#makes a good distraction of the damn holidays

[gatorasmus]

He is tall enough to pass for a tree... and considering Danny's luck with Christmas trees...

[lalunanymph]

SNAP AND BREAK

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

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

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

x / a03

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wanderers. 

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

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

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

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

“—Chapel Bay. We need reinforcements—”

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

“Pipsqueak, what’s wrong—?”

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

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

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

You nod, and something in his expression darkens.

“You can’t go.” 

“Wh—?” 

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

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

“Caleb, it’s my job—”

“ Y/N, please.” 

No Pipsqueak, Pips, or short stack …

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Now you’re just making things up!” 

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

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

“Oh, I can and I will.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Pips—”

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

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

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

“I was just—”

“What’s going on?!” 

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

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

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

“Gran, I’m—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s disappointed time and time again. 

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

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

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

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

“Hello?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Merry Christmas, Pipsqueak. We missed you. — C

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Caleb—”

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

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

“Caleb…” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay…”

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

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

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

“Okay, that’s it—” 

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

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

“But—”

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

“Caleb—”

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

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

Easier said than done. 

It’s hard. 

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

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

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

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

“Gege… don’t be mad at me…”  

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

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

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

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

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

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

He bites back a groan, narrowing his eyes. 

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

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

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

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

“ Gege… ” you whisper again. 

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

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

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

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

“C-Caleb—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please—” 

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

“I said: Shut. Up. ”

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

“Already wet? How pathetic…” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Struggling already?” 

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

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

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

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

Good.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I will always obey gege.

I will always obey gege. 

I will always—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re so sweet… so sinful…”

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

“Caleb…” 

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

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

“You’re so eager… so ready for me…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I— ohhh .”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

God, he’s so in love with you. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

He can tell you’re close. 

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

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

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

“I… mhm— close… ”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

God… you’re killing me…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s too much—all too soon.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Caleb… oh… Caleb… ”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh… oh… y-you ass—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You alive, Pips?” 

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

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

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

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

“Yes, Pips?” 

“Am I… forgiven?” 

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

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

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

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

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

[writersdrug]

Konig despises eggplant. He won't go near the stuff. No matter how you cook it, he'll shiver and grimace every time you offer him a bite.

He goes with you everywhere - and I mean everywhere. Sits at the empty table next to you while you get your nails done. Walks down the path from your front door to the mailbox at the crack of dawn, his hands shoved in his pajama pants. Clingy, though he'll never admit it.

Loves a bar of 70% cocoa as a snack. Doesn't need water or milk to wash it down, but he won't turn down a glass of cold, whole milk if it's offered to him (it never is. He grabs it himself).

He'll yell at you to turn the water temperature down when you shower together. Corners himself as far away from the stream as he can, acting like you're threatening him with a scalding fire poke.

When he comes home after missions, he doesn't always drag you to the bedroom to do the devil's tango. Sometimes, he hugs you tightly and begs you to make an actual meal, something to replenish him after weeks of boiled chicken and canned beans from wherever he was shipped off to. He wants you to sit at the table with him and just talk, please just distract him from his own thoughts.

If you hand him something, he'll hold it. He won't even pause what he's doing, whether that's talking about Spartan phalanx formations, or listening to you babble about your day. And he won't let whatever it is go until you tell him what to do with it. You'll turn around, seeing him holding the half stick of butter you handed him well over five minutes ago. "König, baby, you can put that back in the fridge."

He holds your breasts in his sleep in a non-sexual way - but damn, his grip can be fucking tight sometimes. He's got his head resting on your soft stomach, snoring against your skin as his fingers dig and squeeze at your tits. It takes a few minutes of your whining and shoving at his head before he finally relents, wrapping his arms around your waist instead.

He's happy to go to Home Goods with you and spend an hour just sniffing the different candles. He tends to lean towards the apple, cinnamon, pumpkin, or any warm, holiday scents. He can't stand the ones like "tropical waves", or "fresh linen".

He has eaten an entire wheel of brie cheese in one sitting. Multiple times. With nothing else to compliment it. And he will do it again. You can't stop him.

[thecoochiefairy]

gamer girlz. onyankopon.

𑄽𑄺 warnings 𑄽𑄺 4.6K word count. blackfem!reader, drabble, college football coded! onyankapon, grumpy!onyankapon, sweet!onyankapon, dominant!onyankapon, kinda sorta makeup sex?, couch sex , black woman, vaginal penetration, rough, lil bit of sweet talkin’, hair pulling, creaming, oral [f] [m], choking, praising, LOTS of dirty talk, backshots, missionary, condomless sex, cumming on face, kissing, spanking, just a fine ass black man, minors aren’t welcome!

━━ 𝒄𝙤𝒐𝙘𝒉𝙞𝒆𝙛𝒂𝙞𝒓𝙮 𝙩𝒉𝙤𝒖𝙜𝒉𝙩𝒔 .ᐟ day 283737272 of liyah’s ovulation and faithful celibacy pact meaning she’s having the most nasty, egregious thoughts. please enjoy my black man fantasies. the links inspired this fic heavily, so enjoy those too.

𝓐ᥫ᭡ :: onyankopon just wants to help you finish your game.

link. link. link. ony’s visuals.

YOUR FINGERS SHOULD'VE HURT AT THIS POINT. Swiftly moving from button to button, they tap the controls as you’re on another level of the game you desperately wanted to beat.

You had some time off of studying, and this is how you wanted to spend it. Your boyfriend was at football practice—although a part of you just wanted to be swarmed up in his arms, your attention span also had you elsewhere—this damn game. You enjoyed the older games, replaying the hardest version of Batman: Arkham Asylum, your boredom peaking your interest back in the game you’d had since childhood. 

You didn’t even register that the door had opened, or maybe you didn’t just care enough. You knew who it was. You eye him dropping his keys against the counter, black hoodie over his head, sharp jaw grunting lightly from his sore muscles, scowl along his face—definitely had to do with practice. 

You pause the game for a second, turning your face to the side, fuzzy socks along your feet, his large jersey slung along your body as you greet him, “Hell, baby. What they’ do to you?” 

“Coach was on dick today. Had me running laps cause other niggas couldn’t catch the ball and I got mad,” he huffs, taking his helmet and slamming it on the counter next to him. He massages the nape of his neck, sighing deeply to himself. 

“Now you know coach don’t like all that cussing on his field,” you sigh, “He knows you're good. That’s why he’s on your ass.” 

“Nah. He just annoying as fuck. Can’t expect me to do everything.”

He’s like a child, grumpy and pouty. His tall frame comes closer, wanting your attention in response to his rough day at practice. 

“How’s my baby?” he says in your ear, wrapping his large muscular arms around your waist and gently biting your shoulder. His broad frame shadows under his hoodie, tat against his face shining under the lights of your shared apartment, full lips moisturized—you’d never let him leave the house otherwise. 

You give him a soft laugh, rubbing your fingers over his durag as you say, “I’m fine. Had some time off studying, tryna’ beat this game. I meant what I said, Ony. He doesn’t just give you a hard time because he’s bored. You’re his star player, gotta make sure he ain’t treating you like everybody else.” 

“Don’t tell me you on yo’ nerdy stuff. C’mon. I’m sore,” he groans, his grip around your waist tightens and he pushes himself against you. 

“Oh, is it nerdy shit when you’ screaming on the game playing 2K with your friends? I was gonna offer a little massage. Now you’ve lost your entry to that,” you say, trying to push him off of you, reaching for the controller in between your lap. 

He doesn’t budge. He holds firmly onto you, pressing sloppy kisses against your neck to distract you. 

“Don’t be like that. I was kidding, you know I like that shit,” he huffs, his breath against your neck as he presses his lips on the sensitive part of your skin, “Forgot to tell you, I got an away game coming up in a few weeks. So I’ll be gone for like, a week.”

Your head comes down a bit to look directly at him, “What? You’re not coming with me to my parents? You know the holidays are coming up, Onyankopon. I told them you’d be there.” 

“You know imma’ just be sitting around hiding behind you,” he murmurs against your skin, his hot breath tickling you. 

It’s not that he’s shy— rather, he just doesn’t enjoy the unnecessary attention. 

“How ‘bout we do our own Christmas, before I go?” 

He’s nuzzling himself against your neck now, his hands roaming all along your body. You press his body away from yours, standing up as you become annoyed. 

You then say, “I wouldn’t be going up to my parents place if you didn’t agree to come with me in the first place,” going into the kitchen, searching through the freezer. 

He runs a hand over his face, seeing how instantly irritated you became. He knew having his support for the holidays meant a lot to you, and he might’ve waited on telling you about the going away game to lessen your disappointment. 

“Mama,” he calls, watching you from the sofa. 

You turn, raising an eyebrow as you say, “Oh, so now I’m Mama, you love hitting me with that shit when you know I’m mad.” 

“You know I don’t like going to those family functions, I swear that house always stinks cause yo’ auntie cooks that nasty ass fish. A week ain’t no big deal. Let’s just have our own thing here.” 

“So which one is it? You don’t wanna go or you got your football shit?” You narrow your eyes, pulling the ice pack from the freezer, arms crossed as you come back closer to him.

He knows better than to lie, especially to you. 

“They got some NFL scouts coming to this game,” he mutters, scratching his temple. I’m sorry. But I’m tryna’ go pro, you know that.”

“Mhm.” 

You hand him the ice pack, “Put it on your knee. I know it’s been sore lately.”

He raises an eyebrow, “You’ not mad?”

“Did I say I was mad? You’ want the ice pack or not?” 

He takes the ice pack, wincing once the coldness hits his knee. He knew you were gonna give him a scolding if he didn’t.

“You’ got a bad ass attitude right now.” 

“I wonder why, Onyankopon? If we had plans to go back to your parents house for the holidays and at the last minute I told you I have exams and that I just didn’t wanna go, you’d be irritated too.”  

“Damn, you gon’ be on my ass about this for the next three weeks?” 

He didn’t like it when you were like this, cause instead of being pissed you were more disappointed, which was somehow a lot worse to him.

“I’m gonna be gone for a week.” 

You scratch your nails in between the baby blue orchid claw-clip that holds your curls. You dismiss him, “You need to go shower.” 

“What, you ain’t tryna’ join me?” he murmurs, a smirk on his lips, “Quit being mad. I’m tryna love on you. Wanna put on The Isley Brothers and give you a rub down.” 

“You’re playing too much right now,” you deadpan, “Bye Onyankopon.” 

“What’ you mean bye?” he says, his smirk turning into a frown.

“I’m finna’ go finish studying,” you’re already walking back towards the bedroom, ending the conversation off as that. 

When you finally hear him smack his lips and make his way into the shower, you glance over your notes, deciding you weren’t gonna let him ruin your previous plans. You’re now back on the sofa, eyes set onto the screen, trying to defeat the computer generated opponent. 

You switch over to the sound of the bathroom opening, seeing him re-tying his durag back on, basketball shorts baggy and house shoes on his feet. His tattoos all along his face, neck, chest and arms always had your attention—but not as much attention as you usually gave him at this moment. You sprawled along the furniture, elbow deep into the couch's pillow as one leg laid straight out, while the other bent itself over the top of the couch. 

He doesn’t like how you’re paying no attention to him. As stupid as it sounds, he’s always got to have your eyes on him. They were pretty. 

“You’ still mad? You for real ain’t finna’ give me a massage?” 

“I’m good,” you swiftly respond, “Just playing my game. You can massage yourself.” 

“Why you’ gotta be like this?” 

He sits down next to you, his large frame takes up a lot of the space. The couch becomes smaller somehow. His eyes watch the game intently before he decides to get comfortable. Lying back down on the sofa, he lets his head rest in your lap. Even with you being irritated, you let him lay there. 

You continue going up level by level, your focus intently on the game. The little argument between you and Onyankopon irritated you to say the least, but you didn’t have the energy to completely push him away. It’s unfortunate he was persuasive. You notice out the corner of your eye that he lifts his head a little, the warmth between your legs along the back of his neck, and that’s when he sees that you’re wearing nothing under his jersey.  

He takes the time to admire you, legs lazily hung open, his eyes staring directly against your pussy, scenting of vanilla on your legs, freshly shaven. One of his large hands comes to rest on the back of your thick thigh, rubbing small circles with his thumb.

“What you’ got on?” he mutters.

“Had to wash clothes, didn’t have any underwear. That’s why I put on your jersey,” you tell him, eyes still not looking at his face, unable to see how his jaw clenched at the sight. 

He doesn’t say anything for a few seconds. In that moment his large hand rubs along the skin on your thigh, pushing the jersey up further.

“You look good as fuck in my shit,” He mumbles, a low rasp in his tone.

“Thank you,” you say in a softer tone, mainly because you’re distracted, buttons pressing harder against the controller. 

He can tell how focused you are—how your face scrunched up, the way your fingers move, even the way your thighs fall open on his head.

That’s when you feel him lean down, giving a gentle peck to your inner thigh. The feeling makes you tense a bit, but you still keep your eyes against the screen, huffing out a breath as your character is close to dying. This level was difficult. 

He’s giving small, light kisses along the sensitive flesh of your inner thigh, taking small intervals to glance up to you as you keep your eyes against the screen. His hand moves higher up on your leg, slowly pushing the jersey up even more.

Your eyes go to him for a millisecond, seeing as his head is down, lips attached to your thighs, sucking ever so gently on your skin. You can almost feel a pressure building in your stomach, the slow ache of his movements almost purposeful, teasing you in a way. You press your glasses up against your face, huffing out a breath as you mutter, “Stupid ass level,” trying to come up with a reason as to why you sound so breathless. 

He grins as he’s laying there, hearing your breathing getting heavier. It’s obvious how hard you’re trying to focus on the game, but he’s working you up.

“You’ trying so hard, Mama,” He murmurs against your hot skin, his kisses trailing to the spot he knows is extra sensitive.

You shift your body, clearing your throat as you say, “Gotta restart,” adjusting your legs a bit, opening them up just a little more than before. 

He can tell how you’re slowly giving in, how you’re shifting your body around, legs opening just enough for him to move closer. He lets his free hand come to caress your stomach, rubbing against the skin under the fabric of the jersey. His lips are so close to you, his breath is hot against your skin. 

“Restart then,” He mutters, tongue now coming to flick out from his lips, gliding across your skin, hiding beneath the pillows of his lips as they begin sucking a dark red mark against you.

You narrow your eyes lightly as you restart the level you play, but your body is distracted by Onyankopon’s lips along it. You drag your teeth along your lip a bit, pressing your fingers harder into the controller, feeling his lips coming up higher. 

You could feel the arousal you had flooding in between the lips of your pussy, protecting your clit as it now begins to pool farther down, dampening the couch. His large fingers wrap along the outside of your thighs, using his thumbs to pull the skin on the inside apart, showing the dark pink of your pussy, squelching at his presence. Your body tenses even more as you feel his thumb meet with your clit, rubbing so softly against it, dropping his mouth down to press another kiss to your skin. The leg hiked up against the top of the sofa trembles a bit. 

“You’ winning?” You hear him murmur against your skin. 

You take a deep inhale, squeezing your fingers against the hooks of your controller as you softly reply, “No.”

He circles your clit with maddeningly light touches, barely grazing the swollen nub. At the same time, he’s still pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses, occasionally grazing his teeth. 

"You’ getting distracted. Wet ass pussy," Onyankopon murmurs appreciatively, feeling the slick evidence of your arousal coating his finger.

Your chest heaves a bit at his tone, but you don’t let up. You keep your eyes on the screen, but you seem to be losing. In both games. 

He spreads you even wider as he leans in closer, hot breath fanning over your slick folds. He pulls his thumb back as he replaces it with his mouth, giving you an innocent kiss against your clit. His beard captures your arousal, your fingers shuddering as you hear him groan, “Ooh, fuck, Mama. You’ wet for real.”

Without warning, he seals his lips around your clit and sucks, tongue flicking rapidly over the sensitive bud. He releases it with a lewd pop before trailing open-mouthed kisses along your slit, lapping up your dripping arousal. Your eyebrows deepen into a frown, lips trembling as you give one more press to your controller, before you take your hand and reach it to the back of his head, getting a clutch against the knot of his durag. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, clasping your mouth shut as you whimper for him.

He delves his tongue deeper between your opened folds, dragging it up and down, lapping up to create more secretion. His hands grip your thick thighs, spreading you obscenely wide as he eats you out like a starving man.

"Mmmm, this a nigga favorite fuckin’ meal," he rumbles, voice muffled by your flesh. He alternates between slurping you up and flicking rapidly, determined to make you fall apart. One hand slides up to grope your ass roughly, kneading the plush flesh.

“O—Ony…” you gasp, voice small and high pitched, fingers squeezing harder against his head, dropping the controller out of your other hand, the object hitting the ground with a thud. The music of the battle within the game becomes something you hear, but not as loud as his mouth gulping you down, heavy tongue sopping against your pussy, drenching his beard so much that he could drown in you.

“Pretty ass voice,” he encourages huskily, the vibrations from his words sending shockwaves through your core. He dips two thick fingers knuckle-deep into your weeping cunt, pumping them slowly as he continues his relentless assault on your clit with his tongue. The wet sounds of him feasting on your pussy fill the room, mixing obscenely with the forgotten video game noises.

His free hand roams your curves possessively, groping and squeezing every inch of exposed skin he can reach—your ass, your thighs, the underside of your breasts. You’re lost in a haze of pleasure.

You were always so sensitive to his touch, the pleasure that you received from him kept you so kidnapped that it was hard to be mad at him. You grind your clit along his mouth that waits to catch it, voice ineffective of composure as you struggle, “Gonna cum soon, Ony…” 

“Yeah?” He grunts, head knocking up and down, your eyes only able to watch as his lower face disappears in between your legs, glistening a coat against his beard, “Where you wanna cum?” 

“On your dick, baby…” you whine softly, rotating your hips gently to match his moments, “Please…”

"You wanna cum on your dick, Mama?” He coos against you, the sound reverberating through your core, you’re whimpering with an urgent nod, “Mhm,” before he can even finish his sentence. 

He pulls himself back, already tugging his tip from beneath his basketball shorts, taking off the material as your eyes follow the curve, the vein in his dick, heavy against the stretch of his large palm. Tattoos spread against his pelvic, scriptures and inspirational quotes that didn’t belong in his blasphemous moment.

"Turn around, put that ass in the air for me.“

Your legs feel a bit numb, bringing yourself up as you know exactly how he wants you. Raising your left leg along the arm of the couch, you lean your breast over the top as your face hides beneath your arm, right knee digging into the seat of it. He places his fingers along the side of your neck, other hand digging into your thigh thrown over the furniture. He doesn’t have to tell you to look at him—you always give him your eyes, feline as they blank beneath his control. Your body trembles as he slams his palm against your ass, “Arch more,” your body following suit, deepening the valley your silhouette creates. 

