes flashing with that wild energy she tried so hard to contain. “Let her come. I’m not afraid of her.”

You stepped forward, grabbing her hand, holding tight. “I don’t want you two fighting. I don’t want this to end in some kind of showdown.”

Her eyes softened at your touch, though the tension still crackled under her skin. “Then what do we do? You gonna stop seeing me?”

The question hung heavy between you, but you shook your head firmly. “No. I’m not giving you up.”

Jinx’s grip on your hand tightened, her voice lowering. “Good. Because I’m not letting anyone take you away. Not her. Not Piltover. No one.”

You rested your forehead against hers, the warmth of her hand grounding you. “We’ll figure it out,” you whispered. “I just don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t,” she murmured, her voice softer now. “We’ll make it work. No one else matters, not when it’s just us.”

The world outside, with all its dangers and complications, felt far away as you stood there together, holding onto each other in the quiet of the night.

Jinx lingered in your embrace, the tension in her body gradually easing as your fingers brushed against hers. For a moment, it was as if everything beyond this rooftop didn’t exist. The weight of the world fell away, leaving just the two of you, hidden from prying eyes and the chaos that always seemed to follow Jinx.

She pulled back slightly, just enough to look into your eyes, her fingers gently tracing a path up your arm. “You’re too good for me, you know that?” she whispered, a hint of vulnerability seeping into her voice.

You shook your head, smiling softly. “I don’t think that’s true.”

“Sure it is,” Jinx teased, but there was a flicker of something else beneath the surface—doubt, maybe. Fear. “You’re the shiny one, always doing the right thing, while I…” She trailed off, glancing out at the city below, her lips pulling into a crooked smirk. “I blow stuff up.”

“Hey.” You gently turned her face back toward you, your thumb brushing her cheek. “You’re not just that, Jinx. Not to me.”

She blinked, her eyes searching yours as if she was trying to figure out how you could possibly believe that. “You’re crazy, you know that?” she muttered, but the small smile she gave you was filled with affection.

“Maybe I am,” you teased back, your voice soft. “But I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t care.”

Her grip on your hand tightened, and she leaned in, resting her head on your shoulder. “It’s just… what if we can’t keep this a secret forever?” she asked, her voice quieter now. “I know you want to, but… I don’t know what’s gonna happen if Piltover finds out.”

You could feel the uncertainty weighing on her, and it mirrored your own fears. There was a delicate balance between the life you had in Piltover and the dangerous world Jinx lived in. The fear of losing her, of something going wrong, gnawed at you constantly.

“We’ll take it one day at a time,” you said softly, wrapping your arms around her. “We’ll figure it out together.”

Jinx was silent for a moment, and then she let out a small sigh, melting further into your embrace. “You’re always so calm about everything,” she muttered. “I don’t get it.”

You laughed lightly, your fingers gently running through her blue strands. “I’m not as calm as you think.”

“Yeah, sure,” she grumbled, though you could hear the hint of amusement in her voice. She leaned back, looking at you with that familiar mischievous glint in her eyes. “I don’t deserve you, but I’m not letting you go.”

“You better not,” you replied, grinning.

Jinx pressed her forehead against yours again, her breath warm against your lips as she whispered, “You’re mine, and I don’t care what anyone says.”

The intensity in her voice made your heart skip a beat, and before you could respond, her lips were on yours, soft yet filled with a fierce determination. You kissed her back, savoring the way her arms tightened around you as if she was holding onto you for dear life.

When she finally pulled away, her eyes were softer, the wild edge gone for the moment. “Let’s stay here a little longer,” she murmured, leaning back into you.

You nodded, content to stay wrapped up in her warmth for as long as you could. The night stretched out before you, and while the world below was filled with danger and uncertainty, here, in this little bubble of peace, it felt like nothing could touch you.

For now, that was enough

You made your way back to the Kiramman mansion, the weight of the conversation with Jinx still lingering in your chest. As you entered the grand entrance hall, the silence felt almost suffocating. You had hoped to get back to your room undetected, to process everything in peace, but fate had other plans.

Before you could make it halfway up the staircase, you heard the sound of footsteps approaching from behind. You froze, already knowing who it was. Caitlyn.

“Where have you been?” Her voice was calm, but there was a certain edge to it, like a blade hidden in soft velvet.

You turned around to face her, trying to mask the nervousness rising in your chest. “Just out for a walk,” you said, your voice casual but your heart pounding in your ears.

Caitlyn raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “A walk, huh? In the middle of the night?”

You shrugged, attempting to brush it off, but she wasn’t letting it go. Her piercing eyes studied you closely, searching for any hint of something she couldn’t quite place. “You’ve been acting... different lately,” she said slowly. “And I’m not blind. You’re slipping away.”

Your stomach dropped. You hadn’t expected Caitlyn to catch on so quickly. “What do you mean by that?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

Caitlyn took a step closer, eyes narrowing as she studied you. “You’ve been... distracted. You’re leaving the house at odd hours, and I know you’re not just wandering the city aimlessly.” Her voice dropped into something softer but no less serious. “What’s going on? You’ve been keeping secrets from me.”

You shifted uncomfortably, heart racing in your chest. The last thing you wanted was for her to find out about Jinx. “It’s nothing. Just... personal stuff.”

Caitlyn didn’t buy it. “Personal stuff? You can’t even tell me what’s going on? We’re sisters, you know. You don’t have to keep everything from me.”

You felt the pressure mounting, your mind scrambling for the right words. “It’s... it’s complicated, Caitlyn. You wouldn’t understand.”

Her eyes flickered with frustration, but she held herself back. “I don’t want to understand, I just want you to be honest with me. I’m worried about you.” Her voice softened, though the concern was still evident. “If you’re getting involved in something dangerous, I want to know.”