He grips your hip with bruising force, using the leverage to grind the swollen head of his dick teasingly along your soaked slit. Up and down, he rubs himself through your slick folds, coating his length in your essence. Your hips tense as you feel the weight of his tip stretching open your pussy, sinking in that it makes your abdomen cramp, aching in a pleasure that has your entire body tighten. Your eyes are beginning to roll back, digging your nails into the sofa as you keep your eyes on his, he looks mad at you, slamming his palm against your ass again as he grunts, “Keep that fuckin’ arch.” 

Your chest is filled with oxygen, holding your breath to cure the slight discomfort you feel, but it’s also an agonizing pleasure, feeling so full from him. He’s slowly dragging himself halfway out, rolling his hips back in and going even deeper, your mouth dropping open as your eyes flutter shut, turning your head back towards him as you whimper, “Fuck, baby. You’re deep…” 

Silence goes in between the both of you, savoring the rush of pleasure that clutches the air as he drags his first couple of thrusts, so slow it felt like time wasn’t even passing. The sedated actions almost feel better than if he sped up, his eyes locking down as he sees you painting his tip, creaming on him. 

“I’m in your shit, huh?” he talks to you, it’s almost tortuous as he hilts himself fully inside, his heavy balls slapping against your throbbing clit. Your walls clench around him like a vice, your head tilting back as you completely tense. You whimper, “Ungh,” attempting to push him back to relieve the stimulation, jumping as he gives you a bruising spank, deep voice aggressive as he says, “Uh-uh, don’t do that. You know I don’t do that running shit.” 

His fingers dig into the flesh of your hips as he starts up at a carnal pace. The wet squelch of your pussy being split open echoes obscenely in the room, mixing with your deep whines, nodding your head, gently dropping your hips against his abdomen to meet his strokes.

“Keep riding that dick, goood fuckin’ girl,” each thrust is punishing and deep, stirring up your insides. The wet slap of skin on skin echoes obscenely as he rails into you, chasing your pleasure to insanity.

You always try to keep up, but you never could. All your organs feel tossed around by him, so blinded in your erotic state, your mouth opens as you give long moans, deeply gasping each time you need to catch your breath. He brings you to a point of saying things you’d never thought would leave your lips, mouth parted as you groan, “Yes, yes, baby. Agh, fuck, Ony. Deeper.”

"You want this dick deeper?" He growls, accentuating his question with a thrust that has your eyes rolling back farther. His grip on your hips tightens, surely leaving finger-shaped bruises on your toffee skin as he sets a merciless pace.

He’s back at palming his hand brutally against your ass, rushing it up to come around the front of your mouth, resting his fingers there as he grunts, "Take this fucking dick then," yanking your head back.

The new angle allows him to go even deeper, his hips slapping against your clit, “Finna’ tear this fuckin’ pussy open.” 

His filthy words mix with the lewd sounds of your bodies coming together, filling the room, it has you groaning through his fingers. 

“Love you so much,  baby—“ this was a regular routine, the affection you give him as he’s hitting that spot that only he could find, whines plummeting from your mouth, eyes to the back of your head as you reach back and grab onto his wrist that holds your hip, moaning louder each time he rolls his hips back to meet the weight of your ass matching his rhythm.

“What happened to you being mad?” He questions, going slow as he tugs you back into his dick, the echo of your skin bouncing off each other like a drug induced round of applause. 

You shake your head, “Not mad at you, Onyyy,  love you so much….”

He chuckles darkly, low and rumbling in his chest as he leans over you, pressing his muscular torso against your back. His hot breath fans across the shell of your ear as he murmurs, "I know you do, Mama. I love you too.” 

One large hand slides up from your hip, reaching around to splay across your stomach as the other now tangles in your hair, tugging your head back. He rolls his hips in a slow, deep grind, stirring you up from the inside, your mouth releasing broken shouts, your face hot, pleasured tears wanting to stroke along your face. 

"Fuckin’ love you, princess. Pussy was made for me,” He gives another sharp thrust, grinding against your cervix. "You’ getting tight as fuck—You’ cumming, Mama?”

“I’m….” You gasp, defeated in your inability to speak, taking your hand and reaching back to hold his face closer to yours, hips trembling as you dangerously moan in a cracked tone “I’m cumming, baby. I’m cumming. I’m—agh,  c—cumming…”

His chuckle is dark with lust as you flutter and clench around him erratically. He grips you harder, using the leverage to pound into you relentlessly, chasing his own release.

"Good job, baby. Biggg fuckin’ girl. Cum on this dick. Fuckin' soak it," he growls, his voice strained with pleasure. One hand moves from your hip to your clit, rubbing tight circles around the sensitive nub as he continues his brutal pace.

Your whole body tenses and shakes as your orgasm crashes over you, a loud cry tearing from your throat. Your pussy spasms almost violently around his thick shaft, gushing against him so much it pushes him out of you, trying to milk the sensation for all it’s worth. 

“I’m finna’ bust, baby,” he warns, groaning in your ear, “Come eat this dick up.”

Your body feels numb as you turn yourself towards him, immediately wrapping your lips along his tip, enveloping the taste of your own arousal within the walls of your mouth, sucking him in to reach the heavens of your throat. He clasps your hair within his palm, bobbing yourself back and forth as you reach down, rubbing your clit as you still feel your orgasm rushing through your body. You moan around him, giving him those cat eyes, fluttering your dark extensions as you swirl your tongue against his tip, begging for a reaction.

He throws his head back with a deep, guttural moan as your warm mouth engulfs him. His grip on your hair tightens, guiding your movements as he starts to thrust shallowly into your throat.

“Shit—just like that. Eating that dick up good as fuckk," he pants, his abs flexing with each snap of his hips. The sight of you—eyes fluttering, cheeks hollowed, one hand buried between your thighs—it’s almost too much.

He pulls your mouth off him, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his glistening tip. With another smack to your ass, he flips you onto your back, settling between your spread legs. 

"I wanna see your face when I nut in this pretty ass pussy." 

He lines himself up and sinks back in with one smooth thrust, bottoming out instantly, clutching your throat, holding you down as your back arches up, clawing into his back at the visceral sensitivity.

He sets a hard, fast pace, the wet sounds of your joining filling the room. His intense gaze locks with yours, pupils blown wide with lust as he takes in every expression that crosses your face.

"That's it, baby. Gonna fill this pussy up real good," he grunts as you whimper with his talking, “Ba-by,” angling his hips to hit that special spot inside you. One hand slides under your thigh, pushing your leg up and back to change the angle, allowing him to go even deeper.

He leans down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss as he continues to pound into you. His tongue dominates your mouth, swallowing your moans and cries of pleasure. Breaking the kiss, he buries his face in your neck, biting and sucking dark marks into your skin as he chases his release.

"Fuckk, finna’ cum soon. You want it in you, baby?”

“On my face baby, you say it’s pretty there,” you whimper, deepening your nails in his back, “Mmmph, c’mon, Ony. Please…” 

A grin spreads across his face at your pleas. Grabbing his throbbing tip, he positions himself at your face, smearing the leaking pre-cum across your cheek. He’s moaning, stroking himself rapidly, aiming his tip at your parted lips. His free hand grips your chin firmly, keeping you in place as his strokes become erratic. He then cums, painting your face—across your cheeks, over your lips, some even landing in your waiting mouth.

You stick your tongue out, running your tongue over your lips that darken in color, bruised as you dig your teeth into them with a sultry giggle. Heavy breathing fills the room as you keep your eyes up at him. 

He steps back as he says, “Hollon, baby,” going into the bathroom as he finds a towel, rubbing it along your face to clean you up. He then leans down, pulling you into a kiss as he grunts, “Gimme’ your mouth. I love you, Mama. I’m sorry.” 

You give him a kiss, holding his face in your hands, running your tongues together sloppily, passion filling your entire body from the previous actions. 

You say, “It’s okay. You’ want your massage now?”

He pulls his mouth back a bit, eyeing you before he chuckles. It makes you pout, “What’s funny?”

He laughs, shaking his head as he helps you stand, “Nothin’ Mama. Just thinkin' 'bout how quick you forgave me after I tore your ass up."

You roll your eyes, “I can always change my mind.” 

He runs a hand down your side, squeezing your hip possessively. "Chill out. I want that massage. You know I'm always ready for your magical hands."

He stretches languidly, his muscles rippling beneath his tattoos as he leads you towards the bedroom, “ And don’t be all stingy with the lotion. Do that lil’ thing I like if you feeling extra generous.” 

“You’ getting beside yourself. Do you need that?”

He turns, “Do you?”

You scrunch up your nose, “No. I want a massage next!”

“Exactly. C’mon, get that ass on the bed.”

[baby-yongbok]

JOI-ful

Hwang Hyunjin x Afab!Reader

✦ Genre - Smut [MDNI] - Established Relationship ✦ Word Count - 1.8k

✦ CW -  Mutual Masturbation + JOI (Guided masturbation), Unprotected sex & creampie (wrap it up for santa), Choking (self-inflicted by hyunjin for like a minute), Odd holiday sexual innuendos.. ✦ Summary - You and Hyunjin are feeling something other than holiday cheer after digging up your holiday decorations. ✦A/N - I'm late asf but life has been a bitch and I wanted to write to that moment in the livestream Hyunjin joined with Innie and Seungmin like a week or two ago? Anyway, enjoy! + reader is depicted as chubby/plus size and is a POC ♡

✦ Masterlist✦

He's a fucking tease. 

You've known that since you met him but right now; while you both lounge in your living room after hauling every box of Christmas decorations you could find up from your basement you find that it’s the worst that it has been in awhile.

You’re supposed to be putting your Christmas tree up before heading to his parents house for a holiday dinner but you’re stuck staring. Hyunjin was exhausted by the hunt for the boxes but you didn’t expect for that to lead to him laid back, manspreading on the couch across from you and looking damn good while doing it.  

You told him to rest, but what the fuck?

It doesn’t help that he’s been working you up all. fucking. day. Lingering looks and touches in the kitchen this morning, sexual innuendos while rummaging through the tiny basement and now this. You've been strong, you've gotten through it but you don't know how much more you can take.  

The tease in question is scrolling on his phone while you sit in the chair opposite the sofa. The boxes of decorations are haphazardly spread in the space between the two of you but they do nothing to obstruct your view as you allow your eyes to wander. Your gaze runs over the expanse of his leg, his muscles are hidden beneath the loose cut of his jeans but you have no trouble imagining.

You trace over his pelvis and hip, you take in his large hand rubbing over what you know is a toned stomach that you would just love to mark up right now. Your gaze goes up, up, up until it meets his. 

And he fucking smiles. 

Hyunjin sits up on his elbows, dropping his phone to the side with his eyes on you. You're frozen, shocked and embarrassed that you got caught but that only lasts for a second before you run with it. You keep his eye contact and lean in to challenge it. He likes that. 

“Darling.” Hyunjin's tone is innocent when it hits your ears. Deceiving. 

“Yes, honey?” You lean against the arm of the chair, resting your chin in your palm while he sits up further, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. 

“What kind of mood are you in?” He takes his turn at taking you in, drinking in every inch he can before his eyes are on yours again. 

“What do you mean?” 

“What kind of mood are you in, baby? I think that the question is clear.” The corner of his mouth turns up and he speaks slowly like he handcrafted the words himself.

“Are you asking if I want you?”

“Mhm.” The quick dart of his tongue over his bottom lip distracts you. “Do you want me?”

“What makes you think that I do?” 

“You’re staring.” He shifts, “So obviously too.”

The contents of the conversion goes over your head and crumbles into a thick tension much quicker than you expected it to. You both stayed right where you were but your clothes made it to the floor with the boxes eventually. 

You don’t remember what you said that made Hyunjin decide that it was too hot to keep on his cardigan and black tank top but you don’t care to remember when he undoes his jeans and pulls them down his lithe waist just enough to free his heavy cock from the confines. 

He’s still got his eyes on you, still laid back on his elbows but now he’s got his leaky dick 

in his palm while his long fingers - that you wish would replace your own - work over the head of his cock so expertly that you can hear his breath hitch from where you sit. 

But there’s a catch.

“Oh fuck.” He attempts to whisper but he doesn't quite make it.  “More, more, please.”

You listen, watching him lie back, flushed and deep in the pool of pleasure that you're controlling.

“Twist your hand over the tip.” You whimper from your chair where your fingers are exploring your own soaked sex. “Keep your pace, don’t speed up yet.”

He listens, whimpering so beautifully it makes your pussy clench around nothing while your fingers run up your folds and send a shiver down your spine when you circle your swollen clit. 

“Just your clit.” He orders back, his voice rough and thick with desire. “Tease it for me, just how I would.”

You whisper a curse, following his instruction and moaning at the way it lights your skin ablaze. 

“Hand around your throat.” He moans at your order before his digits can even touch the flushed skin of his neck. “Squeeze, just like I would.” His head is thrown back, long fingers wrapped around his throat while his other hand pumps his leaky cock at the pace you set.

 His hips buck up into his fist and it takes everything in you to fight back a moan. “Shit, please, harder.”

“Harder?” You whisper back to him, letting your finger slip down from your clit to where you’re leaking. “Please.” He moans and you keen, indulging in more than you were ordered to.

“Behave.” He hisses, letting his fucked out gaze linger on your wandering digit. “Just your clit, you heard me.” You pull back and press a firm circle into your clit that punches such a perfect pornographic moan from you that Hyunjin reconsiders his instruction for just a second.

 Instead of retracting his order he squeezes the sides of his throat a bit harder, indulging in the blurry headrush that your moans feed him. 

“Faster.” You moan and he crumbles, complying in an instant. His hand polishes his blushed mushroom tip with newfound fervor. Precum dribbles down and gets caught between his fingers in a sticky mess that you want to swirl your tongue around.

“You’re trying to make me cum.” His words are choked and drowned out by the groan that follows. “You’re gonna make me cum.”

“You’re getting distracted, hun.” You tease with stuttered breath and trembling fingers. “It’s your move.”

Hyunjin is a mess, his tongue is heavy and pressed against the roof of his mouth. He can barely hold a word but he tries, uttering a sound that is just an ounce less desperate than the last. “Fuck yourself.” His breath catches, his eyes shut. “Two fingers, hit that fucking spot I’m thinking about.” 

It’s over from there. 

Your fingers slip down and slip in easily. They’re nothing like Hyunjin’s long fingers, the way he’d scissor into you and curl up against your sweet spot is unrivaled but you pretend. You’re knuckle deep, eyes open and watching him with a slack jaw that exchanges lewd sounds with him. 

His hand picks up pace over his cock, ignoring your set pace as he chases his high and imagines that it’s your touch that’s sending electricity down his spine. Your touch, your cunt, your mouth, he’s lost in the feeling. Hypnotized by the delicious burn of his impending orgasm.

“Hyune, fuck, you’re so… so hot like that.” He fixes his mouth to challenge your praise but it only nudges him closer. “Wan’ you, your fingers. Mine aren't’ enough, they - they aren’t yours.”

Your whining breaks him, it gets him up and over to you, kicking the boxes of decorations to the side until he can take a step wide enough to scoop you up from the chair and replace your body with his own. It’s hot, heavy and messy. He sits you in his lap, your soaked heat over his leaky length and his lips crash to yours in a kiss that makes you dizzy. 

Your lips move in a tangled tandem that has you exchanging and swallowing moans until you have to come up for air. He holds your jaw, gentle but firm “You’re gonna sit on my cock and make us cum, okay?” 

You nod, lift up and sink down like it’s second nature. Hyunjin slumps back in the chair, manspreading just like he did earlier but now there’s little to leave to the imagination. He’s sheathed so deep that you can feel his tip kiss your cervix. 

“Baby, I won’t last another fucking second.” His hand is on your hip, long fingers splayed over the plush flesh while the other moves to rub brutal circles over your puffy clit. “Cum on me, c’mon.”

You’d fall back from the bold pang of overstimulation if he didn't move his arm around your waist. He keeps your hips down, guiding you to grind in his lap. He cock twitches inside of your swelling walls, abusing your guts like it’s his fucking job and you come undone. 

“Hyunjin, I’m fucking cumming. I’m fucking - shit, baby, baby.” He takes that as an invitation, joining you in the clouds as he spills sticky white deep in your cunt. His hips buck, his lips fix into a thin line with a choked howl and you collapse forward, riding the wave of aftershocks while he shudders.

“God fucking damn, jagi, fuck.” He wraps his arms around you, grabbing onto you in an attempt to find his bearings but he only finds more of a reason to fall apart. You’ve never been so full of him, dripping his seed with more coming from the shuddering man beneath you. “So much.” You whimper and he keens with his eyes screwed shut and lips parted. 

You kiss him, sloppy and sweet. It makes his hips buck up and you grind down to meet the movement but he squeezes you harder to stop you. “Nuh uh.” He mumbles into the kiss, pulling back just enough to speak. “You will make me cum again.” He pants but you chuckle, kissing him again, softer.

“I think that there’s room for a bit more.” Hyunjin smirks lazily, cracking one eye open to peek at you before the other one follows. “Yeah? You’re leaking you know? You’re stuffed.”

“Need more.” You rest your head on his shoulder, allowing your body to fully sink into the firm yet soft comfort of your boyfriend. “It’s never enough.” 

“You are a greedy girl.” He teases with a rasp and chuckle. “We need to decorate.”

“You can decorate me.” He scrunches his nose at you, looking down and feigning disgust. “You’re still half hard so you didn’t hate that as much as you’re pretending to.”

A quick clench of your stuffed cunt around him both proves your point and milks a hiss from him. He slaps your ass in warning. “Stop it or I will frost you like a cake.” It’s your turn to feign disgust and he grins at the reaction, happy to get some payback.

“Don’t make that face, you started it, my little gingerbread cookie.” 

“Ew, no no no, stop it.” He holds you tighter against his chest and kisses your forehead between each weird innuendo he comes up with. “Creamy like hot cocoa.”

“Hyunjin, stop it!” He kisses you but you squirm with a laugh. “Let it snow, Let it snow, Let it snow.”

“Hyunjin!”