You hesitated, biting your lip. She was so close to the truth, and it terrified you. “I’m not getting involved in anything dangerous, okay?” you lied, the words tasting bitter on your tongue. “I’m just... trying to figure things out.”

Caitlyn’s gaze lingered on you, searching for the cracks in your facade. You could see the doubt in her eyes, but she didn’t push further. “Alright. But if something happens, you’ll tell me, right?”

You nodded, trying to force a reassuring smile. “I promise.”

The tension in the air didn’t entirely dissipate, but Caitlyn seemed to accept your answer, for now. “Fine. Just... be careful, okay?”

“I will,” you said softly, but in the back of your mind, a fear gnawed at you. The more you kept lying, the closer you were to everything unraveling.

As Caitlyn turned and walked away, you exhaled a shaky breath. You knew you couldn’t keep this secret for much longer, but for now, you’d do anything to protect Jinx from Caitlyn’s prying eyes.

You had just left your room, wanting a moment of space from the constant buzzing in your mind. The house was quieter than usual, the echoes of footsteps from other rooms distant in the silence of the night. You made your way down the hallway toward the staircase when you heard voices coming from Caitlyn’s room, low and urgent.

You stopped, instinctively pressing yourself against the wall, straining to listen. It was clear that Caitlyn and Vi, her girlfriend, were in the middle of something serious.

“You can’t keep doing this, Cait,” Vi’s voice carried through the door, rough around the edges. “Pushing her, I mean. You’re just gonna drive her away.”

You shifted slightly, heart starting to thud in your chest as you pressed your ear closer to the door, trying to hear more clearly.

“I can’t just sit back and watch her self-destruct, Vi!” Caitlyn's voice cracked with frustration, more vulnerable than you'd heard in a while. “Every time I think we’re getting somewhere, she pulls away, and I don’t know why. I can’t stand seeing her spiral like this.”

Vi’s response was softer, more measured. “I know, but you're doing more harm than good. You’re her sister, Cait. She needs you, but she also needs space. And right now? She’s not gonna give you that if she feels cornered.”

There was a pause, and you heard the shuffle of movement from inside. You couldn’t help but picture Caitlyn pacing, her worry turning into a tangled mess.

“I just… I don’t know what to do anymore.” Caitlyn’s voice softened, the raw emotion in it a stark contrast to her usual composed demeanor. “She’s been hiding something. I can feel it. She’s been sneaking around, and I don’t think it’s just the usual trouble. What if she’s involved in something… dangerous? What if she’s already in over her head?”

Vi sighed. “Maybe she’s involved in something, but don’t jump to conclusions, Cait. You don’t know the whole story. It’s not always as simple as we think it is. We can’t protect her by controlling everything she does.”

You swallowed, hearing the panic creeping into Caitlyn's voice. “I know. But if I can just get through to her, if I can get her to open up—”

“Then you need to back off, Cait. She’s not gonna open up if you keep trying to pry everything out of her.” Vi’s voice was steady, offering the kind of grounding Caitlyn probably needed right now. “She’ll come to you when she’s ready, but only if she feels safe. You have to let her make the choice.”

There was another pause. You could almost hear Caitlyn's thoughts racing. Her silence spoke volumes, and you knew she was struggling, torn between her protective instincts and her desire to respect your space.

“You know how stubborn she is,” Caitlyn finally murmured, her voice quieter now, almost defeated. “She won’t let me help her. I just… I can’t lose her, Vi.”

The words hit you harder than you expected. Caitlyn's fear wasn’t just for your safety—it was for her own place in your life. You felt that pang in your chest, a mixture of guilt and affection. She loved you. But could she ever accept everything about you? Could she accept Jinx?

“I get it,” Vi said, her voice softening as well. “But you can’t fix her by forcing her to change. If she feels like you’re pushing her into something she’s not ready for, she’s just gonna shut you out.”

The silence that followed felt heavy. You swallowed hard, barely breathing, afraid that any noise you made might give you away. You wanted to open the door, to step into the room and end this conversation before it spiraled further. But you couldn’t. You couldn’t let Caitlyn know everything just yet. Not until you figured it out yourself.

Finally, Caitlyn spoke again, her voice barely a whisper. “I just don’t want to lose her.”

You felt a lump form in your throat, the weight of her words making it harder to breathe. You knew she cared. But how could she ever understand? How could she accept what you’d gotten yourself tangled up in? How could she accept Jinx?

You turned away from the door, your heart pounding, and slowly made your way back down the hallway. Caitlyn’s words and Vi’s advice buzzed in your ears, a quiet reminder that no matter how much you wanted to protect your sister from the truth, the truth was already starting to slip through the cracks.

You sat on your bed, staring at the ceiling, the stillness of the mansion pressing in on you.

That’s when you heard it—the softest sound, almost imperceptible. The window creaked open.

Before you could even turn, she was there.

Jinx, perched on the windowsill, her wild blue hair framing her face in the soft moonlight. She looked like a storm waiting to happen, electric energy crackling around her even in the stillness. She didn’t announce herself, didn’t need to—just slid in as if she owned the night.

Without a second thought, you shot to your feet and rushed over to her.

"Toots," she greeted you with a wicked grin, her eyes twinkling. "Miss me?"

You didn’t answer right away. You didn’t need to. You just grabbed her, pulling her into a tight hug, burying your face in her shoulder as if she was the only thing that could make the world feel okay again.

She didn’t mind, of course."Whoa there" she murmured, her voice low. She wrapped her arms around you, pulling you in even closer, her hands rubbing your back in slow, comforting circles.

Your eyes widened for a moment, but you quickly glanced toward the door. Caitlyn’s room was only a few doors down. If she heard any noise, if she woke up… panic flooded your chest.

Jinx noticed the shift in your expression, her lips curling into a smirk. “What’s up, toots?” she whispered, voice playful yet low. She didn’t need to say more—her eyes sparkled with that familiar mischievous energy. “Scared she’ll hear us?”

You quickly nodded toward Caitlyn’s room. “She’s close… what if—what if she wakes up?”

Jinx tilted her head, the playful smirk still tugging at her lips. “She’s got her own thing, don’t worry. She won’t come barging in.”

You tried to calm yourself, but the dread still gnawed at you. Caitlyn was so close, and you couldn’t help but imagine her walking in, seeing you and Jinx, and everything unraveling. Your stomach churned at the thought.

Sensing the tension in your body, Jinx didn’t wait for an invitation. She crawled into bed dragging you beside her, her lithe body pressing up against yours as she wrapped her arms around you. She nestled into you, her cheek against yours as she whispered in your ear, her voice low and soothing, “Relax, toots. It’s just you and me. Nothing’s gonna happen.”

You let out a shaky breath, leaning into her embrace. Her scent was comforting, her touch grounding. The fear of Caitlyn hearing you slowly began to fade as Jinx’s presence filled the space. She could make the whole world seem small, as if it was just the two of you in that moment.

Jinx’s arms tightened around you, pulling you even closer. She pressed a soft kiss to your temple and whispered, “I’m not going anywhere, okay? You’re not gonna lose me, promise.”

You felt your muscles relax under her touch, the weight of the world, and Caitlyn’s potential judgment, slipping away for just a moment. “Promise?” you murmured, still clinging to her.

Jinx hummed in contentment, her fingers softly stroking your back. “Promise.” Her voice was almost playful, but there was something deeper in it—a quiet certainty. “Now stop worrying, toots. You’re stuck with me.”

You buried your face against her shoulder, wrapping your arms around her in return. For now, nothing mattered except the warmth of her body next to yours, the steady rise and fall of her breath.

Caitlyn’s room, the mansion’s walls, the fear—they all seemed a distant thing.

With Jinx here, you were safe. And in this moment, it was just the two of you

You woke up to the warmth of the bed, but the space beside you was cold. You blinked, groggy from sleep, and glanced around. No sign of Jinx.

For a moment, panic gripped your chest. Had she left without waking you? But then your eyes landed on the small piece of paper folded neatly on your pillow, the edges crinkled with the telltale signs of Jinx’s handwriting.

You picked it up, a smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. It was so her—scrawled across the paper in jagged, playful lettering:

"Hey, toots. Had to bail. Big plans. But I’ll be back. Promise. You can’t get rid of me that easily. Don’t miss me too much, alright?”

A smile tugged at the corner of your lips. You read it over a few more times, your heart warming. But there was no time to linger. You had to get going. Jinx was already off doing her thing, and you had a million reasons to meet her at her hideout.

Just as you were about to step into the hallway, Caitlyn appeared. Her eyes caught yours, sharp and calculating.

"Going somewhere?" Her tone was casual, but you could hear the underlying suspicion in her voice.

You froze, unable to hide the tension in your body. "Just going for a walk," you muttered, but you could hear the lie hanging in the air.

Her gaze narrowed, clearly not buying it. "At this hour? Why are you disappearing. Avoiding me. What's really going on with you?"

A rush of frustration surged through you. You weren’t in the mood for this. Not now. "I’m fine," you shot back, your voice sharp. "I just need some space, Cait."

But Caitlyn wasn’t letting you off the hook. She stepped closer, her arms crossing over her chest. "Space? You’re acting like you’ve got something to hide. What is it? You’ve been distant, constantly avoiding me. Are you in some kind of gang or what?"

You could feel your chest tightening with every word she spoke. She didn’t know. She couldn’t know.

"I told you. I’m fine," you snapped, the words coming out with more bite than you intended.

Caitlyn’s eyes flashed with something hurt and frustrated. "No, you’re not fine! I know you, okay? You’ve been acting strange. Something’s wrong, and I’m not just gonna sit here and pretend it isn’t!"

You could feel the heat rising in your chest, the anger starting to boil over. "You don’t get it, Caitlyn!" you shot back, your voice rising with each word. "You don’t understand! I don’t need you to control me, okay? I can take care of myself."

Caitlyn's eyes widened, her jaw tightening. "I’m not trying to control you!" she shouted, her voice cracking with frustration. "I’m trying to help you! But if you keep pushing me away, how am I supposed to help?"

The argument was spiraling out of control, each word cutting deeper than the last. You could feel your heart pounding in your throat, a hot surge of anger making everything feel suffocating. You were done with this.

"Stop!" you yelled, voice shaking with emotion. "I don’t need you to fix everything! I just... I just need to do this on my own!"

You turned, fists clenched at your sides, not even sparing Caitlyn another glance. You were done. The tension, the secrets, the constant pressure—it was all too much.

Before she could say anything else, you marched toward the front door. Caitlyn’s voice rang out behind you, frantic. "Wait! Where are you going? We’re not done talking about this!"

But you couldn’t stay. You couldn’t listen to any more of her concerns. You couldn’t deal with her seeing you fall apart when you were so sure of one thing—Jinx was the only one who made sense to you. Jinx was the only one who understood.

You threw open the front door, not even bothering to look back as you stormed out. You didn’t care about the mansion, or the mansion’s rules, or Caitlyn's feelings right now. You needed space. You needed to find Jinx

The familiar creak of the door echoed through the hideout as you entered, your eyes adjusting to the dim, flickering lights. The place was as chaotic as ever—broken tech scattered around, wires crisscrossing like webs—but it felt like home, wild and untamed, just like her.