Thank You For Reading! 💕

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[fastandcarlos]

My Favourite Alonso : ̗̀➛ George Russell

summary: after being introduced at last to some of your brother’s fellow drivers, one particular brit captures your attention…

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by fernandoalo_oficial, landonorris and 1,492,262 others

georgerussell63: another awesome week on the track, disappointed with the result but the car is starting to feel real good 🩵

184,967 comments

username1: trust the process george, you got this!!

landonorris: notice how I’m closing the gap in the second photo??

georgerussell63: @/landonorris you keep telling yourself that my friend…

username2: imagine being such good friends with a legend like it’s nothing 😭

fernandoalo_oficial: proudest day of my life making it onto the grid of THE george russell

georgerussell63: @/fernandoalo_oficial: you’ve really made it in life now 😂

username3: have you ever met a more popular driver on the grid??

kimi.antonelli: it was awesome to be there and learn so much from you this weekend 🩵

username4: we’re always so proud of you regardless of the result 👏🏻

lewishamilton: great drive again my friend, we’re on the rise as we finish the season!

username5: how anyone can drive in those conditions is crazy to me 🤯

mercedesamgf1: another great race weekend george 🩵

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by lewishamilton, carlossainz55 and 1,483,958 others

georgerussell63: you could be forgiven for thinking my summer holiday involved a lot of food, and you would be absolutely spot on 🥂

163,968 comments

username6: forget the food wtf is going on in that middle photo 🤔

charles_leclerc: damn someone’s really dressed to impress their girl over the summer break! 🔥

username7: not even food could distract us from that photo george

landonorris: the secretive post is such an ick btw 😂

georgerussell63: @/landonorris no one is as big of an ick as you are!

username8: I’m so happy to see you enjoying your not so single summer!!

username9: scrolling through socials to see if I’ve missed anything…

maxverstappen1: stop trying to be like the cool kids with your soft launch 🙄

lewishamilton: didn’t even tell your own teammate you had a girlfriend before telling the world 😭

username10: don’t think food was the only thing it involved a lot of judging by these photos 🤨

danielricciardo: stop trying to disguise your gf with food 😂

username11: you can’t just post something like this without telling us more 😫

fernandoalo_oficial: I feel like a proud dad 🥹

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by georgerussell63, lancestroll and 59,472 others

ynalonso: he’s a little more soft launch than me 🥺

6,381 comments

username12: thank you yn for doing george’s work for him 👏🏻

landonorris: and this is why you’re the favourite compared to george, never leave us hanging!!

oscarpiastri: I knew it was you all along 👀

username13: now this is the sorta partnership I can get behind 😂

iamrebeccad: remember a couple of weeks ago when I asked you if anything was going on and you said no!?

ynalonso: @/iamrebeccad I’m sorry we just weren’t ready to share 😭😭

username14: now it makes sense why he’s suddenly become so much more friendly with fernando…

danielricciardo: george really do he making himself friendly with the alonso family these days 😉

username15: his summer was definitely more than just food…george is a liar 😂

pierregasly: a little bit!? you’ve just come at us outta nowhere yn!!

fernandoalo_oficial: I wanna act surprise but secretly I was rooting for you two all along 🙌🏻

ynalonso: @/fernandoalo_oficial best. brother. ever. 😘

username16: yn is already my best friend simply cause she hard launches!!

lancestroll: you can’t go abandoning your aston martin roots now you know 💚💪🏻

username17: I refuse to believe that there are two better drivers who could make the best brothers in law 🥺🥺🥺

georgerussell63: why did I try so hard to be secretive for the whole summer 😂

ynalonso: @/georgerussell63 I just enjoyed tormenting you 🥰

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by lewishamilton, fernandoalo_oficial and 64,968 others

ynalonso: every half an hour I keep switching hats and hoping that no one notices 😂

6,973 comments

username18: you can’t have two favourites yn it’s forbidden 😂

georgerussell63: as long as you prefer the blue hat to the green hat idm 🩵

username19: I’ve got images of yn sprinting between the garages all weekend

landonorris: still don’t know why you could pick either of those when you could pick papaya 🧡

carlossainz55: @/landonorris or even better still pick ferrari red ❤️

ynalonso: @/landonorris @/carlossainz55 you’re both far too annoying for me 😂

username20: can’t wait to see fernando vs george to keep yn in their garage 🥊

lancestroll: every time you runaway and go to mercedes I’m sure I hear fernando cry 😂

ynalonso: @/lancestroll he’s always been the dramatic sibling 🙄

username21: their hats are bright blue and bright green ofc we’ll notice 😂

lewishamilton: we’ll give you whatever you want if you pick mercedes instead 😉

username22: this not a sustainable way of living yn 🙃

fernandoalo_oficial: just remember you’ve been green a lot longer than you have blue 💚

username23: you need a makeshift blue and green hat for best of both worlds!!

alex_albon: safe yourself the hassle and come and join lily at williams, she keeps moaning she’s lonely 😂

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by landonorris, charles_leclerc and 67,593 others

ynalonso: just for all the people wondering how george and nando are such good friends, a collection of photos I’ve taken of the two of them over the years 🩵💚

7,138 comments

username24: for everyone saying these two weren’t close before yn…here’s your proof 👆🏻

georgerussell63: I look like I’m about ten years old in that first photo 🥺

ynalonso: @/georgerussell63 still just as handsome now you’re an old man 😂

georgerussell63: @/ynalonso still nowhere near as old as your brother 😝

username25: the friendship these two have had has always been special!

maxverstappen1: now I feel old looking at how old these two now are too

username26: I can imagine fernando being the one to set them up somehow 🤔

fernandoalo_oficial: don’t tell him this now I’m supposed to be the intimidating older brother…but he’s easily my favourite driver 🥹

ynalonso: @/fernandoalo_oficial you are the least intimidating person ik 😂

username27: look at baby george in the first photo 😫

alex_albon: someone explain please how fernando is only getting better with age!?

ynalonso: @/alex_albon it’s those alonso genes 🤩

landonorris: isn’t it about time that george got himself a different haircut!?

username28: fernando watching george grow up right before his very eyes 😭

danielricciardo: the kids grow up so fast 🤧

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by alex_albon, lewishamilton and 1,293,068 others

georgerussell63: she’s not used to hugging tall guys 😉

168,492 comments

username29: not george calling fernando out like this 😂

fernandoalo_oficial: just because you’re dating my sister don’t think I’ll let you get away with height jokes russell!!

georgerussell63: @/fernandoalo_oficial I’m sorry fernando please don’t hate me 😭

username30: you can’t be mean you’re basically family now 😭

danielricciardo: you’re a brave man making a joke like that 👏🏻

username31: good luck yn dealing with these two together!!

landonorris: nothing wrong with being a little bit on the smaller side 🤨

username32: you’re supposed to get her family to like you george not hate your guts

oscarpiastri: not everyone has the pleasure of walking around like a weird giraffe like you!

username33: can’t believe he’s done fernando dirty like this 😂

ynalonso: he might be small but he sure is mighty, I’d watch your back russell 😫

username34: this dynamic is delivering more than I ever thought it would!

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by ynalonso, landonorris and 1,294,067 others

georgerussell63: happy birthday to my love, turns out the alonso family know how to party too 💞🍾

48,492 comments

username35: this might be my favourite post of all time 🤩

oscarpiastri: happy birthday yn, thank you for such an awesome party last night!

ynalonso: I think it’s safe to say I’ll never forget last night, thank you for organising it all babe 💞

username36: who knew fernando and george were actually the double act we all needed

danielricciardo: now share the rest of the photos you have from last nigh!?

georgerussell63: @/danielricciardo if I shared many more of the photos I have I’ll probably get banned by instagram 😂

username37: I can’t stop thinking about this party and these photos 😂😂

landonorris: I can’t erase the image of fernando on the table from my eyes!!!

alex_albon: no one enjoyed themselves at the party last night more than fernando!!

username38: who knew fernando still had all those moves…

maxverstappen1: I don’t think I’ll recover from what I saw last night for a long time hahah

username39: at least now we all know exactly where yn gets it from!!

fernandoalo_oficial: remember what happens at the club stays at the club 😉

georgerussell63: @/fernandoalo_oficial I have a lot more respect for you after last night 🍷

username40: george you have no idea that you’re about to be part of the best family ever 🤩

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

cookie, cookie !!

baking cookies with suki :3

katsuki’s been hovering around you for about 6 minutes now.

you had decides on a whim you wanted to bake some cookies, and since the holidays were coming up, now was the perfect excuse to. you were soon joined in the dorm kitchen by your grouchy boyfriend, who had just come back from his morning run.

you explained you were in the mood for cookies and he responds with a grunt. but then he proceeds to stay in the kitchen, awkwardly standing around looking at the cupboards and utensils like this is the first time he stepped foot in a kitchen before.

he then proceeds to just hover around behind you, staring over your shoulder like a child waiting to see if the cookies were done yet. you found it cute at first, but that constant scowl and scrutinizing look on his face makes you feel like you’re doing something wrong, and frankly it’s making you a little nervous and baking cookies should not be nerve racking !

“would you stop doing that ? i know what i’m doing” you snap your head to squint at him and he stiffens like he’s been caught, like he was being even remotely close to sneaky to begin with, which he wasn’t.

“m’not doin’ anything” he mutters defensively, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his sweats. “just lookin’ atcha. m’i not allowed to ?” he leans in so his nose is almost touching yours, that stupid little handsome smirk on his lips as his eyes fixate themselves on your lips before looking back up. you gulp, then you place your hand on his face and push him away lightly “you’re distracting me” you mutter, feeling your face grow hotter. he chuckles to himself before turning on his heels and leaning again the countertop.

it’s quiet for a second before you feel like calling him out as payback for teasing you “ is there a reason you’re still here ? you wanna lick the batter or something?” you quip teasingly and you snort when his face morphs into one of disgust “hell no.” he scoffs, looking at you before looking down at the batter you’re currently mixing the shit out of, screw whoever broke the mixer. “how long are ya gonna keep mixing that ?” his eyebrow raises in question

“until it’s good” you huff, taking a break from mixing to keep your fingers from cramping up. then you suddenly get an idea

“oh, suki~” you sing turning to look at him. he eyes you suspiciously, crossing his bulky arms across his chest and grunting out a suspicious “what do you want ?”

“well~” you start walking towards him, proceeding to wrap your arms around his middle and give him your best puppy eyes. his doesn’t budge but he squints at you even harder and you can basically feel him cave already “what?” he urged again.

“since you’re oh, so strong and handsome, could you please do me a favor and mix the batter for me, my handsome boyfriend?” you give him your sweetest smile and he scoffs, “what the fuck does being handsome even have to do with it ?”he mumbles. pink dusts his cheeks and he looks away from you, already feeling his resolve crumbling at your shallow praise. he hates how easily he gives in to you sometimes. you squeeze at his waist, he grunts “thought you said i was distracting you.”

you’re pouting at him, he sees it from the corner of his eye and he’s this close to blowing up. “that was before. you’d be helping me out lots now if you did this for me” you’re relentless, standing on your tippy toes to lean in close to his face cus he won’t stop leaning further away from you.

he could very easily just shove you off if he wanted to, but you have a feeling he doesn’t want to. you know he doesn’t want to when he closes his eyes shut and his eyebrows furrow and then he groans, letting his hands fall at his sides limply before glaring at you. “gimme the damn bowl.” he growls. you squeal, pressing kisses all over his face and a finisher one right on the tip of his red scrunched up nose, he grunts at you but gives you a light pat to the back, rubbing his warm hands up and down your spine. then he pinches you, you giggle. “thank you ‘suki.” he responds with a “yeah, yeah whatever.”

he grabs the bowl from your hands starts mixing..hard. letting off his aggression on the bowl like it was at fault for his weak will to deny you. you smile to yourself and turn to the cupboard so you could grab the decorations and of course, the chocolate chips.

you watch for a bit as your boyfriend mixes away, you’re watching how his toned arms flex and how the muscle of his arms tightens and tenses up, more specifically. one thing’s for sure, you’ll never get tired of his arms. you quickly turn away before he can catch you staring and teases you again.

you jump when he calls for you not even a second later “s’this good?” he asks gruffly, leaning forwards to show you his work. you feel your face warm as you squeak out a curt “yeah, looks good !” before taking the bowl back from him and turning right back around to reach for the baking sheet you had prepped. he’s none the wiser for a moment before a knowing grin crosses his face, he shakes his head.

you place everything down on the counter and sigh happily to yourself, feeling accomplished. you walk over to your grumpy boyfriend and place a sweet kiss to his cheek “you’re the best.” he clicks his tongue, muttering out a “tell me something i don’t know.” while the pink on his cheeks grows darker, you let out a giggle.

“you done with this ?” he asks lifting the spatula in the air for you to see, you offer him a simple “mhm” and a smile before turning back to the task at hand and watch from the corner of your eye as he places the spatula in the sink.

not before taking a lick of the excess batter still on it.

your head shoots up and you stare, he stares back. then you let out a loud belly laugh and clutch your stomach “so you were just here to lick the batter !” katsuki only grunts. there’s a light smirk on his face as he licks away a speck of cookie dough batter off his lips. he shrugs, walks up to you and places his head on your shoulder.

“figured i deserve a little somethin’ for my hard work.” you roll your eyes. his hold on you tightens and he huffs, trying to get as comfortable as he can while still standing up as he simply watches work.

“hmm..” you decided to humor him “ you did help a lot, i think i can give you a little more" you look at him from your shoulder just in time to catch his eyebrow raise as he registers what you said, a smirk playing on his lips when he does. he readjusts his head to look you in the eyes.

“yeah ?”

“mhm..” you hum. his grip tightens, his hands feel warmer.

“whaddya have in mind then, huh ?” he whispers. he’s so close and you can smell your body wash, probably because he keeps stealing it but you keep quiet about that for now.

“i dunno..” you trail off shyly, your confidence melting away under his smoldering gaze. “would…a smooch suffice ?” you giggle. he chuckles to himself at your choice of words. he grabs the back of your head softly, pulling you in closer until your noses brush against each other and he gives you a half hearted little nose kiss, you giggle and he smiles a little wider.

“s’a good start” he concludes before pressing his lips to yours.

[honeyryewhiskey]

it's just a stupid holiday

abt, dean takes his cupid to a valentine's gala, where a rogue angel has been preying on adulterers. you're just excited to be part of the chaos, and dean is trying desperately to keep his focus on the mission and not on his bubbly lovebird wrapped in a little red dress. what could possibly go wrong with this situation?  cw, grumpyxsunshine go on a fake date  ! dean practicing restraint ! and failing bc this stupid cupid is just so sweet ! fluff !  mentions of violence but no gruesome details, mdni, 18+  3.9k words

“i still don’t get why it has to be me doing this crap,” dean groans, shifting uncomfortably in his usual seat behind the impala’s wheel. his fingers drum against it as he scowls out the windshield.

sam, sitting to his right, doesn’t bother looking up from the stack of papers he’s reviewing. “because you’re better at the whole…” he gestures vaguely, searching for the right words, “pretending-to-be-charming-with-women thing.”

dean snorts, tossing his brother a sideways glare. “gee, thanks, sammy. real boost to the ‘ol self-esteem.” he rolls his eyes and adjusts the rearview mirror—only to catch a glimpse of you in the backseat.

that stupid dress. that strappy, red, distracting dress. you’re busy fiddling with the silky hem, completely oblivious to the way it hugs you in all the right places.

dean clears his throat sharply. fidgeting with his suit tie, he forces his eyes back to the road. “hey, cupid,” he growls, trying to sound annoyed instead of flustered. “remember, this is a job. we’re not going to this thing to drink champagne and play house. we’re hunting. focus.”

you lean forward, resting your arms on the back of their seat. a playful grin spreads across your lips as you reach out to pinch his cheek. “oh, dean, don’t you worry,” you assure, ignoring his quick swat at your hand. “i’ll be the best hunting partner ever. all business. no play.”

you deepen your voice, mimicking his usual gruff tone. “just like you.”

dean groans louder this time, and sam smirks faintly without looking up.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

the plan for tonight? attend some high society valentine’s night gala as dean’s date, while sam kept watch of the perimeter. honestly all you really heard was sam and dean entrusting you to go undercover on a hunt with them—and you smiled so hard your cheeks ached (to which the brothers again started bickering about whether or not including you was a good idea). then they explained the holiday, humans practically worshipping cupids for a day, the excitement thrummed through you so hard you damn near passed out right there in the middle of the war room. 

sam and dean made it sound so straightforward, but as you walked into the venue—your arm looped through a stiff and uncomfortable dean’s—it became glaringly obvious this event would be anything but simple.  

red and pink heart shaped balloons spilled out from the entrance, framing a sleek red carpet scattered with rose petals that guided you into the heart of the party. the ballroom was enormous, yet nearly every inch of the room was drenched in lavish decor—flowers, jewels, endless shades of red and pink. a sizable crowd mingled beneath the dazzling display, their chatter blending harmoniously with the soft, elegant symphony flowing from the orchestra on stage. 

a small gasp left your painted lips as you took everything in, “this is incredible.”

dean, watching you carefully as your eyes darted from one dazzling detail to the next, murmured, “yeah, sure is.” his voice was barely audible in that soft tone. 

you peeled your gaze away from the galore, meeting his with that sugary sweet smile that makes his knees grow weak. “this is really all for cupids and love?” 

his brows cock as he considers your words, trying for once to not immediately destroy the innocence beaming from your eyes with his charmingly pessimistic perspective on, well, everything. “yeah,” he clears his throat, his arm slipped from yours, absentmindedly raising his hand to push the stray hairs that had fallen in your face, he hated when anything—anything at all—hid that view. “all of this exists because of what you lovebirds do to us.” 

you’ve gotten sharper in the weeks you’ve spent with the winchesters. picking up on what they call sarcasm and double meanings isn’t the easiest, but you’ve become so observant of dean you can almost feel it when he says one thing, and inside guards his true emotions. something in the way his face tightens, how deep of a breath he takes to release the stress, you’re not even sure if he’s aware of these tells but you know better than to clue him in on your cheat codes for decoding this ever-complicated man. 

dean sighs, slipping his hands into his dress pants as his eyes scanned the crowd, “alright little angel, let’s—”

you’re about ten feet away before he can finish his sentence, bee-lining to a side table overflowing with chocolate boxes, teddy bears, bouquets, flower-shaped ornaments, and so many little cherubs adorning nearly every item. 

a woman dressed in crisp black and white approached you with a polite smile, balancing a platter of dainty, bite-sized cakes. “please, help yourself to anything you’d like. mr. and mrs. nightingale donated all of these lovely trinkets for our guests.” 

“uh, we’re good on toys, thanks.” a gruff voice booms over your shoulder. dean snakes one arm around your waist as he reaches out with his free hand, swiping two mini cakes off the platter. the woman shot him a withering glare before turning away. 

“here.” he muttered, plopping one of the treats into your open palm, devouring the other in one bite. 

“but, dean,” you whine, dropping the cake onto the table and reaching for a plush brown bear sitting front and center. 

dean’s grip around your waist tightened, pulling you snug against his chest. the sudden shift made you wobble on the cherry-red heels you’d only recently learned to walk in.