And there she was.

Jinx. She was perched on the edge of an overturned crate, blue hair glowing faintly in the dim light, eyes immediately locking onto you. Her grin was a mix of mischief and something deeper, something that made your chest tighten. She was trouble, always had been, but damn if it didn’t feel like you needed that trouble right now.

"Miss me, toots?" she asked, her voice dripping with playful confidence, as if she already knew the answer.

You barely heard the question. Without thinking, you crossed the room in quick, purposeful steps, the weight of everything outside—the argument with Caitlyn, the constant stress of trying to keep everything in balance—bearing down on you like a hundred-pound weight. All of it was exhausting. All of it was too much.

But Jinx?

Jinx was different.

She was already in front of you before you even realized it, her hands grabbing you by the waist and pulling you toward her with such force it made your breath hitch.

“You’re looking all wound up, toots. What’s got you so strung out?” she teased, her lips brushing against your ear. “Is it Caitlyn?” Her voice dropped lower, a whisper that sent a shiver down your spine. “She doesn’t get it, does she? Doesn’t get you. Doesn’t get us.”

You froze for a second, but Jinx didn’t give you time to think. She was relentless, pulling you in closer, her body pressing against yours like she was trying to erase every ounce of tension. “Don’t worry about her,” she whispered, her fingers trailing along the hem of your shirt, lifting it up just enough to send a ripple of warmth through your skin. “That’s all behind us now.”

You inhaled sharply, the proximity to her sending your mind spinning. You needed this. Needed her. The thought of Caitlyn, of everything you’d left behind, seemed so far away in this moment. It wasn’t about Caitlyn anymore. It was about Jinx.

Without a word, you pulled her closer, your arms winding around her, your face pressing into the wild, untamed mass of blue hair. “I’m so tired of all the drama,” you murmured against her, your fingers finding their way to the back of her neck. “I just want to forget about it all.”

Her hands slid down your sides, her touch featherlight at first, teasing. “Then forget,” she whispered, lips brushing against your ear. “I’m done with all that outside bullshit. No more stress, no more worries. It’s just you and me, toots. Let me take care of you.”

Your breath caught at the intensity of her words, and before you knew it, her lips were on yours. The kiss was soft at first, almost sweet, like she was savoring the moment. But the longer it lasted, the more it deepened, turning into something more desperate, more urgent. Her hands roamed, pushing you back against the nearest crate as she pinned you with her body, her touch sending sparks of heat straight to your core.

“You need to relax, toots,” she murmured against your lips, pulling back just enough to look you in the eye. “And I’m really good at making you forget everything.”

You didn’t hesitate this time, your hands slipping into her hair, pulling her back into you. She made the stress of Caitlyn and everything else vanish, just like that. All that mattered was her.

Jinx pulled you toward the couch getting on top of you, her fingers grazing under your clothes with a slow, teasing touch. She was in control now. She always had been, but tonight, it was like she was finally pushing all of your worries aside. She leaned in, her lips brushing against your neck as her hands slid lower, finding the sensitive spots she knew would make you melt.

“Let me take care of you,” she whispered, her breath hot against your skin. “You deserve this. No more bullshit. Just me. Just us.”

It felt like the world outside didn’t exist anymore. No more Caitlyn. No more stress. Just Jinx, her hands, her lips, her body against yours, making everything else fade away.

The room was thick with the heat of your shared space, the world outside slipping away like a distant memory. The only thing that mattered, the only thing you could focus on, was Jinx—her lips, her hands, the way she made you feel as if nothing else existed.

Her hands slid under your shirt, fingers grazing against your skin with a deliberate slowness that made your breath catch. Her fingers circled your nipples, pinching them under your bra. She was being playful, teasing, as if she knew exactly what it would take to undo you. And god, it was working. Every touch sent waves of warmth radiating through your body.

You moaned softly, your head tipping back as her lips kissed a trail down your neck. The sound of her voice, low and mischievous, echoed in your mind, but all you could do was hold onto her, feeling her pull you closer, needing her in a way that was raw and unfiltered.

“Relax, toots,” she whispered, her lips brushing against your ear. “You don’t need to think. Just feel.”

She tugged at your shirt, pulling it off in one smooth motion before her hands were back on you, tracing the curve of your back and waist, sending shivers down your spine.

You ran your hands down her arms, pulling her even closer, feeling the press of her body against yours. You needed this, needed her, more than you could put into words. The tension you’d been holding onto—everything from Caitlyn’s confrontation to the constant weight of your own responsibilities—melted away with every kiss, every caress.

“You’re mine tonight,” she muttered, her voice a mixture of mischief and desire. She pulled away just enough to look at you, her eyes dark with promise. “No more drama. No more distractions. Just us.”

The intensity of her gaze made your heart race. Her lips found yours again, harder now, more urgent, as if she couldn’t wait another second. And you didn’t want her to. You wanted this. You wanted her.

Her hands moved faster now, working quickly to undress you. The fabric was quickly discarded, and her fingertips grazed over every inch of exposed skin as she kissed you deeply. You could feel her pulse racing under her fingertips, the way her body reacted to you just as much as yours did to her.

When she pulled back for a moment, panting lightly, she let her fingers trail down your body, stopping just above your waistband. “Tell me you want this,” she whispered, her voice thick with need. “Tell me you want me.”

You gasped at the intensity in her voice, your hands moving to her waist to pull her closer again. “I want you,” you breathed, the words feeling almost too simple for what was building between you two. “I need you, Jinx. Don’t stop.”

Her grin grew wider at that, the playful spark in her eyes never fading. She leaned in to kiss you again, and this time, there was no holding back. The kiss was all heat and hunger, the kind of kiss that made you forget everything except the electric connection between you.