“nuh uh.” he hums, low and firm. “business, lovebird. focus.” 

your pouted lips and narrowed eyes meet his steady squint—a silent warning for you to cut it out. 

“fine.” you whimper, giving the bear one last wistful glance before turning reluctantly back to the crowd. “what are we doing again?” 

“trying to figure out who the next victim is, while sam watches for the angel.” leaning down so only you could hear. his breath on your ear sends little sockwaves down your spine, his tone low to avoid drawing attention from the nearby guests. “think your cupid crap can sniff out any cheaters in the crowd?” 

your brows knit as you try to focus your energy on observing with your angel vision. you can’t necessarily see or smell infidelity, but there are glittering strings that exist between connected humans and only a cupid is capable of detecting them. 

slowly, the ballroom came alive before your eyes, dozens of ribbons in gold, red, white, and silver weaving through the spaces between bodies. each color represents a distinct bond woven in fate. but the sheer number of people packed so tightly together made it difficult to pinpoint who belonged to what thread. the tangled web shifted and shimmered, overwhelming your senses as you struggled to unravel it. 

“i can’t smell infidelity,” you state plainly, your tone clipped as you strain to focus on the red strings in particular. a throbbing begins in your head, growing sharper with each passing second. “There’s red, but—”

the throbbing quickly escalates into a pounding ache, forcing you to release the energy of the room. your vision shifts back to that of a mortal’s as your hands instinctively clutch dean’s arm for support.

he reacts instantly, turning you to face him as his strong hands steady your swaying form at the waist. “hey, hey, what’s wrong?” he asks, voice low but firm, concern flashing in those jade-green eyes as they search your face for an answer.

“i can’t, dean, i’m not really strong enough to read this many people,” your eyes find the floor, feeling too embarrassed to meet his gaze, “the energy, it just kinda pushes me out.” 

when cas left you with the brothers, he failed to mention that you were a bit of a heaven reject. a cupid with faulty powers—and the whole issue with you not always wanting to follow heavenly orders. cas saw something in you, at least, and you hoped that the winchesters would, too. 

“c’mere.” dean huffs, locking your fingers in his as he guides you down another hall. you step into a smaller room where a few people are scattered about on lavish couches and chairs. standing slightly behind you he places a reassuring hand on the small of your back he leans over your shoulder, “try it in here.”

with a nod you focus again, dean’s thumb rubs against your back soothingly, his other hand tightly wrapped over the top of yours as he watches you with care. again the room is dancing with ribbons, but the power isn’t nearly as overwhelming. “there’s a lot of gold in here.” you speak without looking away from the crowd, a smile finding your lips as you notice the elderly couples bound in glittering gold. 

“what’s that mean?” 

“purity turned everlasting.” you release his hand to face him, unable to contain the smile on your lips as you describe the phenomenon that makes you most excited to be a cupid, “they were fated with white strings, or bonds, to have something sweet between them, a simple fling or a good marriage. but it could have easily turned red and fragile from something like cheating, and it didn’t. these souls will probably find themselves in the same heaven, now, because of their commitment to the bond.”  

dean grins down at you, catching the way your excitement practically vibrates through your body. truthfully, it all sounded like a load of crap to him. but then there’s you—with that unbound energy, one he’s certain no one else—angel or human—could ever replicate. the way your infatuation with love seems so genuine, so pure, it softens parts of him that have been hardened for years, wound tightly in cynicism for the very thing you embody.

before he can stop himself, his mind drifts. he’s already considering leaving sam to handle the case on his own, just for one night, so he can watch you explore this world with that wide-eyed wonder. to see you smile up at him like that a little longer.

and maybe—just maybe—to catch a few more glimpses of you prancing around in that little dress, oblivious to the way it rides up your thighs when you move, or how your bouncing excitement causes… other things to bounce right along with you.

dean clenches his jaw, mentally reprimanding himself as he forces his gaze away from you. focus, winchester. focus.

“so, you’re saying we need to find red bonds or whatever,” he mutters, working to keep his voice steady. “but you can’t see ’em with all those people in there.”

you nod, watching him closely as he weighs his options.

“uh-huh,” he breathes, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “guess that means we’ll have to chat up some of the drunk old birds with loose lips.”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

dean’s plan worked. after about an hour of mingling with the party guests, the two of you find yourselves on the edge of the crowd, watching a middle-aged married couple whom numerous women had whispered about. rumors swirled of the wife and her tennis coach, the husband and his secretary—long trips taken without the other, late nights at the office. all the signs of mutual betrayal.

the exact kind of relationship the rogue angel has been targeting. 

“classic,” dean mutters, eyes narrowing as he observes the couple, now mingling on opposite ends of the room. his stance is tall and stiff, locked in hunter mode.

you tilt your head, less focused on the case and more on the glittering display of treats and trinkets catching your eye a few tables away. a quick glance confirms dean is too busy scowling at the couple to notice you quietly slip off.

the desserts are as extravagant as the rest of the party, each treat adorned with ribbons and delicate designs. A small card catches your attention: cordial cherries. intrigued, you pop one into your mouth. the sugary red juice takes you by surprise, spilling down your chin and all over your fingertips. 

the flavor is sweet against your tongue, the chewy red center tart in contrast. you reach for another, taking it whole, and another for good measure, needing more of that sugary taste. you hadn’t heard dean approach, closing in on you with a confused scowl etched into his brows.

“love,” dean’s gruff voice startles you, his hand suddenly grasping your sticky chin to turn your face towards his, “you’re making a mess.”

embarrassed, you freeze, cheeks flushed as you glance up at him with cherry-stained lips. dean’s eyes darken slightly, flicking down to your mouth as he brushes his thumb along your sticky chin. without a second thought, he sucks the sugary residue off his thumb, his eyes never leaving yours. 

a strange, warm sensation blooms in your chest—and lower—making your eyes widen in surprise. that was a new feeling, and something about dean’s expression told you now probably wasn’t the time to ask him about it. 

dean looks over his shoulder toward the couple again, his expression unreadable. looking back to you, he sighs. “bathroom,” he nods to the corner, “now.” he orders, his voice a little rougher than usual. 

You pout but follow him obediently, weaving through the crowd until you slip into the lavishly decorated restroom. Dean locks the door behind you, the click of the latch oddly loud in the quiet space. In the mirror, you catch a glimpse of your reflection—smudged lipstick, syrupy streaks trailing down your chin, and little splotches on the swell of your breasts.

without a word dean is behind you, in the reflection his face is blank, barely hiding his agitation. he spins you to face him, his pupils eating away at the green of his eyes. his hands find your hips and in one motion you’re seated on top of the porcelain space between the sinks. 

“‘m sorry, dean.” you mumble, looking down at your hands in lap, fidgeting with the hem of your dress. he grunts a ‘mhm’ in response, making that warmth in your center morph into a ball of anxiety. the feeling you usually get after doing something terribly wrong, and dean gets that familiar scowl and grumpy tone. 

like he is now, except he usually isn’t this quiet. 

he comes back to you with a handful of wet paper towels. his eyes are focused on your lips as he wipes away the lipstick and sticky sugar. 

“stop pouting like that.” he grumbles, folding the paper before dragging it down your chin. his hand stops, eyes flicking between your chest and eyes for a moment before he’s handing the paper over to you, “you can get the rest.” 

as you dab at the mess on your chest, the silence stretches between you, weighted by unspoken thoughts. your mind drifts back to the couple in the ballroom, their entwined red strings sullied by betrayal.

“why do they do that?” you ask softly, breaking the quiet, “that couple, why do they do that to each other?” 

dean shrugs, standing between your legs with his arms crossed. “just what people do, lovebird. it’s not something i can really explain. everyone makes choices for their own reasons, hell, they probably don’t even know why they do that to each other.” 

you nod, mulling over his words. “i wouldn’t make those choices,” you say after a moment. “if I could be human, i wouldn’t waste it. What they have… it’s a gift.”

dean chuckles dryly, “and somehow i believe you, little angel. but being human isn’t all kittens and rainbows, mortality sucks. our emotions suck. and making the right choices, it—it’s hard.” 

“but you get to feel,” you say, your voice softening. “you get to fall in love. those emotions are what make humans so… special. sometimes i wish i could feel that.” you pause, suddenly shy. “maybe that’s why I’m not a very good cupid. i get too distracted by all these questions.”

Dean’s gaze softens, his arms uncrossing, planting his strong hands on either side of you, leaning closer. “You’re not a bad cupid,” he says gruffly, fighting with himself to sound more gentle than usual. “you care, a whole lot. if it were up to me, i’d say that’s not a bad thing.”

before you can respond, the ring of dean’s phone echos in the room, shattering the tension. he pulls away to retrieve it out of his pocket, scowling at the screen. “sam says the angel’s outside. we need to move.”

his hand finds yours, instinctively, tugging you out of the room and through the crowd. dean is locked into hunter mode again, his entire body on high alert as he’s practically dragging you across the ballroom.  

reaching the furthest wall, large windows give view to an expansive flower garden shimmering under the moonlight. a rather beautiful sight, where each bush is perfectly trimmed to line the weaving cobblestone paths. dean pauses at the door, looking back at you with a look that makes you wonder if he’s about to be sick.

before you can ask what’s wrong, he’s dropping your clasped hands, “just—stay in here. keep watch of the people while sam and i handle this.” 

“what?” you begin, flustered. sam and dean had spent days prepping you for whatever might happen. you learned how to actually use your own angel blade, the one you only carried around because it was an order but had never intended on using. dean taught you how to shoot his guns, and despite your distaste for their sharp sounds and harsh rebound—you sucked it up because the boys were trusting you. “no! i’m in this, too, remember? i can help—”

“no.” his voice is stern, his mind already made. he was giving you that look again, that made you feel like a helpless baby. it was comforting when it got him to ease up on you for little mistakes, but right now it was annoying. irritating, because you finally felt like you’d get to prove your worth with this hunt. 

“dean—” you start, but the door swings shut behind him before you can finish. with an exasperated groan, you rush to a near by window, heart pounding as you watch him dart down the shadowed path. 

the moment he’s out of sight, a sick twist of nerves coils in your stomach. seconds stretch into centuries, a burning lump rising in your throat as your imagination runs wild. then, movement catches your eye in the darkness.

dean’s body flies through the air, crashing hard into the ground like a ragdoll. 

your breath stutters. you’ve never witnessed a hunt before—not firsthand—but you’ve seen the aftermath. bruises, cuts, even broken bones you’d healed despite dean’s gruff protests against your divine touch helping him.

he struggles back to his feet, but he’s too slow. the angel—a tall, imposing figure in a crisp suit—stalks towards him with eerie precision, circling like a predator toying with its prey. from your vantage point, the angel’s back is turned to you. that’s all the opening you need.

without thinking, you dart for the door. the cool night air sends goosebumps rippling over your skin, the chill mixing with the nervous heat burning inside you. you catch sam out of the corner of your eye, lying on the ground further up the path and groggily coming back to consciousness as he sits up. 

stopping short, you kick off one of your cherry-red heels, gripping it tightly in your hand. it may not be a bow, but you’re still an archer—and this will have to do. with a flick of your wrist, you send the stiletto flying through the air.

the heel collides sharply with the back of the angel’s head. he stumbles slightly before spinning around, fury etched into his face as his silver blade flashes in the moonlight.

fear floods your system, making your knees weak. you’re not sure if it’s bravery or recklessness keeping you standing as he charges towards you. but your distraction is enough.

dean is on his feet again, blade in hand. with one swift motion, he drives it deep into the angel’s neck. the being’s body flickers with light before crumpling to the ground, lifeless.

for a moment, everything is still. to stand frozen, gawking at the scene before you as dean slowly staggers back, panting heavily. when his eyes find yours, they’re sharp with anger. with a huff he’s crossing the grass towards you, that grumpy scowl having taken over his pretty features. 

“dean, i—i’m sorry, but—”

he closes the distance in two long strides, hands cupping either side of your face. the firmness in his touch makes your breath catch in your throat. before you can say anything more, he gently tugs, pressing two rough kisses to your forehead.

you blink up at him, your thoughts a buzzing, tangled mess. 

“save it, lovebird. i know.” he sighs, dropping his hands. his voice is gruff but softer than you expect, his relief shining through the cracks of his frustration. “just never do that again.” 

sam slowly approaches, sporting a fresh bruise on his cheek. his expression wavers between amused and impressed. “nice shot, cupid. i told dean you’d come through.”

“shut it, sammy.” dean snaps back, his scowl deepening as he glances over his shoulder at the angel’s body. “let’s get rid of the angel’s body and get the hell out of here.” 

you bite back a sheepish grin, slipping your remaining shoe off to follow behind the brothers. 

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

back at the bunker…

you had tried, several times, to get out of the stupid red dress. the thin straps came loose from your shoulders easily enough. but the damn zipper in the back was just out of your reach, no matter how you twisted or stretched, it remained out of grasp. the nice lady at the dress shop who helped you get into the damn thing, wasn’t around to get you out of it. 

with an annoyed huff, you padded barefoot out of your room and down the hall, the hem of the dress swishing faintly with every step. you stopped in front of dean’s door, hesitating for a moment before knocking. 

there was a pause, followed by a muffled shuffling sound. the door swung open, dean took up most of the door frame clad in an old band shirt and sweats, his hair mussed from sleep and his expression distinctly unimpressed.

“what?” he grumbles, voice rough and gravelly, clearly annoyed at having been woken up. 

“i need help,” you whine, turning your back to him and gesturing over your shoulder. “i can’t get to the stupid zipper.”

he let out a long-suffering sigh, but his rough finger tips brush against your skin as he grips the top of your dress in one hand and tugged the zipper down with the other. 

you’re not really used to wearing dresses, and you’re too tired to think about how, y’know, gravity works. 

the silky red material drops to the floor, pooling over your feet. “oh.” you mumbled, looking down at the discarded dress. 

“jesus,” dean muttered, his voice strained. when you looked back at him, his eyes were fixed firmly on the ceiling, lips pressed tightly together as if trying to keep a lid on something. 

a wicked giggle bubbled up before you could stop it. “thanks, dean!” you chirp, abandoning the dress on the floor and darting down the hall in nothing but your pink underwear. 

the sound of his exasperated cursing followed you, echoing against the hall as your laughter trailed behind. 

[azsazz]

A Snowy Starfall

Daddy!Azriel x Reader

Summary: Anon Req: Batbabies waging their OWN snowball fight imitating their dad & uncles. Some take it too seriously, others don't take it seriously at all, it's pure chaos that ends in cocoa.

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 2,003

Notes: Happy Holidays my loves 💙

_________________________________________

“Come on, you three,” you tut towards your mate and his friends. They’re standing before the large glass windows overlooking your backyard. The sun casts deep oranges and reds across the snow-ridden land, your children shrieking as they play in the snow. A valiant snowball fight is running its course, and Azriel, Cassian, and Rhysand stand, faces pressed to the windows as they watch, quietly cheering their children on. “They’re going to notice you staring.”

“Maybe they already have,” Feyre adds from her spot at your kitchen counter. She’s concentrating intently on decorating a cookie, adding swirls of black icing to the gingerbread woman’s hand, creeping up her extended arm. The cookie’s dress is provocative, bare dough legs showing between slats of laced icing. She hardly glances up as she continues, “They’re probably imitating them as we speak.”

Curious, you peek out the window, too. Indeed, Wren and Baz have built a fortress in the snow to protect themselves from the onslaught of snowballs being thrown their way. Gideon and Nyx have joined forces against the two brothers, the latter packing the fluffy snow into tight, white balls, while Gideon launches their ammo towards your sons.

Your eldest daughter, Zuzu, and Nyx’s younger sister, Asteria, had joined the competition early on. They’d been a formidable team too, but grew bored of their brothers and cousin who were taking the snowball fight a little too seriously. Now, they are in the snow with little Castor, who had cried until she’d been let outside by her protective father, bundled up in so many clothes her wings nearly disappeared into the fabric. The girls are making snow angels, though Castor’s looks very much like a circle on the lawn.

Dark streaks dart behind the wall your sons have built and you frown, watching as Baz’s shadows help roll clumps of snow closer, creating perfectly circular snowballs. From what you’d heard from your husband’s friends, using shadows was against any and all snowball fight rules.

You cut Azriel a glance but he’s conveniently occupied, watching the game outside.

“Well, at least they’re both on the same team,” you comment to your mate, who refuses to let his gaze stray from the little boys. Good, he can watch them while he does the dishes then, since there’s a window above the sink. You pat him on the ass, nodding towards the mess of dishes in the sink. He nods in response, loping quickly over to peer out the window again. “So they’ll either both lose or both win.”

“They’ll both win,” Az responds immediately, a quick but pointed look your way. “They do take after me.”

Cassian scoffs behind you and you turn to see a scowling Nesta shooting him a look as he tries to steal a cookie. Jax giggles in her lap at his uncle's antics, but when Cassian hands him part of the cookie and its head falls off, Jax’s smile wobbles. He’s not outside due to the nature of his powers. As an empath, sensing the competitive nature of his siblings and the sting of a snowball to the face, it had been in his best interest to be inside around the luscious scents of cookies and warmth, instead of out in the bitter snow.

Nesta coos, bouncing him, and Cassian is thankful for the distraction, slipping further down the counter to where the High Lord sits, trying—and failing—to gain his mate's attention. The commander slips an arm around Rhys’ shoulders and glares at the back of Azriel’s head, continuing his complaining. “The only reason you’ve won so many is because of those damn shadows, Az.”

Azriel throws over his shoulder, wincing as Baz takes a snowball to the face, his face going red with fury. “How was I supposed to know they were unaffected by the magic restrictions?” he claims, sending said shadows out into the yard once he sees Baz’s slipping through the snow, headed for the icicles hanging off the railings of the porch. His intercept his sons in a display of authority, spearing them into blackened mist. Baz glances up to the window, locking eyes with his father, who wears a look of warning on his face, brow raised. Azriel watches his son visibly huff and take his anger out on the snow, building a ball and launching it across the playing field in frustration.

His gaze cuts across the yard, narrowing his eyes. Gideon and Nyx are crouched low behind their own pile of snow, looking like they’re scheming. He wants to trail his shadows in their direction, listen in on their conversation, but he’s alerted to Malos’ whines from the other room. If one of his youngest is awake, they either both are, or will be soon.

“Malos is up,” Az tells you softly, shutting off the water to the sink. He wipes his hands on a towel and kisses you gently on the cheek. You’re mixing color into icing for the cookies, getting ready for when it’s too dark out for the children to play. They’ll get all cleaned up and have some hot chocolate to warm their bellies, and you, Feyre, and Nesta have baked cookies for all of the children to decorate. “I’ll get them.”