Jinx’s hands were on you again, moving with purpose. She kissed you harder, more desperate. “That’s right,” she murmured, her lips never leaving your skin. “Just let go. I’ve got you.”

And you did. You let go of everything—the stress, the drama, the fight. All you cared about was her, the way she made you feel like you were the only thing that mattered. The way she made you forget everything that wasn’t this moment.

She kissed her way down your body, her lips leaving a trail of fire on your skin as she made her way to the waistband of your pants. You could feel the anticipation building inside you, the need for her becoming unbearable.

Her fingers dipped lower, pushing the waistband of your pants down along with your underwear, and you gasped as the cool air hit your skin. The contrast between the warmth of her hands and the sudden chill made every nerve in your body stand at attention.

Her smirk deepened as she leaned down, eyes dark with mischief and something much more primal. With a quick motion, she slid her hand down your body, her fingertips grazing over your sensitive skin. You barely had time to react before she thrust her fingers in you, quick and confident, making you gasp in surprise.

"Just relax, toots," she murmured, her lips brushing against your clit as her smirk never wavered. "I’m gonna make you feel good."

The sudden intrusion was sharp, but there was something about the way she moved that had you melting into her touch, your body arching up to meet her. Every nerve seemed to be on fire as she worked you, teasing you just enough to leave you begging for more. Her smirk told you everything you needed to know—this was her moment, and you were hers.

She set a rhythm, slow at first, watching you closely as you squirmed beneath her, unable to hide the way her touch unraveled you. She leaned down to kiss you right were you needed her, tongue sliding against your clit, you moaned, the feeling making you see stars.

“You like that, don’t you?” she breathed against your clit, her pace picking up, more urgent now. “I could do this all night.”

You moaned, breathless from the sensation, your hands gripping her hair, needing her closer. "Don’t stop," you whispered, voice trembling.

And she didn’t. Jinx’s fingers worked with a relentless intensity, thrusting deeper, faster, at the same time her tongue was restless, sucking, flicking, you name her smirk only grew more wicked the louder you moaned. She knew what she was doing. She knew the effect she had on you. And God, you were desperate for it. For her.

The intensity of Jinx’s movements made your heart race, each shift of her body pushing you closer to the edge. She knew exactly what she was doing—her touch was confident, assured, like she was claiming something that was already hers.

You could feel her smirk against your skin, the way her lips curved into that playful, dangerous smile that made everything about her feel like a rush of adrenaline. Every flick of her tongue and every thrust of her fingers pushed you closer to the edge, but it wasn’t just the pleasure that had you unraveling.

And then, it happened. Jinx’s fingers found just the right spot inside you, pressing in deep with a precision that stole the breath from your lungs. The way she touched you—exactly where you needed it—made your entire body jerk in response, a sharp gasp escaping your lips.

It was as if the world narrowed down to that one spot, to the feeling of her fingers curling inside, hitting a place that made your legs tremble and your pulse spike. The pleasure was overwhelming, pulling you under in a way that left you breathless and dizzy, your body reacting to her touch with instinctive urgency. She felt you shudder, the way your walls tightened around her fingers, and her smirk only grew, that mischievous gleam in her eyes darkening with each desperate movement.

“Found your sweet spot, huh?” she purred, her voice low, thick with satisfaction. She didn’t stop, her fingers continuing to work you with an expert rhythm, knowing exactly how to draw out every inch of pleasure.

Her eyes never left yours, studying the way your body responded, the way you melted against her. “Don’t try to hide it,” she whispered, her fingers pressing harder, deeper, hitting that same spot again and again, pushing you closer to the edge.

Your head tipped back, a soft moan escaping you as she coaxed the pleasure from you with relentless skill. You could feel yourself coming undone, everything inside you tightening as she took you to the brink. The pressure was unbearable, but it was the good kind—the kind you couldn’t pull away from even if you wanted to.

Jinx’s fingers never slowed, working you with a steady, practiced rhythm that had you gasping for air. Every time she pressed deeper, hitting that perfect spot, your body reacted like it was on fire. It was almost too much, but you couldn’t pull away. Not when she was giving you this—showing you just how much control she had over every part of you.

Her smirk didn’t fade. In fact, it seemed to grow with every reaction she got from you. The way you shuddered, the way you clenched around her, it only made her want to push further, to make you unravel completely.

"Look at you," she murmured, her voice a velvet whisper against your skin as her lips pressed against your neck. "Can’t even breathe, huh? You’re mine. Don’t forget that."

You couldn’t even muster the strength to argue. The words tangled in your throat, choked out by the overwhelming sensations coursing through your body. Every movement of her fingers, every flick of her tongue,every suck on your clit, was a blow to your restraint. You were quickly losing yourself in her touch, the pleasure swirling inside you, coiling tighter with every second.

Her lips found your clit again, deep and urgent making out with it, as if she couldn’t get enough of you. She was everywhere—her scent, her touch, the feel of her pressing against you, pushing you further into the abyss of heat and desire.

"Do you feel that?" she breathed against your pussy, her fingers circling inside you with a teasing slowness, making you whimper in frustration. "You like the way I touch you, don’t you?"

Her voice was a low, seductive whisper, just close enough to drive you wild but not close enough to keep you from chasing after her. She had you completely under her spell, and you could feel it in the way your body reacted to her every move, every subtle shift.

The tension inside you was unbearable now. You were so close. You couldn’t stop the desperate need that was rising inside you, the way your body craved release, craving her touch more than anything else.

"Jinx..." you gasped, your hands gripping her hair as you tried to ground yourself, to hold on. But it was slipping away—slipping fast, and you didn’t want to stop it.

She responded with a deep, almost growling laugh, her fingers never stopping their relentless pace.

You needed her, wanted her in a way that went beyond what you thought you were capable of. Her words, her touch, everything about her was pulling you under, breaking down every barrier, every thought that stood between you and the release you so desperately needed.

With a final thrust of her fingers, a quick flick of her tongue, she pushed you over the edge. It hit you like a tidal wave, crashing through every part of you. Your whole body trembled, your back arched off the bed as the pleasure flooded you in waves, leaving you breathless and dizzy.

Jinx’s smirk softened, her fingers slowing as she kissed you in the lips, this time tender, soothing. “Told you I’d take care of you,” she whispered, her voice low and filled with satisfaction.

You couldn’t respond immediately, still reeling from the intensity of it all, but the weight of her presence, her hands gently caressing your body, made everything feel right. She wasn’t just a force of chaos in your life—she was the storm and the calm, all in one.

"You’re perfect," she murmured, pulling you close and letting you rest against her chest, both of you still tangled in the aftermath.

The room was quiet now, except for the sound of your breaths coming back to normal. You didn’t need to say anything else—Jinx had always known exactly what you needed, when you needed it.

And you both lay there in the aftermath, bodies entwined, feeling the warmth of each other’s presence, the only thing that mattered in that moment.

The room was still as Jinx pulled you close, her arms wrapping around you with a tenderness that contrasted the wildness of the moment. She kissed the top of your head gently, her lips lingering there as she breathed you in, as if memorizing the feel of you in her arms.

"Hey," she whispered, her voice softer now, the playful edge gone. "You okay?"

You nodded against her chest, feeling the steady beat of her heart under your cheek. Her skin was warm, her touch soothing as she ran her fingers through your hair, massaging your scalp gently. It was grounding, calming, the contrast to everything that had come before.

"You were incredible," she added, her voice full of admiration, her thumb brushing along your jawline. "I mean it. You’re... amazing."

You looked up at her, meeting her gaze, and smiled softly, still trying to catch your breath. "You too," you murmured, your voice hoarse but sincere. "You never fail to impress me "

Her lips curved into a small smile, her eyes softened as she kissed your forehead, her touch tender as it lingered on your skin. “Good,” she whispered, her voice low but full of warmth. “Just... don’t forget that you’re mine. You hear me?”

You could hear the need in her voice, the way she craved that reassurance, and you knew it wasn’t just about the physical. She wanted to know you were here, with her, for her.

"I’m yours," you whispered back, your hand resting on her chest, feeling the rhythm of her heartbeat beneath your fingertips.

Jinx’s expression softened, and she pulled you closer, curling her body around yours as if she never wanted to let go. The room grew quieter, filled only with the sound of your shared breaths, the soft hum of connection. She was still holding you tightly, but there was a gentleness now, a peace in the way she held you as if she were making sure you were okay, that you felt safe.

"You did so good," she murmured again, pressing a light kiss to your lips. "Just... rest, yeah? I’m here."

You closed your eyes, the weight of everything melting away in her embrace. There was no need for words now. Just the warmth of her body next to yours, the calm after the storm, and the quiet knowing that you were both in this together.

And for a while, nothing else mattered

The mansion felt empty, the stillness wrapping around you as you stepped through the door. The fire crackled in the corner, casting dancing shadows on the walls. Caitlyn and Vi sat in the living room, both tense, eyes fixed on you as you walked in. Vi didn’t speak, but her presence was enough—silent support, waiting for Caitlyn to take charge.

As soon as Caitlyn saw you, her eyes narrowed, and she stood up. “Where the hell have you been?” Her voice was sharp, more demanding than concerned.

You let out a short breath, avoiding eye contact. “Out,” you muttered, shrugging off your jacket, your pulse already picking up. You didn’t need this right now.

“Out?” Caitlyn's voice rose, frustration building. “You’ve been vanishing for days. Coming back late at night, like everything’s normal. What’s going on?”

You stared at her for a long moment, your chest tightening. You weren’t ready to explain, not like this. “What’s going on?” You laughed, though it was harsh, bitter. “You don’t know anything. You don’t have any idea what’s really happening.”

Caitlyn’s eyes flashed with disbelief, taking a step forward. “Then why don’t you enlighten me? Because right now, it looks like you’ve lost your damn mind. Running around, hiding away—what is this?”

You could feel your temper rising, the words coming out sharper than you intended. “I don’t owe you an explanation, Cait. You don’t get to tell me how to live my life.”

Her expression darkened, her fists clenching at her sides. “I don’t need to tell you, but I’m damn well going to ask,” she snapped. “Because this—this is not you. You’re acting like you don’t care, like it doesn’t matter. I’m not gonna sit back and watch you destroy yourself without asking why.”

“I’m not destroying anything,” you shot back, your voice low but intense. “I’m protecting what matters. You don’t understand any of it.”

Caitlyn took a deep breath, trying to rein herself in, but her frustration was palpable. “Protecting what, exactly? Yourself? You think running away from everyone, shutting people out, is gonna fix anything? That’s not how it works.”

You felt the heat rising in your veins, every word coming out faster, more defensive. “You think I don’t know that? You think I want to be like this?” You paced, the anger seeping through every step. “I’m doing what I need to do. You have no idea what’s at stake.”

“Then make me understand,” Caitlyn demanded, her voice quieter now, though it carried an edge of urgency. “Because right now, I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m worried about you. You’re shutting everyone out, and I don’t know if I can just stand by and let you destroy yourself.”

“I’m not destroying anything,” you repeated, the words feeling heavy, almost too much to say aloud. “You don’t get to dictate what I do, Cait. Not now, not ever.”