“I’ll join,” Cassian answers, stealing another cookie off of a platter. He dunks it into your icing to the neck, the cookie dripping with sugary goodness as he lifts it to his mouth, shoving it inside. He ducks under your glare. “Gotta go get my baby.”

Cassian and Nesta’s youngest daughter, Sif, had been put down for a nap with both Knox and Malos. She’s still a little too young to be outside without supervision, and the eldest children of the Inner Circle demanded time outside without their parents, probably because they knew their fathers would try and take over their snowball fight had they been outside. They didn’t want any tips or tricks, not even your children, even with Azriel’s hundred of wins beneath his belt.

Jax climbs from Nesta’s lap over Rhys who lets out a harsh exhale when his knee lands a little too close to his private area, and then over to Feyre, who finally sets her cookie down to scoop your middle son in her arms.

“Pretty,” Jax comments, pointing at her decorative cookie. It looks just like her, and there’s one next to it that looks a little like Rhysand. Purple dots for eyes stare up at him. “Uncle Rhysie?”

“Good job, Jax,” Feyre coos, pressing kisses to his cheeks. They pink with a blush and he settles into her arms, looking utterly at bliss. He revels in the warmth of her emotions, the pride surging through her. It feels like warm bubbles in his chest, and he noses at her collar.

“Look who’s ready to party,” Azriel announces, entering the room, arms full with your two youngest children, Malos and Knox. Knox still looks a little sleepy, head resting against Azriel’s shoulder, cuddling into his warmth. His tiny wings are droopy with sleep, and his twin sister, Malos, is already reaching for the cookies. 

Nesta is quick to scoop her away from Azriel. She claims not to have a favorite niece, but Malos and her have an understanding. You see more of Nesta in Malos’ personality than any of the children of the Inner Circle, and you’re extremely happy that they have such a close connection. 

“Hi baby,” you greet Knox, who is signing mommy to you. You ease him out of Azriel’s arms, who promptly returns to his position in front of the window, pressing exaggerated kisses to his chubby cheeks. It makes him smile wide, flaring those wings that he hasn’t quite figured out how to control. “Are you ready for some yummy cookies?”

His dark eyes light with excitement. Of course your children are ready for sweets, they always are. They picked that up from Azriel, who has the biggest sweet tooth you’ve ever seen.

Cassian reenters the room with his daughter in his arms and Rhys pouts. Almost everyone in the room is preoccupied with a child in their arms, except for him. Maybe he can convince Feyre to have one more. The youngest children in the family are two now and he misses having a tiny babe around.

By the heated look in her eyes, his mate seems to be considering the same, sneaking past those shadowy walls in his mind to catch a glimpse of his thoughts. The High Lord smirks. He sends her over some imagery to go with his thoughts, and her cheeks go red. That hot look turns into one of warning, and she’s speaking out loud now, “Why don’t you call the children inside so they can get warmed up and decorate some cookies?”

“Of course, darling,” Rhys sweeps from his seat in a wisp of darkness. 

Breaking a cookie in half, you give part of it to Knox, who signs thank you, munching on the sweet. The other half is passed to Malos as you head towards where your mate is finishing up the dishes, leaning against him for a moment, reveling in all of your family happily together.

“I love you,” Azriel murmurs into your hair, leaning over to sneak a bite of Knox’s cookie. Your son stares up at his father with wide eyes, and like this, he looks just like Az. It makes your heart warm, and Jax squeals in happiness in response, your happiness radiating to him. It makes your grin wider, peeking over your shoulder to see him so content in his aunt's arms. 

“I love you too, Az,” you whisper back to him, resting your forehead against his. 

It’s a nice moment, until the children from outside are wrangled through the door by Rhys. The boys are arguing about who has won their snowball fight, while the girls are peeling away their winter gear, excited to decorate cookies with icing and sprinkles and the edible petals Elain had given you before her trip to the Summer Court with Lucien. 

“Now, now, boys,” Rhys starts, but the diplomatic tone he’s using does nothing to deter the cousins from arguing. “I’m sure we can come to a consensus without yelling and acquiescing.”

“But Baz used his shadows,” Nyx complains, wringing his gloves between his hands in frustration. “We all saw it.”

“Nyxie, don’t be mean to Baz,” Wren counters, brows furrowed. He doesn’t like it when his family argues, especially over trivial things. His heart is so kind. “You can win the snowball fight if you want, but Baz and I are gonna win the cookie decorating contest, right Bazzy?”

“No,” Baz says flatly, dropping his gear onto the floor. You give him a look but he almost seems un-bothered by it, done with the debate his cousins are currently having. “We won the snowball fight and we’re going to win the cookie decorating contest.” 

You share a look with your mate, watching the scene unfold. Baz is quite the Stubborn Suriel, no matter what it comes to.

“Dad,” Nyx groans, “Can’t you do something?”

Cassian is the one who comes to the rescue, Castor reaching up at him for her sister. He helps the little one down and the older one with her undressing, peeling her thermals off layer by layer. “It’s not about who won, right boys? It’s about spending time and having fun with the ones you love.”

Feyre, Nesta, and yourself awe at his words, but Azriel and Rhysand are rolling their eyes and muttering under their breath at Cassian’s cheesy words. 

“What a kiss ass.”

“Smug fucker.”

“Azriel,” you hiss, turning your body away from him, like that will hide Knox from his vulgar words. “Language.” 

He winces, “Sorry love.” 

It’s your turn to roll your eyes now, bouncing Knox in your arms a little as you turn fully from your mate. You poke Knox’s belly playfully before addressing the rest of the room. “How about those cookies, then? They won’t decorate themselves!”

[gatorbites-imagines]

Merry Christmas!!!!

so since it’s Christmas for me rn I was wondering if we could get some cute scenario with Tim drake, like him and his bf ending up under a mistletoe, or a snowball fight

I’m a sucker for fluff and just want some cute Christmas time!!!

Tim Drake x Hero male reader

Headcanons

I had iceman from the x-men on my mind as I wrote this. How was everyones holidays? Did yall get what you wanted? I got a weighted blanket, some books and kitchen stuff. I also got blasphemous 2, I’m not that good at it.

Having to patrol Christmas night was always a bummer, but crime never sleeps. In reality, crime got worse around these times of the year since people got so easily distracted and so many things were put inside stores.

Luckily for Tim, you were invited to the manor for the holidays this year since you guys have been dating for a while. Last year Tim celebrated with your family, so now you were joining his.

This also meant you joined up for patrol, meaning the bats had a whole new surprise in their arsenal, seeing as you could control ice, cold, water, so on and so forth.

It made dealing with criminals easy, since none of the rogues were out and about. Two-face, killer croc and Firefry apparently weren’t in Arkham, but they all seemed to be more focused on the actual holidays than crime. This just left you guys with some everyday criminals.

For you and Tim, this patrol felt more like a date than anything else. Apparently, Red Robin dating one of the known heroes from another city was enough to make the people you passed feel giddy.

You had been staying with the Waynes for the whole week leading up to the holidays, so you had patrolled for just as long. This also gave the Gotham citizens enough time to set up mistletoes and little goody bags wherever you guys were patrolling.

How the hell did the locals even get a mistletoe all the way up on a specific gargoyle you two liked to sit under as you enjoyed your hot chocolate? Gotham locals scared you sometimes with how determined they were, but it did make Tim blush, if only a little.

Later on, hed blame it on how cold it was, and the fact that you were pretty much made of ice when using your powers. It didn’t stop you from giving him a small peck though, even though it leaves his lips completely pink, and his face flushed from the cold.

You end up getting scolded by some of the Gotham locals. Theres no real heat behind it. It’s more the fact that they didn’t know you were coming, so none of them prepared gifts for you.

The bats never asked for gifts, but you learn they always get some from the locals, even if they try to turn them away. You think its pretty damn neat, and you damn near cry when an older lady gifts you a scarf she stayed up all night to make. It’s even got your blues and Tims reds, since you guys are very obvious.

When crimes are as low as it can get in Gotham, you spend time making sculptures around town with your powers. Most of them are of the bats, and yeah, there’s about twice as many of Tim as everyone else. You never go into enough detail for their identities to be obvious, but it’s just your way of bonding with the city.

With Gotham having the weather it does, the snow also tends to be pretty damn sucky. Luckily for them, your powers are very useful in turning it into nice white snow, perfect for snowmen and snowballs.

Some people are weary of you because of Freeze, but seeing you hang around the bats gets people outdoors. You being as friendly as you are, supplying people with snowballs into their hands, also helps.

None of the bats are really the type to just come down and play in the snow like you, throwing snowballs after some of them does help. Soon Nightwing, Spoiler and Signal are mixed into the snow fight.

The others are too serious or weary to just let loose. You know the other bats are as vigilant as the ones watching from the roofs, so are you, but you do wish your boyfriend would join.

You get him back later by shoving snow down the back of his suit when he isn’t paying attention to you. Tim can’t get you back since you’re pretty much made of ice, but he gets you back one way of another.

The holidays with the Bats is a whole experience, since they come from so many cultures. Theres so many different traditions and food, and its all worked into the celebration somehow.

Even a couple of your own traditions are worked into the celebration, if there’s anything specific your family does during the holidays, that Tim picked up last year.

You guys all get together to watch a movie together as well, even if some of the bats argue and throw some punches. The normal animosity between some of them is put away for the day, if there is any. But with a family that size you wouldn’t be shocked if someone was arguing.

You and Tim cuddle during the movie, of course, and you’re also wearing matching Christmas sweaters. They’re Green Lantern themed, and you note that none of the family members are wearing Batman shirts. Later you learn that this is one of their traditions, since Bruce one year got broody about it. Now he joins the tradition by wearing a superman sweater.

Theres mistletoes all over the manor, mainly because of you and Tim, and whoever else is brought to the manor as a romantic partner if there are any.

Tim is not the most comfortable with kissing in front of his whole family, so instead it just becomes pecks on the cheek. You end up freezing Jason’s tea right in his mug after he makes enough jokes about it.

In the morning you and Tim share gifts in his room, just the ones meant for you two, before you guys go down to join the others, in matching pajamas, obviously.

Before you guys leave Tims room he gives you a kiss that’s almost enough to make you melt, as payback for the snow in his suit. You don’t mind too much, even if some of his family joke about your red face and how smug Tim looks.

[thesecondhandwoman]

CHRISTMAS COOKIE CATASTROPHE

Sevika x f!reader

Synopsis: It was Christmas Eve, and you and Sevika were trying to make cookies. But, with your lack of not making a mess, even with Sevika’s help, your baking session turned into a floury mess.

The kitchen smelled faintly of cinnamon and sugar, though the full Christmas cookie experience was still a long way off. Sevika stood at the counter with a smirk playing at her lips, her sleeves rolled up to reveal her muscular arms as she expertly mixed a batch of cookie dough. Across from her, you were frowning at a measuring cup like it had personally insulted you.

“Okay, so if the recipe says ‘packed brown sugar,’ does that mean I just squish it into the cup, or is there, like, an official technique?” you asked, brow furrowed.

Sevika chuckled, a low, warm sound that made your heart flutter. “You squish it in, sweetheart. Like this.” She reached over, taking the sugar and pressing it firmly into the cup with her fingers. “There. Not rocket science.”

“Excuse me, ma’am, but some of us didn’t grow up knowing how to bake cookies like an expert.” You stuck your tongue out at her, but she just shrugged, smirking.

“Not my fault I had to keep Jinx and Isha fed without setting the house on fire. You learn fast when your life depends on it, especially when Christmas time comes around.”

You snorted at the image of a younger Sevika, stressed and likely covered in batter, trying to corral two chaos gremlins while making something edible. “That explains why you’re so annoyingly good at this.”

“What can I say? I’m multi-talented.” She winked, turning back to her bowl and kneading the dough with one hand while holding a recipe card in the other.

Meanwhile, you were wrestling with a new opponent: the bag of flour. It was one of those massive ones that seemed to exist solely to mock your lack of upper-body strength. “Ugh, why do they make these so hard to open?!” you grumbled, tugging at the corner of the bag.

“Careful,” Sevika warned, glancing up. “You’re gonna—”

“I’ve got it!” you interrupted, giving the bag a sharp yank. And then—poof.

A cloud of fine white powder erupted into the air, coating you from head to toe. Sevika, who had stepped closer to help, caught the brunt of the blast as well. For a moment, there was nothing but silence as the two of you stared at each other, flour settling like snow in your hair, on her prosthetic arm, even on her eyebrows.

Then Sevika burst out laughing. It was a deep, genuine laugh that shook her shoulders and made your cheeks burn, though you couldn’t help but join in. “I told you to be careful,” she said between chuckles, wiping at her face to no avail.

“I was careful!” you protested, though you were grinning. “Careful-ish. This is totally your fault for distracting me with your smug baking skills.”

“Oh, yeah? My fault?” She leaned in, her face inches from yours, her smirk downright mischievous. “Should I let you handle the oven, too? Or are we trying to blow up the kitchen tonight?”

“Hey!” you said, shoving her playfully. “I’ll have you know I’m an expert at, uhm, stirring.”

“Right,” she teased, plucking a stray streak of flour from your cheek. Her touch lingered for a moment, soft and tender, and your playful banter melted into something warmer. “You’re a mess, you know that?”

“Yeah,” you whispered, feeling your cheeks heat again under her gaze. “But I’m your mess.”

Her smirk softened into a small smile, and she leaned down to press a gentle kiss to your flour-covered forehead. “Damn right you are.”

The rest of the evening was chaos in the best way. Sevika took over most of the actual baking, but you stayed by her side, sneaking tastes of dough and occasionally “accidentally” smudging frosting on her cheek. She retaliated by flicking flour at you, and soon the kitchen looked like a holiday war zone.

By the time the cookies were done, you were both covered in a mix of flour, sugar, and laughter. Sevika pulled a tray from the oven, holding it up for you to admire. “See? Perfect. Thanks to my expert skills and your…” She paused, grinning. “Moral support.”

“Hey, I’ll have you know my moral support is the only reason you didn’t burn them.”

“Uh-huh.” She set the tray down and pulled you into her arms, ignoring the mess. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“You’re lucky I love you,” you shot back, wrapping your arms around her. The warmth of her embrace—and the smell of freshly baked cookies—made everything feel perfect.

“Still a mess though.” She teased, smirking at your as she glanced down between flour-covered eyelashes.

“Shut up!” You chuckled, pushing her back a little before tugging her upstairs. “Now let’s hurry and shower so that we can watch a Christmas movie.”

“I’m coming, I’m coming!”

And afterwards, as you sat together that night after cleaning up, sharing cookies that were slightly too crisp on the edges but perfect in their imperfection, you couldn’t think of a better way to spend Christmas Eve.

[onlyhereforthestories]

Gift Guessing Games (Ingrid Engen x Reader)

Day 11. I really love Ingrid but shes so sweet I feel the cute ones like this are best suited for writing for her. So enjoy!

“Alright, let’s do this,” Ingrid declared, tugging her bobble hat snugly over her ears as she adjusted her scarf. The two of you stood at the entrance of the bustling shopping centre, a cold breeze whipping at your bodies that was the only positive about going inside. She turned to you, her expression a mix of determination and something a little more fun. “I need your help, but there’s a catch. Well not really a catch but you’ll get what I mean in a second.”

You raised an eyebrow, curious already. “Oh? What’s the catch? Is this some impossible mission?”

She smirked, leaning in slightly. “It’s for my secret Santa gift… but I’m not telling you who I got. You’ll have to guess.”

You laughed, shoving your hands into your coat pockets. “So, I’m helping you shop but I’m being left completely in the dark? That’s okay but you can’t blame me if we end up with something ridiculous.”

Ingrid grinned and grabbed your hand, tugging you inside where the warmth of the mall wrapped around you like a cozy blanket. Twinkling fairy lights adorned every storefront, garlands hung over doorways, and a giant Christmas tree stood proudly in the centre, its ornaments shimmering under the glow of the many little bulbs lighting up the tree. Holiday music drifted through the air, creating a welcome distraction from the many people who looked like they were panicking or just not liking the sheer amount of people around them.

“Alright, first question,” you said, as the two of you strolled into the first shop. “Are they someone who’s hard to shop for? Like do we actually have an impossible task anyway, even without me being in the dark.”

Ingrid shrugged, a teasing smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. This was going to be a long shopping trip. “Depends on who’s shopping. I have faith in us.”

You rolled your eyes. “Not giving me much here, but okay. Let’s start with something practical but fun. A mug, maybe? Like one of these…” You grabbed a novelty mug from the shelf, reading it aloud. “‘Captain in Charge… of Coffee Breaks.’ It’s perfect if your person drinks coffee. Or if they are, I don’t know, a team captain?” Your guess was the subtlest you could come up with and you were pretty proud of yourself.

Ingrid snorted, the corners of her mouth twitching. “Not bad. But keep guessing.”

You watched her carefully, trying to catch any flicker of a reaction, but she gave nothing away. So not Alexia, one down god knows how many more to go. “Damn it okay,” you said, placing the mug back. “Next question. Are they a more serious person or are they a big goof?”

“Both,” Ingrid said immediately, moving toward a shelf of scented candles and giving one an experimental sniff. “They can be super focused, but they also have a good sense of humour.”

You tapped your chin thoughtfully as you followed her, a gesture that had Ingrid snickering under her breath at you. “Serious but funny. Hmm. What about someone who’s always playing music? Do they love gadgets?” You wandered over to a display of retro-style record players. “This is cute. It’s small, quirky, and perfect for someone who likes to mess around with genres and artists.”

Ingrid chuckled, giving the tiny record player a once-over. “That’s actually a good idea. I really like that as a gift, but nope. That won’t work for my Secret Santa.”

“Okay, now you’re just enjoying this,” you said, narrowing your eyes at her. You had a feeling she had a present in mind already but just wanted to make you come up with things and guesses for her teammates.

She grinned, unapologetic. “Maybe. Keep going.”

“Yes ma’am,” you said with an exaggerated sigh. “Do they like organizing things? Like are they the type to have their entire life planned out in a colour-coded spreadsheet?”

Ingrid laughed, shaking her head. “I think everyone on the team could use a little more organization, but that’s not a hint.”

You spotted a leather-bound planner with gold accents on a nearby display and held it up. “This is classy. Even if they’re not the organized type, it could be aspirational. Maybe push them to be a little more proactive in their organizational skills.”

Ingrid tilted her head, considering it. “You’re really good at this. But still no.”

You groaned, dramatically throwing your head back. “Ingrid! You’re killing me. At least tell me if they’re someone you’re close to.” You grabbed her hand as you strolled around the next shop.

Her smile softened, and she gave a little shrug, squeezing your hand slightly in the process. “I mean we’re all close. But yeah, this person’s special.”

You caught the flicker of affection in her voice and grinned. “Special, huh? So, we’re talking someone who looks up to you, maybe? Someone who thinks you’re the coolest person on the planet?” you made sure she could hear the teasing tone of your voice, she had given you a bit too big of a clue and you now knew who it was.

Ingrid gave you a sideways glance, her smile turning sheepish. “I’m not saying anything.”

You clapped your hands together. “It’s Jana, isn’t it? Oh, I’ve got this. Jewellery. Something simple but meaningful. Like… oh!” You pointed toward a display case filled with delicate silver bracelets, each engraved with a small charm bearing an inspirational word. “‘Fearless.’ That’s perfect. She’s fearless on the pitch, right? And it’s something she can wear every day.”

Ingrid’s silence was telling. She reached for the bracelet, her fingers brushing over the charm as a soft smile spread across her face. “Okay, okay. You win. It’s Jana. And this… babe this is perfect.”

You beamed, pleased with yourself. “I knew it. But for the record, I was onto you from the start.”

Ingrid rolled her eyes, but the warmth in her expression made your heart swell. “Sure you were.” She wrapped her hands around your neck and pulled you a little closer as she spoke. “And I’m sure you played along with my game just for me huh?”

You nodded your head enthusiastically before standing on your toes to press a gentle kiss to the woman’s lips. Letting your hand run into her back pocket where you pulled out her purse. “Time to pay!” Ingrid was quick to grab her purse back before you could even get out of her arms.

As the two of you headed to the checkout, Ingrid glanced over at you, her voice quieter now. “Thanks for helping me with this. I wanted it to be something meaningful, you know? Something that shows her how proud I am of her.”

You bumped her shoulder lightly. “You didn’t need my help for that. It’s obvious how much you care about her. This gift is just the cherry on top.”

With the gift brought, you and Ingrid headed for the outside. Ingrid pulled her scarf tihght around her neck again before she gripped your hand in hers. You made it all of 5 paces into the cool air before you broke the peaceful silence that had settled between you.

“Now,” you said with a grin, “let’s talk wrapping paper. Because you’re not just slapping this in a bag and calling it a day. We’re going all out.”

Ingrid laughed, the sound echoing warmly in the quiet street. “Bows and ribbons?”

“Obviously,” you replied. “It’s not Christmas without glitter.”

She squeezed your hand, her smile wide and full of gratitude. “Deal. But you’re in charge of the glitter.”

[mercy-burning]

Christmas Miracles

Mercy’s Ficmas 2024 | Main Masterlist

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: Spencer aims to comfort you after a rather explosive breakup with your boyfriend during your Christmas party. Category: Fluff Content: Yelling, sad Reader, drunk Penelope (she's my fav, what can I say), a mistletoe kiss, Spencer is a yearner (he is also my fav, what can I say) Word Count: 2.6k

The first day of Ficmas has arrived! I'm starting you off strong with some short 'n sweet fluffy pining goodness <3 (who am I lmao)

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It's not uncommon for the holidays to be a lonely, depressing time for some. It's covered up in ribbons and bows and sparkling lights, but really, under the surface can lie a lot of darkness.

Spencer can see that in you— Not just this holiday season, though it's apparent now more than ever just how unhappy and exhausted you seem. When you're at work day after day, constantly thinking about and putting away criminals, and even then you seem more happy than you do when you're around your significant other, that's when there's a problem. And surely you must know how your friends have noticed... There's no way you couldn't have; It's practically all of your jobs to notice.

Still, you don't say or change anything about it.

He knows it isn't his place, but Spencer wonders why. His heart breaks for you, each and every time the jet touches down and your eyes darken with the realization that you're one step closer to going home. Home should be an escape from work, and not the other way around. Many times he's even offered to go somewhere with you as a distraction, a silent confession that screams, "I know you're not happy, but it doesn't have to be that way. You don't deserve to feel that way. And I'm here for you." Sometimes you agree and tag along, sometimes you don't. Every time, Spencer wishes you could see yourself the same way he and everyone else does.

And more than anything, he wishes that asshole of a man that calls himself your boyfriend would fall off the face of the Earth. In fact, "asshole" is too tame of a word to describe him, and "man" way too kind.

Much is apparent as the muffled argument rings high and dims the twinkling atmosphere of your apartment. The lights on your Christmas tree flicker in and out like they know that something is inherently wrong, like they're dying out and being suffocated by the thick tension.

Spencer's heartbeat flickers right alongside them, his gut twisting as your hurt and angry words cut through, sharp as a knife.

Finally, Derek's voice offers a bit of distraction, though not a very good one. "So, when are you going to swoop in and save the day?"

He winces. "She doesn't want my help. I already do what I can, but... It's best to let her handle it the way she wants to."

"Seriously? She's having a miserable time at her own Christmas party because of that dickwad, and you and I both know damn well that you're the only one who's gonna be able to help her out of it."

This time, your boyfriend raises his voice, cutting you off and making Spencer jump. He looks at the ground and continues the conversation with Morgan to try and distract himself. "I'll do what I can, but I'm not..."

He can't think of the right words, though Morgan seems to get the sentiment; He playfully nudges him with his elbow. "Why not? It's not exactly a big secret that you're in love with her or anything. And besides, we all know you'd treat her a thousand times better than—"

"It doesn't matter, okay? I'm not going do anything like that; I mean, they haven't even technically broken up, anyway, so... No."

Morgan sighs, and JJ offers a thought— how the last thing a woman wants after a fight with a man is another man to swoop in and try to whisk her away, no matter how good his intentions are. Morgan explains in turn that he's not actually suggesting any flat-out advances, and in a matter of minutes, the entire BAU ends up in a discussion weighing Spencer's options.

And then, the musing amongst the group comes to a close, but only at the screeching sound of your voice.

"You know what? Then you can leave!"

There's a collective gasp, a holding of breaths and clutching of champagne glasses in anticipation of the end, which comes crashing in with a resounding and cathartic, "And don't you ever come back! We're through! I never want to see your stupid face ever again!"

The door slams, and an immediate hushed chorus of cheers is not far behind. Morgan firmly pats Spencer's shoulder, as Rossi raises his glass and muses, "It's a Christmas miracle."

The real miracle, Spencer thinks, is you; even as your spirit waltzes back into the living area in pieces. Easily the most bright and beautiful soul he's ever known, it nearly crushes him to know how awful you probably feel in that moment, for something that isn't even your fault. He sympathizes, but more than anything he wants to reassure you that nothing could ever deter his steadfast belief in the simple fact that you are the only miracle one could ever need.

Penelope rushes to your side and embraces you in a warm hug, to which you drop your gaze to your feet.

"I'm sorry... I ruined your night."

"My dear, you've ruined absolutely nothing," Rossi offers gently.

His words elicit a sniffle from you, and then you're turning your head into Penelope's shoulder, hiding your face and slumping full-force into her arms. JJ and Emily rush over and pile on in a group hug, handing their drinks to Hotch. He's stayed verbally neutral over the situation, but Spencer can see the relief and hope resting in his expression as your grief slowly dissipates. A Christmas miracle, indeed, his smile seems to say.

The lights on the tree seem to brighten at the breath of fresh, unwavering life in the atmosphere that feels very much like love. A proper family. A support system. A warmth.

Spencer feels that warmth vibrantly in his fingertips— Even hours later in the cold, out on your balcony as he mindlessly observes the city below, every sharp breath of December air filling his lungs in slow, steady cycles. New snow isn't falling, but the streets are glittering with what's already there, every speeding headlight making the ground dance below him.

He wishes it were more quiet; something about the eerie silence of winter and the unexplainable feeling that somehow it might heal something within himself. Everything is always so loud, even as he closes his eyes to drift off into sleep. There's always some sort of man-made noise going on, whether it be a fan, or traffic outside his window, or even the quiet rustling of Hotch's paperwork on the way home from a case. For once, he thinks, it might be nice to drift off with nothing but the winter wind carrying him to sleep.

For now, though, he settles for car engines and crunching snow and the muffled bellows of joy beyond your patio door.

The joy crescendos for a moment, and Spencer turns his head to catch your glowing silhouette emerging from the door. The warmth he feels only pulses, hotter and brighter than before.

"There you are," you exclaim softly, stepping outside and closing the door. "Aren't you freezing out here?"

"Not really," he muses.

You take stance beside him, crossing your arms and overlooking the streets just as he'd been doing moments before. A soft smile ghosts over your lips, and on a breath out, your shoulders relax. "Great view, huh?"

"It is," Spencer confirms. "It's certainly better than the buildings I get to look at."

The laugh that escapes you in a cloud of visible air is quite possibly the most beautiful sound to him, especially when it's because of something he said. If he could indulge in the pleasure of making you laugh for the rest of his life, he would take the chance in a heartbeat.

"Well, then you're welcome on my balcony any time."

"Thank you," he says, trying not to give himself away as he feels the butterflies creeping their way in. With a nervous smile, he clutches his scarf. "I'll hold you to it. It's a nice balcony."

He kicks himself for that last part, inwardly cursing his inability to filter out the awkward, unnecessary sentences. He could keep talking and make it worse, but he ultimately decides that scrunching his nose in shame and passing it off as being chilled is the better choice. If you notice, you don't let on.

Taking that as a good sign, Spencer tries to relax. He breathes out, and you turn to him. "Are you... having a good time tonight?"

"Of course I am," he answers, perhaps a little too quickly. "I mean, you throw a great party."

You laugh again. This time the sound huffs out of you with a resounding sadness that cracks his heart once more. "It's not anything, really— just some lights, music, and drinks... But thank you anyway."

Before he has time to think better of it, Spencer calls you out by name, quick to defend you. But then he pauses, unsure of what else to say. He doesn't want to bring up your breakup and make you feel worse, but... what else can he do? The only thing that feels right is the need to remind you how inherently good you are.

So, that's what he does.

"You shouldn't sell yourself short. I... We all love you and we're glad to be with you, regardless of how... grand it is. Just being yourself is grand enough. You don't even need the lights or the drinks, or... him. You're better than all of those things combined."

At first you look pained, the mention of your ex-boyfriend exacting immense pressure on a fresh bruise, and Spencer almost regrets it— almost; Your features soften moments later as his words settle in and seem to melt away the pain, revealing a layer of disbelief and confusion. And then, softness.

Your lip trembles as you struggle to speak. "You don't... have to... say that."

"Yes. I do." As firmly as he possibly can while still being gentle, he reaches out and clutches your hands with his own. He hopes that whatever warmth he has immediately draws itself to you and wakes you up. He wills it to comfort you and make you see—make you feel. His fingers are desperate in their pursuit to love you, their grip unwavering and brimming with hope.

When your eyes meet his, he nearly collapses. There's so much love and relief and bewilderment sparkling in them that he suddenly feels the overwhelming urge to get lost in their depths—to explore and study each emotion until he knows every aspect of you. He almost forgets how to speak for a moment, his mouth dry and the concept of what he wants to tell you being clear as day, reflected in your eyes, as the words themselves slowly become less tangible.

All he can manage to say is the simple, unabashed truth. The love he has for you rests perfectly within those three words, anyway. They ring out and linger in the December air, floating softly around you like a feather, until it lands on your nose and wakes you up from your deep, dark reverie, releasing you into the light once again.

"You're utterly remarkable."

You clutch onto his hands like you've just been pulled from a frozen lake, grasping for any semblance of stability, and he's right there to guide you as you draw yourself closer to him. His heart beats loud and fast as you sigh out and smile, tears welling in your glimmering eyes.

"Thank you, Spencer," you breathe out sincerely in a broken whisper.

He smiles back at you, a weight lifting from his chest as he tells you, "Of course." As if it's the most natural thing in the world to express how wonderful you are.

A sudden burst of energy comes sweeping across the balcony as a loud, bellowing voice makes an expression of their own. It's Penelope, giggling and bubbly as ever.

"Hey! You two! It's present time! Get your pretty faces in here pronto!"

She's gone as quickly as she had appeared, leaving the door open a crack as you laugh and drag Spencer by the hand to follow.

He's grateful for the shift in activity, unsure how much longer he could have been out there alone with you before he said something he regretted. Not that he'd been looking for anything theatrical by any means, but in truth, the entire evening feels like it had been a movie, wrapped up in a neat little bow as the two of you cross the threshold into the rolling credits. The rest of his feelings he could deal with tomorrow, but for now, he's satisfied with this conclusion.

You stop as you approach the door, huffing a short laugh.

"What is it?" Spencer asks as you let go of him and turn around, plucking something from the panel of wood. From your delicate finger hangs a bundle of mistletoe. It sways gently in the wind before you clutch it in the palm of your hand.

"I always come out here after a fight... Guess I figured he might try to make it up to me or something... Like I knew he was going to let me down again..."

The words are sad, but your tone drips with amusement, or something close to it. You feel the plant in your hand, looking down at it and then back at Spencer.

His body freezes under your gaze, the implications sending him into a numbing warmth that both pleases and scares him in equal measure.

"You never let me down," you continue, stepping closer and interlocking his hand with yours, the mistletoe trapped in between. "I want to thank you for that."

Your face leans in, and at this point his heart is beating so loudly he can hear it drowning everything else out. He can barely hear himself stutter out, "It's not a problem, really... And I know you just got out of a relationship, so... You don't have to..."

"Yes. I do."

You kiss his cheek, firmly and quickly, and yet you don't fully retreat. Your lips linger near his jawline, and you squeeze his hand and whisper, "Thank you," against his skin.

He can feel the words worming their way into his pores and leaving trickles of static in their wake, spreading through him like lightning. Their sincerity moves him, and drives home your miraculousness with such force that he can't help but tilt his head down and capture the lips that uttered them in a swift, soft kiss of his own.

You press yourself into him effortlessly, a gesture that makes him wish he had the ability to stop time and keep it trapped in the palm of his hand and yours, like the mistletoe. He could spend forever in this moment if he were granted it.

But alas, time cannot be stopped, and neither can Penelope Garcia.

She bangs on the door and yells impatiently again. "Presents!"

You and Spencer break away in a collective laugh. He feels lightheaded and lovesick, every nerve ending alight with your essence.

"Okay, okay!" you yell over your shoulder, removing yourself from him completely this time and taking the mistletoe with you. You shove it in his coat pocket with an adorable scrunch of the nose and shuffle inside.

The moment you're out of sight, pulled back into the party and leaving him alone on the balcony to follow, he finally breathes out. And the slow inevitable smile that break out over his face feels bright enough to light the entire city.

The mistletoe hums vibrantly in his pocket through the rest of the night—his very own tangible reminder of a miracle; That time, for one brief moment, could stand still.

[callsign-mayhem]

too sweet (part 1)

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Female!Reader Word count: 6.4k CW: Use of Y/N, occasional swears

As Natasha's lifelong best friend, you've always known her crew was off-limits, especially one cocky aviator with a killer smile: Jake "Hangman" Seresin. But when you take a writing retreat to sunny San Diego, a break that was supposed to help you escape distractions, you find yourself sharing late-night conversations, beach bonfires, and undeniable chemistry with the one person you've been strictly forbidden to date.

This is a multi-part fic.

As soon as your plane touched down in San Diego, you were switching flight mode off and texting your best friend. It had been almost six months since the last time you saw her, and your patience had worn thin not long after the second week of her being gone. Now, you were practically bursting with excitement. As a result, you’d become one of those annoying people who got up as soon as the seatbelt sign went off, standing in the aisle with your carry-on even though the steps for the plane hadn’t even been brought onto the runway yet. 

Once you eventually got off the aircraft, you ran as fast as possible with a backpack and a carry-on suitcase, not stopping until you reached passport control. Once past that particular hurdle, it was onto baggage claim. Being a full-time writer afforded you much more flexibility and freedom than most other people, especially your best friend. This was why you usually visited her and not the other way around. Since it had been so long since you last spent time together, your ticket to San Diego was one way. It seemed as though Nat was setting up shop in Fighter Town for a while, and with your latest manuscript almost ready to be sent to your editor, you were taking the opportunity for a much-needed change in pace and scenery. 

The airport was busy, and you were swarmed by people from your flight trying to spot their bags on the carousel. This included the screaming set of twins and their dishevelled parents seated two rows behind you. 

They were still screaming, and you were briefly reminded why you didn’t want to have any children yet. Not that there was any chance of that happening, anyway. You’d been single for so long that it was a basically a personality trait at this point. 

When you spotted your suitcase, you ran to meet it and hauled it off the conveyor belt less than gracefully. The arrivals lounge was an assault on your already overloaded senses, and dragging two suitcases wasn’t making it any easier. But when you got closer to the exit, you saw Nat’s black Suburban parked right out front, and all the stress dissipated. 

When you barelled out of the doors and onto the sidewalk, she jumped out of the car with a huge, uncontainable grin. Her hair was freshly cut and styled, and her skin glowed beneath the Californian sun. 

North Island looked good on her. 

Bags be damned, you ran into her arms, almost knocking her over. She still smelled of citrus and vanilla, which was to say that she still smelled like her family home where you’d spent most of your childhood. You’d had a couple of boyfriends in and just after college, but their hugs had never lived up to Natasha’s. There was nothing more comforting to you in the entire world.

‘Lieutenant Trace in the flesh!’ You squeaked. 

‘Y/N Y/L/N, bestselling author. It truly is an honour.’

Reluctantly, you let go so you could take her in. ‘Those FaceTime calls just weren’t cutting it anymore.’ You told her, smiling. ‘You look good, Nat. Better than good.’

‘I think this place agrees with me.’ She replied. ‘You look like you need a holiday.’

‘Wow, thanks.’

She laughed. ‘You know what I mean.’

‘I know.’

She glanced at your luggage with a raised brow. ‘Let’s get what appears to be everything you own in the trunk, and then we’ll get on the road. ‘Kay?’

‘I know it looks like a lot, but you know I like to be prepared.’

You took the smaller case, and she took the bigger one. ‘For what? Moving states?’

‘My ticket is open-ended.’ You explained. ‘Once I get my manuscript in next week, I’ll be free as a bird until my editor is ready to shatter all my hopes and dreams.’

Natasha eyed you somewhat disbelievingly. ‘You’re saying you might be staying a while?’

‘If that’s okay with you, yeah.’

‘Let’s see how long it takes me to get sick of you.’ She jibed.

‘How do you know I won’t get sick of you first?’

‘Because I’m a delight.’

On the way to Nat’s apartment complex, she pointed out landmarks and told you about the latest happenings. You were mostly caught up since you spent every other evening on FaceTime, but it was always different when you caught up in person. The two of you always remembered other details you’d forgotten about. 