The room seemed to grow colder, tension hanging in the air like a thick fog. Vi shifted on the couch, but she didn’t say anything—just waiting, silent but present.

You could feel Caitlyn’s gaze on you, her concern still there, but you didn’t want it. Not now. “I don’t need your help,” you muttered, your voice cold. “I don’t need anyone’s help. So just... back off.”

There was a long silence between you, Caitlyn’s eyes searching yours for any sign of the person she used to know. But you were too far gone, too protective of your own choices, your own reasons. You didn’t owe her an explanation. You didn’t owe anyone one.

Without saying another word, you turned toward the stairs, brushing past Caitlyn and Vi without a second glance. You didn’t care if they understood. You didn’t care if they were pissed.

You were done trying to explain yourself to them. of making up lies and poor excuses.

It was the day after the fight, and everything still felt like it was on the edge of breaking. You could still hear Caitlyn’s words echoing in your head, the hurt in her voice cutting through you like a knife. The argument had been brutal—words thrown like weapons, accusations you couldn't escape. You didn’t want to confront Caitlyn. Hell, you didn’t even want to deal with any of it, but the more you thought about it, the more you realized you were being pulled in two directions. One part of you was holding onto what was familiar—what was safe. The other part was ready to burn it all down just to feel something real.

That something real was Jinx.

You'd spent the night restless, your thoughts a whirlwind of guilt, frustration, and the constant pull toward the chaos she brought. So here you were now, slipping through the winding alleys of Zaun, where the grime and industrial decay hid you from the world.

You'd barely registered how you ended up here—at the alleyway where Jinx always seemed to show up at the right moment. The dim glow of a flickering neon sign illuminated the darkness ahead, and you knew she was there. Jinx’s world didn’t follow rules. Everything she did was messy, raw, and chaotic, but that was where you wanted to be right now.

You turned the corner, your pulse racing. And there she was, hanging upside down from a rusty fire escape, laughing to herself as she spun around, her wild blue hair catching the light like a comet streaking across the night. She looked alive—reckless, untamed—and the sight made something inside you settle, as if you’d found your anchor in the madness.

When she saw you, her eyes lit up like fireworks. “You came!” she squealed, flipping down from the fire escape and immediately running toward you. She didn’t stop when she reached you—she wrapped her arms around you in a tight, playful hug, her body pressing against yours as if she couldn’t wait to be close.

“Of course I did,” you replied, smiling softly as you hugged her back. It was a relief to feel her warmth, her energy. “You okay?”

Jinx pulled back just enough to look at you, her blue eyes sparkling with mischief. “Me? I’m okay, just like most of the time. But you…” She tilted her head, her fingers brushing against your arm. “You look like you’ve been thinking too much again.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the tension easing in your chest. “Maybe a little.”

“Then stop thinking,” she said, voice soft yet playful, her eyes searching yours. “Let me fix that.”

Before you could say anything else, Jinx leaned in, her lips meeting yours in a soft, tender kiss. It was gentle at first, almost hesitant—like she was testing the waters, giving you a moment of comfort. Her lips moved slowly, sweetly, as her hand cupped the side of your face, her thumb brushing lightly over your cheek.

Your heart fluttered at the softness, the way she was taking her time, and for a moment, it was just you and her, wrapped in something sweet and simple. But then, as if a switch had flipped, the sweetness gave way to something deeper.

Jinx’s fingers tightened slightly on your waist, pulling you closer as the kiss grew hungrier, more intense. You responded without thinking, parting your lips as her tongue slid against yours, coaxing you into a messier, wilder dance. The fire in her kiss ignited something inside you, something raw and reckless that matched the chaos she brought into your life.

You let out a breathless laugh against her mouth, and Jinx took it as an invitation, deepening the kiss with a mischievous grin. Her hands tangled in your hair as she pulled you even closer, her kiss growing more insistent, more passionate. It was as if the world around you had fallen away, leaving just the two of you in this whirlwind of heat and desire.

Jinx’s hands found your waist again, her fingers digging in as she pressed her body tighter against yours. Her lips parted, coaxing yours open as her tongue teased you in a way that was both playful and intense. Every inch of you seemed to burn where she touched, where she kissed, and all the tension from before melted away into this one moment of pure chaos and need.

You responded in kind, your hands tracing the curve of her back, pulling her against you until there was no space left between your bodies. She let out a soft sigh, pressing you into the wall beside her as she kissed you with an intensity that made your knees weak.

It felt like everything outside of this moment didn’t matter. The guilt, the confusion, Caitlyn’s hurt—nothing compared to the way Jinx made you feel. Alive. Wanted. Like you could forget everything else and just exist in this space with her.

But then the harsh sound of footsteps interrupted the perfect storm of chaos you’d created.

"What the hell is this?"

Caitlyn.

Jinx stood still for a moment, taking in Caitlyn’s reaction before a slow smirk spread across her face. “Well, well, if it isn’t big sis,” she purred, clearly enjoying the tension in the air. “Guess the cat’s outta the bag now, huh?”

“Cait…” you started, stepping away from Jinx, but the damage was already done.

Caitlyn’s gaze flickered between you and Jinx, her face a mix of disbelief and anger. “Is this what you’ve been sneaking off to Zaun for? To be with her?” she spat, her voice full of accusation. “You know what she is, what she does, and you still—"

“Whoa, hold up,” Jinx interrupted, taking a casual step forward, placing herself between you and Caitlyn. “Let’s get one thing straight. It’s not like she’s committed some huge crime—unless kissing me and having sex with me is suddenly illegal.” Her grin widened, her eyes sparkling with mischievous glee.