The drive from the airport to Nat’s apartment on Island Avenue took just over fifteen minutes, and before you knew it, you were being shown to the guest room. She’d moved in a little over a month ago, after being told she was being stationed in Fighter Town indefinitely along with some of her crew from a super secret mission she’d been involved in. Nat told you more details about her work than she probably should because even if you had someone to tell, you wouldn’t. Your friendship wasn’t like most other female friendships, where you think your secret is safe until it’s not. The two of you trusted one another wholeheartedly because there genuinely wasn’t any reason not to. 

The guest room was as tidy and organised as the rest of the apartment. With Autumn just around the corner, she’d adorned the double bed with pumpkin throw pillows and a dark red teddy blanket you immediately wanted to crawl under. You were thoroughly exhausted, but you knew neither of you would be going to sleep anytime soon.

‘I put my desk in here,’ she told you. ‘Since I knew it would be your room. That way, you can write while I’m on base.’

Even after all these years, things like this still warmed you. ‘Thanks, Natty.’ You said, reverting to your childhood nickname for her. ‘I appreciate it.’

‘You hungry?’

‘Practically wasting away over here.’

‘I thought you might say that. Wanna go out or order in? I can take you to this amazing restaurant I went to with some of my team a few weeks ago. It’s right by the beach.’

‘Sold.’

An hour later, you were sitting in the outside area of a trendy new steakhouse. You were so hungry after your flight that you doubted you’d have noticed if the food had been awful. Nat enjoyed her brisket immensely, so it couldn’t have been bad. 

‘So,’ you said, around a mouthful of food. ‘Tell me more about this new squad. Better than the Black Aces?’

‘They’re so different, they aren’t comparable. But they’re pretty awesome.’

‘Any of them particularly awesome?’ You asked, waggling your eyebrows.

She rolled her eyes playfully. ‘No, no, and no. Even if there were, I wouldn’t do anything about it. I don’t date navy guys.’

‘I still don’t understand that.’

‘I don’t like to shit where I eat,’ she said simply. ‘Or rather, I don’t like to let men shit where I eat since usually they’re the ones doing the shitting.’

You nodded in understanding. ‘Am I gonna get to meet any of the famous Daggers?’ 

‘Yup. Tonight.’

Your stomach dropped. While you were definitely up for meeting them, you were a little nervous, especially since it was happening so soon.

‘Tonight?’ You echoed.

‘Friday nights, we always go to The Hard Deck after work. I’ll come back to the apartment first, change and then we can head over together.’ 

You hoped you were doing a good job of hiding your nerves. Nat would never let you live them down. 

‘So not only am I meeting the famous Dagger Squad, but I’m also gonna experience the highly acclaimed Hard Deck on the same night.’

‘Don’t bother wearing socks, ‘cause they’re gonna be knocked right off.’ Her voice was dripping with sarcasm.

‘The novelty might have worn off for you, but this is big for me. I listen to you talk about these people and that bar day in and day out without understanding. I’m finally getting to put faces to names my best friend doesn’t shut up about. It would be like you stepping into one of my books and meeting all the characters.’

‘Okay, when you put it that way, I understand why you’re excited. But you gotta promise me one thing.’

She was suddenly all serious. ‘Anything.’ You replied earnestly.

‘Do not let Hangman charm you. I’ve already told him you’re off limits, and I’m saying the same to you. He’s bad news.’

You knew all about Hangman from Nat’s stories. There were only a few where he was one of the good guys. As a writer, you were all too familiar with the good girl falls in love with the bad guy trope, and as tantalising as it was to read about, you knew better than to fall for it in real life.

At least, you’d like to think so.

‘You don’t have to worry about that. He sounds like an asshole.’

‘You say this now, but he’s a charmer, and you’re vulnerable.’

You threw a chip at her. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘I mean no offence when I say this, but it’s been a while since you dated anyone, Y/N. I’m not saying you’re naive, but I know he’ll lay it on real thick just to mess with me, and I don’t want you to fall into his trap and get hurt.’

‘You think he’d pretend to hit on me just to get under your skin? This guy sounds even worse than I thought.’

‘You can never be too sure what his intentions are. Safer to assume that he has an ulterior motive.’

‘Well, thanks, Nat. Now I’m really nervous.’

‘You’ll be fine. I’ll be there to yank on his leash if he starts barking too loudly. And Rooster is always looking for an excuse to take him down a peg.’

In true best friend style, Natasha had emptied your suitcase in search of the perfect outfit for you to wear to The Hard Deck. Thankfully, she’d settled on one of your favourites: a black velvet romper with bell sleeves covered in little silver moons and stars. You didn’t have to debate whether to wear your hair up or down because Nat had already decided for you and was almost done curling it. You applied a thin layer of lip gloss in front of her vanity mirror while she worked her magic. You’d gone easy on the makeup since you often felt self-conscious when wearing a lot. 

‘Okay, done.’ She announced, running her fingers through the curls. 

She’d done a great job, better than when you did it yourself.

‘Thanks, Nat.’

‘You’re welcome. You look drop-dead gorgeous.’

In her skinny jeans, white tank and leather jacket, you thought Nat looked like a sexy biker chick, and you told her so. 

‘Anyone would think you’re in love with me.’

‘So what if I am?’

You decided to get an Uber since neither of you wanted to stay sober to drive the other home. You spent the whole journey fretting that the Daggers wouldn’t like you. Maybe they’d think you were boring because you weren’t in the Navy. Perhaps they’d think being a writer wasn’t a real job (it wouldn’t be the first time someone had told you that). Or worse, maybe they’d think you weren’t good enough to be friends with the highly decorated fighter pilot who was your best friend. 

By the time the Uber driver pulled up in front of The Hard Deck, your stomach was tied in knots, and you were gasping for a shot of something strong to give you a confidence boost. Despite your overwhelming sense of anxiety, you were able to appreciate how incredible The Hard Deck was. Adorned with lights and overflowing with all different kinds of people, it was the kind of place that felt almost dreamlike. Music spilled out through the open doors and windows, and the surrounding area thrummed with a near-tangible electric current. 

Natasha looped her arm through yours as you headed into the bar, and you were grateful for the physical and moral support. Inside, it was a hubbub of activity. The wraparound bar—which had at least five people behind it—was surrounded by people. The crowd was at least three people deep; as soon as a bartender finished serving someone, there was another to take their place. You’d done a brief stint as a bartender just after college, and while you’d never worked somewhere quite this busy, you had a pretty good idea of how they were feeling. 

A Bon Jovi song blared from a jukebox you couldn't locate. A large pool table and a mounted dart board stood in the far corner of the bustling bar. This appeared to be where Nat was leading you. A group of aviators—some still in uniform from the day, some not—stood around the pool table. 

Your heart was in the base of your throat. It was beating erratically. 

‘Ready?’ Nat asked, flashing you an encouraging grin.

‘Ready as I’ll ever be.’

When you reached them, those who had been immersed in their game stopped, and the others let their conversations die out. All eyes were on you, and you briefly wondered if something was on your face. 

‘Guys, this is Y/N. Y/N, this is my squad.’ Each one beamed at you as they swarmed around you to shake your hand or hug you. ‘For better or worse.’ Nat said.

The tall, handsome one with the moustache and the Hawaiian shirt you knew to be Rooster playfully poked Nat in the ribs. ‘Hey, you know it’s for better.’

‘Depends on the day.’ She shrugged.

‘Y/N,’ Rooster smirked. ‘I’ve heard a lot about you.’

He had to reach down to wrap his arms around your shoulders. He smelled of sandalwood and sun lotion, and you’d already forgotten Nat’s reasons for not wanting to sleep with her squad members. 

‘All good things, I hope.’

Before Rooster could respond, a strapping blonde guy with a movie-star smile cut in. ‘Better than good,’ he said with a southern drawl. ‘I feel like I’m meeting a celebrity.’

The squad collectively rolled their eyes. ‘This is Hangman.’ Nat sighed. 

He held out his hand, and you took it. ‘Jake Seresin.’

‘Pleasure.’ You replied. 

When you finally worked up the courage to look into his eyes, you saw chaos swimming in the blue depths. He smiled at you as if he knew what colour underwear you had on, as well as all your darkest secrets. He was disarming, and you’d always made a point to steer clear of men like that.

‘Oh, the pleasure’s all mine, darlin’.’

‘Alright, Bagman, that’s enough.’ This voice belonged to one of the shorter guys with a buzzed head and a much nicer vibe. ‘You’re gonna scare her off.’ Instead of hugging you or shaking your hand, he kissed your cheek, and you felt a surprised blush creep across your cheeks. ‘I’m Mickey, callsign Fanboy. Welcome to North Island.’

‘Thanks, Mickey. It’s nice to meet you.’

‘This here is Payback, but you can call him Reuben. I’m his backseater.’

‘Hi,’ you grinned, starting to find your feet and your confidence. ‘I hear you’re quite the pilot.’ 

Reuben glanced at Nat, apparently pleasantly surprised. ‘Damn, you say nice things about us behind our backs?’

‘Not all of you.’ Nat shot a pointed look at Jake. ‘But yeah. Don’t sound so surprised.’ 

Coyote—AKA Javy—was less intimidating than Jake, but you could tell they were privy to something you weren’t. Your mind flicked back to the conversation you’d had with Nat earlier, and you were starting to understand what she meant. Maybe they had some kind of awful bet on who could bed you first. Either way, you planned to be cordial but not engage with them any more than you had to. 

Last but not least, you were introduced to Bob, Nat’s backseater and perhaps the team member she spoke most highly of. You’d been desperate to meet him for months, partly because Nat had told you he had a really funny side to him once he came out of his shell and partly because you wanted to thank him for keeping your best friend alive.

‘Y/N, this is Bob Floyd. My WSO.’

In one hand, he held a half-empty cup of peanuts. The other, he held out to you.

‘Bob, it’s an honour to meet you. Thank you for looking after Natty. I didn’t need to meet you to know that there’s nobody else I’d rather be in the sky with my best friend.’

Bob blinked at you behind his wireframes, dumbfounded by your kind words.

‘Uh, thanks, Y/N. I’m just a Weapons Systems Officer. Phoenix is the hero, not me.’

‘Don’t put yourself down. Your job is just as important, if not more so. I know she won’t mind me saying that.’

‘I agree,’ Nat said. ‘I’ve told you before, Bobby; you gotta give yourself more credit.’

Bob flushed. His eyes remained fixed on his peanuts. ‘Well, thank you. It sure means a lot.’ 

With the initial introductions out of the way, you could relax. Payback and Fanboy headed to the bar to get a round of drinks in while you made yourself comfortable at one of the tall tables. Rooster and Bob joined you and Nat while Coyote and Hangman resumed their game of pool. They’d been playing doubles with Payback and Fanboy, and it was their turn. 

You found yourself staring at Hangman as he leaned over the table and expertly sank three balls—one after the other—into the pockets. Not that you’d ever admit it out loud, but he was gorgeous. Walking, talking Texan Ken dolls weren’t usually your type, but it was impossible to deny Jake’s appeal. Maybe it was because Nat had explicitly told you not to look that you found your eyes wandering back to him, even as Rooster launched into a story about a recent mission. Didn’t something always feel more endearing when you weren’t allowed to do it?

When Payback and Fanboy reappeared, each with a tray of drinks in hand, you could finally refocus your attention. 

‘Tequila shots!’ Fanboy gestured with bravado.

‘And some beers to chase them with.’ Payback finished.

You giggled, reaching for your shot. There was enough for everyone to have two, and you made a mental note to get them both back. Hangman and Coyote sauntered over at the mention of hard liquor. It was difficult to ignore Jake when he came to your side of the table and reached over you for his shot. Was he making a point, or were you hyperaware of him after your warning from Nat?

‘What’re we toasting?’ You asked.

Rooster’s eyes twinkled as he raised his near-overflowing shot glass in your direction. ‘To old friends and new.’

The whole squad echoed his toast and downed their shots. Bob coughed and sputtered, and Fanboy smacked him on the back encouragingly, only making him cough more. Your stomach ached from laughing, and you weren’t even drunk yet. 

One shot of tequila, and you were already wondering if there were any apartments for rent close to North Island. 

As the night progressed and you got tipsier, you found yourself playing some kind of game with Hangman. The rest of the squad seemed totally unaware of it, for which you were incredibly grateful. If Nat or Rooster caught so much as a whiff of attraction between the two of you, you were sure they’d haul your ass home and sit you on the naughty step. You’d only known Bradley for a few hours, but you’d hit it off immediately. You understood why he and Nat were so close. He’d already adopted some kind of brotherly responsibility for you, and apparently—before your arrival—he and Nat had made a pact to protect you from Hangman at all costs. Super dramatic, but you were sure it was warranted. 

Of course, this approach had the opposite effect. You found yourself drawn to him for reasons known only to the almighty. Nat and Bradley had said (not in so many words, but still) ‘fuck around and find out.’

And here you were, fucking around and finding out. 

He was standing at the dart board nursing a whiskey on the rocks. Payback was taking his shot while Fanboy egged him on from the sidelines. It seemed that the two pairs had a mission to thrash each other at various bar games, and you sincerely hoped that Payback and Fanboy won at least one round of something by the end of the night just to see the smug grin wiped off Jake’s pretty face. 

As for the game the two of you were playing… Well, you’d started that. He’d caught you staring at him after the second round of shots, and the look he’d given you in response had been incendiary. More for something to do with your hands and mouth, you’d taken a sip of your cocktail (courtesy of Bobby Floyd) and looked away again. You’d looked up again a little while later and caught him staring. You’d raised your eyebrows, and in response, he took a long drink of his whiskey before mouthing ‘bet.’ Thus, your little drinking game was born, and you hadn’t even had to speak to each other.

Whenever one caught the other staring, the guilty one had to take a drink. 

You were more than tipsy now, so you silently promised not to look at him for a while lest you end up on the floor before 10 pm. 

‘So, Phoenix tells us you’re about to finish another book.’ Bradley said, bringing you back to Earth.

‘Yeah, I’ve just gotta mess around with the ending, and then it’ll be good to go. That is until my editor tears it to shreds.’

‘Did you always want to be a writer?’ Bob asked.

He’d come out of his shell significantly since you walked into The Hard Deck earlier that evening. The two shots had helped since he wasn’t a big drinker. They’d gone right to his head, and his cheeks were stained pink. Bob was sweet and kindhearted and had a knack for making you feel seen and heard in the conversation. You’d never met a man who was so attentive before, and you got the feeling that Nat and Bradley had an agenda, what with the knowing glances they shared whenever you went off on tangents about music and different novels you’d both read. 

Bob was perfect. Bob wouldn’t break your heart. Out of all the guys in The Hard Deck, he was the one who made the most sense to you. 

But Bob didn’t have you shifting in your stool whenever he looked at you as warmth pooled in the bottom of your tummy. 

‘For as long as I can remember, yeah.’ You responded. ‘Most people thought I was insane for choosing a liberal arts major in college. They’re notorious for leading you absolutely nowhere, but I was persistent, and now here I am.’ 

‘Not many people are successful enough to live off their writing, even if they get published.’ Nat added proudly. ‘She’s a one-percenter in the writer world.’

‘You know, I’ve actually read one of your books.’ Bob said, smiling down at his Corona Light, suddenly shy. 

This was the kind of moment you always dreamed about as a kid: meeting someone and finding out they already knew your name because they had a copy of one of your books at home. 

‘Seriously?’ You leaned forward. ‘Which one?’ 

‘Fourth of July.’ 

You were taken aback. Fourth of July wasn’t the book you were best known for, but it had been your favourite to write. It was literary fiction, and few people had the stomach for it. After publishing it, your agent practically forced you to write something on the opposite end of the spectrum, more for sales than anything else. 

‘What did you think?’ 

‘I thought it was extremely provocative. You know the kinds of books you think about for months when you’re finished?’

Your smile was so big, your face ached with it. ‘Yeah, I know the ones you mean. You really think that?’

‘I do.’ 

‘I don’t even know how to respond to that. I’m so happy.’ You gushed. ‘So I’m just gonna buy you another drink.’

Bob chuckled. Nat and Bradley shared another knowing look. ‘You don’t need to do that.’

‘I want to. Besides, it’s my turn to get a round in.’

You floated up to the bar on cloud nine and made the order in such a daze that you didn’t notice Hangman slide up next to you. 

‘I’ll be paying for this round, Penny.’ He drawled. 

Your head snapped up. He still had that shit-eating grin on his face, and you couldn’t decide whether you wanted to slap it or kiss it off. 

‘I can pay. It’s my turn.’ You insisted.

Jake waved you off. ‘You’re the honoured guest.’

‘And it’s my turn.’ You repeated sternly. ‘Plus, I’m buying Bob an extra drink as a thank you.’

Jake recoiled slightly, a bemused grin on his face. ‘For what?’

‘He gave me some great feedback on one of my books. The one I’m the least proud of. Nothing in the world beats that feeling, so I want to thank him.’

‘Trust Bobby to have read your work before knowing who you are. I bet he’s mighty pleased with himself.’ Jake ruminated. ‘He’s not the one trailing behind for once.’

You frowned deeply. ‘That’s not very nice. Bob seems like a great guy. He probably doesn’t seem like it to you because his ego isn’t the size of North Island.’

Jake laughed. ‘And you think mine is?’ 

Penny was smirking to herself as she poured all the drinks, and you had a feeling she’d probably back you up. 

‘I think it’s probably quite close. You and Bob don’t speak the same language, so you think he’s beneath you.’

‘Come on, I don’t think he’s beneath me. You’re making me sound like a dick.’

No, actually, I think you manage that quite well on your own.’ You quipped.

Jake staggered back, clutching his chest, feigning hurt. You laughed despite yourself. His energy was contagious like that.

‘So, are you gonna let me pay for my round?’

‘How about I pay for the round, you just pay for Lieutenant Bookworm. You know, to save your conscience.’ 

‘Fine,’ you said, rolling your eyes. ‘But I’m gonna get the next one. I’ll just wait until you aren’t paying attention.’ 

Jake glanced at your lips so quickly that you would’ve missed it if you’d blinked. 

‘Good luck with that, sweetheart.’ 

You opened your mouth to respond, but no sound came out. He’d disarmed you yet again, and you disliked feeling so helpless. It was almost as if you were at his mercy, and he knew it. Jake Seresin didn’t need any more power than he already had. 

He paid Penny and took the tray of drinks over to the table. You hadn’t ordered any shots because you wanted to remember some of this night, and it was probably a good idea because you could no longer walk in a straight line. Jake went right back to the dart board, and you took your seat at the table.

‘What was that about?’ Nat asked, voice laced with concern.

‘He paid for the round, even though I asked him not to.’ You took Bob’s beers off the tray and set them before him. ‘I got these, though.’

‘Thanks, Y/N.’