Caitlyn’s face contorted with fury as she shot a cold look at Jinx. “You think this is a joke, don’t you?” she snapped. “You’re a ticking time bomb, Jinx. A dangerous, reckless maniac with nothing but destruction in your wake. She’s nothing but another one of your toys to break.”

The words hit like a knife. Jinx froze, the grin dropping from her face as Caitlyn’s harsh accusations settled between you all.

Your heart clenched at the sight of the hurt that flickered across Jinx’s features, even though she tried to hide it. You couldn’t let it go on. “Cait, stop!” you interrupted, stepping forward, your voice stronger now as you positioned yourself beside Jinx. “She’s not your enemy.”

Caitlyn’s eyes darted toward you, disbelief mixing with the anger. “She’s using you! Can’t you see it? She’ll destroy you like she destroys everything she touches.”

“I love her,” you said firmly, your voice cutting through Caitlyn’s accusations.

Caitlyn blinked, her eyes searching yours for something—anything that could explain why you were making this choice. But there was nothing. Her gaze hardened, turning cold. “You love her?” she asked, her voice trembling with a mix of hurt, rage, and heartbreak.

“I do,” you said firmly, not backing down.

For a moment, Caitlyn stood frozen, processing the words, the weight of them sinking in. Then, her lips curled into a bitter, angry sneer. “You’re choosing her over me? After everything I’ve done for you?” She shook her head, disbelieving. “You’ve gone too far this time.”

Jinx scoffed, crossing her arms, unfazed by the venom in Caitlyn’s tone. “ Jinx stepped forward again, a little of her old spark returning. “Oh, come on. You don’t own her, Caitlyn. She’s here because she wants to be.”

Caitlyn's jaw clenched. "You're dangerous. You're going to get her killed. She deserves better than you."

Jinx’s grin twisted into something darker, her gaze not leaving Caitlyn’s. “She’s with me because she wants to be, I didn’t drag her here kicking and screaming,” she said, each word punctuated with a dangerous edge. “And if you think you can just waltz in and control her, you’ve got another thing coming.”

The words hung heavy in the air. Caitlyn’s anger burned in her eyes, and for a brief moment, there was a flicker of something else—fear, maybe, or desperation. But then, Caitlyn took a step back, her face contorting with a mixture of hurt and frustration. “If you think I’m going to just stand by and watch you drag her down with you,” she spat, “you’re wrong.”

Her voice dropped, the edge of it becoming cold and hard. “I’ll make sure the Enforcers know what you’ve done. I’ll see you locked away in Stillwater before I let you drag my sister down with you”. The threat landed with a chilling weight. Jinx didn’t flinch, but her expression shifted. There was no hesitation in her eyes. “You think the Enforcers are gonna stop me? You think they’re gonna “save” her from me?” Her voice was low and dangerous now, the spark of mischief fading for a moment, replaced by something darker. “You really don’t know who you’re messing with.”

Caitlyn’s lips curled into a tight smile, her voice trembling with fury. “I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you from tearing my sister apart.”

Jinx’s laugh was sharp, unbothered. “You’re already too late for that.” She took a step forward, closing the gap between her and Caitlyn. “She’s mine now.”

The words were final, like a declaration that sealed the fate of everything in the room. Caitlyn’s eyes hardened, her shoulders tensing as if preparing for something more. But then, she turned on her heel, her back stiff and her fists clenched at her sides.

“Don’t think this is over,” Caitlyn hissed, her voice dripping with menace. “You’ll regret this.”

She turned on her heel, disappearing into the darkness of the alley, leaving only the sound of her footsteps to echo in the tense silence that followed.

Jinx let out a long breath, her shoulders sagging slightly as the confrontation with Caitlyn came to an end.

The silence that followed was heavy, but Jinx’s hand found yours, her touch gentle despite the tension. She turned to you, her voice low and vulnerable. “Hey… you okay?”

You nodded, your chest tight from the confrontation. “I’m okay,” you whispered, squeezing her hand. “And I’m with you.”

Jinx’s eyes softened, her usual bravado replaced by something more tender as she leaned in, cupping your cheek gently. “I’ve got you,” she murmured, brushing a soft kiss against your forehead. “You’re not alone in this.”

You leaned into her touch, finding comfort in her presence, the intensity of the moment fading into something warmer. "I know," you whispered back. "And I'm not going anywhere."

Jinx’s smile widened, her hand still cradling your face as she kissed your forehead again. “Good,” she whispered. “Because neither am I.”

Jinx’s gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, her purple eyes searching yours as a small, teasing smile crept back onto her lips. “You love me, huh?” she asked quietly, her voice a mix of playful disbelief and genuine curiosity.

You felt your cheeks flush at the question, but you didn’t look away. Instead, you smiled softly, nodding. “Yeah,” you whispered. “I do.”

Jinx’s smirk softened into something warmer, more real. She leaned in closer, her forehead gently resting against yours as she let out a quiet chuckle. “Damn,” she murmured. “I never thought I’d hear someone say that to me.”

You couldn’t help but smile wider at her vulnerability, reaching up to cup her face in your hands. “Get used to it,” you said, your voice soft but sure. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

Jinx closed her eyes for a moment, taking in your words like they were something precious. When she opened them again, they were filled with a kind of warmth that made your heart ache in the best way. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” she whispered, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips.

For a moment, everything else faded away—Caitlyn’s harsh words, the tension, the world around you. It was just the two of you, wrapped in a quiet moment of sweetness, a rare peace in the chaos of it all.

And as Jinx pulled back slightly, her fingers still intertwined with yours, she grinned. “Guess I’m stuck with you now, huh?”

You laughed softly, nodding. “Guess so.”

“Good,” Jinx murmured, her voice full of affection. “Because I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

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