Bradley’s eyes were boring holes into Jake’s back. ‘It’s rare for him to do something nice without an ulterior motive.’

‘Well, that’s easy. His ulterior motive is getting in Y/N’s pants.’ Nat growled.

‘Okay,’ you said with a sigh. ‘Let’s change the subject. I’m sick of talking about him already.’

Although Bob didn’t speak as much as everyone else, you felt he noticed more than they did. You could tell he saw right through you. You just hoped he wouldn’t say anything to your best friend. 

You felt truly alive, as if the electrical current surrounding The Hard Deck had been injected directly into your veins. Your first meeting with The Dagger Squad had gone incredibly well, and they’d exceeded your expectations tenfold. It had only been one day, and you already felt like you’d made some friends for life. You were beginning to understand why Nat looked so healthy, why she seemed to be glowing from the inside out, the amazing people, the energy of North Island, the beautiful weather. These things separately were better than any multivitamin, but together? You felt as though you’d drunk some kind of magical elixir that would permit you to live forever. 

You wouldn’t mind living forever if you got to stay here permanently. 

Was it too soon to be thinking this? Did you care? 

Penny had called last orders, but nobody was ready for the night to end. Your exhaustion had worn off long ago, and thankfully, you were experiencing a rather mighty second wind. Somebody had suggested going back to Nat’s for some more drinks. Reuben’s place was the biggest—a three-bed detached house right on the outskirts of North Island—but nobody wanted to Uber that far, so you settled for Nat’s. Her apartment was the second biggest, spanning two stories. You knew she’d received a considerable inheritance a few years ago, and paired with her Navy money, she was well-off. It helped that her finance-managing skills were impeccable. She’d been the one to help you invest and save money from your first book deal when you’d wanted to blow it all on an expensive trip to New Zealand. 

It took two Ubers to get you all to Island Avenue. You carpooled with Nat, Bob, Bradley and Reuben. Mickey pulled the short straw and had to jump in with Jake and Javy. To be fair, they weren’t bad guys; you just knew their type and weren’t accustomed to it. 

Back at Nat’s, everyone was assigned a job. You and Nat set about turning all the fairy lights on, putting more chairs out on the generously sized balcony and finding throw blankets for those who got chilly. Bradley was connecting his phone to the Bluetooth speaker and queuing songs since he insisted he had the authority in that particular department. Bob was hovering, suggesting more songs for him to queue, arguing that he had just as much authority as Bradley did since they had similar taste in music. Reuben and Mickey went through Nat’s drinking/board game selection, picking out a few to keep everyone occupied. Dangerously, Javy and Jake had declared themselves bartenders. On the way back, they’d stopped at an off-license and grabbed a wide selection of booze to add to what Nat already had stocked in her kitchen. They’d set themselves up on the kitchen island and were attempting to make homemade cocktails. 

You and Nat found a moment of solitude in her room when she was searching for some sweats to give Mickey, who was still in his uniform. 

‘So it’s going pretty well, huh?’ She smiled. ‘You like the squad?’ 

‘Hell yeah, I do, they’re a riot.’

She opened her wardrobe door, smirking knowingly. ‘Who’s your favourite?’

‘Don’t have one.’ You said, a little too quickly.

‘I know you’re lying. Just tell me.’

While she rooted around in her wardrobe, you gave it some thought. You didn’t have a favourite because you liked them for different reasons. Bob was genuine and intelligent, and he understood your writing almost as well as you did. Bradley was vibrant and interesting, and he made you feel safe, as if you could be yourself unapologetically. Same with Mickey and Reuben. You liked the fact that Javy was sure of himself without coming across too cocky (mostly).

And as for Jake. Well, you didn’t have the words to describe how you felt about him. 

Nat poked her head out of the walk-wardrobe. ‘Well?’

‘I like them all, Nat. But if I had to choose, it’d be Bob.’

She smiled. ‘I knew it.’ 

‘Knew what?’

‘You have a thing for Floyd. And he has a thing for you.’

‘Jesus Christ, Natty. No. Not like that.’

She’d finally found sweatpants and a T-shirt that she didn’t mind lending to Mickey. When she came out of the wardrobe, she wore a cunning expression.

‘You wouldn’t date him? I think he’s perfect for you.’

How were you supposed to tell her that the reason you wouldn’t date him was because Jake caused a swarm of butterflies in your stomach? How were you supposed to tell her you were crushing on the only guy from her whole crew she’d warned you off? 

There was only one answer to that: you couldn’t. 

‘I didn’t come here to date. Why would I start something here that I can’t finish? I’ll be back in New England before the leaves change.’

‘Everything is always so poetic with you. But you’re right,’ she relented. ‘Bobby is someone you have a quick fling with, anyway. He’s too nice, and I don’t think that’s his thing.’

You gestured as if to say, ‘there you go.’ 

‘Shall we get back out there and see what havoc those two dickheads are wreaking in my kitchen?’

‘Let’s do it.’

It turned out that they were wreaking a lot of havoc. There were open spirit bottles everywhere, and the kitchen island was lined with shots. Not only that, but a selection of cocktails surrounded the bottles. You didn’t know what any of them contained, and honestly, you were scared to ask. 

‘Ladies,’ Javy said. ‘What’ll it be?’

‘Something that’s not gonna put me on my ass after two sips?’ You offered.

He looked at the selection of drinks with a pained expression, and you laughed. 

‘I’m guessing that’s not on the menu?’

‘Er, no…’

‘Okay, give me something sweet.’

Jake stepped around the island and came right up to you. He was so cocksure that it should have been cringe, but it was just incredibly sexy.

‘Here you go, darlin’.’

Natasha and Javy laughed, but you couldn’t stop looking at him. He was drunk, but there wasn’t a hair out of place. If you hadn’t watched him throw drinks back all night, you would think he was sober. 

‘Nice. Does that work on all the girls?’

‘I haven’t tried this one before.’ He winked.

‘I’ll take whatever concoction that has the most vodka in it. No whiskey.’ 

Your swift change of subject didn’t phase him in the slightest. ‘Anything you want.’ 

When he handed you a drink and your hands brushed, you had to glance around to see if Nat noticed. Because if she had, she’d have seen you linger for a moment before you turned around and walked away. 

After a few particularly vicious rounds of Cards Against Humanity that had you all creasing on the floor, you took yourself off to the bathroom. Bob and Javy were talking about heading home. Bradley and Mickey had called dibs on Nat’s huge, L-shaped sofa for the night, and Reuben was trying to convince Nat to let him top-and-tail in her bed. While they were arguing, you headed inside and up the spiral staircase to use your bathroom without worrying about a drunken aviator trying to get in.

Or at least, that had been your plan. 

You reached out to grab the door handle, and someone’s hand closed over your own.

‘Jake?’

You turned around, your back against the closed door, and he moved in front of you, his chest flush against yours. 

‘What’re you doing?’ You breathed.

‘You’ve been givin’ me those come-to-bed eyes all night. I assumed that’s where you were headed.’

He leaned in closer, but not so close that you thought he was going to kiss you. 

‘I thought you were suspiciously quiet when everyone was talking about sleeping arrangements.’

‘Mhm, so you were thinkin’ the same thing?’

You shook your head, but your smile was a dead giveaway. ‘Even if I wanted you to, you couldn’t spend the night here. Nat would crucify both of us.’

He leaned even closer. You could smell the liquor on his lips now. ‘Who says she has to find out?’

‘I can’t do that to her. It’s disrespectful.’

He regarded you thoughtfully. ‘Come on, Y/N. Take that halo off for one night.’ 

Bravely, you nudged his nose with yours. When he tried to kiss you, you pulled back. His expression was a mix between hurt and challenged. 

‘I’ve been warned to stay away from you, in case I get hurt.’

‘Well, that’s funny,’ he responded, closing the space between you. ‘Because I’ve been warned to stay away from you so I don’t wake up and find my balls missing.’

You laughed. ‘Nat threatened to castrate you?’

‘That she did.’

‘I suggest you go home and sleep in your own bed then.’

His lips were basically touching yours now. ‘You don’t really want that.’

You reached up and put a hand on the back of his neck. The first kiss you shared with Jake Seresin was exactly how you imagined it would be. There was no softness, no easing you into it. One minute, you were talking, the next, you were tasting the whiskey sour he’d just finished. He had both hands on either side of your face and was kissing you more intensely than you’d ever been kissed in your entire life. It was raw passion and desire—you could feel how needy he was. 

When he pushed against you, you felt his hard-on through his Levis, and a small whimper escaped your lips. You found yourself grinding against him, hoping for any kind of friction to ease the tightness in your stomach. 

When he pulled away, you followed his mouth and kissed him again, but he stopped you soon after.

‘What was that about me going home and sleeping in my own bed?’

You groaned. ‘Don’t make this hard for me.’

‘You’re the one making things hard, sweetheart.’ He smirked. 

‘I’m gonna go down first, and you’re gonna follow me a couple minutes later. That way, nobody will be suspicious.’

He shook his head in disbelief, but he was grinning like a fool. ‘You’re seriously not gonna let me stay?’ 

‘I told you, it’s disrespectful.’

‘So what, then? That’s all I get?’

You flashed him a devilish grin of your own. ‘For now.’ 

A/N: This is the first part of this series. There shouldn't be more than two or three parts. For some reason, I struggle to write one-shots; it always turns into a series...

[cringe--is--dead]

꧁✬◦°⋆⋆°◦. 𝓜𝓲𝓼𝓽𝓵𝓮𝓽𝓸𝓮 ◦°⋆⋆°◦✬꧂

꧁✬◦°⋆⋆°◦. 𝓚𝓮𝓷𝓶𝓪 𝔁 𝓡𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻 ◦°⋆⋆°◦✬꧂

A/N: I got sick, sorry these are all gonna be so late.

At the team's holiday party, you and your boyfriend do your best to avoid his best friend, who seems way too determined to get you two trapped under the mistletoe for you first kiss.

This wasn't the first time you and Kenma had been invited somewhere as a couple, yet from the way his team fawned over the two of you, you'd have thought it was.

It wasn't always bad, sometimes it was sweet; Yaku teased the two of you sure, but he noticed whenever you or your boyfriend were uncomfortable and backed off, Kai simply made sweet remarks about how you two complimented each other well, short phrases that had both you and Kenma beat red.

Kuroo, to no ones surprise, was the worst.

When you two first told him you were dating he thought it was some type of prank; you and Kenma had been pining over each other to him for so long he had grown hopeless. Turns out, late-night video game sessions can do a lot of good.

That being said, this was you first holiday party as a couple, and for almost 90% of the time thus far you two were avoiding said team captain.

It wasn't a big "high school party", there was no spiked eggnog or blasting music. Yamamoto tried and got told off rather humorously. There was food, drinks, some weird American Christmas music Kuroo found, ugly sweaters, and presents.

And mistletoe.

"I can't believe him," Kenma looked like he was trying to burrow himself deeper into his sweater, one you had picked out for him, knowing if you didn't, Kuroo would, and that would have been worse.

You shrugged, taking a sip of your eggnog before making a face; it may not be alcoholic but it wasn't great, "Really? This seems exactly like something he would have done."

Kenma paused, before letting out a rather loud sigh, leaning so he was against your shoulder, curling so his body was angled towards you, "It is. That makes it worse. I should have known he'd do this."

You smiled down at him, though he couldn't see you, "He kept us too busy with party favors to even think about his meddling."

"Stupid ploy of his," Your boyfriend muttered, glaring at the wall in front of him.

"Maybe we can turn the tables? Trap him under some mistletoe with someone else. I'm sure if you called Bokuto he'd come over."

Kenma shook his head, "One, I don't need to deal with Kuroo and Bokuto, secondly, Kuroo would think it was funny and it wouldn't work the way you're thinking."

Sighing, you tilted so your head was rested against his, "Damn."

You could feel him nod, "Damn is right."

The music could be heard through the walls, and you only felt a little bad that you and Kenma were hiding in Kuroo's mom's office. You both knew it was only a matter of time before he came searching there for you, but you'd be ready to either shove him out or book it.

"Maybe we can trick Yaku and Lev under the mistletoe," He suggested quietly, "Cause a distraction so big Kuroo forgets about us."

You hummed, "That works until demon-upperclassmen-Yaku torments you at practice."

He groaned, "Might be worth it."

You laughed quietly, setting your cup down, "You know," You started before you could second guess yourself, feeling the familiar flutter of nerves in your stomach, "If it were more private I wouldn't mind kissing you under mistletoe."

You felt him stiffen against you, and for a moment you screamed at yourself mentally, but he relaxed a second later, a quiet huff of laugh coming from him.

"Yeah," He reached across to take one of your hands into his, "Me too. He's only doing this cause... well," He cut himself off, and curiosity got the best of you when he didn't finish his thought.

You pulled away some, looking at him, your hands still connected, "Well what?"

His cheeks were pink, and he was doing his best to avoid eye contact, "I had... mentioned wanting to kiss you. Maybe. But not knowing when. He joked about mistletoe at the party. But I forgot until we showed up."

You think almost everyone was caught by surprise at the sheer amount of mistletoe hanging from doorways.

You waited, giving him time to feel comfortable looking towards you, a small smile on your face, "You know... you could have asked me?" Your voice was soft, teasing, "Considering I'm your girlfriend, not Kuroo."

He huffed, half-annoyed, half-laughing.

"I'm serious, just ask me if I want to kiss you. No mistletoe necessary."

It took a second for him to fully process what you said, and his eyes widened a fraction. He visibly swallowed, his grip on your hand tightening slightly.

"Will... can I kiss you?"

The simple question, even if you were expecting it, had butterflies explode in your stomach, your heart fluttering in your chest. Your palms felt embarrassingly sweaty.

"Yes."

You'd, embarrassingly, imagined what your first kiss would be like when you were younger. Entering your teens, it seemed like the biggest deal in the world. You'd have this prince charming of a boyfriend, someone boisterous who took you on spontaneous dates, someone who dipped you under the stars for your first kiss.

No part of you had imagined having your first kiss, hiding away in your friend's mom's office to avoid public humiliation at his goading.

No part of you imagined how it actually felt. All those dreams felt so silly now.

Kenma's lips were warm against yours, your hands still holding one another's. The kiss didn't go any further than this, and it only lasted but a few seconds, but it was enough.

He pulled back first, cheeks far more red than they had been when he asked, and you were sure yours were no better. Despite the anxiety that had been clear on his face, he was smiling, something so soft it made all those nerves disappear as if they'd never been there before.

"Think that was better without the mistletoe," You murmured, and he nodded in agreement.

It was quiet between the two of you for a moment, before--

"There you two are!" Kuroo was standing in the doorway, looking a bit frazzled.

You and Kenma didn't have time to react, but it seemed like Kuroo was too focused on something else to even notice.

"I'm hiding with you, I got Yaku and Lev under the mistletoe and I think--"

"Kuroo Tetsurou!"

[httpvomitello]

Fred Weasley x reader who hides their chronic pain/illness? With lots of comfort and reassurance. Thanks :)

YES, ANOTHER FRED REQUEST, I'M SO HAPPY! I hope you like it ~ ♡♡

In Sickness and in Strength *⁠.⁠✧

fred weasley x gn!reader

The cold wind of late December crept through the cracks of the Burrow, making you tug the thick quilt tighter around your shoulders. The chaos of the Weasley household had been a welcome distraction for most of the holiday, but today you were struggling to keep your usual mask in place. Fred was in the next room, regaling his family with an exaggerated tale about a rogue Extendable Ear mishap. His laughter rang out like a warm melody, but you couldn’t muster the energy to join him.

Your body ached from head to toe, the familiar, invisible weight pressing against your bones. It was the kind of pain that no spell could erase, the kind you’d learned to live with in silence. You loved Fred, more than words could express, but how could you burden him with this? He was sunshine incarnate, the kind of person who made the world brighter just by existing. You couldn’t dim that light by telling him about the storm constantly raging inside you.

“Y/N?” Fred’s voice pulled you from your thoughts, gentle but curious. You looked up to see him leaning against the doorframe, his trademark grin softening into something more tender.

“Hey,” you said, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Done telling tales already?”

He crossed the room in a few strides and plopped down beside you on the worn sofa, his arm immediately draping over your shoulders. “They’ve had enough of my genius for now,” he teased, pressing a quick kiss to your temple. “You, on the other hand, have been suspiciously quiet all day. What’s going on?”

You shrugged, your pulse quickening. “Just tired, that’s all. It’s been a long week.”

Fred’s brow furrowed slightly as he studied your face. He reached out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Tired doesn’t usually make you look like you’re carrying the weight of the world. Come on, love, what’s really going on?”

You swallowed hard, your throat tightening as you tried to come up with an excuse. But Fred wasn’t the kind of person you could lie to easily. His gaze was too steady, too sincere.

“It’s nothing,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

Fred shifted, turning to face you fully. His hand found yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Y/N, you know you don’t have to hide things from me, right? Whatever it is, I’m here. Always.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, and before you could stop them, they spilled over, hot and unrelenting.

“I—” You took a shaky breath, unable to meet his gaze. “I’ve been dealing with this for a while. It’s… it’s chronic pain. Some days are worse than others, but I didn’t want to say anything because I didn’t want to be a burden. You’ve already got so much going on, Fred, and I didn’t want you to feel like you had to take care of me too.”

Fred’s grip on your hand tightened, and when you finally looked up, his expression was a mix of heartbreak and determination.

“Y/N,” he said softly, his voice steady despite the emotion in his eyes. “You could never be a burden to me. Never. I don’t care how much you’re struggling or what you’re dealing with—I want to be there for you. That’s what love is, yeah? You’ve been there for me through everything, and I’ll be damned if I let you go through this alone.”

A fresh wave of tears spilled over, but this time, they were tears of relief. Fred pulled you into his arms, holding you like you were the most precious thing in the world. His hand rubbed soothing circles on your back as he murmured soft reassurances into your hair.

“We’ll figure this out together,” he promised. “Whatever you need, i will make it work. If you’re having a bad day, you tell me, and I’ll do whatever I can to make it better. And on the good days, we’ll celebrate. But I need you to promise me something too.”

You pulled back slightly, meeting his gaze. “What’s that?”

“Promise me you’ll stop trying to handle this on your own,” he said. “Because you don’t have to, Y/N. You’ve got me, and I’m not going anywhere.”

You nodded, your heart swelling with a mix of gratitude and love. “I promise.”

Fred smiled then, his usual mischievous glint returning to his eyes. “Good. Now, how about we sneak some of Mum’s mince pies and curl up by the fire? I reckon a bit of warmth and sugar might be just what the Healer ordered.”

You laughed despite yourself, the sound lightening the heaviness in your chest. “That sounds perfect.”